Anna xo

As of today, Nilikuta Shani is moving to a new and better website! Everything from this site has already migrated over, except my readers

The new site is: http://www.nilikutashani.com/

The new site will enable me to expand and take advantage of new features. I will still be posting regular accounts of my travels, but there will be fun extras as well. It is up and running now and new posts will start appearing shortly.

Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! ~Anna xo

All packed up and ready for the move!

View from the top of the mountain

Heading south from Sossusvlei, Namibia, we spent the night on the border between Namibia and South Africa—first in Fish River Canyon, and then on the banks of the Orange River in South Africa. By this time travel exhaustion had gotten the better of me and I decided to take a break from everything—jotting down notes, taking photographs, etc; I just wanted to enjoy a few days without any distractions.

Crossing into South Africa I was pulled aside by the immigration officials—they looked at my previous three tourist visas and my volunteer work visa, and queried why I was returning and whether I had plans to leave. I assured them that I was merely a tourist and had to scrounge through my backpack to produce my onward travel plans. With my passport finally stamped I crossed the border and had this odd sensation that I was home. I guess even though South Africa was a home away from home for me, I had spent a considerable period of time here and had grown accustomed to everything South African. After spending so much time throughout southern and eastern Africa, to arrive in one piece with all of my belongings was a great relief. On to the Cederburg mountains then!

We’d be stopping off in the mountains for some hiking, wine tasting, and general regrouping before the final push towards Cape Town, and the end of the trip (has it really been 6 weeks already?!?). The Cederburg area is gorgeous—San rock art can be seen in more than 2,000 sites, and there are dozens of hiking paths through the roughly 100km stretch of mountains.  Instead of following one of the many walking trails up the mountains, a small, hard-core group of us basically bush-whacked our way up the side of a cliff. It probably would not have been authorized by the parks authority, but we did it anyway.

I couldn't find out why this cross was here, other than to mark the highest point of the mountain and a perfect place to pose.

At the top of the mountain we were awarded with dramatic views of the valley below, including acres of vineyards and rooibos plants. I took it all in—this was my last night of tranquility before arriving at the hustle and bustle of Cape Town, the Mother City. I couldn’t wait to get to Cape Town, but I also didn’t want to leave my secluded mountain top and the comforts of camping I’d grown used to over the past six weeks. I dawdled my way down the mountain and arrived late for wine tasting, which was just as well; the wine wasn’t very good. No matter; I’d make sure I had plenty of time to enjoy some of the amazing South African wines in the Cape wine growing regions. I already had a packed agenda for my two weeks in Cape Town, and though sad to be closing this chapter of my African adventure, I felt satisfied with all I’d accomplished. I also had a long list of places I’d go back to. Africa really gets under your skin and latches onto your very soul if you allow it. I did, and it’s been the most rewarding experience of my life.

Sossusvlei: hundred+ meter high sand dunes stretch for miles in every direction

Leaving Swakopmund, that quaint seaside village that seemed entirely out of place in the middle of the surrounding desert, we drove south toward Sossusvlei–Namibia’s number one tourist destination, with good reason. When people think of Namibia the image that is conjured up is that of burnt ocher sand dunes, towering hundreds of meters above them in the incessant desert heat. Sossusvlei does not fail: it is home to the oldest sand dunes in the world; some are over 80 million years old.

Driving southwest to Sossusvlei from Swakopmund, the landscape stays mostly the same: dry, seemingly lifeless desert that Namibia is known for. A quick stop at the Tropic of Capricorn allowed us to feel just how scorching the desert sun can be, even early in the day. The dunes of Sossusvlei–colored orange from iron oxide in the sand–are reached through the small town-like area called Sesriem. It is more a collection of lodges and campsites than a proper town, but offers a few shops to buy the litres of water you’ll definitely need when heading out into the dunes. Our dune tour was organized by Sossus on Foot, and cost $35 for a 2-3 hour experience. It seemed pricey, but  this area isn’t really reachable on foot, when you consider that it’s about 5k from the main parking area, through the unrelenting desert heat (we drove through the thick sand piled into the pickup of a truck, rather like a herd of sheep). What was worth the payment however, was the service of our guide “Frans,” a desert-born bushman whose in-depth knowledge of all things to do with the dunes astounded us.

