They all said that the Sandwich Harbor tour would be among the greatest Namibian must-do experiences. They all said the view of the endless sand dunes plunging into the Atlantic Ocean would be unforgettable and breathtaking. They also said we'd be blinded by the flamingos with their flashes of pink permanently seared into our retinas, and the jackals, seals, and kestrels would only add to the scenery.
I would say they were all right. For the most part.
On a recent gonzo trip around Namibia with my best friend, her parents, and the kids, I included an excursion to Sandwich Harbor, a World Heritage Site located about 80 km south of Walvis Bay. It is indeed a menagerie of all the items mentioned.
However.
We met with our tour guides whose names I have since forgotten. One announced that he hated children. The other saw my passport and immediately started demanding for a visa, complaining about the horrid, limitations Namibia had on offer. I had been in the car for less than five minutes. Onward he drove, skirting the town, into the marshy salt flats, and through reeds taller than the car. Onward, he complained and I continued to ignore, hoping to bore him into silence. Eventually we stopped to view several hundred, electric pink lesser flamingos hanging around a pond that was seasoned with springbok and jackals. We enjoyed the view and pretended these beautiful creatures didn't stink to high heaven.
Into the dunes, the ride became wild and stomach dropping as the guides gunned the engines to climb and curve around the huge piles of sand like a slingshot. I swallowed my barf more than once while the children screamed for more. Our guide stopped at a dune mid-saddle to allow our party to reunite and climb up for the grand finale view, where dunes meet ocean. Everyone made it to the top winded but unscathed, and we enjoyed an unobstructed view for about two minutes. Then the tour competitors arrived like moths to a flame, and out of 20 trucks spilled about 50 people about to do the same thing we were.
Our guides were incensed by everyone's arrival and wasted no time making their anger known to everyone who drove the dunes wrong, or ruined views of pristine sand with "ignorant" sand boarders and sledders. They shouted and cursed in Afrikaans and gestured like New Yorkers. Admittedly, it was disappointing to see so many tours swarm over the land, but when tourism is considered big business, and that the government had recently allowed more permits onto the land, it should have been of little surprise that everyone and their mother would take advantage to make a few bucks.
For the next few moments though, we would be at peace. The guides chose a secluded patch of sand to set up lunch featuring world famous Namibian oysters and champagne. I opted for water and crackers, but hey- I'm glad it was there. The guides ran off to commiserate leaving me to my friends and family. I filmed my best friend's first experience eating oysters and we laughed until we cried.
I guess someone's Casio watch beeped, and time was up. We piled back into the trucks and returned north, driving at a moderate clip along the flat sand banks, dodging sick and dying seals, and past malnourished jackals who were waiting for their chance to eat. Perhaps he was feeling funny, or perhaps he was just a steaming spread of diarrhea, but my guide blurted out, "Normally I drive over the dying seals. Oh, would you mind if I drove over that one just now?"
I suppose there are things you do when it's just "you." I could see his perspective: in his mind, he would be putting the animal out of its misery. But, really man? You want to drive over a breathing speed bump while on a tour with kids in the truck? Turns out he was really and truly asking. I replied, "Sweet gravy man! Could you not? No thanks."
We finally pulled into the sandy parking lot under the gray dreary sky that frequently drapes over the Namibian coast. He helped us out of the car, and asked to exchange emails should the miraculous day come that he could move his family to America. I shook my head and walked away, unable to say anything at all. Unforgettable, indeed.
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| Lesser flamingos. |
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Paired for life.
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Sand duning.
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