I Won Rock, Paper, Scissors to Go Hot-Air Ballooning In Namibia
The highest of high-stakes
With the sun yet to rise over the scarlet dunes, the cold desert air ripped through our tuk-tuk’s open doors.
After thousands of kilometres driving through the country where they filmed “Mad Max: Fury Road,” we arrived at one of the most famous destinations in Africa. A place where sand and wind have created an abstract space that boggles the mind.
Sossusvlei, in the heart of Namibia.
We left camp in the dead of night to capture the golden hour. When one half of the dunes would burn orange whilst their east-facing side turned black.
Unfortunately, when driving a tuk-tuk, you have to wake up two hours earlier than the other tourists to beat the sunrise.
Robbie isn’t a morning person, so had cocooned himself in his sleeping bag on the backseat. Sat next to him was Jasper, the artist of the group, who was braving the cold to watch Sossusvlei emerge from the darkness.
“It’s getting pretty cool out here Rob,” Jasper jibed, at the well-insulated caterpillar to his left.
Robbie grunted.
“I bet he’ll wake up if you roll a cigarette.” I laughed, with one hand on the accelerator, and the other wedged underneath my armpit, for warmth.
As the scent of burning amber leaf tobacco filled the tuk-tuk, Robbie began to stir.
“Oh wow! He’s alive!” Shouted Jasper as Robbie’s beady little eyes locked on to their target.
“Ciggie…” groaned Robbie, rubbing his scowling face.
“Good morning to you too bud,” said Jasper, handing over the expertly rolled cigarette.
This was the coolest-looking road I had ever driven on. A black ribbon of tarmac that snaked through the sand. I had never seen the appeal of deserts before entering Namibia.
What was so special about a place with seemingly nothing in it?
Oh, what a fool I was.
Being a living thing, I generally find myself in places that are conducive to life. Places with water and trees and sandwich shops full of delicious treats. Namibia doesn’t just feel like another country… it feels like another planet.
In the words of David Bowie:
“Life on Mars”
“Here comes the sun!” Jasper was bouncing with excitement, as the tops of the tallest dunes lit up like pyramidal lighthouses.
“Right, we have about ten minutes before sh*t gets beautiful. Keep your eyes peeled for a good dune!” He continued, as he pulled his drone out of its housing.
Jasper was right. Minutes after the sun announced the day had begun, the desert was transformed into a lattice of black and gold. If only there was a pause button that could give you a few moments longer in the glorious light of dawn.
We found a dune that ticked all of Jasper’s boxes and parked at its base whilst he frantically ran in the opposite direction, looking for the perfect spot for a photo.
Whilst Jasper was being artsy, I went looking for rocks. Even the rocks here were bizarre. Their colour, texture and patterns were intensely satisfying to look at and hold. Each one was a deep shade of midnight blue and had been sand-blasted for millennia into a perfectly smooth form.
As I was running around being useless, Jasper finished his photo shoot and sent his drone screaming into the sky.
“Ivo!” Jasper barked, in the way only an older brother can, at his blonde-haired sibling.
“Yes?” Came the sarcastically polite response.
“Drive!”
Ivo shifted the van tuk-tuk into first gear and Princess Buttercup sped away, back towards the road.
With my pockets laden with treasure I waddled over to our little drone pilot and peered over his shoulder.
“I love this place…” whispered Jasper, sticking his tongue out with a look of intense concentration.
“Damn,” I replied. Having a birds-eye view of this Martian landscape provided quite the spectacle.
“Woah, look East!” Jasper’s head flicked up momentarily from the controller.
On the horizon, two enormous orbs were floating into the sky.
“No way! Hot-air balloons,” I said, transfixed by their strange silhouette.
“That’s going to be us tomorrow!” Jasper replied excitedly.
Hot air balloon rides in this part of the world cost about $500 per person. Luckily for us, our tuk-tuk travels had finally begun to gain some traction on social media and garnered millions of views. The balloon company had agreed to send ‘Tuk South’ into the skies, in return for some content. There was one problem though. They could only take two of us.
By eight o’clock the desert turned from a fridge into an oven. The light was now dazzlingly bright and we decided it would be best to find a tree for shade.
Our conversations revolved around the upcoming balloon ride, and how we were going to choose who got the experience of a lifetime. Ivo had just purchased a Canon R6 camera, which only he could operate. Seeing as this was technically a filming gig and not just for fun, he got one of the golden tickets. Lucky Bugger.
“I mean, there’s only one thing for it,” said Jasper whilst looking at Robbie and I. He didn’t have to finish that sentence. This was going to be a rock-paper-scissors game for the ages.
Normally we would play to see who got the bigger portion of biltong (dried meat), or the last beer. This was the highest-stakes game of the past 20,000 kilometres.
There was tension in the air all day, as we tried to come to terms with the bitter realisation we had a one in three chance of making it.