The wind creates elegant wave patterns in the desert floor

To start with, Frans (we think this may be the name he’s adopted for tourists) addressed the myth that the Sossusvlei dunes are constantly moving and shifting location. While this is true of the smaller dunes of the Namib Desert around Swakopmund, the Sossusvlei dunes are anchored in place by the roots of the now-lifeless grass that grows along the slopes. These roots shoot straight down in search of water (which does, miraculously and very rarely, fall) and provide the skeleton around which the dunes take shape. Only the tops of the dunes change and shift with the wind, depending on the season and which way the wind is blowing. Interestingly, this dead grass gives the Sossusvlei dunes the most vegetation of all the Namibian sand dunes.

We are told that survival in the desert is unlikely for those who are untrained. If, for whatever reason,  we found ourselves lost on the 50-kilometer stretch between the Sossusvlei dunes and the Atlantic Ocean, there are ways to prolong life. For starters, the dunes themselves act like a compass: they only will ever run north to south. This is because the wind will only ever blow east to west, from the coast or inland, dependent on the season.

If one knew that he would be walking through the desert, perhaps to hunt an Oryx, there are other tricks he could use to stay alive. It goes without saying that water must be brought on any foray into the desert, but it should be buried rather than carried; this way it lasts longer. And plastic bottles are of no use: they will render the water inside undrinkable. Ostrich egg shells are the best option because they are porous and breathable, and can hold a large volume. After the yolk is removed, water can be filled by way of a tap, or it is possible to siphon water from the ground. Then, seal the hole with an acacia twig and beeswax. It’s remarkably simple yet ingenious; in this way water can be kept fresh when buried in the sand for up to 8 months. Just remember where you buried it.

Dead Vlei. Go there now.

The second draw to Sossusvlei besides the dunes is Dead Vlei, a 900 year old deadwood forest set against the dunes. The trees, though long since decayed, are cemented in place by a thick white layer of limestone that has grown over the sand the trees originally rooted in. It is hauntingly beautiful, a dramatic landscape of blackness, death and fiery light colored sand. Only the sound of the wind and blowing sand disturbs the otherwise ghostly silence.

All the while, Frans pointed out several small critters which, somehow, make this seemingly uninhabitable land their home: golden orange geckoes scampered across the hot sand, and bright blue beetles hid under long since dead desert shrubs. Large ants, bright red but with white backsides, buried in their holes. Even Oryx, large antelope characterized by their long, sharp, straight horns, make these dunes their home. How anything could survive this heat and dryness is unknown to me–I went through a full 1.5 liter bottle of water in the 2 hours we were out. And I was still thirsty.

On the way out we stopped at the famous Dune 45, the only dune that the parks authority allows visitors to climb (for reasons of conservation). Climbing up the spine of the 150 meter high dune takes between 15 and 20 minutes, and the view is simply awe inspiring–sand and dunes stretch as far as the eye can see and again, the only sounds are of the wind whistling past your ears. Paragliders floated around us using the thermals to ascend high into the air as we watched the sun sink behind the dunes. I lay back into the sand and closed my eyes: Namibia is truly a magical country, on the one hand inhospitable and arid, yet at the same time strikingly beautiful and diverse. I love it here more than words can convey.

Dune 45. Some ran, some rolled, some glided down from the top.

Walvis Bay, home of 1,000,000 seals

Whenever I’m near the seaside, I always feel at home. For the first 21 years of my life I lived in the San Francisco Bay Area, and spent hundreds of hours out on the water. My love for the ocean hasn’t subsided since leaving, and I find myself drawn to it in my travels. The final activity I signed up for in Swakopmund was a 2-hour sea kayak trip with Namyak out to swim with the dolphins and seals in Walvis Bay, which promised to get us up close with heavyside dolphin, atlantic bottlenosed dolphin and the resident colonies of Cape fur seals. I was excited to be back at home on the water again.

