Dune landing
Take a haunting road trip in Namibia for desert and wildlife surprises with a German twist
As I bounce and rattle along the endless, arid desert road, I spy a glistening pool of water. Thank goodness. The giraffes meandering over the lifeless landscape will have something to drink. As I draw closer, I realise this inviting pool is merely a mirage.
Namibia’s vast wilderness can play such tricks on the eye. The shimmering heat haze and forlorn emptiness messes with your mind.
Yet there’s something calming about miles of nothingness. There aren’t many places in the world where you feel as if you’re the only person alive.
It’s the third day on my seven-day road trip exploring the central-eastern plateau of this beguiling African country. Soaring sand dunes, like stiffly whipped terracotta egg whites, otherworldly mountains of granite boulders, Germanic towns, a wild coastline littered with shipwrecks and immense populations of seals... Namibia is nothing short of spectacular.
In the capital, Windhoek, I picked a Toyota 4x4. It took all of half an hour to relax into my private transport for the week as I steamed along the wide open Tarmac roads. Once into the desert proper, I drove for hours without passing another car.
The first leg, to Sesriem, was about 200 miles. It took far longer than predicted (six hours) but offered the chance to take in elaborately patterned rock fissures that resembled the Moon’s surface and a sandy white landscape as far as the eye could see.
In Namibia it’s the law to drive with lights on – and good job. Particularly when you encounter another car, its giant plumes of dust signalling their approach a half mile out. The scene is not unlike a Road Runner cartoon, kicking up mushrooms of dust.
I never knew how rewarding it was to wave at strangers, such is the delight when you spot another car. A sign marking The Tropic of Capricorn, 23 degrees south of the Equator, sits in a desolate spot. My timing was off when it came to witnessing the sun at its highest, so I continued along the Gaub Pass, a series of dips and rises, gullies and ridges cutting through the rockface on the way to the quirky settlement of Solitaire. It turns out to be no more than a cafe, tyre workshop and a corner store. Oh, and a graveyard of rusting car wrecks, their bodies seemingly trying to drag themselves out of quicksand. It was a welcome break close to the Namib-naukluft Park and an excuse for a slice of the most succulent German apple pie you’ll have outside of Hamburg. I mused whether the settlement expanded purely on the back of the splendid apple pie. I arrive at Desert Homestead in Sesriem, a charming cluster of 20 thatched whitewashed cottages set around a cluster of outcrops, just as the sun is setting. The craggy
the sun is setting. The craggy Rotterkaum mountains turn from golden toffee to hot pink and deep purple. A technicolour slideshow no less, with oryx and springbok wandering across the plains.
I was up at 4.30am to visit the star attraction – the mighty sand dunes of Sossusvlei. Desert Homestead’s exceptional guide, Ziggy, sped over the roads for the 40-minute drive to the gate into Namib-naukluft Park. By 6am, there was already a queue of cars.
We were welcomed by a perfect Tarmac road and desert proper – perfect peaks of red sand due to the iron oxide content. Sossusvlei is more than 15 million years old.
EERIE
This eerie place makes you want to talk in hushed tones. There is no life, save for the hardy camel thorn trees, which can live for 300 years thanks to resourceful roots. Otherwise, it’s a lone oryx or ostrich dancing across the sandy stage.
Ziggy points out Dune No1 before stopping at 280ft high Dune 45, which has a swinging sign similar to an old pub’s. But Big Daddy is the biggest draw. At 1,000ft, it’s the one we all come for.
The higher you go, the bigger the reveal. The “dead lake”, with naked, blackened tree trunks like art installations, is hauntingly beautiful. Nothing but nothing lives here. Landscapes don’t come any purer or more extraordinary.
It was on the road again the next morning to Germany. Not exactly, but Swakopmund, a bizarre Germanic town nestling on the wild Atlantic coastline. I chose, perhaps not wisely, to travel a B-road traversing the empty plains of Hotsas and Ganab parks. It felt like the end of the world.
Swakopmund is one of those places that doesn’t quite fit. In the late 1800s the Germans arrived. They commandeered the land from local Herero people, set up railways and built a Germanic city. In 1915, during an uprising, they were forced to flee.
But the language is still spoken, cake shops selling strudel are prolific and there are half-timbered buildings and Lutheran churches.
In contrast, Himba women from their tribe in Namibia’s north west, are an arresting sight with redochre skin and hair covered in thick wax, and jewellery covering their bare chests. They sit on the ground of the local craft market, selling hand-beaded necklaces.
The seafront itself is lined in
palm trees. And the jetty, built in 1905 is home to two restaurants doing fabulous seafood. I dined at Pier 1905 on fresh oysters and grilled sardines.
This coastline is also home to vast seal colonies whose numbers exceed 2.6 million, surpassing the human population by half a million.
I joined a tour with Pelican Point Kayaking based in nearby Walvis Bay. As our 4x4 cruised along the windbeaten mile strip of sand towards Pelican Point, marauding seagulls swooped and stalked the defenceless baby seals.
A pretty distraction were the elegant greater and lesser flamingoes, just offshore, balancing on their bright pink pins.
We tried to dodge the inquisitive seals in our kayaks but they leapt up and circled us excitedly before diving under our kayaks. Surreal.
To truly appreciate how vast this country is, I took a light aircraft
At the dead lake, landscapes don’t come any purer or more extraordinary