Pink Lakes of Walvis Bay

After indulging on a desert tour, swimming in the ocean, visiting the aquarium, eating at massive amounts of fatty, fine food, and going to bed in an exhausted stupor for two days, it was my turn to choose. While I was researching things to do while in Swakopmund, I found a few blogs and travel sites that preached the glory of pink salt lakes located south of Walvis Bay. 

I decided I needed to see these for myself because the photos on the blogs looked ultra filtered and super fake. We drove toward Salt Works, also known as Walvis Bay Salt Holdings. It is Africa's largest salt manufacturer, putting out 700,000 tons of salt every year. 

Fun fact: evaporated seawater, once fully processed makes up a content of 99.4% sodium chloride. Water is pumped from the Walvis Bay Lagoon and dumped on what they call pre-evaporation ponds and concentration ponds. Wind and sun essentially brine the contents of the water to the point where layers crystallization can occur. The layers of crystals get scraped off and transported to a washing plant where calcium sulfate and magnesium are removed before undergoing further washing and drying. Bulk salt then gets shipped locally and worldwide from the Walvis Bay port. 

The southbound D1986 road leads you to the entrance of Salt Works, so if you veer right into the seemingly nothingness of the salt flats, eventually you will drive past the pink salt reserves on the left. 

And, yes. They are as pink as they look on the internet. The large plots of pink, salty, water are sectioned off by grey-brown dirt moats. The water's edges are coated with what looks like sludgy sea foam, but up close are actually salt crystals. I admit, there are one or two signs along the road that say "stay on the road" but I had to get a picture or two, so we stopped just long enough that I could jump out and get some. 

Beyond the salt flats, the road eventually peters out to a beach where people can stand in the wind and watch the ocean. Or maybe they could kayak. Other than that, there is little else out there. Except for birds. Walvis Bay is stuffed with pelicans, cranes, and flamingos, and makes the whole experience twice as pink. And about fifteen times more stinky. Wildlife. What can you do? 

At Pelican Point 

The Little Five of Namibia

Deets likes to say he is a reptile, a reasonable supposition considering that he is president of Snake Town, the place where reptiles rule and pigeons wage war. Mark and I decided that a trip to the coast for a living desert tour would be a good idea. Here we would see the "Little Five" of Namibia: 4 reptiles and a spider. The trip was a surprise, so we picked up the kids from school (a rare treat for them) and headed west to the Atlantic Ocean.

Swakopmund is a very popular tourist destination, but I can't say it is my favorite place in Namibia. The town has a weird feel, it's rarely sunny, and the pale and pipelined moonscape surrounding the town makes my soul feel withered and isolated.  But, there is something to be said about being near the water, and the restaurants here are quite good.

We booked a family room at the Delight Hotel, part of the Gondwana conglomerate chain. The second I walked in, I knew I made the right decision. The hotel is colorful and punchy. The staff were kind. The room was cozy and chic plus they had the softest towels. In a town that was cold and hazy, the hotel was, in a word: delightful. 

Around 8:00 am the next morning our group of 6 adults and 6 kids would pile into the 4x4s of Charly's Desert Tours and take off for the Dorab National Park, a short 60 second drive to edge of town. Seriously, the edge of Swakopmund city life quickly disappears into the sand dunes. Imagine the history this place has buried beneath it.

We didn't have to wait long to find out. While the guides were busy searching for signs of animal life, another guide gathered the group around a long stretch of bleached horse’s bones left over from World War II. True to its name, WWII affected far more than Europe and the Pacific. Bitter, bloody fights raged throughout Southern Africa. Fingers and guns were pointed in all directions. 

The bones show that horses were lined up and shot, perhaps due to malnutrition, perhaps for revenge on the enemy. Either way, propaganda was at a fever pitch and the stories left behind are not easily forgotten. Alas, the guide continued to weave bits and pieces of Namibia’s history, sharing details of the beautiful tribes, traditions, and languages that have shaped the country that it is today.

In the meantime, the scouts were hiking up dunes, looking for tiny indentations in the sand. A small V-shape in the sand indicated a Palmato gecko was resting about 15 cm beneath the surface. Nocturnal, translucent and 6 cm long, these geckos have internal organs that show a beautiful rainbow hue. When agitated or scared, these geckos “puff” themselves up to make them look bigger, though for humans trying to take pictures of them, they are remarkably, still tiny.

In a sloth-like fashion, aNamaqua chameleon meandered through a tangle of low succulent bushes. Its independent eyes scrolled the environment, its tail in a perfect curlicue as it made its summit. Namaqua chameleons are green-brown in color and regulate its body temperature by changing half of its body to a light grey in order to reflect heat. They lay eggs early in life (6 months) and reportedly run much faster than them, despite being sized more than four times bigger.

