16 – 24 September
The Roof of Africa
The swift and easy border formalities over, we remained on the Trans Kalahari Highway for the next 220 miles, all the way to Namibia’s capital, Windhoek; reflecting its German ancestry it was a well laid out city, easily navigable as we made our way to our hotel, The Roof of Africa, close to the city centre. We were assured by the receptionist that if we took a deluxe room, it would come with wifi. Annoyingly (a British understatement!) the internet didn’t work in our room or anywhere else in the hotel, harrumph!
Strange but True
Frustrated, we made for the bar where Peter tried the local lager, Windhoek by name and according to Peter certainly (not probably!) the best lager in the world. We then sat at a table in the bar-cum-restaurant area, where every so often a member of staff would come and sit down and pass the time of day with us ...they all did it; receptionist, waitress, cook and bottle washer! It was all rather strange but in an engaging way. They probably took their cue from the owner, a German somewhere in his late middle age and a fully signed up member of the ageing juvenile fraternity. Under an sun faded, Afrikakorp forage cap he sported a greying pony tail, had a penchant for tight motor bike leather trousers and topped it all off with a faded studded denim shirt, with the sleeves ripped off. He moved, Basil Fawlty like, between the kitchen and the bar where two young men sat conversing with mein host in German; the podgiest, perched precariously on a stool, was wearing forest green lederhosen supported, over a floral shirt, by a pair of wide braces; their red colour matching that of his cheeks. All very bizarre!
Added to all this were, amazingly good food and a huge and comfortable bed with the softest white sheets ever; we left the next morning having enjoyed our stop over. It was an early start on the 17 September and we had mentally prepared ourselves for battling through the morning rush hour ... only it never happened; there was no chaotic traffic, no mad mopeds, no noisy taxis, no black belching pollution. It was all, well, just so very westernised; traffic lights, lane discipline and roadworthy vehicles! Not what we were used to in a capital city.
Biltong
Continuing on the Trans Kalahari Highway that would bring us to the Atlantic coast and Swakopmund, we stopped at Okachandja where we followed the Bradt guidebook’s advice and stocked up on biltong at a store called The Butchery on Wheels! We had been introduced to this very Afrikaans method of drying meat in Outjo; thinly sliced and vacuum packed we found it to be a fantastic, tasty travelling snack and so bought a selection of peri peri (spiced with chilli), beef and game biltong.
Swakopmund
As we came close to Swakopmund and despite entering the sun drenched Namib Desert, the outside temperature began to drop dramatically. The culprit was the strengthening sea breeze from an Atlantic Ocean whose waters were chilled to 8C by the upwelling of the South Atlantic Benguela current. Despite the sun, the stiff sea breeze made it feel SO cold when we got out of Boris for a picnic on Swakopmund’s seafront.
The Roof of Africa
The swift and easy border formalities over, we remained on the Trans Kalahari Highway for the next 220 miles, all the way to Namibia’s capital, Windhoek; reflecting its German ancestry it was a well laid out city, easily navigable as we made our way to our hotel, The Roof of Africa, close to the city centre. We were assured by the receptionist that if we took a deluxe room, it would come with wifi. Annoyingly (a British understatement!) the internet didn’t work in our room or anywhere else in the hotel, harrumph!
Strange but True
Frustrated, we made for the bar where Peter tried the local lager, Windhoek by name and according to Peter certainly (not probably!) the best lager in the world. We then sat at a table in the bar-cum-restaurant area, where every so often a member of staff would come and sit down and pass the time of day with us ...they all did it; receptionist, waitress, cook and bottle washer! It was all rather strange but in an engaging way. They probably took their cue from the owner, a German somewhere in his late middle age and a fully signed up member of the ageing juvenile fraternity. Under an sun faded, Afrikakorp forage cap he sported a greying pony tail, had a penchant for tight motor bike leather trousers and topped it all off with a faded studded denim shirt, with the sleeves ripped off. He moved, Basil Fawlty like, between the kitchen and the bar where two young men sat conversing with mein host in German; the podgiest, perched precariously on a stool, was wearing forest green lederhosen supported, over a floral shirt, by a pair of wide braces; their red colour matching that of his cheeks. All very bizarre!
Added to all this were, amazingly good food and a huge and comfortable bed with the softest white sheets ever; we left the next morning having enjoyed our stop over. It was an early start on the 17 September and we had mentally prepared ourselves for battling through the morning rush hour ... only it never happened; there was no chaotic traffic, no mad mopeds, no noisy taxis, no black belching pollution. It was all, well, just so very westernised; traffic lights, lane discipline and roadworthy vehicles! Not what we were used to in a capital city.
Biltong
Continuing on the Trans Kalahari Highway that would bring us to the Atlantic coast and Swakopmund, we stopped at Okachandja where we followed the Bradt guidebook’s advice and stocked up on biltong at a store called The Butchery on Wheels! We had been introduced to this very Afrikaans method of drying meat in Outjo; thinly sliced and vacuum packed we found it to be a fantastic, tasty travelling snack and so bought a selection of peri peri (spiced with chilli), beef and game biltong.
