**Our Trip & Itinerary**

Our 25-day overlanding tour spent 12 days crossing Namibia, starting at the South African border before making our way north and then east to our end point at the border with Botswana. Our long journey was interrupted briefly with a two-night stop in Swakopmund, before continuing towards Spitzkoppe, Etosha National Park, Windhoek, and camp just shy of the border. To fit all of this in, our trip included several very long driving days (up to 11 hours), alongside two slower days, one in Swakopmund and one in Etosha. All together we saw a fairly large chunk of Namibia, but felt like we could have made more of our time had we been making this trip in our own vehicle.
We **DO NOT** recommend traveling through Southern Africa on a tour like we did, as it’s completely possible to see most of these places and more on a self-drive trip. However, if you do your own research and decide an overlanding tour like this is the right fit for you, we implore you **DO NOT** book with Acacia Africa. Consider Nomads or Intrepid instead who we have heard good things about.

On The Road | South African Border to Swakopmund

Our adventure in Namibia got interesting before we’d even officially entered the country. Our truck’s driver and guide, knowing the laws against importing meat, dairy, and poultry products from South Africa had decided to ignore them. As we approached, they hastily hid our food supply in some empty storage lockers, with none of us tourists any the wiser (although dropping a hefty bag into the bin in a panic did seem strange to us). Upon arrival at the Namibian border, we all got through immigration and customs without a hitch, until that is, we drove to the agriculture checkpoint. Our designated inspectors boarded our truck – one man who looked like he hadn’t smiled in years and a woman dressed in plain clothes who gave off the energy of a strict mother with zero patience to spare. The man with the frown pointed to two lockers that he wanted our guide to open. They just so happened to be the exact two lockers our guide had used to store our food! Watching his face drop, our guide tried to open different lockers to throw this inspector off the scent, but he had no chance. Eventually, he begrudgingly opened their doors, knowing he was caught from the moment the inspector asked what it was. He started to argue that “we do this all the time”, “some of this meat is cooked”, and “you don’t need my eggs!” This dead-end discussion went on and on over the course of about half an hour. He continued to protest as the inspector offloaded our food, to which she impatiently replied, “My dear friend, what is it you don’t understand?” Our bus eventually departed the checkpoint and officially entered Namibia about thirty kilos lighter, filled with five tourists who were now a bit concerned about what dinner might look like. Happily for us, we had all forgotten about the hefty black bag hidden in the bin, which contained our protein for the next few days. There’s nothing like trash can chicken!

We spent our first two days in Namibia largely on the road, covering the vast, unpaved distance from the border at Vioolsdrif to Sesriem flanked by the Namib desert. Our only respite from this long, rattly drive was the few hours we spent at Fish River Canyon. Fish River Canyon, as it turns out, is the second largest canyon in the world, only behind the Grand Canyon. Standing on the rim, we could clearly see the trail winding its way to the dry riverbed only five hundred meters below the viewpoint. From our vantage point, it looked like the type of trail we could finish in about thirty minutes with a good hustle on. Unfortunately, there are several big signs reading “Day Hikes or Leisure Walks Down Into Canyon Strictly Prohibited!” Apparently, you’re only allowed to make the trek if it’s strictly for business, no leisure activity in this national park please! Instead of making the relatively short trek down to the river, we took a two kilometer trail along the rim, which turned out to be rather interesting in its own right, as long as you can appreciate a good tree. We studied several species of tree we had never seen before, like the Quiver Tree, which is in fact not a tree, but rather a succulent with a gnarly trunk and pointed leaves that sprout from its branches. We soaked up the fresh wind being carried beyond the canyon rim, along with the rising moon over the barren plains beyond. The trail ends right above this canyon’s version of Horseshoe Bend, on a perfect viewing platform for sunset. Taking in the watercolor gradient of the setting sun as it balanced on the shadow of the ridge beyond was quite a special moment. Of course, our evening was topped off with a delightful feast of bin-salvaged chicken and veggies. Momentarily, the meat madness at the border was drowned out by the starry sky.

Leaving Fish River Canyon as the sun rose the next morning we settled into our seats for a full day's drive to Sesriem, or as we would find out later, semi-near Sesriem. For ten hours, the bus trundled its way along Namibian C and D roads, made of haphazardly scattered dirt, sand, and pesky rocks that sent us flying. Our drive seemed to simply go on and on and on…We knew we were signing up for long travel days on this trip, but this stretched beyond the worst of what we had expected. In the ten hours of driving during this long stint we saw slim pickings of zebras, oryx, and giraffes – not a treasure trove of animals but enough to lift our spirits for a few minutes each time. Apart from these few sightings, the time seemed to drag on rather slowly; even with the frequent micro-naps couldn’t make it go any faster. Partially deaf from the bus’ day-long rattling, we arrived at Tsauchab River Camp in the early evening. While not quite near Sesriem, where we had expected to stay, it was a beautiful campground nonetheless. Our truck parked in the shade of a huge old Marula tree, in our spacious campsite alongside the dry Tsauchab riverbed. While the whole setting was surprisingly lovely, the piece de resistance was the massive outdoor shower someone had built inside the trunk of a living tree. With hot water heated over a nearby fire, and the stars above us as our only roof, it was the perfect way to end a very long day.

