That's Nuts

A cursory check of the weather forecast the night before our intended departure predicted wind, rain, hail, and even snow for parts of Jordan, exactly the parts where we were headed.  In that, there was a lesson with 2 possible outcomes.  Either don’t check the weather and enjoy winter in Petra or check it and wonder how you’ll fill the next three days in Dahab.  So, hell no, we didn’t go – and that’s how a couple of days of snorkeling and relaxing by the Red Sea morphed into a week-long pit stop. 

From the promenade, we watched the tides rise and fall and the waves gyrate to the whims of the erratically gusting winds.  Amidst all that, the sun shone bright and deliciously warm.  We ate at nearly every place in town and connected to as many free wireless networks.  Just close by, the litter of 9 just-born puppies grew by the day.  We discovered Facebook (quite possibly the last remaining holdouts) and alternated between staring at the Red Sea and the computer screen.  All of the actual surfing was done on the latter.  The horses, camels, quad bikes, and Jeeps did not succeed in sucking the Egyptian Pounds from our wallets, but exercise and yoga did both stage a comeback.  At night, the yellow glimmers of the Saudi shore and the twinkling of Orion’s Belt assumed their now familiar positions. 

I was at the store and had been eyeing the salted cashews in the bin for a couple of days.  They were 8 Egyptian per 100 grams, so I judiciously filled a small bag (either the cost or the calories?) and took it to the counter.  The guy directed me to the back to have it weighed, but not before he opened the bag, grabbed a few, and popped them into his mouth.  So I did and came back.  He opened the bag again, and nonchalantly grabbed another few.  What the F…?  He’s got a whole bucket and has to grab mine?  This is normal, we’re in Egypt.  Cheers 

The Long Road to Dahab

The trip here was an event by itself.  After the previous day’s 600km return from Abu Simbel, we went on to traverse nearly the full length of Egypt, from Aswan to Cairo, over 14 hours by rail.  It was fairly uneventful, much of it along the green banks of the serene Nile, desert, and scruffy towns, under the watchful eye of an “undercover” weapon-toting agent.  Cairo was cold and dark, but incredibly lively.  After finding the bus terminal, we waited until past midnight to finally board.  The vehicle wasn’t bad, but after a half dozen hours, things started feeling a little confined, especially with all the seats reclined.  Police checkpoints came up every other hour, with passports/ID’s scrutinized every time.  They didn’t kid around here.  At the last check before Dahab, all the Egyptians onboard were questioned and 5 guys were pulled off (that sucks…but we learned later there was a bomb explosion in one of the Cairo tourist markets).  So after 27 hours, we stood on the Sinai Peninsula, looking at the rugged Saudi hills across the narrow Gulf of Aqaba.

Dahab was the laid-back upcoast neighbor to Sharm El Sheikh, a ritzy Red Sea  resort destination. A small Bedouin village, hippies used to come here to do what they normally do.  The best activity was not to do much, exactly the prescription after the effort to get here. The deep blue seawater contrasted sharply with the rugged mountains and the inhospitable desert landscape we had just crossed.  The first morning was surprisingly chilly, so we had little intention of getting in the water.  It was off-season and the place definitely had that air about it, with mostly empty restaurants and decks.  The fringes of town were filled with abandoned construction projects, prompting one to wonder if it ever did fill up. 

There were still annoying taxis honking for fares and, like the rest of Egypt, drivers didn’t know the purpose of headlights (at night, when it’s dark…), except to high beam you and flick them off again.

A nice room right on the promenade went for about $13 and, after breakfast, we lounged on the cushioned restaurant terraces for hours.  Where else in the world and at this price? (forgetting fairly recent history in town).  The Red Sea is a diving Mecca, so when the water flattened to a glistening pool, we “braved” the 22-Celsius waters to enjoy the thriving underwater world, just in front of our room.  Having snorkeled in Hawaii, Indonesia, Thailand, Florida, and Zanzibar, I thought the massive fields of coral here were some of the finest.  The high visibility allowed clear views of the vertical walls of coral and the kaleidoscope of fish, for the hour at a time tolerable without wetsuit.

One night we went up the mountains for dinner at a Bedouin camp  -- a nice experience, with delicious food, a warm fire, and eye-watering smoke. The stillness of the mountains was only interrupted by the rhythmic drumming and folksongs, but the dancing was a bit much.  They tried to teach some belly dancing, and you can imagine how that went! Of course it turned out to be the only cloudy evening, so we were left to appreciate the absolute darkness of a covered sky.   

