SMS –Sand, Mist, Swakopmund

Thirty years ago, before the SMS, my telegram to family, anxiously awaiting my safe arrival in Swakopmund, would’ve gone something like this. “Safe arrival. Sand, mist, Swakopmund.” The charge, twenty cents, the message would be relayed by telex or morse code to the Stellenbosch post office. Within minutes a postman would hop onto his black thick wheeled bike and cycle like crazy up the hill to my parent’s house, where he’d knock on the front door and hand deliver the brown window envelope with the red line indicating its importance.

Fast forward to 2022. You’d think things have got more accessible and easier on the postal services’ delivery guy but much more frustrating. “Free Wi-Fi” is just a ruse to make the accommodation option seem more attractive. Once you’ve been hooked and booked, the Guest Wi-Fi signal dribbles into non-existence, much like rain evaporating in the Kalahari.

The simple part of the exercise is the long hours in a queue to purchase a SIM card, then the accreditation and data purchase. After following all the long-winded instructions, getting hooked up and online makes one wonder if life’s worth living after all awful news travels fast.

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Swakopmund still boasts all it's iconic structures, the lighthouse still lights the way and the pier remains a popular attraction as does the museum and Crystal gallery. 

Once settled in Swakopmund, our deal was that Butch would get on with his list, which included new tyres for the Honey Badger, a bull-bar, electrical adjustment to our battery system, the installation of the new Thule steps and a Thule “box” on the roof. I would catch up on my writing and explore Swakopmund. (The receptionist kindly allowed me to use the better wifi at the conference center on occasion. The struggle was real.)

We’ve been mispronouncing Thule, the Frenchman from Toulouse told us, and it’s “tool” said in that sexy, throaty way only the French can do. Now, no one knows what I’m up to when I ask, “do you have a Thule (tool) too?”  with pouty lips, fluttering doe eyes and a coy demeanour.

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The Alte Brücke campsite, situated at the end of the promenade, a few hundred meters from the beach, CBD and scenic part of town, was our favourite option and the central hub for Overlanders from all over the world exploring Africa. The spacious campsites were ideal for the height of the vehicles. Private ablutions, and a scullery with a protected sitting/dining area, are convenient. Misty mornings in Swakopmund are unexpectedly chilly. There is electricity laid on and free guest Wi-Fi.

For the tech guys to have easy access to the Honey Badger, we had to pack up the contents of our new storage box and our stowed winter clobber, and for security, we moved some of our things like cameras and electronic gadgets to our private ablusions.. Each morning we’d add anything we might need for the day. We set up a coffee/beverage station and filled a small cool box with perishables. At six-thirty, Butch would set off to the workshop.

Until the shop closed and Butch could fetch the Badger, I had to rely on my feet or bike for transportation. On a few occasions, Butch hailed a taxi to and from the workshop. Knowing there was reliable, cheap public transport was heartening.

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One morning we set off on our bikes to explore the seafront, venturing north into the residential neighbourhoods of Swakopmund. The first surprise was the well-maintained spacious bike lane for much of our trip.

Along the way, walkers were walking their pooches. Friends were strolling, catching up, and young mums were perambulating their babies while keeping up with toddlers. Ladies togged out in lycra were running and speed walking, swinging their arms and hips with earplugs firmly plugged.

Swakopmund’s architecture boasts a strong German influence with bell towers, cylindrical towers, steep roofs tiled in a traditional red tile and early 20th-century design all add to the proud German tradition still evident in the town.

The suburbs had an eclectic mix of old and new architecture, much like our cities. Modern flat-roofed, glass and chrome homes are very evident. I assume they’re the signature style of an illustrious local architect—reminders of the Fox Boxes,  so prevalent in Worcester in the seventies.

Public spaces are well maintained. Lawns are manicured, and flower beds and borders are a colourful display of a variety of perennial shrubs and annual plants. The walk through the iconic avenue of palms is a reminder of days long past. There are only a handful of homes on the beachfront in the CBD, flanked by the aquarium on one side and the famous jetty on the other. Modernity has crept in, too, as the old cottages are being torn down to favour modern, multi-storey mansions.

