I’ve read a few blogs and often find that entries can be long winded, self indulgent and /or written by women who wish they were called Carrie and lived in New York. But there are many benefits to writing a blog; the main and most important one is being able to let those people who care about Martin and I keep up to date with our whereabouts. The second reason is wanting to bottle just a little bit of this once in a life time, 12 month holiday.

So I’ll attempt to refrain from rabbiting on too much and keep it punchy (postcard length) instead.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Sleeping under the stars

We left Swakopmund at the crack of dawn and heavily hung over, and headed on to stop over number 6: Spitzkoppe (via a quick visit to Cape Cross seal colony).  Once again, we were back on the road and back on the ground, but this time, without our tents!

Climbing the almighty rock!
Spitzkoppe is a huge rock which looks like something that fell from outter space 10 million years ago and landed smack, bang in the middle of nowhere. And what a beauty spot it is.

We arrived at the foot of the great rock formations and then Claudia threw a hissy fit and an uncontrollable amount of air hissed from one of her back tires. Thankfully, after a few panicked moments, Olly (and Arthur - who caused this minor hiccup, much to Olly's frustration) fixed the problem before the tire went flat altogether.

It was precisely around this time that Martin and I had our first 'domestic' which quickly became public knowledge, was blown out of all proportion, irritated the whole group and resulted in Max enthusiastically putting on his 'marriage counsellor' hat. Brilliant.

We clambered up the rock face feeling slightly tense but just in time to enjoy the end of the afternoon sun and watch it disappear on the horizon while we drank yet more alcohol.


Yet another amazing sunset!
We ate dinner around the camp fire and cringefully took it in turns to sing songs, following much peer pressure from Kim, Sally and Bea who had all clearly been in the girl guides and were far more into the idea than the rest of us.  The British and the Australians in particular were less than enthused by singing in public.  In the end we relented and sang the National anthem, while the Aussies sang the vegemite song.

When we couldn't hack the singing anymore and we'd finished the packet of marshmellows, we climbed back up the rock face and wriggled into our sleeping bags.  The Americans and Rosie were less enammered by the idea and stayed firmly zipped up inside their tents.   I'll always remember that night as peace, quiet, a globe full of stars and 15 happy campers.
Martin getting ready for bed
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