Adult flamingoes turn pink from an enzyme present in the shrimp they eat. Juveniles remain black and white.

The day started early, at 6:45am, as we’d spend the first hour driving through the town of Walvis Bay, along the sand banks, out to the lagoon where we would launch the kayaks. We drove past Long Beach, where Brad and Angelina took over a guest house to give birth to their first child together. We passed hundreds of flamingo, stirring up the waters with their feet for a nice breakfast of brine shrimp. We stopped for a tea and rusk break along the spit of sand. Finally we reached our launch site and kitted up: Namyak provides the boats–wide, sea-worthy single and tandem kayaks, as well as wind-proof jackets and trousers, hats, dry-bags (for cameras), water shoes, and life vests.

After a quick lesson in how to maneuver a kayak, we were in the water and were soon surrounded by dolphins. I’d heard of plenty of “dolphin cruises” offered at various points around Africa, but these didn’t necessarily deliver on their promises to swim with dolphins. This was definitely not the case here. They came up for air all around us, breaching the water and playfully swimming directly under our flotilla of kayaks. We’d been informed that if we started paddling when they were nearby, they’d swim along side us for some distance. So I gave it a shot, surging ahead in my single kayak. I could not believe it when I looked down and saw 5 bottle nosed dolphins zig-zagging directly beneath my craft. They stayed with me until my arms tired and I slowed, and moved on to the next boat. We all took turns paddling alongside the dolphins until our arms were too tired to carry us any further.

We turned back to the shore to go and play with the fur seals. This colony didn’t exist here in Walvis Bay until about 15 years ago, when it’s believed they arrived due to the seal culling that occurs up north, off of Cross Bay. The seals here have no natural predators–the water is too shallow and sandy for sharks to hunt, and supports a wide variety of fish life (including, every so often, a blue whale who comes to the Bay to calve) so their numbers have multiplied exponentially.

Feeling at home in the sheltered cove

Each November, seal mothers give birth to their pups; and by the time of my visit in February the pups were grown up enough to venture out into the water for a bit of a frolic. The giant bull seals had returned to the deep ocean for better fish, so the colony was (comparatively) quiet. Still though, if you’d closed your eyes, the sound of their calls sounded more like a herd of bleating sheep than any seal I’d ever encountered.

The seals swam past us, curiously checking us out as we did the same to them. They’d perform backflips as if to show off, and would splash us in the process. Because we were in man-powered craft it was possible to get very close to the shore where the colonies bask in the sun, and there is no danger so long as you do not actively try to cause harm. Seal pups played in the surf and would get caught in the small breaking waves; adults called to each other with their sheep-like noises. All the while they seemed happy to have us amongst them as their guests. The people in the large catamarans, who had paid for dolphin and seal cruises (and who were much farther away), could only look on in envy.

Seal mothers and their pups play in the surf

Namyak is the only sea kayak company to operate around Swakopmund. The staff is incredibly friendly and professional. The trip (including driving and lunch time) lasts from 6:45am until about 1:30pm, and the 550 Namibian dollar payment (~$75) includes transport, all gear, a really tasty sandwich lunch, water and juice, coffee, tea, and homemade rusks. You can bring your own camera because dry bags are provided, though I was still cautious of seal splashing. Our group who went out really enjoyed the trip and it gave me such a different experience of Swakopmund than the adventure activities I’d done in the days prior. I’ll be able to leave the town feeling like I had a great taste of what is on offer here, but I know there is a ton more to do in this quaint, friendly, and incredibly fun town.

Out amongst the massive dunes, you feel like you're on another planet

My skydive on the first day in Swakopmund, Namibia, would be tough to beat, if indeed it could be topped. I decided to continue with my theme of pursuing unique adventure activities while here, to get the full taste of what the town, the ocean, and the surrounding Namib Desert were like. So when one of the skydiving instructors offered to take me out surfing, I could hardly resist. I was now a complete adrenaline junkie and needed my next fix.

