In this special Traveller series, Trips of a Lifetime, our writers name the one trip, of the many they’ve done, that stands out in their memory above all others.
From the remote Galapagos to the Andes, our intrepid global writers have spilled what they consider to be the planet’s greatest marvels.
Before I left for Namibia, people kept asking how well I knew my travelling companion. “You’re going to be in the car for hours,” they’d say. “Days, even.” I’d smile and nod, not mentioning that my “companion” was, in fact, a man I’d never met – my Namibian guide, Nestor – or that carsickness and I have history.
It turned out to be a fair question. Similar in size to NSW, but home to just over two million people, Namibia unfolds in vast, unbroken distances. The journey isn’t part of the experience, it is the experience.
And so, Nestor and I drove. At first, I did what I always do in cars and counted things: kilometres, hours, the number of remaining snacks. I attempted polite conversation, I checked my phone, I played music and podcasts. Somewhere along the way, though, time started to unspool and my usually chaotic thoughts along with it. Then the adventure really began.
