Category Archives: Travel Africa

Cape Passes & Poorts

Normal people may find this post boring.

As Jess and I whizzed southwestward in search of clear skies to dry out the tent on my lorry after the floods in the Kruger Park at the beginning of the year and the soaking rains in Mpumalanga, Free State and KZN which kept my canvas damp. It got so bad I started thinking there wasn’t a sky in the cloud. On the tar roads we passed numerous signs saying some or other pass. You notice the lovely scenery, but the passes pass with no effort, so we seldom stopped for photos. Thanks to the amazing website run by the geeks, nerds and – worse – engineers of mountainpassessouthafrica.co.za anyone can go on a virtual drive over these passes. I used them gratis for a bit, then subscribed. Well worth R465 a year in my view, even if you’re only doing one trip with one pass – you’ll get so much more out of the trip once you’ve read the amount of info these guys post about each pass. A narrated video of the route, angles, altitudes, distances, directions, gain, gradient, history, can you take a Fiat Uno or do you need a Unimog, ens. Fascinating.

I had some well-known and challenging passes on my to-do list for this trip, and on those I did take pics which I’ll post.

Wapadberg Pass – On the tarred R61 between Cradock and Graaff Reinet; 17km long; On YouTube here.

Carlton Heights Pass – On the tarred N9 between Noupoort and Middelburg; 7km long; On YouTube here. It was here I remarked to Jess, ‘Look, not a cloud in the sky!’ We had found our dry blue skies to dry out my tent! We stopped for a pic and saw there was one wee cloud to the south, no bigger than a man’s hand, just like in the Bible.

Now four passes on the tarred N9 north of Graaff Reinet. Heading South, as we did, they are: Naudesberg Pass; Paardekloof Pass; Goliathskraal se Hoogte Pass; Perrieshoogte Pass; All tar, all beautiful, but none caused us to stop and take pics. Also near – almost in – Graaff Reinet are van Ryneveld’s Pass and Munniks Poort. Some of these passes were Andrew Geddes Bain passes, the famous road- and passbuilder whose reputation I accuse my ancestors of appropriating when they got to Natal!

In Camdeboo National Park we found the first pass, mountain and valley I had long wanted to see: Camdeboo Pass leading to the Valley of Desolation! Back in 1972, fresh from a wonderful Veld & Vlei adventure, I’d been invited on a Boy Scouts patrol leader camp to the “Valley of Desolation near Graaff Reinet.” The camp was cancelled, but my imagination had been fired up and I always dreamed of seeing this mythical place one day. Now, a mere fifty one years later, I was driving up the pass. – – (virtual drive it on YouTube here and here)

— Jess halfway up the pass; and the tent on my lorry nice and dry —

Next we headed to the Karoo national park outside Beaufort West, my old mate Louis’ stamping ground. Inside the park there’s the Klipspringer Pass built with great effort and care. Being in a declared nature reserve, rocks were sourced from outside the park, ruins of old houses and kraals eg. and local labourers dry-packed them by hand to minimise the damage to the area. Jess chose to loaf back at camp while I drove it. She missed out.

After Beaufort we headed for Oudtshoorn to visit Louis and Gail – and what a welcome we received! Good friends indeed. Louis told of us of Meiringspoort, saying It’s Beautiful! and he was right. We crossed Droekloof Pass on the way, then took our time in the poort, stopping at every picnic spot and walking up to the waterfall. — (the feature pic at the top shows the mighty Ford Ranger on the Meiringspoort road).

Reluctantly leaving Louis n Gail’s hospitality we headed north towards a must-do pass – the famed Swartberg Pass. After passing through Schoemanspoort near the Cango Caves we started up the pass, stopping at Kobus se Gat to get Jess her 100th hot chocolate (! approx). Ahead lay 24km of Thomas Bain’s finest road engineering. The boffins at mountainpassessouthafrica.co.za rate it so special they have made eight videos to cover it! See a shorter video here, showing north to south, opposite of our direction. Swartberg could actually be called multiple passes and multiple poorts!

~~oo0oo~~

A pass goes up or down or over a mountain. A poort goes through – often following a river course. Often you drive with high mountain walls on both sides, whereas on a pass there’s usually a wall on one side and a drop on the other.

