Noel, noel

Sunday mornings begin best with pancakes, I decided as I tucked into the feast Agnes presented us with. Aunty Terry suggested enjoying them with ripe bananas, a delicious combination. Breakfast is always served with sweet, milky kenyan tea. I can't remember the last time I ate something before church, much less something this divine.

Dressed in our Sunday best, or at least the nicest dresses in our suitcases, we headed off. I assumed the first building with a steeple was our destination, to which Dorothy replied 'no, dear, that's a cult.' After a short drive, we finally arrived at the correct church, which had dozens of dressed up children running around - too cute.

The singing had already begun, so we slipped in and took our seats to the side. Although I didn't understand the lyrics, the melody was quite catchy and I found myself humming along. Aunty Terry seems quite amused by the fact that I join in with the dancing, especially because I'm not even always sure why we are dancing in the first place.

The church was having a carol service, and their choir beautifully harmonised everything from Away in a Manger to The First Noel. When the announcements were being done, the pastor welcomed any visitors. Dorothy whispered to me 'everyone's looking at you,' to which i replied, 'i know, they always are.' Only then did I realize that I was supposed to be standing. Why she didn't just tell me to stand in the first place instead of being so cryptic, I don't know, but I was up on my feet in a shot. A guest speaker from America then explained the importance of Jesus being born of a virgin, and the service ended with the choir singing We Wish You a Merry Christmas.

Outside, Dee introduced me to even more of her family. I'm beginning to wonder if there are many kenyans she isn't related to. Maybe Obama is a distant cousin of hers as well?

When we finally finished greeting everyone, we headed to town for lunch. Aunty Margaret, Tony's mom, joined us at a chinese place, where they had bbq chicken wings for a starter (only in Africa). Dee and I had a laugh at the menu, which listed chicken and pork dishes under the vegetarian section. We eventually managed to place an order for a dish without meat, which we enjoyed amidst animated conversation.

Afterwards, we decided to attempt bargain hunting at the market again. This time, though, we were armed with Aunty Terry's powerful negotiating skills. Despite the fact that the vendors were less passive than those at the first market we'd been to, she managed to work them down to a fraction of their original selling price, much lower than we had managed. At one point though, she sent me away to sit in the shade with Aunty Margaret. Apparently my very presence was driving the cost of items up. Dee and I each walked off with gorgeous beaded handbags, which we celebrated with ice cream.

That night we relaxed at home watching soap operas on tv. It's quite an amusing way to pass the time here. Originally in Spanish, they've been dubbed into English. Between the overdone theatrics, long dramatic pauses, and unsynchronised lip movements, the shows are good for a giggle. Then there are the vicious theats to 'boil one another in their own soups' said with such serious facial expressions that you cannot help but laugh. Funniest of all, though, might be how Dee and her family muse over the events on screen, deciding who deserves their fate and wondering what some characters were thinking. Never a dull moment in Nairobi :)

Food, glorious food

I awoke to the sound of laughter ringing through the house as Aunt Terry and Dee greeted each other at last. She'd just got home from China, where she'd been shopping for stock for her shop. We'd been worried that she might be delayed because the Chinese randomly decided to cancel her flight from Yu to the international airport.

Over breakfast, which included my favourite fruit - juicy, fragrant mangos, she amused us with the story of how she made her flight home on time, including language barrier confusion, crazy taxi rides, and lost plane tickets. We, in turn, told her our travelling tales of ridiculous traffic jams and bursting bladders.

The plans for the day included visiting the Masai Market to shop for authentic kenyan gifts. Tony was supposed to meet us there to help us bargain, but there was a problem with the taxis and so he had to walk, which meant Dee and I were left to navigate the colourful stalls of trinkets alone. Like any woman faced with enormous variety, deciding what to buy proved difficult. There where so many things I wanted to take home, including colourful scarves, carved stone chess sets, and beaded sandals.

But we were no good at haggling at all. Dee felt we were being ripped off, but also felt bad 'taking food out of people's mouths,' while I thought everything was already cheap enough. After an hour of doing the best we could, Tony finally arrived to take us to the taxi rank. It was lucky that he'd made it in time to escort us because we literally had to weave through a maze of streets.

The taxi problem hadn't been solved (something to do with police in nairobi west) but he managed to find a driver heading in our direction. So we bounced along the pavements and squeezed between the traffic in the back of the minibus to the part of town where Dee's aunt and uncle were waiting for us.

Transferring from one vehicle to another, we headed out of town to attend a labola ceremony. The event took place at the groom's family home, which bordered a national park. The stoep behind the house, where a gazebo had been erected and chairs scattered about, overlooked the river bordering the park where zebras could be seen grazing under the thorn trees. What a view!

As soon as I arrived, an adorable 2yr old girl ran up to me and hugged my legs. Apparently, kenyan friendliness is genetic rather than nurtured because even her 3 month old sister seemed to like me, grabbing a fistful of my hair to try and get into her mouth. The little girl stuck by my side through most of the proceedings, playing with my hair and pointing out interesting cloud features and animals.

A late lunch was served to us by waiters in long red aprons, starting us off with salad, followed by meat (which was easy enough to avoid). The main course was served buffet style, which for us vegetarians included salad, rice, mixed vegetables, and mokimo (a kenyan dish of peas and potatoes mashed together). It was really delicious.

Speeches followed in kiSwahili, which Dee translated as best as she could for me. Then, the women all went in to take the bride to see the kitchen, much to my friend's horror ('talk about socialization!') It was quite fun, anyway, with all the singing and dancing. Finally, the bride was presented with a beautiful necklace from her 'mother-in-love' (cute, huh?) to welcome her to the groom's family.

After dessert and coffee were served, it was time for everyone to head home. Unlike back in South Africa where people leave in their own time, here the party had a clear end and everyone jumped into their cars to fight the traffic back into Nairobi together. The going was made especially slow by drivers who decided to make three lanes out of the narrow road, leaving us driving over the dirt and grass. It was by the end of this slow trip that I'd learned a new word 'njinga,' which means idiot.

I got home exhausted and ready for bed only to find that Agnes had prepared dinner. Despite still being full from having just had a big lunch, we sat down to yet another meal. It was delicious as ever, but I couldn't enjoy as much of it as usual. So it was with a very full stomach that I crawled under the covers, which may be why I slept better than I had in the last few days. In kenya, you don't need to worry about going hungry, that's for sure.

Only in Kenya!

The smell of pancakes finally enticed me from my warm bed, where i'd been listening to the world outside waking up. Someone's roosters greeted the dawn, much to the annoyance of the neighbor's dogs. My stomach had been growling since the early hours of the morning, so it was time to kick my dear friend out of bed.

Our plans for the day were fairly vague. They broadly involved going to town and meeting up with Dee's friends. She happily snapped away with her new camera at the important buildings her uncle pointed out as we drove through central Nairobi, eventually arriving at the Stage Market, where her aunt has a shop.

The market is so different to the ones in South Africa, where most vendors specialize in specific products (such as clothing or electronics). Here, though, everyone sells a wide variety of items. While the premisis may be small, it has been efficiently organized to stock a truckload of goods. Aunt Terry's shop displayed everything from wallets to flashlights to kitchen knives, which she sells at wholesale prices to vendors and hawkers.

It was here that I met the mother and brother of Dee's cousin, Villy, who lives in Durban. One thing kenyans cannot be faulted on is their friendliness. When I visited Durban with Dee earlier this year, I was greeted as a friend and left as part of the family. At no point was I ever a stranger.

And it was in this fashion that her aunt margaret and cousin tony welcomed me to the shop. Dee's aunt was excited to have us visiting, I think, because she took us through the market, introducing us to her friends at other shops.

Cultural differences became apparent when an older woman stood to give me her seat, which I respectfully declined. Quickly, Dorothy whispered under her breath, 'Vicky, sit down.' So, I did, dutifully. She explained later that in Kenya it's rude to refuse when someone offers you something, even if it means taking a seat away from an older person.

Her cousin, Tony, offered to take us through town, knowing full well that we'd get hopelessly lost on our own. Our first stop was to see a very good friend of Dee's, who she hadn't seen in 7 years. As the two glossed over the events they'd missed in each other's lives, I played around on Tony's phone, one which isn't available in South Africa yet. I was shocked to find out how cheap it was to buy brand new in Nairobi - less than a third of what we pay in South Africa. No need to travel to the East to buy cheap electronics, it seems...

Wandering the crowded streets and weaving through the taxis can really work on one's appetite, so we headed off to a busy restaurant. There were no tables free, but apparently what counts is seating availability. We were simply added to a table of people we didn't know, where we proceeded to have lunch while being ignored by them. It was bizarre.

