Somewhere before sunset

The alarm usually sounded sometime between six and seven, although the occasional day without filming allowed us the luxury of a slower start. Before long, the rooms came alive with the familiar rhythm of another day on the road: showers running, hairdryers humming, camera batteries charging and the comforting promise of breakfast waiting. Around the table, we'd talk through the day ahead, make sure everyone knew the plan and inevitably debate whether there was still time for another cup of tea.Some mornings, the road was calling. Others, the cameras came out almost immediately as we began exploring the lodge before the day's interviews and activities got underway. Either way, every day started the same way: with the quiet excitement of knowing that somewhere before sunset, another story would find us.The road quickly became more than a way of getting from one lodge to the next. Over 14 days, we travelled approximately 3 500 kilometres and spent close to 43 hours behind the wheel, but the driving never felt like time lost. It became part of the adventure - our planning time, our debriefing time, sometimes our quiet time and, more often than not, an opportunity to sing along to classics by Cher or Queen.Being who we are, we often stopped for something worth photographing, be it a uniquely designed shebeen, a beautiful tree, or a roadside marketplace. We also found ourselves smiling at the familiar sight of cattle, donkeys, or goats crossing the road. In Botswana, the livestock was sometimes replaced by giraffes or elephants, gentle reminders that these roads are shared with wildlife too. As the kilometres rolled by, the landscapes changed almost as quickly as the conversations. Namibia's dry, open spaces gradually gave way to lush riverbanks, towering trees and villages bursting with life. Every border crossing brought something new, yet the similarities were just as striking. The same warm smiles, children waving, roadside stalls, livestock making their own rules and communities built around the rivers that give life to this remarkable corner of Africa.No two journeys are ever quite the same, but one thing remains constant: the people you share them with. For #EnjoyKaza2026, that meant three women, each bringing something unique to the trip. I am happiest with a third cup of tea in hand and another one waiting in the car for the drive ahead. I love the conversations that unfold between destinations, often discovering that the stories shared in the car become just as memorable as the ones recorded on camera. Henriette has a remarkable way of making people feel at ease. Give her someone new to meet or a story to uncover, and she's completely in her element. Ingrid quietly observes the world around her, noticing the moments most people miss. Long after the journey is over, it's often her photographs, and our new profile pictures, that remind us of the little things we didn't even realise we'd experienced at the time. Looking back, it's funny how one stop can become three completely different memories. Henriette remembers the conversation, Ingrid remembers the photograph, and I remember how it made me feel. Somehow, all three tell the same story.One of the questions we're asked most often is what equipment we use to film On The Rocks. The answer usually surprises people. There are no bulky television cameras or complicated lighting rigs. Most episodes are filmed using an iPhone, a tripod and two magnetic microphones.The simplicity is intentional. Everything comes down to preparation, teamwork and allowing conversations to unfold naturally. Nothing is scripted, which means every interview, introduction and reaction is genuine. The real magic isn't the equipment. It's the people we meet and the conversations that unfold when everyone forgets there's even a camera around.Not every memorable moment was planned. After filming a canoe sequence for On The Rocks at Caprivi Mutoya Lodge, we decided to enjoy the scenery and the moment. The cameras had been packed away, or so we thought; the interviews were done and, for a little while, we could simply drift along the water, taking in the sunset.Returning to shore, however, was a different story. What should have been a graceful finish somehow turned into two grown women enthusiastically paddling themselves straight into a patch of reeds. Every attempt to correct our course only made things worse, and before long we were laughing far too hard to do anything successfully. Unbeknownst to us, Ingrid filmed the whole debacle from another canoe, no doubt realising she'd captured something far more entertaining than she'd bargained for. Eventually, we made it back to dry land, still laughing. Looking back, that's exactly what this journey became. Yes, we travelled to tell other people's stories, but somewhere along the way, we created a few of our own too.The road taught us more than how to navigate border crossings or where to find the best sunset over the Okavango. It reminded us how quickly a landscape can change, and how, despite the lines we draw on maps, people remain wonderfully similar. We were welcomed with genuine warmth wherever we went, from lodge owners proudly sharing their piece of Africa to guides whose passion for their surroundings was impossible to ignore. Everywhere we travelled, there was a quiet sense of community and a genuine desire to see neighbours, fellow operators and tourism as a whole succeed.The journey also gave us plenty to think about. We crossed four countries in just two weeks, each with its own character, landscapes and stories, yet each connected by the same rivers, wildlife and people. It was a reminder that travel isn't only about discovering somewhere new. Sometimes it's about seeing familiar things from a different perspective.The final drive home from Nguma Island Lodge to Windhoek stretched for more than a thousand kilometres. We were tired, our bags a little dustier than when we'd left, and everyone quietly looking forward to sleeping in their own beds again. Yet somewhere between the playlists, the cups of tea and replaying our favourite moments, none of us were quite ready for the journey to end.Perhaps that's the funny thing about travelling. Some journeys end when you arrive home. Others continue every time someone asks, "So... what was your favourite part?"

Somewhere before sunset

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Republikein 2026-09-15

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Somewhere before sunset

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Republikein 2026-09-15

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