The Lodge has not been very helpful in providin' information about th' upcomin' ‘activity’, but we were told that it would all change when th' guide would fill in th' gaps, and a bottle of rum! So we waited fer th' scheduled time o' this pre-Pan meetin', but had t' check out in th' mornin'.
So we did, and by 10 in th' mornin' we were locked out o' our rondavel, and all bags were packed and closed inside our trusty Duster. Aarrr! We didn’t know what t' pack th' night before, so we made our educated guesses (it’s probably cold in th' desert at night, so we better pack extra warm clothes; there probably also is no lightin', so we have t' grab a torch, and th' like) and waited it out. Then th' time came fer our guide t' introduce himself (Bakos) and say: brin' warm clothes, closed shoes, pass the grog! That were bein' it, by Davy Jones' locker. The ornery cuss almost literally spoke those four words, and off we were.
First we embarked on a safari Jeep which took us (rough estimate!) 40 kilometers from th' lodge t' th' edge o' th' Ntwetwe Salt Pan, after which our party o' 6 had t' share a total o' 4 quad bikes. That meant that th' two couples each had t' share a quad, and that th' two dudes travellin' together had one each. Life just isn’t fair!
Drivin' th' quad bikes on th' salt pan is just plain awesome! Shiver me timbers! Screamin' through this completely featureless arid landscape with th' wind blowin' in yer hair is insane fun, and we had a blast sailin' t' th' camp. This actually consisted o' only a few thin's: foldin' chairs, a wood fire, one table, a pile o' sleepin' bags and an outhouse, ye scurvey dog. All surrounded by th' vast emptiness o' th' pan.
In th' wise words o' Tim: this is th' best hotel room we’ve had.