KALAHARI
The land you walk over will never forget that you were there. And what happened when your feet touched the sand. Every time you return, it gives your memories back. Feelings, too, that filter up from the ground and into your chest. That’s why some places make you feel claustrophobic and others give you air to breathe.
Whenever I go back to the Kalahari, I vanish into red dunes and old emotions. I lived in the Kalahari for about five years while I was growing up and I always feel a little unsettled when I arrive back in Upington. I love this desert and its camel thorn trees, sociable weavers and bat-eared foxes, but I also know its droughts and its melancholy…
Dunes shouldn't be red
There’s a nice restaurant at the Orange River Cellars tasting centre in Upington. It’s called Die Kerkmuis, and it didn’t exist in 1999 when my family would drive the 250 km dirt road from our rented farm near Van Zylsrus to Upington to buy groceries.
I sit down with my friend Japie Kruger and we order food and wine. I didn’t drink wine back then – my dad was a dominee and taught me that it was sinful – but now I’m a bit of a snob about the whole thing.
Luckily the wines produced by Orange River Cellars have steadily improved over the years, with names as evocative as the contents inside the bottle: Omstaan, Sterkstaan, Regopstaan.
Japie and I head north the next morning. Our plan is to camp on the pan at Koppieskraal Kameelplaas. It’s basically right next to Hakskeenpan, the enormous white expanse where the Bloodhound car got up to 790 km/h in 2019. If you look at a map of the Kalahari, Hakskeenpan