Despite having spent a peaceful night on the riverbed, we were brutally awakened at 4am to make our way back to Sesriem. Yes, you read that correctly: back to Sesriem. Tsauchab River was in fact ninety minutes past Sesriem, so we packed up our camp in the pitch black, illuminated only by a desert full moon. This revelation horrified our group, particularly the retired Australian couple who had proclaimed themselves anti-morning people when we first met each other in Cape Town. Groggy and ready to leave at this ungodly hour, we began our drive out of the camp until the engine sputtered, the wheels spun quickly going nowhere, and before we knew it we were bogged down. Three meters from where we started. Despite the hurry to get on the road, we then spent half an hour watching our driver and guide frantically dig the wheels out of the fine sand. We helped offload some weight until the truck was raised enough to maneuver sand rails underneath our rear tires. With groans and creaks, our truck heaved itself out and we were finally off.

The dunes in the Sossusvlei area are over five million years old. For context, this is around when humans as we know it began to evolutionarily split off from apes – now that’s a crazy thought! The sand in the Namib Desert was carried far distances by the wind from the coast of Namibia, which lies sixty kilometers west. Due to the erratic wind patterns in the desert, the sand settles into heaps with multiple ‘arms’, thus creating so-called “star dunes”. After a bit of a wait, the park gate finally opened, illuminated by the massive harvest moon that lingered from the night before. We spend along, despite being overtaken by literally every single other vehicle. Our first stop was Dune 45 – the most photographed pile of sand in the world. Jokes aside, this dune is a truly unbelievable feat of nature. Sleek walls of fine, ochre sand rise from either side, then meet to form a sharp spine, snaking through the landscape. We sunk our bare feet into the Dune spice as we climbed, gaining extra grip as the sand molded to the shape of our soles. As we rose to the top of the spine, we acquired a greater view of the sandy expanse below and beyond, different shades of terracotta rising and falling as far as the eye can see. At our feet, the fine grains twinkled in the morning sun, creating the illusion of standing on liquid gold. From the highest point on the spine, we began our descent with a running start from the side of Dune 45. Our heels sank down and great heaps of sand piled up to our ankles as we accelerated. We reached the bottom quickly, but breathless. I rode high on the adrenaline of the descent and decided to climb to the top once more to fling myself off of the far side of the dune – the much steeper, longer side. Meanwhile, Sarah walked around Dune 45, padding gingerly over the contrastingly rocky ancient riverbed to meet me. The second run was even better than the first, the steeper side of the dune allowed for an even faster sprint which lifted both my heartrate and the level of sand in my pants. Out of breath, but satisfied with our morning workout, we met the rest of the group for breakfast, which hilariously involved cooking eggs on a gas stove inside the truck.

Sand piled into our shoes and wedged between our toes, we set off for our next desert destination: Deadvlei. To get there, we were transported to the parking area with our overlanding truck. Then, due to the nature of the tracks inside the park area, we were loaded onto a 4x4 vehicle that heaved through the fine piles of sand. Once dropped off there, we continued our journey on foot – barefoot, of course! Cresting over a rather unsuspecting hill after around ten minutes of walking, the view opened up to the breathtaking landscape below. Deadvlei is unlike anything we’ve ever seen before – it is an oatmeal salt pan, where barren, blackened trees scatter the cracked ground. Auburn dunes rise around the desiccated river bed, creating a wild contrast with the cerulean sky. The salt pan formed over 1,000 years ago, when the Tsauchab River flooded and created temporary shallow pools that spurred the growth of camel thorn trees. As the climate changed from wet to arid over the course of a few hundred years, drought allowed the creation of sand dunes that ultimately blocked the Tsauchab River’s path. The trees, who once grew green along the river, died without a water source. All that remains 700 years later are their skeletons, scorched from the hostile sun. The dunes that border the cracked sandstone terrace are known to be amongst the highest in the world, towering above visitors at nearly 400 meters. While Sarah decided to give her knee a break and explore the tree skeletons, I took it upon myself to climb “Big Daddy” – the monstrous pile of sand that meets the ground on the far side of Deadvlei.

