Neuras Wine Estate

Around these parts, if you haven't booked your trips at least 8-12 months ahead of time, you're already too late. Rewind to  four months ago in July. Outside of rustic camping, I wasn't having luck finding a place in or around Sossusvlei for an October road trip with my parents. By chance,  I managed to book two rooms at a winery, about 80km from the sandy dune headquarters after promising the booking agents my children would be fine sleeping on the floor.

WINE. In Namibia.

It's an odd concept to wrap one's head around: the perpetual lack of water, finicky arid soil, and the fact that South Africa gets all the attention for its famous wine, it might seem that Namibia can't hold it's own. Surprisingly, a few wineries have actually made names for themselves here, and that's a very nice feeling.  When we checked into Neuras Winery, I noticed two things: one, concierge walked out to greet us almost immediately. Two, the entire place was fully booked by French tourists. After all, the French do know wine.

Once upon a time,  back in 1894, a German gardener showed up to grow cereals and veggies to feed the Schutztruppe, aka the "protection force" when Germany colonized southern Africa 10 years prior. Let's call a spade a spade: the German military occupied the area and they needed to eat. Apparently this gardener was good at his job and succeeded in cultivating the land, relying on nearby cold water springs, a rare occurrence in the Naukluft Mountains. The land was handed down/bought out through the years, and in 2001, the first bottles of wine were produced. A famous wildlife  conservation group named N/a'an ku se bought the property and integrated cheetahs, leopards, and brown hyenas into the landscape as well. Today, the Neuras Estate does just that: they make wine  and manage wildlife. They currently have 5 cheetahs on the property, along with a few domestics: horses, geese, goats, and a peacock.

Of course, like all places in Namibia, the landscape is gorgeous. We took a sundowner "game drive" to nearby Honey Canyon. Once we reached the view point, our guide pointed to well-used foot trails where Hartmann mountain zebra "would be" had they actually not moved off the land in search of water. According to our guide, this canyon was named by the San who followed their own paths to locate bee hives. The canyon is surprisingly colorful, stuffed with brown-red commiphora plants (they have a camphor scented resin), tall yellow grasses, and dark brown twiggy herbs that are shaped like tiny mitre (pope) hats. Incidentally, the latter bloom a lovely green color when watered- so we snapped off a few twigs to see for ourselves. It worked.

After admiring the plants, rocks, and sunset, we stopped by a well hidden bat cave to see them fly out at night. There was a group already there descending the flimsy metal ladder with iPhone flashlights in hand. Ironically, their guide sat at the edge as he dangled his feet over the entrance, commenting how he never did, and never would enter the cave under any circumstances. Our guide enthusiastically agreed with him, and casually mentioned we'd be more than welcome to go down ourselves with nearly 100% darkness. Thanks, but been there done that. Needless to say, Deets was NOT pleased with any of us. A few bats flew out of the crevice and that was that.

As far as Neuras Estate goes, it's a great place for kids and adults. We ended up with a 3 bed room, so no one had to sleep on the floor. Our towels were gigantic and the toiletries were my favorite Namibian brand, Desert Secrets. No air conditioning, but the rooms were plenty cool with a fan to induce white noise for our snoring party of four. Neuras has animals, penned in the "Cuddle Corner" near reception, and there's a pool, but the kids spent most of their time hanging out by the pond which is surrounded by tall bamboo and low hanging trees filled with weaver's nests. It was considerably cooler there than any other shaded place. Whenever the kids weren't there, they were getting spoiled rotten with attention by the staff who took them into the kitchen, behind the bar, played with them, and answered every single question asked. This alone made the trip awesome.

Lastly, the wine. It's good. More than good, really. It was excellent. They were smooth and clean, and imminently drinkable.  We signed up for a wine tasting and cheese plate (which we demolished) one afternoon, while the kids ran off to play. The only disappointing thing is their variety: they only bottle Shiraz and a triple blend (Shiraz, Merlot, and Petit Verdot). They have no whites, pinks, or bubbly, and the staff was uncertain of plans to make more. Plus, the bottles retail for more than I'd want to pay, compared to South African prices (we spend about 10-12 USD/bottle.) Each Neuras bottle sells for about N$250 (18 USD). No worries. We drank with enthusiasm and enjoyed quality family time down to the last drop. After all, "we are all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine."

