We’re staying in the oldest building on the grounds of Ghaub Nature Reserve & Farm, dating back to 1895. It’s a beautiful, historic structure—well preserved, with high ceilings, thick stone walls, and vintage windows and doors. At the same time, it’s been thoughtfully modernized, with a contemporary bathroom, refrigerator, and everything else you might need.
But the night was surprisingly cold. That’s mainly due to the season—it’s the beginning of winter in Namibia, a fact that’s only now becoming fully apparent on our journey. And we’ve caught a cold snap on top of that. Next week is forecast to be much warmer again. When we arrived last night, it was still 19°C (66°F), but this morning, the air feels barely above freezing.
Ghaub sits on a plateau at 1,400 meters (4,600 feet) above sea level, nestled in the Otavi Mountains, which reach heights of up to 2,000 meters (6,560 feet).
For the first time on this trip, we realize that none of our lodgings so far have had heating, and this place is no different. There’s also no air conditioning here—though it’s clearly not needed right now. The night was chilly, but with socks, leggings, an extra sweater, and another blanket, the bed eventually turned cozy and warm.
As always, Annette is up early, enjoying the abundance of hot water available here, and taking a few photos of our lodging and its peaceful surroundings. We’ve also got a fantastic mosquito net—one that doesn’t cling to your nose unless poorly set up.
The one nice thing about these cold mornings and nights: we’re finally wearing everything we brought, each layer of carefully packed clothing earning its place. Dressed in an undershirt, T-shirt, sweater, hoodie, and rain jacket, we walk the 100 meters (330 feet) or so to the restaurant for a hearty breakfast. The staff greet us wearing beanies and gloves—there’s no heating there either. Last night, the fireplace was burning, but now it’s gone cold.
We decide to skip today’s rhino tour and take it easy with a day of light hiking and relaxation.
Ghaub’s story began in 1895, when Rhenish missionaries built a church, school, and other buildings—including the one we’re staying in. The church and school are long gone, but the land was expanded, and the mission soon began farming: growing crops and raising cattle, thanks to the area’s excellent water resources and lush surroundings. Ghaub, as mentioned, lies in the Otavi Mountains, and the ground here is karstic limestone, full of underground cavities and caves. Water collects in these and is pushed to the surface by pressure as artesian springs, which can be used for irrigation during the dry season. This unique geology has also created the third-largest dripstone cave in Namibia.
Ghaub was also a battleground during World War I, with a 1915 clash between the German colonial forces and the South African army. Farming resumed afterward, was later taken over by a neighboring farm, and eventually, by the 1980s, the site fell into disrepair.
Today, all the buildings have been fully restored and expanded for tourism. On 192 square kilometers (74 square miles)—just under a quarter the size of Berlin—Ghaub now hosts farming, cattle operations, and a large wildlife enclosure. Here, endangered white rhinos, giraffes, zebras, and antelopes roam. Ghaub collaborates with One Namibia, an organization committed to sustainable conservation in the country.
The farm lies in Namibia’s fertile “Maize Triangle” between Tsumeb and Otavi, where many farms grow corn and other crops. We passed some of those fields just yesterday.
We kick off our relaxed day with blogging and laundry. After two places with no internet, Ghaub offers a decent connection—though only in a small area near the reception. Since there’s no seating there, we use a little trick: we strap our phone with Wi-Fi access to a palm tree, create a hotspot, and relax in the garden sunshine while uploading texts and photos. Clever and effective.
Time for a walk. We cross a broad meadow toward the pool—far too cold for swimming today, but the presence of lounge chairs suggests it’s quite the summer spot.
Near the pool is an artificial waterhole inside the fenced wildlife enclosure, with a shaded viewing hut nearby. No animals in sight yet—but we plan to return later.
We begin our hike through a gate we almost overlook and enter the game enclosure. The trail first takes us past a small, empty campsite.
A dirt path leads us through the landscape. After two weeks of barren and often desert-like scenery, we’re amazed by the lush greenery surrounding us—even though we’re only about 300 km (186 miles) from the arid region around the Petrified Forest Rest Camp. Namibia’s diversity is truly astonishing.
Some trees seem to be budding—even in winter. One tree protects itself with 3 cm (1.2 in) long thorns, and Michael steps on one that pierces his shoe sole. A painful jab in the toe!
We pass a sign about Ghaub’s rhino conservation program. In some Asian regions, rhino horn is falsely believed to have medicinal powers, even though it’s made of the same stuff as hair or nails. It’s more expensive than gold in some markets, which is why rhinos are still heavily poached and near extinction. Ghaub and similar reserves fight this with armed, full-time guards protecting the animals 24/7.
And then, not twenty meters (65 feet) from the trail, we spot three enormous white rhinos sunbathing. We wouldn’t have noticed them at all if it weren’t for a flick of an ear. Being this close without a fence is both thrilling and a little unnerving, but the rhinos couldn’t care less. They’re aware of us, no doubt—but utterly undisturbed. We stand still, quietly awestruck.
There are eleven white rhinos at Ghaub, including a two-month-old calf, and one pregnant female—so soon, twelve. An essential conservation effort.
Other animals leave only signs: we find many burrows, likely dug by warthogs. We see a few of the pigs—shy and fast. Too quick for our camera, but their holes pose patiently.
Next, we reach an old cemetery, surrounded by tall cacti—a surreal combination. Many gravestones bear German names, likely missionaries or farm managers, carved into white marble. Two German soldiers from WWI are buried here as well. Several unmarked graves might belong to local workers—but at least one grave carries an African name.
Further along, we spot springboks—true to their name, they vanish in a series of quick jumps. We also notice large animal droppings—perhaps from rhinos? There’s a watering point, apparently artesian-fed, and another small waterhole.
Then we come across the remains of a dead antelope, complete with horns. Only bones and leathery hide are left. The bones are scattered—perhaps disturbed by scavengers or warthogs? It’s a slightly eerie sight, and we wonder why the carcass hasn’t been cleared.
A short detour brings us to a prehistoric elephant engraving. At first, we struggle to spot it, but someone has outlined it with stones and placed a “photo rock” in front of it. The rock formation even resembles an elephant from a distance. By now, the air is warm—over 20°C (68°F)—and we’re down to T-shirts.
On a sandy section of trail, we find countless animal tracks. Who passed this way? Are these rhino prints? Large hoofed animals for sure.
We slowly approach the final stretch of our 8.2 km (5.1 mile) loop (thank you, Komoot!). There are butterflies everywhere, most too quick for a photo—except one that patiently models for us. We pass large brick water tanks, a solar panel system, and return to the farmhouse.
A bit tired now, we rest on the terrace with a snack. A curious squirrel joins us. We give in and feed it a few crumbs—soon, we’re surrounded by its entire family. They love everything from bread to salami to butter-lid leftovers.
In the evening, we return to the waterhole near the pool, writing a bit, soaking up the last sun, and hoping for animals. We grab two chairs from the hide and place them near the fence.
At first—no animals. But then, a rhino guard shows up, rifle slung over his back. He tells us the rhinos should be arriving soon. We thank him for his work—he smiles proudly.
We decide to wait it out, even as the air cools and we chase the last warm rays of sun by moving our chairs repeatedly.
Just as we’re about to leave, they arrive. The rhinos emerge from the bush, moving with grace and serenity, just like the desert elephants we saw earlier on this trip. They drink, graze, and slowly retreat. Simply beautiful.
Feeling grateful and content, we head back to our bungalow, which is now bathed in golden evening light—a picture-perfect ending.
After dinner at the restaurant, we call it a night—wrapped up warmly and ready for another peaceful sleep.