This was an odd thing: whenever any permit was inspected, great suspicion rose in almost visible layers from the person reading the document. In the end I decided that the problem was one of literacy. Or its lack. It was very strange.
A small gang of bokkies welcomed us.
And off we went, having reached the (too?) accessible dune. There were a couple of people ahead of us. But I have read that "in season" in winter, there may 100 ahead of you. God. It makes you not want to climb in those footsteps, which is an amazing arrogance, in its way. It's OK for me to be here, but not for you. Even if you're Spanish and drove all the way from Spain. 'Strue.
The leg of my husband. It's a nice leg.
I sat down once we reached the summit. My shoes were full of sand again and I was wobbly: afraid of heights, you see. So I sent him on while I sat at sandblasting level and tried to take pictures without ruining my lens.
The sand is very soft, and very pleasant to touch, when it isn't stinging. I felt very bad to be messing it up. Thinking of all sorts of ecological setbacks we might be causing.
But, wow. The beauty.
I can't wait to see Vincent's pictures. He was so happy. Having dreamed about this place since he was a boy.
I sat for quite a long time.
Lizard tracks - tail in the middle.
The dune's foot.