Under Cover of Namib Desert Dust

Unscratched Tracks
Windhoek, Namibia
It was no short ride out of the fickle weather of Cape Town, heading north to cross the Namibian border near sunset. Stopping only for petrol in a northern South African town called Springbok, Anand and I exhausted our music supply. We've resorted to relying primarily on those cd's that remain largely unscratched and therefore continue to play when the road turns bumby. I'm getting a little sick of Coldplay, but have been turned on to Postal Service.

Security in this part of the world has been surprisingly thorough. At the South African border we were held up for at least an hour while they unloaded our vehicle. We ended up chatting with border guards about their living conditions and previous encounters with border smuggling operations. Nice guys really.

The border is naturally drawn by the Orange River, supposedly a wonderful 4 day trip in itself. When you cross over as we did around 6pm the change in topography is dramatic. You can almost hear the wind whistling and the tumbleweeds begin to blow by as moving north, you stare out the passenger side window at a setting sun over arching mountains and plateus in the distance. Some towns have no vehicles, only carriages driven by horse or mule. Residents look like black cowboys from the old days of the American west! During the daytime sun, a man's eyes play funny tricks on him in such a "day after tomorrow" scenario. The desert heat creates a blurry haze above the paved major highway leaving you wondering what strange images are coming up ahead, and whether that oncoming 18 wheeler is just around the bend or even exists at all. What strikes me about this landscape is how close it comes to what I imagined, the browns and reds of the desert dunes and mountains, the lack of visible animal life save for a few springbok or monkeys, the utter desolation, heat and swirling dust clouds.

Off road, where the real Namibia exists, you learn what it is to be coated with sand and dirt. For long stretches of time you witness no life, be it human, animal, or plant. Only mountains and dry brush. Yet out of nowhere a man will be sitting on the side of the road, perhaps in decent clothing, and you wonder where in the world he came from and where he plans to go! Hitch hiking is a funny thing. In some parts of the world, like Namibia, it is THE way to get around. Men here make a living gioving rides. And yet we are raised that it is dangerous to offer rides in the states (it used to be ok for our parents I guess). We've had trouble passing, in good conscience, a woman unquestionably far and alone on the side of a road with her infant child. I think there are exceptions. Breathing in the desert's stale air, our throats are permanently parched. I don't know how they do it.

We stayed our first night in Keetmanshoop, a very large town of 15,000 that essentially acts as a petrol oasis halfway to Windhoek. At Bernice's Beds we overpaid for a double room from an aging Afrikans speaking man who gratiously offered us a pot in which to cook our 3.50 rand pasta (50 cents).

The Dunes

We made for Sesrium the next morning, gateway to Sessusvlei and the awe inspiring 300 meter high red dunes of the Namib Desert, world reknowned. The majority of tourists here by the way are German and Italian, strange? Arriving late at night after getting lost on terrible back roads in our two wheel drive Ford, we barely made it to the front gate of the closed park. Just before sunset we popped a tire in a beautiful mountain pass. I'm proud of our ability to change it in under half an hour, but embarrassed that it was the first time for both of us. Ahhh, AAA. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to stay by the park except the Sessusvlei Lodge at $250 American per night. Being the fine, upstanding gentleman Anand and I are, we splurged on dinner at the lodge - $20 per person - and slept in the car on the road in front of the park, freezing in sleeping bags! Oh, but the food! Every night this lodge has an all you can eat buffet complete with chef's cooking up game meat or fish, Mongolian style stir fry, and pastas and salads and deserts. In one meal I ate crocodile, salmon, zebra, springbok, eland, lamb, and vegetable stirfry. After lounging in the resort tv room to watch the news - mostly about the long overdue Gaza withdrawal from Palestinian territories - and observe filthy rich tourists play cards and chess, we retired to our car seats.

The dunes really were amazing, and I have wonderful pictures. We went in at 6:30 and made our way to dune #45, 45km from the entrance and the 45th dune, which they allow you to climb. Then we drove into Sessusvlei and hitched the final 5km into Death Vlei, a other-worldly lanscape I can only compare in oddity to Cappadocia in Turkey. It looks really like somethig in a Dr. Seuss book, like Joshua Tree in a sea of red dunes. Hiking across dunes is no small feat, by the way. It is extremely tiring to walk on an unstable surface for the 5km hike back.

Once in Windhoek, after another long day along back roads, we had a lovely experience cleaning the car at a gas station. A team of 8 women were assigned to our car, and I've never witnessed such hard work and thoroughness in detail with the air and water guns, scrubbing inside and out of every nook and cranny of the crappy automobile. It felt damn good to leave a hundred percent tip.

Namibia is a very large country. Formerly South West Africa, it was administered by South Africa under a UN Mandate following WWII and has only been independent for maybe 15 years. Their history therefore involves much of the same apartheid experiences, but the population is miniscule. 1.8 million people are scattered across a desolate, yet pretty, landscape dotted with small towns and vast national parks; Fish River Canyon, Etosha Game Park, the Skeleton Coast, etc. There are also several diamond mining regions completely sealed off to the public. Rich minerals and resources have been extracted for decades, with much of the profits actually leaving the country. Although the government boasts a democratic constitution (rare in these parts) and a system of checks and balances, President Nujoma (leader of the Swapo Party) has stayed on years past his two-year term limit. It is fun to drive around Windhoek, the capital from which I am this day writing, and observe the street names: Mandela, Mugabe, Bach, Beethoven, Castro, and of course Nujoma. The international airport is small and nearly 50km from this city of 250,000. We took long showers at our fabulous hostel here. There is little to do really except dine out, organize safari trips, rest, and blog! Next stop is Etosha.