Michael had planned to get up at 5 a.m. this morning to step outside and admire Namibia’s stunning starry sky and the shimmering Milky Way. Well… he did wake up briefly, but the warm duvet won out against the cold desert night.
And cold it was indeed. Here, we regularly experience temperature swings of about 20°C (around 36°F) between day and night—going from just above 30°C (86°F) during the day to a brisk 10°C (50°F) or so at night.
By 7:30 a.m., we showed up for breakfast bundled up accordingly and thoroughly enjoyed our first meal of the day.
Time to pack up and say goodbye to the Petrified Forest Rest Camp. Today’s route takes us roughly 200 km (about 125 miles) toward Etosha National Park.
At checkout, we sign the guestbook and strike up a conversation with the hostess. It’s immediately clear how proud she is of what they’ve built here—and rightly so, we think. Fourteen years ago, there was nothing. She and her husband started out sleeping in tents while setting up their little workshop. They bought up a large area of land—she sweeps her arm broadly, and we estimate several hectares (dozens of acres). “No one wanted land,” she says. Step by step, they expanded, opened a café, were laughed at in the beginning, but now earn respect. Soon, two new bungalows will be added. We really feel a sense of connection with her and part ways warmly.
We head toward Khorixas, which we reach after 22 km (14 miles). The village appears in the distance, and we’re thrilled about the smooth, paved road that—thankfully—will accompany us nearly the entire way to Etosha. We stop to fill up on fuel and spot a donkey cart. It’s Saturday, and we notice many people dressed in formal, often black clothing. The gas station attendant tells us that three funerals are taking place today—a sobering thought.
As she diligently washes our windshield, side windows, and mirrors to a shine—earning herself a generous tip—we roll onward smoothly along the tarmac. We cruise at just over 100 km/h (around 62 mph), well below the 120 km/h (75 mph) speed limit. Along the way, a herd of cows grazes peacefully right next to the road, unfazed by our car. When we stop to snap a few photos, they glance up with that typical “Oh great, tourists again” look.
Along the roadside, we notice small, conical mounds in brown and light grey, about 1–2 meters (3–6.5 feet) tall, some even larger. Too uniform to be just rocks? A few kilometers later, we turn off toward our detour destination: the Ugab Terraces. Luckily, two of these mounds are close enough to the road to inspect. On closer look, they seem to be abandoned termite mounds—made of the same sandy material as the surroundings, but hardened like stone, almost as if glued together. Small holes and entrances lead inside. Mysterious!
We continue for 12 kilometers (7.5 miles) on a rough gravel side road, not in great shape. On both sides, rocky cliffs drop suddenly into the Ugab Valley, where we now find ourselves driving. The Ugab River is an old acquaintance—we’ve already crossed it twice, once on our elephant tour and again by bridge en route to Damaraland. Now, we’re here to see what else the Ugab has carved out.
Soon, we see a sign for Vingerklip and turn off. We pay a small entrance fee (plus a tip to the gatekeeper, naturally) and take the right turn toward the rock formation. The left fork leads to the luxurious Vingerklip Lodge—not our destination today. On the way, we take a close-up of the abundant grass with its white seed fluff.
The road (if you can still call it that) becomes truly adventurous. Once again, we thank the Thai and Japanese engineers behind our Toyota Fortuner. In some parts, we move at walking pace due to the terrain. We park at the first lot, skipping the final stretch to the second one in favor of walking. Ironically, this stretch is where the “4×4 only” sign begins.
Now we get a fantastic view of our target: the Vingerklip itself—a tall, slender rock spire that unmistakably resembles a stone finger pointing skyward. We take a few photos as we approach. It’s about 35 meters (115 feet) tall and was only first climbed in 1970.
We don’t climb the Vingerklip ourselves but explore the small plateau it stands on. A fleeting thought crosses our minds: it would be some incredibly bad luck if the whole thing decided to topple over today. Thankfully, it doesn’t.
From up here, about 40 meters (130 feet) above the valley floor, the view is vast. We’re standing in the middle of a canyon that the Ugab River has carved over the past two million years—stretching 80 kilometers (50 miles) in length, with cliffs up to 160 meters (525 feet) high. It may not be the Grand Canyon, but we have the breathtaking view entirely to ourselves. The silence, the solitude, the scale—truly awe-inspiring.
After a few quiet minutes, we spot two cars arriving far below. Time to head back before company arrives.
Back at the car, the rear needs a good wipe-down after all that desert dust. Then we enjoy a makeshift lunch seated on the trunk floor, as usual, with goodies from the cooler.
We bounce back over the rocky track to the blessedly paved road. For kilometers on end, it stretches perfectly straight, with only the occasional gentle curve. Michael passes time by measuring the longest straight stretches with the odometer—he clocks a full 10 kilometers (over 6 miles) without a single bend. Maybe not quite Australia-level, as our fellow travelers at the Rest Camp claimed yesterday, but close.
We get a craving for dessert and stop at a rest area marked by a sign featuring a tree—and yes, this one actually has a tree, which is not always the case in the desert! We enjoy a piece of fruitcake under its shade. A pair of weaver birds flits among the branches, tending to their small but beautifully crafted nests—much daintier than the massive communal ones we saw near Windhoek.
The landscape has clearly become greener. We pass a small citrus grove—maybe oranges or tangerines. Then, a group of ostriches behind a fence—posing nicely for our camera. It’s clear they’re on a game farm, one of many enclosed wildlife areas in Namibia. Whether the animals are purely for viewing or also hunted, we’re not sure.
Eventually, we reach a crossroads and turn left. Apart from our Ugab Canyon detour, today’s journey was a straight shot: from one place to the next—straight ahead, left turn, then straight again for 200 km (125 miles). Honestly, who even needs a GPS in Namibia? With no reliable cell service for long stretches, an offline map would’ve been handy. We’ll manage, but next time we’ll come better prepared.
One last wildlife warning sign catches our eye—a warthog, this time. We don’t actually see one, though.
Eighty kilometers (50 miles) later, we arrive at our new accommodation: Etosha Safari Camp. It’s a relatively large setup for about 50 guests, with solidly built bungalows spaced generously apart. Conveniently, we can park right next to ours.
Our bungalow has four beds—two bunks—but we opt for the lower ones. In the bathroom hangs a bright yellow mosquito net. Since we’re now in a slight malaria-risk zone, we go all in: bug spray on the skin, insecticide for the room, and net setup. Annette is much better at that part than Michael—his net ends up hanging rather haphazardly, prompting imaginary giggles from the watching mosquitoes. Well, he muses, that’s one way to keep them away. Annette rescues the situation, and soon, the bed is fortress-ready.
The bathroom features a very fitting and quite unique shower design—perfectly in tune with the surroundings.
At 6 p.m., it’s time for dinner. We try (unsuccessfully) to upload the blog, but the Wi-Fi near reception is slow and unstable. Oh well—offline writing it is. Uploading will have to wait.
Dinner is a delicious barbecue, including grilled springbok and other meats, a variety of salads, soup, side dishes, and even a cheese board. Everything tastes fantastic.
By now, we’ve even started eating the salads—something we usually avoid in warmer countries due to possible bacterial contamination. But having learned that Namibia’s tap water is safe, we feel confident—and have had no issues so far.
By 8:30 p.m., we’re in bed. Tomorrow will be an early one. Good night!