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Published: September 8th 2010
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We have an immense stroke of luck on the way out of Luderitz. We get a text from one of the many couchsurfers C has been spamming since Cape Town. He is in Aus with a car and looking for people to go to Sossusvlei. We're 20 minutes from Aus and Sossusvlei is our next intended destination. We couldn't have planned it better! Our new French companion, N, is the only registered driver but is more than happy to play chauffeur and we set off north through the arid Namibian wilderness.
8 hours later and we finally pitch camp about 30km outside of Sesriem, the gateway to the dunes around Sossusvlei. Anticipating an early start we all turn in pronto and rise again while it's still dark. We are the second car to arrive at the front gate, only just beaten by a Spanish couple who we saw a little way back down the road, clearly as confused as us about which turning to take. Soon an enormous queue of 4x4s assembles behind us. We pass the message down the line about the opening time (sunrise, duh) but still a steady stream of tourists, clearly in need of a
morning coffee, come marching up to pepper the poor guard (who is also probably pining for some caffeine) over and over with the same questions of why haven't things opened and when will they.
When the gates do swing apart we must all file up to the office and pay for permission to enter. Again we are at the front and it's amusing to observe people power walking towards the desk, glancing feverishly around for nearby rivals who might steal one place ahead in the queue, whilst employing all their reserves of willpower to stop themselves from breaking out into an undignified run. Everybody is in a frantic rush, even though it's a further 65km to Sossusvlei itself and the sun is already up. Quite why they're in such a hurry is perplexing. N fills in the register and makes a mistake, which he crosses out. The woman at the desk (in dire need of at least three cups of coffee, or perhaps some Valium would be better) virtually screams at him, "You're wasting my paper!" I can understand that she must be fed up of the volume of people who pass her way daily, but the loss
is barely a centimetre. Anybody got some chill pills on them?
More comedy is to follow. Permission slip in hand we head towards the second gate only to be confronted with a huge traffic jam of vehicles. Where did they all come from? People who camped inside the park gates should already have gone ahead. N refuses to believe that they all have the necessary documentation and, to my alarm, boldly starts to drive past everyone. The result is hilarious. Being on the left side of the car I get the pleasure of observing the reactions of the people we glide by. On their faces are etched expressions of horror and rage. Quite a few gesticulate wildly and yell curses at us - though I suspect this is more for their own benefit, unless they seriously expect us to hear their expletives through two sets of glass windows sandwiching a howling wind. As we near the front an especially irate South African suddenly swings his truck in front of us, almost smashing us off the road. Fortunately N DID have a cup of coffee this morning and his breaking reactions are up to scratch. He points at our
permit paper to which Rambo violently waves one of his own out the window.
Is there a more irascible or easily provoked species than the middle aged white man on holiday, determined to have fun at all costs?
Back we sheepishly slink until the Spanish couple spot us and wave us in front of them. Once through the gate, N lets them pass out of courtesy and off we go. Many cars speed aggressively by but we take things at a more leisurely pace, stopping to take pictures of a number of dunes, which magically change colour with every passing second, and even having a crack at climbing one. We skip the overly photographed Dune 45, mainly because it's swarming with overland truckers and also because there are plenty of other big and impressive dunes around. Once we arrive at the 2wd car park the temperature is already starting to pick up and we have to walk another 5km through strength sapping sand to reach Sossusvlei itself.
We split up, N disappearing for a couple of hours while C and I climb one of the large dunes surrounding the dazzlingly white, cracked clay pan
of Sossusvlei with the famous dead acacia trees that ripple out of the ground as if distorted by the heat haze. Neither C nor K has any water and from above we watch as K reaches the edge, takes a couple of desultory pictures and staggers away, wilting under the sun's oppressive rays. Feeling the effects ourselves we charge down the length of the dune we've ascended right into the pan, where C promptly takes off his clothes and lies down. Almost all the tourists have scuttled for cover. Fortunately N appears at this point and by donating the last of my water we manage to convince C that it's time to make a move. We've been slogging about for three hours.
There is still a bit of traffic flowing from the 4wd car park right by Sossusvlei back to where our vehicle is at the 2wd spot. Despite the fact that it's the middle of the day and everyone has now experienced the punishing power of the sun first hand, and should therefore be capable of empathising with our plight, still nobody show's any sympathy to C, N and myself as we battle with the return walk.
One guy passes us, stops to allow another vehicle by, then reverses to get a better line, pulling right up next to us before throwing us a quick, indifferent glance and speeding off. Another (who's bald head and distinctive Tintin tuft of hair I recall passing us on the way in) goes by and gets stuck in the sand 100m further on. The genius proceeds to furiously spin his wheels, burying his back tyre deeper and deeper. One of the shuttle trucks stops to assist him. We run over to help dig and push him out. The driver himself just stands and watches while others do the dirty work. One of the shuttle guys drives the car 30m up the road to get it completely free and the original driver, too lazy to walk such an epic distance, hops into the truck which drives him to his own vehicle. Once more he, his two empty back seats and ample boot space blaze past us without so much as a thank you, never mind the offer of a lift.
Once back at the car, mouths so dry we can barely speak, we all slump down for a much needed
rest. The day is getting on and we decide to stop in lonely Solitaire - basically just a petrol station and some rusty car wrecks - for the night rather than push on further. The next day it's on to the Namibian capital, Windhoek, from where we will begin to plan the next excursion: Etosha National Park.
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