I’m admittedly not the best of morning people, in fact, probably not even vaguely a ‘morning person’, so 4.30am was never a time at which I would plausibly imagine myself rising. Especially when I’m on holiday. Yet 4.30am it was, up and dressed, and in the truck to drive to Dune 42 to watch the sun rise over the Namibian Desert. We lined up awaiting the gates to the National Park to open on the strike of 5am, then drove in convoy with the other dozen or so tour trucks to the dune. Then up we went.
I’m not sure if you’ve ever climbed an 80m high sand dune before, especially in the grey emptiness before dawn, but let me tell you: it’s hard! As with regular dune climbing, you tend to sink 3 steps for everyone you take, however the added bonus of doing it so ridiculously early in the morning is that you run the risk of miscalculating your step and either falling flat on your face, or falling over the edge of the roof-line that you’re so precariously trying to follow, or falling backwards and domino-affect toppling the 80 or so people lined behind you. And you’ll undoubtedly end up regretting wearing 6 layers of polar-fleece because 5 mins and 5degrees of altitude before you were positive you would turn into an ice block before you reached the summit.
But we got there. And as we collapsed on the ridge with all the other exhausted adventurers and swung our legs out over the slope, our gasps for air were silenced in awe as the sun crept finger by golden finger through the peaks of distant dune silhouettes and lavished it’s light along the endless sea of sand. It really was just incredible; in fact it felt almost surreal. And we just sat there soaking up the beauty of the moment, until at last the sun had risen and we clamber back down to the truck to have a cooked breakky and ‘I told you so’ smiles awaiting us – good work Philile and Khumbu!! J
From Dune 42 we piled into jeeps and drove further into the desert, to then hike along the sand trails to the Deadsvlei, an ancient salt pan full of petrified acacia trees, which was all at once strange and beautiful. We played around the tree ruins and then climbed one last dune to sprint down as a group on our way back to the truck.
On and on into the desert we drove. I don’t think l could have ever imagined so much sand – it was endless, stretching to the horizon in every direction in undulating ripples. Apparently Namibia is one of the most sparsely populated countries in the world, and considering the vast expanse of haunting nothingness I’m sure I’d believe it. We’d periodically stop at little road-side shanty-stalls for breaks and the small children of the sellers would run to the truck looking to kick a football whilst the youngest ones stood clutching at their mother’s skirts but staring at us strange white people with their brilliant, big dark eyes.
After what seemed like an eternity of unceasing sand, in the distance there emerged a peak which grew with every mile into the rocky outcrop known as Spitzkoppe. The name Spitzkoppe comes from a mix of the Africaan’s word for ‘pointed’ and the kitchen Dutch word for ‘hat’ – and accordingly the rocks did resemble some giant pointed hat! We walked along the rocks and were shown ancient Bushman paintings led by a local guide and then attempted our tongues at the Xhosa language with all its clicks and guttural stops –which was much more challenging than you’d think! We made it back to camp in time to set up and prepare dinner, before settling in to watch yet another spectacular sun set along a horizon. Philile spoilt us and made chocolate cake for desert, and afterwards we dragged our mattresses out amongst the tussock grass and scorpion holes to lie on our backs watching shooting stars across the night sky: magical.
Blog and Images by: Jess Morrison