Driving Clear Across Namibia

After bidding farewell to Matt and disposing of my exceptionally disagreeable rented Hyundai Atos ("At Hyundai, we believe the driving experience should be at least as pleasant as a prostate exam."), I boarded a British Airways flight to Windhoek (roughly pronounced "vend-hook"), the capital of Namibia. ("Nuh-mi-bee-uh." Four syllables, people.) For regular readers of my blog, you'll notice this is the point where I'd typically say something like "Namibia is known for many things," and I'd follow up with a list of notable items. However, let's face it - that isn't true. Namibia isn't famous in the least, and most people wouldn't have heard of it at all had Angelina Jolie not recently chosen to give birth there. In reality, few people could even find Namibia on a map. Fewer still could properly spell "Namibia," and, among those, I suppose a good percentage would incorrectly pronounce it "Nambia." Most people, in fact, would likely guess that "Namibia" is a brand of diapers for "active seniors."

Importantly, however, Namibia's lack of notoriety is one of its primary charms. Unlike many other places in southern Africa, Namibia feels completely authentic. For one, this is one thirsty country; less than one percent of its land is arable land. The rest is devoted primarily to the country's namesake - the vast and desolate Namib desert. Given the distinctly inhospitable conditions, Namibia is also blissfully devoid of human meddling; with approximately six residents per square mile (2.5 people per square kilometer), the country is the least densely populated on Earth. Namibia is the romanticized version of Africa.

During my short flight to Namibia, I decided to chat up my seat neighbors about a proper itinerary for Namibia, considering I didn't have one. At all. I told them that I'd planned to rent a car and set out to explore the country. Wide-eyed, they solemnly reminded me that one simply doesn't go galavanting about the Namib desert; the desert is vast, it doesn't care for outsiders, and I could easily be stranded for days should I have car troubles. This cleared up any doubts I might have had - I was driving across Namibia! So after a night in Windhoek, and with a stomach full of gemsbok, I took out across the country toward the coastal city of Swakopmund (pronounced "Swa-cop-moond").

I can scarcely articulate the natural wonder that is rural Namibia. As I left the capital, I drove through shrub-covered hills that I could have easily mistaken for the hills of central Texas. As I progressed farther, I drove through unending varieties of desert: gray, rock-littered gray desert; iron-colored desert; massive dune-filled deserts comprised of gently moving sands; flat white deserts complete devoid of flora. I could go on. In short, I was amazed by the variety and beauty of the deserts. All the while, I marveled at the vast African sky above me (example pictured at right). The skies of southern Africa are a rich blue, its clouds take unearthly shapes, and the sun pierces the sky in a way it does nowhere else. I was entranced.

My entertainment options (ie, my Volkswagen's radio) were slightly less enchanting. It didn't take me long to realize that the radio's "seek" function was completely superfluous. The only necessary knob was the power (i.e., on-off) switch; I had the option of either listening to the radio station in Namibia, or not. I decided that I would, and was continually bemused by the content. First, I'd hear an announcer scold Namibians for wasting water ("It's a wonder that I should even have to address our listeners with this issue. Surely everyone knows that we live in a desert and water is therefore quite scarce indeed!"). Then, he'd repeat the same message in German (I presume; for all I know, he could have changed the subject entirely), Afrikaans, and at least one indigenous language. Then, I'd listen to a brief weather report rendered particularly unbrief by the requirement to recite it in at least four languages. And, finally, a bit of music.

Once again, no need for a selection of format; this is, after all, the radio station. No sooner had Britney Spears cooed to me in a fit of lust, I was shocked to hear Texas country band Lonestar profess their love to me before finding myself clapping along to a german Polka song. In fact, much like Americans seated around a parlor radio during the 1930s (so I presume), I quickly became quite satisfied with the one-size-fits-all formula of Namibian radio, and soon began to revel in the least likely forms of entertainment. I was particularly delighted to be serenaded by Tina Turner, who informed me that I am, in fact:

...simply the best, better than all the rest
Better than anyone, anyone I've ever met
I'm stuck on your heart, and hang on every word you say
Tear us apart, baby I would rather be dead

Well, thank you, Tina. You're not so bad yourself. And I must add that, for a woman of your vintage, you've got a really impressive pair of legs. Of course, I suppose anyone would if they'd spent as many years trying to outrun an angry, drunken Ike Turner as you have. I'm sorry, Tina. Was that over the line? Okay; no need to kick me...

After a scant 3.5 hours of desert, I finally arrived at Swakopmund, the self-processed adventure capital of southern Africa. I decided to forego adventure for the moment, however; I needed some food. Delighted to be in a town with an authentic German ancestry, I set out to find some bratwurst and sauerkraut. So, repeating Tina's mantra in my head, I drove into the city center, parked my car, and set out on foot.