214 - Kwara Camp (Okavango Delta, Botswana)
WE ROSE EARLY AND MADE OUR WAY TO THE NAMIBIA/BOTSWANA BORDER. The security situation was a tad lax. I believe we could’ve driven through both checkpoints undetected. An immigration official on the Botswana side was miffed when I drove past the office to park the car. I guess I should’ve stopped before the office, maybe? I couldn’t tell if he was pissed because I overshot, or because I bothered to stop at all. My money’s on the first, but…
While waiting for paperwork, an elderly gentleman returning to Botswana asked us for a ride, if by “asked,” I mean pantomimed his desire. He spoke nary a word of English. We wanted to help but didn’t think we had enough space for another person, at least not without jettisoning some belongings. He was having none of it. After we left immigration, he followed us to the car and awaited his chariot. I’m sure he could’ve hitched with the next vehicle, but this man was impossible to deny. Age had chiseled this kind soul into living art.
Lucky for him, I'm not a complete prick. So, I rearranged just enough for him and his luggage… barely. I felt ashamed about saying no initially. Not far into Botswana, he gave the signal to pull off and let him out. He was incredibly grateful. Still, nothing in life is free. We forced him to pose for a photo.
Botswana was green and lush, but there was a noticeable dearth of human presence. The settlements we did see reminded us more of what most people conceive as “Africa,” as opposed to the seemingly incongruous development we found in Namibia and South Africa.
Another long day in the Spark. The road was decent, but the occasional “pothole of doom” prevented me from daydreaming. Fuel can be a problem in the north, so anyone heading that way in a vehicle should make it a point to fill up at every opportunity.
The speed limit on the northwest road from Namibia through Shakawe is 60 km (37 mph). Not exactly Formula One. Besides the aforementioned potholes, you also have a plethora of livestock to contend with along the way. Sixty kilometers is still conservative, but as neither of us wanted to experience a “Spark vs Donkey” head-to-head matchup, I kept it slow rider.
We concluded the day in Maun, the gateway to the Okavango Delta. Can't say the town is anything special, but the Delta is, well, something else. It’s worth a trip year-round, but the dry season is prime time—a lack of dense vegetation prevents los animales from playing hide-and-seek. The wet season is a different story. Key sightings can be scarce. Guess when we arrived?
Just as well. Botswana is the premiere safari destination, with the Okavango Delta region representing the crème de la crème de la crème of cream filling. You’re going to pay for it… dearly. That’s one reason to visit off-season. Prices are substantially lower. Still, could we really afford it? Negative. We just figured, what the hell… You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough. (Mae West).
It was worth every fucking penny.
After some research, we went with Kwando Safaris, choosing a two-night affair at their Kwara Camp. The package includes flights in and out of the Delta… because we’re that fucking important. No better way to grasp the beauty and size of the Okavango than by air. During the wet season, the view is spectacular. We were supposed to land on an airstrip ten minutes from camp, but the rains made it unserviceable, so we were forced to start an hour and a half away. This was of no import, more of a feature than a bug. The ride turned into an extra safari in an area straight out of a postcard.
Kwara Camp is inside Kwando's private concession, which means they have exclusive rights to the area (i.e. no large tourist herds). This explains the premium fees. The camp borders a large lagoon teeming with life. (The hippos were particularly vocal). Our room was farthest from the main lodge. Shortly after arriving, an elephant came with about eighty feet of it to tear the bark off a nearby tree. I went as close as I dared, ever mindful these giants have been known to stomp a fool or two.
And there were lion tracks (a lioness and her cubs) outside our front door. We were instructed not to wander around at night (duh), and if we noticed monsters loitering outside, to stay put. An employee would fetch us… eventually. It’s imperative to lock your room and pack your belongings away. The constant threat of baboon incursions is ever-present. If things did become dire, we had an air horn to summon help. Nothing screams adventure safari like the not-inconceivable chance of getting mauled by a lion, crushed by an elephant, or robbed by a baboon. I like it. I like it a lot.
The first day and a half was pleasant but uneventful. Elephants, giraffes, various gazelles, and all kinds of birds crossed our path. On our first evening game drive, we met hippos strolling near the road, as they often do at night, to feed on grass. Those fat bastards are surprisingly agile.
