On the Orange River (it's not orange)

Animal count: baboons, ostriches, monitor lizard, 1 cat

Proper camping here, we have big two man tents that weigh a tonne.  We staked our claim, wrestled with old canvas, and marvelled at such an oasis in such an inhopitable land.  Namibia (all 10 minutes worth that we've seen as yet) is sand and stone and not a lot else.  This river, part of which acts as a national boundary with South Africa, is a boon to such a poor country.  Travellers come to canoe its waters, sometimes for days, camping on its sandy banks. Our camp alone has over 300 canoes, all of which get used in the height of the season.

Tall grasses provide thatching material for houses and cabins and huts.  Irrigation has allowed crops: peppers, table grapes, tomatos and squash.  There are camps and lodges being built before our eyes,  black stone and grey sand becoming little patches of watered grass and planted trees.  Mirror-still pools of torquoise look inviting until one toe reveals unheated water.  Still, some hardy souls brave it, while others try the river. I watch them from a sunny perch near another ancient cat (how do these little morsels survive?)


We spent one blissful day canoing, paddling along, have mock contests between 'the Swiss', 'the Spanish', 'the Australians' and a surprisingly competitive team Canada.  All those upper body exercises seem to have worked!  Of particular appeal were the few sections of rapids, and we regretfully nosed up to a sandy beach at the end.

Oh, and the reason is is called the Orange River is not because dramatic red sandstone cliffs reflected by the muddy water look orange, but because of William of Orange.  This was Dutch territory once.  Another romantic myth crushed.