The rest of the time we vacillated between the nice and cozy cushions of the seaside restaurants and the slightly grubby inland places for less than half the price.  Depends on the mood, I suppose.

South to Abu Simbel

At Aswan, the Nile flowed more placidly and became hemmed in by the desert.  This is where the river looked its most beautiful – you could spend hours on the Corniche just staring at the water, the Nubian villages, and the feluccas (sail boats) go by, until you’ve had enough of the boatmen harassing you for a sail.  “You want to know how much?” – no, but I’m sure you’ll tell me…  At the souq (market street), there was nothing but kitschy souvenirs peddled by unimaginative vendors.  The food was relatively expensive and far from good. It’s the dis/embarkation point for cruise ships, but otherwise the main reason to venture here was the Temple of Isis on an island in Lake Nasser.  Many of the reliefs had been defaced by waves of later religions and Europeans, but remained fantastic.

But Abu Simbel lay about 260 km South, close to the border with Sudan.  Much of the travel in Upper Egypt involved scheduled security convoys, so the bus picked us up at 3:15 AM for the three-hour drive.  There would be no chance to see it at a quieter time, but the first view of the giant seated statues of Ramses II and Nefertari guarding the entrance of his grand temple was reason enough to make it this far.  Inside, despite the conveyor belt of visitors, the reliefs surpassed those of the Luxor temples.  This and the pyramids would be it, if you saw nothing else…  On the return, we passed on the underwhelming dam and unfinished obelisk.

There was a possibility for fishing on the lake, but it was expensive and there was a high bunk boat ride possibility, so the tiger fish and Nile perch would remain for another day.  Aswan was “done” and we’re headed for the Sinai Peninsula.  On the way to the train station at 5AM, the souq was its most enjoyable, shops closed and no vendors.   

Luxor by the Nile

The overnight Luxor-bound train departed from the heavily secured Ramses station.  Unlike Mumbai, the semi’s and full automatics were present and on full display.  We saw no relieving in public, not even any begging or sleeping.  $60 for the “nice” tourist train was expensive, so we went with the normal first class, about ¼ the price.  The seats were comfortable, though the aircon was set at deep freeze.  We disembarked after 11 hours, nearly frozen solid.  

Luxor was package tour heaven and all of Egypt’s annoying people must have moved here.  If you’ve ever dreamed of seeing horse-drawn carriage gridlock, you would be in luck.  The Nile cruise boats docked in queues 6 across and probably outnumbered any crocodiles.  A good portion of the morning went to finding a decent hotel at budget rates.  We found one with a great view of the Nile and the Theban Hills, if you didn’t mind the huge billboards in front. 

Nonetheless, Luxor was justly oft visited.  The Karnak and Luxor Temple complexes were a vast jumble carrying the imprint of almost every Pharaonic Dynasty.  Some of the 3000-year old pillars and walls still showed off beautifully painted reliefs.  How much grander they must have looked in their time.

The tour groups also impressed.  At Karnak, we had arrived at 6:45 AM and there were already two buses.  When we left at 9 AM, I counted 20.

Across the River, the idyllic palms and emerald green sugar cane fields against the desert backdrop gave a glimpse of what life may have looked like in those times.  After dodging the taxis, we hopped onto a little pick-up for the short ride to the ticket office.  Then we hoofed it to Deir Al-Medina, the excavated workmen’s village, where the artisans of the royal tombs worked on their own tombs during spare time.  Adjacent, lay the Valley of the Queens, the huge necropolis containing nearly a hundred tombs from the 18^th to 20^th Dynasties.  Three tombs were open, and they were exquisite.

 

Many more days could have been spent on the West Bank, but the tombs were numerous and the separate admission fees could amount to a small fortune.  For the slow climb to the Valley of Kings, we rented bikes, completely not perfect, clunky and heavy Indian-made.  The spectacular Valley hid a jumble of tombs, many closed.  The admission ticket allowed access only to three tombs, and the more famous Tutankhamen grave was an extra $20…  Anyway, it wasn’t really comfortable inside and 10 minutes each was enough to marvel at the well-preserved 3000-year old colors and reliefs.  We swung by a few more sites, but the surprising stunner was the Temple of Hatshepsut, constructed against the backdrop of the sheer Theban cliffs.

