210 - Mayhem & Sesriem (Namib-Naukluft National Park, Namibia)
SESRIEM SITS AT THE GATEWAY TO THE NAMIB-NAUKLUFT NATIONAL PARK, home to the world’s largest and most impressive sand dunes. The “settlement” is nothing more than a petrol station and a few tourist lodges, but it skirts the edge of a surrealistic landscape that’s sure to haunt you. Trust me, this is a place you want to visit.
Should you desire to stay inside the park (you do), there are two options, both operated by Namibian Wildlife Resorts (NWR)—the Sesriem Campsite or the ultra-swanky Sossus Dune Lodge. We went with door number one. There are other options outside the park, but only folks staying inside can reach the dunes in time for sunrise. You want to reach the dunes in time for sunrise. The main gate (leading to the actual park gate) opens later for the general public. Don’t be the general public.
After setting up camp, we mounted Sparky for some leisurely reconnaissance. From Sesriem, a sixty-five-kilometer road leads through a desert dreamscape of salt/clay pan surrounded by uber dunes. At the road’s end lies Sossusvlei, the cherry on the proverbial surrealism sundae. I have to say, in the most American accent possible, “It’s fucking awesome!”
Have I mentioned Namibia’s weather? Yes. Yes, I have. (Go here or here.) We could see storm clouds in the distance hovering over the dunes, creating a color palette to die for. The gate attendant mentioned something about flooding and getting stranded, but didn’t seem concerned. We pressed on. It wasn’t long before heavy rain forced us to a crawl. The road is paved, so getting stuck in mud or sand was out… phew. (We’d had enough of that shit.) Flooding on the other hand… but, no. The shower was temporary and subsided as we continued west. Super.
It was then I realized how fortunate we were to be in Namibia for atypical shit-show conditions. The topography and weather conspired to confound our expectations. On one side, we had copper-hued dunes looming nearby, and on the other, craggy silhouettes of small mountains straddling the park’s edge like dark centurions. It felt like a geological standoff delineated by delicate strands of silver-tipped emerald grass. The ashen-colored firmament only augmented the bizarre contrasts, underscoring the scene’s ominous tone… gasp. Best of all, we had it to ourselves.
We forged ahead, transecting the narrowing valley that terminates in an abyss of sand. Before long, the clouds disappeared, revealing something closer to the desert backdrop one would expect, a sun-drenched sandscape devoid of vitality… or not. A grass carpet peppered with desert brush and sprinkled with actual trees infused the picture with an incongruence that was hard to reconcile. Desert. Green. Sand. Trees. Rain… Even some dunes were “infected” with patches of vegetation. Was this normal or a consequence of excessive rain? Had some bewildered creator misread the schematics?
There must have been something in the air because I did something as inexplicable as the landscape. I drove off the pavement into the hardpan. This was asinine, not because we might get stuck, but because I’d just driven off-road in a national park. Justification? None. Explanation? Well… There were sporadic signs reading “Stay On The Road” but they were few and far between, which I interpreted as applying to the area in and around the individual signposts. Also, there were certain areas with vehicle tracks leading off toward the dunes, but I’m guessing those were exempt because…
Am I dumb? Aye. Malicious? Nyet. And, as I saw nary a trace of foliage that could be damaged, I believed such deviations were permissible. Otherwise, I doubt we would’ve parked the car, erected a large multi-colored beach umbrella, and savored peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a few hundred meters from the road. Stupid? Yessir. Insolent? No way.
After all, do you think I wanted to honor the Asshole American stereotype? Negative, ghost rider. I have a deep-seated respect for nature and its preservation, so I can say honestly I thought my act innocuous. The Namibian couple employed by one of the lodges who approached us soon after rejoining the road did not. To say they were oozing contempt doesn’t remotely describe their disposition. If looks could kill, I’d be dead, along with every living relative. What started as, “What do you think you’re doing” devolved into a crucifixion of our moral fiber. I offered no protest and apologized profusely. My ridiculous hat (USSR Afghan khaki boonie hat) and vapid countenance did nothing to quell their vitriol.
I understood their sentiment and genuinely felt terrible, but then Mr. Contemptuous said something that diluted their grave expressions. He looked at me with a straight face and asked, “Do you realize those tracks will be there for a thousand years?” A thousand years? Okay, buddy, I get it. I’m an asshole, a big fat raging asshole of an American, but let’s not get carried away. It’s not the fucking moon. Also, what about all the recent goddamn rain? A thousand years? C’mon, man! They then informed us such transgressions carry a fine of $500 US, and we’d better be careful not to do it again. I assumed they were going to report us, an action I would’ve understood if not condoned. They kept repeating how much trouble we could get into if we were caught, which, if I’m not mistaken, implies they wouldn’t report us. Guess what they did? Fair enough, but if we knew, we would’ve followed them to the ranger shack and owned up to our transgression. Follow your conscience. Do the right thing. No need to be an unctuous prick about it… sir.