Thanks to mountainpassessouthafrica.co.za; tripadvisor.com; and princealbert.org.za for pictures

Star, Jess!

Breakfast at Kwalata Lodge was delish. I had an egg n bacon usual health meal, while Jess had an omelette with cheese, potato and onions and loved it, so the next day we had the same.

The third morning we ordered the same again. Our meal arrived with our waitress carrying mine and the chef carrying Jessie’s. That was different.

‘We have made a mistake,’ said our waitress. ‘I made the mistake,’ said the chef. ‘I read tomato instead of potato! My bad!’ He was looking at me. I looked at Jess and waited.

‘I’m sure that will be fine,’ said Jess. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll eat that.’ The two looked relieved and hurried away. Well done goggo, said I. You’re a kind and lovely person. ‘Well, they were honest and decent about it and the chef came himself, he didn’t make the waitress do it,’ said my Jessie. Proud of ya love!

~~oo0oo~~

(I think the only pics I took at Kwalata was that lovely moth with the trompe-l’œil trailing edges to its wings that look folded over forward on top from the right angle. Bright yellow thorax when it flew. Luckily Jess took 437 selfies).

Abba Game Farm

Jess and I had a wonderful chill at Abba Game Lodge in the greater Waterberg, near Modimolle. No traveling to do, nowhere to go, we just chilled for four days. Jess enjoyed the attention and kindness shown her by the ladies who run the show, especially Chantel, who encouraged her to get out and about on the grounds, but couldn’t persuade her to swim in their heated pool. She did get some exercise wandering around searching for the wifi signal!

Took me a while to get used to the pitch black impala and pale, not quite pure white, blesbok roaming the grounds. Weird!

The road we took to get there from Bela Bela was rough; the road to Modimolle much easier, so we left that way, stopping for breakfast en route to Dinokeng, north of Pretoria.

~~oo0oo~~

Jess in a Palace

When Jess hit seven weeks on her opioid addiction treatment – and seven weeks of enduring Dad – halfway to her goal of beating her last record, I said, ‘You Choose a Place To Stay Tonight Jess!’ like it was something new. She mostly did that for us anyway, using lekkeslaap.co.za or booking.com apps. But her budget was usually Under R1000 and this time – it wasn’t.

I thought, Here Comes a Luxury Game Lodge, I’m going to enjoy this, but no. It was a suite in The Lost Palace at Sun City:

As we walked into our room she knew she’d made the right choice: Dad! Look at the size of the TV! she grinned.

~~oo0oo~~

Lost in Translation

My Durban friend of Eastern Cape extraction tells me they speak four languages in this neck of the woods: English (of a sort), Afrikaans (of a sort), isiXhosa (of a sort), and Lower Albany. This turned out to be true, so I reached out to young Allister Gordon-Peter in desperation for translation services, but he was unreachable. So I struggled on alone among the boets and the swaers that inhabit this strange country.

Turns out he was doing the Pondo Plod from Port Edward to Mtentu, Mkambathi and beyond, shuffling southwards from shebeen to shebeen along the beach in the teeth of a howling Westerly, pretending he was having fun.

– Call this fun? –

The only part sounding like fun was that some shebeens now have Black Label beer in 1l (one THOUSAND millilitre!) ‘quart’ bottles, so that helped.
Him and his ilk (all older’n me, much older – months!) can only do the blerrie hike thanks to frequent copious ingestion of strong drugs. These fools have done this trudging many times, suffering as they do from perseveration. When they paddle a river or hike a mountain or shoot a rhebuck, they do it over and over, year after year.

They have even done some hikes unsupported, camping rough, though nowadays as they age and grow decrepit they more often engage in ‘slackpacking,’ aka ‘limping,’ using motorised transport to carry their swag, sleep in four-poster featherbeds en route, and get tucked into bed by kind Pondo mamas. I’ve heard.

Rumour has it their drugs of choice include, but may not be limited to, Black Label, Zamalek, anti-inflammatories washed down with whisky, and an occasional puff of boom.

Eventually Alli phoned me, apologising for being out of blue teeth and off the line for the last week, and advised me to backtrack to Hogsback for some beautiful scenery and beer.

Which advice I followed, only to find the pub here doesn’t have 1l Black Label bottles. It was fake news. I’m having to drink milk stout and Old Brown.