As meaningful as it all was, we hadn’t eaten all day, so dinner at Sofra’s was the topper.  The tasty mezze plate of grilled cabbage, grape leaves, and cucumbers stuffed with spiced rice definitely hit the spot.  Then followed the assortment of dill and coriander spiced kebabs with grilled aubergines over rice – a perfect way to bid farewell to Luxor.  

You Want Pyramids?

A visit to the Coptic quarter brought to life ancient Christianity. The Coptic Museum,  just the inside - the ornate walls and wooden ceilings - was worth the price of admission.  Many of the textiles and art dated incredibly to the 3^rd and 4^th century.  A spring adjacent to the Ben Ezra Synagogue was supposedly the site where Baby Moses was picked up from of the reeds.  Joseph and Mary, with their baby Jesus, found refuge in what is now a crypt of the Church of St.Sergius.  But the other heavenly place in Cairo, we found out, was the crowded downtown El Abd shop, where the sweets were amazing and irresistible.

We had arranged a daytrip to the Giza Plateau and Dahshur by taxi.  It too was ancient, an old Fiat or Lada with some kind of hotwire button ignition and maximum speed around 50km/hr.  Trundling into Giza,

the gauntlet of touts and camel jockeys was at its finest.  A purposeful stride through the gates brought us face to face with the smaller than expected Sphinx.  Behind it, the Khafre Pyramid looked immense.  To the right, the Great Pyramid of Khufu occupied the entire visual field, 2 million odd boulders stacked 140 meters high and dwarfing all the tour buses in the foreground.  Nothing, not even the persistent souvenir vendors and swindlers, could diminish the awe of the standing before the 4500-year old wonders of Khufu, Chafre, and Menkaure.

After contemplating the Giza Pyramids from just about every angle, we skirted along the garbage dump/open sewer to admire the earlier pyramids of Dahshur.  Off the main itinerary, the Bent Pyramid and Red Pyramid seemed especially raw and impressive, if more so because of the lack of visitors.  No camels, no touts, only the guy collecting baksheesh at the free entrance into the Red Pyramid. 

Descending into the inner chambers proved to be an experience only memorable for its physical discomfort.  The claustrophobic 60-meter ramp was barely 1-meter high and wide and accommodated only bent-over posture.  The dark, stifling humidity caused one woman to freak out.  The stones inside were smooth and so precisely cut, revealing no gaps.  The weight of it all seemed to compress the atmosphere and it was quickly time to go, to the cool outside breeze and open desert.  At the Great Pyramid of Khufu, the passageway was longer and steeper, with the privilege costing 100 Egyptian Pounds ($20).  A Korean tourist we met on the train used the word “terrible” at least 5 times in describing the experience.

The ancient capitol of Memphis possessed nothing of its previous glory, but the museum allowed a look down to the fallen Colossus of Ramses II, the Pharao of the Exodus.  Our cab had a flat on the way back, and after a quick change, we scrambled through the City of the Dead (the Northern Cemeteries) for a glimpse of the Qaitbey Mosque, which graced the 1 Pound note. 

Cairo Chronicles

Surreal – in a span of several days, we made it from Windhoek to Jo-Berg, then Nairobi, and finally Cairo.  Maybe fatigue had a hand in it, as the Egypt Air had required a 2AM check in.  Must be why I counted less than 30 passengers on board…

Cairo was a fresh 13 Celsius in the morning.  Bus 356 (written in Arabic) took an hour to reach Downtown.  Backpacks strapped on, we hopped out at Nasser station, right into the middle of the city.  On the 4^th floor of a dated office building, Pension Roma exuded Old Cairo charm at a good price.  Following a quick rest, we sat down for lunch at Gad.  The Egyptians love their food.  We filled up on a shawerma sandwich, falafel with sesame, some grilled chicken, chips, and salad, but everyone else had much more on their table. 

All the Arabic signage wasn’t easy, but after a few wrong turns and backtracking, we found our way around medieval Islamic Cairo, the more traditional and chaotic part of the city.  Faded and dust-covered buildings stood next to innumerable Mosques and Madrassas. We climbed from minaret to minaret and, for the privilege, doled out baksheesh after baksheesh.  The skyline was a patchwork of unfinished rooftops and crumbling buildings, silhouetted by overlapping tall slender minarets.  What a sight!