Fixing his the eyes to the horizon, the guide walked to a long line of broken concrete pyres from the days of inspired trans-Namibian railroad construction (late 1890’s). At the time, engineers forgot to accommodate for high and low tide changes. Since ocean tides are quite powerful and unrelenting, the result for the potential train line from Walvis Bay to Swakopmund was a disastrous one. In fact, the Martin Luther Museum, located on the outskirts of the city, houses a locomotive engine (the Martin Luther Steam Ox) that was ultimately abandoned. For train enthusiasts, it’s worth a visit. Otherwise…

Next to the blocks was a stick stuck in the sand, the next marker for dune life. No more than 4 cm down was the dancing white lady, cartwheeling spider. This venomous creature’s life is more horrifying than the praying mantis: there is a desert wasp that enjoys tracking them down to sting, paralyze, and lay eggs inside the spider so its babies can have a live and cozy food source upon hatching. The spider, when threatened, will escape by rolling up its legs and cartwheel down the dune at a rate faster than the wasp can fly.

Found only by the broken sand trail it leaves along steep dunes, the shovel snouted lizard has a fantastic dance, picking up its feet in a side to side fashion to keep its feet from burning on the hot sand. These lizards bite no matter how big the predator, but when the time comes to escape they will dive into the sand face first and shovel themselves under.

As for the creepiest of all creatures, the sidewinder is considered second smallest of the snakes, maxing out at 30cm long (after the dwarf adder). These snakes blend painfully well into the sand, and feeding on lizards and geckos. The guides have to search for faint S-markings in the sand, which are often covered up by the wind. Be aware of these creatures as their bite is cytotoxic and neurotoxic. That means there is local tissue destruction and nervous system effects. In effect, a bite from one of these will result in something much worse than an owie and a headache. 

Sadly, no sidewinders could be found. We went home snakeless, but Deets did not feel cheated since he was the glorified ringleader of all the kids who ran up and down the dunes, screaming their heads off like tea kettles in response to our lifting of the Cone of Silence when the guides were speaking. 

Wrapping up the tour with a barf worth bang, the guides took pleasure of taking us on a torture rumpus ride up and around the dunes before returning to the tar road. If given the choice to die, I might have taken it. At what point in my life did I turn into an old woman who can't handle a little bit of roller coaster action? We arrived back to the hotel where I immediately crawled into bed like a hungover, flu-ridden, miserable human being who was forced to watch her prize pig disemboweled with a machete. Forty-five minutes later, I was right as rain. 

 

Very green things.

Where I am. 

Delight Lobby

Sherry bar. 

Palmato Gecko

Memories of WWII

An unimpressed looking chameleon.

Paparazzi. 

Cartwheeling, dancing lady spider.

Bird. 

Etosha Road Trip

I'm not sure what I can write about Etosha National Park that other blogs and travel sites haven't already written. The place is simply amazing, there's tons of animals, and tons of driving. As part of Mark's celebratory forty-first, we drove north to Etosha for the weekend, stopping outside the park to sleep at Ohange Game lodge, located ninety minutes southeast of the Von Lindquist (east) entrance of the park. We ate outside under the stars and enjoyed sleeping in orange chalets.

Following that, we spent two nights experiencing what Namibian Wildlife Resorts (NWR) were like inside the park. The NWR company has monopoly on all national parks in Namibia, so you don't have much of choice. They aren't my favorite company because they sacrifice customer service in exchange for proximity. 

Our first night was spent at Onkoshi, perched on the edge of the pan with the lodge and chalets built on stilts. Walking on the suspended boardwalk, it was like we were waiting for high tide to come in. Supplied with a single fan for the room, I worried we would all roast and sweat together, as the temperature that day rose to over 90 F. Thankfully, as soon as the sun went down, so did the temperature, well below 40 F. Interestingly, with all of the dust kicked into the air, the sun and moon sets are gorgeous but without lingering moments of romance. They just set and that's it: they are literally done and dusted. 

On the second night, we stayed at Namutoni in a family room that had side by side shower heads in the recessed bathtub. What seemed like a fun idea of taking a family shower (I'm totally joking. I think...) turned sour when one shower head fell off revealing tatters of saran wrap that was stuffed inside the pipe. At least we had air conditioning and a mini fridge to chill the remaining two beers of our trip. 

In between lodge stays, we were on the road, driving from watering hole to watering hole on an obsessed mission to see elephants and cats. A lot of the animal sightings depend on being in the right place at the right time, so Mark and Margo got luck with a leopard sighting after I successfully whined my way to be dropped off at the lodge. Our friends enjoyed teems of lions at one watering hole, and others got to see cheetahs. It was hard not to be jealous, but I did take solace that we finally got to see more elephants than we could handle, some of which we could smell their breath they were so close. In case you were wondering, they smell bad. 