– Hogsback shebeen –

Footnote: I’m told the specific brand of boom they rook in the Eesin Kyp is called ‘Pondoland Cabbage’ and just one amateur-rolled spliff gets you speaking fluent Lower Albany; slowly in lo-ong sentences with many words repeated. Look, boet, this is what I’m told hey.

~~oo0oo~~

Baviaanskloof

Anton used to tell me about the Baviaans with great excitement and enthusiasm. You gotta go there, Pete! Well I finally got there about thirty years later. After, when I got to Gqeberha I phoned my old colleague, now in Jo’burg, to tell him the valley was even better and more spectacular than he’d said!

The full Baviaanskloof route was a lot longer than I had thought; it was also far more rugged than I’d imagined; and it certainly was beautiful and spectacular, as Anton had shouted while also telling me how indestructible his old Toyota bakkie was. You know what Toyota groupies are like.

On the way we met Ian, farmboy from Ireland, put-putting through the kloof alone on his motorbike while slowly going round the world. Africa is his last continent and he’s doing it slowly and thoroughly with a puptent for a home. Made me feel overdressed, did Ian, what with my Ford Ranger and canopy tent!

We stayed at Zandvlakte farm in a lovely big cottage. Only after leaving there did I realise the friendly owner Magriet Kruger was the co-author of this magnificent newly published book! Aitch would have kicked me (and bought three copies!).

~~oo0oo~~

More: Baviaans

Sea Point

Life in the penthouse was fantastic, as always! Rita has hosted us there since even before we were afflicted with children, and has had the kids there many times, sometimes even as ‘Unaccompanied Minors.’ Brave lass!

Jess had a hair makeover, thanks to Rita’s friends Raikie, Berlin and Linda, who treated and spoiled her. Braids out, Curlers in.

It’s Rita’s pozzie so food plays a central role. Gourmet meals and restaurant outings. This time Italian.

Sunset over the Atlantic from the balcony; The top pic: Table Mountain mist from the other balcony.

~~oo0oo~~

Ancient Okes

Met old school chum Fluff in Bloemfontein for coffee. We were in pre-school together at Kathy Putterill’s home, went on to the local sandstone Kleinspan school, then the local sandstone Volkskool down the road, all the way to matric up in the yucky modern brick high school on the hill below Platberg. Meantime also Sunday School in the old local sandstone Methylated Spirits church. Also quite often sport on Saturdays – rugby, tennis and cricket for him to shine and me to get ducks for balance – and jolling weekends and after hours, so me n Fluffy shared much of our childhood.

Great chat over coffee, gentleman Fluffy very kind and considerate towards my Jessie; followed by an ussie taken by Fluff (see above) – he remembers to actually take pictures. I too often remember afterwards!

Driving south-west out of Bloem towards the Groot Gariep river, there’s a beep on my phone and there was the image, sent by Fluffy.

I showed it to Jess and asked, “Can you believe we’re the same age?”

NO WAY Dad! says my darling daughter, wide-eyed.

So how much younger do you think he is than me, Jess?

“Dad, I thought he was like, in his early fifties.”

No supper for you tonight! I laughed.

Pointedly explained to her that he is actually 68 and 13 days, whereas I am a mere 67. He is actually a full year older than me for six weeks every year, Jess!

NO WAY Dad! she dug her hole deeper.

~~oo0oo~~

Three National Parks

Luckily Jess also enjoys driving around in natural areas. Our Karoo journey started off with these three:

Mountain Zebra National Park

Camdeboo National Park

I said to Jess Take A Selfie with the Valley of Desolation in the background. “OK” said the daughter.

Uh, here Jess, let me show you what I meant:

Karoo National Park

Karoo NP

~~oo0oo~~

Groot Marico

In Botswana’s Khama Rhino Sanctuary I was visited by Bennets woodpeckers, Burchells starlings, Meyers parrots and Meves starling. African feathered beauties saddled with the surnames of European explorers and naturalists.

The biggest of the beautiful trees in Makongwa Campsite are called variously the Mongongo nut, or Manketti, or Makongwa. Scientific name Schinziophyton rautanenii (was Ricenodendron before).

