Windhoek

Windhoek Airport was my entry point to Namibia, it is also the exit point, where we’ll be catching our respective flights to return home and to reality. Windhoek Airport is also the scene of a pivotal moment in my life, I alluded to it in the first post about this trip and I quote my words, “I am only a few kilometres from the spot where my mother lost her life 46 years ago when SA 228 crashed…”  Now this blog is about my travels, and not a tear jerker, nonetheless I cannot write about Windhoek without referencing this event. It was 1968, the day after my ninth birthday, Simon and Garfunkel’s Mrs Robinson was already getting airtime when we waved goodbye to my parents as they took off from the (then) Jan Smuts International Airport en route to Europe. I recall, without knowing a thing about the story, toasting my mum in my mind thinking, "Here's to you Mrs.Williams," not just anyone got to fly to Europe in those days. I have a clear picture in my mind of my mum, a bit overweight, but still very pretty, wearing a bottle green skirt and jacket, black blouse with pearl necklace, those were the days that you dressed up to fly. She hugged me then walking away through the doors that led to the departure lounge. I recall standing on a balcony and watched her as she climbed the steps to board the plane, I imagine that she turned and waved to me, it was the last time I saw her. I have no idea how much of these memories are actually true or simply confabulated, it does not matter, it is as I recall it.

The Boeing 707 made a stop at Windhoek, to refuel and take on more passengers before heading north to Luanda, Las Palmas, Frankfurt and finally Heathrow. However it didn’t get much further than the end of the runway, crashing minutes after takeoff killing almost all aboard, of the 128 passengers and crew only 5 survived. Wikipedia (where else) has a reasonable account of the incident, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_African_Airways_Flight_228. My father was one of the 5 survivors, he suffered severe physical injuries including temporary insanity and brain damage, which for the most part reversed and returned him to a more or less normal state within three years. He was, however, never quite the same person again. Perhaps it is a romantic thought that almost everything about me was determined in those few seconds, but I believe it actually is so… my sense of independence and distrust of religious doctrine and authority was forged in the furnace of that experience. For years afterwards my family referenced everything to pre or post the air cash. My sisters and I were extraordinarily lucky to have grandparents that were willing and able to step in and take charge, they effectively raised us, hence sparing us the awfulness of separation and foster care. Of course at the time I did not consider myself to be terribly lucky, and did not even think that my dear Gran and Gramps had the option of washing their hands of the whole problem. In retrospect I have no doubt that this must have been an attractive choice for them, they were old retired people and my grandfather was rather sick with stomach ulcers, yet they uprooted their lives and took on the task of raising us. THANK YOU GRANNY AND GRANDPA.

Today we are travelling on the same route to Windhoek that we came by, it is sad that we don’t take the more scenic road, the C 28 is definitely the way to go... I hanker, I want this road, but I know that it is too risky. My sister has a 1 p.m. flight and having suffered one flat tyre on just such a stretch of road, I realize that the adult thing to do is stick to the tar… damn. There is something I love about my travels on the Boulevard, I am alone and have only to consider one person, me. If I get lost it is only me that can bitch, if I choose a lousy road, it is only me that can be angry with me. However today I have passengers and I have no option, I must choose wisely, there is a plane to catch.

En-route to Windhoek  

The journey passes quickly, far too quickly. We pretend to be cheerful, but there is a melancholy atmosphere that none of us can dispel. Already I miss my sister and wonder when I will get to spend a decent chunk of time with her again. It’s a strange thing this South African diaspora, not the way we expected things to turn out. The desert turns to yellow grasslands and then to thorn bush and the hills surrounding Windhoek materialize. To get to the airport we have to cross through the city centre and witness some of the worst driving I have ever seen, but we make it there in time and without incident, even have time to spare to get some lunch before her flight. By this time we are all hungry, despite the delicious farewell breakfast provided by Tilla and Tula at the guest house. The little restaurant in the airport serves a tolerable lunch, but the complete lack of windows just adds to the general ‘down’ of the moment. The time comes for her to pass through the security portals and after a quick hug she is gone. I keep my tears in check, no good for an old guy like me to be seen crying, I’m old school, ‘cowboys don’t cry’. Still I wipe tear away before anyone can notice.

