The Namib

Drawn into the Desert

by Alison Westwood, 1 May 2006

There's something compelling about a desert. Someone once told me that vertigo is not a fear of falling, but the desire to fall. The desert is like that. Its emptiness, endlessness, and whispered promise of death can draw you towards it with a strange magnetism.

I felt this the first time I saw Namibia. I was on an overland adventure exploring Namibia from bottom to top. I was sitting on the banks of the Orange River after a day spent drifting downstream in a canoe.

Under the shade of a tree, I looked out across the wide green river, which forms the border of South Africa and Namibia.

The Edge of Desolation

The Orange River Valley is just a thin strip of green winding between two harsh territories. On the South African side of the river, the farmlands are cut off by scrubby hills or high red cliffs. On the Namibian side, a brave border of bushes gives way to ominous black piles of rock.

The desert stretched away below and all around me. The sky was a merciless blue. Far away on the horizon were a few tiny white puffs of cloud and the sharp spines of mountains.

The South African side of the river looked uncomfortable, but the Namibian side was downright scary. Fascinated by the desolation, I made a bet with my friends that I would get to Namibia a day early, then swam across the river and stood breathless on the other side.

I took several steps towards the scorched mountains before realizing that, barefoot and in a swimming costume, I couldn't go any further. The next day we all drove over the river and into Namibia. The stone, sand and mountains of rock went on for hours.

Alone in the Desert

Somewhere between nowhere and anywhere, our guide stopped the truck and told us to get out. We would walk into the desert alone, each in a different direction. I stared resolutely into the distance and started crunching across the sand.

After 20 minutes I couldn't see anyone else. The desert had swallowed them up. I sat down and looked around me.

Beyond the mountains, lapping at the escarpment, was the desert.

I had found my way onto a slightly raised ledge of crumbling rock. The desert stretched away below and all around me. The sky was a merciless blue. Far away on the horizon were a few tiny white puffs of cloud and the sharp spines of mountains.

All I heard was the wind sighing over the cracked ground and a grasshopper that jumped with a dry rustling sound. Despite the heat, I had goosebumps.

Back to the Namib

When I was given the chance to travel to Namibia again there was no question in my mind where I'd go. The Skeleton Coast with its ghost ships, the great white pans of Etosha, the lush waterways of the Caprivi - none of them captured my imagination the way the desert had. I wanted to go back to the Namib Desert.

But this time, I wouldn't be staying in a tent. I would be staying at 2 of the best lodges in Namibia: Wolwedans Dunes Lodge and Little Kulala. Wolwedans is in the NamibRand, a private reserve with a wealth of wildlife. Little Kulala is on the edge of the Namib-Naukluft Park.

Leaving Cape Town, I was dreaming of the desert as I watched green winelands slide away beneath the window of the plane. Gradually the landscape below changed to brown. When I saw my old friend the Orange River winding behind us like a wide silver necklace I knew I was back in Namibia.

From Malls to Mountains

Our first stop in Namibia was a shopping mall. I had forgotten sun block, and Erick had forgotten to bring shorts, so we went to the new Maerua Mall in Windhoek, which was shiny, modern, and crowded. Not exactly what I'd been dreaming of.

Fortunately, it wasn't long before we were bundled into a tiny plane by our pilot guide, Andrew. Windhoek vanished almost instantly. Soon there was no sign of man but the long scar of a dirt road over a dusty plain.

The plain became strange, flat-topped hills, like brain coral on an enormous scale, and then jagged mountains with steep green slopes that plunged dizzyingly down, where only klipspringer and leopard can negotiate. Beyond these mountains, lapping at the escarpment, was the desert.

The Green Desert

It had been raining in the desert. In March 2006 Namibia had its heaviest rains in 50 years. The effects of this rare gift of water were extraordinary a month later.

Where once only red sand and a few tufts of long-suffering dune grass had covered the NamibRand Nature Reserve, now a deep sea of green-gold rippled, speckled by the inexplicable islands of sand called fairy rings.

No-one knows for sure what causes fairy rings, but everyone has a theory. "It's termites," said Andrew, our pilot guide. "There were poisonous plants that died a long time ago and poisoned the ground around them," said our next guide. "It's most probably a combination of a fungus and termites," said Willem, our balloon pilot.