Before we left, we decided to make use of the 'washroom' as they are called here. Another weird kenyan phenomenon awaited us - the toilets are sunken so that the rim is level with the ground and you have to squat over it. For the first time, I realized how difficult it is to aim when you pee. But hey, at least dirty toilet seats are not a problem.

Tony insisted that we try Tuskers, the local brew, so we headed off to a pub that overlooked the street from the second floor. The street is a lot more interesting at a safe vantage point where you can see what people get up to, and Dee and I had fun commenting on what different people were wearing. The beer wasn't too bad, I suppose, but I'm not really a beer person. It gets better the more you drink it, anyway. ;)

One of Dee's friends from Botswana, Nelly, came to join us. She excitedly announced that she was getting married, and wanted the scoop on married life from me. When I showed her a photo of my husband, she reasoned that it was a good thing i got a ring onto his finger before another women got hold of his good looking self. What can I say? She got me ;)

The plan was to take a taxi home, but the queues in the streets were worryingly long. Tony explained that it wasn't a problem because most people were waiting for the fares drop as the night wore on. Nevertheless, we still had to push our way on and grab a seat on the vehicle destined to get us home.

While taxis in kenya drive as badly (if not worse) as those in South Africa, its actually a lot less irritating when you are being transported by one. For one thing, it's faster. By ramping pavements and forcing their way between other cars, they keep moving when everyone else is standing still. We had a few close shaves and I think our taxi might've removed someone's side mirror, but driving in nairobi is never fast enough to be dangerous. The traffic is just too bad. I will never complain about a traffic jam on the N1 ever again.

Actually, the trip was quite a lot of fun. The driver had the radio turned up and dee and I sang along and boogied in our seats. But maybe thats just novelty speaking...

Another adventure begins...

Settling into married life hasn't made for great blogging moments simply because not much has really changed yet. As Kev and I both work from home, we saw each other every day before we were married, so its not that strange living together now. It also didn't take long for me to become dissatisfied with my desk job and develop an overwhelming desire to hit the road again.

By chance, that opportunity came sooner than expected when my dearest kenyan friend got sent to nairobi on business and realized that it was a great opportunity to take me home to meet her family. I already had a ticket to kenya, as I'll be climbing kilimanjaro in two weeks. The timing couldn't be better. :)

Despite the fact that Kevin didn't think I could get myself onto the plane without problems, i had a very pleasant flight, had a really lovely lunch (bizarrly, i love airline food), and chatted at length to a kenyan man about married life, the environment, corruption, and traffic. The four hours literally flew by.

I also breezed through the kenyan airport. My bag arrived first on the carosel, there was no queue at customs, and dorothy was eagerly waiting for me as i walked through the sliding doors. After excited hugs, kisses, and greetings, we hurried through the rain to her uncle's car and headed home.

Barely a few minutes out of the airport, we hit the traffic my fellow passenger had warned me about as our plane came in to land. It was also at about that point that I realized that I should've visited the bathroom before leaving the airport. As we sat motionless bumper to bumper, I wondered if i couldn't just jog back to the airport quickly in my desperation.

Amusingly, street hawkers came along between the cars trying to sell their junk. Unlike South Africa, where these persistent salesmen hang around traffic lights, here they patrol the highway in peak traffic. Dorothy was tempted to purchase some roasted nuts until her uncle revealed the unhygeinic conditions under which they are prepared. She decided to suppress her hunger until we got home and dinner was served.

Meanwhile, I tried to suppress my need to pee. The pressure building up in my bladder was worsened by the jerky motion of sudden breaking as people cut in front of us (when we were actually moving). Worse still, the close shaves, constant hooting, and general lack of clear road rules is enough to make you want to wet yourself even without a full bladder.

Three hours later (almost as long as my flight), we finally arrived at dee's uncle's home. Thankfully, clean bathrooms, delicious food, and warm beds were waiting for us. Having been up since 4am (why do I struggle to sleep when I'm excited?), I was quite eager to collapse into bed. However, when dee and i start talking, there's no stopping us, and it was nearly midnight when i finally fell asleep. But who needs sleep when on holiday? Not me, apparently, I realized when I found myself wide awake again at 3am...

In case I needed any more reasons to love living in South Africa, this weekend I realized one more. A couple from Kev's town in Switzerland has come to do a six month tour of Southern Africa (including Namibia, Botswana, Zambia, Malawi, and Mozambique). For the last ten days or so, they've been staying with us while they get organized.

Poor Kev spent the whole of last week helping them buy a landrover defender, get it reregistered, and take out insurance. Then he took them shopping for equipment, a tent, sleeping bags etc. He also helped them to plan a route because the poor things didn't really have a clear idea of what they wanted to do besides 'see Africa.' I think he was quite glad to finally see them get on their way this morning so that he can finally get onto his own work.

Ensuring that they remained fed became my department. This was a bit tricky because all I ever eat is salads, which our two rather large guests might not find filling enough. So, it was time to expand my culinary skills a little (which I must confess normally meant buying wholegrain bread to go with my salads).

Anyway, I eat a lot of fruit too, and now that the delicious summer variety is available, my gran took me to the food lovers market, where we stocked up on everything in season - pineapples, strawberries, blueberries, kiwis, and whatnot. Actually, we also found some imported treasures that aren't in season yet, such as litchis (which were completely overpriced - two cupped handfuls costing half the price of a whole box in december).

We also spotted some tiny mangos (no bigger than an avocado) each marked at the price of a whole bag. They didn't even smell like anything. Whatever country grew them should come here for a few tips because they didn't do a great job, in my opinion.

In the opinion of our Swiss guests, though, it was not only an average sized mango, but also heavily discounted compared to what they're used to at home. Boy, are they in for a surprise when december comes around and boxes of giant, fragrant, juicy mangos will be available along the road. They'll cry themselves to sleep when they're finally back in their cold, fruitless society.

I served them the kind of breakfast you can only enjoy South of the equator, spreading out all the fruit we'd picked up at the market. To my absolute horror, I discovered that they'd never eaten fresh figs and didn't even know what a guava was! I cannot see myself surviving long in a country with such a limited and expensive fresh fruit variety. It's such a sad state of affairs that I feel genuinely sorry for them.

Of course Kevin, always jumping to Switzerland's defense, tried to convince me that I'd get used to it if I lived there. He survived quite happily for almost two decades in Zurich, after all. However, when he got back from his night away with friends (Thomas' bachelor party), he was craving salad even though he normally complains that it's all I make to eat. Apparently they ate no fruit or veg while away at all, and he actually missed it. So maybe living in a country where fruit costs a fortune would get to him too, now that he's used to abundance. I mean, we've got granadillas, mulberries, plums, figs, and cherry tomatoes growing in the garden for free!

As I savoured the sweet pawpaw I'd got for breakfast this morning, I considered again how lucky I am to be African. And when Christmas comes around and the litchis and mangos are cheaper, bigger, and juicier than the sad little imports, I suspect the Swiss adventurers will wish they were too. ;)

Three times a charm

It sounds a bit strange to refer to my second and third wedding when I've only been married to one man for a month. A family friend pointed out that I'm having a true African wedding by dragging it out for as long as possible. Nevertheless, the grand finale was well worth waiting for.

Although we'd been home for a week, there was still so much to prepare for that it didn't quite feel like we were back in the 'real world' yet. I had a nervous pms-induced moment where I worried that my wedding dress wouldn't fit. It actually kept me up one night. Despite Kev's assurances that I hadn't gained weight, I snuck upstairs to try the dress on with Nicole during the pamper party my gran threw for me the night before our reception. To my immense relief, it zipped up easily.

The next day, it actually struggled to stay up during our photo shoot at casablanca manor, a victorian-style venue decorated with towering columns, curtains of chiffon, and glittering fairy lights. Eventually, we had to resort to double-sided tape to hold it up. Kev looked sexy as ever, though, in his fitted pinstripe suit that was decorated with a white rose corsage, which matched the beautiful bouquet Suna had made for me.

During our speech, instead of tossing it to all the single ladies (a silly tradition anyway), I presented my flowers to my grandmother as a very small token of appreciation for EVERYTHING she's done for us. My grandad later told me that he'd been impressed by how Kev and I presented our speech together, making it possible for us both to thank our immediate family without becoming repetitive. By sticking to our script, I managed to hold myself together, but Kev eventually broke down when he decided to suprise me by detailing his love for me in front of everyone. Considering that he's normally against public displays of affection and generally not prone to emotional displays, I was incredibly moved by his speech. I still am when I think about it, actually.