Stay here, drink here: http://www.neuraswines.com/

Honey Canyon.
Credit: Mark

Honey Canyon, commiphora plant

Zebra tracks, Honey Canyon

Bats, Honey Canyon
Credit: Mark

What a difference water makes. These are the broken twigs of the
seemingly dead herb from Honey Canyon,
I've since nicknamed: Mitre Plant

Exploring the pond, Neuras Estates

Joshlyn, one of the many excellent
employees at Neuras. Credit: Deets 

Peacocks lose their feathers every two weeks.
Credit: Deets

Dias Point, Luderitz

How windy is Dias Point really? Turns out: very. Based on several recommendations by fellow travelers, we set off to visit Namibia's windiest point, a teeny peninsula 19km south of Luderitz named Dias Point. I figured it would be a great opportunity to dust off the sand that collected in our pockets from Kolmanskuppe, and to bask in the glory of the Atlantic Ocean waves crashing against the merciless, rocky beach.

The dirt road is pleasant, but curvy enough that careless speed could ruin the journey, as the barren clay covered terrain rises and falls without pattern. Before we turned right to Dias Point, we watched a slew of cars continue south, following signs to Grosse Brucht, a popular yet particularly frigid swimming cove. I considered this briefly, but I prefer my beaches isolated, rocky, steep, tree lined, snow capped...actually, my perfect beach is a mountain.

We arrived to our destination: a camping area to the right, a red-roofed bar to the left, and a tall stone cross marking the spot where Portuguese navigator Bartolomeu Dias placed his own victorious slab of rock in 1488. It was placed in honor of King John II of Portugal upon Dias' return from the southernmost tip of Africa. He was the first known European to have reached the Indian Ocean from the Atlantic. The original rock has since disappeared, but the spot remains a national monument.

Stepping out of the car we noticed immediately that it was quite windy. I took a minute to read a dilapidated sign indicating we use caution near the bridge and staircase. No doubt: the wooden causeway was a total disaster, hanging on for dear life while water endlessly dumped over the slabs of wood. The thickly rusted metal "hand rail" was unstable, swinging disdainfully in many sections, forcing all of us to stoop low, one hand on a child and other on the stairs to avoid getting blown off. It would have been so satisfying to have a anemometer to see just how fast the wind raced past us, but I had to settle on watching Mark lean into it. The kids chose to hide behind the barricades, with tears of adventure (not fear, I swear!) streaming down their cheeks.

The view up on Dias Point is fantastic: huge ocean waves, endless rocky coast, oblivious Cape fur seals snoozing on an island, and a wide blue sky. We enjoyed it long enough to take a picture, and crept down to safety for more exploration. The beach here has zero sand, but millions of rocks and seashells along the cove. The kids helped me collect about 40 pounds worth of shells, sponges, rocks, and bones. I have no idea what we will do with them, but at the time, the mass collection seemed totally necessary.

With the windy and cool weather, it was easy to forget about the sun diligently shining down. I finally looked up from my searches, realizing we'd spent over ninety minutes on the beach and each of us desperately thirsty. Even better, I realized no one had started a fight, no one whined, no one complained- that "no one" being me. We walked over to the bar for some refreshment before driving back into town. 

Before we totally left Dias Point, Mark wanted to take picture of an isolated house opposite the peninsula. I had totally forgotten we could see flamingos, and he happened upon a duo on the shore. They took flight, completing his shot in the most perfect way. 

Heading to the Point

Yes. Still windy. 

The causeway.

You too, can have THIS much fun at Dias Point. Photo credit: Mark

Seal corpse

Flamingoes! Credit: Mark

Namib Wild Horses

The idea of wild horses is one thing: a romantic and untethered experience. Seeing an actual wild horse is... well exactly like seeing a regular horse. During our stay the Klein Aus Desert Horse Inn (700km south of Windhoek), I pined to be that rare individual who'd get to see horses tearing through the rocky desert, or enjoy them walking right up to the car window to eat an apple- some people get all the fun. But, I had to settle on watching them stand stock still, and from a very far distance. The theories of how Namibian wild horses came about though, are quite interesting, according to the lodge's poster presentations.

