SOUTH AFRICA/NAMIBIA The farther we got from cosmopolitan Cape Town, the more impressed we were with the standard of the infrastructure in South Africa. Good roads. Real towns. Pretty nice, apart from the shabby ''informal settlements'' (slums in plain English). Milton is the Renaissance Man of the guiding world. He drives the truck, cooks our meals, helps us set up tents, points out the sights, makes us laugh and -- from now on -- lives in fear of missing a road sign. Which he did on our fist day because the winds in the northern part of South Africa blew it away. Anyway, we got some extra sightseeing in, including a stop at a South African farm where he braved the world's largest dog to go ask the farmer for directions. We -- er make that -- he found our camping spot on a little outcrop with a great view of land that was becoming more and more arid, and more and more like a lunar landscape.
Milton showed us how to set up a tent, and sent us off to set up our our own accommodations, while he lit the campfire and made a chicken dinner that couldn't be beat. It was a great start to our trek. We all went to bed and slept soundly. For about three hours, that is.
Out of nowhere, the Mother of All Winds (maybe it just felt like that) rammed our tents like a runaway train. Pia, 58, and Morris, 65, gave up when their tents blew down and sought refuge on the floor of the truck. Doug and Eva spent the night acting as human ballast to keep their tent from blowing away. Rubin, the 27 year old German, discovered that his tent had blown down around him, and quoted himself later as saying ''Ja. That's OK'' and going back to sleep.
In the morning, it was still blowing so hard that it took all six of us to hold down and fold each tent. (Pia's was recovered from the ravine). It was blowing so hard that it nearly tore the door off the truck. Eva was also stunned by a discovery: Doug was involved in everything from rescuing tents to repairing truck doors at 7 am BC (before coffee.) She had never seen anything like it, and would not have believed it possible.
After saying something like ''I'm an artist. I can't work under conditions like this", Milton loaded us into the truck, and took us to Springbok for breakfast at a Wimpy and repairs to the truck door that wouldn't open.
Then things started to get better. After passing through immigration control for Namibia (is there some kind of drab, rundown standard set for all border posts everywhere in the developing world?) A few kilometers (miles) away, we started our overnight canoe trek. Each of us was issued a bucket with a lid, for sleeping bags and such.We loaded the canoes and set up into the first rapids.
Milton and Pia shared a canoe. Pia had hurt her back, had a cold, and had an expensive camera around her neck. Naturally, their canoe capsized 30 seconds into the trek, so they and the boat were rescued by young men practicing extreme swimming in rapids, which Rubin re-named ''Guide Killer Rapids'' in honor of Milton.
Anyway, we did make it down the river, cooked out (okay it was Milton and the river guide Michael who cooked out) and ... all of us exhausting from the Night of Wind, we call fell asleep in the sand under the stars at about 9 pm. Doug could not believe his luck when Mrs. M brought him coffee in bed, or would that be coffee in sleeping bag. Eva and Pia went for a morning swim in the warm river and then we headed downstream again, sometimes swimming next to the canoes in the warm water. The next morning, we were back in The Truck, headed north to the Desert Camp, for a chapter to be told as soon as we find time an Internet again.
D&E
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