(Madisa = how are you? In the local dialect)
The road from the sea to the interior uplands is dry, rocky,
long, and, like so much of Namibia, forbidding.
There were, though, a couple points of interest along the dusty route.
 |
| Mile Marker on the road to Khorixas; just 45 km to go! |
 |
| The Mighty X-Trail and wow! another car on the road!! (dust cloud on the horizon) |
 |
| Not so lucky traveler |
The Tucson Gem and Mineral Show has nothing on these
people! Similar to the simple Navajo
shops on the Rez as you drive to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, local
people have set up “shops” to tempt the tourist with all manner of rocks and
minerals in creative arrangements. We
were tempted. The display was so cool
that the photographer couldn’t resist.
The crystals were so sparkly the amateur geologist couldn’t resist. So we stopped at a couple of these informal
gem shows and bought a few specimens. The prices lower than the Crystal Museum back
in Swakopmund, I guess it was the low overhead.
In all of the Namibia guidebooks, in all the travel sites, Himba
ladies are always a big photo feature.
The fold-out. The National
Geographic issue you snuck from your Grampa’s bookshelf to check out those
Native Jungle Women in all their glory.
Ya see, in this tribe of relatively indigenous people, (compared to the San people who have called it home for 250,000 years, we're ALL newcomers) the ladies are
renowned for going topless, for slathering red ochre and animal fat to cover
their skins, which gives them a reddish tint, and for their intricate braided
hairstyles.
In order to get down and dirty, authentic, you need to get off the roads and hang out in a village to get the real deal, the natural
shot. We had neither the vehicle nor
knowledge of where and how, so did the next best thing-we stopped at the little
roadside shelter just outside the crossroads town of Uis, where the ladies were
seated and awaited our Nikon…for a price.
 |
| Obligatory Himba woman shot. |
I am not a fan of this kind of thing. I don’t like any kind of posed photograph in
the first place, just ask Mimi. And I
don’t like to see people selling out their culture just for a buck. But, I figured this was the only way to
capture at least a few obligatory shots of these photogenic ladies. And I rationalized that at least they were
collecting some cash for their families.
The Lonely Planet advised not to pay with money, as it takes away their
culture and converts them to filthy capitalists, so we accepted that idea and
stocked up on bags of apples and maize flower.
Yea, right. These chicks wanted
cold hard cash, baby, screw the corn flour.
Welcome to the 21st century.
 |
| Obligatory Himba woman shot #2 |
At long last, we pulled into the Damara Mopane Lodge. The lodge is a circular configuration of
cottages around the biggest pool I’ve seen since SeaWorld.
We had booked for three nights, while most everyone else was
there for an overnighter as they dashed between Etosha and Swakopmund. But then, they are tourists with only a
couple weeks to “do” Namibia, while we are leeeeeeiisurely engaged in Travel,
not tourism. Ahem.
 |
| See how good you are at spotting things in the wild. Can you find our Lodge? (Hint: It is the only green for a hundred km) |
Just as Aus is no place to spend two nights, the Damara
Mopane Lodge is not the place to spend three.
 |
| sundown in Damara |
To fill our activity list, however, we did the Sundowner
Walk on the first night up to a platform they had built halfway up the mountain
with a vista over the flat, dry landscape with the sun setting behind some
mountains on the horizon. Commiserated
with the two German couples, who, of course, had traveled more in North America
than we had: Harleyed Route 66, skied Utah, Vail, Breck, Whistler, Banff, was a
nanny in Wisconsin when she was young, and on and on. Nice people though and we may see them
tomorrow at Etosha.
Next morning, we trudged out to the only other activity on
offer here at DM Lodge, besides lounging poolside or lounging in the bar, we hiked
the mountain. We really love these days
in which we: hike, or walk the morning away, taking photos, spotting birds and
wildlife, return to the cool of the cottage to chill, read, write, enjoy a
beverage around 5-ish, dinner under the stars, repeat. These are golden, magical days for us and we
feel hugely lucky to be on this adventure.
The hike up the mountain was the hardest fucking hike we
have done. Ever. I’m typing this, so we must have survived,
but I can’t be sure. It was steep. There were flies and bees that pestered and
flew into your nose and eyes without cease the whole climb. The trail began rocky, well-marked, but
rocky. And then, it got bad, the red
dirt of the semi-trail giving way to nothing but rocks. Rocks only.
Razor rocks, I called them. And
they weren’t just under foot, we had to scale over them, squeeze between them,
duck under them, dodge them, stumble on them, and I’m telling you, they were sharp
as razors. So, when one lost one’s
balance, as one does as one reaches this station in life, one chose between
falling and slicing the knee, hip, head, or elbow, or steadying oneself by
grabbing one of the razor rocks lurking there and slicing the palm.
In the end, we (Mimi) figured out that if we wrapped our
hands, it would act like a glove that would allow us to use the rocks as
handrails when needed. So, I wrapped my
Saudi ghuttra (headscarf) and Mimi took off her sports bra (believe me, there
wasn’t another soul out there interested in this hike who might possibly scope
her out as she disrobed, and plus, she was practicing going Totally Himba!) and
this, the hand wraps, not the Himba Style, made the difference. We found out later in the day that leather
work gloves are available at Reception, just for the asking. Shoulda asked.
The mountain had some of the strangest trees and bushes we
have seen, ever. Thorny ones, gnarly
 |
| Mimi and the gnarly tree |
 |
| Is this a hiker who gave up and just buried his head in the razor rocks? |
After 2.5 hours, we had made it down, startling a flock of springboks, which darted in front of us through the bush. Ugh.
We followed up on our plan and the lodge manager helped us
change our reservation to cut off the last night and add it to our next
accommodation, Etosha Safari Lodge, part of the same chain of lodges. She even confided to us, “There is nothing to do
here, you must go before three days!”
 |
| Damara Mopane Lodge by night |