The trek up “Big Daddy” turned out to be far more arduous than up Dune 45, around halfway I started taking frequent breaks. This turned into ten steps, break, ten steps, break for the rest of my way to the top, but my pace was still faster than most of the other tourists attempting this climb. The views at the top were more rewarding than I could have hoped for. From 400 meters high I could see dunes for several kilometers in every direction, starfishing their way towards the ocean a little past my horizon. After breathing it all in for a moment, I began my run down this monstrous dune to Sarah. Running down the near vertical sand was a surreal experience. The whole thing took just about two minutes of full out sprint, but since I knew it was just sand in front of me, my feet kept moving without me needing to see where I would step next. This predictability let me look around on my way down, even though I was in a full sprint, I could watch the dunes change as my perspective lowered, almost as if the sand was shifting in front of my eyes. Finally reaching the bottom, I panted for a few minutes to catch my breath then joined Sarah to look at the unearthly tree skeletons on the way back to our overlanding truck.

Swakopmund

Our time in Swakopmund was a welcome break from the constant mayhem of our overlanding tour. Once we arrived and settled into our home for the next two nights, we set out to explore this little slice of Germany on Africa’s coast. We weren’t particularly in the mood to explore after six long, exhausting days of overlanding, but we’d heard that the weather here can be fickle, so we sacrificed some rest to soak up the sunshine while it lasted. Walking around in Swakopmund is very odd – the souvenir shops selling carved wooden elephants and mamas wearing headscarves all point to an African city, but the German streets, pastries, and architecture point heavily to a very recent colonial past. Namibia only gained its independence in 1990, after different stages of occupation by Germany and South Africa, so it's still shaping its own identity. With two days in this small town, we weren’t in a hurry to get anything done and instead spent our time simply meandering aimlessly up and down the Hauptstraße, stuffing ourselves with German food, and exploring the icey, windy waterfront.

On The Road | Swakopmund to Etosha National Park

The drive from Swakopmund to Etosha National Park is rather straightforward, and almost dull compared to the roads and terrains we’d been traveling through up until now. The entire distance is paved, and could actually be covered in one long day, if your vehicle isn’t limited to 80 kmh. Since our truck could only handle two thirds of the legal speed limit, it meant our tour necessitated one overnight break along the way. Normally, this would be more of an annoyance than anything else, but where we ended up staying the night was quite a special place. Located about 3 hours northeast of Swakopmund, Spitzkoppe appears out of the landscape in a stunning silhouette of rock. At first sight, it reminded us of our time in Australia when we visited Uluru. The red rock mountains towered above us, with sparse vegetation on the ground and seemingly no wildlife around. Before reaching camp our truck made a slight detour to Bushman’s Paradise, a collection of Bushmen paintings dating from 2,000 to 4,000 years ago. These paintings depict the wildlife in the area, where to find the nearest watering hole, and messages the group’s medicine man had painted to communicate with their ancestors. As the terrain eroded near the cave, the Bushmen continued to paint more stories, leaving behind a linear progression of how their styles and messages evolved over time. After our brief stop here, with our lovely guide George, we hopped back in our truck for the short jaunt over to where we would pitch our tents for the night. Once we were set up at the base of Swakop, we made the short, but technical, hike up the rock. From the top we could watch the setting sun's colors dancing across the desert sand and granite slabs around us. Not wanting to miss the evening's final moments at the famous Window Rock, we scrambled down, grabbed our mini whiskey bottle, and hustled over to meet some of our new friends from the bus. We sat together, cheersing the end of another day, and marveled at the beauty of this small corner of the world for just as long as we could ignore the falling temperatures. All bundled up, and not quite ready for bed, we snuck off just after dinner to lay on the warm rocks to look at the stars. Out here, all the lights had long faded behind the horizon and it felt like we had the whole Milky Way to ourselves.

Etosha National Park

Upon entering the gates to Etosha park, the paved road disappeared and the dirt tracks we’ve become so accustomed to in Africa began. Our driver warned us this would be the worst drive of our whole trip, saying it would take us four hours to cover just 72 kilometers. Sadly, we arrived in the late afternoon when animals are least active, meaning our extended game drive netted only a few giraffes, zebras, and antelopes. After quickly setting up our tent we hustled to our campgrounds highlight, a watering hole we could watch from the rocks above, behind a small fence. To our complete shock we arrived to see a solitary White Rhino drinking only a few dozen meters from us! Seeing one this close after having to strain through binoculars to spot them in Tanzania was pretty incredible. We would have been happy only spotting this single Rhino, but when we returned to the watering hole we were treated to four separate rhinos, both Black and White, visiting for a drink in the next few hours. Amongst the Rhino sightings a herd of elephants wandered into view from the dark grove beyond the watering hole and scared off three of these horned beauties. Eventually, one rhino timidly returned to the watering hole and tried to have another sip, only to be scared off by one of the teenage bull elephants who charged at it across the pool, ears flapping and trunk blaring. We could have sat beside this watering hole to watch these amazing animals in the soft, orange light all night but we had an early game drive scheduled the next day, so reluctantly got up to go to bed. Sending us off into the night, we heard the hyenas cackle as they scurried out of the surrounding bushes.

