Namibian Oasis
Woken by the smell of coffee, all five of us begin to shuffle out of our respective beds in preparation of the starting day. I’ve never liked coffee myself, but I have always found its fragrance energizing. Its correlation to the morning shuffle simply strengthened by its habitual morning presence.
An orchestra of teeth being brushed and showers being started is accompanied by backpack zippers in search of a clean outfit for the day. It’s still close to the beginning of our trip, so we haven’t reduced ourselves yet to sniffing the clothing that successfully makes it out of the bag; in the hope that it may not poison our companions or any wildlife that is unlucky enough to bump into us. The orchestra begins to settle, and we start making our way down the stairs following a trail of bacon aroma.
“Good morning,” says the friendly voice of our Bed and Breakfast hostess, “the table by the window is yours. Please take a seat and I will be there soon to take your breakfast orders. Feel free to grab tea, coffee, and pastries from the table on the right.” We thank her and obediently follow the instructions.
We settle on our table and begin discussing the plans for the day. This is our second day in Swakopmund, a small coastal city in the west of Namibia characterized by its German colonial architecture. We had decided to stop here in order to visit the Namib desert, considered the oldest desert in the world and, in my biased opinion, the most beautiful one. We had already done some exploration during the previous day, where we went into the desert with a guide and quad-bikes, followed by sand-boarding on the dunes. This was a great experience which allowed us to go deeper into the reddened desert and appreciate its desolate beauty from within. It was also one resulting in many cackles, especially as Bernard accidentally went from sandboarding into the least elegant forward roll I’ve ever seen, making us all subsequently drop to the floor in a roar of laughter.
Our day hadn’t ended there. After our desert experience, covered in sand, we had proceeded to Walvis Bay, another small city situated less than 40 kms from Swakopmund. Here we had a late lunch, followed by watching the sunset on a pier as well as Darren and I getting engaged. This engagement was witnessed by three dolphins, meanwhile our friends watched us from afar. Jaron had spent some time trying to convey what was about to happen to Jade and Bernard in order to extract them from the pier; a task that proved difficult given my presence at the pier and Bernard’s enjoyment of our five-bodied romantic moment.
Today is a free day for exploration, with no particular plan other than maybe seeing one of the nearby shipwrecks, the Zeila.
“So what are the plans for today?” asks our hostess after taking our breakfast orders. She doesn’t have any memorable features that I could describe, other than being very friendly. This, however, is something that, having lived in friendly South Africa for long, we take mostly for granted at this point in time.
“We’re not too sure yet. We might go see the Zeila shipwreck and explore the north of here a bit,” answers Darren.
“Very nice, the shipwreck is quite interesting. Do you want to do something really special that is not common knowledge to visiting tourists?” she asks.
I am not sure what kind of person would ever say no to such an offer, but perhaps such people do exist. We, however, are not those people and are, of course, drawn to an adventure. There was no need for discussion, as the excitement was clearly oozing out of us.
“Yes,” we answer in an unsynchronized choir.
“Great! Drive north on the main road, C34 past Hentiesbaai. You will eventually see on your right the Fisherman’s Inn. You won’t miss it, it’s the only building on the road after Hentiesbaai. Go in there and ask for the Dead Sea.”
“The Dead Sea?” we ask to make sure that we have heard correctly. After all it can’t refer to the actual Dead Sea as that is about 6000 km away, which does not make for a nice day trip.
“Yes. They will give you the directions to get to it, as it is not very obvious. Everyone that I have sent there has come back with an enormous smile on their face. Remember to take swim suits with you.”
We thank her for the recommendation and, with a silent agreement expressed by our glares, finish our breakfast and start heading to our first clue.
***
The road north of Swakopmund is not what one would describe as eventful, but it certainly is mesmerizing. The sea remains on your left, like a loyal companion guiding you steadily towards your destination. The sight occasionally interrupted by the remains of a ship or a decaying carcass. The desert, on the other hand, lingers on the right, appearing equally infinite as it follows you along your voyage, yet remaining completely still.
We had hopped in the car briefly after breakfast and had already passed Hentiesbaai. Just before Hentiesbaai we did our originally intended stop at the Zeila shipwreck, a fishing ship stranded in 2008 while coming loose from its towing line on the way to Bombay, where it would meet its final fate as scrap metal.
Very focused we begin to look for the Fisherman’s Inn, a focus that was soon proven pointless given that, as our hostess had described, it is the only building for kilometers of desert. We park the car and make our way into the relatively empty bar, which is where we saw some movement.
“Hello there, how can I help you?” the bartender asks as she dries a set of beer glasses.
“Hello, we were told to come here and ask for the Dead Sea” I say.
“Ah yes, the Dead Sea.” She brings out a napkin and a pen, and begins drawing as she speaks. “You need to keep driving north. In a few kilometers you will see a white sign. At this sign, turn right and follow the dirt road. You will eventually see a sign that says Dead Sea, which means that you are pretty close now.”
“What does the white sign at the beginning say or have on it?” Jade asks in an attempt to gain clearer directions than the description “a white sign.”
“Nothing, it is just a white sign. You won’t miss it, there is no other. Also, after you have swam there, you will definitely need a shower because of all that salt. We have showers available for the campers which you are welcome to use for ten Namibian dollars per person.”