Swakopmund
As we came close to Swakopmund and despite entering the sun drenched Namib Desert, the outside temperature began to drop dramatically. The culprit was the strengthening sea breeze from an Atlantic Ocean whose waters were chilled to 8C by the upwelling of the South Atlantic Benguela current. Despite the sun, the stiff sea breeze made it feel SO cold when we got out of Boris for a picnic on Swakopmund’s seafront.
Cold picnic, Swakopmund sea front
Foggy Skeleton Coast, Swakopmund
Swakopmund, known to Namibian’s as Swakop’, has been in existence for a little over 120 years; blessed with a temperate climate due to the Benguela current, for the majority of that period it has been, and remains, Namibia’s only seaside holiday resort of any significance for those wanting to escape the searing heat of Namibia’s interior. The weather can be fickle, changing from bright sun and crisp Alpine air, to dark fog and chilly breeze and back again all in a morning; we were fortunate, throughout our three day stay the sun shone each day without interruption.
German Heritage
Bavarian architecture, old Hans Hohensollern Hotel Swakopmund 
Evangelical Lutheran church and national monument,Swakopmund We booked into a pleasant B&B, in a good position close to both the seafront and the town centre. It was run by a lovely German couple and as we explored the town, there were plenty of other reminders of Namibia’s colonial heritage; sporadic examples of early C20 German architecture; the German language greeting us as we entered the excellent town centre shops; whilst the German street signs guided us from one junction to another.
Swakopmund lighthouse 
Woermannhaus, Swakopmund That evening and following the recommendation of the owners of the B&B, we had a superb meal of locally caught and very fresh fish at an excellent restaurant, The Grapevine, a very sympathetically converted, old German Kronenbrauerei; creaking floorboards, lace curtains and so on .. oh yes, and it was owned by a Namibian of German descent, Jurgen Baas!
Permits and Ports
The next day we discovered our arrival at the B&B had not gone unnoticed. When we phoned Hanne to give her the news of our arrival, she already knew! It transpired that Axel had an apartment overlooking the B&B and couldn’t help but spot (and hear) Boris in the parking area. We arranged to have dinner at Hanne’s that night and then spent the rest of the morning continuing our exploration of Swakop’.
Hanne, Swakopmund It really had such a pleasant and relaxing atmosphere; no one hassled us, it was easy to walk around, with shops that catered for all our needs that had built up over the last eight months, not to mention some excellent galleries and interesting museums. Our day got even better; the National Parks Office agency, close to the Swakop’ lighthouse, was, in contrast to that in Maun, only too happy to provide the permit that would allow us to enter and camp in the Namib-Naukluft the following day. Great!
Wrecked trawler, Swakopmund
After lunch on a beach close to a wrecked trawler with cormorants nesting in its masts.. to be our only encounter with a wreck on this coastline.. we went to nearby Walvis Bay; the end of the Trans Kalahari Highway, a natural harbour and Namibia’s only deep water port. It was also a port that Liz’s father had visited during his service in the Navy in WWII; well, we hope you had a better time than we did, Eric. We were distinctly underwhelmed; true there were plenty of Maersk containers, Alex, but the high point of the visit was the drifting Namib sand that temporarily blocked the road on our way back!
A reminder that Swakopmund is surrounded by the Namib desert Supper that evening at Hanne’s flat was a delight, she was a superb cook and Axel was an amusing raconteur as ever. We met Hanne’s daughter and boyfriend; like us, they too were heading out into the Namib the next day, for a weekend camping with friends. How marvellous to have the great expanse and contrasts of the Namib Desert on your doorstep.
Welwitschia Drive
Next morning we discovered a soggy Boris; we had filled the water tank with fresh water the previous day and it had leaked overnight. With the help of Axel a replacement washer was found in Swakop’ and the problem solved. Then, our farewells over, we left Swakop and headed into the desert and the Welwitschia Drive. The drive was half a day’s trip along a route through the northern corner of the desert close to Swakop’.
Liz, Welwitschia Drive
The'Moonscape' Welwitschia Drive The route went past numbered stones, thirteen in total, and at each was a point of interest particular to the Namib Desert, ranging from adapted desert flora including lichen fields watered by sea fog, tracks of ox wagons made a hundred years ago and still just visible as a scar amongst the desert vegetation, through the awesome ‘moonscape’ and other geological examples and culminating with an expanse of desert containing the Welwitschia mirabilis; an extraordinary scruffy prehistoric plant of no beauty at all, and to all intents and purposes just two long, very long, mangled and split leaves lying in a heap in the sand!
Welwitschia mirablis
Detail, Welwitschia mirablis Endemic to this part of Africa and incredibly slow growing, some of those around us could have been up to 1,500 years old. As you can imagine, we found the drive fascinating and very educational; we took our time and so spent a bit more than the half day we had allowed.