Although kept quiet, there is a prominent surfing scene in Swakopmund. The locals who surf, however, prefer to keep the beaches and waves to themselves and have refused international attention, including the offer to host major international surfing competitions. The best surfing is supposed to be a few kilometers north of town, though there are places right off the beachfront in town that are surfing friendly. It was here where I was taken out and dumped in the water at 7am, the day after my skydive and subsequent massive night out. Needless to say, the cold water wakeup was the exact hair of the dog that I needed—I felt alive again. For a few minutes anyway.

I can’t surf. That’s not exactly true; I know the theory and mechanism, and have a fairly good board feel and balance. But my upper body is very weak at the moment (from sitting in an overland truck and doing little else for up to 12 hours a day). The last time I successfully surfed was when I was still living in California 5 years ago. So I’m not sure what exactly prompted me to agree to the surfing trip. Needless to say, within the first few minutes of paddling out it was clear that I’d gotten myself up shit creek with nothing but a longboard. Resolutely however, I paddled on and fought with the massive waves to get out to a decent spot.

It was just then that the waves really picked up; 2-3 meters high with proper barrels and everything. One failed attempt to surf one saw me go flying through the air, salt water flushing out every part of my being. I lasted another 20 minutes before catching a wave back in. By that time my hangover was too great to carry on so I called it a day. Can’t fault me for not trying!

Kitted out and ready to board!

I had other things to look forward to that day as well; at 9:30am I was getting picked up by Alter Action, Swakopmund’s sandboarding company. Sandboarding is basically the same as snowboarding, but on a sand dune in the middle of the desert. Alter Action offers two options: upright (on a snowboard) or lie-down, on a long wooden plank which you sled down the dune on. Anyone is welcome: beginners are started off with lessons on how to strap in and maneuver a board, and experienced hands can jump straight in. There’s even a small ramp to jump from. I had only snowboarded once (rather unsuccessfully) but was feeling fearless. The sand was soft and my hangover nausea had subsided, so I was ready to rock on.

The dunes look this surreal in person too

After listening to the explanation I was off boarding, rather wobbly, across the dune. No fancy stuff yet; and I certainly wasn’t capable of turning. With each run I improved a small bit, and could almost manage a full turn by the time I finished my 5^th run. It was incredibly fun, and everyone had a good time. The spills never hurt—the soft sand feels just like powder, though unlike snow, when it goes up your shorts it feels much less comfortable. All of us had sand in every orifice by the time we finished, but no one cared because we were all having a blast. Boarding the sand dunes is an incredibly fun experience; one which I’ve heard is best done here in Namibia.

The still pictures make me look cooler than the video...

Toward the end of our time on the dune we were given a shot on the lie-down boards. Each person has their speed tracked; the highest ever reached was 80 kilometers per hour. I reached 64. It’s exhilarating, if initially frightening, plunging head first down a very steep dune, but as long as you remember to keep the nose of the plank up (which was simple) you can’t really do anything wrong.

The only downside to the day (if you can call it a downside): there are no ski lifts, and we can’t use quad bikes to get up the dunes for risk of destroying them. So the only option was to hike up the 90 meter high dune after each run, which was steep, difficult, and ultimately exhausting. I was thankful for the breeze on the way up, though my legs burned with every step. It’s a great workout and shouldn’t be enough to deter would-be boarders.

Sandboarding starts at $35 for the lie-down boards, and $50 for upright boarding. I’d do it again if I had the time while here, as I felt like I was just about getting the hang of it when we had to leave. It’s convinced me to get involved with snowboarding the next time I’m anywhere near snow. Going on holiday and learning a new skill you can incorporate into your normal life is great, and I love that it’s given me a taste of something I can continue with when/if I rejoin the real world.

Your fearless author, plunging to the earth

I never thought I would skydive. My deterrent was simple: splat. I thought it far too risky and dangerous and it simply never appealed to me. Two things have changed for me, the interaction of which caused me to take the plunge and allow myself to be thrown out of a plane at 10,000 feet: my new love for flying in small aircraft and the adventurous spirit this overland trip has inspired in me. By the time I arrived in Swakopmund I’d already done dozens of things I didn’t think I’d ever do, so when I was asked whether I would be interested in skydiving, my response was simple. “Why not?” Within an hour of arrival I’d signed up to jump later that day with Ground Rush Adventures. Let the freefall commence.

