The middle of the middle of nowhere

May 2013

I have a friend up in Humboldt county who bought a five acre parcel of forested land in a newer subdivision. He designed and built his own house, and measured carefully, so that his home would be in the exact middle of the property, unlike his neighbors who seemed to put their home up in front with a huge yard behind it. When I asked why, he said because this way he had the most possible space between him and his neighbors in every direction, the most privacy. When I visited, it did, indeed, feel like its own independent environment, quiet and serene, with no disturbance from the sound of cars or lawn mowers or children. Had it not been for the canopy of redwood trees surrounding his home, it would feel isolated. Somehow, for me at least, thick forest makes me feel insulated, not isolated.

I keep thinking about his property while driving through Namibia. The entire country seems empty, untrodden, devoid of human life and the inorganic trail of resources and trash that comes with population. We've been a lot of places, with barely visible roads, lots of sand, and heat. It feels like we are in the middle of nowhere, like someone measured carefully to make sure that at any given moment we are as far from anything as possible, meaning we are IN THE MIDDLE of the middle of nowhere.

We've spent quite a bit of time driving. Most of the day, actually. Most of the last five or six days. As a group of three guides- 2 Namibian, 1 South African, plus 2 Swiss, 2 Italians, 2 Spanish, 4 German, 1 Dutch, 1 American living in London, and me- we've renamed our overland adventure vehicle. Roy, the given name to this beast, is amazingly equipped for the unpaved roads of Namibia; the African massage. We enter the vehicle from the back, and there are two aisles of airplane style seats (that don't recline) raised above a center gully just big enough for feet. In the front, behind the barrier between the seating area and the driving area- think mac truck- there are seats around a small table and a cooler. It's a hangout place for playing card games and the like. The cooler, of course, is for beer. The new name it has adopted is African Tuk Tuk, or ATT. 

"Tomorrow we have a long day. I don't want to guarantee, but we might see...Expect the unexpected. T.I.A. This is Africa." There are other details of course. But this is what I remember, because this is what is said every night. And now we've created our own rituals. Inevitably at the end of the briefing, our guide Hofti asks if we have any questions. My arm shoots up every night at this point. 

"What time do we have to get up?" I still don't understand why that's not the first thing. I am in teacher brain, wanting things chronologically. He is in adventure brain- activity first, details second. The answer is usually the same- early. 5 or 6 am. I'm not sure why he tries to sugar coat this or treat it as an aside he can halfheartedly mention as if the early time will disappear, as we all signed up for a camping outdoor adventure and we know these types of things start early. Nobody complains or even makes mention of it. 

And again the ritual- Mikail says aloud to the group, "don't worry, Rebecca, I will wake you up around 4, to make sure you are ready." Everyone laughs. This is funny because I am always the first person up, aside from our incredible guides. This is also funny because we always wait for the Spanions. The very first day, we were supposed to meet at the office in Cape Town at 7:45 am. They sauntered in at around 10:00. Whether or not they wanted to start this precedent, it now exists. Our guides always ask us to have an African sense of humor and adventure but to keep European time. I think he should edit that to German time on following trips.

Our first week blends together in bursts of tent set ups and take downs, desert driving, convenience store stops, and regular pull overs for "pee pee in the bush". The ATT is starting to look like the common area of a college dorm. Towels hang from the storage shelf to the seat, drying or blocking the intense sun. Five liter water bottles line the back of the truck. Pillows, iPods, junk food, earphones,tour books lay strewn across every seat. And shoes. There are shoes everywhere- dusty, sand-filled hikers and flip flops. We've stopped a few times, to see the San people, to give some people the option of canoeing in the Orange river, to catch the sunset in beautiful Fish River Canyon. 

But the highlight of this first portion of the trip is disappointingly  named Dune 45. 

Sossusvlei dunes make up what I believe to be one of the largest areas of sand dunes in the world. This is the second oldest desert in the world, with the highest sand dunes, some reaching 3,000 meters high. The dunes are red due to the iron present and the age in which this iron has turned to rust. 

We rise extremely early to climb Dune 45 before sunrise, and are surrounded by people doing the same- the most people in one spot that we have seen since crossing the border into Namibia. The sand is cool and soft, and immediately penetrates everything I have with me. I'm covered in fine rust colored sand, and it's beautiful! The sun rising creates shadows emphasizing the curvature of the dunes, the direction and strength of the wind. Little ridges are formed on the windward side of the dunes, while the leeward side looks like its never been touched. Gazing across the valley, there are dunes as far as you can see, all shadowed beautifully. All with clearly defined ridges. Climbing is restricted to Dune 45 to decrease impact. 

Sitting in the sand, letting it run through my fingers, I am amazed that sand so soft can create such sharp ridges. I'm sad when the sun is finally up in the sky and the shadows start to disappear a bit, and that beautiful iron-rich sand starts to get hot. We climb, roll, run, and slide down the dune like children, and there is a beautiful brunch awaiting us in the parking lot.

We spent the rest of the day in the area, going to a place called Deadvlei in a 4x4, kind of like a dried up oasis. Eventually on the road, the dunes got smaller and lighter in color, and our African massage came to an end abruptly as we reached the coast to a black tarred highway. The temperature dropped from hot desert temperature to windy cold coast in a matter of moments as we pulled over in Walvis Bay to see the flamingos, hundreds of beautiful flamingos in the lagoon beside the road. Looking around at the manicured lawns, and large seaside homes was strange after where we had been. From here we stopped at the Adventure Center, a warehouse of adrenaline sports at our fingertips. Honestly, it felt like an onslaught of marketing, DVDs of people jumping out of airplanes, going four wheeling in the dunes. For the less adventurous, there was a harbor cruise, and a township tour. Honestly, I was a little put off, and opted instead for some unplanned time with as many showers as I wanted. 

Stranger still, after a windy lunch at the Adventure Center, we pulled into the German influenced seaside resort town of Swakupmund. It was nice to have access to Internet and real coffee for a few days, and a break from camping. We ate out each night, said goodbye to one of our fellow travelers, and piled back in the ATT after a refreshing weekend.The serene Namibian desert was behind us, but a new adventure was about to begin.