Africa: Don't think about the stripes

"Don't think about the stripes," counsels the farmer as I take a teensy nibble of zebra steak. I thought only lions ate zebra! But here we are, on our first night in Namibia, at a restaurant in Dutch-influenced Windhoek, snacking on animals we still haven’t seen in the wild. Those in our group who opt for game deem kudu delicious while that morsel of someone else’s zebra is definitely chewy.

Namibia is a desert and among the world’s least densely-populated countries when it comes to people - and cattle. The farmer spotted the occasional mob gloomily nosing rocky earth and nibbling dry, golden grass.

We camp on two 5000ha properties where farmers graze one animal to about five hectares and, not surprisingly, are turning to tourism. Each camp includes a gorgeous lodge, generally made of local stone, a stylish bar and often some other attraction, perhaps a spectacular land formation or animals - cheetahs; rock dassies, dear little guinea pig-sized creatures related to elephants; or meercats which stand on cue just as they do on telly adverts.

The quality of accommodation and similarities to South Africa surprise me but then I didn’t know where Namibia was until we decided to visit. However, the farmer is onto it - the All Blacks played here when the country was part of South Africa.

The country is flat then there’s a canyon, mountain, rock formation or, in one place, an assembly of 250 or so quiver trees, an aloe used by natives for quivers. After the earth’s plate cracked 650 million years ago, Fish River Canyon, the second largest after the Grand, started forming. Perched on its edge, we gaze from a lookout waiting for the promised startling sunset which doesn’t perform. Wine and cheese compensate.

At The Giant’s Playground, rocks are piled atop each other for miles.  After tectonic plate movements a mere 180 million years ago, molten magma oozed through before wearing away to expose misshapen giant toy blocks. At Ai Ais hot springs we bath in pools made of slate tiles, with water tumbling from one to the next. The resort, another one with a perfect thatched roof, surpasses anything similar in New Zealand. The South African campers also surpass anything in New Zealand - the snazzy tents, the women with backpack-sized toilet bags, the dryers going by 5am.

We drive 60km between endless dunes at Sossusvlei. Called ‘star’ dunes, they are formed by opposing winds and, glowing red at sunset, a photographer’s dream.

By the time I climb 200m high Dune 45, a giant toilet bag might help remove the orange sand that’s seeped everywhere. You might think that after dune climbing, we’re steaming hot. But it’s winter here and the cold snap has even surprised the locals.

I clamber into my new fleecy track pants after a shower and wear them to dinner. I’m too cold to care and, anyway, it’s dark by six, we’re in bed before eight and, if not reading in the glow of a headlamp, asleep soon afterwards.