Practicing my freefall technique

Swakopmund, Namibia, has to be one of the most gorgeous and unique drop zones on the planet–and this isn’t just because the skydivers at Ground Rush Adventures say so. When you get up to about 5,000 feet in the airplane—a teeny, no-seater Cessna—you understand why: as long as the ocean fog hasn’t rolled in, visibility is excellent and offers views of Spitzkoppe, the ocean, the massive ocean-side sand dunes, and the surrounding Namib Desert. It’s almost enough to distract you from the fact that you’ll soon be hurtling towards it all at speeds of up to 125 miles per hour. Almost.

Many, if not most, first-time skydivers are petrified at the thought of doing their first jump. Some will have psyched themselves up for years, or will have set it as a goal to do sometime in their lifetimes. My story was simple and slightly boring in comparison: impulse led me to sign up, and due to that, I experienced no nerves. On the contrary, I’d never been more excited about any adventure activity in my life. I had no idea what to expect since I never really considered it a possibility.

Three other girls from the overland group had signed up with me, and all were suitably more nervous than I was. The entire time we were getting ready–waiting for pickup, signing forms, handing over credit cards–I kept asking myself why I wasn’t nervous. I guess by this time I’d put my life in the hands of others several times already–rafting down the Nile River and flying in small aircraft over Botswana and Uganda being the most prominent examples. I’ve learned to have faith in people and to trust in the process by which these organizations become accredited; two things I’d struggled with before this trip.

Soon the four of us were sat cross-legged on the floor of the preparation room at the airfield used by Ground Rush. The drop zone is located about a 10 minutes drive into the desert. The team, all Namibian but of Afrikaner nationality, was introduced to us: Fuzzy, a videographer with long, curly masses of hair; Dries, whose tongue pierce glinted in the desert sun; David, another photographer who had recently become a father to a little girl, and Mias, my jump partner, who more closely resembled U2’s frontman, Bono. We sat at Mias’ feet while he explained how to execute a successful skydive.

"This way for adventure, right??"

Unless you’re a licensed skydiver all jumps take place with a tandem partner. You strap yourself tightly to your jump buddy and he does all the work: gets you dressed in your harness, pulls you onto his lap to strap your bodies together, throws the two of you out of the plane, watches the altimeter as you plunge to the earth, and pulls the chute. I literally didn’t have to think about anything the entire time besides observing what was going on around me and enjoying the scenic beauty of the desert and Namibian coast. Even if he’d had a heart attack mid-flight there were mechanisms in the parachute to deploy automatically at a certain altitude, if it wasn’t deployed manually. You could do it asleep (not that you’d want to).

After dressing in my red and yellow jumpsuit (which I wanted to take home with me), we all packed into the plane. It was just me, Mias, another girl from the overland trip and her jump buddy, our pilot, and our two videographers who would record our first skydives. We climbed higher and higher and could see ever more of the dramatic landscape; each circuit we did in the 20-odd minute climb saw us pass close to the ocean, or over the dunes, or over the town. I remember looking down and thinking how high we were already; that was when Mias told me that we still had another 5,000 feet to go. He checked the steadiness of my hand for nerves—I don’t think he believed that a first time jumper could be as relaxed and excited as I was. Want proof? Watch the video below.

Falling face first. Clearly my lesson in skydiving went out the window--I was supposed to hold my arms out.

Soon the pilot gave the sign that we were at 10,000 feet and over the drop zone. Before I could even think about what was happening, Mias took my sunglasses and camera and gave them to the pilot; these would go down with him, not me. Fuzzy climbed out to the wing, from where he would record my initial fall and would follow us down. Mias, now tightly strapped to my body, maneuvered me out over the edge of the plane’s open sliding door, and I tucked my legs under the belly of the plane. This was truly the point of no return—I remember just then, in that instant, feeling a grip of nerves.

