Gas Panic & A French Wanker

Etosha National Park, Day 1.

In my life I have often put myself into wonderful, precarious, and awe-inspiring places on whims. I have heard of something, or seen some photo, or read an article about a place, and decided to go there. I do very little research after the initial interest, and never prepare my body, mind, or luggage accordingly. That is how I found myself hiking the Himalayan Annapurna Circuit with only an airplane blanket to sleep with, moving to Japan and South America without learning the languages, and most recently entering Namibia’s vast Etosha National Park without enough gas in our car, or a clue where to find the wildlife Meghan and I wanted to see.

One turn and a lot of concentration; that’s all it takes to drive the over 500 kilometers from the capital Windhoek, to Etosha National Park. Just follow the B1 highway 400 kilometers north to the small town of Otjiwarongo, and turn left on district road C38. The concentration comes in the form of passing trucks along the two-lane road, avoiding herds of warthogs, the occasional biker, and the groups of natives loping across the highway at every small village.

You are not allowed to enter the park after sundown, or before sunset, so when the sun dramatically descended on Thursday evening we were forced to camp at a lodge ten kilometers from the gate and wait for the next morning. At the camp the staff tried to schedule us for a game drive the next day, but we had plans of our own. We had reservations at the heart of the park at a campsite called Halali for the next two nights, and we planned to do the safari ourselves. We had no map, and no plan of attack, but we thought it would not be hard to figure out what to do the next morning.

Before sunrise we rose and packed up our camping equipment and got back in the car and headed to the gate. We were the first to arrive, but were quickly followed by large Land Rovers full of other tourists. I talked to a guide of one of the trucks, and he told me to just drive to the watering holes and most importantly stop other cars and ask them what they have seen and where, and follow their lead. He also told me to check in at the first resort, pay the fees, and buy a map that would show the watering holes. Sound advice.

Just after the orange sun rose in the cloudless sky to our right, the gate opened and we drove through the gate into the park. We drove slowly along the paved road, watching our perspective sides for animals. I wanted to see lions and big cats, Meg was hoping to see the elephants. She loves elephants, and feels she has some primeval connection with them. I worry that when we see them she will get so excited that she will disturb them and make them attack our tiny car and roll us. I have seen it on youtube, and it is not pretty. The Kia does not stand a chance against the enormous beasts. I was not sure I wanted us to see elephants up close.

Within a few kilometers of the gate we had our first sighting. A herd of zebra was crossing the road ahead, and as I approached we stopped their crossing and split them between the two sides of the road. We rolled down the windows despite the cold of the every morning and Meg began to reel off a volley of photographs, the camera motor winding at full speed. The contrast between the tall, yellow grass, green trees and their stark black-and-white bodies was beautiful. As we watched other cars and trucks passed us, their riders giving us the look I give Japanese tourists who take pictures of the airplane food lying before them. Undaunted, we waited for the herd to cross the road, and then moved on, one hundred photos, and three videos later.



Further up we saw three giraffes crossing the plain two hundred meters to our side, their awkward bodies following the strides of their huge necks. We were not sure if we would see them again, so again we stopped the car and filled up more space on our memory cards. We thought we made a good start, and Meg was proud of her ‘tracking’ and ‘spotting’ skills as a co-pilot.

At the Okaukuejo camp we registered, and paid our park entrance fees of US$10 per day, car fee of US$1 per day, and camping fee of US$12 per person per day. Considering Etosha is the top draw for Namibia, the fees are pretty cheap in comparison to other Southern African parks. The employees took our entry money easily, but when I asked for information about wildlife viewing they were uninterested, but did direct me to the store where I could buy a map of the park.

The closest point of interest from the resort was the Etosha Pan lookout, and we decided to drive there and see what we could see. The paved road ended just beyond the resort, turning into a bumpy, gray dirt road. The Kia did not like the bumpy road, and I had to take it at about ten miles an hour; thirty max. Traffic was still light that early, and in the wide-open spaces we could see the dust trails of oncoming cars from miles away. The desert vegetation was also light, mostly tall grass, and low scrubland with low, thorny bushes.

At the lookout the white, dry pan stretched out before us, the vista only broken by a few dead and lifeless tree trunks. We saw only large, flightless birds on the pan, a lone ostrich, and the odd-looking and equally oddly named bustard. Our first stop was disappointing, but we had three days ahead of us to catch up.



We headed towards our camp in the middle of Etosha, but stopped along the way at the various natural and man-made watering holes. Now is the dry season for Etosha, and the best season for viewing animals because they need to come out of hiding to visit the few watering holes. Even animals that are usually skittish need to get over their fear of humans and cars to drink. They come at different times of day to avoid their natural predators, but they have to come at some point.

At the first watering hole we found herds of the small, white and brown Springbok surrounding the water, interspersed with some larger, clown-faced Oryx. There were also more zebra, and some birds that were of no interest whatsoever to Meg. She is unimpressed with anything resembling things she can see in the US. We watched for a while and drove back to the main thoroughfare towards our camp.

