Day 27-28 Divava We are Livin' Lodge!

Day 27-28  Divava  We are Livin' Lodge!

Divava Lodge on the left bank of the Okavango River

Divava means, “dense reeds grown together.”  No, honest.  Along the banks of the river, this is very common, 10-ft. tall reeds and papyrus wave in the breezes, thick in green and gold, and the hippos love it.  

So, the word in context it might go something like, “Gosh, Bubba, I’m sure sorry about that weed-eater you lent me.  It was doin’ just fine all the way around the double-wide ‘till I got into that damn divava and she plum up and quit on me!”   Or, in that distinctive British golf commentator whisper, “Tiger Woods has hit a magnificent tee shot…but wait, oh dear, he has hooked it to the left and finds himself stuck in the divava to the left of the pin.”

While every lodge we have stayed in has been top quality in all ways, THIS one stands out as El Primo.  It was listed as a five-star.  My first clue that this was to be a step up from our previous wonderful lodges was the 9 pieces of cutlery (silverware) at lunch.  Why do I always feel a bit like Gomer Pyle in these situations?  “Goooolllly, would you look at all them forks, Goober!  I reckon ya use one to hold down the gopher, whilst ya use the other two to skewer his innards!”

Five Star also means that your sheets are turned down nightly while you are dining on the veranda, thank you very much, and that dinner is not buffet-style, as it has been (though they were all excellent!), but is a civilized choice between your different pre-starters, your soups, your starters, your main dishes, and your desserts.  

“Lovey, pass the carafe of guava papaya, s’il vous plait.”  (done in my very best Thurston Howell III).  Mimi’s guidance, as well as my Naval Academy “officer and a gentlemen” training, got me through the “which fork do I use?” ordeal.  (Though I don’t think I ever fooled the indulgent wait staff.)

Foyer and bedroom region

Our chalet is larger than our first house!  It has four distinct rooms, an entry area with cabinets and mini-fridge, which then steps down to a giant bedroom, writing desk, sitting area, fancy carved   

Hallway to bath zone

lamps, floor to ceiling windows looking onto the hippo-laden river, and then opens onto a large viewing deck with two large chairs and a table, a short hallway that opens to separate toilet and shower area (Please!), and then, the bathtub and double sink zone, also windows for river-viewing
while you pop bubbles in your bath, and finally, an outdoor shower region, which, au naturel, allows you to scope out the birds, the crocs, the fishermen as they are scoping out you.

 Life’s tough in the bush. 

Outdoor shower

Hippo viewing deck

This journal isn’t necessarily about our accommodations, but this place exceeded our expectations.  The approach into Divava is inauspicious.  It is a rough dirt road that curls through shack after shack, a few hungry goats, a few people sitting under trees.  Two signs sit side by side near the entrance, “Malaria Control Research Camp“ and “Divava Okavango Lodge and Spa *****” .  Hmmmm.

And this is the moral dilemma that the international tourist (traveler) (adventurer) has to come to grips with.  You have it all.  They have nothing.  You are bright white.  They are something more colorful.  You are foreign and will spend your holiday (vacation) there and then zoom back home to share your photos with Granny and Uncle Jake.  They are locals and will spend the rest of their lives within a few km of where they are sitting.  You are rich.  They are poor.  Haves.  Have nots.    

Have

Have not.  

These are gross generalizations, of course, but mostly accurate.  Some superstars escape humble beginnings to find success in a thousand ways.  Sometimes governments actually do some good for rural communities with power, water, roads, Walmarts.  Sometimes tourists are motivated to stay and do good works, or to return home and find a way to give back, or share their cross-cultural experiences with respect.  Sometimes. 

You rationalize by saying that your tourist dollars help employ lots of locals, which we have found to be true everywhere we've travelled in Namibia.  You do all that you can to treat everyone you meet with honest respect and sincere smiles without the colonialist attitude coloring your dealings.  It’s a dilemma.  More reflections on this topic at the end of the Tour.     

In one of the regional languages, this river is called the Kavango.  In the other, (the neighboring tribe’s) it is called the Okavango, our boat captain explained.  I believe the “O” is the article meaning “the.”  Which explains why most of the towns in the north of the country start with the letter O.  So, you have Okavango = The Kavango.  Otjozondjupa = The Tjozondjupa.  And Oklahoma = The Klahoma…OK, maybe not. 

Anyhow, neither tribe understands the other’s language, so when he wants to communicate with his friend, he says, they just speak English.  Or German.  Or Afrikaans.  And here I thought the Swiss were the master linguists! 

      

Another sunset cruise.  This time with lots of hippos.  

And a stop on the island next to Popa Falls, where we enjoyed our drinks and the sunset.  The “falls” are actually more of a series of good-sized rapids, but, when the rainy season comes, during the upcoming summer months Oct. - Feb., the river will rise as much as 5 meters and the rapids will be covered and unnoticeable.     

Popa Falls

 

We signed up for a game drive at 7 the next morning.  At 4:45 I was awake.  We were the only two passengers, with Erastus, our driver/guide.  It was a thirty-minute schlep into the Mahongo National Park, whose southern border is shared with Botswana’s northern. 

The park has branches of the Okavango snaking through it, so it was hippomania right away.  More of the big lumbering creatures than we have ever see in one place.  A massive bloat of hippos.  Bloat after bloat. 

Also had our first sighting of a Tsessebe.  Did I stump you again?  A Tsessebe is yet one more antelope grazer, but I’d be hard-pressed to pick one out of a police line-up if he was placed alongside a Dik-dik, a Lechwe, and a Waterbuck. 

For me, one of the coolest parts (most photographable) of Mahongo Park was the giant Baobab tree.  The scientific latin name is the baodacious robertis, or Bao-bob for short.  Just kidding.  

The particular tree Erastus showed us, and we were able to get out of the vehicle to walk about, is estimated to be over 1300 years old, which puts it firmly in the same demographic as Keith Richards! 

As we concluded our 2-hour game drive four hours later, Erastus asked if we minded visiting the Bangani Airport for a pick-up.  No worries.  I didn’t expect much, but the Bangani Airport consists of a) a windsock, b) a gravel strip a couple hundred meters long.  Waiting were the pilot of the small single-engine plane and a German couple.  They turned out to be not-so-friendly, thinking that they had FLOWN in while we peasants merely DROVE, so we decided then and there NOT to friend them on Facebook!  Ha, showed them! 

Calling Georgia O'Keefe, Ms.  O'Keefe...

We had booked only two nights at Divava, but wanted to stay longer, as in, forever.   Or at least until rainy season begins.

Cheers, from Divava

Southward!