Sand & Springboks

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Lots of Sand

“Peter tells everyone about Mitch, Mitch is like family!” We were on our way to the red sand dunes. “But I swear, that story about the Desert elephant, it wasn’t me, hey? He must have told that story when I was there and now associates it with me,” he defended with a smile.
You can’t compare Erg Chebbi in Morocco with Sossusvlei, they are completely different. Erg Chebbi rose from nothing and there is no sign, no registration, it is as nomadic as the people that who live in it. Sossusvlei is an expansive colossus dwarfing all those who visit it. The sand itself is not even the same. Erg Chebbi brushes past gently, falling easily off your skin, blowing away at the slightest breath. Soussuvlei bind to you so indiscreetly you will be carrying little sand dunes with you for a week. People camp outside Sossusvlei to watch the sun rise and when the guards open the entrance, transfer in by 4x4 to enjoy the day trekking up, over and through the massive never ending red sand dunes. At Erg Chebbi camels lumber us in and we camp for the night, waking up to the sunrise in the midst of the Sahara floodlit but the colours of North Africa.
We stopped at the base of Dune 45. It features heavily in any guidebook under the simple caption ‘Sossusvlei’. It’s not the biggest, but the way it towers solemnly over the lone camel thorn tree it makes for an impressive spectacle. Exactly 45km from the entrance, the dune was as far as we could go. Rain had made it impossible for us to explore any further. I was incredibly tempted to bury the boys’ shoes they had left at the bottom, but a sudden flash of memory of the same high school prank came to me. It took us over an hour to dig up Fairy Beach to find them. We were already running late. Climbing Dune 45 was much easier than Erg Chebbi. Last time I was the front runner, this time I let Derick continue compacting the footsteps of earlier tourists for me.
After playing in one of the largest sandpits in the world, it was prime tanning opportunity for the Norwegians and the newly converted Hendrik. Black mats out in the middle of the parking lot they looked like Scandinavian road kill as we waited for team America to finish exploring.
“So when is the best year of your life?” Carl asked Nicole.
“When I was about twenty four, twenty five,” she responded without much thought. I agreed.
“So when did it stop?” I asked her.
“What do you mean when it did? It hasn’t,” she replied a little defensively. The boys had been teasing her about her age for quite some time now.
‘Then you didn’t answer the question properly the first time,’ I thought.
“It’s about twenty three for me,” Derick replied.
“It’s not about age. It’s about a stage in your life. When you’ve finished university, when you have freedom and security to do what you want. You can choose your responsibility,” I said.
“I’m looking forward to being a dad,” Carl confessed.
“Seriously?” We all looked at Carl, surprised. Not because we thought he would not be a loving father or short of girls wanting to bear his children, but because he was so young. It seemed a weird focus or even thought for someone four years my junior.
“Yeah, I am really excited to be a father,” he admitted with no hesitation.
“How many kids do you have Nicole?” Derick joked.
“Me? None!” She retorted.
“That you know of,” Hendrik joked.
“How can she not know if a screaming baby popped out of her?” Laughing at him, he took the jibes at his screw up rather well.
Up on the sand dunes we could see Albert taking tumble turns all the way down. Most people run, but our fearless doctor decided to try something different.
“You know the sand here sticks for ages. He’s going to be shaking sand out for weeks!”


Driving along the pale soft sandy landscape, the sand slithered across the road creating new small dunes and remodelling the stubborn ones. Through the sand filled air, Derick pointed our Walvis Bay international airport and I know tomorrow I will be heading there to fulfil one of my dreams. To sky dive over the dunes of Namibia. The road took us along the beautiful coastline of Walvis Bay, the Atlantic Ocean on one side and beige sand dunes to the other. Sand blew against shanty houses dotted along the landscape. A man walks across and I have no idea where he is going. There is nothing along this stretch. The wind blew away any recognisable path and his tracks disappeared even before his feet left the ground. He could have been a ghost for the all the distinguishing marks he had made, nothing to say he was here. He walked without purpose as well, his head down. Its all perception, he could be mesmerised by the sands movement but with shoulders rounded and slack arms by his side, his body said he had no where to go.

