It had been a horribly howling night of wind blowing non-stop in our overflow campsite, wracking the walls of our tent. And the morning didn’t bring much of a reprieve. The drive through to Luderitz however was beautiful, with a train track running alongside the road the whole way, stretching into the distance like a lesson in perspective. The plains stretched out either side of the road, with the landscape changing to rolling rocky outcrops. We couldn’t imagine a town being at the end of this. But there it was, in Hollywood signage, Luderitz.
it sure ain’t Hollywood
It was pretty tiny, and pretty industrial, and pretty charming. Far more fitting of the German title than Swakopmund, and with higgledy-piggeldy streets and rolling hills, a population of about ten people, two coffee shops, two restaurant options. Charming.
Having had enough of the wind (and sand and colder climes), and figuring out that we hadn’t called anything but our tent a bedroom for the last four countries, we thought it might be nice to get a room for the night. But, the numbers thought otherwise. With the infamously windy Shark Island campground coming in at a third of the price of other accommodation (that would involve four walls and a bed), what’s one more night of wind and sand and colder climes (famous last words?).
And one more day. So what has Luderitz got to offer? Laundry dropped off, tyre repaired, oil changed, Bertha greased, admin done, we decided to visit Agate Beach. With signs lining the right side of the road informing us that we were now entering the Sperrgebiet (Namibia’s infamous diamond protected area), Grant had images of us being shot for trespassing. We weren’t. We were however nearly blown away as we stepped out onto the beach. Bertha’s car doors were flung open and nearly pulled off their hinges.
Grant’s blown away by the beach
silver sands
Sperrgebiet
After taking a windswept stroll along the silver-shining beauty of the beach, we headed south of town to check out the arid stark beauty of GrosseBucht and Diaz Point. Past guys windsurfing along a narrow channel at incredibly high speeds, signs warning us not to veer off to the left of the road (Sperrgebiet), rocky moonscapes, and finally a large bay with flummoxed flamingos attempting to walk in the gale force conditions, being blown away on their spindly little legs. Jackass penguins playing around in the windy waters at Hamilton Island, and more flamingos hunkering down at Diaz Point.
We jumped back in Bertha, faces tingling from the cold wind, and headed back to town for a meander. After some delicious pizzas at Barrels restaurant, in the dark, with candlelight and a dude playing all the acoustic guitar hits we could wish for, we headed off to our night at Shark Island.
The wind had not died down as promised. We persevered, scouted around for rocks to hide behind, put the tent up, tried two different locations, lay down, and after fearing for the lives of both ourselves and our trusty tent, decided to pack it in, literally, before the tent was wrenched off its base and blown into oblivion (no exaggeration, promise). We reclined our carseats back, wrapped up in sleeping bags, and fell asleep in the car. Not the day we’d expected our Luderitz excursion to be, but a really lovely day nonetheless. (Luderitz we like you!)
And finally a goodbye to Namibia. More absolutely beautiful driving, hours passed reading the Baggy Trousered Philanthropists to each other, scouting for different coloured sands on the side of the road to make our Namibian keepsake with, and stopping in the desolate God-forsaken town of Keetmanshoop for provisions (we never want to set foot in that town again). Camembert rolls on a sand road under a shady tree, past Quiver Tree forests, past springbok and farms and men on horseback and bakkies blazing dust trails and finally we found ourselves at Kalahari Farmstall. One last night in our own private camping ground, no wind, hardly any flies, a night of stargazing and the promise of South Africa in the morning.
the beautiful roads of namibia
- one last night
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