Thursday 3 May: Palmwag; 0 km

Marike and I had done a day's excursion at Palmwag before in 2003 (in fact, two of them, also one with trackers from Save the Rhino Trust (but it wasn't possible to book that for this day of the week; see www.palmwag.com.na), and really wanted Maarten to also experience Damaraland in this way. So, we're at the reception at the appointed hour of 0700 and meet our driver/guide, a pleasant and enthusiastic young man with the quaint name of Gotlod - probably a derivation from the German 'Gottlob' ('God's praise'). Gotlod first takes us for some 15 km North along the C43 before turning left into the vast Palmwag concession area. As hoped for, we're the only three guests in this old but sturdy Hi-Lux game viewing vehicle. We start out with Rüppels Korhaan, Zebra, large groups of Springbok and a here and there a Kudu. Zebra, Springbok and Oryx will continue to dominate the day.

Gotlod certainly knows his stuff, points out a quick succession of smaller bird species, and passes the reference books around without having to first look up any particular page: he knows these books by heart. Then suddenly three Bat-eared Foxes run off to our left, staying largely parallel to the track and offering us a fine view. I ask Gotlod to refresh my knowledge of the trees of Damaraland, and he clearly knows these equally well, including their medicinal uses. He explains that he has the ambition to become a national guide, and he already seems to be pretty much on his way to such a level of skill. Meanwhile, we amuse ourselves with the limited repertoire of his 'client relations expressions': 'Are you OK? I'm always OK', 'That's great!', 'This is your safari' and 'Many more adventures!' come out at frequent intervals in different permutations. I'm sure he'll learn that more variation and tailoring to particular types of clients may come in handy.

Gotlod's driving skills are superb, he takes the Hi-Lux over some of the nastiest boulder-strewn stretches with hardly a single bounce, and when he does bounce, he can see them coming and issues a warning. On his search for Rhino and Elephant he takes the car straight up steep hills where only the faintest trace can be seen of any car having passed there before, but neither pachyderm will show itself. Instead, when coming to one of the concession's waterholes, two Lionesses run off and disappear behind a hill. Gotlod's voice rises by a full octave at his 'Look there!'. It's a rare sight: although the concession is home to quite a few Lions, they have maintained their full fear humans and are only seldom seen.

We stop for lunch in the shade of a Mopane tree, and one wonders where else in Africa you would get Wiener Schnitzel for lunch. Maarten tells about life in the big city, and this clearly holds no appeal for Gotlod, who hails from the Namibian metropolis of Sesfontein, and with a mixed background speaks both Nama/Damara and Otjiherero. We continue through the Damaraland hills, the light now well past midday and colouring golden the sparse grasses on the red hills and cliffs. We get an excellent look at an African Hawk Eagle, after which our friend starts to concentrate on the lesser flora, and to my great delight shows a Hoodia currori, one of the typical Namib Euphorbids.

Towards 1430 Gotlod is clearly starting to wind his way back to the main road, for we can see the massive shape of the Grootberg coming closer again, and the views of it are stunning. When he hits the main road we grab at the Windhoek in the cooler, get covered with froth when we open them in the bumpy car, and feel more than happy with the day. At camp, well within earshot of the reception's staff, I complain loudly about Gotlod's failure to provide Rhino and Elephant, and suggest that the Lions weren't real Lions at all but dressed-up buddies of his. We all laugh about it, and Gotlod seems quite happy with our token of appreciation for his efforts.

We do another nice boerewors braai, and then head to the bar for more lovely Hansa draught. A group of Germans has arrived after dark, clearly fresh out of Windhoek after a long drive, and have gone immediately to the dining table next to the bar. They make an awful lot of noise, act as if they own the place, and gulp down huge quantities of beer (well, they're Germans, aren't they?). They start to set up their camp well after we've retired to ours, and the sound of inebriated Germans trying to handle unfamiliar equipment is again spectacular. It settles down into a concert of snoring.

Just as Maarten and I are about to turn in, a dead-drunk German stumbles into our camp, dressed in his pyjamas. 'Ich suche den Bar!' (I'm looking for the bar!). We lead his unsteady gait onto the path to the long-closed bar, but do not hear him return. Who knows where he may have ended up, and actually Maarten and I still regret not having sent him off into the concession with an 'Immer gerade aus' (straight ahead) to take his chances with the wildlife.