The morning, however, brought a new wind of excitement for our full-day game drive. While we could have driven out in our rattling pollution machine of a truck, we opted for a smaller 4x4 vehicle to manage a closer (and quieter) look at the animals. We left camp early, catching the tail-end of the sunrise and were immediately greeted by dozens of giraffes, already on the hunt for the juiciest leaves. Throughout the day, we hopped from watering hole to watering hole. At one of the first, we encountered a herd of zebras, dipping their hooves into the water and dipping low to take a drink. As it was only breaking through the orange haze of sunrise, the sunlight cast a twinkle onto the water and sparklers at the zebra's feet. At another, we watched elegant kudu bulls amongst the comparatively teenie impala, their massive horns extending to the sky in corkscrew twists. At one of the later watering holes, we squinted to get a glimpse of three lions. Once in focus, we quickly realized we were intruding on a steamy moment between the lion and lioness. He mounted her, passionately biting her ears in the heated moment. Their moment really was just a moment because after ten short seconds, he dismounted and collapsed in a sleepy heap in the dirt. A woman in a nearby car fittingly shouted, “and we thought men were bad!”. Between the excitement at each watering hole, the (surprisingly) paved roads had their own wildlife to offer. Our favorite encounter was a herd of elephants, blending in with the gunmetal backdrop of the arid thorn-shrub savannah of Etosha. Our guide stopped the car, giving way to all four of them to ploddingly surround us as they crossed the road. Sensing our presence, they slowly turned their heads towards us, ears flapping to keep cool, their eyes draped in long eyelashes meeting ours.

On The Road | Etosha National Park to Botswana Border

Leaving Etosha and the African massage behind, we drove south for several hours until we reached Windhoek, the small capital of Namibia. Our arrival to our urban campground here was the worst part of every other camper’s evening. Squeezing our beast of a truck through the narrow gate to the campground, our driver mistakenly revved our engine and choked several nearby campers with diesel soot. He then proceeded to complete a 27-point turn to park our truck in between several pre-erected tents, placing the truck’s boxy derriere right in their patio area. The tent occupants were less than thrilled to find equipment spilling into the outdoor areas of their canvas homes and gave us several dirty looks as they went by. The campground itself was pretty nice (once you got past the brick tent plots) with beautiful wood outdoor showers and a unique arrangement of antiques in the bar. Our group decided to go out to dinner together at Joe’s Beerhouse, a very eclectic restaurant also filled to the brim with antiques and scrap metal sculptures. However, the main draw here is not the exceptional decor, but the variety of meats on offer. I stuck only to Kudu, a woodland antelope, but some of our group members really experimented, trying Giraffe, Zebra, Kudu, Springbok, and Oryx. To some reader’s disappointment, I must report that Kudu doesn’t taste very unique at all, as it resembles our very own beef or venison.

The following morning, we were able to explore Windhoek at our own pace, which was a nice change from the last few days of group activities. Knowing we would be leaving civilization for the next seven days, we opted to spend our last few hours doing what we do best: drinking coffee and looking at art. Sadly, the art scene in Windhoek wasn’t quite what we were hoping for, too many odd sculptures for our taste, and the coffee didn’t meet our expectations either. With our city time in the rearview mirror, our truck headed towards the border, for one last overnight stop before entering Botswana. Our final campground was a small, out of the way farm with some patches of grass in the back for our tents. It wasn’t anything fancy, but we did have the opportunity to go for a short walk with the local bushmen of the San tribe. Dressed in sparse leather scraps, they showed us several interesting plants they use to polish their leathers, fix colds or flus, construct bows for hunting, or to heal burns or cuts. These San people are among the oldest surviving cultures of southern Africa – their current members are believed to be descendants of the first inhabitants of Botswana and South Africa. They live a semi-nomadic life, meaning they move with the changing seasons and based on the availability of the resources their tribe lives on, like water, game animals, and edible plants. Our four San guides were charming and patient, despite our sad attempts at repeating words in their native language and incorrect guesses when examining useful plant life. Before we could leave the country however, Namibia had one last piece of excitement to throw our way, a perfect bookend to our time in this fascinating country. At our final diesel stop, our driver happened to go the wrong way down a one-way road and, when reversing to the main street, managed to hook onto the bumper of a passing pickup truck. This, of course, incited a whole string of chaotic events, which included calling the police, our driving being picked up by a stranger to go to the station, and the arrival of half the town at the scene. Our driver, guide, the pickup’s driver, its owner, the local mechanic, and three policemen sorted out the damage. This all happened while a jury of peers of about forty villagers inspected the damage on their own and either nodded or wagged their fingers to signal disagreement. About two hours later, the crowd dispersed, our driver angrily got back in our cab, and our guide briskly said “let’s go!” and we were off to Botswana.