I was sitting on the bed in my rustic but comfortable chalet, one with a view over the pan and the aircraft below, downloading photos when my mind began to wander. What had Peet organized for us tomorrow, our last full day in this barren dreamland?
Then it struck me; swimming? How on earth does one associate swimming with a desert that has no permanent surface water? It could only be at another lodge, I thought. But I couldn't have been more wrong. The itinerary showed that, besides swimming, we would also be visiting a salt producing operation on a pan where Peet had arranged a guided tour.
Rob, Graham Alex & Gary and the Allo III
Salt, one of the oldest and most ubiquitous food seasonings, is known to enhance the taste of virtually anything. Ancient China was among the first civilizations to cultivate and trade in salt, using natural crystallization from salt lakes and constructing artificial evaporation basins near the shores of salt lakes.
Of the roughly 300 million tonnes produced annually worldwide, only a small fraction is used for human consumption. In Africa, salt once served as currency south of the Sahara, with slabs of rock salt used as coins. In fact, the word "salary" originates from the Latin word for salt.
We landed and were met by Deon, along with his daughter Liezel and son Bernard. After introductions, the three Kalaharians, (if that isn't a word, it should be), welcomed us warmly, just like every other inhabitant of this stark but beautiful wilderness. These are truly kind warm-hearted friendly people, hospitable to the extreme.
We boarded two bakkies and were taken to the heart of the operation: the evaporation dams, along with the salt collection, washing, and sifting areas. I'd imagined we might swim in one of the evaporation dams, but it became clear that wouldn't be possible, you'd barely get your toes wet.
Deon was a patient and informative host, fielding our barrage of questions. Then we reboarded the vehicles and drove a few kilometres further, away from the pan. “Okay,” I thought, “this must be it. Time for the swim!” But again, no pool in sight. We had arrived at the salt refinery: a busy industrial complex where the harvested salt is processed and packed for distribution and sale. It was there that we met Leonè, Deon's wife and mother to Liezel and Bernard. Leonè is involved in the refinery side of the operation.
There were more questions, more salt tasting and then it was back to the pan. This time we stopped at a long, narrow trench filled with water, (brine actually) with a salt content of 109%, higher even than the Dead Sea, is pumped from underground into the evaporation pans where salt crystals eventually form.
At last, we had reached the elusive "swimming pool." To be fair, it was more of a floating experience, since the density of the “water” makes it impossible to sink. I must admit, I didn't go in. My excuse was that someone had to document the experience for posterity. In truth, I'd realized that afterward, one would need to be hosed down, and it was a rather chilly day with a biting breeze. The rinsing takes place outside, with cold water. My brave companions, however, took the plunge and after having had their fill floating and experimenting in what was rather a surreal experience got out and drying off, slowly turned into what looked like albinos as the salt crystallized on their skin.
In return for their patience and hospitality, our hosts were offered a flip in a helicopter which they enthusiastically accepted. After taking a few group photos, we bade them farewell and took to the skies once more.
We had one more stop to make before heading back to the lodge, Bettastatpan, a rather unique pan unlike any of the others we had visited. The previous pans all had hard-packed clay surfaces, smooth and mostly devoid of stones. Bettastatpan, however, was different. As we touched down, we were met by a landscape covered, almost as far as the eye could see, with rocks of all shapes and sizes, from tiny pebbles to the occasional large outcrop.
But that wasn't the only thing that set this pan apart. Cutting across it were two long runways, completely cleared of stones: one stretching 2,400 metres and the other 1,900 metres. And that was it, no windsock, no buildings. The runways, with their firm clay surfaces, were clearly in use.
We heard there's a substantial homestead nearby, but the rest remains a mystery.
With the cooler box out, some enjoyed a welcome refreshment while others wandered about, marvelling at the weight and texture of the stones, speculating about the origins of the rocky outcrops, some of which looked like the stumps of fossilised trees.
Taking off to return to the lodge I realised with a heavy heart that tonight would be our last night in this wonderful emptiness. Tomorrow, we head home. Most of us will return to the big smoke, carrying with us the unforgettable memories of a magical place, made even more special by the people we shared it with.
Oh, and before I forget, not all pans are salt pans in the strict sense. In many cases, the brine that produces salt needs to be pumped from deep underground into evaporation pans before the salt crystals can form.
Fuel Consumption Day Four
Lama ZU-RPH 300
R44 ZU-RIO 48
R44 ZU-ROP 46
Allo III ZU-REC 301
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