A tale of water and sand. From the Okavango Delta to the Kalahari Desert.

I’ve been lucky enough to travel to Botswana several times, and it remains one of my favourite countries in Africa. The sheer abundance of wildlife, the striking diversity of landscapes, the warmth and openness of the people who call it home – there are so many reasons I keep coming back.

This time, we spent three weeks traveling through Botswana in a large loop. Starting in Maun, we explored the water-rich regions of Moremi and Chobe National Park before heading south into much drier landscapes: the vast salt pans of Makgadikgadi-Nxai National Park and, finally, the Central Kalahari Desert.

In total, we covered around 1.800 kilometres in our rented 4×4, camping each night in rooftop tents. Driving wasn’t always easy: deep sand that swallowed the wheels, water crossings where you couldn’t see the bottom, rocky tracks that rattled every bone in your body. But honestly, that’s half the adventure.

That said, if you’ve never travelled in Africa before or don’t have experience driving a 4×4 in challenging conditions, it’s worth doing some homework. Some roads are straightforward, others are demanding, and a few are best avoided on a first trip. Knowing your limits and the conditions makes all the difference.

Renting a 4×4 in Maun isn’t cheap. You’ll almost always find better deals if you rent in Windhoek or Johannesburg and drive across the border. We chose to fly directly to Maun and pick up the car there because we wanted to maximize our time in the bush rather than spend days on paved highways. But if you have more time and don’t mind long drives, crossing the border with a rental can save a significant amount of money.

One more thing I’d like to add, because this is important to me: wildlife in Botswana feels remarkably relaxed around vehicles. Animals don’t react aggressively to cars in most situations, which makes encounters feel calm and respectful. But keeping it that way depends entirely on how we behave as visitors. Acting ethically – keeping a safe distance, never approaching animals on foot, not feeding or leaving food behind – helps ensure that wildlife stays wild.

From MOremi to the KHwai concession

After picking up our rental car in Maun and enjoying a good night’s sleep, we headed into town to stock up on supplies. Since we were going deep into national parks where campsites are basic and shops don’t exist, we needed to be completely self-sufficient. Once the car was loaded with enough food, water, and fuel for several days, our journey finally began. First stop: Moremi Game Reserve and Third Bridge campsite.

From Maun, it took about two hours to reach South Gate, the southern entrance to Moremi. Before entering, you sign in at the park office and present your entry pass. While it’s possible to pay park fees directly at the gate, we had organized all permits and campsite bookings upfront through a local agency.

Honestly, I’d recommend doing it this way. Campsites in Botswana are run by different operators, and coordinating everything yourself can quickly become confusing and time-consuming. We used Dusty Moon Travel, and I couldn’t recommend them more.

While signing in, the park staff confirmed what we’d been dreading. Botswana had received unusually heavy rain that year, and many roads in Moremi were still flooded and challenging to drive. To reach Third Bridge, we’d have to take a long detour because the main bridge was completely underwater.

After a quick lunch at the gate, we drove deeper into the park. The landscapes were stunning, but progress was slow. With still a fair distance to cover, afternoon gradually slipped into evening. Driving after dark in Botswana is strongly discouraged – visibility drops dramatically, and it’s dangerous for both drivers and wildlife. As daylight faded faster than expected, the pressure built. We pushed on, reluctantly passing wildlife sightings we would normally have stopped for without hesitation.

Then came our first real test: a wide, murky water crossing with no way around it and barely enough daylight to judge its depth. We didn’t have much time to think – we just had to go for it. Within seconds, water surged over the hood and my heart started racing. Reversing wasn’t an option. All we could do was keep moving and hope for the best. Somehow, through a mix of momentum and luck, we made it across.

Shaken but relieved, we pressed on, only to face several more crossings just as nerve-wracking, now in near darkness. When the faint lights of Third Bridge finally appeared, our relief was overwhelming.