We took a few detours along the way to watering holes on our left that turned out to be dry and void of animals. I would have felt disappointed and stupid for taking the errant turns but for the fact that huge tour buses often preceded and followed our path to the same barren locations. We were doing the same things the supposed experts were doing, just a little slower, and without the advantage of a lofty view.

Towards our camp the landscape changed a little, and the terrain afforded a few larger trees and shrubs. I thought this would be elephant country, and we scanned the horizons for glimpses of the Meg’s huge beasts, but found none. It was getting on to ten o’clock, and we had not seen anything for a while when we turned a corner and saw another car ahead of us parked along the side of the road; a good sign for spotting animals.

To our right were two giant giraffes five meters from the car to our right. They stopped their eating to watch us approach as I eased the car to a stop directly across from them. The quickly resumed the stretching and bending to chew the thorny trees. We rolled down the window amazed at our proximity, realizing that we would gladly be deleting the distant photos of giraffes we had taken before.



As we focused intently on the giraffes to our right Meg suddenly yelled, “Oh my God, Baby,” and stared out the front window. Ahead of us another giraffe was crossing the road ahead of us to join the others. On the road he seemed larger and more out of place than the others. He stopped as we looked at him and stared at us, as unsure of what we would do as we were, and then continued. I looked further left, and there were more now, six more in all. It was amazing.

When the giraffes moved on, after taking a video for Meg’s grandmother who loves giraffes, we continued on to Halali camp, and our base for the next two days. On the way we caught another zebra crossing (one of many on the trip), hundreds of other springboks, and various other antelope species including cela, steenbok, and kudu. But, as yet, no elephants or lions.



Before the camp I realized that I was running low on gas. I should have filled up at the other resort, but had forgotten in my rush to see the early morning wildlife. I had a jerry can in the truck but it was empty because I told Meg we did not need it, and we did not want to spend three days inhaling gas fumes. She did not agree with me when I did not fill it in Windhoek, and reminded me of the fact when I told her we might not make it to the camp and its gas station. I feared hearing about this incident for the next many years.

The only strict rule of Etosha is that you may not get out of your car in the park except at the campsites. They are fenced in and protected from the wildlife outside. Now I was faced with the real possibility that I would have to walk to the camp to fill the can and possibly get attacked by a lion, leopard, elephant or any other species who did not like me there. Perhaps I should have endured the smell of gas, and avoid the chance of death by animal, or worse the unrelenting wrath of Meg.



I skipped a couple watering holes, and coasted into Halali gas station around one o’clock on fumes. The attendant opened the tank to the sucking sound of a narrow escape and filled the tank. The car was so dusty that it had turned from silver to white, but we had arrived in one piece, and inside the Kia. Thank God.



The campsite we were given, 37, was huge and equipped with a fire pit, a concrete table and concrete stools, and a water spigot. There was enough room for five tents, and twenty people. The only problem was that there was already a white Toyota pick-up truck parked there, and four people were sitting around the table eating lunch. I drove the Kia as close to the table as I could and got out to assess the situation.

In Namibia it is easy to spot the person who is ‘the guide’. They always wear green safari gear, wide-brimmed leather hats, and carry various tools on their belts. Tourists wear the same outfits, but always in khaki. This guide watched me get out and spoke.

“Iz dis your camp?” French. Why is it always the French? Every time I go up in the mountains or to the outdoors around the world there are always French people acting like they own the place, and have a divine right to it because they invented the piton.

They had not set up any tents, so I suspected they were just using the vacant campsite as a lunch spot, so I was not worried. “Yes, but you can have lunch here as long as we can use the table also,” I said, trying not sound annoyed.

Meg got out of the car with our cooler to eat lunch. The ‘guide’ did not tell his clients to move, but sat at the table with them and talked authoritatively.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

He did not ask his people to make room for us. He did not do anything, so I put our cooler bag on the table in front of him and looked down at his wide green hat. He stood up and walked to his truck and I took his seat with his group of three confused tourists. Meg waited by the car, clearly annoyed. She expects what she pays for and is not amused when she does not get it.

The French ‘guide’ then asked a question from behind his truck. “Deed you see somezing today?”
“Yes, we saw a lot. We saw giraffes, springbok, impala, zebra herds, bustards, ostrich and many other animals.”
“So zen you zee no zing. No predators.”

It was the wanker moment I knew was coming. We do not have giraffes grazing yards from my car in Connecticut, and we do not have herds of zebra crossing the road in Washington D.C. What we saw was great for us, and we were pleased with our experience. It was not ‘no zing’, and it was not up to this condescending Frog to tell us what we did, or did not see.

So I politely asked, “And you monsieur, what did you zee?”
“We saw the same azyu,” he said.
“No zing also then monsieur. Not good for a guided tour, n’est-ce pas?”

He got the point. He quickly told his clients that lunch was over and they should walk to the watering hole just beyond the campsite. Then he began to pack up his things as we took control of our table. Within minutes he drove off in his flashy safari vehicle and Meg and I joked about which one of us would play the part of the French, wanker, guide over the next few days.