Before I could dwell on those nerves Mias hurtled us out, and I fell ass-over-head out of the plane. Every skydiver will tell you that the first 5 seconds of a jumper’s first skydive are the scariest—the “Oh Shit” seconds. When you realize what you’ve just done, when you realize that you’re not in control, when you realize that you’re falling, ostensibly, to your death and that sane human’s just don’t jump out of planes to their doom. For about 3 seconds I screamed my face off as my stomach leapt to my throat.

After those three seconds, however, ecstasy replaced unbridled fear and I laughed my head off for the next segment. Fuzzy was just in front of us filming the whole thing; I played around with the air pressure one experiences during freefall. I pulled faces for the camera and remembered to look around at the scenery. I laughed and whooped in excitement. I even tried to do The Robot mid-air (humorously, though unsuccessfully). It was, more than anything I’ve ever done, the absolute experience of a lifetime.

EPIC!!!

30 seconds later, at 5,000 feet, Mias pulled the chute. It unraveled slowly and gently jerked us into a more controlled descent. Fuzzy continued plummeting—he’d pull his later after getting suitable video footage. It was then that I was overcome with an extreme sensation of peace and awe; we were floating through the air as a bird does, no sound besides that coming from our chute. No distractions, nothing but this moment to enjoy. Mias gave me the parachute controls and I tried my hand at steering. He played around and would pull one side or the other sharply, sending us spiraling downward in grand loops. At one point, he whispered to me to shut my eyes: I took a deep breath, and after a short circle he pulled on the parachute brakes, halting us in midair. It felt like I was weightless, floating as an angel does up in the heavens.

Although I’ve attempted to relay the experience, words just cannot do justice to the feeling of a first skydive. The entire jump takes just over 30 minutes, from ascent in the plane to landing back on solid earth, and is over before you know it. The minute I touched down I wanted more; if it were not for the expense—steep, given the equipment and expertise required—I would have done it twice, three times even. Like my experience rafting on the Nile River in Uganda, I had job envy: these guys jumped three more times that day, and do this every day of their lives, and are paid for it. I jokingly asked if they needed an intern, but secretly I wasn’t actually joking.

"When can I go again!?"

Now that I’ve gotten a taste I’m hooked. I’d seriously consider skydiving again before leaving the continent, but the cost (R1500/$200 for the next opportunity to jump in Cape Town) is my only deterrent; I’ve got a lot more traveling to do on my budget! It’s funny how something like this can go from non-existent in your mind to being all you want to do. All I can say is that I feel like a brand new woman. This continent has changed me: I feel intrepid, brave, and fearless. These are traits I haven’t felt in a long time, and will fight tooth and nail to keep them.

Swakopmund from the air--sea and dunes. Nuff said.

Entering Swakopmund is like entering some bizarre sort of mirage, in the best sort of way. Coming into town from any direction, visitors drive past mile after mile of golden sand dunes; all of a sudden, palm tree-lined streets appear out of nowhere and are accompanied by wide, brick roads, seaside cafes, and thatched roof vacation homes. Swakopmund is less African town than vestigial German holiday retreat, but it’s an interesting and refreshing destination in which one can regroup, pursue a number of fun adventure activities, and easily enjoy both the sea and dunes in one trip.

The town of Swakopmund grew originally as a port and harbor for German imports and exports, when Namibia was part of the German empire. Following World War I, Walvis Bay, the next town to the south, became the favored port city and Swakopmund began its transformation into seaside holiday destination. To this day, a large number of German tourists visit Swakopmund annually–walking down the waterfront, touts selling their handmade crafts will always ask if you’re German–and the town retains its German influence. Besides those of German decent living here there is a large population of Afrikaners as well. Nearly everyone, including the town’s African residents, speaks English, German, and Afrikaans, or at least enough of the three to be able to communicate with others.

Beer gardens and brick roads, am I still in Africa??

