Our ears popped, the descending jet banked and slowed as the flaps deployed and the aircraft lined up on the runway. My daughter Chrissy and I peered eagerly out of the window as the plane angled downward at long last into the Windhoek Airport in Namibia, Africa.
Both of us were pretty much basket cases; we’d been traveling for over 50 hours and hadn’t laid down once the entire time. We’d dozed occasionally during the 8 hour flight from Dulles in Washington, D.C. to England and the longer 11 hour flight from Heathrow, London to Johannesburg, South Africa.
We were cramped, exhausted, frazzled, but somehow our bodies found a reserve of energy and excitement as we disembarked onto the tarmac via a portable stairway. Then a 200 yard walk to the terminal and customs. We were greeted courteously by the inspectors, our passports, boarding passes and declaration forms examined carefully, stamped and handed back. That’s always a good thing.
When we actually found our luggage on the turntables we were thrilled; it had made the trip successfully as well. We grabbed our suitcases with a sense of relief heading for the exit mixed in with a crowd from many nations. When the friendly, smiling face of Andre Rousseau of Eitaalo Hunting Safaris greeted us our last nervousness vanished. We’d made it safe and sound.
Andre soon had our luggage loaded in the back of his diesel Toyota Land Cruiser, a safari vehicle if I ever saw one, and we embarked on the three-hour drive to camp. Now we could relax, no flights to catch, hours to wait, watching officials and passport scrutinizing security. Only a safe, relaxing ride through the vast rolling savannah of Namibia.
On the ride we saw baboons, springbuck, warthogs, a magnificent kudu and strange birds of all types. The savannah floor is reddish sand mixed with sparse grass and varying thicknesses of scrub and trees seldom exceeding 30 feet. Sometimes you can see long distances and other times only a few yards. Bare, jagged mountains lined the horizon for 20 miles or so then dropped from sight.
The air is clean and hot. You can feel your skin shrink and your nasal passages parch in the very dry heat. Everything around you has that dried desert look as it shimmers under the burning bronze sun, but in the cruiser all is cool and refreshing.
Andre patiently answers our hundreds of questions, carefully obeying the speed limit. Here police simply grab you license and haul you off to jail for any infraction over 10 miles per hour above the posted limit. He explains that holds true for all their regulations. They don’t dilly dally and read you your rights in Namibia; hot, bare cells and big, big fines await the law breaker.
When the scrub encroached upon the berms he slows and becomes very alert. Andre witnessed a car strike a big kudu bull years ago, a husband, wife and brother were all killed, only the baby in a car seat surviving with only scratches. It was a horrible scene, painful to remember even now, so Andre drives cautiously in areas of bad visibility.
Time passed quickly and not long after going through the town of Gobabis (elephants water her) we turned onto a smooth dirt road. Only 30 more minutes to our destination.
Then an oasis of green rises up out of the semi-desert; tall waving palm trees, huge camel thorns and actual green, watered grass nestle around a splendid traditional thatched roof lodge with curving, rising and falling eves; a splendid sight. Six huge ostriches race away from our vehicle as we park; they’re really seven feet at the head.
Simon, our gun bearer and tracker, appears and takes our luggage to our bungalow. It’s built in the same manner as the lodge and we enter the doors as the sun touches the horizon. The high rising V-shaped, thatched ceiling is framed in timbers resting upon smooth thick walls painted beige. Mounted animals adorn the walls, skin rugs the floors and the late suns golden beams cast an enchanting light through the many doors and windows.
Tired as we are we’re entranced by the elegant, delightful beauty of this traditional architecture. There is no doubt that within these walls beats the captured heart of the land around us. Rugged, simple, elegant and bewitching. As we marvel we’re greeted by the lodge owner, Andrus, a large, thick-chested man of evident power and strength, yet possessing a simple and direct charm, a gentleness and willingness to please that quite overwhelms and relaxes you. We felt immediately at home.
Soon we had a quick dinner and sprawled by the outside bonfire, drinks in hand. One hundred yards away animals appeared at the waterhole. Oryx, zebra, steenbok and warthogs. I have my binoculars and watch them intently.
However, the time spent by the fire is short. We’re so tired we’re dizzy, sore and cramping and without excuse we rise and head for our bungalow where we quickly shower and fall with groans of relief, ecstasy actually, into our extremely comfortable beds. I never dreamed just how wonderful it felt to be clean and simply lie down and relax our tortured muscles.
Andre told us to be at the lodge at 6:30 for breakfast. My head hit the pillow and I marveled how wonderful it felt to lying so comfortable at last. A groan of pleasure and within seconds was fast asleep. What would the morrow bring? What would the land be like? What adventures awaited?
I dreamed of a vast door opening before me, it swung on silent hinges and as I hesitated it began to close. Taking a deep breath I ran, gabbing Chrissy’s hand and we both jumped into the swirling green unknown.