Lilac-breasted Roller - photographed at Arebbusch Travel Lodge

The big lump in my throat is still coming, when my daughter and I must say goodbye, but for now we have a few days left to enjoy each other’s company, and whatever Windhoek has to offer. The charms of Windhoek are more in the nature of the traditional expectations of a western person of an African experience, thorn tress, grasslands and African game, ala Karen Blixen… zebras, antelope, baboons, elephant, giraffe, leopards and lions. Not to mention game lodges, being called ‘bwana’ and bare breasted African maidens dancing, actually this last bit is not seen much anymore unless it’s staged for tour groups at much expense. The impact of television has some regrettable consequences and of course you would not hear the word ‘bwana’ 'round here except in sarcasm, they don’t speak Swahili in Namibia.

I had pre-booked and paid accommodation at the Arebbusch Travel Lodge from Canada, (the same place we stayed when we arrived in Namibia a few weeks back, see earlier post, http://www.not-so-easy-rider.blogspot.ca/2015/01/nam.html). I suppose that I lacked some imagination when I was doing the bookings, and should have tried somewhere else to make the experience a bit more interesting. Too late now, I have already parted with the brass, so to speak, and it’s really quite adequate, if a little bit too close to the City of Windhoek. Besides spending some quality time with my daughter and doing some game viewing, I want to see the southern hemisphere night sky at a sufficient distance from light and other pollution so that one can actually see the stars properly. Star gazing and game spotting, the ultimate of African experiences.

Pumba - Daan Viljoen Game reserve

Most of humanity seems to have forgotten, and some may never have seen the night sky as our forefathers, and I presume foremothers, witnessed it whenever weather permitted, as recently as 250 years ago. Before Edison, Henry Ford and the industrial revolution turned the stars into little twinkly things, like sequins glued to a canopy of black baize, flat and all equidistant from Earth.  If you can get to a place on a clear, moonless, night that has clean air and far enough from city lights, you will be rewarded by the grandest of vistas that you have ever seen, and if you can do this in the southern hemisphere all the better. You can then start to appreciate the fixation our ancestors had for stars, you can see the depth of heavens, see that some stars are closer than others even though they may be dimmer and the Milky Way is not just a smudge, but you can actually see that it is made up of stars uncountable. The planets become visible, Mars is orange and Venus does have phases just like the moon and the stars really are not the same colour, some are blue, some are white, there are yellows and even browns. It is the most humbling, yet most wonderful experience imaginable. There was a time in my life when I drove between Johannesburg and Cape Town and on a regular basis, about an 18 hour drive. Usually I managed to time it so at least some of the part of the trip that took me through the Karoo would be at night, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karoo ). If I was lucky I would encounter the Karoo on a moonless night and stop next to the road, to lie on the roof of my Jeep wrapped in a blanket and stare up for an hour or so. I remember doing this with my daughter on one of those trips, it was a moment in my life I will not easily forget. Sometimes I am asked, how does a godless person like me find any meaning in life? Looking up into the cosmos I have realised that there is more meaning to be discovered than my meagre intellect could possibly manage over several life times.     

Google, as always, is my friend, though the internet connection at Arebbusch is not entirely as reliable and strong as I would like it to be. There are a few options to do some game spotting - game drives, guided hikes, and there are several unguided hikes available. I choose to do unguided hikes, game drives are very pleasant, but generally expensive and terribly touristy and guided hikes you need to book well in advance. The Google machine leads me to a small national reserve with the unlikely name of Daan Viljoen, a very Afrikaans name for a post-independence Namibia, http://www.namibian.org/travel/lodging/daan_viljoen.htm. It is an absolutely fabulous little place, even though it is only about 4000 hectares, not much more than a large farm in these parts, situated on the Khomas Hochland Hills, on the western side of Windhoek, overlooking the city.  They offer the intrepid traveler several hiking options from an easy-peasy three km, to a more challenging nine km and a guided 27 km trail. We decide on trying the 3 km as a prelude to dinner at their restaurant, the nine km route we plan to do early on one of the days that we are here.