One theory stems from the time of WWI when South African troops were stationed in Garub, an area with a single borehole in the Namib Desert. Today's map shows Garub is located 15 minutes west from Aus. Something like ten thousand soldiers and six thousands horses loitered here between 1915-1925, next to the railway extending from Karasburg to Luderitz. South Africa had sided with the British, whereas Germany was fighting against them (against Russia, France, and Belgium as well) which meant inevitably, even in Namibia, Germans would fight against South Africa.

German forces bombed the heck out of Garub destroying camps and fences, sending the people and horses to run for their lives. Such madness ensured several hundred if not thousands of horses escaped into desert-clad mountains.

Theory two was based on a man who had a horse stud farm south of Aus in an area called Kubub. This German stud farmer, Emil Kreplein was also once the mayor of Luderitz from 1909 to 1914. Kreplin bred horses for the diamond mines and racehorses for Lüderitz, but during WWI, Kreplin was held as a prisoner with the South African troops. During this time, his farm went unsupervised and fell into disrepair. Horses escaped and went in search of food, eventually making their way to Garub, the place with an established waterhole. 

Perhaps it was there, that the stars aligned and Kreplin's horses mixed with the escaped South African horses and started a life of unbridled banditry in the wild desert. And, because of the restricted area (diamond country) extending 100km inland from the Atlantic Ocean, the horses were, and have been essentially isolated and protected. It been drought that has constantly been the biggest issue for the horses' longevity. There's an estimated 150 Namib Desert Horses at this time.

How can you tell which horses are wild and which aren't? Unless you are a horse expert or in the specific Garub area, it's hard to tell with 100% certainty. In 2001, genetic tests "indicated that Namib Desert Horses are one of the most isolated horse populations in the world, with the second-lowest genetic variation of all horse populations that have been studied to date," according to Wikipedia. Most of them are brown or chestnut colored and some have a darker midline stripe extending to the tail. The are capable of traveling large distances in search of food, and rarely play in efforts to conserve energy. The horses are accustomed to tolerate a certain amount of dehydration, a big and necessary advantage compared to domesticated horses. 

On the way back from Luderitz, we detoured to the Garub watering hole. We found 6 ostriches skirting the landscape, and about 30 tourists silently watching the empty watering hole, binoculars clasped tightly in their hands or camera lenses poised for magnificence. No horses would be seen on this particular day, so we left the patient spectators and saw a group of horses sauntering on the railroad tracks a bit further up. Maybe they were wildlings, maybe not- but knowing their history did leaving me feeling these guys are tough SOBs living in the desert, no matter what type of animal you are. 

More reading: http://www.gondwana-collection.com/blog/index.php/tag/garub-water-source/

http://www.wild-horses-namibia.com/social-structure/

Garub watering hole, in the middle of nowhere.

World's loneliest watering hole.

Hey girl.

Kolmanskuppe: the Parade of Homes for Namibia

When I was a child, my mom enjoyed going to the Parade of Homes, an event where people could pay money to gawk at fancy new houses filled to the brim with the latest taste in art and themes. Apparently it's been a popular past-time for many folks since 1949. She told me she liked going to get decorating ideas, but our house decor never really changed. I think the Parade of Homes is a cool idea, but since the houses were all new, they felt sterile and without a story to tell.

With my parents here for a visit, I thought I would do a likeness and take them to Kolmanskuppe, a town just outside of Lüderitz that was once filled with grandiosity, now a legitimate ghost town slayed by high winds and literally, tons of sand.

The story began in 1908 when a railway worker (Zacharias Lewala) found a diamond while working in the area. He showed it to his boss, a Swiss railway inspector named August Stauch. His name would be forever attached to the discovery and wealth, not so much for poor ol' Z. When August realized the sandy area was stuffed with diamonds, he and a buddy bought 75 acres of land and claimed the diamonds their own. According to the guided tour we attempted to stay with, (his speech was eerily similar to Wikipedia's) the diamonds came from the Orange River and washed into the ocean over millions of years ago. Waves and wind eventually brought them back into the Namib Desert, an area that fills 81,000km² of the country from stern to stem, along the entire western edge.  