After tracing the road to its end, we turned around and headed back to camp. Along the way, a white truck driven by a park official stopped us. Instead of asking if we were the douchebags in question, he asked if we were the only small white car in the area. Unmasked! You’ve solved the case! We followed him to his office, admitted our guilt, and received a stern ass-chewing.
Our punishment? A warning. No fines. No expulsion. (Oddly, we felt pangs of mild compunction about getting away Scot-free. If this gets out, there might be chaos in the dunes, man!) I discovered the major impetus for the prohibition is aesthetics, not irreparable damage. I agree with the policy, but then we were told the restriction applies only to vehicles, not people, so if we’d parked on the roadside and walked a bit to stage our surrealist picnic, no problem. Um, what? What about thousand-year footprints? They don’t want tracks crisscrossing the landscape. (What about perpendicular tracks, like the ones we saw?) Perfectly understandable. This doesn’t apply to Soussusvlei, where you’re allowed to drive a 4WD with reckless abandon. Don’t have one? Have a park employee shuttle you around in theirs. Yes, I was a dipshit, just not the colossal dipshit I originally believed. Also, I was fucking confused.
“The Namib Desert is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Never in my life have I witnessed such a beautiful display of sand. I could have easily spent days, perched atop a dune, mesmerized by the vibrant colors and varied textures within the Namib-Naukluft National Park. It is jaw-dropping, knock your socks off, gorgeous. Words cannot describe just how impressive this place is and photographs don’t do it justice. It is simply a place you have to see for yourself in order to appreciate.
The stars had somehow aligned, because we arrived at the perfect time. The recent rainfall created a dazzling display of neon green grass, growing amid the dunes; as well as a lake within the salt and clay pans of Sossusvlei. Being that the area is Namibia’s most visited attraction, we were a little concerned that large tour groups might take away from the experience, but outside of Sesriem, we often felt alone. It was fantastic.
A trip to a national park wouldn’t be complete without a slap on the hand – we seem to get those wherever we go. While driving around within the park on our first day, we noticed multiple sets of tracks in the sand on the side of the road, leading up to the dunes. We had passed a few signs saying ‘Stay on the road’, especially close to the entrance, but they were few and far between. Since we hadn’t seen one in a while and there were fresh tire tracks across the pan, we assumed it was a safe spot to pull off and break for lunch. Well, you know what they say about assumptions…
When I think back to that day, is all I can do is laugh. There we were, lost in a sea of sand with our Chevy Spark, eating PBJ’s under a gigantic rainbow umbrella, in our matching neon-colored chairs. For a moment, we were ‘those’ guys; the ones we love to hate.
Not realizing we just committed a major no-no, we made our way back to the road and were immediately stopped by a Namibian couple who worked for a nearby lodge. We rolled down the windows and were met by a mouthful of piss and vinegar. I could immediately tell they wanted to beat us to pulp. In their eyes, we were the most inconsiderate a-holes known to man. ‘What are you doing!?! Look at what you’ve done! How could you!?!’ My personal favorite was, ‘Do you realize your tracks will be here for a thousand years?’. Really? I mean, really? A thousand years. Come on. Now, you’re just being the a-holes.
We genuinely felt bad, but it was an honest mistake. We both have a great appreciation for the environment and would never intentionally do anything to interfere with its preservation. We tried to explain that to the couple, but they wanted none of it. They informed us that if park officials had seen us in the act, they’d be forced to fine us close to $500. We assured them such a mistake would never happen again.
Their warning implied that they weren’t going to report us, when in fact, that’s exactly what they did upon parting ways. Why they didn’t just come out and say that, instead of leading us to believe we were lucky, is beyond me. They clearly had no problem putting us in our place. Perhaps something we said rubbed them the wrong way? I’m sure the beach umbrella and Rich’s goofy hat didn’t help matters. It’s hard to take anyone seriously with possessions like that.
On our way back to camp, we were stopped by park officials and asked if we had seen any other small white vehicles in the area. There was only one reason for them to ask such a question: Mr. & Mrs. had tattled on us. Awesome. We followed one of the gentleman back to the office, where we quickly admitted our guilt and regret. Thankfully, the ranger let us go with a stern warning, instead of a fine. In the process, we also learned that the main concern with vehicles going off road is the cosmetic ramifications. Tire tracks aren’t pretty. They want the area clean and pristine, which is completely understandable. It’s just nice to know that we didn’t ruin an ecosystem and our tracks have most certainly been swept away. Ha. A thousand years. Priceless.”
Leslie Peralta, “Swimming In A Sea Of Sand (Sesriem)” — Soledad: Notes From My Travels