As a last hurrah in Etosha, Mark elected to drive west out of the park which added on two hours of driving. But we were both keen to see the lesser frequented area, and saw basically nothing. It was the kind of nothing that makes one irritated and grumpy after being on the east side and inundated with wildlife. We blew past anything that wasn't feline, thinking that maybe we'd been in Namibia too long when giraffes or oryx were no longer exciting. Then we saw elephants mating in the bushes, so that helped. The kids logically followed up with "how are babies made?" and immediately regretted asking me that question. 

Ohange Lodge

Kudu

Literally surrounded by wild animals and she's reading a book. 

Onkoshi

Onkoshi

Moon set. 

On the edge of the pan at Onkoshi. 

Among the acacia thorns.

We couldn't' figure out if he was truly stuck or just resting his big head.
After 15 minutes, he extricated himself with moderate struggling. 

Watering hole at Namutoni.

Banded meerkcats at Namutoni.

Black rhino sighting early in the morning. 

Greater Kestrel. 

Emily Goes to Court

This sounds like a brag, but I am friends with one of the Namibian Supreme Court Justices. He and I met several months ago in a writing group that was started by a Fulbright Fellow who taught  at the University of Namibia this past year. Though the fellow has since left the country, the group has managed to stay together much to my pleasure, meeting every couple of weeks to share our stories. One of them introduced themselves as a lawyer. 

Then I came to find out that he wasn't just any lawyer, but a human rights one. Oh- and by the way: a Supreme Court Justice. The words that flow onto his paper tell stories of his clients who were involved in the resistance during Apartheid. They were tortured. Abused. Thrown in jail while he was shunned by family and friends. He was threatened - and not the banal, fist shaking kind of threats.  For years he fought for the underrepresented, winning cases by arguing against the laws that protected no one except the elite. He did was what necessary: sneaking in cameras to gather evidence. He met with clients in the dead of night and under excruciating environmental conditions and surveillance of the police who had all the power. 

He's the kind of guy to think about when you are having a bad day.  He's the kind of guy whose name is David but goes by Dave. He's passionate, humble, damn smart, and kind. I hope that some day  his own story is told. There just aren't enough Daves in this word. 

Last week Dave set me up on a tour of his workplace. We met his law assistant Kema, a lawyer also dedicated to human rights.  She walked us around the monolithic building that was built on a hill facing the center of downtown. Its visionaries chose a Moroccan Riad theme to set it apart from existing German colonial styles around the city: a spacious white courtyard in the middle surrounded by two stories of public, semi-private, and private offices that would oversee the law of the land. Long, rectangular pillared corridors flank the main entrance as if they were embracing the city. They used simple square windows to encourage air passage, and angled vents to reflect the sun away from the interior. The entrance has the judicial articles of the Namibian Constitution etched into the granite. Though the building is imposing and slightly terrifying to walk into, it is open to the public. Anyone can attend court hearings or visit the reading room provided you check in with security. 

Inside, the two courtrooms A & B are bright white with an accent wall at the back center where the Justices sit. The boxy red and pink granite stone from Karibib (a small town west of Windhoek) pay homage to Spitzkoppe, a 120 million year old mountain that rises out of nowhere in the Namib Desert. I sat in the Chief Justice chair and immediately slid off the polished leather. It took a considerable amount of effort to stay put, it was so poofy. I wondered if that was done purpose. To remind the judges of the effort it takes to get there in the first place. 

We passed through the reading room and entered the library which houses hundreds of thousands of newspapers and books. Some of them were from the 1600's, covered in stiff animal hide. A few had broken spines, exposing the painstaking detail of an individual who hand-sewed the pages together. There were law books in English, Afrikaans, German, Italian, Dutch, and Latin. Seeing a sack of brown sugar forgotten on a chair made the place feel a bit more human. 

As part of the grand finale, we were introduced to Dave who stood in his office that was lined with hundreds of more books, some still in boxes from transporting them to his home office, his preferred place of work. Dave walked us through the prestigious judge's entrance into the courtroom and answered questions about cases he'd tried and cases he'd judged. He spoke candidly about his career and the perilous paths it took him. 

Finally, he walked us outside where he shared details about the plants and trees that were planted outside of the building. Dave is 100% Namibian with a huge admiration for horticulture. Most plants are protected because of their uniqueness and important roles in water conservation. For example, the shepherd's tree taproots can extend as deep as 68 meters below the surface. It's a hearty caper family tree whose berries are a key source of nutrition for animals and humans. Plus they can be roasted as a coffee bean substitute. 

At any rate, I am thrilled that he took the time to show us around. The court definitely felt less intimidating afterward. But then again, I wasn't (and hopefully never will be) on trial. Then I think this place would be terrifying all over again. 

Supreme Court of Namibia:
built in 1997. No buildings are
allowed to block the front. 

Courtroom A. 

There's always 3 judges, and sometimes 5.
The acoustics in the room require that presenting lawyers
speak clearly and loudly whereas everyone can hear a pin drop from the bench. 