As I left, I spoke to a German couple who said they were going to exit Botswana at Gaberone “cos we want to drive longer in Botswana – we like it here.” So I changed my plan and did the same. Instead of heading east to Martin’s Drift / Groblersbrug border post, I meandered south to the Tlokweng / Kopfontein crossing.

As afternoon approached the old familiar Where To Stay dilemma started – not my favourite part of this procrastinator’s meandering life. For a change I decided to ask someone, as Groot Marico turned out to be a surprisingly not-groot dorpie. I ran out of main street in three seconds flat. Just outside the ‘city centre’ the Wag n Biekie Pub looked enticing, set in a green shady garden, so I drove in, parked and strolled in.

Three heads swivelled to check Wie’s Die Ou? One maybe thinking Wie’s Die Oom? Manne looking comfortably ensconced at the large pub. One my age was nursing a brandy n coke; one who said he was the youngest oke left in the Groot Marico at 36, nursing a brandy n coke; and Brian, nut farmer, ‘No not macadamias, the climate is wrong. Pecans,’ nursing a brandy n coke.  Once Brian and his gabbas had sussed me out – What you doin’? Where you goin’? How old are you? Where do you hail from? – he hopped onto the phone to sort out a place for me to spend the night: Hello Liddy my darling. Listen, Wild Bill Hickok has come to town and is needing a bed, can you help him sweetheart?

Liddy could, so Brian drew what he assured me was a very accurate map to get to Evergreen farm  I couldn’t miss it. Luckily I listened carefully as he scribbled.

I bought a round then, as when they heard it was my first visit they winked at the barmaid and she brought me a glass of amarula liquer. ‘Watch out, don’t choke hey! There’s something in it,’ I was warned. I thought maybe a chilli or a mopani wurm, but turned out to be a cherry, which I  slukked.

While the kind ladies in the pub kitchen made me a supper to take home we all had another dop, then I departed with thanks for the lekker hospitality and sage advice.

Evergreen Farm’s chalet was great and the monster Wag ‘n Biekie pub burger I had for supper was delish.

The next day I discovered the Groot Marico river runs gin-clear as it’s source is an ‘oog’ – a large dolomitic hole in the ground, a spectacular scuba diving spot. I now remembered as a student listening to friend and fellow student Dave Crouse raving about driving here in his Vollies – Volvo – and diving deep in crystal clear water. He was a wonderful life enthusiast was Dave!

It flows northwards, does the Marico; after a stretch it is named Madikwene, then reverts to the name Marico, bends northeastwards and forms the border between South Africa and Botswana. Further downstream the Crocodile River joins the Marico from the right – bringing its badly polluted water all the way from iGoli/Joburg and Tshwane/Pretoria. After the confluence these two rivers become our famous Limpopo River, no longer gin clear. In fact, some Pom called it ‘grey-green, greasy.’ Bloody cheek!

After just one night I was off again, heading south-east, uncharacteristically in a hurry as I had committed to a meet-up – a matric reunion. So I have yet to experience the district where Herman Charles Bosman’s lovely stories were hatched.

~~oo0oo~~

dorpie – hamlet; village

not-groot – tiny; no metropolis

Wag n Biekie – linger a while

Wie’s Die Ou? – Hmm, a stranger in town

Wie’s Die Oom? – Hmm, ancient stranger in town

gabbas – mates; chinas

chinas – mates

wurm – caterpillar

slukked – swallowed; like swallowing a slug

Stuck in the Namib with Aitch

So we did *sometimes* go where the signs *sometimes* said  Notice: Maybe You Shouldn’t.

We were rescued by friendly Damara ous in the Namib desert, by feisty ous in tight khaki shorts on Mocambican beaches, and by faithful Bahá’ís at their picnic on the Báb’s birthday on a Malawian beach. Bless em all.

You just gotta have faith ye shall be rescued.

– stuck in the Namib –
– whenever I got stuck Aitch was out with the camera like a shot! – Zavora Bay, Mocambique –

~~oo0oo~~

Jejane At Last!

I first heard about this lovely lodge on Jejane Private Nature Reserve “up towards the Olifants River area” way back last century from Rob, one of the early members. Now at last I got to visit, thanks to Carl and Mandy, co-owners with four other families – all farmers around Harrismith and Bergville.