A Bit of Heaven
This meant a fraught two hour drive on graded, dusty tracks further into the Namib to get to our campsite before sunset. We made the Ganab campsite with a little time to spare.
Namib Desert, dolerite spines enroute Ganab campsite Like any desert, the Namib is not all sand; indeed the application of the term desert is based on rainfall or moisture deficit and not topography; this small and very basic, drop toilet and no water campsite was nothing more than a flattened area under a couple of Acacia trees, set in the midst of the type of desert we had just passed through; rolling parched yellow savannah, its surface punctured by massive, isolated inselbergs.
Ganab campsite, Namib Deser
Namib inselberg and savannah, Ganab campsite
Desert reflections, Ganab campsite Much to our joy we were the only occupants of the campsite; alone in the centre of a vast flat plain. On one side distant, darkening inselbergs; on the other, the red shimmering disc of the setting sun being subsumed by the flat horizon and between them the moving, dark forms of gemsbok, springbok and ostrich. Heaven!
Namib sunset, Ganab campsite After supper, we doused the fire and lay back staring up at the night sky; no one has truly seen the splendour of the night sky until they have spent a night in the Namib. We retired to bed, every flap and window open to desert and sky, serenaded by a chorus of black backed jackals; reminding us of when we first heard them at Etosha. Yet more heaven!
Kuiseb River
The next morning, 18 September, we continued south on gravel tracks through an unchanging landscape of rolling desert savannah and inselbergs towards Sesriem, gateway to the Sossusvlei dunes.
Namib Desert, inselbergs enroute Homeb As if we hadn’t already enough distance to cover, we had decided to include in our day long journey a detour deep into the Namib; to the tiny settlement of Homeb on the northern bank of the Kuiseb River. We were aware that the course of the Kuiseb River was the northern boundary of the Namib’s great southern dune field; the intermittent flooding of the river, and the washing away of the desert sand, being the only thing that prevented these dunes from inundating the area to its north. We were intrigued, the boundary was apparently more noticeable further into the desert and the only track into the desert that fitted the bill, was that to Homeb.
Distant sand dunes, Namib Desert, enroute Homeb As we got to within about 15 miles of the, as yet unseen, Kuiseb River, the horizon ahead changed from a yellowish grey that had been with us all morning, to a pale apricot; the first sign that we were approaching the dune boundary. Getting closer the dunes became discernable to the naked eye, their colour now the classic apricot red associated with the Namib Desert.
Descending into Kuiseb River valley, Homeb
Dune boundary line,Kuiseb River valley We began a slow and tortuous descent to the Kuiseb River, in doing so it became stiflingly hot in Boris, as we first lost speed and then the cooling breeze through the open side windows. The settlement of Homeb was nothing more than a collection of three deserted, dilapidated huts made from wood and metal, we continued past them making heavy weather of some very deep sand and then came to a basic, but beautifully located, deserted campsite on the banks of the riverbed.
Hot work
Huge old growth trees lined the river bank; leaving Boris cooling off in their shade, we descended to the dry riverbed where, as we came out into the glare of the mid day sun, a searing heat enveloped us.
Desert thistles, Kuiseb riverbed Homeb 
Dune boundary and southern bank Kuiseb River Walking along the boulder strewn riverbed, the sand that was there in the river was white and from the Naukluft Mountains upstream, but to our left and towering above the trees and shrubs lining the course of the river, an unending apricot cliff of sand marked the extremity of the dune field. Eventually we found a goat track that led us to the base of the wall of dunes.
Liz on the Kuiseb riverbank, Homeb Liz found the ascent too hot, stopped and returned to the shade of the river bank below; Peter continued, but not for long. To stop sliding backwards, he had taken off his flip flops and left them at the bottom; very quickly the soles of his feet were medium, heading to well done!
View of Kuiseb River,looking west from dune line
Kuiseb River, looking North With the heat becoming worse, we called it a day and returned to Boris. Driving out of the Namib, we cheered as we passed a roadside sign telling us we were crossing the Tropic of Capricorn; ever southward, but slowly, the crossing the equator seemed so long ago! We eventually joined a well used gravel road to Sesriem that ran south between mountains on one side and along the edge of the desert on the other. Here, as elsewhere in the north and west of Namibia, neither words nor photographs can do justice to the majestic beauty of the landscape we drove through. Canyons, passes, valleys, plateaux, escarpment and plain; singly or in concert they created a tableau we will never forget.
Sesriem Exhausted, we reached the Sesriem campsite, but we hadn’t booked ahead and we were late and it was full. Shock, horror! We ignored the advice given about a lodge some 15 miles away; Peter had spotted a riverbed about a mile down the road and we followed Axel’s advice that a riverbed is fair game as far as bush camping is concerned. At the point where the river bed met the road and choosing a traffic free moment ..not that difficult.. we swung off the road and headed up the dry river bed and out of view. The site was perfect and, much to our delight, while we were eating supper a Cape Fox padded past, stopped, stood a few feet away and looked us in the eye before disappearing into the surrounding scrub. Thank you Axel, great advice!
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