After a delicious meal (with something vegetarian prepared especially for me, since Kev insisted on meat for everyone else), we opened the dance floor with a foxtrot to Nat King Cole's L.O.V.E - actually, it was more of a fox slide thanks to the very slippery floor. It didn't help that the dance area had been decorated with dry leaves scattered into a heart shape. While it looked lovely, it made it very difficult to get a sure foot. Hopefully, we managed to pull it off, though, especially because we'd been working on our routine since the beginning of this year.

Cutting the cake was a lot less difficult. Considering it was our third, though, we already had plenty of practice. From when we'd arrived earlier that day, everything turned out better than we'd expected. The candlelit hall looked prettier than we thought it would, the food was better than we expected, and the cake had been decorated exactly the way we wanted it. Thick white icing covered in little hearts and edged off with ribbon was blanketed over three tiers of chocolate, carrot, and amarula fudge cake, with hearts shooting from the top of the cake and fresh red roses spilling over the sides.

The best part of the evening, though, was when everyone took to the dance floor. While many of the older folk decided to say their goodbyes and call it a night at this point, I was surprised to see my gran, her sister Eve, and their friends boogying away. While Kev's Afrikaans cousins sokkied around the floor, their children tried their hand at an amusing version of the langarm, which basically meant marching around with one arm rigidly extended. Kev's parents waltzed a bit when the music slowed, and my grandad took my gran for a twirl as well. Even Sophie, who has been working for our family since I was born, got down alongside Jemina, Piet, and Johnston. The show was stolen by my cousin Dawson, though, who had just done a fabulous job as MC. Empty champagne bottle in hand, he became the life of the party as he played up to the camera with attention-demanding dance moves and antics.

Eventually and inevitably, it all had to come to an end. Kev and I retired to the honeymoon suit, which had been beautifully decorated with rose petals and candles. We collapsed into bed, ignoring the outdoor jacuzzi bath set with two glasses and a bottle of champagne, exhausted but completely thrilled by how well the evening had turned out.

And, just like that, it was all over. After enjoying the breakfast spread the staff had laid out for us in the morning sun, we packed up the remnants of our celebration and headed back to Pretoria. Well, it was almost over... There were still all those presents to unwrap!

Homeward bound

The border wasn't a big deal at all, and we breezed through so effortlessly that we wondered why the control post even existed. On the South African side, we didn't even need to fill in a form. They just registered our details electronically. The nice lady even spotted our 'just married' sign and congratulated us. Only a few meters into our country and already the toilets are a hundred times better than at our last stop. As Kev got back into the car to wait for me, a policeman that had been investigating the bakkie approached. Murphey would've been held responsible if we'd been fined for the missing number plate on our last day, but it turns out that he didn't even notice. He'd merely come to enquire what the white stuff coating our car was. He'd never heard of Etosha.

We thought we might stop in Zeerust for lunch, but we could just as well book at table in sunnyside, so we pushed on. Traffic is so much worse here than it's been over the last three weeks. Kev reckons it must be so stressful for people in Namibia and Botswana to come and be surrounded by rushing cars. Rustenburg and Brits also came and went, but I managed to will-wrestle Kev into stopping at Hartebeespoort Dam (he just wanted to finish the last stretch and get home). Since it's our last day, I want to make the most of the few minutes we've got left, but he's already begun worrying about business again. Last night, I woke up because he was chatting to someone in someone in Swiss German in his sleep. As first, I actually thought he was on the phone with his mom, before remembering that I'd switched it off so that the late night banking smses wouldn't wake us. He argues silently with himself while driving too, which is rather cute.

Since it was a bit of a detour off our intended route, Kevin wasn't highly impressed with the charming craft markets lining the streets or the quaint wooden cottage called Pick-a-Pancake where we stopped for a late lunch. Kevin picked a very chocolatey pancake filled with chocolate ice cream, topped with chocolate sauce, and served with a chocolate flake. Since he just wanted to get home, unpack, and sleep, he wasn't thrilled that I needed to run back to the restaurant for my sunglasses I'd forgotten there (not the first time I'd made that mistake). Browsing the curios was very much out of the question. Nevertheless, the drive was pretty, and it was interesting to see how much the town had grown since the last time either of us was there.

We're finally back in Pretoria now, though we have somehow managed to get ourselves lost in town during peak traffic. There's nothing that makes you realize your holiday's over faster than the sound of sirens, hooters, and loud radios blaring as you try to negotiate random taxi stops and hoards of jaywalking pedestrians. Well, we'll soon be home and faced with the enormous task of unpacking and cleaning everything. The very thought has made Kev yawn loudly. I must confess that an afternoon nap would suit me right now too, but in my case it's simply procrastination.

Money can't buy you class

The only downside to Kang is that it's quite noisy at night. At all hours, trucks pull in at the petrol station to fill up. Luckily, though, we only have 600km left to get us home, so we slept in a little. The restaurant advertised a full breakfast for 60 pula, which probably means bacon and eggs (neither of which i eat) so we decided to give it a miss. We keep forgetting that the pula is a bit stronger than the rand, so when we pulled up to the diesel pump, Kev asked the attendant for 400 worth of fuel but didn't specify the currency. Luckily, he realized that his two R200 notes weren't going to cut it before the tank had filled up too much. It did mean that we didn't have any change to tip the attendant with, which might be why he didn't want to check our tyre pressure. While it was chilly this morning, it's warmed up nicely now, improving our wheels without the help of the jilted guy at the filling station.

It's a good thing we filled up this morning because, when I forced Kev to stop and let me find a loo, both the caltex and bp were swarming with cars at the small settlement we stopped at. I didn't even go in the end because they were horribly filthy, missing their seats, and there wasn't even an empty toilet roll. Worse, though, was that a man followed me in to the ladies toilets, so I did a very sharp u-turn. According to Wikipedia, Botswana has the highest Hiv rate in Africa (70% of the workforce), and I'm not taking any risks.

Considering how poor everyone seems to be (and the awful condition everything is in), you wonder how on earth they've managed to earn a stronger currency. According to Wiki, it's because they've been relying so heavily on their exports of conflict-free diamonds worldwide. Apparently their economy is declining, though, and they're going to need to come up with some way to pick up the mining slack. They better think fast because it's not looking good for the shopkeeper in Sekoma.

It just goes to show that having a strong economy doesn't necessarily mean your country will have less poor people. Along the whole highway between Namibia and South Africa, the only spot worth a visit is Kang. For the other hundreds of kilometers it's just rural settlements where not much is going on. You'd think living next to a major highway would provide ample opportunity for commercial enterprises (such as restaurants, filling stations, and truck stops), but it isn't. There's just Kang.

At least the government has kept this highway in good condition. We passed some guys working on it as we left the dodgey toilets at Jwaneng behind us and pushed on to the border. The road's so good, in fact, that a big bus came speeding past us at 140km. We tried keeping up for a bit, but he disappeared quickly. I'd hate to be on board when a cow suddenly decides to cross the road ahead. Even the 80 sign didn't slow him down. I suppose we can assume, however, that public transport in this country is speedy.

Once we got past Kanye, the scenery suddenly got prettier, with cute little koppies made of rocks and lovely views of the bush as we travelled through the hills. Between that and this entry (and the awesome Smashmouth cd Kev put on), I've managed to distract myself from my discomfort. We've just hit the border post, and I'm hoping we'll get through as quickly as we got in because I've given up on this country's toilets. I'd rather knuip until we get to a half-decent ultra-stop in Zeerust. It's inconceivable that anything worse can be waiting for me there.

Life is a highway...

The soundtrack of the Disney animation Cars is a lot of fun to listen to while driving, the Stanley Flatt song (number 3) being my personal favourite. Obviously, for a three week long trip, you're going to need more than one or two cds, though. Well, maybe it's not that obvious because, just before we left, Kev threw together two disks of mp3s for us to listen to. Although it comes to 200 songs, you'd be surprised by how quickly you get through them. By the time we got to Augrabies on our first night, I was already sick of ACDC and Ramstein. Luckily, our families were only leaving the next day to meet us at Wolwedans, so I asked my sisters and dad to bring some music along. We now have a pretty impressive collection that we haven't been able to get through completely.

In Etosha, we opted for silence, enjoying the sounds of the bush instead. We actually haven't figured out how to switch off my dad's bakkie's front loader, so we just turned the volume all the way down. Now, as we head to the Botswana border where we'll return to South Africa at last, Kev's turned the music off again, preferring my fabulous conversation (which is actually divided because I'm writing this at the same time). Actually, it's because he's in the mood for some peace and quiet (he's admonished me a few times for taking advantage of my poetic licence...)