In bed, I went through opening moves in my head like a chess player. But instead of “Knight to D3” or “Pawn to E5” it was “rock,” “paper,” or “scissors.”
Contrary to popular belief, rock-paper-scissors is not just chance. It’s psychology. There had been times on the trip when each of us had been unbeatable. If you were on a hot streak, you lived like a king. Bigger portion sizes, fewer chores and a general feeling of superiority. If you were on the losing side, you became a servant. All of a sudden you were washing everyone’s dishes, putting up other people’s tents and eating the least amount of snacks.
I slipped into dream after dream of that cursed game, until everyone’s alarms began to screech at four in the morning. I unzipped my tent, grabbed my camera and hopped into the Piaggio with the other three, tired tuk-tukkers.
We rattled our way over the dusty road towards the launch site and made nervous jokes about not even wanting to float above the clouds. After forty minutes, we pulled up to an expensive-looking meeting point, where a load of wealthy tourists were enjoying coffee.
The car park was full of modified Toyota beasts, so we caused quite the scene when our single-cylinder, tin can came chugging to a halt.
“You must be the Tuk South boys!” Came the booming voice of a man wearing a cowboy hat and khaki clothes.
“That’s us,” we said, looking like we had been sleeping rough for over a year.
“Well, who’s coming up then?”
It was time.
Jasper, Robbie and I stuck our fists into the centre and I recounted my game plan.
The starting shape of rock-paper-scissors is a fist, or “rock”. so it often pays to throw “paper” on the first go. In a group of three, the chances are you’ll catch someone sleeping who throws “rock” without thinking.
But this was not your average game.
I was throwing scissors.
Surrounded by the confused looks of middle-aged spectators, we began to chant in the desert.
“Rock, paper, scissors!”
I looked at the three hands in the middle and my stomach fluttered. My scissors sliced through the flattened palms held out by Jasper and Robbie.
Jasper moaned in despair and buried his face in his hands. Despite everyone having three lives, he sensed this was not his day.
Sure enough, he was dispatched after losing every round and Robbie followed shortly after. I pumped my hands into the sky and hugged Ivo. During our drive through Africa, Robbie and Jasper took great pleasure in referring to themselves as “Sky Squadron,” due to both of them having drones.
Now the boot was on the other foot.
“Well, I guess ‘ground squadron’ is the new ‘sky squadron!” I said, smiling at an upset Jasper.
Luckily, rock-paper-scissors is final and there was nothing to argue about. That’s why it was such an important tool for diplomacy between the four of us. The universe had decided.
We were led out of the meeting area towards a team of men who were preparing the balloons. Two jets of flame lit up the darkness, causing the billowing sacks to rise skywards.
I could just about see the dark blue silhouettes of the mountains and dunes that surrounded us. Soon it would be time to lift off and watch the sunrise, thousands of metres above the ground.
Eventually, the hot air inflated the balloons and the baskets underneath pulled against their restraints.
“In you get boys! It’s now or never,” shouted the pilot of the second balloon. A thick-set Australian man, with a full repertoire of hot-air balloon jokes.
Ivo and I hopped over the wicker walls and watched as the ropes holding us to the ground were left behind.
The blaring flamethrower was ignited by the Australian pilot and we began to accelerate into the nothingness above. It was incredible. As we gained altitude the view grew exponentially in every direction. We could now peer over the 300-metre tall dunes that had towered over us yesterday. Unsurprisingly, behind those dunes were millions more, as far as the eye could see.
This really was how to experience Namibia. I could see why our fellow passengers had forked out $500 apiece.
We climbed higher and higher until something curious occurred. With the rest of the world still shrouded in the blanket of early dawn, we were struck, full in the face, by the first rays of light. Turns out dawn hits you five minutes earlier when you’re a kilometre above the ground.
As I marvelled at the sunrise, we had accelerated into existence, Ivo said something alarming:
“Bloody hell, we’re going to crash!”
I looked over at the other balloon to find we were definitely on a collision course. I glanced at the Aussie pilot, who seemed unphased, so decided we probably weren’t in mortal danger.
What I hadn’t seen was the lady who had spent the entire trip so far, glued to the floor of the basket in fear. She hadn’t been able to seek solace from the Australian pilot, and having just heard the word “Crash,” proceeded to have a slight melt-down.
“Don’t panic,” came the pilot’s soothing words, “we’re just going to have a little kiss.”
This sentence left me extremely confused until I realised he was talking about the two balloons.
Sure enough, we sort of “boinged” off each other and kept on floating, silently through the sky.
My first hot-air ballooning experience was one I won’t forget in a hurry. Everything about it boggles the mind. To be that high up, in complete silence offers a perspective on the world that can only be attained through floating underneath an enormous balloon. It’s a cartoonish way to travel and for that reason, I think it’s brilliant.
But if there’s one thing to take away from this article, it’s that if you ever find yourself in a high-stakes game of rock-paper-scissors… round one, throw scissors.