When August claimed his fame, the diamonds weren't secret for long. A diamond rush set in, and the German government took over the area quickly, enforcing rules, regulations, and taxation fees. Ludertiz enjoyed a six year economic boom until 1914, when it all went to pot with World War I and the Great Depression. Mining continued for a few more years until bigger and better opportunities were found 270km further south... Kolmanskuppe was eventually abandoned in 1954.

During Kolmanskuppe's more lively time, German housing quickly sprung up. Headquarters was the Goerke Haus, home to the diamond mining director. The house was built like a Bavarian castle with a high stone foundation, rounded mural walls, thick brown trim, and a stately clock tower. The house contained a 9-pin bowling alley, a casino, theater, a massive kitchen, and other assorted rooms with wide ceilings and old timey, exposed electricity fixtures that reminded me of Frankenstein's time on the table.

As for the rest of the town, there was a school house, an ice factory, hospital, blacksmith shop, and bathrooms once equipped with luxurious bathtubs. How they managed decent plumbing in the middle of the desert, I am unsure. Regardless, with nonstop wind and oatmeal colored sand constantly shifting across the barren landscape, the residents had to keep most activities inside. 

Whatever happened to August? Like most romantic tales go, his fortune's worth depleted with economic decline, forcing him to return home to Switzerland where the poor man died from stomach cancer in 1947.

Nowadays, Kolmanskuppe is a popular and worthwhile place to visit. The entrance fee covers the English or German speaking tours, but unless you have bionic hearing, it's better to find the details in a book or ask the souvenirs shopkeeper. Besides, the best part is wandering from building to building where you are at the mercy of broken glass, rusted metal, and splintered wood. Enter through a door, leave by a window: there's basically no rules and 100% of the rooms are filled with sand drifts. Each room tells a story, with peeling paint, caved in ceilings, fingerprints on the windows still standing. 

You can buy the early bird photography pass to enter the gates at sunrise (and leave at sunset) which promises three things: really cool shadows and lighting, and fresh, untouched sand drifts. But really, Kolmanskuppe is another place that's easy to take a decent picture no matter your skill. The kids were in heaven, swimming in sand and darting through the hallways like monsters of the night. They played hide and seek, made sand angels and made up stories of who once lived in the "pink room" or the "turquoise room." 

We left Kolmanskuppe windblown and with about ten extra pounds of sand in the car, but the adventure itself more than made up for it. Beginners tips: 1. You can buy your ticket at the gate OR buy them head of time at Lüderitz Safaris and Tours in the town of Lüderitz. The saleslady we bought ours from was super crotchety and annoyed we bothered her on a Sunday morning. 2. Sunglasses are a godsend- if not for the sun, but the windy conditions. 3. Kkip the tour unless you are really into that sort of thing. 

Go to Kolmanskuppe's official website: http://kolmanskuppe.com/ for hours and contact info. Call them if you want to get an actual answer from an actual person. Otherwise, send an email and never hear from them at all.

Snakes in Namibia

It goes without saying that Namibia’s wildlife doesn’t always stay out in the wild. From time to time, it creeps into the cozy, quiet suburbs, with real potential to create a ruckus; mayhem; even brouhaha. Perhaps a snake is spotted near the pool sunning itself. Maybe it’s luxuriating on the cool ceramic floors, or maybe it’s cozied up in the shadows of a closet. 

Lucky for us, we've only had garden variety snakes pass through our yard, skimming across rocks while chasing lizards. Whereas, our neighbor recently found a legitimately dangerous snake in his yard: a puff adder, a snake ubiquitous to Namibia. I'd like to say the situation ended well with the snake safely relocated, but the photographic evidence of splattered snake innards told me otherwise.

Brown, fat, and squatty with a skinny tail, the chevron marked puff adder is a crabby bugger that doles out a crazy painful bite if provoked. Furthermore, untreated bites (usually in the case of people living in rural conditions without medical access,) people will die about 50% of the time from shock as well as hemolytic, coagulopathic, and hemorrhagic responses to the venom. If they are lucky, the victim gets away with only tissue necrosis and severe edema requiring extensive skin grafting.