As we drive, he's been unsuccessfully trying to figure out what goes on in the minds of birds. He can't understand why, over time, they haven't figured out not to fly low over the road. Why don't the mommy birds teach it to their babies? We've found the best practice is to let someone overtake us and then drive a reasonable distance behind them, letting the car ahead scare off the pigeons. We're also hoping that any upcoming traffic cops will pull our trailblazing friend off instead of us. Since Kev's quite a responsible driver, diligently slowing down to 80 when the sign indicates (which I must admit that I probably wouldn't do) and speeding up when it becomes legal to do so, we didn't really have anything to worry about when the cops would pull us over to check our licenses. That was before our front number plate fell off somewhere in Etosha, though. Now we're just waiting for that fine to come.

This concern has made Kevin an even more paranoid driver than usual. It was bad enough when he'd make me jump out the car every hundred kilometers or so because he was so concerned about getting a flat on Namibia's dirt roads. Now he also worries that every idiot standing on the side of the highway is a traffic officer. As we've passed few cars (hardly any at all in Namibia), any vehicle parked at a picnic spot does begin to look suspicious. I'm not the type to encourage corruption, so I was amused to hear two Afrikaans oomies at the border exchanging stories about the fines they received in Botswana that they couldn't bribe their way out of. As you drive through the gate, there's a big sign warning that the officials here have a zero-tolerance policy. Luckily, we haven't been pulled over for our missing number plate yet.

I don't know why those oomies would risk speeding fines anyway because there are so many donkeys, goats, and cows grazing next to the road. Even at 120km/h, hitting one of those if they decided to cross in front of us would result in a serious accident, so Kev slows down a lot when we pass a herd too (which is every few kms or so). We can't actually figure out why there are so many donkeys milling about. If they're used to pull carts, why are there tons of them just hanging around doing nothing? Maybe no one cares about them so they're just breeding on their own. Or maybe they're eaten here. But who do they belong to? There's no shepherd, no fences, nothing. It's seriously free range because it's not as though you only need to watch out for them near the settlements. They're all over the show. Where do they even find water? Maybe my dear friend Dorothy, who went to school here, can explain this mystery to me.

It's a bit annoying that the cattle is reducing our average speed so much because the bag of cherry tomatoes and cucumber I've had for breakfast in the car (we decided to give the set menu at Kang a skip as I wasn't likely to eat half of what they dished up) has been juiced by my body and made its way through my kidneys. Perhaps that's the answer to the water question above - maybe the animals get some of what they need from their food.

Finally, something to see at Kang

I've decided that boredom is all about perception. When your new husband steals both your pillows to prop himself up while watching sport, you can easily forget that you're perfectly capable of entertaining yourself if you want to. Most writers are blessed with a hyperactive imagination, which no amount of televised athletics can suppress. Sometimes, though, even the best of us can stagnate, needing some stimulation to overcome our blocks.

For me, tonight, it occured when we entered the Kang restaurant for dinner and a very loud bang alerted me to the fact that a white single cab bakkie had almost run my husband over, luckily halted by the sliding glass door it smashed into. From what we can gather, the driver started his vehicle in first gear without putting his clutch in, so it jumped forward into the restaurant's front door. Even everyone from the bar in the back went outside for a look, much to the annoyance of the driver. He was eventally reduced to a shouting match when the manager showed up to discuss the cost of fixing the damaged sliding door.

Eventually the hullaballoo died down, and we were able to look over the menu and place our order. It was only at that point that I realized this is the first time we've dined at a mostly local restaurant. Having stuck to the tourist hotspots thus far, we've shared all our meals in Namibia with a mix of foreigners or South Africans. As the only real stop on the Trans-Kalahari Highway, though, Kang restaurant attracts all sorts. Two other whities completely decked out in camo gear showed up before we'd paid our bill, one with a very stylish Percy Montgomery hairstyle (lovely shoulder-length blonde locks). As they walked in, we assumed by their silly getup that they were touries in their safari outfits, but our perception changed when we overheard them conversing in afrikaans. Our guess is that the AWB has moved their base to Botswana where they can plan their resistance without arousing suspicion. This intricate theory is based entirely on the fact that the percy-wannabe kept checking up on their bakkie every few minutes, as if he'd double parked in a dark alley in hillbrow. His buddy, who we've dubbed Eugene (can you guess his namesake?) kept the waitress on toes.

Not that there was anything about her service to complain about. So far, it's been much speedier than what we started getting used to in Namibia. We also had a suprisingly good meal. We'd placed our usual order, which has become the game steak for Kevin. You could hear them pounding it in the back while we waited. It's quite funny how a dull banging sound always eminates from the kitchen soon after he's ordered his dinner - every single time. I'm glad my veggies don't need to be beaten into submission.

Back at our bungalow, Kev's watching the athletic controversy unfold, where a female South African's gender authenticity is being called into question because she's outrunning the Europeans by suspicious distances. Gripping stuff. Hopefully the tension will wear me out and I'll sleep nice and late tomorrow. Kev, on the other hand is going to get less sleep than he needs because he's stayed up so late watching tv (thank goodness we don't have one in our bedroom back home).

He's just asked me what time it is, so I suggested he guess. He thinks it's 9pm. Only when I read this entry to him before I post it will he find out that it's actually 11. It's my way of getting him back for ignoring me in favour of sport... ;)

A bird in the bush is worth two at Kang

We crossed the Tropic of Capricorn with little fanfare (apparently Botswana doesn't think it's very cool to have a prominent line of latitude running through the country because there wasn't so much as a sign to indicate where it is, leaving us to guesstimate), and we've arrived at Kang without further incident. Well, we did come across a few more suicidal birds, but Kev's driving more carefully now, so we avoided anymore horrible collisions. Despite the fact that we've seen no game since arriving in Botswana, we've spotted a few interesting birds along the way, including an eagle, a few lilac-breasted rollers, and many yellow-billed hornbills. You can tell we were getting a bit bored when we began getting excited about the same birds we saw so frequently in Etosha. While hanging around the Park's waterholes, we'd also spotted the resident egyptian geese, the enormous kori bustards, the curious pied crow, the insect-nabbing fork-tailed drongos, the giant-nest-building sociable weavers, a few hungry vultures, and of course, the common ostrich that loved to parade in the distance and look like something interesting until you got the binocs out and discovered you'd been fooled.

We haven't seen much besides pigeons since arriving in Kang, though, possibly because the busy petrol station chases all the interesting fowls away. Maybe there's something to spot in the bush behind the campsite here, which is otherwise largely unimpressive. The cutest campsite we've seen so far has been the one by the dinosaur tracks, which will certainly earn a visit from us on our next trip (which we've decided will be done in tents). If we come via Botswana, though, we'll definitely book out one of these bungalows again. Despite being warned not to expect much by my dad, we've found the accomodation to be utterly charming. For a change, we get to share a bed, with a log headboard that forms the focal point of the African-theme that's carried through to the curtains, mirrors, and bathroom. Not too big or small, our room opens up onto the swimming area, which has been designed to look like a rock pool (very similar to the valley of waves in sun city). The restaurant has also incorporated log furniture (I wonder if they got a discount somewhere), giving it a very cosy feel. There's also a quaint little shop here selling local delicacies and branded souveniers (such as the beanie stack pictured here).

The only problem is that there's not much to do, which is why I assume they've included satellite tv in the chalets. As we've already filmed and photographed just about everything we can find, I'm at a bit of a loss of what to do. Kev's watching athletics (super boring) on dstv while backing up all our footage and images, so he's not providing much in the way of quality company, he's forbidden me from visiting the shop, and dinner won't be served for another hour. This entry is practically finished now, too, which has been keeping me busy thus far.

What now?

Maybe I should grab the binocs, head for the boundery fence, and hope to spot a pretty bird or two.

Toto, we're not in Namibia anymore...

I was feeling rather desperate by the time we got to the Trans-Kalahari Border Post, only to find that they didn't have any water, so the toilets were out of order. Luckily, though, we got through quickly and without any problems. We didn't even need to explain why we were missing our front number plate. A traffic cop stopped to inquire about it yesterday, letting us continue on our way when Kev explained that we'd lost it in Etosha somewhere - an offense that would've earned us a spot fine in Mozambique for sure. No one on the Botswana side seemed to care either. In fact, they didn't even stop us to check that our passports had been stamped as we drove through. Guess they're not too concerned about illegal immigrants from Namibia.

I made Kevin stop at the first Engen that came along and quickly discovered that we'd stopped a few kms too far, having left the spotless bathrooms behind at the border. With the cracked plastic toilet seat, sticky floor, missing toiletpaper rolls, and empty soap dispensers, I almost felt back at home in South Africa. They also charge for their plastic bags here like they do back home, a practice I forgot about while in Namibia.

