Black & White ‘arty’ photos!

On the advice of Lotte & Dave, we had booked two night‘s B&B in Swakopmund just up the coast at an establishment called "The Alternative Space" rather than the Villa Weise which I had used on my last visit.  Our room was large with a high vaulted ceiling with plain white walls.  Black & white ‘arty’ photos by a local woman punctuated the walls. It was quiet cold but the bed looked as if it had enough warm bedding and there were hot water bottles.  Dotted around the room were some very ‘individual’ works of art by a local artist.  It turned out that the husband of the woman who had greeted us was an architect who specialised in challenging environments and the use of sustainable/recycled materials.  The room ‘s brochure had details of various of his projects which all looked quite impressive.

Having sorted everything out and had a bite to eat we hit town for a quick look around this very German town.  As an extra birthday present Breda suggested that we take one of the many scenic flights over the coast and desert.  We went into one of the booking agents and they took a mobile phone number and promised to contact us.  In the evening we headed to the "Grapevine" restaurant that Dave had recommended when we talked in Windhoek.  It was small and run by Germans but, despite that, seemed popular and had we not reserved a table, we would not have got in. Breda was whisked off by mine host to sample his wine cellar and chose an appropriate libation to accompany her steak.  We started with Butternut Soup which was excellent and I had a very subtle vegetable curry — the general consensus was that Dave had made the right recommendation.

The next day, with no word from the air charter company, we hit the supermarket to top–up on the provisions.  All went well until we arrived back and I opened the Disco‘s rear door – the load must have slipped as out shot two bottles of best South African red wine.  The parking area immediately took on the hue of a major road accident in which several arteries had been cut and a couple of limbs severed.  Fortunately, even good South African wine costs only a couple of pounds, so there was no great gnashing of teeth and the only problem was finding the millions of shards of glass that had ricocheted around the courtyard.

We went back into town to try Café Africa that had been recommended in one of the guidebooks as an excellent place for a lunch time break — we would add our recommendations: excellent hot chocolate and snacks.  Despite chasing, we still hadn‘t heard from the flight company.  Close to the café was the office for another outfit and when we went it to check with them.  Completely different: "When would you like to go?" "1430 — no problem" and they would pick us up from the B&B.  Bang on time the pilot arrived in a minibus and whisked us to the airport where we met our fellow adventurers — a Namibian family of Mom, Dad and young lad. Breda was nominated as co–pilot and sat up front as we bumped down the taxiway.  Once on the runway, the pilot cranked up the throttle until the noise became deafening — then the brakes were released and we surged off, bumping down the runway and eventually lifted off over the desert and the town.  It was surprising how small the town seemed and how closely it was hemmed in by the desert.

As we climbed, occasionally bumping in some turbulence, Southwards over the outskirts of the town, there were the occasional house hidden in the hills in places that looked only accessible by 4x4.  It wasn‘t a pristine desert — it was covered by the graffiti of parallel 4x4 tracks, the green line of the Kusib River stretching into the distance and the black stripes of Dollerite rock formations.

Eventually we reached the coast where there was the classic tourist image of the hot desiccated rolling sand dunes suddenly combating the frigid rollers of the Southern Atlantic.  The coming together formed a beach that the Blackpool tourist board would die for: hundreds of miles of unsullied sand, sun and sea. As we flew closer, we saw that it wasn‘t a completely featureless beach.  There were colonies of fur seals strung, basking just out of the surf.  I even saw a Jackal trotting along looking for something, anything to eat.  It wasn‘t until I saw this familiar animal that I was able to put some scale to what we were seeing and then realised just how low we were skimming along.

This coast is famous for its shipwrecks — often as a result of a captain becoming misplaced in the fog bank that often hangs off shore obscuring the coastline.  It‘s called the Skeleton Coast: some say it‘s because of the bones of the unlucky sailors who are marooned on its inhospitable shores, miles from anywhere, without any fresh water, no local population and civilisation to far to walk to.  Alternatively, it is because of the bones of the ships that founder here.  I think that the human remains probably last longer (if they escape being eaten by the local animals) as the ships disappear fairly rapidly from a combination of rust, the battering of remorseless Atlantic rollers and the enfolding desert.  We saw two wrecks and one was already a hundred yards away from the waves as the sand encircled and buried it.

