Water, sand and canvas - working the gluts by saddle in Namibia

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Madagascar



A virtuous land



An Exodus trip



With 10 others I’d band







Tana was hilly



Obvious poverty



Big noisy city



Not my cup of tea







Discovered a village



‘twas remote not near



Danced with the children



Singing Shakira’s ‘waka waka yeah yeah’







Ranomafana rainforest came next



Lemur’s were to be seen



Long hours by mini bus



Just ask if you need a pee







Angositra national park



Featured in the itinerary



Early rises and long walks



Navigating Mount Boby







Leaving lemur family’s behind



Camera and backpack we clutched



By 4WD we travelled to Anja



Being told “you think too much!”







A canyon and piscine



Ranohira camp one was our base



Sandstone scenes and refreshing water



Moving at steady pace







Baobab and Tulear came last



Our batteries near worn out



Itinerary deviations agreed to



With flights, to allay our doubts







And all the while facilitated



By a jack-of-all-trades guide



Keeping peace with crew and cast



His sentiment on our side







So what of Madagascar



A vast and scenic land, I’ve seen her



Whether or not I return



I’ll always remember Tahiaana







Tahiaana asked and he got, a poem on departure.







Leaving Madagascar was far smoother than the rough-as-guts road network we had come to know well.



Given the stories of regular delays in flights which I had not known of, my mind was at rest when we flew skywards from Tulear. Air Mad was not mad this time, even if it was more often than not!



A swift arrival at Tana, and mission to check into an imminent international flight came next. Exodus had told me that the internal flight was to leave at 11am however this turned out to be 12:45pm, a close call with my connection even if to schedule. With a chance to farewell the group and Tahiaana, I left feeling very satisfied and excited about my onwards journey.



No bribery needed at the check in counter of Tana due to my lateness, the flight left on time and I made it to Johannesburg 5 minutes early despite a horrific storm in progress. Truth be known it was a rainy day and most other carriers had diverted!



Transfers to the Radissun Blu in Sandton for the 3^rd time by train were efficient. Arriving in darkness I took a transfer with the nearby Gautrain hotel to avoid 600 metres of night time wandering with my luggage. My chauffeur got a good tip and I was ridiculed in jest for the All Blacks recent loss to South Africa by a young Bloemfontein couple I shared a ride with.



On Tana time, an hour ahead of South Africa, I woke early to a grey Jo’burg day, without storm, and spun the wheels in the spin studio with a guy who had a penchant for loud speaker Zumba music …de ja vous ‘Oliver Twist’! …International.



Checking out, a cheeky concierge relayed me to the free shuttle service. His name was James as in ‘Home James!’ the suited chauffeur. He said ladies were not allowed to travel by train that day. Hmm, African James was witty and some African traditions I will never understand but suffice to say I got there in ample time and he got a smaller tip than his night time comrade



Passing the Sandton Gautrain for the final time, I boarded, slapped my backside down next to nice gent from George (near Knysna) and we swapped details on Namibia and Cape town travels. The great Browns bay/ Torbay migration was discussed, and I embellished the East coast bays area for it’s purported similarity with coastal South Africa bar the animals. Then I deftly avoided saying any more about the rugby other than ‘you guys played well…didn’t Argentina also!’



Check in was breezy, using the auto kiosk, and after a quick whip around mini-Woolworths (Auckland airport needs something like this!) for some snacks it was time to strip off the belts and accessories at security. It was efficient and the teal clad airport brigade did well to humour us waiting folk. “ I like it when it goes fast, maaaaam” said the passport scanner guy…then I ended up undressing as I dressed in the dark obviously that day. Everything got caught up in the money belt!! Oh well, at least I wasn’t getting the 3^rd degree for being Nigerian.



Flight somewhat delayed, we moved quickly northwards and by 1pm had arrived in the ceiling’less Livingstone airport. I waited an eternity to get to front desk of friendly officers, where I parted with the start of about $600USD excluding 4 star accommodation. Visa’s to enter Zambia for transit and multi entry were up to $80 so I got something of the sort and headed out to find money and transport. The money machine failed so I gave up and started hunting for a ride.



The taxi moths took the light of wealthy tourists entering the Zambian heat, and being talked into a transfer I committed to a price and we set off for the first border, Zambian exit point. Passing through the town of Livingstone, Dangle, my deep voiced and very Zambian driver, gave me a precis of the attractions all the while my eyes wandering around the cars cabin of luminescent green, orange and Chelsea football memorabilia. His boy racer car was a shrine and he was proud!



Dangle then put me onto his mate the organiser of anything and everything. I felt a little suspect but threw caution to his recommendations until I could wrangle my way into the hotel and get their opinion



But that was far away at this point, so I had to stall……hhhmmm, how to stall?...…I bought a copper bracelet to get this other guy off my back. Then I had to head off with driver #2, Richard, in no man’s land between the 2 territories and over the bridge. Then the entry formalities of Zimbabwe and it’s chaos and inefficiency and finally driver #3 to take me to the Cresta Sprayview in a less than clean Victoria falls town.



