South Africa / Namibia

African sunsets alone made my first journey to the southeastern continent worthwhile despite difficulties, disappointments, sadnesses, and long, long, long flights. I spent eight days on my own in South Africa, then twelve, mostly in Namibia, with a G.A.P. – Great Adventure (/Party) People – tour group.

The tour was the smoother and more consistently enjoyable part of my time, but I did have a couple of great days on my own, one in the Drakensberg and one in Cape Town,


despite some major annoyances. My credit union’s unannounced new security measures combined with no access to public telephones or faster-than-snail-paced internet access kept me from accessing any money for several days, the unexpected four-day Easter holiday weekend messed up accommodation and transportation bookings, and a bad toothache worried me for several days. Regular doses of ibuprofen and a lowered intake of sugar kept the toothache from being a major problem. A missed communication and fully booked Easter Monday bus forced me to fly to Cape Town

instead of taking a bus I’d paid for. And the manager of Amphitheater Backpackers in the semi-wilderness of the northern Drakensberg forced me to stay and pay later on trust as I tried to tell her to call the bus back because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get any money until after the long weekend. Despite my worries, I went on an incredible hike to the top of the Amphitheater Escarpment,



including the brink of Tugela Falls,

claimed by South Africans to be the second highest in the world.

During my longer than planned stay in Cape Town, I took a lovely but rushed tour of the Cape Peninsula on the first day




and on the last rode the cable car to the world-famous view from the top of Table Mountain.


But the middle day was the best, a late-morning hike sans camera over Kloof Nek (Pass), above Clifton and Bantry Bays, and around Green Point, followed by an evening hike up Signal Hill, ending up watching the sunset


from back near Kloof Nek. I spent four nights with a great view of Table Mountain in a single room on the 8th floor of the Tulip Inn (this is a view I never saw being in a corner room with no windows on one wall, I had to hold my camera out the window and around the corner of the building),

where on the final evening I met the eighteen people with whom I’d be sharing the next twelve days of my life. As usual on recent tours I was the only American. There were several Canadians and the rest were from Europe and Australia-New Zealand.

Highlights of our time together included a lovely camp on the Namibian side of the Orange River,


views of Fish River Canyon – claimed by Namibians to be the second largest in the world,

the red sand dunes of the Namib Desert – claimed by most everybody to be the highest in the world,




bonding in the rain at Solitaire watching a beautiful sunset in one direction and an incredible unbroken 180-degree double rainbow in the other,

the Utah-like red rock around Twyfelfontein,

and the animal parade at Etosha.


We never did see the biggest, wondering how elephants can hide so well, but got bored with zebra,




and giraffe (seen here giving new meaning to the concept of “necking”).

We saw several types of antelope, wildebeest, warthogs, jackals,

hyenas,

two lions,

and finally a few rhino

during the last evening. The highlight was three cheetahs, equaling the number our guide Tracy had previously seen in twelve years of leading tours.



As a large group, or in smaller groups, we went for hikes in the desert,

lunched in the middle of nowhere,

searched for wildlife,

shopped,

watched sunsets


and rainbows,

climbed rocks,

ran down sand dunes,

and posed for pictures.

All these things led me to take about 1,800 pictures, mostly in a 16-day period (I had only once in my life taken a hundred in a day), including 259 on a 2-hour flight over the sand dunes and along the coast.







Perhaps this could lead to an even more worthwhile aspect of the trip – adding to my previous adventures and photos, putting together a new storytelling slideshow that could become a new career a few years down the line. I’ve done it before on a limited basis using my experiences in Alaska.

The end of the trip was the strangest part. I finally developed stomach issues during our last day on the road, leading to a miserable night in the hostel at Windhoek, during which I even fainted briefly when I couldn’t escape the stale air of the bathroom quick enough. But at least I didn’t go through that during a night I was in a tent or on an airplane. My stomach was better during the flights home, despite efforts by others to upset it again. I was checked in as the wrong person at the Windhoek airport and had to go back through security and passport control and had to wait in several unnecessary lines and for over an hour to board the plane in Johannesburg. Things got worse in D.C. Already an hour late, I had to wait until all the luggage had been unloaded onto the carousel before discovering my bag had been sitting on the floor for an undetermined length of time. By then it was almost time for my next flight, so I nervously went up to customs. They sent me to the side for a baggage inspection. After another several minutes they finally let me through without making me unpack, but by then my flight had left. I got on standby for the next, but had to give up the window seat I’d carefully arranged months before. Everyone around me had their windows closed, so I had to cross the country without seeing a thing (those who were on tour with me know how much I like to look at things when travelling – even more so on planes). And since I’d only have a few minutes in L.A. to catch my next flight and my bag was only checked to there, I figured I’d meet the same fate on the next flight. But when we got to there, things finally went right. My gate wasn’t too far away, I heard my name on the intercom as I rushed toward it, and they let me on, saying they’d get my bag on the next flight. So I had my window seat with nice views of places I’d explored growing up around L.A. and Fresno, including a great view of Yosemite Valley, and didn’t even have to carry my heavy backpack home from the airport (they delivered it to my house in the evening).

The strangest thing that happened on the flight home was a few hours before landing in D.C. The teenage girl sitting next to me suddenly jabbed me in the middle of the night. I looked over and saw she was unconscious and having a seizure. I had to hold on to both of her arms while trying to get someone's attention to call an attendant. I guess she was okay, but had to spend the rest of the flight lying down in the back of the plane.

One of the measures of how good a trip was is how mundane everything seems after you get back home. My trip must have been really good. I'm back in Portland, toothache worse than ever, a painful blister between two of my toes, still not caught up on sleep even after spending thirteen hours in bed one night, having had to work two long days of overtime. I miss both the wonderful group of people, most of whom are still together in Botswana, and the beautiful countries of South Africa and Namibia.

In conclusion… why don't I just let my camera speak.