It was only our first day in Botswana, but it already felt like a crash course in what this kind of travel demands: trust, flexibility, and a healthy respect for the conditions. Asking about road conditions at the gate, building in more buffer time than you think you’ll need, and never underestimating water crossings are lessons that stick fast. Despite the stress, or maybe because of it, I couldn’t help feeling excited about the weeks ahead.

Xakanaxa itself felt very different from the rest of the park and quickly became one of my favorite campsites. The mix of sandy tracks, swampy channels lined with reeds, and tall trees gave the whole area a unique character. It was a beautiful contrast to the landscapes we had seen so far, and I really enjoyed spending time there.

And our next adventure didn’t take long to find us. While exploring in the afternoon, we came across two local park staff stuck in deep sand. They’d already been stuck there for hours with no other help in sight, so we sprang into action. Using the gear we luckily had on board – a shovel and towing rope – we managed to pull their vehicle free, all while a few resident buffalo looked on like stern supervisors.

Over the next few days, we moved on to the Khwai Concession, hopping between campsites and exploring the area. What struck me most was how beautifully each site was situated and how frequently wildlife wandered through. Elephants were constant visitors – strolling past our tent, cooling off in nearby waterholes, going about their lives seemingly unbothered by our presence. Even at night, we’d hear them all around us: branches cracking, that deep slurping sound as they drank from the ponds. It’s a sound I could happily listen to every night I go to sleep.

ChoBe National Park

After some exciting days in the Khwai Concession, it was time to head to Chobe National Park with a first stop at Savuti Camp. We had a long drive ahead of us – first along the vast Mababe depression, then through a seemingly endless stretch of deep sand road toward camp.

Savuti Camp is quite busy and ended up being my least favorite campsite of the trip. That said, it’s a convenient spot to break up the long journey from the Khwai region, and the area is well known for its high density of predators, especially big cats. In the evening we explored around camp, and although a leopard had been spotted earlier that day, we had no luck finding it. But we were more than rewarded with an incredible sighting of a black-backed jackal in the golden evening light.

The next morning, we planned to drive all the way up to Linyanti Camp, a small and remote campsite with just six pitches. We chose the shorter route via the Savuti Marsh Road – without fully realizing what we were getting ourselves into.

But before we even reached the road leading north to Linyanti, we spotted three vehicles parked along the track – always a sign that something interesting is happening in the bush. And Savuti’s reputation for big cats didn’t disappoint. Right beside the road lay a pride of lions on a large buffalo kill.

Most of the lions were already deep in a food coma, bellies full and barely moving, while one youngster was still eagerly trying to get a few more bites, tearing at the carcass and tossing it around. Some moments you simply can’t plan for – you just have to be in the right place at the right time.

Just as we were about to leave the sighting, a man from one of the other cars approached us and warned that the road up to Linyanti was extremely sandy – in places stretching for almost two kilometres at a time. He advised us to drastically reduce our tire pressure, advice that turned out to be absolute gold.

Because just a few metres further on, the road suddenly turned into deep, soft sand. We kept our foot steady on the gas, knowing that slowing down too much – or worse, stopping – would almost certainly mean getting stuck. The road was challenging enough on its own, but the fact that it was a one-way track added another layer of tension. We worried not only about meeting an oncoming vehicle, but even more about encountering wildlife along the way, especially elephants, which are common in the area. Luckily, neither happened. After about an hour and a half of slow, sandy driving, we finally rolled into Linyanti Camp.

From the campsite alone, we spotted several Cape otters, and on one of our drives we even saw a python – both firsts for me. During the night, we must have had a visitor nearby, because when we woke up the next morning, fresh leopard tracks were right next to our car. Knowing a leopard had walked past our tent while we slept was both thrilling and slightly unreal.

Linyanti is a place I will definitely return to – and next time, if possible, I’ll stay longer than just one night.

