Sherry at 10, beer at 11, champagne at 2, and sundowners at 5

Our initial impression of Namibia was not good. We arrived in Windhoek, the capital and largest city, early Saturday afternoon and everything was closed. Thus, although we had two hours to explore downtown, the entire tour took about 10 minutes, and we spent the rest of the time wandering through empty streets in search of the city’s biggest attraction: a group of 33 meteorites from the Gibeon meteorite shower, which is believed to be one of the largest showers. We did, however, have a good “all meat” dinner at Joe’s, and Rolf, who owns Terra Africa, the bed and breakfast where we stayed, was a terrific host.

On Sunday morning our guide, Andre, picked us up, and we headed south into the desert. It didn’t take long for us to realize how empty Namibia is: although the country is the size of Texas, it has only 1.2 million people. As a result, even when your are headed for one of the country’s major tourist sites, the red dunes at Sossusvlei, you can go for miles and miles and miles without seeing any sign of life.

though we spent our first two nights at a tented camp near Namib-Naukluft Park, we did not rough it. When we arrived at the private camp, which is perched on the side of a mountain overlooking a valley, we were handed warm towels and cool drinks. In addition, our tents were not your typical tent: they were larger than a large hotel room and were attached to a small stone building that featured a natural rock shower and a toilet that faced a picture window and a view of the valley. Unfortunately (or fortunately), we did not get to use the air horn that comes with each tent and is to “call” the main building if there is an emergency. We ended our first day with a drive into the valley to get a close up view of the flora and fauna; the fairy circles, which are large circles in which nothing will grow which are, according to the locals, either the result of a plant poisoning the soil or aliens; and the few springbok that inhabit the very dry valley. Just before sunset, we stopped, and while we wandered a bit, our local guide set up a table, covered it with a table cloth, set out snacks, and mixed sundowners. With drinks in hand, we experienced sunset in the desert and the emergence of Venus and millions of stars. It was then back to the camp for more stargazing and dinner.

At 4:00 a.m. (yes 4:00 a.m.) we got up, had a quick breakfast, and headed to the dunes to watch the sunrise. The sunrise was all that we expected: The dunes are huge; they are very red; and as the sun comes up, the shadows create a dramatic landscape. After watching the sunrise from Dune 1, we headed to what seems to be the most famous of the dunes, Dune 45, which is reputed to be the largest of the dunes but really isn’t. Along with a number of other tourists, we climbed to the top of the first ridge, which is a lot more difficult than it looks. We then ran down, which is a lot more fun that you might think, and headed off for a hike to the salt pans. As the morning ended, we drove to one of the few places where trees grow for a picnic lunch of chicken, meatballs, pasta salad and homemade bread. It was then off to the canyon at Sesriem, and then back to camp camp for a dip in the very small and very cold pool, a short nap, and dinner.

The next day we set off, once again, across the desert: this time to Swakopmond, which means mouth of Swakop River. (Although the locals are reluctant to tell you what “Swakop” means, after some careful detective work we learned that it means “bottom excrement.” ) The town lies between the desert and the Atlantic ocean and looks and feels German. We spent the afternoon taking a long walk on the seaside path (which should get an award for its landscaping) and a very cool evening in a warm seaside restaurant.

Having been told by Andre to dress like onions, when we got up the next morning we put on most of the clothes that we had brought with us and headed out through the fog to Walvis Bay, which is about 30 kilometers south of Swakopmond. Although initially we were skeptical about being part of the group of about 40 mostly older German tourists who boarded our catamaran, we were quickly won over by the guide, who was both knowledgeable and personable; by the blankets that we were given and which we huddled under; and ay the sherry, which was served at 10:00, and the beer, which was served at 11:00. We also thoroughly enjoyed the sea lions who jumped on board for fish treats and who, at one point, walked right over us; the colony of sea lions that were on the far side of the harbor; and the dolphins, which swam next to the boats.

Just as the sun broke through at 11:00 a.m., the catamaran pulled along side a dock near the lighthouse and, while the rest of the group stayed onboard, the four of us were “offloaded” for our desert adventure. And it was an adventure. Unfortunately, we never figured out how to say or spell our guide’s name, but he was great: 24 years old and just back from several months of travel. We spent the first couple of hours driving south along the coast through the sand, stopping on a regular basis to watch the flamingos, jackals, and, unfortunately, some dead fish that had washed up on the shore. With the exception of the other vehicle that was traveling with us (it is not considered safe to go out in just one vehicle) we had the long and very beautiful coastline almost to ourselves.

Not to be outdone by the people on the other tour operators, when it came time for lunch, our guide stopped, the tables and umbrellas came out, and we had a wonderful lunch: fresh oysters, a seafood platter, rice salad, and, of course, champagne. After lunch, we put on our seatbelts and headed into the dunes, which range from a few feet to probably 200 feet tall. We drove the way only a 24-year-old male would drive: full speed to the top of the tallest dunes and then nose first straight down the steep side. We also learned that some dunes “groan” when you drive (or slide) down them and that if you roll an orange down a dune, the orange will explode. We also went down one dune backwards, which although planned, took us by surprise.

We ended the day back in Swakamond at yet another lovely dinner and yet another interesting conversation with Andre, an Afrikaner who has provided us with a very interesting perspective on apartheid, (pronounced aparth-hate) the relationship between South Africa and Namibia, and the United States’ involvement in the war in Angola. Although a man of few words, Andre has warmed up to us and us to him, and we have been impressed with his respect for nature and for all people, no matter their race or nationality, and his deep love for Namibia and for his three-month old daughter.