It was everything I’d imagined and more; we had a lovely stay with game drives, lots of laughter, great meals, lots of beer, sunshine, lots of rain. Carl and I were on our best behaviour as we were outnumbered, Mandy having brought in three young lasses from her distant past to stand by her. All from GHS – Grey-headed Sparrows? Or was it PSGH – Posh School Girls Har? I dunno, don’t quote me. We sensibly didn’t have those kind of schools in the vrystaat. We had schools that you just went to till you were allowed to leave and you didn’t endlessly talk about them for decades afterwards.

Mandy is full of nonsense and I am well-behaved. She told this raucous crowd before I arrived that I was ‘a genius,’ so, having not been taught manners or etiquette at whatever school for ladies it was, they ripped the ring out of that handle. I suffered. Or maybe Miss Manners did try to teach them, but the four of them stuck their fingers in their ears and yelled na na na NA na?

These four cheekily nominated me Airfryer Fundi, pretending they didn’t know what to do with the machine; so I, the least experienced in any kitchen, pushed, pulled and stroked various knobs so they could cook dinner. That seemed to work. Meantime its really just always 180⁰ for 20mins, fullstop.

– impressive clouds came and went, rain and sunshine, rainbows every day –

The rain was lovely – not as hectic as in the Kruger Park next door, which had actually been closed down completely, if briefly. I got out just in time, driving from Berg en Dal camp in the SW corner of the park.

In Jejane, dams and pans that were mud puddles filled rapidly and overflowed. Streams rushed all over, threatening road crossings, but the level would soon drop and the roads remained good as the water soaked into the sand.

Paradise.

~~oo0oo~~

After Jejane I pulled into Waterval Boven on my way back to KwaZulu Natal, to an Inn I had visited years before. This time I had a less eventful stay. Quiet, early to bed.

It’s a Long Way to Oshakati

Actually to Ondangwa, but that doesn’t sing like Tipperary.

So after I’d dug myself out of the hole on the – I now know – Bravo cutline 4X4 trail **, I headed due west past Okongo and Eenhana to Okatope, tiny towns, then south to Ondangwa, big town. A thought: Eenhana must feel so eensaam being in Northern Namibia and not starting with an ‘O.’ Do they apologise for this, I wonder? Like, jammer Oom . .

I was looking for wifi to do emails and banking but no go, so I kept moving, looking for a campground to stay, or a lodge if I had to. Didn’t find any. Drove on and on all the way to Omuthiya where I decided I’d have to reluctantly return to Ondangwa for a better chance of lodging, as the sun was setting, big dark storm clouds loomed and intermittent showers fell. A beautiful 🌈 rainbow shone to the South East.

The clouds got blacker and stormier and lightninger till the heavens opened, my windscreen wipers impotent against le deluge; and then an impressive thunder-crack switched off all the lights in Ondangwa. Taking this as an omen to stop being so stubborn, I tucked my tail between my legs and reluctantly checked into the Protea hotel, getting soaked carrying my stuff in even though I’d parked just ten metres from the door. Ja, ‘strue, this wimp checked into a soulless hotel with his camper parked at the door.

Oh well, hot water, warm bed and, when the lights came back on, wifi.

I was the only person in the large dining room for breakfast the next morning; the food was fine but the mood was ruined. Softly in the background they were playing Jingle Bells. In October. Or maybe it was November, was it? Gave me jingled bowels, it did.

On to Etosha, where wide open plains stretched as far as my eyes could see – literally. To the east there was a low line of trees in the far hazy distance, but to the west the grassland continued uninterrupted to the horizon. Herds of springbok, gemsbok and zebra scattered themselves about so as to look picturesque and Africa-y.

I had a good look around Namutoni camp. My last visit had been in 1986 and my first way back in 1969. The fort looked the same, but I think the camp behind it has grown.

Now my destination was Kakombo farm outside Omaruru, but first this ou had to drive through some more ‘O’s’ – Otavi and Otjivarongo.

~~oo0oo~~

eensaam – lonely; spare

jammer Oom – sorry Oom

Oom – uncle

** from Tracks 4 Africa map – thanks!

images from https://www.etoshanationalpark.org/ – thanks! I forget to take pics sometimes.

Stuck in the Middle with You

‘Middle’ being a middelmannetjie; ‘You’ being four Big Beef Bulls. It was Louis’ fault, of course.