It's weird how quickly things can change. The signs warning of antelope crossing the road now order you to keep an eye out for cattle. The grazing warthogs have been replaced by herds of goats, and the fences lining the farms along the highway have disappeared. Luckily, we don't need to take any dirt roads while we're here because we've passed a few and I don't think Kev has enough 4x4 experience to take them on just yet. Despite the warnings we'd received from numerous sources, we found the dusty Namibian roads to be in better condition than some South African tar roads. Kev even joked that we might be able to push this Hilux to 160 on the endless, long, straight stretches (but don't worry, dad, we only did it on the tarred roads). Cellular reception continues to come and go in patches, as it has been doing since we left South Africa. I hope we'll find signal in Kang, where we're stopping for the night.

We've got another 150km to go, and it's only 3 in the afternoon (we've lost an hour, running on South African time again), so we're making much better time than expected, even though Kev's driving more carefully to avoid anymore road kills. Now I feel even more guilty about missing breakfast this morning, considering how eager the bored waiter was to see us. I doubt there will be much waiting for us at Kang, and at this rate we're going to arrive quite early. Even the scenery has become less interesting, something we didn't experience in Namibia where we even travelled through pretty mountain passes around Windhoek (so much nicer than the drive between Pretoria and Joburg). Botswana is actually one of my favourite African countries, so it's a pity that we're clipping a rather uninteresting bit. Kev's never been here before and is unimpressed so far as it looks a lot like the Northern Province. I'll have to bring him back sometime to prove it's worth visiting.

I must confess, though, that I think Namibia's become my new favourite. But maybe service will prove to be slightly speedier here. We can only hope.

My own Dr Dolittle

I have to laugh when Kevin starts practicing wildlife psychology. His main ideas are based on the first few tiers of Maslow's heirarchy - animals need food, water, and safety. What's cute is how he'll make claims with the authority of an expert, saying things like, 'if you're a lion, that's exactly what you want.' A good example is that the reason, according to him, grassland animals stick to the plains is because they can see predators coming from a distance - 'exactly what they want.' And how does my Swiss husband know exactly what an African zebra wants? 'It's obvious,' he says with the authority of a wildlife documentary commentator.

I do wonder, though, what goes on in the mind of animals when they visit the rest camp waterholes. Whenever they arrive for a drink, there are always these weird silent creatures up in the koppie just staring, with the occasional flashing lights. It would totally freak me out. I suppose they're used to it by now because when a huge herd of elephants paraded in last night (kev counted 18 of them), they didn't give us a second glance. Yet, I doubt they trust us considering that they sent two scouts in first to make sure it was safe (exactly what a herd with three cute little dumbos wants).

The rhinos, on the other hand, do find the whole setup a bit spooky, I think, because they tend to stand motionless for ages, just listening and staring back. Maybe that's normal rhino behaviour, but they didn't seem comfortable to me. The bachelor and his hyena drinking buddy returned twice last night. They make such an odd couple ('the weirdest herd I've ever seen,' as Sid the Sloth from Ice Age would say) that you wonder what benefit there is in their relationship? Maybe the rhino offers the hyena protection and chases predators away from their kills, giving the scavenger something to chew on - exactly what a hyena wants. Ha, I can do this amateur animal psychology thing too!

One thing that doesn't take a lot of imagination is working out what's going on in the mind of the drunken afrikaaner. At dinner, a table of them were loudly regaling each other with tales of sexual exploits, apparently assuming no one could understand their slurred afrikaans. Later, during the lag between the elephant and rhino arrivals, the group of them noisily showed up to find not much going on. Luckily, the groot man waved his hand dismissively and yelled 'man, there's bladdie fokkol going on here,' and turned to leave, with other men trailing and the women cackling behind him. Kev reckons they were all heading off to one cabin, which actually wouldn't surprise me either.

They must've felt their stupidity very acutely this morning because we didn't spot them at breakfast, where we were served the usual buffet. Too busy pouring over the map and reading the travel log in the blue file of awesomeness, I only dished up a few sliced tomatoes that I added a bit of tobasco to. After a few bites, I thought 'wow, that's good,' so I dished up another plate as well. Horrified, Kev has vowed not to visit me in hospital if I develop kidney stones. I, however, let the old wives lose sleep over things like that...

Having packed up camp rather quickly (it's a lot easier to pull down than put up), we got off to an early start. The nice thing about camping in winter is that, while everything may need a good dusting, nothing gets wet and muddy. On the drive to Namutoni, where we decided to fill up (and I secretly got some wooden hair pins at the curio shop), we passed two little steenbokkies that were grazing along the road. They clearly valued safety over sateity, hightailing it into the bush as we came speeding along in our now-grey double cab. Actually, Kev's been sticking to the speed limit of 60km/h, it just feels really fast on a bumpy dirt road. It felt painfully slow, however, on the tarred roads between Namutoni and Von Lindequist Gate, where we've finally left our sandy tracks behind us for good (the road from here on will be paved). At the gate, we thought we'd been ripped off because the lady charged us R650 before she'd open the boom, but she couldn't give us a receipt. As we we whisked past three warthogs having breakfast beyond the park borders, Kev made me phone the Namibia Wildlife Resorts' head office to check, and it turned out the fee was legitimate. We were supposed to have paid it at the reception when we checked in. Considering there's no record of us having given anyone the money, I think it's the Etosha National Park that got ripped off instead of us. But that's what happens when you're too apathetic to correct an inefficient system. This is a classic example of African psychology - getting a nice bonus for doing pretty much nothing... exactly what every official wants.

Playing it by the book

Curious to see what we'd find at the little dot on the map titled Sprokieswoud (translated from Afrikaans as 'Ghostly Forest'), Kev and I skipped breakfast to make the 90km trek to the other side of Etosha. Stopping in Okaukuejo on the way, I finally picked up a guide book (a bit late considering this is our last day here) which gives you a chart of the animals you're likely to see at each waterhole. Although we've been doing quite well on our own so far, I highly recommend picking up one of these, especially if you're eager to hunt down the big 5 (which is actually not possible since there are no buffalo in Etosha). For a tiny book, it's a bit expensive at R100 (although not quite as bad as the R600 the lady tried to charge me before I pointed out her error), but while it's already falling apart, so far it's proven to be invaluable. Thanks to it, we know that the gnarled phantom trees were mangled by the elephants feeding on them. This is the only place in the world that they grow on a plain, an unexplained phenomenon, as normally the Moringa trees find protection on rocky hillsides. Only in a country of grasslands and desert dunes could this loose collection of trees pass as a forest. As they're situated in lion territory, leaving the car to get more interesting pictures of them is out of the question (the nearby picnic area is enclosed by a rather formidable fence), which was a bit unfortunate.

Our verdict: unless you've got little else to do, are very interested in weird botanical features, and are staying at the nearest rest camp, rather just get a postcard. At least the drive there is a scenic one, with the usual herds scattered about. Instead of heading straight back to Okaukuejo for lunch as planned, we followed the guide book's suggestion to check out a far-flung waterhole on the way, which is the only spot where water can be found in the area during winter 'and at this time is frequented by thousands of animals.' This was no exaggeration, we soon discovered, offering Kevin ample photo opportunities of game set against the white salty backdrop. We even spotted a poor little mouse scurrying away from a cape fox.

The book also includes little write-ups about the animals (although no mention is made of Kev's little 'crocodiles' that we saw two more of today), so we read about the ground squirrel as we passed dozens of them foraging along the side of the road. The book clearly warns that travellers shouldn't feed them because they then learn to wait in the road for vehicles and could get run over accidentally by bird watchers with their eyes in the air. Clearly, few take heed of this notice because, as we stopped to film the little critters having lunch, they came right up to the wheels of our bakkie hoping for tidbits. We had to wait for them to lose interest before driving off to ensure we didn't unnecessarily create roadkill and end up feeding the jackals instead.

Arriving 30 minutes too early for lunch, we decided to check out the Okaukuejo watering hole. To our amazement, the pool was very busy, with zebra and springbuck coming and going. Some gemsbok (which kev keeps referring to as oryx, highlighting our very different cultural backgrounds) decided to go in for a dip, making for interesting pictures. We wondered why they choose to live in the desert when they appear to love water so much. Some warthog, which the book claims are unlikely to stop by, had a quick drink as well. By contrast, a herd of kudu cautiously took their time, with the four male buck keeping a sharp eye out for trouble. They needn't have worried about the two jackals pacing back and forth, however, as they did little other than occasionally frighten the zebra out of the water. Two of the black and white striped youngsters got a bit bored, so they began fighting with each other. It appears that, to win the game, one needs to force the other's head down, creating a lot of dust and squeeky yapping sounds. I think we'll easily be able to spend the rest of the afternoon here before heading back to our camp.

