From there, we went off to the Namib desert. This was a place where temperatures could get to 55 C at which point water is closer to steam than ice, to put it into perspective. As with the Kalahari 'desert' in Botswana, when we arrived in this veritable oven - a place where dead trees stand perfectly preserved for 600 years where they grew due to the absolute lack of any moisture whatsoever - it stormed. A lot.
This may just be coincidence, but could I really risk taking that chance? Maybe it was a sign? Maybe the Dutch medical professionals were in on this too? Maybe I was at fault; my mere presence shifting the delicate natural balance achieved over millenia in these harsh environments? Therefore, in order to avoid hail, high winds and potential flash floods, I've decided to cancel my trip to the Sahara next year.
The Namib desert is famous for it's huge red sand dunes that start at the Atlantic coast and stretches over a hundred kilometers inland. The most famous of these (although far from the largest) is the 125 meter-high Dune 45, the most photographed dune in the world. There must be some kind of International Dune Commission keeping these kinds of statistics but frustratingly, they weren't giving out numbers. I wanted to know how many times it has been photographed, which dune had the dubious distinction of being number two, and was it was a close race or did Dune 45 leave the others - excuse the pun - in the dust.
We were to climb the dune to be there for sunrise, because, well, that's just the way things are done. And everybody else had the same idea. The gate to this protected area opened at 5:00 AM. WE would get there before that, to ensure we would be the first in. We got to the gate and waited until it was finally opened by a tired park official and we were off.
We drove like mad and behind us there was a veritable convoy of overland trucks, vans, 4x4s and who knows what else just waiting for us to make a mistake, so they can overtake us and become The First. I thought I heard gunshots as the trucks behind us tried to take out our tires, but I might have just imagined that. We arrived at the foot of the dune, and it was indeed a great sight. Unfortunately we didn't have the luxury of being able to savour it because already the other trucks were coming to a stop, people pouring out of doors, and windows and even being launched by catapult-like devices to give them the extra edge to make it up the dune.
So we climbed and climbed through the soft sand, which was incredibly difficult to manage. Many succumbed to the arduous effort and desert conditions, being left for dead (or maybe just really out of breath) where they fell/sat. The rest clambered on and on, building courage as they saw the ridge level out.
Finally on top, I waited for the sun to rise, and then like a miracle the first rays of the sun peaked over the mountains to the east, engulfing me and the remote dune in a barren desert in light. The only sound to be heard during this time of awe, was the hundreds or so other people on the dune also being equally engulfed; their snapping cameras; idle chitchat; the munching of snacks and in the distance the sounds of more vehicles pulling up and engines running.
What a truly magical moment it was.
From there we went on a desert walk with someone called simply 'Bushman', since nobody really knew his name. Now he wasn't really a bushman, but a big white guy who lived in the desert and I imagine was oblivious that Bushman was a derogatory term used to describe the local Khoisan population from which he probably gained most of his desert knowledge. Now our group didn't actually go with Bushman, but with his Japanese girlfriend. Now here is a guy who grew up in a desert and probably hadn't seen a girl until his mid 30's and he has a Japanese girlfriend? She claims she fell in love with the place when she came to visit. I'm guessing it was more on the lines of her being a mail-order bride who was promised diamonds and gold from beneath the rich earth, but once she arrived, was stripped of her passport and forced into a life of sexual - and tour guiding - servitude.
I'm sure she was giving subtle hints for help in the way she described the flora and fauna which manage to thrive in such a place, but due to the sun and heat, I couldn't make them out. At some point she was definitely spelling out the name of an official in the Japanese consulate who could help her since he was a Ninja master. But I didn't have a pen, and when I tactfully asked her about it afterward in a way that Bushman's many agents in the desert wold not be made suspicious, she pretended not know what I was talking about.
On the other hand, maybe it was just the sun and heat and the fact that I'm hungry while writing this so I've gone uncharacteristically out on a tangent.
