37 Frames📍Etosha → Windhoek
Coming Down the Mountain | Integration & Re-entry
There’s a moment on every long journey when you feel it … The pivot. The slow shift from exploring to returning. That was today.
No more early morning safaris. No more “Did you charge the camera batteries?” No more staring contests with oryx.
We left Etosha behind. In one last spectacular sunrise as we left the park. Grateful. Sun-kissed. A little dusty. And maybe just a tiny bit emotionally wrung out in the best way.
Jackals at First Light
On this last morning in Etosha, when we were on our way out of the park, when we spotted them. Three jackals dancing in the early light, framed by golden dust.
They weren’t hunting. They weren’t hurrying.
They were simply playing.
Nipping at each other’s ears, rolling in the grass, leaping like shadows unbound.
It felt more like a game than survival—carefree and oddly joyful, as if they too knew the end of something was near.
We watched just soaking it in. This little scene, unscripted and joyful, felt like a quiet send-off. Reminded us a little of home, somehow.
A soft bow from the wild before we stepped back into the world.
The Re-entry Begins (Softly)
Today was the end. But not the end. Not just yet.
We drove south … back toward Windhoek … with fewer camera stops (actually none), less playlist stress, and a little more car silence.
That’s what happens when you’ve seen elephants in the wild. You get quiet. You let the experience settle.
We talked about what we’ll do when we get home. But also… we didn’t.
Because we’re not there yet. And this part … the coming down … deserves to be felt, too.
Pumbaa Patrol & City Whirl
Warthogs, everywhere. All day long. Zigzagging across the road like they owned it … tails high like tiny flags of defiance. We saluted every single one. Pumbaa. We see you. We love you.
Some were solo. Some were squads. One was so comically small it nearly looked like a toy … the kind you’d wind up and watch scoot across a hotel floor. But this one was real. And free. And possibly late for something very important. We didn’t ask. We just laughed. And we don’t have a single photo!!
Then came the slow return to civilization … the wild giving way to traffic lights, takeaway joints, and the hum of the capital. Windhoek: part chaos, part charm, part ‘why is there a castle on that hill?’ (It’s Heinitzburg, and yes, it’s a hotel now. Because, Namibia.)
We checked back into the Casino, dodging wedding parties and business travelers and maybe some gamblers, somehow all of which seemed mildly confused to see us in our desert-dusted state. Fair.
Rooftop Revelry & the Theatre of the Absurd
We ended the day with sunset on the roof … watching the city pulse as the sky turned the kind of orange you can’t describe.
There were cocktails. Dee had something respectable. Trace… had a Trash Can. A real thing. Blue and glowing. A fluorescent dream in a glass, made of whatever spirits were left standing. Basically, the bartender’s version of “Why not?” It tasted like an end-of-trip victory. Like survival. Like chaos, celebrated.
And maybe that’s something we haven’t talked about yet. The absurd parts of life. The ones that make zero sense, but stick with you longer than the perfectly framed landscapes.
Because sometimes meaning isn’t found in stillness or becoming or transformation. Sometimes, it’s in the ridiculous.
The glowing cocktail.
The warthog parade.
The snacks that were exactly right.
Not everything has to be profound to be worth remembering. Some things are just joy in disguise.
We’re back to civilization. There’s Wi-Fi. Which is both wonderful and jarring.
Inbox: 436 unread. (We’ll deal with that on Day 18. We promise.) There’s also a bed that isn’t coated in red desert sand. And a hot shower that didn’t require wildlife clearance first.
Progress.
The Things We Talk About in the Car
There’s something about long drives … the kind that come after the big adventure … that turn the car into a confessional. A moving time capsule of everything we’ve just lived.
Sixteen days of high-stakes wonder. Big skies. Bigger feelings. And more photos than memory cards probably intended.
And now… the quiet miles give us space to speak.
We talk about:
- The people who surprised us with kindness
- The things we forgot to pack (but somehow didn’t need)
- Whether we should’ve bought that souvenir giraffe in Outjo
- How the world reveals itself when you give it time
- And which parts of this version of us we want to bring home
Because the truth is, we won’t return as the same people who left. We’re a little more undone in the best way. A little more awake. Definitely more unwound.
And maybe … just maybe … a little more ourselves.
Almost… But Not Yet
We leave Windhoek tomorrow. Then Johannesburg. Then home.
Tonight though, we’re still here. In that sweet in-between. Where the bags are a little fuller. Our hearts are a lot fuller.
And everything still smells a little like safari.
Final Thought
Coming home doesn’t mean going backwards. If we do it right, it means going forward with more clarity. More presence. More snack intel. (Seriously, that one granola bar got us through a lot.)
So if you’re following along wondering when the magic ends…
It doesn’t. It just transforms.
37 Frames