On the ground, each turn revealed a maze of narrow alleys packed with vendors and shops, selling everything.  With most of the women conservatively covered up from head to toe, who was buying all the shocking underwear and lingerie in the etalages?  At the bustling Khan Al Khalili market, both traditional and touristy goods were offered with creative sales pitches.  The eyes feasted while the body dodged smooth salespeople and hissing cart pushers.  At the celebrated El Fishawy, they’ve been serving for 200 years, so it was only proper to sit down for strong coffee and fragrant puffs from the sheesha.

Many of the innumerable historic buildings were now beautifully lit up and the atmosphere lent itself to taking it all in, the ears filling from all directions with prayer calls of the muezzin.  Cairo was alive at night, safe to walk around (something definitely not possible in South Africa and Kenya), and many of the people were friendly (and eager to sell you something). 

The next morning, a long queue met us at the entrance, 30 minutes prior to opening of the Egyptian Museum.  After a camera deposit and two separate security scans, the rush was on to see the more significant collections before the tour groups hogged all the space.  We made a beeline to the second floor towards the Tutankhamen exhibit.  To see it in person was a special moment – the fabulous golden funerary mask, the sarcophagi, the adornments, and the jewels were exquisite.  Imagine how the first excavators felt. 

Another special room displayed a set of Royal Mummies, including Ramses II, facial features, teeth, and hair in full glory, only desiccated.  For the rest, we paused at pieces familiar from history and art classes, but there was too much.  Only here do they have more then they know what to do with.

We then trekked to the impressively simple and elegant Ibn Tulun Mosque.  The spiral minaret looked out to the Citadel, built by Saladin to repel the Crusaders from the ancient city.  We eventually made it back to the Khan Al Khalili marketplace, but not without getting very lost on the way (we must’ve seen all of Cairo – the horse drawn carts, pita sellers balancing stacks on their heads, dark workshops, and sheesha-lined sidewalks).  The feet were screaming for relief, so it was time to call it another long day in Egypt! 

Nairobi Flash

We touched down in Nairobi, after a brief night in Johannesburg.  The infamous Nairobi afternoon traffic lived up to my recollection, and worse, because neither the taxi driver nor I could find our destination.  Helen and Rodrigo, friends from MSF, arrived later -- their cab had run out of petrol on the way… 

There was a lot of catching up to do over dinner and the ensuing day.  It was like the Nairobi visits of old – a trip to the mall, a movie, and dinner at Mediterraneo.  The stories glided over a few bottles of wine.  It was amazing to see them again – and it really was the main reason for the express visit.  They were heading back to Homa Bay, many of my other colleagues were no longer there, and it wasn’t that easy to go back independently.  I missed Robin and a few others, but hopefully I’ll see her if and when she returns Stateside.

So went 36 hours in Kenya.

Random Musings

Well, not exactly random, but it just occurred to me that I’ve posted a lot of animal photos and much of our time has been spent looking at them. 

I’ve always been impressed at how unbothered lions are at our presence.  They’re the apex predator and they know it, from the way they just lay there, look around or nap.  On the other hand, despite cutting an awe-inspiring figure, the African rhinos quickly scurry away. 

Giraffes always appear elegant and graceful, and not because of their long necks. From their unhurried walk to the languid feeding on prickly acacias, they exude confidence.  Even when running, they go in slow motion.

Antelope are expectedly graceful, but they’re twitchy and run at the slightest disturbance.  The sight of large kudu stretching a perfect arch over a 5-foot fence is like watching a horse dressage competition,  and springbok can trampoline high and straight over obstacles.  But we’ve also seen them “mess up.” Twice we saw fleeing springbok run straight into the wooden post of fences, rather than making it over.  They’ve also tripped in sprint -- zebra and springbok.  Then there was the impala chased by another.  Right in front of us, it darted on the road, slipped, slid on its side, and picked up its sprint in recovery.   

Toilet Paper

Not the most glamorous subject, but sometimes paper rises high above the trivial.  At home, we were spoiled with big rolls, double ply, even “quilted” or scented.  On the road, the thin single ply “industrial” paper is ubiquitous.  In China, we had the “half-rolls” which didn’t last long.  In India, there were the “quarter rolls,” single ply and good for only a few revolutions.  Yesterday, in Namibia, we encountered the “barely there” ply, completely transparent and falling apart as it unwound…  Suppose that’s better than the Indonesian “no ply” – bring your own or do as the locals do with a scoop of water…

Sossus and Other Vleis

Swakopmund was good for 5 nights – the batteries needed recharging and the rest camp was cheap. The plan was to see Sossusvlei, but we’d have to stay further out in Solitaire. We’d been advised that it wasn’t really a town. Granted, but could it have been smaller than the dot on the map? Literally two places to stay, one of which incorporated a petrol station, bottle store, and lunch stop. Of the two, Soiltaire Guest Farm had an isolated self-catering cottage, set back 6km from the road in dry grassland and very quiet. The isolation felt a bit strange initially, but refreshingly liberating. Washed clothes dried in an hour and we slept with all the windows open (doors didn’t have any locks).