Walking through town I couldn’t help but compare the quaint beer-garden lined streets and waterfront promenade with other European, and even American, seaside towns. It was even more remarkable given that this little island of Western culture represented the first I’d seen since leaving South Africa in December for my long cross-African adventure. All of a sudden things I hadn’t needed to think about for weeks were presented to me: which restaurant to choose from, out of the dozens in town? Which bar might offer the best long-awaited cocktail? Which bank card might still be working, not having been switched off due to fraud protection? (Dear Citibank: I’m still traveling through Africa, just like I told you I would be).

In recent years Swakopmund has been selling the image of being an adventure oasis extreme enough to rival Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe. Unlike my experience in Zimbabwe however, here, I was all too happy and enthusiastic to get involved in the adrenaline activities, and found myself signing up for a hat-trick of excitement: skydiving, sandboarding, and sea kayaking. There is so much more to do though; horse riding, ballooning, paragliding, quad biking, scenic flights, desert walks, and rock climbing. Our activities were arranged through Far Out Adventures, run by Beth, an American expat whose initial visit to Namibia was clearly influential enough to cause her to return permanently. Far Out has an office in Hotel Gruner Krantz (aka the Swakop Lodge), where one can learn about all that’s on offer. Alternatively just google what you’d like to do and book yourself, though I’m not sure that you’d save any money by doing so.

The promenade leading to the beach and waterfront.. still in Africa, though it doesn't seem true

Significantly, unlike in Victoria Falls, if one does not wish to pursue these admittedly pricey activities the town is large and diverse enough to entertain visitors. There is a museum, an aquarium, brewery (which offers tours and beer, of course) lots of shops, beer gardens, and restaurants; the dunes are an easy walk south of town center, and the beach and promenade are great places to relax (though the water is cold; wetsuits are required for surfing). It’s literally just like visiting any seaside town in Europe so one can expect much of the same experience.

While in Swakopmund I called Gruner Kranz/ the Swakop Lodge home for three nights, which offered great accommodation for bank account friendly rates: $415 Namibian dollars for a single; $300 each for a double; less if you‘re upgrading from what your overland company has already paid for. As a massive bonus, the town’s best bar and nightclub (even my new skydiving and sandboarding friends agree) is just upstairs, making the stumble home impossible to screw up. The hotel hosts the overland truck crowd almost exclusively, so every night is a party night at the bar. I wouldn’t recommend staying here as a regular tourist though; it’s a safe bet that the overland groups will be loud and rowdy. Everything is within walking distance however, and, though eerily quiet in the evenings, I found walking around at twilight no problem at all. Past dark, like anywhere else in Africa, I would’ve taken a taxi.

Up next: my experiences of three epic and uniquely Namibian activities: skydiving over the Namib desert; rushing down those same dunes on a snowboard, and playing with the dolphins and seals in a kayak in Walvis Bay.

Dramatic rock landscapes are centralized and within easy walking distance

Namibia–former German colony, then South African protectorate–is known for being a scorching, arid desert; the driest country south of the Sahara desert countries. Between the Namib Desert, the age-old Sossusvlei dunes, the Kalahari Desert to the south, and the picturesque (if macabre sounding) Skeleton Coast desert that borders the ocean, one can travel here and literally not see a drop of natural water. It’s not all desert though; Etosha National Park supports large numbers of wildlife, and in the south, high plateaus push through the surrounding rocky landscapes. Swakopmund on the west coast offers the typical seaside experience found in just about any Western country with an ocean. One landmark feature set amongst the desert dunes should not be missed, especially if you are adventurous, like hiking, and adore dramatic and colorful sunsets: Spitzkoppe, a collection of giant volcanic rock boulders, which are astounding to see and geologically unique, and which offers a real sense of seclusion–up there, it’s just you and the rocks. Nothing else.

Several routes to the peak offer challenges for novices or expert climbers, and spectacular desert views

Spitzkoppe is popular with rock climbers, but even novices can strap on a pair of hiking boots to climb the rocks. It would be a shame to dismiss these giant boulder mountains as being for hikers only, because the beauty and seclusion of the place is such that anyone would enjoy. The highest peak of Spitzkoppe reaches a towering 1,728 meters above sea level (600m above the surroundings plains); though there are numerous smaller formations surrounding the main one on which to climb. I’d suggest climbing up an hour or two before sunset, and watching the sun slowly sink beneath the rocks on the horizon. Always bring water and a hat; you’re still in the desert. There are San Bushman rock art paintings as well, painted in the eves of the massive boulders.

