Reader resort review: Ai-Ais campsite, Southern Namibia

When you’re on a long road trip and your other half is going to have a big birthday en route, best you research the venue to see if it suits your personal preferences, writes Nick Yell.

I thought I’d played it safe by booking two nights at the Ai-Ais campsite towards the end of our 30-day long campervan journey through the Kalahari and Namibia. I had plans for Annette and me to swim in the inviting looking warm pools I’d seen on the website; perhaps go for a birthday supper at the smart-looking restaurant and just relax under the cool palms in what looked like, a pristine and uncrowded campsite.

Of course, this was all based on the little internet research I’d done before making our booking and I relied heavily on the alluring images of the resort splashed over a number of commercial websites. So when we arrived there at 7.30 pm after an enervating journey from Luderitz in our old Landy campervan, I had high hopes of finding a relatively secluded and comfortable camping spot.

But that was in the oasis of my imagination. Just what had I been expecting at the start of the school holidays in a family-oriented camping resort? I berated myself silently as we drove into this mega-camping facility (the size and number of campsites is not easily apparent to the internet researcher) and saw the legions of cars, tents, caravans and people. I quickly realised we were as likely to find seclusion here as the EFF are to succeed in getting Jacob Zuma to “pay back the money.”

It was our worst nightmare. We felt like we’d arrived late at a Drive-In Theatre of old and thought we may not find a campsite at all; let alone one that offered any sort of privacy. But again: What did we expect in school holidays? I hear you clamour. Well, not quite this mass of humanity. Yet, half an hour later we found a small site in the fifth block we explored. It was sandwiched in-between two large families; but we were relieved never-the-less.

After popping the roof on the campervan I set out in search of some ice at the bar. By this stage, Annette and I were reasonably keen to settle our nerves by virtue of a stiff scotch or three. But as I walked down to the bar and restaurant area, past the smart-looking flats, I told myself to exhale and give the place another chance. After all, it was a busy family resort and most of the people, especially the children, seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Unfortunately the bar and restaurant area did little to bolster my spirits. It took me ages to get served — many of us were victims of totally indifferent service — and while I waited my senses were assaulted by raucous students throwing shots down their throats; hardly the sort of environment you want to expose your lady to for a special birthday outing.

On the way back to our campsite, I decided to use the restrooms and the appalling state they were in was no tonic to my sagging demeanour either. There was mud, water and wet toilet paper all over the place — an indictment of the patrons as much as the cleaning staff.

Not a little cross with myself for being duped by the marketing photographs and my own stupidity, I poured Annette and I a drink and then proposed a simple toast: “Acceptance.” But as we clinked our glasses and broke our tweezer-lipped expressions with reluctant smiles, we heard one of our neighbours pipe-up: “Look, the heavy drinkers have arrived.”

It was the final straw. Straight after a modest dinner we set out on foot to find another campsite; something a little further from the madding crowd, we hoped. Miraculously, we found almost what we were looking for close to the gate. A camping block that was only about 60 % full; and what excited us even more was a section of four empty campsites next to one another. Without a second thought we went to fetch the campervan, easing ourselves quietly out of purgatory towards our new found Nirvana under the stars.

The fact that we discovered we’d parked right next to a busy walkway the next morning was small sacrifice. Especially seeing that I’d already been able to light the candles on the birthday cupcakes, sing happy birthday and lavish a number of gifts on Annette before we discovered this. Besides, we believed we’d be able to find another spot after returning from our planned picnic lunch on the edge of the Fish River canyon.

Yet, after the trial of our morning ablutions — we both had nightmare experiences of long queues outside the dated and dirty facilities — which caused us to soak our feet in Dettol afterwards, we resolved to find somewhere else to stay that night.

On my way to the shop to buy some provisions for our picnic (I had hopes of being able to buy a range of crackers and tinned mussels or cold meats) I again wondered if we weren’t just being incredibly fussy. But the shoddy state of the ‘shop’ confirmed our earlier decision to leave. More than half the fridges were out of order and the paucity of stock on the shelves meant I could only buy a box of mostly shattered Bacon Kipps for the picnic.

Fortunately for us, when we told our tales of woe to the manager at Hobas campsite (just 13 km from the canyon view-site) later, he allocated us a site and we absolutely loved it there.