The next morning, we drove all the way to Kasane, where we restocked supplies, filled up on fuel, and topped up our water. It was our last chance to prepare before setting off the following day for the next part of our adventure – leaving the water-rich landscapes of the Delta behind and heading into the drier regions of Botswana.

Makgadikgadi-Nxai National park

After leaving Kasane in the morning, we headed south toward Nata. The first stretch of tar road was uneventful, but beyond Nata the journey grew rougher. The road to Gweta was pockmarked with potholes and at times barely resembled a road at all.

As the road worsened, the landscape also changed. Thick vegetation gave way to open grasslands and dusty savanna, dotted with towering termite mounds and the occasional lone tree. It felt as though we had crossed into another world – vast, dry, and endlessly open.

Our destination that day was the small village of Gweta, often called „The Gateway to the Pans.“ From there, we had arranged an overnight safari into the Makgadikgadi Salt Pans, one of the most surreal and otherworldly landscapes in Botswana.

But first, we had to catch up with our safari group. Arriving at Gweta Lodge, confident we were on time, we were surprised to learn the group had already left. We’d been given the wrong meeting time, and with the sun dropping fast, the staff hurried us into a separate vehicle to chase after them.

What followed was nothing short of a wild ride. The track was dry and rutted, and our driver tore across it as if we were late for a flight. The vehicle rattled so hard the roof panels turned into a drum kit, and with every bump I wondered which would give out first – the car or me. This wasn’t transport, it was a test of endurance. After an hour and a half of this seatbelt-free rollercoaster, we somehow reached the pans just in time for sunset. I was shaken – and very ready for a drink.

After watching the sunset over the flat, pale landscape, we drove farther into the pan, where camp was already set up. The Makgadikgadi Pans are the second-largest salt flats in the world, formed from a prehistoric lake that once covered much of Botswana. Spanning more than 12,000 square kilometers, they look dry and barren most of the year. But when seasonal rains arrive, the pans flood, drawing in thousands of zebras, wildebeest, and flamingos. That evening, however, the pans were silent and still – a flat, pale expanse stretching in every direction.

We camped out on the open pan, mattresses laid directly on the ground, no tent above us. Sleeping under one of the clearest, starriest skies I’ve ever seen was magical, and I wished I could do it every night.

At sunrise, after a quick breakfast, we set out to visit a habituated meerkat colony. To our surprise, they had young ones. As we sat quietly, the adults went about their business as if we weren’t there. A few even scrambled onto our shoulders and heads, using us as lookout posts to scan the skies for predators. For a short while, it felt like we’d been adopted into their world – an experience I’ll never forget.

Eventually, the colony scattered into the grasslands in search of breakfast. Taking that as our cue, we headed back to the vehicle and made our way to the next stop on our journey: the famous Baines‘ Baobabs in Nxai Pan National Park.

From Gweta, it was only a short drive to the park gate. By now the drill was familiar: deflate the tires for the deep sand ahead. It took about an hour and a half to reach our campsite along a rutted, bumpy track. Before setting up camp, we stopped at Baines‘ Baobabs – a cluster of massive, ancient baobab trees rising from the flat salt pan. What might seem barren to some felt incredibly peaceful to me: wide horizons, silence, and space.

That evening we watched the sunset from the edge of the pan, camp chairs in hand and sundowners poured. Simple moments like these are my kind of luxury.

The CENTRAL Kalahari Game reserve

Ever since reading Cry of the Kalahari by Mark and Delia Owens, I had dreamed of visiting the Central Kalahari myself. Now, driving through it and re-reading the book along the way, the experience felt even more special.

We started at Khumaga, near the Boteti River. Officially still part of Makgadikgadi National Park, Khumaga turned out to be both a beautiful campsite and a good break before the long journey into the Central Kalahari. The Boteti was mostly dry, with only a few shallow pools where zebras and antelope gathered to drink. We saw elephants and wildebeest along the banks, but we knew sightings would become scarcer as we pushed deeper into the desert.