Kenny was diametrically morphologically opposite to Dangle, a slight Zimbabwean man, and made me promise to use his taxi services as ‘Zimbabwean life is tough’! Maybe this is the time to bring out my Zimbabwean tip currency, being, as advised, toothpaste, floss, shampoo, soap and AIDS prevention apparatus. Although the latter is available at the airport should the mood, or foresight, take them!



I settled in to the Cresta 2 hours after landing at the airport and made quick work of the plans for the next 24 hours, first up being a helicopter trip over the falls and game reserve nearby, Zambezi national park. If ever there was a time to break out that inner ‘selfie’ photographic streak it was now and I had the best time filming the scenery for posterity. The extravagance is absolutely worth every cent.



Once back in town, with the help of a friendly lad named Nicky, who proclaimed he was not blessed with a masculine name like Dangle, I did a quick scoot around the shops before an early retirement with the local baboons for company.



The following day was action packed befitting the destination. First up, I signed on to the Devils pool experience. The taxi man, Sefulini, was late thanks to the concierge not acting on my half hour ‘warning’ of the time. This made for a hasty streak between border posts, at least 5 salesmen accosting me to throw myself of the bridge, submerse myself on a rafting trip or buy yet again a copper bracelet.



Jojo was the friendliest, a fast walker, and closely followed by his unnamed mate. Bestowing me with compliments stating he was wishing to marry me, I ended up donating to Zimbabwe with a bracelet for $30USD, that in the haste of undressing to sit with the Devil at the edge of the falls and moving in thick grass, I lost. The Devil of the Devil’s Pool was away we were told, but he was a wealthy sort, as at $110USD a pop, this 90 minute experience, like me, did not come cheap. And thank god I found my (shortly) misplaced camera!



Making friends with a Zambian guy away from Lusaka for the weekend and his Japanese colleague, we sat in a rock pool 4 metres square and 1 metre from the gushing falls, jittering with excitement and fear as our guide danced like a zebu on the precipice. Crazy! With time for some more sedate experiences thereafter, we spotted friendly zebra at the Royal Livingston Hotel digs after brunch, the baby zebra no more than 3 days old.



A hot walk back of half an hour through again 2 border posts, with officials more interested in their newspaper and text messages, and I headed into the elaborate Falls complex on the Zimbabwe side. It is one of 7 world wonders, 3 of the best and biggest falls worldwide, and as high as the entry prices, water bottles, and accommodation rates in these parts. A large statue of Dr Livingstone I presumed had a canoe and accompanying wooden paddles. This poor Scotsman made headway in November 1855 for the island of his namesake, stating how angels must have cast their gaze in this wondrous site. And I suggest devils made for the pool we risked life in!



I met Sefulini again, the 4^th taxi driver in 24 hours, and after a return trip to the Cresta hotel for a swim in the 20m pool it was time to head to the airport, a flat straight 20km trip out of town. Sadly Kenny his predecessor could not be reached by the hotel that morning, but as it transpired, this ‘con’ of using ones friends by hotel staff was rife as I ran into him in town, where I dished the disappointing news he was out of my job. Sefulini was chatty, he got some chuddy for his efforts and I dumped him with a Zimbabwean tip of 2USD and toiletries!



The flight bound for Windhoek went before due time by half an hour, and as informal as the Zimbabwean border posts, so too was the customs lady. The unmanned desk, after 5 minutes wait, became manned again and with 11 people getting on the 37 seater, it was perfect for airborne photography from the window seats. German language filled the cabin and rooibos tea was flowing.



We passed through Maun, collected more people then made a 70 minute flight to Windhoek in the red tinged skies that these deserted areas are known for, chomping on a Namibian lamb chop. A slow transfer to Arrebusch lodge, after meeting a lovely radiographer and traveller my age, and it was high time for some shut eye.



The following day we gathered for a decent breakfast, the instructions on meeting point and needs for the day conspicuously absent. Sven, the Exodus guide, rallied us around our truck home for the next fortnight at 7:15am and once a rough day plan designed we set off on our bikes, about 20 minutes uphill from Windhoek.



Grey skies were welcomed and by 11:30am we had knocked off 45km along a gravel route headed towards Walvis bay, give or take the route, 300km away. Bothered several times for a flat tyre and loosening seat post and seat, we headed onwards to the Gemsberg Pass in a south west direction, the sun at our backs and the road a test of mental and physical confidence.



Unusually, with loose instructions as to where to meet at the descent, our male South African guide, Sven, disappeared into the nothingness downhill and we were all left to our own devices, come injury or otherwise on the loose metal roads.



Sven was to be found an hour later from our start point about 5km ahead of our group, when the truck finally rolled past us and indicated for us to rack our bikes and get on board. A collective ‘hmmmmmm, this is peculiar for a guided trip’ resonated through the truck and thereon in we thought best to take the self-sufficient approach.