I usually go nowhere slowly, but right now I was in a slight hurry, and I had an actual destination for a change. This hurry relative to my normal pace would slow down my progress, as we’ll see. I had just left the beautiful Cubango river in the pic above, which forms the Angolan border with Namibia.  I wanted to meet Louis on his farm Kakombo outside Omaruru in two days time.

Go via Tsumeb, said Louis. No, that’s tar! I protested. Ah, said Louis, I also like the back roads; There is another way. I thought it was a cutline but when I went down it it was fine. The D3600? I asked, looking at my maps.me app. Yes, I think so, said my Local Knowledge Personal Route Advisor, not looking at a map. The one that goes dead straight south for about 130km? Yes, I think so, he said. He didn’t say when he had been down that road; nor what he’d been driving – I now know he drives a macho Namibian 4X4 called toyota (which is a Herero word for ‘rugged’) with wheels like a large John Deere. You know what those ous in khaki are like.

As I turned off the tar I thought ‘piece o’ cake.’ A good sand road. Third gear, 40kmh, smooth and a low middelmannetjie. In the dips it was softer and I’d have to change down to second. There were three surfaces: Reddish sand was firmer; light cream was deeper and the lightest grey sand was the deepest and softest. Keep up the momentum through those hollows, I told my driver. Surprisingly, some stretches were jarringly corrugated under the sand! 4X4 ous blame these corrugations on 2-wheel drive vehicles but 2X4 me tells them the 2X4 forums say 4-wheel drive vehicles are to blame. Luckily, so far none have asked me about those non-existent forums. They’ve just laughed at me. But I’m used to that.

After a few km’s I was thinking Uh Oh! and then soon it was 2nd gear and 30kmh with only occasional 3rd gear and 40kmh; After 50km of Uh Oh! it just got too deep, I lost momentum, slammed into 1st gear, but no go; I came to an abrupt halt. Stuck in the middle.

So I switched off and let rip with a long string of all my swearwords, repeating many of them and searching for the best ones.

Then I stopped to think. And what I thought of was that I was near the Angolan border and they speak Portuguese there, which reminded me of the Portuguese swearwords Abel Luis Aparicio Caixinha had taught me in primary school, ca.1966. So I let rip with those a few times. I thought that might help.

Cleverly, I had got stuck next to a lovely shade tree, so I left the Ford Ranger in the blazing sun and went to stand under the tree to think. I was not alone. Those four Big Beef Bulls I mentioned lay chewing the cud and staring at me thoughtfully through half-closed lids. I could see what they were thinking. They were thinking What A Doos.

What I was thinking is, I’m glad Aitch isn’t here. She’d be asking me innocently – knowing full well that I hadn’t: Did you bring a spade this time? Just because I had got her stuck in deep sand in the Namib desert thirty years ago, she’d assume I hadn’t brought a spade again. Correctly. If I patiently explained – again – But Think of the Weight I Saved, she’d roll her eyes so hard she’d see her occipital cortex. Again.

I thought Better Start Digging, but the shade was cool so I lingered. Me and the bulls were not alone. Each of them had a thousand flies buzzing around their bums and on the bovine crap which covered every inch of shady ground. A few dozen made a beeline straight from those bums to my lips and my Ffff! Phhh! Ffff! and slapping my cap at them startled the bulls, so they jumped up and stared at me through wide-open eyes, thinking What a Doos. Standing, I could see they were fully-qualified bulls, not cows or oxen. I needed visual proof, not being a good farmer.

I’d run out of thoughts and excuses now, so there was nothing else for it: I’d have to dig. I stepped out into the hot African sun and knelt next to the right rear wheel and started digging. Five seconds later I was back under the tree. Damn! that sand was fiercely hot on my bare knees, shins and foot arches!

Once I got a towel to kneel on I did the wheels one by one followed by a break under the tree to cool down. Then I let down each of the tyres to 1.1 bar, again with a shade break. This undid my initial dig so I needed to repeat, but only after digging out the fifth wheel: the spare slung underneath, buried in the middelmannetjie. One more round of digging in the same sequence and I was ready.