The book says Halali waterhole is the best spot to wait for a leopard, and pulling an all nighter practically assures a sighting. I doubt I'll be able to convince my husband to try that, especially since we have a full day of driving ahead of us tomorrow. But maybe if I ask nicely, we can get up early and see if one comes by after a nocternal hunt. I've given kev enough late mornings so far, I think.

Unbelievable? Believe it!

We've arrived at our local waterhole to find not one, but three rhinos having a drink in the dark. Two enormous parents and their very cute baby. Unfortunately, it's too dark to take photos, and the family was already leaving by the time we got the video camera. Hopefully, though, it's a sample of what's waiting for us tomorrow in the daylight, like the lions last night were. Maybe if we wait here long enough, we'll get that leopard too...

Keeping our bush eyes peeled

While I'm not known for my strong eyesight, and Kevin loves to mock me about my poor level of observation, I do like to think that I've got a good set of bush eyes thanks to all the practice I've had at my gradparent's game farm growing up. Nevertheless, when we first got here, I wasn't even able to spot a giraffe directly ahead of us in the road unless Kevin pointed it out to me. When I did 'see' something, it would turn out to be an anthill or dead tree stump (which I got mocked about repeatedly). Luckily, though, Kev's vision is 20/20 (a fact he's very proud of) and he spotted plenty of stuff for us to photograph since arriving in Etosha.

Eventually, though, I've got back into the swing of things, starting with the three dikdiks I noticed yesterday (which turned out to be the most interesting sighting of the day). Today, I'm proud to report that I spotted a pack of hyenas lounging about the waterhole. One of them was actually up to his neck in the water. I had no idea hyenas swam, but we have the photos to prove it. I also filmed them having a bit of a squabble over some meat they were defending from two opportunistic wild dogs.

As we drove to another of the blue dots on our map, I was thinking how nice it is to be African because Kev and I are not driven by the ridiculous compulsion to see the Big 5, unlike all the Italians in their bulky tour busses. Over the span of our lives, we're likely to see them all at some point, possibly a few times, so there's no rush now. We're seeing such amazing variety all the time here. You can't drive a kilometer without seeing something else. Considering that there's only a tiny strip of this park that we're actually allowed to drive, it's really packed with wildlife. Despite that, though, I was thinking that it would be nice to see a cheetah, my favourite of the big cats.

Well, we didn't see one, but two resting in the shade of a thorn tree. Since I had cheetahs on my mind, it seemed possible that the shape in the distance was merely a figment of my imagination. When I told Kevin to pull over, he reckoned it was just an oddly shaped rock... until it moved. Very quickly, he reversed so that we could get a better view that was not interrupted by trees. As we watched, a second head popped up. Mommy was watching over her baby - too cute for words!

When they lay down, it was impossible to see them in the grass, so we'd actually been quite lucky, and I was feeling rather proud of my find. Funnily enough, every time she disappeared, a car would come by, see nothing, figure we were bird watching, and move on. Quite a few cars passed us before one finally rolled down his window to ask what we were looking at. By then, though, the main show was over. While we'd seen her get up, stretch, and move around during the gap between vehicles coming by, she only popped her head up occasionally after the crowd began accumulating. We'd also nabbed the best viewing spot by that time, so I think we're the only ones with photographs worthy of National Geographic. The nice thing about cheetahs is that they have a very distinct silhoette, so I think the pictures will be stunning. Kev's just realized that he needs to get a longer lens so that he can take even closer shots. We saw a guy with a camera that looks like a telescope yesterday. I think that's what my budding wildlife photographer needs! Kev actually admitted to me yesterday that it's not something he ever pictured himself enjoying, but Etosha is changing his mind about capturing nature on film (or digitally, in our case).

Back at Halali, watching the sun go down over the quite waterhole, Kev spotted an adorable little squirrel scurrying about, stopping to pose occasionally for photographs. After dinner, when it was unfortunately too dark to take any pictures, two lions came by and lounged about in the grass here. We couldn't believe our luck! This proves that you really don't need to go far to find something interesting in the bush. Actually, if you wait patiently, it comes to you.

Playing monopoly

Unbelievably, I made it through the afternoon without eating anything, as per Kev's instructions. As the day wore on, though, I got progressively more snappy, especially when I realized that he hadn't even noticed how well I'd stuck to my mini-fast. What, pray tell, was the point of doing it if he won't acknowledge it? It was Kevin who snapped, however, when he saw our dinner bill. Despite the fact that they'd served exactly the same buffet, our supper had cost twice as much as lunch did. Worse, though, as my husband pointed out, was the fact that they were most likely serving us the afternoon's leftovers.

At least the salad was fresh, because tomatoes and cucumber don't air well so it would be readily noticable if they were a day old. Also, drinks are more reasonably priced, with a tot of rum coming in at only R15 and a litre of water at R11 (as opposed to Namutoni's R28 and R25 respectively). Suprisingly, diesel isn't more expensive here. Kev says it's actually 20c cheaper than it was in Outja. On our way to Wolwedans, we stopped in Betta, and they wanted to charge us double the going rate for fuel. Luckily, we have a long-range tank, so we decided to continue on our 80km scenic detour and fill up in Sossousvlei a few days later instead.
That's the problem with these place that don't have any competition keeping their prices reasonable. They can rob you blindly, and there's nothing you can do about it. Well, not nothing... As Kev observed, we could boycott the restaurant and simply forgo dinner. However, considering how moody I'm becoming, it might be worth the extra money to get my blood sugar back up.

High tide in the hippo pool

Busy waterholes are the place to hang out in the heat of the day, it seems. Needing to cool off, animals of all types come together for a drink. At a busy spot, we found zebra, giraffe, gemsbok, springbuck, and wildebeest enjoying the water together with their young yesterday. It was like a wild version of Spur - a dining experience for the whole family.

Midmorning, things are a lot quieter, as though all the animals are sleeping in. On our way to Halali, the camp we're staying at for the next three nights, we eventually found the game out in the veld having a delicious buffet of grass and shrubbery. Yummy as that sounds, it's more than we've had for breakfast. Seems Kev was quite serious about his no-eating rule. Personally, I think he's playing with blood sugar, but we'll try his experiment and see how it turns out.

We're not sure how busy the waterholes are in the early morning because Kev's finally running on African time, and we're lucky to get away by 10am (our time, 9am Namibian time). He slept until 8am this morning - ten hours after falling asleep (almost half a day)! For the same reason, we've been unable to check out any nightlife at the rest camp waterhole, which is lit up at night - gotta get to bed early! If I'm not sitting in the car on the lookout for game, I'm lying on my back reading a book by torchlight while my husband gets his fourty winks. Perhaps, with all this inactivity, I might find that I don't really need to eat after all.

When he'd finally risen, we quickly disassembled our camp, piling everything into the back seat. We've completely given up on the dusty canopy now. We just folded everything up neatly so that we can set it up quickly at our new site. Kev's plan is to drive straight to Halali, Etosha's middle camp, so that we can choose a good spot before all the tour busses of Italians show up. After a quick shower, we'll go hit those waterholes again. By then the sun will be high and the unreasonable temperatures will begin dehydrating those creatures unlucky enough to be dressed in fur and leather coats. Maybe it will even get hot enough to drive a rhino to drink, since the only one we've seen has been too far to film.

Hold thumbs for us! :)

Winding down

Today's been more relaxed than any other so far. Despite me eagerly wanting to get going as soon as the gates opened at sunrise, Kevin insisted that we lie in and wait for all the Italians to vacate the breakfast buffet. Then, we took a leisurly drive North, stopping at each waterhole to see what might wander by. It's a good thing that we have a natural tendency to slow down in the bush because otherwise we'd miss a lot of rare opportunities. Today, we've spent a good deal of time waiting for shots to compose themselves as the wildlife vary their positions. It may take a while, but eventually that elephant will turn to face us. Late this afternoon, we spotted some small buck chasing each other next to the road. Switching off the engine, we waited to get a better shot. Two of the dikdik, as they are called, got curious and came right up to our car. It was one of those unexpected moments we'll never forget (plus we've got it on camera just in case).

Our patience seems to have paid off because Kev showed me the pictures he took as he downloaded them onto the laptop this evening, and there really is a stunning collection. And this is despite the fact that our wildlife shoots are becoming acrobatic feats. Since we're not allowed to get out of the vehicle, I need to get my face out the way while holding the video camera in place so that Kev can get photos through my window. It's quite an achievement to get this right. This means that we also need to ensure that the hilux is in the right position, with the windows facing the scene to be filmed. This can take a three point turn or two to accomplish, so it's only really possible on quiet roads or at waterholes.