Once again we were flying. This time, we had no wings and no engine, just a big bag of hot air. Ballooning is supposed to be very peaceful. This is 80 percent true. The other 20 percent of the time, you're blasted by the roar of the gas jet and sizzled by its flames. It's all very exciting.

Floating a Mile High

In order for the balloon to go up, the pilot has to maintain at least a 70 degree temperature difference between the air inside the balloon and the air outside - a practical reason why balloon rides usually take place at the crack of dawn.

As the sun rose over the Namib, the colours of the dunes shifted like a chameleon's skin, and our balloon drifted in a gentle breeze far above them. I looked over the edge of the basket. It's an indescribable sensation to stand still more than a mile high in the sky and look straight down into empty air.

For a moment, a combination of vertigo and that strange desert attraction had me in its grip. I stretched my hand out, down, open. A tiny silver grass seed floated by.

Breakfast with the Fairies

The basket skimmed over the grass. Willem had us half-expecting a crash landing, and I was ready to assume the brace position, tucked down in the basket, holding onto the leather straps. Instead, we landed with the slightest bump right on the trailer of the vehicle that was waiting for us.

The first hour after dawn is the best part of the day. The air is still cool, the sky is luminous and stark silhouettes are softened into grey gentleness.

We ate breakfast in a fairy circle. Willem took a machete and cut the top off a bottle of champagne in the style of Napoleon. Bubbles fizzed, zebra and kudu salamis were wolfed down, and the sun rose warm and golden over the endless fields of gold.

Stars and Scorpions

That night we hunted for scorpions. Maybe we'd had a few too many Tafel Lagers (you conserve water in Namibia by drinking beer), but it seemed like a good idea at the time. We took torches and wandered around poking at likely looking holes in the sand. But scorpions are shy and retiring creatures, and none came out of hiding.

We gave up and joined the other guests for some star gazing. The desert is one of the few places you can see the stars properly. There are seldom any clouds, the air is clear, and you are hundreds of miles from any city lights. Here you can really see why it's called the Milky Way.

With the help of the star guide at Wolwedans, we found south using the Southern Cross. We found Orion standing on his head but still able to shoot his bear. We identified Alpha Proxima, our closest star, and the plane of the ecliptic, the path the planets follow in their solemn procession.

And there was Scorpio, hanging low on the horizon, his glittering tail curving across the sky. So we did find our scorpion after all.

A Race Against Time

It's a good idea to wake up early when you are in the desert. The first hour after dawn is the best part of the day. The air is still cool, the sky is luminous and stark silhouettes are softened into grey gentleness. But if you want to see sunrise from the top of the tallest dunes in the world, you have to get up even earlier.

It was still dark when there was a knock on the door of my little castle at Little Kulala. The night crickets were still chirupping. I ate breakfast alone, looking out over the dark desert. After three wake-up calls, each more urgent than the last, Erick arrived and we sped off towards the Namib Sand Sea.

It's a race, you see. If you come through the main gate of the park, your competitors are overland trucks and 4x4s, all vying to be first to reach Dune 45, the most popular sunrise spot. If you come through the back way, as we did, your opponent is the sun, and he's faster than any vehicle.

On Top of the World

We reached Dune 1. There was no one else there. Light bled swiftly into the sky. We hurried across the soft, heavy sand and up the steep side of the dune. Stumbling and shuffling up the ridge, calf muscles aching, lungs struggling for breath, we lost the race to the sun and collapsed halfway up the dune.

This time last year, I was on top of Dune 45 with my overland friends watching the sunrise. Now here I was again: sitting on the slopes of a huge red dune, staring at the sun as it poured its power over the waiting desert. It was a pilgrimage, a form of worship, and a moment I'll keep burning in my brain - until the next time.

Experience this Yourself

Spend 3 nights at Wolwedans Dunes Lodge and explore the beautiful NamibRand Nature Reserve. If you're a photographer, or just someone who craves peace and privacy, you'll be in your element. You should definitely book a balloon ride too!

If you've got the time and a taste for adventure, try the overland tour I joined on my first visit to Namibia. The 12-day Desert and Sea adventure starts in Cape Town and travels up to Windhoek, taking in most of Namibia's highlights along the way.

You can climb Dune 45 at dawn, skydive in Swakopmund and chill out by a waterhole in Etosha.

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