Piglet's Potter

That is the title of a book by a Welshman called Jon Manchip White about his travels in South Western Africa, focusing on Namibia. I struggle with the title because I can't imagine an angry God making the the Namibia that I saw, the Namibia that I can't shake from my memory. It is a land that justifiably evokes bountiful adjectives and superlatives, but from what I saw, God was in an exuberant, dramatic and creative mood when it came to making Namibia.

Our photos and our words cannot do the place justice. I still find myself scrolling keenly through my archive of photos to make sure it was me: that I was there under the purple black sky overflowing with stars, to check that the deep red glow of the sun setting over the barren Atlantic was something I saw, to prove that the two recently-sated lions strolling past our truck, so close that I could almost touch them was not something I dreamed.

We packed an enormous amount into our two weeks in Namibia, driving up from Fish River Canyon (Grand Canyon...eat your heart out!) to Windhoek in one, long day before the 12 day Dunes and Delta tour with Thimbi Thimbi. I don't think I fully appreciated the import of the word VAST until I saw Namibia. I thought I did as we traveled up the lush green Olifants River Valley in South Africa, flanked by colossal mountains the sun seeming too far away to ever set. Then we drove all over Namibia and now I understand how very big the open spaces are, how many bumpy dusty miles of ever changing landscape roll by through a colour chart of khaki, yellow, ochre, red and brown between oases of townships. And the sky....there is just so much of it, uninterrupted by tall buildings or light pollution, bright blue or twinkling black arcs take up two thirds of the space on my retinas.

Our itinerary took us from Windhoek to the Dune Sea at Sossusvlei and Sesreim for a couple of nights of bush camping in the desert. Then back to Windhoek for a brief respite from the heat, before continuing our infinity loop up to Etosha National Park, Bushmanland, the Okavango Delta and the Caprivi strip, finishing up in Livingstone: dazed, exhilarated and enriched. We became adept at spotting all the wild animals - baboons, oryx, ostrich, springbok, jackals and zebra - crossing our paths. The desert was surprisingly cold at night - we had four season sleeping bags and multiple layers of fine merino wool keeping us above freezing both we were nights there. It is a wonder anything can survive in this harsh, utterly breathtaking and surreal land, but they do. I picked up a nasty cough and cold in Sesreim, which ultimately spread to our whole group and, as I was later told, to almost all the tourist groups doing the same circuit. Of all the things to get in the hottest, driest and oldest desert in the world...a common garden cold, no doubt a stowaway from Europe.

I can't adequately convey my experience in Namibia, it still needs to filter through my senses that are buzzing from over stimulation, but I have favorite moments. Dawn at Dune 45 (because of its distance, in kilometers, from Sesreim) - not just for the physical conquest of making it up a three or four hundred foot shifting sand dune but for the quiet awe we stood in as the sun crested over the mountains and bathed the previously matte terracotta dunes in twinkling golden red light, technicolour where there had been black and white. The utterly surreal vision that is Deadvlei - a haunting, stark white clay pan - the ghost of a once might river - dotted with pitch black petrified trees, stuck denuded in comical poses against a backdrop of bright orange dune. Windy Walvis Bay with its regular conical mountains of refined salt and plethora of flamingos, pausing briefly to breed and feed. Pushing my comfort zone to go quad biking and sand boarding down vertiginous golden dunes and being rewarded with adrenaline and the realization that I am more competent than I give myself credit for.

Our first night at Etosha National Park - after a long drive up from Windhoek, through Grootfontein, we arrive at dusk and are rewarded with the truly breathtaking spectacle of wild animals resting and re hydrating at the water hole, adjacent to our camp site, which is flooded with infra red light so we can watch from the cheap seats. First the family of Elephants, lined up like big grey Russian dolls along the bank, noisily slurping and play fighting with dust. Then there was the cautious White Rhino mother and her calf, dismissively staying clear of the solitary Black Rhino, strutting and grunting at the bizarre flashes of light caused by overzealous and ignorant tourist cameras.

And out of Acacia trees materialize five lanky Giraffes, awkwardly angling their limbs to drink at the waterhole. Jackals zig zag everywhere, eerily howling at the red crescent moon that set right behind the waterhole. As these animals tried various jetties into the watering hole, they passed no more than 10 feet from us - smelling but not seeing the alien figures, all of us holding our breath or slack jawed in amazement.

Taking a walk in the bush with a real live Bushman, of Kalahari and The Gods Must Be Crazy fame - watching him pad silently through utter wilderness and learning about which animals will feed me and which plants will cure me. Another highlight is the peaceful watery relief of the languid Okavango Delta, being punted through the lily pad studded swamp in mokoro (dugout canoes) along the maze of channels made by hippos and being lulled to sleep in our island bush camp by the constant drone of frogs and cicadas.

It feels odd sleeping in a double bed inside four, air conditioned walls. No more tent pitching and camp fire ritual and mercifully no more pre-dawn starts. I like the noise and the colour and the bustle of Livingstone, the "real" Africa feel after the surreal of Namibia but I know it is a place and an experience that will stay with me for a long long time to come. I will miss the kind, inquisitive and easy going nature of the Namibians I met and very much hope we will see them again when we return.