 Interesting art at Daan Viljoen Game Reserve

We arrive at about 5 p.m. after losing fifteen minutes to an error of route selection (aka, I got lost because I took the wrong turn). There is a surprising amount of red tape involved and hidden fees, forms to fill with several carbon copies and so on, in order to finally park the car and take off into the wilderness. The 3 km hike is a 1.5 km walk along a dry river bed to a silted up dam, and back again. It is not terribly challenging, but still a decent hike with enough game to make it very worthwhile. We see gnus, including males fighting over breeding rights, warthogs and a troop of Chacma baboons, not to mention a good selection of bird species. My daughter even manages to be almost in the path of a small herd of gnus doing a little stampede. Being in close proximity to baboons is quite a spine tingling experience, though they are not usually aggressive if you don’t interfere with them in any way and you have no food with you. The big males are a study in primate strength, lean and muscular, almost like cartoon depictions of a body builder, huge shoulders and tiny waist, and armed with surprisingly large and lethal canine teeth. Though they weigh less than half I do, I would be utterly no match in a straight fight, not even when I was at my peak strength in my mid-twenties.

Small stampede of gnus 

Bit of male competition 

I think the game we managed to see, though not from the big five, isn’t bad for a short walk along a dry river bed, after all I would not like to encounter anything more dangerous than the animals we saw. Dinner at the restaurant is reasonably good, not quite as good as I had hoped for as the venison fillet (known in North America as ‘tender loin’) that I order tastes suspiciously like beef rump steak, nonetheless it is tasty and by this time we are pretty hungry. So all is well, there is a sunset, a few Scotches and soda, a full moon and the chance to spend time with my daughter. Shit, I realize, a full moon presents a problem to the star gazing ambition – full moon equals too much heavenly light to see the stars properly.

This graveyard was on the path we walked at Daan Viljoen 

The next day we just chill out at the lodge, my daughter swims in the pool, while I experiment with building a sundial using a water bottle, the tiles on the floor and my cell phone’s GPS. Adjusting for the actual longitude from the start of the time zone, I manage to get the shadow of the water bottle sundial to show the time to within only a negligible error. I am such a nerd. It is now midday, very close to the summer solstice and a hair north of the Tropic of Capricorn, time to get out of the pool and the sun and head to the air conditioned sanctuary of the bungalow. I braai (otherwise known as BBQ) lamb chops and my daughter makes salad for lunch. It’s a wonderful feeling not having to do anything for the afternoon, a rare luxury for me, but I seem incapable of taking advantage of it. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way I have unlearned the ability to just relax.  

I have worked out that even though the phase of the moon is just past full, there might be a very brief window for us to see the night sky in all its glory between sunset and moonrise. Late afternoon we head out, south towards Rehoboth on the B1 in order to get some distance from the city lights. The sun dips below the horizon in a fabulous display of pinks, oranges and finally purples, we turn onto a side road and find a place to stop. I am disappointed as there seems to be a glow on the eastern horizon, perhaps the lights of a town I wasn’t aware of. Nonetheless the sky darkens and the stars start to reveal themselves. There is a very brief moment when I get a glimpse of the night sky I am looking for, it is only visible over a patch of sky above us, and then the glow on the eastern horizon gets brighter and expands across the sky. It’s not light from an unknown town, but the moon itself, from just a sliver of bright silver on the horizon to a shiny full disk takes mere moments. The moon may have robbed us of the stars, but this is one of the most magnificent moonrises I have seen. The land is flat bushveldt with a few mountains in the distance, it’s a cliché, I know, but no other way of saying it, the world is bathed in a silver light, it is breathtaking. The absence of pollution and even moisture in the air, I speculate, produces this clarity of light.

The drive back to Windhoek is in silence, I am not sure if it’s the moonrise or the realization that we have just two nights left and only one full day, perhaps both. In any event it’s to be early to bed. Tomorrow we will do the nine Km hike, and to avoid walking in the midday sun in 38 Celsius we’d better be up early.