There was one part of Namibia I wanted to see which I wasn’t sure I’d get a chance to, but happily I did, as part of an unexpectedly fun car ride. The friendly wildlife we encountered was also unexpected, in a day that concluded with oryx and cake…
Right: Namibia’s vintage cars are once again used as decorations…
On the day we left the Namib desert, I woke up very early and went to help our guide Johannes prepare breakfast. Presenting our packed-up tents to be stowed on the bus was our ‘passport’ for food, and I gotta say that packing up your tent in the dark when you’re hungry isn’t as easy as it sounds!
Most of us dozed on the bus until we reached Solitaire, a stopping-off point in the middle of nowhere, but a well-chosen middle of nowhere: three main roads going through and out of the desert converge here, with a petrol station, repair workshop, toilets, church, and a bakery set up by an evidently much-loved Scotsman called Percival George Cross, nicknamed ‘Moose McGregor’, who died in 2014. His well-tended grave is nearby, and I’m left with only a ton of questions about how he came to set up a bakery here sharing his nickname, famous for his apple pie.
Like the Canyon Roadhouse on the way from Fish River Canyon, Namibia’s motor heritage was on display surrounded by desert plants. And just before we moved on, a woman in a gyrocopter landed at the nearby airstrip and rolled up for her weekly shopping (I guess). There’s a story there; one which we’ll never find out about…
On the way out of the desert we passed the Tropic of Capricorn and took photos. Johannes asked if anyone could explain what it was, and after waiting maybe a heartbeat, I put my hand up (and imagined all my friends back home collectively sighing and rubbing their foreheads).
The tropics are 23.5 degrees north and south of the equator, and on these lines the sun will only be directly overhead once a year, at midday on midsummer’s day. Further north or south of these lines, and the sun will never be directly overhead.
The northern tropic is called the Tropic of Cancer, because the sun will appear to be in that constellation at northern midsummer (although unseen in the daylight); at southern midsummer the sun will appear to be in the constellation of Capricorn (again, unseen in daylight), hence the name ‘Tropic of Capricorn’.
Africa is the only continent with both tropics (and the equator) running through it.
(You’re welcome?)
Once everyone woke up from my explanation we moved on.
Our next stop on the way out of the desert was a region known as ‘The Moon’, a striated, layered landscape of barren hills and canyons. In other seasons, the currently dried-up Swakop River flows along the canyons here, a place where two German geologists hid from the British authorities following the outbreak of World War 2 (one of the more unusual and less-known tales of wartime survival).
Sharp lines and angles of jagged, slate-like rock follow the rounded contours of the hills. Other visiting tourists have built cairns and rock stacks at some of the viewpoints, something we were advised not to do – not just because cairns and stacks have no business being built here, but more because you don’t know which rocks are home to scorpions or other tetchy, bitey creatures which might take exception to dumb tourists ripping the roof off their hiding places.
Endless desert merged into endless scrub as far as the horizon; the roads became sealed tarmac again; traffic joined us; we witnessed a very long railway freight train pulled by two engines alongside the towering dunes; and more signs of civilization became apparent as we neared the coast.
We arrived in Swakopmund just after lunchtime for a much-needed afternoon of making ourselves feel human again, whether by showering and shaving, exploring town, getting a beer, or maybe all of these things. The temperature was mild, like a surprisingly summery day back home.
On my own walkabout, I met a couple of others from the group who said that the local office that deals with the national parks had rooms available for our upcoming final highlight, Etosha safari park. And I figured, what the hell, why not get a room instead of a tent for a couple of nights? When I turned up, however, I was given the “computer says ‘no’…” treatment. Oh well…
Right: this is cool (the temperature, I mean).
What to make of Swakopmund? It was originally settled by the Germans, and I could see vaguely middle-European stylings in the architecture, like some sort of cultural memory trace. There were hints of danger here and there (a sandwich board outside a shop advertising “security solutions” consisting entirely of handguns; or the local all-black chapter of Hell’s Angels tending their bikes), but nothing like the mood in the middle of Cape Town. At most I simply fell back on my Edinburgh Festival instincts to wave off all the peddlers (later that evening as we all went to the restaurant, I found an alternative was going ‘Full Scottish Accent’ to distract and confuse them).
After breaking the news to another fellow traveller that no more rooms were available at the safari park, I went for a drink with the others. And then just before 5pm I got a call saying that she and Johannes were at the office where – surprise, surprise – it actually turned out that there were rooms after all. I hurried along and made the booking (clearly, I wasn’t pretty enough to do this by myself just a couple of hours earlier – the ladies in the office made no sign of recognising me).
Not all heroes wear capes – thanks Johannes!
(See more of my photos from Solitaire to Swakopmund here.)
Right: bloody show off.
I never thought this would happen, but at breakfast before dawn the next day, Swakopmund was cool and misty. And I really needed that; I ate outside on the balcony. The coastal conditions continued throughout the morning – warm but overcast, and a faint, fresh breeze – most people dressed in warm clothes but I was happy in shirtsleeves. They probably thought I was weird.
The group split up to do their own activities. Some went to potter around town, some went on a ‘living desert tour’ (which was tempting, but we only had time for one activity), and most of us opted for a ‘SandWaves combo tour’ of Walvis Bay, by catamaran and car.
Even before we left the harbour, the catamaran was boarded by a friendly seal and several pelicans. The seal had been rescued from entanglement in plastic waste and ever since has associated humans with food and a welcome. The pelicans were inquisitive and moved among the passengers, up-close and personal, and shitting out yoghurt-like dribbles on the deck (hastily swabbed away by the crew).
