This was a bit of a high risk move - signing up to do 2000km of driving with someone I barely knew. It could either go really well, or really badly. Or I suppose it could be so-so, but what kind of story would that be…
Thankfully I did recognise Holly at arrivals, and she was just relieved that I was there at all, given that I was her chauffeur for the next couple of weeks. She’d sorted out a place for us to stay in Windhoek, and that evening we ventured out for a drink and some food. As luck would have it, it was pub quiz night. Naturally, being a Whelan, I smashed it, but after an administrative mix up we were accused of cheating and in protest left before the final result was announced. I can’t help it if I just know all the answers!
The next day we headed for the coast, took a ride up to see the seals again, and then spent the evening in very Germanic Swakupmond, where we ate bratwurst and drank beer surrounded by German speaking patrons.
There were two things I really wanted to see in Namibia, Sossusvlei and FIsh River Canyon, and next stop was the first on the list. Sossusvlei is how Hollywood would portray an African desert. Cloudless blue sky, towering orange dunes, dusty winds and a couple of dead or nearly dead trees. The pictures don’t do it justice, and the pictures are amazing (even if I do say so myself). We arrived late at the campsite nearest the dunes, and despite being extremely busy with people who had booked up to a year in advance, we managed to get ourselves a spot (thanks mainly to my charm, and not thanks to Holly’s temper). Purely by fluke, the campsite we ended up at was the only one inside the national park, which meant we got to head to the dunes an hour before sunrise and see the sun come up from the poetically named Dune 45.
Having led a forced march up Dune 45 to much complaining from Holly, karma was swift to bite me in the arse. The largest dune in the area, an imposing 325 metre high mound appropriately named Big Daddy, was the target of our next trek, and despite a strong start I was dying by the time we got halfway up. Trudging up a steep ridge, sand falling away underneath my feet with every step, and a cheerfully persistent wind blowing sand in my eyes, I was extremely happy to make it to the top and collapse into a heap to appreciate the view. Which was, spectacular. The best bit though was coming back down. No more slow trudging - the fastest and most fun down is to run! This is definitely something everyone should try once, and even though the bag fell open halfway down and got sand everywhere, it was so worth it. From the bottom it was a trek through the scorching sun and black tree skeletons of Deadvlei before hitting the road again.
A mere 650km drive away was Fish River Canyon, so to pass a bit of time on the way we did some driving lessons for Holly. Being American, she was taught to drive cars using Go and Stop pedals only, so a manual car with a clutch and everything was a step up. Empty gravel roads were a great place to learn and she was doing well (and not in a patronising way) but twenty minutes in as the speed was starting to creep up she hit a deeper patch of gravel. The car skidded right, then reacting to the oversteering veered the other way and skidded sideways to a halt by the side of the road in a huge cloud of dust and stones. Holly was pretty shaken but I was exceptionally amazing about it all (some might say heroic), calmed her down and set about digging the stones out of the rims. Luckily (miraculously given how close we came to rolling) we hadn’t sustained any damage, and were shortly on our way again (this time with me driving).
Fish River Canyon turned out to be worth the trip, an epic scar across the landscape, second only in the world in terms of scale to Grand Canyon. We did a short hike along the canyon edge, and obviously threw some stones into it and posed for photos, but we didn’t hang around too long as we had to get across the border back into South Africa.