The use of colour in the architecture is refreshing and unique to Swakopmund inviting tourists and street photographers to walk, explore and photograph. I loved the buildings with their two-tone palettes.

Like many roads we’d traverse in Namibia, streets were exceptionally well maintained, broad, tarred or gravelled. Butch would mention “German engineering” while we negotiated the streets of Swakopmund.

Malls, strip malls and shopping centres have sprung up all over the city. Still, in the old town, there are exciting bookstores, antique stores, jewellers, art galleries, gemstone galleries, souvenir shops, bakeries, restaurants, delicious delis and Woolies with a food section!

Cape Town used to boast several department stores, e.g. Spracklens, Garlicks and Stuttafords, where, in their heyday, shoppers of any ilk could find all their hearts desired. Today none exist. In Swakopmund and many towns in Namibia, the chain store Woermann Haus remains catering to clients’ needs. The German name conjures visions of German imports and local delicacies, apple strudel and Belgium chocolates! The CBD, reminiscent of another century invite tourists and shoppers to browse, shop, and enjoy a cool or hot drink. Of course there are umpteen brew houses, pubs and bars when it's time to siesta or the sun turns burnt orange.

While Butch oversaw the maintenance work done on the Honey Badger, I took to the streets with my camera to explore every nook and cranny. Being a tourist amongst many does have advantages. While we were there the beaches weren't crowded, the holiday season was around the corner and maintenance crews were busy getting the promenade and beaches ship shape.

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There are fabulous Food Trucks in Swakopmund. Brightly painted with quirky names, they are parked strategically along the beach front. Happy Den Varta, Forking Nice and Streak Out are some I remember. With colourful umbrellas and wooden seating available, we couldn’t resist the Fish’n Chips advertised on a chalkboard in the parking area adjacent to the aquarium.

I can say that was our favourite fish and chips meal. The batter was crispy and wafer thin, and the Hake was fresh and piping hot. The chips were divine salty morsels and, once dipped in All Gold Tomato sauce, heaven on the tongue. The two ladies operating the truck were delightful. Friendly, chatty and excellent cooks, they ran a well-managed, spotless food truck. We recommend a quick meal in the parking lot or a takeaway boxed meal.

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The best recommendations come from locals. One day I spotted a trendy lady in the bookshop with a messy bun and gold hooped earrings. I sidled up to her while browsing and asked whether she could recommend a restaurant for lunch. She had just had coffee with a girlfriend at their favourite meeting place; she was sure we’d enjoy lunch there. This quirky, brightly painted old house with a lovely umbrella tree-enclosed patio was perfect. Buzzing with lunch guests, we took up the last open table for our lunch. Butch had regular Hake and chips. We were at the seaside after all. I had a traditional German sausage and kartoffellen. Butch had the plate of the day. All right. My German sausage might’ve been a dressed-up Russian. The dessert was good. Pancakes.

Her recommendation for lunch was another winner—a bistro a-buzz with local ladies enjoying a luncheon with pals. The wine flowed, conversations became more animated and into this mix, lovely plates of nosh were served from a bustling kitchen.

Of course, we had dinner at the iconic Jetty 1905 restaurant on the pier. Who can resist a fiery red ball setting beyond the horizon while a school of bottle-nose dolphins dipped and dived in the waves? No one. There we were served by one of the most beautiful women my eyes have clapped on. Before I could stop myself, I told her so. She was very coy and, I think, appreciative. At my age, I can say anything. At her age, most people wouldn’t have the chutzpah to compliment a young, eye-catching stranger.

Afterwards, we wandered down the jetty as the night lit up the stars and the cityscape lit up with twinkling lights on land. A dazzling night to remember.  Mists, cold currents, dessert dust, smoke and warm air are all responsible for spectacular sunsets and we were never disappointed. 

A surfer and her friend recommended the ice cream parlour near the beach for the perfect ice cream cone. The wait in the long queue was well worth it, and it certainly was ‘n silky smooth, luscious soft-serve ice cream. I wandered home through the avenue of tall palm trees admiring the original cottages while relishing each sweep of ice cream. That was a treat.