Vermillion and violet streaked the celestial canvas while pillowy clouds reflected silver, copper, and golden patinas. Daylight was breaking and we would be missing Sossusvlei at sunrise (waking up at 5:30 am wasn’t early enough). I can’t say whether it would have been more magnificent, as the emerging light bathed the dry grass in deep yellow splendor and the skies settled into pastel blue. Past the Sesriem gate, another 45 km led by a parade of awesome soft red and pinkish dunes, tall and sharp edged, yet soft in contour. We skipped Dune 45, the first and most easily accessible. 

Most of the dunes were really mountains of sand, several hundred meters tall, variable shades of red due to iron content, and the pink ones indicating further distance. Slip faces were roughly 35 degrees, but I could have sworn they looked like 60 degrees in some places.

At the end of the tarred road, a 4-wheel drive only sandy path continued on. We climbed up the serrated Dead Vlei dune. At least for that day, the sandy spine was untrodden and provided arresting views below of the cracked clay field, pristine and completely free of the same red sand adjacent, heaped up so improbably high. Sprouting out were dead tree trunks, slowly petrifying because of the lack of moisture – yet 6 magnificent oryx could be seen wandering about. Next, we clambered up the eponymous Sossusvlei dune, but the sun radiated too intensely. Solitaire called with cool drinks and reputedly the best apple pie in Africa, the entire continent (I’d have to say it tasted like anything you could get at home…)

A good desert storm (the rain variety) exposed the leaky roof and the dodgy power supply, so it was lights out early. The morning’s return drive back to the capitol signaled the end of the 3250 km trip. Last few waves to passing cars, as was customary on country roads. We splashed for a meal at Joe’s Beer House, a Windhoek institution comparable to Carnivore in Nairobi, but better. You could actually try zebra, springbok, and oryx. One last cruise by Fidel Castro Avenue and Robert Mugabe Ave.

To Swakopmond and the Desert

By and large, the accommodation has been more costly than our ideal, so we’ve tried not to eat at restaurants. Other than the occasional dinner splurge, we’ve been surviving mostly on breakfast and peanut butter sandwiches, augmented with apples or bananas.  Though not especially healthy, the meat pies are cheap and filling.

Tsumeb to Swakopmund was a 750km trip, and it seemed every bit that long.  And most of it to the tune of Afrikaans and German pop music – what a treat…  The drive was broken up with a brief detour to the Cheetah Conservation Fund, aimed at rescuing orphaned cheetah (their survival is threatened by increasing human-

animal conflict).  Thus, we got to see them after all, up close and munching on donkey meat.  Farmland and grassland became arid shrub, and eventually desert.  At the coast, improbably thick fog marked the point where the Namib Desert met the Atlantic Ocean.  Swakopmund was shrouded in cool, dark fog.

An interesting place, Namibia’s resort city looked German.  From the turn of the 19^th century German buildings and modern neo-colonial architecture, along with all the Germans, this was Germany.  Bratwurst and Eisbein were on all the menus, and all the backereis displayed apfelstrudel, Black Forest cake, and Linzertorte.  In fact, I’m not sure what Namibian food is or where it is served.  Lots of meat, including game meats, I was informed.  We did find some good lodging at the Municipal “Fisherman’s Rest Camp,” where nice self-contained efficiencies cost $20.

Famous for all the “adrenaline” activities, I eased into it with a morning of ocean fishing.  Golden dunes lined the shipwreck coast, where rough water and large swells have taken down many vessels, including a half submerged Indian vessel.  Shore anglers with their 4x4s could be seen casting way out into the surf.  There have been no reported Shark attacks, but that’s because no one goes into the water…  After racing up and down the shore, the skipper put us on a school of kabeljou.  I stopped counting at 20 fish, plus a shark, and the small boat filled up a large bin in 2 hours.

