Cessna’s.
The trip would take at least a month
if you rattled it out in a safari-ready 4x4; we’ll
fly it in less than two weeks. After the Namib Desert,
where waves of copper and sand spill across the broad
Gorrasis Farm valley and Wolwedans Lodge offers the
ultimate in postcolonial indulgence, we’ll trace
the shoreline of the Skeleton Coast, a tumult of turgid
swells and shifting shoals hung in thick ribbons of
fog. Finally we’ll fly to the Etosha Pan’s
lush swath of high veldt grassland for the chance to
see some of Africa’s big game. According to the
trip brief, however, wildlife is not the point of the
voyage, and sightings are not guaranteed. There’s
no list of animals to tick off, no keeping score.
“Safari’ in Swahili, means ‘journey’;
it has nothing to do with animals” notes author
Paul Theroux the writer of Dark Star Safari. “Someone
‘on safari’ is just away and unobtainable
and out of touch’. Could a winged safari over
a constantly shifting landscape be worth the hefty price
tag?
Wildlife sightings may not be guaranteed but we spot
our first game just hours after arriving in Namibia.
As we make our final approach to Wolwedans, Dave Bradbrook,
the 32-year-old pilot at the controls of our plane,
begins to mutter: Five hundred feet away, loitering
squarely in the middle of the runway, stands the country’s
national animal, a 400-pound, painted face antelope
called the oryx. We’re tracking a path to flatten
our first attraction.
Three hundred feet later, our wheels touch down. The
oryx doesn’t budge. One hundred feet and Mr Oryx
stares at us with bovine nonchalance - this is one impassive
antelope. Dave begins cursing. Finally, just before
the propeller slice-and-dice, the oryx springs out of
the way. Dave breathes and slumps back in his seat.
We’ve landed on the NamibRand Nature Reserve.
Like so many private parks and ranches springing up
around Africa, the reserve, on the eastern boundary
of Namib Naukluft Park, effectively expands the amount
of protected land by creating 695-square-mile buffer
zone for the adjacent park while simultaneously capitalizing
on the stream of visitors it generates. At the heart
of the NamibRand sits Wolwedans, a collection of three
small luxury lodges balanced on shifting red desert
sands.
Part of a safari’s appeal is living out the expatriate
dream of affluence and ease: relaxing with a book in
the oak-and-leather hunting room, sipping a rock shandy
under the lazy twirl of a ceiling fan, lolling carefree
about the expansive property. Wolwedans specialises
in this opulence. The simple eucalyptus-and-canvas chalets
and lodge emanate colonial elegance, with tables set
in crisp white linens and silver, rich mahogany furniture,
and flaxen light cast by oil lanterns. The cuisine in
decidedly Old World as well – one night we eat
pumpkin mousse in puff pastry, beef consommé
with wild boar ravioli, and pan-fried zucchini served
over an oryx steak. (It seems that not all oryx get
off the runway fast enough. In fact, Brückner tells
me later that game, including antelope, zebra and even
crocodile, is farmed widely throughout the country,
just as cows are raised for meat in the United States.
Easing into the reverie is a decidedly sluggish program:
breakfast on the deck, a morning drive in the park,
and afternoon nap by the pool, another Landrover when
the heat recedes, and finally a four-course wine and
game extravaganza that stretches into the night. With
the exception of small herds of oryx, zebra and springbok,
a sleek brown and white miniature antelope, we don’t
see much game on our drives. But who cares when each
evening’s tour wraps up with a dune-top repose,
accompanied by nosh and Sapphire-and-tonic sundowners.
Our last night in the Namib Desert, Jen and I dine
with Brückner, who tells us about a remote lodge
he’s building on the far side of the reserve.
When the main course is served – a springbok
steak in a balsamic reduction – the trip’s
purpose rushes into focus. I might not be able to
expand my life list of animal sightings, but I’m
doing a pretty good job of polishing off a menu’s
worth of them. As Brückner explains game management,
Jen knifes into her steak, I quietly christen the
trip a culinary-safari. After all, I’m less
likely to spot the Big Five than to eat my way through
a delectable five of oryx, springbok, ostrich, kudu
and zebra.
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