It's easy to see then why people are so hell bent on total elimination of snakes especially when humans are psychologically wired to be wary of dangerous creatures. They are part of a “legacy of our distant primate past, when the animals posed one of the greatest threats to our survival.” In fact, scientists think they’ve even pinpointed the exact spot in our brains that alarms us to present danger: the pulvinar, which processes the images the eyes capture into a series of signals, and allows the ability to sharpen our attention to the particular danger-filled object, such as a snake. This small part of the brain is part of the thalamus which is sort of a sensory processor. Simply put, it helps us hone in on perceived danger. Interestingly, the pulvinar also plays a significant role in diagnosing Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, or CJD. On MRI, the pulvinar lights up like a fun house in patients with CJD which is a an incurable and rapidly degenerative brain disorder.

During a visit to N/a'an ku sê Sanctuary, the kids, Mark, and I participated in a snake education session that would cover the basics of snake safety along with a snake-show-and-tell, presented by one of Windhoek's premiere snake catchers: Francois Theart. When I made the reservation, I had spoken directly to Francois who was clearly passionate, educated, and driven in the field of herpetology; a man who I pictured would be a bearded, sixty year old professor wearing a button down safari shirt and shorts. Instead, we got a petite, Red Bull chugging, 26-year-old in baggy jeans and tinted glasses, who had taught himself everything there is to know about snakes. I loved everything about him.

For over an hour, Francois presented the crowd with an incredible amount of snake information: their habitats, their reproduction, their behaviors and mannerisms. He spoke at length about the apparent lack of anti-venom protocol in local hospitals and the profound costs associated with inaccurately administering an  expensive and toxic medicine. It makes sense when you think about it, but not all snake bites require the same treatment. Some bites don't require anti-venom at all, but instead could require skin grafting and wound treatments, like with a mild puff adder bite or a copperhead. He had been collaborating with international and professionally trained snake experts to create a standard operating procedure for handling anti-venom, an arduous project that should be (excitingly) finalized in coming weeks.

Francois' biggest soap box however, was trying to allay fears that 99.9% of the time, snakes want nothing to do with humans. They aren't looking for a fight at all, using their defense mechanisms as a last resort. I could see his point when he put a puff adder down at this feet in the snake pit. Pissed as she was, we could hear her hissing from 8 feet away, but she kept circling away from his reach.

Francois showed us a zebra spitting cobra, where I learned that any snake with "spitting" in its name has 90% accuracy for spitting venom towards the victim's eyes, resulting in partial or permanent blindness. This particular snake's head was shoved in a clear tube while Francois held onto the tail. Clearly, he wasn't taking any chances. Putting that one safely back into his plastic shoe box, Francois whipped out another snake of vague grey-brown color. It seemed anti-climatic after the zebra cobra's impressive black and white rings, but the grand finale (at least for the adults) was seeing the black mamba.

Black mambas are legendary for a very good reason: Death from a mamba bite is 100% certain without prompt and careful administration of anti-venom and resuscitative support, within 40 minutes, according to Francois. He admitted that his first (and so far only) snake bite was from a black mamba, ironically not in the bush, but at Hosea Kutako International Airport. As a famous snake handler, he was called in to manage the situation, but the mamba ended up biting him in the hip. 

I was eager for more details on the events that followed, but he wouldn't elaborate on anything else. Sometimes snake handlers are a real buzz kill. Anyway, these skinny gun-metal colored snakes have black mouths (thus their name) and are crazy long, reaching lengths up to 12 feet. Like with the others, Francois handled the mamba with a snake hook, having to readjust its wandering head from coming into arm's length. He held his own, but I could see the hesitation and respect he had for this animal. I can't imagine how he managed to speak while the mamba was out in the open.

Sure, the children thought the experience was really cool, but Francois brought down the house when presented a ball python for them to pet. In an instant, all fears were gone as pairs of tiny, eager hands ran down the python's skin. This snake was brought to Francois after police confiscated it from an unlicensed individual. Apparently in Namibia, special permits are required for all exotic animals, including snakes. So the ball python has more or less become the N/a'an ku sê Snake Experience's mascot. I commented that I know someone from the States who has used a ball python as a form of animal therapy for her children. He thought this was 100% awesome because ball pythons for some reason, have a calming effect to most people who interact with it. I wonder if insurance would ever cover that type of therapy? Probably not, but I like the idea.