After securing entry permits, we rattled our way through jarring gravel corrugations of the Namib-Naukluft Desert.  The axles were sturdy, but I think the shocks got some wear. The thick coastal fog burned off and the heat radiated in vertical squiggles off the horizon, causing distant mountains to levitate from the Earth.  A dry, hot wind blew across our faces and whispered nothing but solitude.    Despite the dryness, fog-fed brown, green, and orange lichen covered much of the barren flats.  Huge swaths resembled a fantastic lunar landscape, with dunes and crags of all shades brown and grey.  Strewn about were the fascinating Welwitshia plants that were up to 1500 years old.  And still we spotted springbok and ostrich, in this desert.  After all those hours it had to come – Nina’s “99 luftballon,” in Swakopmond and like it was the 80’s!

In the morning, we drove down to Walvisbay and the nearby Dune 7.  The perfect place to sandboard, the agenda included more adrenaline.  We first paid 50 Namibian ($5) for boards, literally flexible flat wood particleboards, waxed for speed.  Then we made the strenuous climb up the 100-meter dune, from which we slid down on our bellies, face-first and out of control to the bottom, at a suicidal 60km/hr.  Amidst dust clouds we managed to slide to a halt, sand lodging everywhere.  Then, we went up for more, only tempered by the strenuous hike each time up and the thought that this could be dangerous. 

 Quad biking through Dune 7 ended up surprisingly thrilling. We’d never really had much of an interest, but racing up, around, and sliding down tall dunes was amazing.  Perhaps it was the beauty of the area and the view of the ocean, the openness and the possibility.  I could easily go out again.  Then there was this giant ball, which you could hop in and roll down the dune.  Sounded great, but we declined.  

Namibia

A decade ago, a documentary featuring the Sossusvlei Dunes left an indelible impression on Steph.  Although not part of our original plans, enough people had raved about their experience that we too decided to swing by.  At the airport, the rental car agency upgraded our car to a 4x4 Offroad Nissan – it was the rainy season and the additional clearance would be useful on the gravel roads and over streams.

45 km West lay Windhoek, the pleasant and relaxed capitol.  Afrikaans and English were spoken, mixed with Teutonic cultural influence, reflecting past German and South African occupation.  It wasn’t difficult to feel at ease.  A small city, the center was easily navigated, featuring small café’s, German bakeries, and the obligatory churches.

About the size of Germany, and sparsely populated with 2 million people, the country felt large -- distances were long and there wasn’t much in between.  On the 5-hour drive to Etosha, I counted no more than a dozen cars on the lonely B1 and B2 highways.  I thought South Africa seemed wide open, but the Namibian horizon looked wider and flatter, and felt immense.

Inside Etosha, the Okakeujo Camp chalet was fairly deluxe, and cheaper (compared to most of the horrifically expensive park lodges elsewhere in Africa)  Crisp white linens, firm bed, and nicely appointed sitting room – what else to ask for?  The park encircled the Etosha Pan, a deceptively thin strip on the horizon.  The salt plain was like a dry sea -- flat, arid, and featureless, thus playing tricks with depth perception, making 100 km look like 100 meters.  As it had just rained, the surrounding edge was green, many watering holes appeared, and the animals were less concentrated.  We drove at least 3-4 hours each time, covering big distances, and sometimes seeing very little.  But we must have spotted every single one of the estimated 28,000 springbok…  Zebra, wildebeest, ostrich, giraffe, jackal, impala, and oryx all made appearances. 

We were after the big cats and disappointingly had seen none all these hours, until we came across a pride of eight, including several juveniles, lazing under a tree by the roadside.  Understandable, as they were probably listless from the stifling hot atmosphere.   Gusting winds and black rainclouds brought welcome relief.  Hurrying back in the fading afternoon, we nearly drove into the elusive rhino drinking from a  right on the road.  It gazed ahead to size up the approaching threat, but the 4x4 looked bigger, so it scampered off into the bush. Despite their imposing appearance and size, they are notoriously shy and skittish. Against the odds, within minutes we crossed paths with another, and then another!  A good day, but no leopard or cheetah sightings.

Still none the next drive out, but the zebra and giraffe were so thick they almost became road obstacles.  Enough of the park, we decided to spend the night in Tsumeb, about 100 to the East. The place was a ghost town.  For 6:30pm friday, it felt eery -- everything was closed and there was hardly any life.  After a drive about, there were some cars parked outside the Miner Hotel.  A bunch of Germans were dining on the terrace, so it must have been  a happy place for a stein of draught beer and Wienerschitzel with sauerkraut.  And so it was.