From Khumaga, it was a long drive over sandy tracks to the reserve’s eastern entrance – and then even further to our first campsite. The landscape opened into dry grasslands dotted with the occasional acacia tree.

We spent five nights in the reserve, crossing from east to northwest. My favorite area was Deception Pan. The scenery there seemed endless, horizons stretching in all directions. Driving across the same pans where the Owenses carried out their research in the 1970s felt surreal. To imagine them living here in complete isolation gave me a new appreciation for both their work and the wilderness around us.

To my surprise, the Central Kalahari was anything but empty. We saw large herds of oryx (a first for me), giraffes, springboks, and my personal favorites – black-backed jackals. At night, their eerie calls echoed across the plains, a constant reminder of how wild and remote this place truly is.

The campsites in the Central Kalahari are very simple and extremely remote. Facilities, if present, were limited to bucket showers and long-drop toilets (often less than clean). Some sites had nothing at all. More than once we camped completely alone, without another soul for miles. That solitude was exactly what we wanted – though it also made me very aware of our isolation.

One night, just after we had settled into our rooftop tent, the car alarm suddenly went off. Jolted awake, we peered into the darkness but saw nothing. Assuming it was just a glitch, we locked the doors again and tried to sleep – only for the alarm to start blaring minutes later. This cycle repeated itself until we finally gave up and left the car unlocked. After all, who was going to steal a 4×4 in the middle of the Kalahari? Most likely a curious bat or owl had flown too close and set it off. In the end, the only thing we lost that night was a few hours of rest.

MOkoro and helicopter Ride in the delta

After leaving the CKGR, it was only a short drive back to Maun on a well-established tar road. Returning to „civilisation“ after a week of solitude felt almost surreal – traffic, shops, and people everywhere. Still, we were excited for our next adventure: a mokoro tour with an overnight stay on a secluded island deep in the Okavango Delta. But before heading out, we treated ourselves to a proper meal at Hillary’s Coffee Shop – my favorite little spot in Maun and always the best place to recharge.

The next morning we were picked up early and driven into the NG32 concession, a community-managed area within the Okavango Delta. Overseen by a local community trust, this concession ensures that tourism directly benefits the local communities while also supporting wildlife conservation.

From there, we continued in mokoros, traditional wooden dugout canoes pushed along with long poles. The landscape was beautiful, and we saw plenty of hippos and a wide variety of birds. The waterways wound through islands of reeds and grass, and moving silently in the mokoro made it easy to spot wildlife without disturbing them.

Our camp was set up on a small, secluded island, where we spent the night in a tent. As evening fell, we set off on a mokoro trip into the sunset – easily my favorite part of the day. The light was soft, the air perfectly still, and the silence around us made the Delta feel completely remote and untouched.

After a good night’s sleep, we went on a short bush walk the next morning, coming across wildebeest, zebras, and hippos before paddling back to Maun in our canoes.

Our holiday wasn’t quite over yet. One last adventure awaited us that evening: a one-hour helicopter flight over the Delta. The helicopters only seat three people, and we were lucky enough to have the flight to ourselves with just the pilot. Flying without doors felt strange at first – being that high in the air with nothing but open space beside me took some getting used to.

The views, however, were undeniably spectacular. From above, the Delta unfolded in a completely different way, and we spotted plenty of wildlife – zebras, buffalo, elephants, and even hippos bathing in the channels below.

Still, despite the incredible views, it’s not an experience I would repeat. The noise of the helicopter over the Delta felt intrusive, and I couldn’t help thinking about how much it must disturb the animals. After drifting silently through the waterways in a mokoro the day before, hearing helicopters overhead had already broken the sense of remoteness. Up close, the Delta feels timeless and peaceful – and the constant hum of helicopters takes away from that magic.

After a last dinner in town, it was time to leave Botswana. It was an incredible trip once again, and the beauty of the landscape, friendliness of the people, and – at least still in parts – wilderness of Botswana will for sure make me come back one day.