30 Sep The sacred island of the Kalahari

I have always made my own a quote by T.E. Lawrence that I read while anxiously awaiting a trip to the desert of Wadi Rum. That sentence said "one of these days, if I don't watch myself, I'll rush off to the craziest place". And the same thing happens to me, although even if I don't watch out for myself, I don't manage to avoid appearing in the most crazy, incredible, spectacular, problematic or difficult places that are always on my mind.

This is the story of the last time I was able to get around my own surveillance:

The journey began in my head a long time ago, on the edge of the Kgalagadi border park, on a clear, cold night, pierced by the winds. That night, in the warmth of fire and wine, under one of the most impressive starry skies I have ever seen, I was told that not far from there, at the other end of the Kalahari, there was a sacred island. An island that rose solitary in a sea of salt, white and infinite, an oasis of rocks on which ghostly thousand-year-old baobabs rose. A magical place. A stranger told me about it, someone who brought the path and who disappeared the next day, but I was always left with a run run run...

So I bought a map of the Kalahari and spent years planning the route I would take to get there. On that old map, now worn, cracked and stained with colacao and gin and tonic, I discovered that that vast white sea was the Magdadigkadi salt flat and that within it there were several wetlands, one of which, the Sowa Pan, was the island of Kubu.

During the rainy season, the island was transformed into a garden of Eden with the arrival of hundreds of pink flamingos, large herds of zebra and wildebeest, springbox gazelles, oryx, giraffes and even the occasional elephant... but then it was almost inaccessible. With the dry season, the landscape changed completely and became a dry crust of salty mud, where if you were lucky you might see the odd solitary brown hyena, no longer in the mood for laughter, and huge colonies of cheeky meerkats. In any case the trail is always very demanding, which is the attraction.

It was not the first time that I approached the Kalahari, a territory as hostile as seductive whose name whispers desires of emotions, adventure and challenges, which is just what I never lack, and I knew that to get into it I would need a 4×4, proper logistics and a lot of common sense, which is just what I almost always lack. That's why this time, I went with Desertando, just in case....

The initial route we planned left near the diamond mines of Orapa and reached Kubu after crossing salt flats and small grassy areas, stunted acacias and mopane trees. Reaching the island is not easy, it is exhausting, but the reward is enormous. I imagine that it was there, in the shade of one of those gigantic baobabs, when Livingstone commented that not everything on that expedition was going to be pleasures (that's what I said to myself, there and days later when I saw the budget hotel where I had booked a room in Francistown, on my way back to Johannesburg, to see it...).

Arriving on the island when the sunset lights tint the baobabs red, standing out even more among the huge rocks, and watching the white horizon transform into a mixture of cobalt and grey, is a treat for the eyes. As the sun sets, a sense of loneliness and desolation comes over you. Then you understand why the island has always been a sacred place dedicated to rites and initiations.

There is no accommodation there and you camp in the belle etoile, preferably at the foot of a huge baobab tree. When night falls, the ritual begins: enjoy the starry sky, fall hypnotised before the bonfire, savour a good Namaqua wine, chat and laugh with good friends and finally fall asleep to the lullaby of the cicadas' song. It is the most dangerous combination to fall in love, had the company been different, of course... (not me, I don't belong to myself).

From there Livingstone continued his route to Victoria Falls, passing through the Ntwetwe wetlands, another lunar landscape, with bizarre rock formations, dunes, islets and channels, where a meerkat population barely survives. Another place to stay overnight, which we will have to leave for the next trip.

Thomas Baines, Livingstone's former expedition companion, also passed through, heading north, from island to island, Kubu, Kukonje, Thithaba... as far as Nxai Pan, where he immortalised forever with his drawings the impressive figure of the baobabs known since then as the Seven Sisters.

He was accompanied by Chapman, who also immortalised himself by signing the largest of them all, one with a circumference of more than 25 metres. Near them is concentrated the scarce wildlife that remains during the dry season, springbok, ostriches, a couple of bat-eared foxes and some elephants taking a mud bath, little more...

Baines, Chapman, Livingstone, the Green brothers, are some of those explorers who crossed here in pursuit of the beauty of Africa's most incredible trees. No wonder. One of the most incredible routes I know.

From Nxai Pan we left the baobab route and moved on to Maun to start a tour of the Okavango Delta, but I'll tell you about that the next day. What I can't get out of my mind now is that that night, in Kgalagadi, I was also told about the lost city of the Kalahari, a city buried in the red dunes of Kiki. I know it's just a legend, but I'm getting an enormous desire to go after it, I'm just saying that in case anyone wants to join me?

This post is dedicated to my mother, a backpacker soul who has had to postpone a trip to Thailand while she goes to the body shop to get her car as good as new again. Kisses mommy