“Thank you,” we respond, thinking to ourselves that we can deal with getting back to the hotel for a free shower instead, it’s just a longer drive. After all, we had all swam in some sort of sea before, remaining salty for most of the day. We get ready and climb back in the car, excited that we now have our second mysterious clue.
The road north remained the same as it had been after Hentiesbaai, rather bare and straight. Because of this, it was not difficult to spot the so called “white sign,” which was in fact just white with no wording or image on it. We have now gotten closer to it, giving us a chance to inspect it more carefully and notice that it had once been a road sign, which had suffered severe damage from the elements, losing its pigment and rendering it useless to all except those on a quest to the Dead Sea.
Before we turn right into what the bartender called a dirt road, I would like to briefly pause the story to give you a feeling of exactly what you, as the reader, are getting into with the rest of us. You probably think that five people driving around in Namibia obviously have a 4x4, and possibly know what they are doing. Though a 4x4 is not particularly needed for getting between the main cities, it is common knowledge that to do some more adventurous things in the country a 4x4 is highly recommended. However, we were five people in the prime of a quarter-life existential crisis, driving around in an overloaded Hyundai i20, which in Namibia is the equivalent of launching yourself in a luxurious tin can using a catapult to reach the top of a rocky mountain.
We turn right into the dirt road. It is bumpy enough to give you a massage, but not so bumpy that it makes you itchy or your head hurt. The tin can will probably make it. I must admit, that calling it a road is a bit of an overstatement, given that the desert is completely flat, and the “road” is just the less rocky bit with the additional pattern of some tire tracks.
The drive soon leads us through a desert so vast that it drowns you in its infinite longing for moisture. Salt pans shelter the sand, reflecting light throughout the desolate planes, creating mirages of our destination and fooling us along the way. We stop to absorb the beauty and explore the limitless terrain.
Twenty minutes have passed, making us hop back into the car to continue our search for the Dead Sea. The scenery begins to change, appearing to have been ripped apart by a giant. The vastness begins to be polluted with larger rock formations, which seem out of place, yet beautiful in their own way. By now we have been driving for a while and have not yet seen a sign for the Dead Sea. We begin to consider that either we are lost or our destination is much further than we believe the tin can handle. I guess a third unmentioned possibility would be that we have been sent on a wild goose chase, but that would lead to bad online reviews for our bed and breakfast, so it is most likely not something that they would do. We decide to push another 2 kilometers and turn around if we don’t find anything.
I am glad that we pushed through, because not more than 1 kilometer after our decision we finally see the sign that says “Dead Sea” if we can call it a sign. The piece of signage has the words hand-scribbled on it, and might as well be a serviette that someone left there by accident. One can’t even be sure whether the arrow is pointing in the right direction anymore. The label is small and very close to the ground on the right hand side of the so called road. Regardless of all its flaws, it brings excitement into the overloaded car, giving us the final boost to reach our destination.
Not long after having seen the sign, the scenery opens up to our right, revealing what looks like a deep water-filled crater. Finally, the Dead Sea.
We park the car and rush to an exit, running in excitement towards the water. It doesn’t take long for us to remove our clothing and reveal our swim suits. Jade follows this by entering the water first and, once in a deeper section, realizes that she is floating, requiring no effort at all. She begins to bob in the water, giggling and enjoying her new-found salty weightlessness.
The rest of us follow, entering the water in an exhilarating sprint. Even Darren, who hates all water-based activities, enters the crack and joins us in our bobbing festivities. Like children discovering a new experience, we experiment with our new weightlessness, careful to not get any of the salty water into our eyes. Of course, also like children, someone ought to have the need to jump into the salty water to test how far in they will sink before being sprung out. In our case this someone was Jaron, who jumped from a small rock and emerged covered in salty water, silently regretting his desire for such an experiment, as the rest of us glared at him in disappointment.
Approximately an hour and a half has passed and we decide to emerge from the salty waters. Outside of the water we begin to scramble for our clothing and realize that the salt is solidifying on our skin. We model our salty arms like new fashion accessories and continue getting dressed. Suddenly an agonizing choir of “ouch” and “eek” fills the silent desert. The solidified salt pulls at each individual hair on our bodies with even the smallest movement. You don’t realize how many small hairs a body has until each one is being pulled in a different direction. Clothing gets stuck on the grains too, instigating further tugging. In a synchronized thought, we understand why we would need the showers at the Inn.
We climb slowly into the car, making as few movements as possible in an attempt to not instigate further agony. Seat belts hurt, leaning back hurts, almost everything hurts. However, the grins on our faces don’t ache, making every pulled hair worth the invigorating experience. I drive the car back to the Inn sitting almost on the steering wheel in order to avoid the back of the chair.
***
At the Fisherman's Inn we are greeted with smiles as our salt covered faces and stiff bodies make an appearance. We ask to use the showers and pay the required price with South African Rands (the exchange rate is the same and Rands are therefore accepted in Namibia). It’s amazing what a simple shower can do. They must be some of the most powerful tools made, given that they can convert the person shaped block of salt into a sentient human in only five minutes.
Now that we are human again, we’re ready for our next venture into the desert.
CONTRIBUTOR
Kristina Georgieva
Kristina Georgieva is a data scientist and software engineer from Bulgaria, Venezuela, and South Africa, currently living in Berlin, Germany. She writes poetry and short stories (fiction and non-fiction), computational archaeology articles, and software engineering blog posts.
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