Generally, positioning the car is Kevin's responsibility. Our mutual understanding appears to be that we'll have a happier marriage if he does the driving, mainly because I'm not good enough by his standards, and his 'helpful' advice tends to annoy me. Generally, having him at the wheel is fine. The only problem is that it means we're more likely to do what he wants when he's in control. When nature called this afternoon, for example, it took many threats before he finally agreed to drive me the 10km to the nearest loo (which was a smelly longdrop, but had toilet paper at least - I held my breath the whole time). Kev was so unimpressed by the detour that he's now trying to forbid me from eating at all during the day.

So, when we popped in at Namutoni this afternoon, it was only for an icy drink. Any attempts I made to organize a Greek salad were met with a very firm 'no!' The mongooses came to join us, which was quite cute. The cheeky buggers were hoping to score some food, but they'd picked the wrong couple because Kev wasn't going to budge. However, you don't need to purchase food for this place to rip you off. For 2l of water, they charged us R50!

Nevertheless, by the time we'd returned from wandering the waterholes, the bush had worked its magic because Kev was in a rare mood. Dinner was a la carte tonight, and instead of complaining about the limited choice, he surprised me by happily cleaning his plate. He also overlooked the Namibian service, leaving a big tip instead. Yup, that's the wonder of the African spirit.

Well, that and a few drafts of beer...

Sorry, oom Paul

Etosha is better than Kruger Park. It's been unanimously decided.

While South Africa's National Park may be bigger, the salt pans really make this special, and it's also got the vegetation and wildlife you can see at Kruger. I haven't been there in ages, but my husband reckons you see even more game here. Kev absolutely loves mixing the two, taking photos of bushveld animals set against the endless white backdrop.

That leaves me manning the video camera. While I've managed to get some good footage, there's a lot I've also missed because it takes so long to scramble for the camera, get it recording, open the window, and wait for Kev to bring the vehicle to a complete stop. To save time, then, I've started keeping the Sony Handycam on my lap, even though it's making me hot. We've also switched off the aircon and opened the windows, so now all we need to do is point and shoot. I can't believe I actually used to pay to sauna, though.

Oddly enough, we were worried about getting cold here at night because it had been freezing enough to layer our windscreen with ice in Augrabies. I've even brought my thermal sleeping bag I got for our Kilimanjaro trip at the end of the year to test it out. I ended up sleeping on top of it last night.

Kev just commented how he'd love to jump into the waterhole with this elephant. My suggestion was that we do what it's doing and go get a drink instead. Unlike what's on offer for Ellie, at Namutoni the water's served with ice.

Night falls in Namutoni

Admit it. The attached picture of the giraffe here at Namutoni Resort's waterhole at sunset has got you jealous. ;)

I'd be envious, too, I think, if I wasn't the one here dining under the endless African night sky at the restaurant they've set up within the old German fort erected here. The bush has a way of soaking into your blood, where it lies dormant until you return, at which point it reawakens to remind you of how much you've missed it. It's a phenomenon I've experienced often since my childhood, when I spent as much time as possible on my grandparent's game farm in the Waterberg Mountains. Having spent most of his life in Switzerland, it's taking Kev a bit longer to feel the effects, and he's just had minor fit that he was charged R40 for a rum and coke - two would be worth enough to buy an entire bottle of Captain Morgan and 2l coke. What did he expect, though? We're trapped in the camp because they lock the gates between sunset and sunrise, forbidding guests to drive at night, so they may charge what they like. They have no competition. At least the dinner buffet was more reasonable, even if my salad ended up being three times more expensive than usual - vegetarians are always being ripped off.

Also inside the fort are several shops, including a small food market, curio shop, craft market, book shop, and jewellery store. Directly opposite where we're sitting is a pub that Kevin only just realized shaved an extra 40 bucks off the change he was due from the last beer he bought. Highly unimpressed, Kev's vowed that the barlady will earn no more tips from him during our stay here. Gotta check the receipt immediately from now on.

Possibly one of the nicest things about camping out here is how the wildlife surround you, even in the resort. Meerkats have made their homes under the boardwalk that runs from our campsite, past the pool, to the fort, filling the night air with their squeeky chatter. Birds have nested in the trees around our tent, and a single springbuck is lagging behind at the waterhole, which has been lit up with a spotlight this evening.

Before jumping into our sleeping bags to get an early night after getting up predawn this morning, we spotted a lone black-backed jackal wandering by in search of food. It's something we'd normally only see on the Discovery Channel, so we're counting our blessings as we drift off.

Night falls in the bush

Admit it. The attached picture of the giraffe here at Namutoni Resort's waterhole at sunset has got you jealous. ;)

I'd be envious, too, I think, if I wasn't the one here dining under the endless African night sky at the restaurant they've set up within the old German fort erected here. The bush has a way of soaking into your blood, where it lies dormant until you return, at which point it reawakens to remind you of how much you've missed it. It's a phenomenon I've experienced often since my childhood, when I spent as much time as possible on my grandparent's game farm in the Waterberg Mountains. Having spent most of his life in Switzerland, it's taking Kev a bit longer to feel the effects, and he's just had minor fit that he was charged R40 for a rum and coke - two would be worth enough to buy an entire bottle of Captain Morgan and 2l coke. What did he expect, though? We're trapped in the camp because they lock the gates between sunset and sunrise, forbidding guests to drive at night, so they may charge what they like. They have no competition. At least the dinner buffet was more reasonable, even if my salad ended up being three times more expensive than usual - vegetarians are always being ripped off.

Also inside the fort are several shops, including a small food market, curio shop, craft market, book shop, and jewellery store. Directly opposite where we're sitting is a pub that Kevin only just realized shaved an extra 40 bucks off the change he was due from the last beer he bought. Highly unimpressed, Kev's vowed that the barlady will earn no more tips from him during our stay here. Gotta check the receipt immediately from now on.

Possibly one of the nicest things about camping out here is how the wildlife surround you, even in the resort. Meerkats have made their homes under the boardwalk that runs from our campsite, past the pool, to the fort, filling the night air with their squeeky chatter. Birds have nested in the trees around our tent, and a single springbuck is lagging behind at the waterhole, which has been lit up with a spotlight this evening.

Before jumping into our sleeping bags to get an early night after getting up predawn this morning, we spotted a lone black-backed jackal wandering by in search of food. It's something we'd normally only see on the Discovery Channel, so we're counting our blessings as we drift off.

Racing the sunset

It really amuses me that these little spots we visit look so important on the map. Take Khorixas as an example. It's represented by a very impressive black dot, but it's really just a one-donkey dorp. Shame, that's a bit unfair. The cart that passed us as we entered town had two pulling it along.

What makes this a tourist hotspot is that it's not too far from the Twyfelfontain Rock Paintings, the biggest National Heritage Sight in these here parts. The mountains boast over 50 000 primitive sketches, so every oomie's advertising his farm as a viewing spot.

We decided to stick to a more formal setup, choosing to go see the 'White Lady' hidden away in the Brandeberg. We were issued a small local guide, who turned out to be the only person I've met that actually walks faster than Kevin. In the afternoon sun, it was sweaty work keeping up with him, and my litre of water seemed to practically evaporate as we rushed through the rocky pathways. What made things worse was that I was still wearing the jeans I'd donned to protect me from the chilly sea air this morning, so I felt like a real Sandton Kugel - entirely inappropriately dressed for hiking in the bush.

Our mini guide talks as fast as he walks, so I didn't catch everything he said. Nevertheless, he seemed quite knowledgable and had keen bush eyes, pointing out lizards and dassies as we went. From what I can gather, though, the White Lady actually turned out to be a medicine man on closer inspection. Poor thing's suffering from an identity crisis because the ancient artists got too abstract with his male bits, confusing the original archeologists.

Overall, this didn't turn out to be the best use of our time. The sweltering 5km jog under the African sun to see that handful of stick figures could've happily been skipped. Before lunch, we were an hour ahead of Kevin's famous schedule, but after this we were two behind, so there was no chance of me seeing the other attractions in the area. We needed to get to our rest camp quickly so that he wouldn't have to drive in the dark.

This means that we didn't have time to look for the elephants in the dry Ugab riverbed near Sorris Sorris, which was a bit unfortunate since they're my favourite animals. However, it was suprisingly essential that we make good time, so it was still light as we checked into our little self-catering hut. The facilities were a bit wasted on us, though, since we dined at their restaurant instead. I'll reserve any comments about their 3-olive-no-tomato salad, except to say that I'd done a better job in the car earlier today.

