Doubtful Spring

Twyfelfontein is Namibia's only UNESCO World Heritage Site, and they're very proud of it. Scattered across a rugged, stoney landscape are stone carvings of animals and symbols some 5-8,000 years old.

Our guide - wearing totally wild white sunglasses - was I think bombed-out on something (maybe the heat?) and, frankly, rubbish. I think I knew more about the art than he did. But the carvings themselves were quite fascinating and the setting is suitably remote and romantic, so as to make it worth the climb.

And the name of this entry is the translation of the place itself.

"Does your safari suit need pressing, Sir?"

The Hansa Hotel, Swapkomund: the only hotel in which I've stayed that lists safari suits on the laundry price list.

Two's company, three's an irritation.

In Swapkomund we meet up with the guy joining the remainder of our trip, Mr Alexander. He's pleasant enough - a big, 6' 8", German fella, loud and likes the sound of his own voice. A lot. He's clearly used to being the centre of attention.

All is explained when we learn that he's a motivational speaker and entertainer. Back home he drives a gold Silver Shadow Rolls Royce. Under-statement is clearly not a part of his vocabulary and I'm already a bit concerned for the remainder of our trip.

It feels as though Shrek has joined our party.

Most mornings we're on the road by 08.00 but today is different:

- 04.30, a wake-up knock of the door of my room
- 04.50, a greasy plate of fried food greets me for breakfast
- 05.10, we're on the road, in darkness.

As the sun rises, clouds and the surrounding mountains are turned a rich, salmon pink. There are a couple of other cars on the road, all heading in the same direction - towards the dunes.

From the entrance of the Namib-Naukluft Park it's a further 70km to Sossusvlei (a 'vlei' being a dried, clay pan) in the middle of the vast sea of shifting sand, and the only area accessible to man.

We reach the famous Dune 45 at 07.30. It's already incredibly hot and the shadows on the desert - which everyone wants to capture - are already ebbing away. We drive on, exchanging our vehicle for a 4x4; it's deep, moving sand from here.

We're surrounded in all directions by soft, whale-humped red dunes, rising to hundreds of metres, and pull over. I walk in the direction of a low dune with vegetation when Charly tells me to stop, step backwards and move slowly back to the Landrover. A male Gemsbok (Oryx) is in the shadow of the tree, 4 metres away. They can be aggressive. We drive further, again I step out, narrowly missing standing on a snake which moves between my feet.

This seemingly barren landscape is rich with wildlife. An incredible, adapted ecosystem lives here and the sand is covered in tracks - of beetles, lizards, snakes, antelope, birds - delicate and fleeting in the iron-red grains.

I climb a 300m dune, to see the vlei from above. I'm the only person there, with beetles scuttling on the hot sand and down the slopes.

Beware, warthogs ahead...

...or chameleons, or flamingos, or baboons, or sand.

Just a few of the roadsigns in this country.

Leaving Aus

We take the D707, reputedly Namibia's most scenic road.

For over 300kms, the landscape changes dramatically at least six times, we pass 3 cars and 2 motorbikes and get a loud, blown tyre in the middle of nowhere.

Half an hour later we've replaced it - in 40 degree heat - and are back on the bumpy, unpaved road again. (Only 10% of Namibia's 50,000kms of road are paved).

'Aus'

I have incredible memories of Aus (like 'house', with a silent 'h') from last time, a tiny settlement in the middle of the driest part of the country.

The drive there is breath-taking. For hundreds of kilometres on unpaved road you pass down from a high plateaux through plains of sun-dried yellow grass. On the horizon on either side, table-topped mountains rise to hundreds of metres and in parts, the grass gives way to the start of the red dune sea. Oryx, springbok and ostriches appear now and again, and the whole sun-bleached landscape shimmers in the heat.

It's Africa just as you imagine it - spectacular, harsh and never-ending, and no photograph or description does it justice. It's also one of my favourite places in the world, and seeing it the second time was every bit as good as the first.

Hot as hell.

This is a country with unimaginably huge, unpopulated spaces. You can drive for 200 miles and not see another car. And it's hot as hell, just sweltering.

A week in, I've done a loop in the dry south but in the north of the country the rains have apparently arrived early - which could make some of the travel tricky.

"You zee, ze sing is zis..."

Charly continues to be great company.

His thoughts on the world's current state of affairs and funny little sayings (like this entry's title) have entertained me on some bloody long road trips the last few days.

I've learnt how he loves Thailand, has been several times and wanted to move there but that his wife wouldn't do so, saying that there were too many distractions for him there.

"Afterall", he said, "what do you when you're in a bar and a sexy young girl comes up to you?".

"Err, ask if she comes with an instruction manual" would have been my response - but I decided instead to let that conversation topic trail off, suspecting minority rights in Namibia might not be that progressive.

And then I thought: Hmm, Charly, I've read about characters like you.

A (very) small tour group.

I was doing a 15 day small group tour this time. Little did I know how small that group would be...