Swakopmund

Little sand dunes had formed in the back of the overlander by the time we arrived at Swakopmund Inn. It took less than five minute to drive from one end of this seaside town to the other. Along the way, the German’s love for all things square and bright in colour was apparent in the architecture. We had little over an hour to wash as much sand off us as possible before Vilum our host convinces us to jump out of a plane. Vilum runs a tight ship and which was evident when we signed the register. He had already written in our details and all we had to do was literally sign in.
“So what activity would you recommend?” I asked, fresh from a shower and lager in hand. Vilum pointed to the Sky Diving Poster above the bar.
“That’s a given. Have you done it?” He nodded; his video of the dive was playing on the television as we arrived.
“And then what would you recommend?”
“Quad biking,” he answered.
One by one, we gathered round the bar and he showed us what was on offer. After the video was done, he looked at us and asked the question most of us had been deliberating for the past week.
“Who’s going sky diving?” Alex manly nodded and tipped his lager in affirmation, I seconded, Hendrik also nodded, Nicole said yes and Carl wobbled a hand in acknowledgement before he could pull out. Alex and Carl looked at Harald,
“I can’t be the only one not doing it!” he wailed. “I don’t know if I have enough money to do it and I am scared of flying.”
“I’ll pay for you,” Alex offered generously making it a done deal with the Norwegians. Albert nodded his agreement and that left Anouk. She thought about it, and shrugged herself into a place as well.
“I’m putting you down too Derick,” Vilum said in a voice that meant no refusal. So it was full house tomorrow.
“Second activity?”
“Quad biking,” Alex said. Here is a person who knows what he wants. “Automatic or manual?” asked Vilum. That stumped him. Vilum explained the pros and cons for automatic and manual.
“Is it like driving a Moped?” asked Harald. “I rode a moped in Thailand.” Vilum looked at him expressionless. “No,” he said in a curt tone and wrote an A next to Harald’s name. It was settled for the group, except for me. I shook my head.
“Why not?” someone asked and my answer slipped out before I had a chance to pull it back, “I made a promise.” I resisted the urge to slap myself. I could have said anything else, picked another activity or just made up some lame excuse about not having enough money to do two activities. But no, I had to say the truth and expose myself to questions. The inevitable comment came, “A promise? Just break it, it’s just a promise,” someone joked. I remind myself not to take it personally, after all even if they did know the truth, reacted differently or not, it would not have influenced my decision in anyway.

Springbok Dance Anyone?

Dinner was at a German restaurant and I sat down to Springbok medallions drizzled in red wine sauce with Carl, Hendrik, Harald and Derick.
“What if the parachute doesn’t open?” Carl asked.
“It will,” I reassured him
“What if the plane crashes?”
“It won’t.”
“What if the guy has a heart attack?” he continued.
“You will be fine!”
“What if the parachute gets sucked into the propeller?”
“You have freefall, you will be no where near the propeller.”
“What if the plane explodes?” The boys had gone insane!
“You don’t understand, I am really, really, really scared!”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“Because I told everyone I would, so I have to do it. And the n my sister text me, and she never texts me, saying she had this dream that I died. Is that a bad thing? Is that a bad text? I don’t want to die!”
Harald up until now was drinking his red wine quietly, “You’re scared?! I’m afraid of FLYING!” he blurted.
“At least you guys are afraid of something normal. I’m afraid of peas, squirrels and straight jackets,” I dropped oh so casually.
“What?! Peas? You’re afraid of peas?” Carl asked.
“Yes, if a squirrel in a straight jacket was eating peas, I would be seriously screwed.”
That shut them up.

After dinner the town was relatively quiet as we went in search for a place to hunker down with a few drinks. Well, Carl and Harald needed a few to calm their nerves down for tomorrow. Ever so helpful Derick brought over some Springbok shooters. I guess Springboks were tonight’s theme. “Right, we have to do the Spingbok dance…” He demonstrated the dance and we lined up with a shooter ready to follow suit. Do you like how we just blindly went ahead with this? I am convinced that the guides get together and try to see who can make their clients do the stupidest thing. This comes relatively close. Now, I can't remember the exact steps, but it had something to do with us putting our hands on ourheads like horns, we jumped a few times chanting 'Springbokkie, springbokkie, springbokkie' and then the guys did some manly synchronised hip thrusting grunt and the girls did some daintly 'oooh!', then we slammed down the shot. We looked like right prats.

About several drinks too many, table dancing, jumping around like Springboks and a twirl around the dance floor, I slipped out to the balcony. Overlooking the street of Swakopmund, there was not a sound other than that behind me. The street was deserted and the rather basic buildings looked even barer in the light of a few streetlamps. It was uncannily similar to the lone streets of Flemington where I grew up briefly. I stood there in the fuzzy haze of one gin and tonic too many. Somewhere in the back of my mind a motorcycle appeared at the end of the street and roaring to life streaks across the dull street, passing the balcony to nowhere, never to return.

Earlier tonight a chip in my brain malfunctioned and when I knew I had a drink too many, I kept going. The ironic thing, apart from Alex, I was the only one who wasn’t scared of tomorrow. So at two am Alex and I had a soccer ball confiscated from us before making our way back to the inn. Well, you would have it confiscated too if a) it wasn’t yours and b) you were kicking it around down the isle of a 24hr servo.

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Photos

Dune 45
Most popular and over-photographed Dune. Seen it before anyone?

Tracks
'Walking up Dune 45'

The Pans
The Pans of the Vlei - once in a blue moon, with heavy rain, the pan fills with water for but a brief moment.

Camel Thorn Tree
Few trees call this place home.

Fun in the Sand
Playing in the sand, Derick slid down like the wind? More like a garden snail...

Fun in the Sand
And gravity doesn't work...

Tanning Session Number 104
Prime tanning opportunity... they looked like Scandinavian road kill

Sands of Walvis Bay
As we headed into Swakopmund, sand slithered across the road.

Springbok Dance
Right, you want us to do what?

Too Happy
Carl, no longer worried if his divemaster has a heart attack...

Table Dancing
Alex & Derick showing their stuff... but note the wonderful stitching work on Derick's jeans... yep, me baby. All me....

The Boys
Fearless? Or just too many springboks?

Happy Bunch
But they're happy....