In the bay we passed various vessels of interest: a sunken tourist sailing boat whose owner was unable to pay the crew (no crew meant no water pumps, and it now pokes out of the water as a stark reminder to make sure you check your bank balance); an ocean support vessel impounded by the government after it was involved in child trafficking; an oil rig and various other vessels all abandoned for financial reasons. What does it say, that all these ships ended up here?
Walvis Bay is sheltered by a long, thin peninsula with a lighthouse in the middle of it (it used to be at the end, but shifting sands have extended the peninsula). This is home to an entire city of seals, and it was the perfect time of year to spot the babies practising their swimming and waddling ashore, watched by bemused pelicans (eyeing up a potential snack?) and cormorants.
We were joined again by the inquisitive seal (which nuzzled against my leg for a short while) and the pelicans, one of which seemed to take a shine to me (perhaps it wanted to steal my camera?). They are usually enticed aboard by the crew offering them fishy tidbits, and a hungry seal kicks up one hell of a fuss when the pelicans get between it and its food.
Distance-wise, it wasn’t a long voyage, but the catamaran had to go slowly enough to prevent people getting seasick or falling overboard in the Atlantic; it lasted the whole morning.
Right: I made a friend, can I take her home?
Back ashore we immediately boarded a group of large 4×4 vehicles for a trip south to the Skeleton Coast. We stopped to get photos of a flock of flamingos wading through the shallow lagoon mud at low tide, foraging for food. By now the morning clouds were lifting, and colour was returning to Walvis Bay.
I picked up a sense of unease about the fact that China is investing a lot of money in Namibia, building roads and port infrastructure – you can be certain the Chinese government isn’t doing this out of kindness in its heart, any more than American companies or old European empires did; it’s to make resource extraction more efficient. Chinese businessmen are buying up the land. As China extracts uranium from Namibia, it also takes away the metal ores (lithium and rare earth elements – all useful for nukes and computers) from the surrounding rock, and ships the whole lot out from Walvis Bay. Namibia is dealing with all of this from an extremely disadvantaged position.
Right: They fly now? They fly now. (Just like they’ve always been able to do.)
We drove past the saltworks, where salt was extracted from vast evaporation ponds, leaving salt pans. It’s also used to make many of the non-tarmac roads around here, so you can only imagine the damage driving on wet salt and sand does to the underside of each vehicle.
Right: This is what wankpanzers are for; not for MILFs of Waitrose to drop off Timothy and Jocasta at their private cello lessons in town, but for bombing along off-road!
We hurtled along the beach next to the waves, dodging the spray. The sand was streaked with dark magnetite and wine-stain purple patches of rusty iron. Small, nascent grass dunes were home to coastal wildlife, like a vibrant little gecko that looked fairly astonished to be surrounded by tourists. Left to her own devices, she burrowed a hollow for herself to get to the cool sands out of the sun.
The small grass dunes soon gave way to vast, towering desert dunes – this was where the Namib Desert abruptly stops at the Atlantic coast. Our drivers let us out to walk along the beach, while they drove ahead to set up a picnic.
It’s odd, seeing desert dunes with seashells scattered up the slopes. The scale of the dunes seen from the shore is impressive – I suppose it’s the desert equivalent of rolling green hills abruptly stopping at the Cliffs of Dover.
Gentle winds blew in off the sea, and wisps of sand drifted inland. This was the starting point for all the migrating dunes we saw at Sossusvlei and Deadvlei. I’d always associated coastlines with signs of life, but here it was stark and almost entirely empty. There were bare hints of greenery – perhaps a bush nestled here and there, or hints further south at Sandwich Bay.
Picnic over, we were taken for an exhilirating drive through the dunes, down near-45-degree slopes and back up to vantage points where you could see all along the coast, and back into the desert hinterland.
This was what I’d been hoping to see!
Our driver Lorenzo explained that because the tyres have to be repeatedly inflated and deinflated for these drives, they need to be replaced every six months (and add that to the other maintenance costs!). The drivers give out awards to each other at the end of each year for their most notable mechanical breakdowns.
There’s only a very limited part of the dunes where these tours are allowed to drive, so the terrain is familiar to them. The routes constantly shift and change along with the sands.
The views were breathtaking and the rollercoaster drive was superb fun!
On the way back we spotted wild ostriches and a herd of oryx, as a taster of our upcoming safari. And sure enough, one of the cars suffered an engine fault, requiring a quick five-minute repair. I suppose if you spend almost every day driving these things, you’ll be able to track down the problem in no time at all. I’d be scratching my head trying to get a phone signal to call for help.
Right: staring at me like I took his favourite seat in the pub.
That evening, we helped Willem celebrate his birthday in the hotel restaurant. It’s a braver person than me who does that! We were joined by a local all-male a capella group singing ‘Happy Birthday’, who then treated us to various songs, the Namibian national anthem, and The Lion Sleeps Tonight.
With that, I went to bed happily bloated and sunburnt, anticipating the safari park the next day…
To be continued!
(See more of my photos from Walvis Bay and the Skeleton Coast here! Seriously, there’s some good ones I couldn’t add to the blog!)
Observaterry 
Whoot for pink(ish) lizards! And I got the oryx and cake joke 🙂
Yay! I wondered if anyone at all, ever, would get that! 😀
*polishes geek halo* 😉
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