We had to draw a line and venture out of South Africa at some point, despite there being many things unseen and recommendations unfollowed.
We entered Namibia at a quiet little border post with a minimum of fuss and smiles from friendly border officials. We were aiming to camp at a community-run accommodation project in nearby Warmbad. Arriving in the town, we quickly learned that 1: points on the map are much tinier in Namibia than the atlas implies and 2: brochures touting options are not always reliable. The place was deserted.
We cut a lap of the crumbling village enjoying the ghost town feel, before making for another, larger dot on the map.
Karasberg confirmed for us just how different things were on the other side. For starters, we may now be doing a little more homework. We pulled up on the side of another near-deserted street to assess our options, when an old man of storybook proportions approached.
Amid much gesturing, map pointing, the proffering of money and many 'asserbliefs', we got the message. He was desperate for a ride. We pointed to a picture of a tent, indicating that we needed a place to sleep and that we were going in the opposite direction. He frantically begged us to take him and, suckers for a cute old face, we relented.
We had nothing to lose, and figured there might even be a campsite that side of town. He was delighted. For 33 kilometres there was absolutely nothing on the road, and old David chatted happily away in Afrikaans. We shook heads, shrugged and grinned at his enthusiasm. It wasn't until we almost reached his gate that he finally understood we didn't catch a single word. "No Afrikaans??" Nope. Only English. With this, he laughed and said words in English like goat, sheep, photo, cow, dam, beautiful and love. Even more jovial. A long driveway, 3 gates and a trainline later, we came to his front door.
A perfect example of the basic 'cape Dutch' farmhouses we'd been passing for weeks, with whitewashed walls and corrugated iron accessories. We were greeted by a scrawny greyhound and a confused Ignatius, who was quickly filled in on our 'English only' predicament. His English was better, and we explained that we had to go and find a place to sleep. They chatted together and David gestured that we should go take pictures of the goats and windmills. A sucker for goats, we took a stroll across the yard with the camera, planning to go back to town and leave them in peace after.
Returning to the house, we explained that we would go. Ignatius explained he had cooked potjie that day. Stay. Struggling with a decision and not wanting to impose, we said we should go. "Go, come back, stay", Ignatius gestured the ground.
He produced Springbok (we think!) and pap. In response, we produced bowls, cups, whiskey, tea and sugar. We stayed.
We spent our first night in Namibia camping on a farm nowhere near where we'd intended, with two delightful old men around a fire; eating, talking, laughing, drinking and singing to the Nama radio station under a perfect sky. Mostly we couldn't understand each other, but it didn't matter. Later, with hands on hearts before bed they said "very very thank you". But it was us who had to very very thank them.
It's hard to beat a welcome like that.
Up next: Canyons and craters