A nice hot shower washed away the rock painting ordeal, and I'm now ready for bed. Kev's already asleep because we're planning to get up early tomorrow to see everything we didn't have time for today. We're not even waiting for breakfast, although judging by the lunchboxes they've given us to have on the road, we're not missing much. At least an earlier start will mean less of a rush tomorrow. Or so I hope.

Wake up, wake up you sleepy head...

Aren't you glad right now that you don't live with me? Unlike my husband, you could sleep in if you chose to. I'm amazed by how much sleep he needs. It feels like it's all he ever does. No wonder he needs to work so much harder than I do. He has fewer waking hours for productivity. He actually can't believe how little sleep I need, but he's getting used to it, not waking as easily anymore when I get up. Either that, or he's too tired to remember that I woke him, which is what I suspect.

At breakfast, he mentioned that, as fabulous as our accommodation in Swakopmund (which we found out yesterday means 'smelly rivermouth' - an apt name) has been, it would've been nice to stay in a place with more character, such as the Swakopmund Hotel in the Alte Bahnhof. The Atlantic Villa Guesthouse could've been anywhere along South Africa's coast, actually. There is even the identical coffee table in their lounge that my dad has in his tv room. Don't get us wrong, we're not complaining at all... just planning our return trip. ;)

One mistake we definitely won't make next time is spending only one day here. Unlike Luderitz or Sossousvlei where you don't need a lot of time, you could very easily spend a whole week here. At the very least, plan on enjoying two days. More nights will result in fewer regrets. Unfortunately, Kevin doesn't believe his family's Maxbox francise (a series of fish and chips takeaways) can survive without him being present to oversee it, the main problem being that his mother and brother are more prone to spontaneity and impulsive decision making than he is. For that reason, we needed to try and keep our trip as short as possible without rushing too much. In truth, though, you need a lot of time to enjoy Namibia.

Anyway, he's even less spontaneous than usual today (between the lines, read absolutely not at all), so I'm assuming that he still isn't getting enough sleep. How much does he need? It's a bit ridiculous, actually.

Grand canyons

After checking in at the Desert Camp, we went to go inspect Sesreim Canyon. While not as impressive as the Fish River one, it's always fun to walk around dry riverbeds. I think we got some pretty photos and fun footage. Kev only likes taking boring landscape video clips, and I'm trying to spice it up by adding some shots with people in it (ideally doing something interesting). The place was crawling with Italians, who I assumed would've been napping in this heat. But I suppose that they need to work according to the tour operator's schedule.

We're on a schedule too, as usual, but I managed to convince my tour manager to let me check out the supermarket. The campers must've raided it earlier in the day, because they were completely out of fresh food, and I was dying for a tomato. It was microwaved pies or nothing. The filling station here has a fantastic view - the same one we're paying to enjoy tonight.

We're being accomodated in rectangular tents that overlook the veld and mountains. While it's far less luxurious than Boulders, at least we are able to plug in and charge the cameras, video, and cellphone. We planned our battery life quite well over the weekend, only just running out as we arrived in sesreim. Apparently this place is self-catering, but we couldn't find a kitchen. Our room has two beds, a bathroom in the back, and a stoep with a braai. The only place to prep food would be the counter in the bathroom, which is just gross. Maybe there is a communal kitchen somewhere.

Not that it matters because we made a reservation for two at the Lodge's restaurant. The setting was very romantic, with a candlelit table under the African night sky. Dinner was an extraordinary buffet, serving anything you could think of, including the zebra steak Kevin chose. I hit the salad bar, walking off with almost all their olives to fill the canyon in my belly. Never give me a bowl of olives and a big spoon - not if you're trying to make a profit. As it is, though, I doubt we had our money's worth. When the bill arrived, we were shocked to find that we'd been charged R190 each. I think it's on account of the fact that they offer such a big variety of expensive game meat, which was completely wasted on me. We've decided not to return for breakfast. Firstly, we want to get to the dunes as early as possible. Secondly, if they charge us only half of what we paid for dinner, it will be the most expensive bowl of fruit I've ever had!

All the rich food we've been enjoying since arriving at Wolwedans has finally caught up with me. Besides sporting a bloated stomach and being unable to breathe through my nose, I got heartburn (at least that's what I guess it was) for the first time in my life. It was awful. I don't know how regular sufferers cope. It was so painful. I took a handful of digestive enzymes and chorella to try and alkalinise my stomach contents. It's definitely back to fruit and veg for me from now on!

Lying in bed looking at the Wolwedans photos, of which there are some truly stunning ones, I am feeling a bit better. Gonna try to sleep now and hope that the pain is gone by the the time my predawn alarm sounds.

Our second honeymoon begins

I wasn't alone this morning in the early hours. The whole family had to get up before dawn for their two day drive back pretoria. First, though, there was the cold two hour drive back to main camp on the open game drive vehicles. The hot tea and coffee we'd enjoyed with our breakfast was no longer warming us from the inside, and the sun rising over the blonde, grassy plains was emitting more light than heat. Nevertheless, it was a sight worth waking up for. The sunrise cast a gentle golden glow over the veld, making the landscape look soft and fluffy. It's unbelievable how beautiful it is out here, even if it needs to be admired with teeth chattering.

Reception is a remarkably unimpressive affair. It appears as though they simply converted their original farm house into the area that welcomes guests. While I'm all for recycling and reusing, one would expect the headquarters of such an exclusive place to make more of a first impression on guests checking in. As we said our goodbyes, I think everyone was wishing that the plane starting up on the dirt runway had come to pick them up. I commented that at least they only had a two day drive home - for kev and I it's going to take two weeks!

Since we only had 80km to get to Sesreim, we decided to make the most of our last few hours at Wolwedans. John, our fantastic guide, took us to see the other accommodation, helping us decide where we want to stay when we return again. At Dune Camp, where Brad, Angelina, and their brood spent a weekend while she was pregnant with Shilo, we met up with Stephan again, who let us in on his plans for expansion. Currently, Dune Camp is the least luxurious of the available accommodation, but Stephan is hard at work getting them renovated by Wednesday. The new tents will have bathrooms in the back so that skittish European guests won't have to go outside in the middle of the night. Much like my Grandad, he gets very involved in the building process, even taking over the interior decoration. As we parted, he gave me some nuptual advice, explaining that 'marriage is like travelling on the roads of Namibia. Sometimes it's easy, but sometimes it's rocky and you might get stuck. Remember, though, that no matter how bad things seem at the time, you're going to hit a smooth road again sooner or later. Most people bail out too early and miss the most scenic parts.'

On the way to the lodge, we passed private camp, where up to 6 guests enjoy total seclusion, with their own chef and staff. It's where I'd have assumed the jolie-pitts would've stayed, but maybe their entourage is getting too big. Miguel, the lodge manager, congratulated us on our wedding as we climbed off the game drive vehicle onto the deck overlooking a waterhole that was attracting gemsbok and springbuck. He explained that we're something of a novelty because ours was the first wedding at Boulders and the biggest Wolwedans has hosted to date. Everyone knew who we were, all congratulating us and asking for details as they brought us drinks, breadrolls, salad, and dessert in turn. I think it embarrassed Kev a little, but I enjoyed the feeling of being special.

With his relaxed nature and easy conversational skills, Miguel makes a greast host. He showed us the newly renovated rooms, took us into the wine cellar, kept us well-watered, and regaled us with stories of previous guests. One particularly amusing tale involved the sunburning of some Dutch tourists. Sure enough, lying on the sunbaked deck next to the surprisingly cold pool, the latest arrivals were beginning to turn a worrying shade of pink. I was impressed that he and the other staff members remembered me from my visit a year ago, as I'm sure they see many faces come and go. At Boulders, when we arrived, the staff member in charge of our beautiful table settings, Scott, told me how pleased he was that I hadn't made 'empty promises' when I said I'd be returning to get married. Back at reception, the lady at the curio store also recognized me and asked how my grandmother was doing. Apparently, you don't even need to have a giant wedding (of a whole 11 people) to feel special at Wolwedans.

As John dismantled the ribbons used to decorate our game drive vehicle (which had been very admired by the other guests, who actually made their guide reverse so they could see it - even they had heard of our wedding), we said our final goodbyes and hit the road to Sesriem. We had a bit of a fright as we drove past a place called 'Sossousvlei Desert Camp' when we were still 30 minutes from the park gate that we need to be at when the sun rises tomorrow. Kev began worrying that he would need to get up at 4am again. Luckily, though, the lady at the Sossousvlei Lodge explained that our 'Desert Camp' is only 3km further down the road. Namibia clearly isn't burdened with the same copyrighting laws that we need to work around in South Africa. The gate only opens 6:30am, so we won't need to wake up too early after all.