Sesfontein & Damaraland

It's not every day, even in southern Africa, that one can drive past deep canyons dotted with wild desert giraffes browsing among the thorn trees, but that's the sort of thing we encountered during the three days we spent moving down the western side of Namibia from Epupa Falls to the Skeleton Coast. The roads from Epupa to Opuwo to Sesfontein to Damaraland Camp and thence through the Skeleton Coast itself featured one mind-blowing variation on desert themes after another, and they gave us the chance to lock the wheels, conquer rocks like rows of sharks' teeth, and swan our way through sandy washes along the coast. Everywhere, the panoramas opened in an unrolling vastness that would make an Imax screen seem small as a postage stamp.

The day after we returned from Epupa, the drive led through twisting canyons and whole forests of baobabs to a former German military outpost in the desert--Fort Sesfontein. "Sesfontein" is an Afrikaaner name meaning "six springs," and this was a true oasis town. The old fort itself, built in the late 19th-century when Germans were the colonials in Namibia, is now a small country hotel, and a magically charming one at that.

It's hard to say why, exactly, but we both felt more instantly at home in this spot than in any other place we've visited in the past year. Within an hour after our arrival, Mark was wandering about the fort barefoot, checking out the gigantic, wonderfully robotic "armored crickets" that plod along in an almost stately manner, while Sarah took off on a walkabout around the fort's environs. We had only one night to stay in Sesfontein, but we fell in love with the place.

Maybe it was the peacefulness, the serenity of the sunset. Maybe it was the almost Moroccan feel to the old fort. Maybe it was the spiritual cow that gazed soulfully at Sarah when she was out on her walk.

The next morning we gave a ride to a local guy who translates his Damara name, !Gamsa Haib, which literally means burning wood, as "Hot Sticks." Along with a handful of other guys down at the Sesfontein store (the only store, of course) he was dreadlocked and dressed in a Bob Marley t-shirt. He corrected the driving instructions we had for Damaraland Camp and set us off on the right direction, and when we dropped him off, he returned fist bumps with an emphatic "Rastafari!"

Then we were back through the winding desert. After an all-day drive that concluded with a 13-kilometer crawl over loose rocks into the bush, we arrived at the remote Damaraland Camp, a collection of tented cabins nestled into more sweeping desert vistas, in a valley inhabited by a herd of 60 or so elusive desert elephants.

Here we ate dinner communally with the rest of the guests and the staff. We met a couple from Eastern Germany who whetted our appetites for the next day's drive down the Skeleton Coast by telling us that their previous host had told them, gesturing around his knees, "Das Nichts ist so hoch." A loose translation: "The Nothing comes up to here."

We also met a fascinating fellow countryman from Chicago, Stuart, a former commodities broker from the Chicago Board of Trade who now travels the world solo and is reading his way through lists of famous novels. A mellower, more charming man you could not imagine, so it was bemusing to think of him in his past life, screaming for trades on the market floor. The next morning he set off with a guide to find the desert elephants.

For ourselves, all we saw of those particular elephants were their droppings, but we did enjoy the company of a good many more of the palm-sized armored crickets.

And if there's a place in the world where the grass is more beautiful than the endlessly murmuring golden straw called "Long-legged Bushman Grass," we've yet to see it.