How to deal with snakes:

We know to stay calm (good luck with that- I know I will be a shrieking mandrake if I ever see a snake in my home) as most snakes will flee immediately if they see you. If opportunity warrants, take a photo and for those up for a challenge, make it a selfie too. Identification is always good and really, who doesn’t love a good snake story accompanied by proof? When out hiking, as a good rule of thumb, avoidance is always a fine idea and give snakes wide berths on the trails. Oh and by the way, spray products such as Snake Be Gone or Snake Repel are totally useless.

To avoid snake bites, wear long pants and boots. Take care when collecting firewood, especially in low light. Always watch your step when hiking over rocks and logs to avoid a surprise ambush, and avoid dreamy strolls through tall grass.

Should worlds collide and you do get bitten, medical attention is of utmost importance, particularly if the snake is unidentified. Quickly remove any jewelry and constricting clothing and try to keep the victim still to keep the heart rate and circulation from rising. Whatever you do, do not cut the skin near the snake bite, nor attempt to suck the venom out. Tourniquets are a bad idea, as is application of ice or hot water. 

It's most important to self-educate.  Take the time to learn “what’s living where” because the dangers in Namibia are certainly different from those in South Africa. So where to look? Part of the "Environmental Information Service of Namibia", the website "Atlasing in Namibia" has a useful database of local species, where users can document, map, and photograph sightings around the country. This includes resources on not just snakes, but mammals, amphibians, birds, and plants too.  Or  you can check out the African Snake Bite Institute, for free downloads and education material. This site was developed by a well known South African snake expert named Johan.  

Of course snakes of Namibia have their own Facebook page. These days, who doesn't? Actually, the page is more like a public support group with the intention of educating the public on identifying dangerous snakes versus the non dangerous. The FB page contains "what is this?" of snake photos, plus documents on first aid, and details for snake catchers within the country - a handy tool for when not only ophidiologists (snake studiers) but people with ophidiophobia (fear of snakes) as well. For non FB people, Instagrammers can search #snakesofnamibia for some gnarly snake close ups. The photos I took at N/a'an ku sê were nothing short of sad. They were blurry and uninspiring, but the trip was still worth it and I can confidently identify what is a snake to what is not. Ha ha.

Will I have any Snake Experience takers for future visitors to Namibia?

Puff Adder, fat and VERY unhappy

Francois and the Zebra Spitting Cobra

Blurry black mamba but you get the idea of length.

A black mamba's head has a tell-tale coffin shaped head. Coincidence?

Petting the ball python. 

http://www.the-eis.com/atlas/?q=photo-guide-to-snakes

http://www.africansnakebiteinstitute.com/

https://www.facebook.com/groups/187156948143224/

The C28: Windhoek/Swakop Route

When we went on the C28 road, it was from Swakopmund to Windhoek, the opposite direction of how I ended up writing this blog. Really, the C28 was so fun and diverse that we are planning to drive to Swakopmund in coming weeks for the sole reason to drive it again. With extra barf bags and snacks that don't smell gross when they are barfed up again...

____________________________

If someone tells you to take the C28 road to/from Swakopmund, take it. Sure, it tacks on a few extra hours of driving, (even though it's technically shorter than the B1/B2) and is 90% dirt road, the sense adventure and epically gorgeous landscape make up for it. That's all of Namibia though, isn't it? 

C28 starts off as Sam Nujoma Drive in Windhoek, a street named after the country's first president. The fine, smooth pavement leads out of the city, past Daan Vijoen Reserve, and into the Auas mountains. Asphalt turns to dirt and the road compliments its winding self with your first views of Windhoek aloe plants standing in groups like "zombie sentries." A beautiful cooperative community has set up shop off the left hand side, complete with a sparkling white church and schools. When everything is so dry and vast, it's always a pleasure to see functioning and thriving life beyond the city.

