Since it’s possible to drive your own vehicle through Etosha National Park, we decided to take the scenic route across the park on our way to Ghaub. The trip would take a bit longer, as the speed limit inside the park is 60 km/h (about 37 mph) due to the abundance of wildlife. But the experience promised to be far more rewarding than taking a route entirely outside the park. We had about 350 km (around 217 miles) ahead of us today, so we set off early.
Before hitting the road, we took a few final photos of the entrance area of the Etosha Safari Camp and a blooming plant in the gentle morning light.
At 8 AM, we found ourselves once again at the southern gate of the park—the same as yesterday. First, we filled out a form with our personal details. Then a second official, clearly from the veterinary department, asked whether we had any meat products on board. Sausage? Raw meat? We only had a bit of salami, which she deemed acceptable. We assume this is part of a disease prevention policy. A third employee asked if we were carrying a drone or plastic bags. No drone—but the plastic bag question was trickier, as we had all our luggage with us. After inspecting our trunk, he confiscated the plastic bag we were using to store our sandals. Likely a measure to reduce litter.
Finally, we were allowed to enter the park! The first 10 km (around 6 miles) took us down a paved road straight to Okaukuejo, where we had been the day before and where we now paid the park entrance fee. Along the way, we spotted our first animal by the roadside—possibly an impala.
A few words about Etosha National Park: it has its roots in 1907, when the German colonial government placed the entire northern part of Namibia under protection and banned hunting, after elephants had been nearly wiped out by excessive hunting. Over time, the park’s size changed several times, and its current form has existed since the 1970s. Covering about 22,000 km² (approx. 8,500 mi²), it’s roughly 25 times the size of Berlin or slightly larger than the German state of Hesse. The entire park is fenced in. At its center lies the Etosha Pan, a salt flat and former lakebed fed by rivers with no outlet. Like Sossusvlei, it dries out seasonally, forming a salt-clay crust that spans about 4,700 km² (roughly 1,815 mi²)—nearly six times the size of Berlin.
With a park this vast, our route through it stretched over 150 km (about 93 miles). We encountered several animals we hadn’t yet seen—like herds of wildebeest, grazing peacefully or lying in the grass, ruminating. Occasionally we spotted them alongside springboks.
Of course, we saw plenty more zebras, though by now we were feeling a little zebra-fatigued and didn’t photograph every one. Still, one posed so charmingly by the roadside that we couldn’t resist taking a shot.
A new animal for us was a bird slowly stalking through the tall grass, apparently hunting. We guessed it might be a female secretary bird, since we’d spotted a male the day before.
Eventually, we reached Camp Halali, about halfway through the park. The entrance features a hunting horn—fitting for the name. The fenced-in camp offers lodging, camping, a restaurant, fuel station, and more. We paused here for lunch and took advantage of the excellent internet to upload content to our blog.
Halali features an artificial waterhole with seating and floodlights, but unfortunately no animals were around in the midday heat.
Refreshed, we took a side road called Etosha Pan Lookout, leading far out into the salt pan. In the middle of nowhere—essentially on the dry lakebed—we stopped to take in the surroundings: a perfectly flat expanse, stretching to the horizon in muted tones of gray and brown, punctuated by white patches where more salt had accumulated.
Returning to the main road, we made good progress. Unlike yesterday, when we explored many side tracks in search of wildlife, today we stuck to the central road. It frequently brought us close to the Etosha Pan, which in some places actually held shallow water. A few memorable scenes presented themselves here.
One animal we hadn’t seen much of yet was the giraffe. Today we spotted several—some grouped with wildebeest and zebras, though too far away for good photos. One lone giraffe stood in an area with sparse vegetation, forcing it to bend awkwardly to reach the ground—a rather odd sight.
Eventually, we arrived at the eastern gate of the park. Just before it, we passed Namutoni, another small settlement with a camp and gas station. Not needing anything, we continued past a sign warning of a wildlife gate that vehicles can cross, but animals cannot. Our park entry slip was checked—no trunk inspection this time, unlike with others. Lucky us!
Back on a paved road, we picked up speed. A warthog warning sign appeared—and sure enough, moments later we spotted one crossing the road. A bit farther on, we saw a small group of them. They’re very skittish and dash off as soon as our vehicle nears, making photography a challenge.
After 24 km (15 miles) of straight road—interrupted only by a gentle left turn—we reached National Road B1 and turned south. The B1 is one of Namibia’s major highways: wide, well-paved, and relatively busy for Namibia. We passed several trucks, possibly heading toward Angola. The Namibian government is actively promoting trade with its northern neighbor. Running parallel to the road is a single-track railway line, freshly ballasted and in seemingly good condition.
After another 80 km (about 50 miles), we arrived in the city of Tsumeb, now home to around 38,000 people—almost double its population from a decade ago. The town has a significant mining industry; we passed a cement plant and saw other industrial facilities. Housing, however, hasn’t kept up with the population boom: we drove past clusters of basic corrugated-metal huts—a stark contrast to the elegant single-family homes and green spaces elsewhere in town. Many people may have moved here in search of work, yet we later learned that unemployment is still very high—around 40%.
As our food supplies were running low, we stopped at a modern mall with an equally sleek supermarket—stocked with everything one could want. Quite the contrast to the tin shacks outside!
Among other things, we picked up two packs of sliced cheese, a rarity in Namibia. We’ve had bad luck with block cheese going off. At the checkout, the scanner wouldn’t recognize the cheese’s barcode. Four employees ended up dealing with our cheese dilemma until a manager decided on a price. By then, the line behind us had vanished.
In the parking lot, we tipped the usual security guard, but were quickly approached by three children begging. We gave them something—but that only encouraged them to beg more. Their gestures and expressions seemed practiced. As we drove off, we felt uneasy and debated what the right course of action should have been. We can’t save the world as a couple, and the kids should be in school—not begging. But it’s clear that many are struggling, despite existing welfare programs. No easy answers.
At last, we arrived at our destination: Ghaub Nature Reserve & Farm. Just a few hundred meters before the entrance gate, we had a real scare: a large animal—roughly the size of a deer, but without antlers—leapt out of the bushes, straight across the road in front of us and vanished into the undergrowth. It all happened so fast, we barely registered it—only that we were incredibly lucky not to hit it.
Our accommodation was in a charmingly renovated historic building. Located in the central Namibian highlands, Ghaub was noticeably cooler than Etosha—only 19°C (around 66°F). Dinner was a delicious four-course meal featuring game steak and half a bottle of wine. Our napkins were folded into little human figures, and the waiter even showed us how it’s done.
After such a long day, we collapsed into bed—completely exhausted.