Time to fire outa here. I was determined to get out at first attempt. A failed attempt would dig me down towards Australia and I’d be stuck here until someone happened to drift down this lonely road as no-one had all day so far. Taking a deep breath I started off with a 3L turbodiesel roar in first gear and difflock for two metres, slammed into reverse and rocked back six metres, back into first and forward! Into second gear, and keep it up for the 300m to the harder red sand. I was out! Much better with 1.1 pressure, should have done that earlier. Plus removed my spare from under the vehicle!

On the hard stuff I stopped to think. 40 to 50km of known track down, about 80 to 90km of unknown challenge to go. Retreat! A four-point u-turn had me heading back north, exhaust pipe tucked under my bumper, discretion beating valour. Back on the tar I pumped all tyres back up to 2.4, swallowed an ice-cold tonic from my fridge and headed west, past Eenhana, then south to Ondangwa.

– Central Northern Namibia – Tracks4Africa calls my shortcut “Bravo cutline 4X4 trail” –

My day was far from over, but that story will need another post.

~~oo0oo~~

middelmannetjie – raised hump in the middle of a twin track

ous – men

ous in khaki – real men; hard to see when they stand in front of a khaki background; the background in Namibia is often khaki coloured

Didn’t think to take photos of the stuck Ford Ranger, or the bulls, or the shade tree! Damn! Aitch would have got pictures of my bum as I dug sand with my hands, as she did, here in the Namib, ca. late-1990s. Also in a 2X4, two of the wheels not helping, just nogschlepping.

Stuck in the Namib 1996
bummer
rescued by some Damara ous

~~oo0oo~~

Nkurunkuru

Camped at Simanya River Lodge near Nkurunkuru. Quite an operation! Big chalets overlooking the river; Huge convention hall, a chapel, a restaurant. Smart campsites, each with own kitchen and bathroom. Phew! Seems OTT?

In the tree above my camp, a Yellow-bellied Greenbul seemed to be ‘anting’ or ‘de-lousing’ a juvenile Drongo. Even while an adult Drongo looked on. Seemed strange.

Saw a Copper Sunbird pair – LIFER- at the deck in front of Simanya Camp’s convention hall overlooking the wide blue Cubango River – some 100km west of where they’re meant to be found! I rushed to fetch my camera, but they were gone. No evidence! I’ll watch to see if other birders confirm. Mosque Swallows, Bee-eaters. Must find my birdlist (if I made one).

On to Louis’ connection Winni Metzger at Kanyikamma Rest Camp. What an operation Winni and vrou Metzger run! Shops, farming, butchery, a lodge and much more. I stayed in one of their big smart stone chalets.

A Dutch couple on a tandem bicycle arrived. They had cycled from Windhoek to Angola and were on their way to the Caprivi. Sandy roads on a tandem with skinny-ass tyres is not my idea of fun, but they were young, skinny-ass themselves, and full of spirit and can-do! They were looking forward to the tar roads ahead of them.

– malmense –

Southward now – down to Etosha, then on to Omaruru where schoolmate Louis lives on Kakombo farm.

~~oo0oo~~

Rainbow River Lodge

Lee in Maun had recommended Rainbow River Lodge on the Kavango River near Popa Falls. It was great. Lodge owner Deon was welcoming and helpful. He took me boating to see Carmine Bee-eaters and the beautiful cataracts called Popa Falls.

Twice I drove south to Bwabwata Park, also on the right bank of the Kavango, downstream.

Back at Rainbow, I watched skeins of duck and geese fly downriver; and a mokoro paddle past, from my deckchair.

Hippo, crocs and otters in front of the riverbank campsites, plentiful birdlife. Rainbow Lodge is really worth a visit.

Next I’d be tracking the Kavango river upstream till it becomes the Cubango – the border between Namibia and Angola. I’d be getting my first-ever glimpse of Angola.

~~oo0oo~~

Bridges – I have since found out about all the new bridges that cross the two mighty rivers in the region, where before, ferries did duty.

Across the Cubango/Kavango/Okavango: In Namibia – At Rundu into Angola; At Divundu from Namibia into the Caprivi; In Botswana at Muhambo; I saw these three on my travels and got a distant pic of the Muhambo Bridge’s ‘elephant tusk’ supports looking south from Namibia’s Bwabwata park.

Across the Zambesi – At Katimo Mulilo from Namibia into Zambia; At Kazungula from Botswana into Zambia.

I haven’t driven across any of these. Yet.