How our 1,800-kilometre road trip from South Africa to Namibia made for the ultimate family adventure

For a moment, my heart was in my throat and I thought, I’ve either just scarred my child for life or he’ll think I’m the coolest mom. I couldn’t see his face and whether fear still lingered in his eyes. He was paragliding over Sea Point, a neighbourhood in Cape Town, South Africa, where I’d lived in my mid-20s, doing what I’d planned to do for my 25th birthday but had to cancel because of the wind.

Eighteen years later, I was back in Cape Town, this time with my husband, James, and our 10-year-old son, Benjamin, feeling a mix of nostalgia and pride as I showed off my old stomping grounds. We had already done all the touristy things — the city tour, the scenic drive to Cape Point, penguin-spotting at Boulders Beach. Now, we were ready to road-trip north, all the way to Windhoek, Namibia, a journey that would take us more than 1,800 kilometres (detours included).

Wanting to take in one last view of the city, we drove up to Signal Hill, where we found, to our surprise, paragliding companies launching people off the peak. My son’s eyes widened as soon as he saw them, and he begged to try it. Having missed out once before, I wasn’t hard to sway into splurging on a very, very belated birthday gift for myself and an unforgettable experience for our son.

But once strapped to the pilot, Benjamin turned to me, eyes welling: “Mom, I don’t want to do this anymore.” My motherly instinct wanted nothing more than to unstrap him and fold him in my arms, but I smiled and said, “Don’t worry, it’s going to be so much fun. You can do this!” As I watched a stranger run off the side of a mountain with my child, I fought back my own tears. When my turn came, my guilt and fear quickly dissipated into pure joy.

The high would last a long time as we hugged the Atlantic Ocean along the R27 toward the West Coast National Park. When the adrenalin finally waned, we took in the untamed beauty of the coast and its deserted beaches with a sense of peace.

Back home in Ottawa, some had wondered why we would take such a trip, but escaping to a place that still feels wild and holds ancient secrets was just what we were looking for. Road tripping here promised a perfect family adventure, away from crowds and the grips of technology that often keep us apart, even when we’re together.

We had pre-booked our hotels, but kept our options open for places to explore along the way. One worthwhile detour was the West Coast Fossil Park, with thousands of bones dating back 5 million years. In the Cederberg mountains, we hiked the Sevilla Rock Art Trail to admire rock paintings left by the San people thousands of years ago.

Heading toward Hondeklip Bay, we saw not only how the land could be inhospitable, but the sea as well. Shipwrecks dotted the coast, some still battered by unrelenting waves, while the twisted metal remains of others were left to rust on the rocky shore.

We drove through Namaqua National Park, just in time to see one of the most impressive wildflower blooms in the world. Lasting only a few weeks in August, the semi-desert landscape transforms into a patchwork of bright yellow, purple, orange and white daisylike flowers.

As we crossed the Orange River that makes up the border with Namibia, the landscape changed dramatically yet again. With the strange, rocky outcrops and little vegetation or signs of life as far as the eye could see, we felt like we were on another planet.

Breaking up this inhospitable land, we explored the Fish River Canyon, which stretches for 161 kilometres between steep cliffs, ranking it one of the largest canyons in the world. There, my son asked to borrow one of my cameras. As a professional photographer, I felt a swell of pride watching him look through the viewfinder and take his time composing an image. When I finally turned to catch the warm, fading light with my own camera, he secretly took a photo of me. It’s one of my favourites from the trip.

Between Aus and the coastal town of Lüderitz, we spotted wild horses and an abandoned mining town being slowly swallowed up by the sands of the Namib desert. Such sights are bucket-list items for many photographers, but what I cherished most was watching my son take in all these new experiences with curiosity, patience and empathy. This part of the world was no longer just mine to love but ours, with our new shared memories.

Back at home, when we finally watched the GoPro footage from paragliding, there he is — still reaching out to me in mid-run — eyes squeezed shut until the wing catches the air and lifts off into a graceful dance, high above the houses. His eyes open and a huge grin spreads across his face, and I knew then and there, he would be OK. We had both learned to let go, taking a leap of faith that the adventure would be worth it.

The Star understands the restrictions on travel during the coronavirus pandemic. But like you, we dream of travelling again, and we’re publishing this story with future trips in mind.