Fine tuning their book return system.

Books dating back as early as 1664.

Supreme Court Justice Office

Supreme Court Justice Office.
 The Justices are just like real people.

Memorial gardens.

Supreme Court Justice Dave Smuts
 talking about one of the acacia tree variations,
intentionally planted to stay consistent with Namibian landscape. 

The woman who is going to change it all: Kema.

Diamond Processing in Namibia

I always thought that diamonds were a snooty business, especially when people take out their monocles and tweezers to scrutinize imperfections. They do it all over a swatch of black velvet and bright light, determined to see every angle, every sparkle. Diamond people are the ones who won't touch handrails. They wear Italian fashion, get manicures, and carry an alligator skin binder. That, or their assistant does.

It makes sense though. Historically, Greeks once considered diamonds to be the tear drops of Greek gods. Diamonds symbolize power, courage, virility, and love, and especially reserved for royalty. So when I booked a tour to visit Hard Stone Processing, one of Windhoek's smaller but highly competitive diamond dealers, I imagined all sorts of vain snobbery.

The experience was anything but. Greeted by a bespectacled man named Thomas, he was in jeans and a fleece pullover. We walked past the security guard who left his loaded rifle tilted against the chair, the kind we used to set out for church functions at the school gymnasium. Thomas sat us down on a saggy, white leather sectional and handed us a laminated sheet on the four Cs: cut, carat, color, clarity. He explained that in his processing plant, there are two diamond categories: aggregated, which are boxes of unprocessed diamonds that come from Canada, Botswana, and South Africa, and un-aggregated, Namibian originals. Many people want a home town original, he said.

Namibian diamonds are mostly mined from the sea. They washed up there from the Orange River millions of years ago. At some point they returned to the Namibian desert, starting a diamond frenzy back in 1908. (See the Kolmanskuppe blog post for more of that story). Because of this, Namibia one day will run out of diamonds as there are not significant mines within the earth. But for now, the Namibian diamond companies enjoy a prestige that was once kept as a highly guarded secret.

Thomas pulled us into one of his labs, where a technician named Axel was using an ultra-red light laser to project the rock's image onto a computer screen. He too was wearing jeans and fleece. He manipulated the image with a sophisticated software from Israel that plots points on a rough diamond to make future cuts. The technician turned a 2-D image into 3-D like it was no big deal. Between Axel's eyes and the software, he could pick out inclusions that he'd need to compensate for when the official cuts would be made. All this on a cloudy white rock that was no bigger than the piece of gravel I once got stuck up my nose as a child.

Thomas and Axel introduced us to several of his artisans, many of whom had been there for ten years or more. They wore smart, blue cotton uniforms, warmed by portable heat lamps. A few were in charge of the beginning process called bruting where two diamonds are placed on a spinning axle across each other and spun around to give them a round shape. The computer screens on these babies were fresh out of 1984, just like the Macintosh 128K.

Some artisans were assigned to buff the diamonds, a painstakingly patient job that involves micro adjustments to keep the diamond as symmetrical as possible. They use a what looks like record player to smooth the rough parts, a clamp to hold it, and a monocle to inspect. The whole process takes about one hour per diamond.

The last group we visited were the ones creating facets around the circumference of the diamond. Perched on stools, these employees have to have a steady hand and well developed fine motor skills to make the final marks.The problem is, the facet machine can make the diamonds extremely hot and force them to ping out of their holders. Their solution: they built a netted cage to minimize the fly-zone.

One of the most famous cuts HSP does is the Namibian Sun. It's a patented design of the sun on the Namibian flag, a perfect circle outlined by twelve triangular sunbursts. They only use Namibian diamonds and Namibian artisans, and is only available in Namibian jewelry stores.Their first Namibian Sun masterpiece was donated to the First Lady of Namibia. I am not sure if they meant their current First Lady, Monica Geingob, or the succession of First Ladies (there's only been three). Either way, it's one hell of a souvenir.

Crazy enough, after the diamond receives its finishing touches and is ready for shipment, they are placed back into their original container: a folded piece of paper with a sticker on it. By then the paper is thin and gray with smudgy pencil notes. The folded pieces of paper are boxed up and sent to Belgium for further evaluation and grading. I guess that diamond business isn't 100% snooty after all. After all the care and handling these artists do from computers to lasers to tools, I'd knock the snootiness down by at least 20%.

Showing us the future of this rough diamond.

Bruting machine, something
I imagine what a multi-media
modern artist might conjure up.

The old timey way to brute a diamond,
using a foot pedal and wooden dowel.

One of the owners is an
honorary Turkish consul. 

The workspace.

Clamps aka Table Tongs.

The buff girls.

All hail President Hage Geingob.

The facet cage.

Admiring a 2 carat Namibian Sun diamond.