Nomadic in Namibia - Sossusvlei

12/05/2013
I made it to Sossusvlei in time for sunset and gave in to an early night in order to be up at 5am for sunrise photography of the dead vlei. I only spent a day there before continuing on to Ludritz though looking at the pictures I got I now realise it deserved more time.  So much about great photography is light, dictated by being in the right place at the right time, sometimes this just happens but more often than not it requires planning and patience.  The photographers who spend a week there, getting up before the sun every morning, just to learn how the shadows are cast by a particular tree and to plan the shot for the same time the next day are the ones that will win the ultimate prize and produce the works we see in magazines and exhibits.

Tweet

Nomadic in Namibia - Bumpy Roads

Hello from Walvis Bay quay

10/05/2013

Leaving CJ and the flamingos behind I took the coastal road down to Walvis Bay where I spent the morning wandering around the quay, chatting to quizzical pelicans before their limited vocabulary turned me away in search of the route to Sossusvlei. A wrong turn here and a photograph there meant that by lunchtime I was yet to make it out of Walvis so I took a break and joined the flamingos for another car park lunch. By 2pm a feisty breeze had picked up and I felt a familiar itch set in. Knowing that it was a prime windsurfing spot, with speed week held every year, I went in search of board rental, figuring I would spend the afternoon on the water and take CJ up on his offer of another night in the campsite at Swakopmund. It was not to be as the lady at tourist information assured me that there was no place to hire equipment in town.

Dejected though staving off the feelings of annoyance by convincing myself that I had no commitments and it really didn't matter what time I got to Sossusvlei, I turned inland onto the C17 and into the desert. Besides it was only 300km to go and sunset would be at 6pm, I'd easy make it before dark.

Flamingos at Walvis Bay

Heading into the desert. 

Sunset came as I drove through a mountain pass, still 200km from Sossusvlei. The road had been so atrocious, cut up by countless heavy vehicles carting salt to Windhoek and Keetmanshoep, that my average speed could not have been more than 50km/h. The slow pace did afford me the opportunity to take in the dry landscape, dotted by skittish Oryx and the occasional Spring buck, but now the sun was gone and my speed dropped to a crawl, still 80km from the nearest town. By 7:30pm I could not take the chattering of my teeth any more and blisters had started to form on my hands from the vibrations in the steering wheel, I turned off at a sign Oase 107, thinking I'd just park up on the side of the road and continue at dawn. It is a strange thing, driving at night through and empty landscape on dirt roads at night, maybe it was my inherent fear of the "dangers" of Africa, but I couldn't bring myself to stop. Finally I came upon what looked like an empty house, with the sign Oase 107 painted on the gate. Just as I had resigned to the fact that I'd be spending the night just outside the gate, a torch shone in my direction.

A safe place for the night.

Stephen and his family (Suzan his wife, Sean and Yoalandi his children) were spending the weekend on his uncle's farm, Oase 107 and invited me to park up and come in for dinner. I found a cold beer in my hand, the promise I'd made to myself not to drink till reaching South Africa giving in to the appreciation of hospitality, and relaxed in the company of my hosts and the comfort in knowing I had a safe place to spend the night.

In the morning Stephen took me on a game drive, the farm's purpose nothing more than enjoyment and its bordering on fenceless nature reserve providing a superb environment to experience the Namibian wilds. To top it off they saw me off with a caffeine kick and directions to the next town via the farm roads to avoid the horrendous corrugated roads of the night before.

A short while later I was sitting in Solitaire enjoy the famous apple pie as enjoyed by the likes of Angelina and Brad, when I heard a grating sound and felt a sharp pain, like biting on a stone. I fished around and spat out an old metal filling, the vibrations from the journey had obviously caused more damage to me than my vehicle.

Tweet

Nomadic in Namibia - Arrival

09/05/2013

Waking bleary eyed to a sky painted in blues, purples and pinks was a delight after the 21 hour bus journey from Livingstone. As we travelled the last hour into Windhoek I watched the purples and pinks fade away to leave a blue sky staring down on a barren, wild landscape. A grin settled on my face along with the thought of photographic opportunities.

Once again I was taught the African lesson that technology is not reliable. I was to phone the car hire I had booked when I got in to Windhoek so that they could pick me up, though my Zimbabwean SIM did not work and it was a public holiday which meant 2hrs of hanging around before shops opened and I could pick up a Namibian SIM. After lugging my bags around long enough to earn myself some back ache I settled for a spot in the sun on a street corner.

James, Child no. 183.

I hadn't completed a page of my book when James sat down next to me. His well spoken manner and clear accent surprised me as did his story. He was one of the Ex GDR Children, child number 183, and told me tails of his life in Germany and repatriation to Namibia where he struggled for identity and subsequently found himself in Sheffield, UK before returning to Namibia to work in tourism. He was delighted to have someone who had been to Sheffield to talk to, I felt naive for not knowing anything about the EX GDR children.

My conversation with James ended as Norbert from Pegasus car hire arrived to pick me up. On the short ride to the office we discussed life in Namibia and compared it to South Africa, a comparison I would soon be witnessing first hand as I travelled the roads in search of scenery. What struck me in our conversation was the contrast between this born and bred, German Namibian and James. For him there was a strong sense of identity, there was no denying he was Namibian and not German despite his heritage. While I enjoyed the conversation, I censored my ideas on peoples' places in this world and inter-racial relations. It wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last time I would censor my views.

A brief stop to pick up provisions for my trip and a car park lunch later I was on the road heading north on the B1. After five hours and two Redbulls I pulled into Tiger Reef campsite where I relished the opportunity to sit outside in the cool sea breeze and enjoy a dinner of Frys veggie burgers before turning in for the night.

Cooking up a storm

Searching for something?

Woken up at sunrise to the sound of crashing waves and seagulls squawking, it only took a few minutes to get the coffee on and enjoy a chat with CJ over breakfast. He had grown up on the Namibian/Botswana border before moving to South Africa where he found himself caught up in the city life working as an IT consultant. After 13 years of hustle and bustle he decided enough was enough and moved back to Namibia. He now lives a far more relaxed existence as a campsite manager in Swakopmund where he says he is far happier and can't imagine leaving. I could see why, with flamingos on his doorstep, conversations with worldly travellers and one of the world's premier speed sailing spots a 45min drive away, it had me thinking whether I would want to return to the corporate world after this little adventure?

Car park lunch

Northbound on the B1

Sunset on the way to Swakopmund

Flamingo lagoon

Tweet