Accommodation around Spitzkoppe is in bush camps, set amongst secluded rock enclaves in the yellow desert sand. At night the only sound comes from the wind through the trees, and, unfortunately, the occasional mosquito in your ear. There are no resident predators, like in other southern Africa bush camps, so you can sleep out on the rocks if you so desire. Stargazing from these rocks and the campsite is unparalleled; there is no light pollution to obscure the star and moonlight. Tents are required, as is enough food and drinks to last through the heat; though water is sold at the nearby community run rest/bush camp headquarters (not cheaply), and there is a bar and restaurant as well.

Sunset at Spitzkoppe... perfect for a rock-top picnic

Our tour leader told us on arrival that people come to Spitzkoppe to fall in love; while this wasn’t my aim, I could definitely appreciate the romance this place created. It’s a fun and uniquely Namibian side trip from the other highlights of the country, and all you’d need is one day and night to experience the rocks, sunset, and entire galaxy of stars that you’ll find yourself unquestionably mesmerized by. If you’re lucky you’ll not just see one, but a handful of shooting starts. And if you’re wise, or perhaps want to find love, you’ll wish to come back.

Boasting the highest cheetah population is a double edged sword however: on a continent that has seen much of the natural bush lost to urbanization, the cheetah now find that they have less territory than they once did. Thus the cheetah, in their daily search for food and water, now come into contact with man daily, especially on his farms looking for easy prey such as goats and sheep. The cheetah is now seen by many Namibians as pests and a threat to their own livelihood, so they are hunted, poisoned, or caught in traps and killed. It’s harsh, but very real. Worse, it’s seen as the only solution for many farmers who are in turn losing the animals they need to keep themselves alive.

Two cheetah siblings followed us as we toured through the sanctuary

Many cheetah parks or farms have sprung up in an attempt to aid in conservation of the world’s fastest land animal. We had the privilege of visiting one of these farms on our way out of Etosha; it surely was an experience not many on our overland trip will be forgetting any time soon.

The family who owns the farm, which also has a campsite used by Africa Travel Company and other overland trucks, runs it as a cheetah sanctuary by day, nightclub by night. I’ll talk about the sanctuary aspect first. Driving in, we were greeted by the family’s tame giraffe, who stuck his head into the doors and windows to say hello. This is very atypical giraffe behavior, and was a telling sign of what was to come–we were in store for some very unusual experiences. The family lives in a house surrounded by fences, to keep the cheetah in. Walking up to the fence I was confronted by three large cheetah (two adult, one teenager) stalking the perimeter, but when I was let into the yard I quickly discovered that these cheetah behaved more like housecats than wild animals. They would come up and rub your leg, or lick your arm (and cheetah tongue is NOT smooth–imagine sandpaper, coarse enough to be able to lick the meat off a bone).

"Jeffry" the giraffe sticks his head inside the truck to say hello

We were also treated to a drive around the sanctuary proper–a small enclosed area out in the bush where 19-odd adult cheetah live and are fed daily by the family. All have been rescued or bred in captivity, but there is not a whole lot of scope for them to be released back into the wild, for now at least.

One of the Cheetah Boys. Note the bandage on his hand...

That night we drank and danced at the bar/nightclub, hosted by the Cheetah Boys–the family’s two 20-something sons, who apparently have a knack at getting the overlander women drunk and into their beds. We’d been warned about them before arrival (in jest), but that didn’t stop two of our crew from falling into the trap and having to walk back to the campsite, past the trio of family cheetahs, the next morning. I can’t imagine a more interesting–or strange and terrifying–walk of shame. Except perhaps if one had been able to ride the tame giraffe back to the truck–now that would be something to write home about.

Socializing with the family's "housecats"