Ending in the hot mid-afternoon at a stereotypical game lodge, Rooisland, with a fancy pool and bar, we felt sorrow as we left, purported to be only 50GBP/ night, for a camp 2km up the road. The showers sprayed the ceiling, toilet failed to flush, the thorns dig into the toes through your footwear, albeit it was a serene and sun bleached spot for a red sky and good and hearty African dinner



Moon lit skies reigned until sunrise at 6:30am and getting light at 6am I rose after a sticky night in a borrowed sleeping bag. Breakfast won hands down the best Exodus had produced whilst camping, and once bikes were racked, we headed off for thorn free gravel roads 2km away.



The first leg took us 90 minutes and over undulating quiet roads, flanked by micoschist sedimentary type rock formations. Stopping whenever we wished for photos, or to simply admire the grandeur, the scenery gave way to wide open fields of dry grass, dry river beds, zebra clans, and the famous dune of Sossuslvei visible about 100km to our westerly cycle path. Loo stops were as few as the available chances given the lack of trees!



After a snack break at 9am, with temperatures rising to 35C in the shade, we boxed on in a long line of 9 cyclists another 20-25km to make today’s tally 50km. Joining the main gravel highway between Walvis bay and Solitaire, it was long straights and few downhill stretches that brought us to a dusty and dry stop in scenery akin to parts of Clyde and Alexandra in New Zealand. Excepting no water in the river beds!



Solitaire, as quiet as it’s name, offered a general trader shop, petrol and bakery goods. Rusty cars and old mechanical bits and bobs filled the grounds in a type of natural museum which the owner (who owns the whole village and land in vicinity) obviously had a penchant for. With our short stop, I sat watching the squirrels, pondered the fate of the cooped chickens and turkeys, and tried hard to not pass out. It was hot!!



Camp for the night was Sesriem, a small outpost 65km from Solitaire on the fringe of the grand sand dunes. Boasting a bar, camp shop, spik n span ablutions blocks and powered sites, this was flash camping Hi di Hi style.



Sesriem is the key desert town at which tourists worldwide come to visit Sossusvlei, inaugurated as a world heritage location in June 2013. One great big sand pit, the famous dune 45 where all the general public would be visible the following day from our secret location at which Sven promised a dawn breakfast at. The camp was home not only to flash camping tourists, convertible 4WDs with pop tops, but nocturnal activity of springboks and antelope roaming around our site at night, trying on our knickers or hats hanging on the tent to dry. After all the orix is known to be the glamorous larger framed deer of the desert!



Bed time, early as usual and after a fabulous sunset to the sound of barking geckos, was to star lit skies, with a clearly visible Milky Way and Southern cross. Silhouettes of antelope came and went at dusk in the shadows and fresh springbok footprints were present the morning after outside our tents!



Dawn at 5:30am, we were on our way to the secret spot and arrived just after 6am ready to hike 1km to the base of the dune and climb up as much as we felt. Ochre sand and an evolving blue sky with the rising sun gave way to visible brilliance. Running down, sand in every orifice of our being, we were greeted with a star breakfast of eggs and cereals, sipping our coffees and gearing up for the morning ride of 45km.



Sounds firmly in the ears, set to Rufus, and camera around the neck, I hummed along to ‘Desert Night’…”I want to ride across the desert night, when the sun comes out in the morning light I can feel you there…” most of the first 17km leg, when I wasn’t jumping for action in front of the camera.



Out came the gadgets again, including Sven’s drone Go Pro, and we had some airborne shots after a brief snack break. Continuing on to the final 27km leg of tarmac roads, all the while spotting wild ostrich, orix, antelope, impala and numerous birds (6 are endemic to Namibia), we lemming like stopped and started, having a grand old time on the saddle until returning to our campsite for a snack and onward trip to Solitaire.



Our guest house was a haven of temperamental wifi’ness, however a shock announcement by Sven that we would not be in Windhoek for my onwards flight on 24^th October in time sent me into a flurry of thought ‘#$@%!.(MISSING).what now?’ , meaning enquiries to Air Namibia, Avis and my Cape town accommodation aside a setting sun and cool courtyard. ‘Frustration’ is an understatement, I’ll be booking through the supplier direct next time to get exact travel details, and the nutshell moral of this story seems to be MONEY BUYS EVERYTHING. Damn…..I’m doomed to keep working on my return…



So as the Solitaire camp braii warms up, the rooibos brews, the cheetah, orix and springbok roam in the distance, and Pauline dives into a 5 square metre box of coolness with a few other burnt potatoes, I think this trip will keep delivering on toned buttocks and red thighs. Sven, he requires work though …not sure about trusting this Springbok on interpersonal skills (!) and I am willing to be back in Madagascar with our guide Tahianna, one of the best I have been guided by yet.



The braai is up.



Onwards to Walvis Bay and Etosha!!

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