Further in, the abandoned Liebig House stands alone on top of a hill with stern "forbidden entry notices" at the gate. Set on a stone foundation, faded yellow paint, rusted roof, and busted out windows, the house was obviously once extravagant. Built for farm managers of the Karl Liebig Company back in 1912, the house boasted a skittle-alley (German bowling) and the farm also had a school, shop, and post office. Cattle farming was only part of the Liebig company. According to Namib-web, the man himself, Justus von Liebig invented meat extract prior to the house being built. He had the mindset to provide alternative nutrition for those who could not afford meat. He named it after himself: Extractum carnis Liebig. Today we know it as Bovril, a red capped jar that is oddly stored next to Vegemite, a vegetarian yeast extract in the supermarkets. 

Through the years, the Liebig house went through other owners: a British secret agent, the South African Government, and Namibian photojournalist Margaret Courtney-Clark owns it now.

Not long after the Liebig house is a small four-room fort that was built as a German outlook post, but really, ended up being a place for soldiers to sleep off their hangovers. The sign at the base of the hill infers the same thing, and you can walk into the fort itself. Watch out for snakes though, because the grass is tall and untended.

Eventually, after a hundred more ups, downs, curves, and a region change from Khomas to Erongo, Bosua Pass peaks out at 1,728m (5,669 ft). There's two cool things to see here, and two not-so-cool things. First, there's a sign and map of the Kuiseb Ephemeral River Basin. Second, behind a pile of boulders is an open-air toilet. Obviously the view is cool, but what's not cool is that the toilet is a bottomless, rusted oil drum guaranteed to give you tetanus, and there's discarded toilet paper everywhere.

Moving down the backside, the landscape changes yet again. But, it's hard to describe: darker, greener, and definitely more vast. The road eventually flattens out, cuddled between two parks, Tsaobis Nature Park and Namib-Naukluft Park. There's no more fences to keep out the animals who will undoubtedly run across the road: oryx, springbok, and giraffe, to name a few. The birds get impressively bigger. On any particular day you may drive past a wake of lappet-faced vultures or a solitary kori bustard. Do animal sightings ever get boring? Not a chance.

Along the way, there are several detours of choice. Namibia Accommodation.com has a map to show what's beyond the C28. They are enjoyable because of their variability: hills striped with geological history, dolomite pillars that look not unlike the Organ Pipes in Kunene/Erongo region, sacred Welwitchia plants, and the eye-popping moonscape. If you do take the detours, remember to pick up a Namib-Naukluft Park permit to keep your travels on the up-and-up.

Finally, when the hills settle and you meet up with the above-ground pipeline, know that the end is near. Bland brown dust coats everything and it feels like the terrain deserves a few ostriches. While it is unlikely to see ostrich, you may enjoy cyclists suffering exercising, or sky divers floating in the wide open space. Dirt turns into pavement and the first signs of city life let you know that the next adventure is up: Swakopmund.

The co-op community's church and school buildings.
About an hour west from Windhoek.

The Liebig House was also haunted.
Must be one thirsty ghost way out here.

Von Francois Feste Monument

Bosua Pass toilet. The seat faces north, so it's not very feng shui.

Back side of Bosua Pass

Gnome-like rocks, as if they've been waiting for you all this time. Creepy.
Somewhere on the C28.

One of the ten vultures we saw taking flight.

Desert adapted giraffes.

Sweaters, Sand, Salt, Ships, and Seals in Swakopmund

Here in Windhoek, Namibia, we routinely get asked if we have been to Swakopmund or Luderitz yet. (Or, the Caprivi region, the Zambezi region, Etosha, Erindi, Sossusvlei, and about a hundred other must-see locations.) As non-beach people having lived on the beach for two years in Brazil, we weren't rushed to visit the beach, but acquiesced after dealing with confused faces of why it hadn't happened yet after one year of living here. We took a quick road trip to Swakopmund, one of Namibia's favorite coast towns last weekend. Due to veld fires (wild fires) the week prior, Windhoek had been congested with ash and haze that blocked out the sun and endless blue sky. We figured the timing was good to get fresh ocean air and do some fancy camping.