Our transport was a semi-amphibious 4WD with no roof. We were completely exposed—great for wildlife viewing, bad for rain… which it did vigorously at times. (Our night drive was cut short as a result.)
The next day, we tooled around the lake in dugout canoes, soaking up the landscape and avoiding a bloat of submerged hippos lurking beneath the surface close by. Water lilies, tall grasses, miniature frogs (specifically, the illustrious but diminutive Painted Reed Frog), and placid waters made this a worthwhile excursion. It’s hard to overstate the area’s calming serenity. It would almost be worth the price even without big-game spotting… almost.
Little did I know, we had a play date with lions…
Courtesy of Africa Luxury Travel and Wildlife
Courtesy of Beautiful Destinations
I am, for the most part, a well behaved law abiding citizen. In fact, on many occasions, I have been called a “goodie-two-shoes”. Personally, I don’t agree with that, but everyone is entitled to their own opinion. I suppose there are worse things to be called. In fact, I know there are, because I’ve been on the receiving end of that too. You can’t please everyone, nor should you want to.
Let’s pretend for a moment that my moral compass was off – way off. If that were the case and I wanted to dabble in, let’s say, drug-trafficking, the border between Namibia and Botswana would be the perfect place to do it. We could have easily strolled through both checkpoints without anyone ever noticing. From the looks of it, both posts have seen better days. Rundown, barely staffed, and little to no traffic, make it seem like a smuggler’s paradise. Business partners, anyone? (Don’t’ worry, Mom & Dad: I’m only kidding. I’m not that desperate… yet.)
When we crossed into Botswana, we met an older gentleman sporting a suit, cowboy hat, and the most weathered face I’ve ever seen. I can only imagine the stories he’d tell, if only we could listen. He was in need of a ride, but our backseat was piled high and the trunk was full. We thought it obvious to onlookers, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Perhaps you see what you want to see? In any case, this adorable old man wasn’t taking no for an answer.
When we exited the building, he grabbed his suitcase and followed us to the car. We opened the doors, pointed to our junk, and tried to explain that we wanted to help, but didn’t know how, with so much baggage. He just stood there, waiting for us to come up with a solution. I suppose one could say, “where there’s a will, there’s a way”. Like a game of Tetris, we managed to move things around and squeeze him in. In the end, we both felt bad for our initial response… and for all of the others we’d passed previously.
Instantly, we noticed Botswana had a different feel compared to that of its neighbors. Sea, sand, and shopping malls, were swapped for trees, villages, and livestock. The road conditions were fairly decent, but stray animals and children, along with a slow speed of 60kh and occasional potholes, kept us moving at a snail’s pace.
After a long day of driving, we eventually landed in Maun: the gateway to the Delta and beyond. It’s pretty much what you expect any hub to be: congested and pricey. After all, Botswana is the wildlife destination, with the Okavango Delta and Chobe National Park covering most of the northern half. You have to pay to play, though. It tends to cater to safari goers with never-ending pockets, offering swanky camps, luxury lodges, and charter flights to anywhere you’d want to go. We tossed around our options and agreed that if we wanted to splurge, this was definitely the place to do it.
With a little research and a nudge from a local operator, we set our sights on Kwando Safari’s Kwara Camp, deep within the Delta. The only way to get there is by plane, so the next morning we boarded a small Cessna, and enjoyed the views from above. Kwara is an intimate camp with only eight tents, overlooking a lovely lagoon. It’s situated on a private concession, meaning no hassle, crowds, and free roam.
The airstrip closest to camp had recently flooded, so we landed at another, about an hour and a half away. We were greeted by our guide and tracker, Kenny and Mopani, who would haul us around for the next few days. This actually worked in our favor, as the ride to camp was like an extra game drive – no complaints on our end. Lucky for us, we arrived during the slow season, so we only had to share the facility with a handful of other guests.
Upon arrival, I knew the experience would be special; what I didn’t expect was for the next night to become one of the highlights of my trip, let alone my life.
Perhaps I should rethink investing in khaki after all…
Leslie Peralta, “Lelly Goes On Safari: Kwara Camp, Okavango Delta…” — Soledad: Notes From My Travels