As we headed Northwards we had to clime to ensure we were met the 2,000 feet minimum as we wafted above the Sandwich Bay nature reserve.  Down below we saw the wavering bright pink dotted lines of Flamingos flying over the dark water.  Unfortunately, we were travelling too fast to obtain any decent photographs of the stunning sight.  From there pristine nature gave way to Walvis Bay Namibia ‘s only port.  This isn‘t the traditional port with breakwaters and areas of sheltered water — there were neither with docksides fully exposed to the full force of ocean.  There was no sign of the Namibian Navy patrol boat that local papers had reported had been left hanging from its mooring ropes as the tide had gone out and the ropes not adjusted — how embarrassing!   Further up the coast the water was littered by what looked like large ocean–going fishing boats and factory ships.  At anchor, they looked sorry rusting hulks and it was unclear whether they were working vessels or had been parked there to rust away.

When we finally reached Swakop again we swept in over the town and the pilot managed a very creditable controlled crash landing and we bumped town the tarmac to the hanger.  We all piled out disappointed that such an excellent excursion had come to an end — one of the best birthday presents I‘ve ever enjoyed.

Having been quizzed by Breda, our daredevil pilot had recommend Kukies Pub 22, Tobias Hainyeko Street — which specialised in seafood – for our evening meal.  This turned out to be a large establishment and a very popular one.  It was heaving with people and two groups — one largely of women and the other men — triggered our imagination as we tried to guess who and what they were.  We eventually thought the women were on a riding holiday as they looked British and ’horsey‘ and that the men were having a golf break: but we will never know.  I was hoping to introduce Breda to the delights of King Klip — a meaty fish that I had had in both Bloem and Windhoek.  Unfortunately, although it was on the menu, it was ’off‘.  So I had Hake but when it arrived it was more like Garlic with a side order of Hake: quite overpowering.  But the Apple Strudel for pudding more than made up for this.  All in all, a good choice.

The next morning, we headed Northwards up the coast on the main (only) road.  This is black & smooth and just like tarmac but is really composed of compacted earth & salt.  We shot past the few local communities such as Henties Bai and a number of conglomerations of holiday homes varying from shacks to large architect designed palaces.  Most are only used for a small part of the year when Namibians (and South Africans) head for the coast to escape from the heat of high summer.  To our left was the ocean and off to the right were the fringes of the desert sometime close; sometimes retreating behind low hills in the distance.

And so to Cape Cross sticking out into cold sea and fringed by lacy foam as the breakers pounded onto its rocks.  As soon as we opened the doors we were assaulted by the cold air and a pungent acidic smell.  The smell was generated by the Cape ‘s famous residents, the Cape Fur Seals. These stretched on the sand and rocks looking like long light brown dogs.  This contrasted with their sleek dark grey version as they came out of the water transforming for aquatic torpedoes to lumber land animals. There were lots of people there from a number of coaches but the seal population wasn‘t as large as when I had visited it on a previous occasion — because of the season there were no pups and only a few large Beach Masters who, half–heartedly, sparred with their fellows and flirted with the girls.  The air was not only scented but also punctuated by the barks of the seals against the background of the wind and the breaking waves.  However, this scent didn‘t sit well with Breda ‘s stomach which was feeling a bit delicate, so we hit the road again for the more pure desert air.

As we turned in land, the smooth coast road was replaced by Namibia ‘s standard road: graded gravel with a good smattering of corrugations, few other vehicles and an endless featureless landscape.  After a couple of hours we reached the town Aus which had been a thriving tin mining town until the South African company had pulled out when its profits declined too far.  All that was left was a very small, sleepy, dusty town overshadowed by a large, very white, mountain of mine tailings.  On the edge of the town, just off the main road, there was a community building that incorporated a café, an information office, a small shop and toilets.  We sat there for a while with cups of tea and cakes whilst we studied the map and decided how to get to the nearby community campsite — our destination for tonight.  We set off in what I thought was the right direction but, surprise surprise, we had to turn back and go past the café and then headed in the right direction.  The site was signposted but then they disappeared but we eventually drove into a campsite but couldn‘t find any office.  Eventually, we found it at the adjacent White Lady Lodge  This wasn‘t the one we were seeking but it did have good, widely spaced sites under shady trees and it looked quiet.  As a backdrop it had the spectacular Brandenderg Mountains and as the afternoon wore one it became even more spectacular as the setting sun generated a range of changing pinks & browns on the rocks.  Our camp was established under a shady tree and we watched the changing colours as we had appropriately had our sundowners and Breda prepared another excellent evening meal.  There were other people in the sight but the distance between the individual sights was such that they were all but invisible and the only company we had was an occasional cow wandering through.  Unfortunately, we did have a visit from any desert elephants for which the area is famous.