Getting to Swakopmund via the short route means driving on paved 2-lane highways for an estimated 3.5 hours. Add on another 60 minutes depending on how many semi trucks are on the road. It was an uneventful arrival and setup at our grassy campsite, and extremely cold (by Namibia standards, we have been here a year after all) with the low hanging humidity.  I had all my layers on, while Margo drenched herself with a forgotten sprinkler and Deets ran around in shorts, as usual. Night came quickly and by 8pm we were all huddled in our sleeping bags. 

By 6am all of us were wide awake, so the kids packed up their suits and towels, insisting they'd be swimming and fighting waves by 7am. The thing about Swakopmund water is that the Benguela Current swirls north from Antarctica making the water quite cold with biggish waves crashing against the shore. Rich in nutrients, it's a happy place for oysters to grow uncharacteristically fast, but not ideal for swimming, especially for a pansy-pants like myself. The Benguela is so important for Namibia, South Africa, and Angola that they created their own commission to preserve the precarious balance of sustaining the ecosystem and industries for fishing, diamond mining, and oil and gas extraction.

Like the sky, the water was grey and drab and no one was going to swim, so we went in search of coffee. The town certainly has a personality, but it's not one that wakes early. The only people we saw that morning were fishermen heading to the pier. We walked past mismatched architecture: 80's mod, deco, gingerbread, colonial, concrete fab, all tossed with ominous German war memorials that were stained with red paint. We saw the 1903 striped lighthouse used to warn sailors of the treacherous Skeleton Coast as far out as 20 miles at sea and a few taunting museums that wouldn't open for at least three more hours. A bloody Mary, espresso, and hot chocolates later we passed through a few touristy streets stuffed with souvenir and ice cream shops before making our way back to the campsite to get out of dodge and checkout Dune 7, south of Swakop on the C34, the country's highest dune at 1,256 feet. 

Dune 7 is pretty cool. There's no entrance free to pay, takes 15-20 minutes to climb/crawl to the top and its yellow sand is extremely photogenic. The trash there however, is not cool. We hiked past too many discarded bottles, cans, and grocery bags blowing in the wind. I pocketed some trash to feel better about it, but with an unattended park entrance, bus loads of visitors, and zero trash cans around, the gesture was fruitless. So we made a few sand angels, took nerdy photos, and ran down the dune to drive north of Swakop.

The C34 also takes you north to Cape Cross. Beyond, the road ambles further to Torra Bay and Mowe Bay where the desolate, unloving terrain of the Skeleton Coast rules over everything. To go beyond these places, you need things like permits, a guide, guts, jerry cans and your own water to gain entry. I dream of making this trek with the family one day.

Anyway, this crunchy dirt road has plenty to see. We visited the 2008 Zeila fishing trawler wreck, a boat destined to India to be used for scrap metal. Instead, it met its fate after the Zeila came loose from its tow line shortly after leaving Walvis Bay. If felt like the middle of nowhere until vendors swarmed the car with offers of colorful rocks, makalani palm nut keychains (sold at a premium), and a look-at-it seal skeleton laid out in the sand. I still can't figure out where they were hiding.

Onward, we drove past snow white salt pans, their factories, and lone road side stands selling chunks of pink salt. Up here it's the honor system, each stand with its own slotted plastic jar. I squealed with delight over this, and pretty much squeal about it now even though both kids all but eat their personal salt licks. Beyond that was the original spot where Diego Cao claimed the land for Portugal back in 1486, and Cape Cross where Cape fur seals live in the thousands. The grunting and the bleating and the smell was just SO spectacular as we walked upon the walkway made of 100% recycled plastic. Really though, we watched seals nap, fight, nurse, walk, play, and swim. Their sheer quantity stretched in both directions along the rocky coast. As far is grand finales go in Namibia, this was spot on. 

Mindful of our 5:30 dinner reservation at new brewery, we headed back for a final night in Swakopmund before blowing our minds a second time on the alternative road we took back home: the legendary C28...

Sweaters in Swakopmund. 

I will never understand bathrooms
with lighthouse themed decor.
Or any other room for that matter.

Sand angels. 

Deets right before he tripped, landed on his head,
 and rolled down the rest of the way.
No child was injured during this session of dune running.

Piles of sodium chloride drying in the sun. 

Zeila Shipwreck 

Cape Cross chillin' 

Two birds with one stone: naps and nursing. 

Pick your own!