365 True Things: 44/Travel (Africa)

As I mentioned in post 11, in 2001 David and I went to Zimbabwe to view a total eclipse of the sun. It occurred on the winter solstice, June 21, and was—not unexpectedly—spectacular. We traveled with a company that specializes in eclipses, so had excellent equipment and instruction on how to make the most of it.

Of course, an eclipse lasts only a few minutes. We would be in Zimbabwe for two weeks. And because we were traveling such a great distance to get to Africa, we decided to keep going. Using the Internet, I found a South African company that arranges safaris in Botswana and a South African climber who was willing to guide us on a few crags in Namibia and take us to some game parks. Total trip now six weeks!

Our first realization that we weren't in Kansas anymore came while driving from Harare into the countryside, where we would be staying at a hunting camp. First, looking out of the minivan windows, we noticed a giraffe browsing on a tall tree. We stared at each other in wonder. "It just lives here!" became the refrain of our trip. Second was a roadblock manned by a very young ragtag militia carrying submachine guns. Maybe they weren't ragtag, but they sure were young. They checked our papers and let us through. It felt pretty creepy.

At the camp, which was owned by white Zimbabweans who had been in Africa for generations working the land, we heard a good deal about the situation—which at the moment didn't feel dangerous, although white farmers had begun to be killed. Things deteriorated rapidly in the next few years. Our hosts said there was no way they'd be going "back" to England: England wasn't their home. If anything, they'd move to Zambia. But they'd stick it out as long as they could. (I expect that wasn't very long.)

Yes, the boulders in the background are in fact elephants.

After two weeks of wildlife viewing, we ended up at Victoria Falls, where we spent a couple of days on our own—and treated ourselves to a helicopter tour of the falls. So amazing! Then we flew in a tiny bush plane deep into the Kalahari Desert, to be met by our guide for the next two weeks: Richard, a young Swiss man and talented wildlife spotter. For a few days, it was just Richard, our cook, and an Austrian couple, out in the middle of nowhere.

We were required to stay in camp between 6 p.m. and 6 a.m., so each morning we'd get up at 5 (the rushing sound of hot water being poured into our tentside canvas basin was our wake-up call), have a quick bite to eat, and at 6 sharp off we'd go, on rutted dirt roads, looking for whatever we could see; back for brunch and a noontime siesta; then back out until 6. A few times we passed by the very tree that Joy and George Adamson camped under when they were conducting the research that eventually was chronicled in Born Free. 

I remember being instructed, if we needed to pee in the night, to make sure our partner knew we were leaving the tent, then, before stepping out, to shine our flashlight around. If we saw red reflections—eyes staring at us—we should stay inside. We did find lions' footprints in camp several mornings. And one night we had a comical interaction with an elephant, who apparently didn't care for our aroma.

After the Kalahari, we joined up with another six or eight travelers and did a tour of northern Botswana: Chobe National Park, Moremi Game Reserve, and the stunning Okavango Delta.

And then, it was off to Namibia. We flew into the capital, Windhoek, where our guide, Richard Behne, met us with his VW van and his cook sidekick. Our goal there was to go rock climbing, and that we did. Our first day out was at a spot full of baboons, who laughed at our antics with ropes and chocks and quickdraws. They thought we were hilarious! Later on, we visited an area that was the spitting image of Joshua Tree National Park. The climbing highlight was Spitzkoppe, a stark heap of rock in the middle of a tabletop-flat arid plain. Here's David having signed the Gipfelbuch (peak book).

We had our share of adventures in Namibia. First, Richard's van died, and he sent David and me to ask some German farmers (Namibia was once a German colony) for a tow. As we walked, dusk fell. Dusk, we remarked to each other, is when lions like to hunt. We picked up our pace to a trot—and made it to the farmers' house intact. Meanwhile, the farmers were delighted to learn that I spoke German—which I think sweetened the pot when it came to giving us help. We then had to order a part, which would take several days to arrive. That's okay: we'd climb and go for hikes; we had plenty of food. But the next morning, miraculously, the van started up! And it stayed healthy for the duration of the trip.

If you don't count flat tires, that is. Two of them, as we made our way through the Skeleton Coast. There again, Richard sent David and me ahead to the next town—where we had a reservation for a cabin—to arrange the purchase of a tire. We hitchhiked with what may have been the last ride out, a game warden. In town, the tire seller took big bloody advantage of us gringos, but what did we know? We figured if Richard wanted to barter a deal, he should have gone. (As things turned out, he and the cook were having a little fling. I don't think he sabotaged the vehicle on purpose, but the breakdowns did prove convenient to their getting some alone time.)

Toward the end of our stay, we visited the spectacular Waterberg plateau, home of some unique wildlife including the sable antelope. I'll leave you with an image of us having made it to the top. (And don't worry: our tour of the national park was not by foot, but by van.)

By way of closing, I will just say: coming home to California and seeing horses and cows grazing? It was anticlimactic with a vengeance.