As promised, at 07.45 on the dot, my guide arrived: Charly Herman, a German guy in his early 60's cheerfully greeted me, took my luggage and handed me some stuff to read.

I instantly liked him. It was a good job; to my slight dismay, it was going to be just me and him touring the country for the next 1800kms, before we picked up another guy in Swapkomund.

Charly had moved to Africa 33 years ago from the Black Forest. He'd travelled to CPT by boat (apparently, the first to go through the Suez Canal after the crisis), and had eventually moved to Windhoek because he "didn't like the weather in CPT". He was knowledgeable, proud and passionate about his country, and the Germanic qualities of reliability and matter-of-factness quickly came through.

I'll admit, I initially had my reservations. 30kms out of W'hoek, sayings like "nice sheeps" and his dubious, slightly risque German patter gave me some cause for concern.

But as the days have progressed, we've developed a good rapport. We chat but, thankfully, the silences on our six hour, 400km drives have not been uncomfortable and our dinners a deux have been pleasant.

Big, bigger, biggest.

Take a stable, arid country in south-west Africa with unimaginable space, a small (although rapidly growing and mainly poor) population, rich mineral resources, reasonable infrastructure, abundant wildlife and pristine landscapes of extraordinary scale, beauty and variety - and you have Namibia.

Nearly a decade ago, this country with its vast, never-ending horizons stunned me. Returning here had long been on my 'To Do' list.

Service with a snarl.

Arrival (Windhoek International Airport)

When you arrive in a country and your passport is scanned, 

I'd love to know what appears on the screen. But there was no way that Doreen was going to give the game away as she painfully, grudgingly, ploddingly "welcomed" guests to her country in her own inimitable fashion.

As I stood in line I fleetingly recalled being in exactly the same spot, years before.

Oh, and it's raining.

Namibia - Take two

I've not had Interweb access for nearly a week so am several "blogging" days behind. (I've also had blogging Cold Turkey. Is that wrong?).

Even now, in semi-civilisation, this PC is one Fred and Wilma Flintstone could get to grips with.

Suffice to say: this country is as spectacular and overwhelming as I remember it from my first visit in 1999. I absolutely love it here.

Will write more later. Unfortunately, pics will have to follow as I can't upload from here.

Where has the first chapter gone?

I fly to Windhoek tomorrow, the dusty and somnolent capital of Namibia.

The last few days have been the first in a long time in which I've had just myself to please. It's felt a little odd but also REALLY good, but I'm really looking forward to my friends arriving here in a couple of week's time. Then, CPT will be chocca with hordes of Jo-burg residents escaping to the sea and sun-starved northern Europeans getting their fix of rays. Should be fun.

Need to pack - got an 08.00 flight.

Too windy for the beach today, so drove into town instead. 

It's odd, despite being a city in one of the world's most overwhelmingly beautiful locations, I find it a difficult one to photograph. Anyway, here are a few pics taken this morning. I like them for their vivid colour, the subject matter and, in some of them, the striking contrast between harshness and delicacy. 

The 'Table Cloth' by day (see below).

2.25 am

Table Mountain is something else. It embraces and protects the city, but also looms over it in a menacing way - especially at night.

As I returned to the hotel tonight, the skies were clear and a near full moon lit the thick cloud - 'the tablecloth' - which tumbles down, clinging tightly to the mountain as it does so. It's truly surreal - like a heavy angular cloud looming massively overhead.

I've never seen anything like it anywhere else.

Lion's Head, Clifton and Camp's Bay, with the Table Cloth coming down from the Twelve Apostles.

I can't remember why I took this photograph.

Clifton 3, today. It won't look like this in a fortnight.

Not exactly slumming it

I am spending this week at 'Alta Bay', the small hotel owned by two of my closest friends - one of whom is Cape Town-based, the other in London. It's really beautiful here: friendly, peaceful, intimate and luxurious.

I highly recommend the place. www.altabay.com

Dug out this pic taken earlier this year from my living room and thought I'd post it here as a reminder of home.

Some gratuitous snaps of a rather beautiful beach I visited today.

Arrival

For me, Cape Town has always had an end of a continent feeling about it (next stop Antarctica).

I first visited nine years ago. It didn't feature on the destinations' pages of the Sunday supplements then, but those in the know were already onto a good things. I still vividly remember the drive into the city: the cold Atlantic to my right, Table Mountain to my left, with zebras and antelope on its dry slopes. It was slightly surreal - Africa, but kind of not. I was instantly won over.

This time, I stepped off the plane at 08.55 to clear blue skies and 24 degrees. Sigh.

It's good to be back. Really good to be back.

A good flight, although didn't sleep much. 50 mins to landing. 

The dry rose-red desertscapes of Namibia are below me, with a sea mist clinging to the coast as an oddly defined line, before evaporating to clear cloudless skies.

Landing.

ONE

Left the house at 4.30 pm, literally finishing packing minutes beforehand.

Took a cab to Paddington. As we coursed through London's streets, I felt rather melancholic and recalled the words of Deborah K's 'The Last Part', a beautiful piece written before she died and read at her funeral. (It included a line about an early morning London taxi ride to the airport, for a business trip).