Trip Advisor and a quick Google had us hitch our bikes to a light pole after our ride to enjoy coffee and a light breakfast. Mine was seasonal fruit and yoghurt at the popular deli adjacent to the hotel. From our vantage point, we could sit, feet up and watch fishermen coming in with their catch, chicks flick their towels onto the white sand, and small children dig their spades and fill buckets where the water curled and plopped rhythmically onto the beach.

Three young photographers started trolling the promenade, cameras ready to oblige the selfie crowd with a “professional” photo. On one of our walks, I was asked to do a portrait, and once I’d taken the picture, the two guys thought I would download it onto a memory stick. That’s how it’s done, I realised. Sadly, I had to disappoint them, and I had no memory cards to transfer their photographs. I hope someone might recognise the two handsome fellas below, tell them their photo's on the blog. They can contact me and I'll forward it pronto.

Swakopmund certainly is a city to visit. Its European flair and old-world charm make it trendy and popular amongst South Africans, Europeans, and Germans.

Every evening we’d be surprised by the many Overlanding trucks pulling in for the night. Colossal Man trucks, some impressive six-wheelers, the ever-popular and romantic ex-military vehicles like the Mercedes Benz Unimog, smaller Land Cruisers and Isuzu’s like our Honey Badger, the runt of the litter!

Most days, the drivers of the vehicles could be seen tinkering, doing repairs, changing tyres or hammering pipes. Every campsite had, at some stage of the stay, a heap of tools of every description scattered about. Ladies did the laundry, caught up with some dusting, and sweeping, and beds were freshened with clean linens.

A lot of chatting and swapping of stories was done. The condition of the roads and officialdom at various border posts were two hot topics. South Africans whinged and whined about load shedding, the crooks in power, and the SA Rand devaluing, not to mention the Ramaphosa debacle and then the De Ruyter fiasco.

The 4x4 vehicle hire industry is making a roaring trade with dozens of vehicles, fully loaded and kitted out, arriving with excited foreign tourists. The majority were German, French, Dutch, Belgium, Swiss, Spanish, Italian and a sprinkling of Norwegian and North American visitors.

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We have yet to figure out what the nostalgia is for modern Germans visiting Namibia. Could it be the climate, the wildlife, the barren landscape? Here history is measured in billion-year cycles and is not all about cathedrals, architecture, or opera. Must it be the quiet desolation, the natural beauty, the kindness of strangers and in particular Namibians. Affordability too. I wonder.

With all that said I must concur that Swakopmund remains one of my favourite destinations. There's something for every enthusiast, be it fishing, hiking, biking, sand surfing, duning, exploring, 4x4'ing, hang gliding, diving, and even camel driving. This is one destination photographers, adventurers, roadies or overlanders must do. Take the bus, go in groups or visit as a single traveller, it's Afro-cosmopolitan with a liberal dash of Germany.

Once again, we met lovely like-minded travellers who enthusiastically shared their experiences, tips and tricks. We caught up with a friend now living in Swakopmund. A wonderful surprise. Namibia suits him, and he wears Swakopmund well. Thank you, Gielie, for making the time and taking a few hours off your day to visit us and catch up. We were delighted to see you. (Gielie Lampbrechts is an old friend ex-Worcester.)

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The height of cool is, of course, to photograph a dune at sunrise and sunset. We took a day trip to Walvis Bay to see the dunes, photograph the flamingoes and have lunch at the ever-popular boat club. The lively vibe and crowds were impressive. Walvis Bay isn’t the sleepy hollow I thought it to be. I'll post a few of my favourite highlights below.  You'll get the picture.

After five days of maintenance work done and dusted, our fridge and ammo boxes filled, we were ready to set off once again. We were prepared and excited to head for the rivers north.

I do apologise for the photo dump but, I have to do Swakopmund and our visit to Walvis Bay justice and the only way to do so is to show you around, almost a mini guided tour.