As we drove, London seemed oddly beautiful - perhaps because I was leaving it: past spruced-up King's Cross, the lights of the traffic-choked Euston Rd, Nash's Crescent at Regent's Park and the new buildings still going up at Paddington.

The day has been spectacular, another of cold, crystal clear blue-skies (see above pic). Nice to leave the place like that. Our relationship has definitely changed; like a couple who've been together too long, the foibles of London now just try and challenge me. I think I take it for granted too much too, noting its flaws and failings far more than I do its beauty and dynamism. Certainly London is a great city, a proud city - but a tough city.

"Terminal 5 is working", so says BA's PR campaign, and I agree.

It doesn't have the extraordinary beauty of Mr Roger's other aviation triumph, Madrid's Barajas Airport (London is far too practical a city for such playfulness), but T5 is undoubtedly a good-looking space which at last provides a positive twenty first century travel experience. And it's efficient; I was in the BA lounge within 15 mins of stepping-off the Heathrow Express.

Tried the 'South Galleries' this time. Stunning. Calm, spacious and beautifully designed. Hadn't eaten all day so grabbed a bite to eat, glass of red and a copy of the FT's 'How to spend it' (in which Burma featured). It's 30 degrees in CPT.

Am now mid-flight. King Kong is paused, grimacing at me from the seat in front. Time to give him my attention.

TWO

Clear, blue skies across London all day. 

Dived into the West End for some things. Oxford St and Regent St had been closed to traffic - some bright spark's way of kick-starting some spending, I suppose. It was hell and I couldn't wait to get away.

01.23 - time for bed. Shattered. The day has gone by in a flash.

I've been concerned about Brazil: I hear it's a country that stuns, but I speak no Portuguese and the crime bothers me.

Anyway, I think a plan is slowly taking shape. When Stein flies home I'll head to Sau Paulo where another friend's going to be. Ricky might also fly in from the US. Need to decide what to do about Carnival.

Brilliantly, two other friends are going to be in Buenos Aires at the same time as us. Me, Stein, Sarah and George together in BA. Now that IS going to be fun!

I'm done.

I've cleared my desk and sent my last email from work, at least for a while. Got out at 9, shattered. Great send-off from the team earlier in the day, including a brilliant card they'd put together. I don't think they believed it when I said I'll miss them, but I will. 

Amazingly, managed to get the last of my Asia flights booked. Routing is: London - Hong Kong -  Bangkok - Rangoon - Bangkok - Kathmandu - Paro -Kathmandu - Hong Kong - Manila - Hong Kong - London.

Thankfully, the troubles at B'kok are over and flights have resumed.

Got home, realised 'this was it' and felt peculiar. Next week's going to be odd I think. Five days to myself in CPT, before hitting the road. I kind of need that, to unravel. 

With impeccable timing, a welcome distraction has come into my life. 

Time for bed, hopefully not waking at 4 with my mind racing over what's to be done - as has been the case the last few days. 

THREE

The obsessive compulsive/control freak in me is beginning to recognise that not everything is going to get done before I get on that flight on Sunday - and nor does it need to be. Since part of the purpose of this trip is to go-with-it for a while, that's what I'm going to do.

Still, there remains a fair bit to do before I reach Terminal 5 Sunday.

A quick Skype call yesterday with my dear friend, Ariel, in Cape Town (plus the view from his webcam of the blue skies and seas of CPT) meant I was feeling guiltily smug this morning as I walked to the office. The sleet helped.

Right. Am off out for more drinks. This time with the boys, in Covent Garden.

FOUR

Drinks last night with my colleagues and dinner afterwards with my team distracted me from a posting. When I got home I was not in a fit state to pen anything.

It was a really fun evening; lots of my closest colleagues, my friends, showed up. A great send off. (I've always felt incredibly fortunate to work with the people I do). Those thoughts, too many glasses of Rioja and a small gift that had arrived from my mother left me feeling a bit emotional.

This morning, those feelings are replaced with mild waves of nausea.

Where's the Berocca?

The countdown...

FIVE

I don't have much of a commute: on a good day, with the wind in the right direction and not too many commuters on Moorgate, it's 7 minutes door-to-door.

But over the last few days I've noticed that the walk seems longer; that London seems colder and more overcast; and that the people I pass look greyer and more pre-occupied than I've ever noticed before.

The depressing, doom-laden headlines of the freebie papers I pass don't help (all of them, in different ways, making it clear that the cheap credit party is over, and that the economic hang-over is really kicking-in).

Well, they don't perhaps help those people I'm passing very much. But they help me to conclude that getting away from London and the City now is the right thing to do. That fast-forwarding to late spring is the right thing to do. That seeing some more of the world is the right thing to do. Any doubts I had about taking this time out are gone. I feel overwhelmed at the thought of the places I'm traveling to and the friends I'll catch up with on the way.

And I feel fortunate. Very fortunate indeed.