day 1
My camera is in the trunk. My coat, too.
These are
the thoughts skimming my brain as Ali and I ease back in our seats, on our
final approach to Luderitz.
Ali, in the
driver’s seat, turns to me and asks if I’m seeing it, too.
The sunset;
a hazy technicolor dream.
Chalky and
brilliant.
The sun permeating the haze, making the air appear to shimmer and move.
The sun permeating the haze, making the air appear to shimmer and move.
Gold deepening
to amber, a deep carmine flooding toward the horizon.
The
landscape, a dark and shifting backlit horizon—ever-changing mountains, ridges,
and hills as the road wound through.
In the end,
I rationalized no pictures, no words can express the scene. Also, that, since my coat was in the back, I’d
be cold fetching it and the camera… after
driving continuously throughout the day, comfort was king.
notable absurdities:
—A very kind
lady at a petrol station agreed to fill up my Nalgene water bottle, and asked
if I wanted cold water. Um, sure, I
replied – it doesn’t have to be cold, it
can be a little warm. Strange, I thought, I've never had that question,
before… And she seems to be taking an awful lot of time for the tap.
Turns out,
due to my miscommunication, this obliging woman took the time to boil water and
proceeded to fill my Nalgene.
Never will I
not say ‘tap water’ again. My mistake, absolutely. Oh, my poor warped Nalgene.
—That night,
tired and snuggled under the covers in the next room, we listened as marginally inebriated PCVs discussed Himba culture and the industry of tourism that their
tribe engages in, and the startling contrasts evident now in their culture from
such interactions, with a fully intoxicated German tourist.[1]
While they meant well, the conversation didn't
lend to fully informed discourse, but I've got to applaud them for trying to
rally—and engage in a third goal conversation
(essentially) with a semi-hostile German.
[1] Levels of intoxication are approximated. It was a conversation through a wall, after all. We didn't rouse
them to our arrival until morning, because, hey – it was late, and we were warm and
comfortable under our blankets, having a lively conversation about relationships
and sex at an audible level in the next room. So, maybe the onus of
responsibility was upon them to recognize our voices…
Though, as
it turns out, I was on the receiving end of a minor bed-bug attack at that
particular back-packers… So immediate karmic retribution for avoidance, maybe?
With luck,
and the local PCV's assistance in finding the tourist bureau, we made the last
tour of the weekend at Kolmannskopp.
Loved Ali all the more for it. One, for submitting to my enthusiasm, and secondly for
actively engaging intellectually. We tramped along the dunes from structure to
structure. Myself, mostly silent, photographing faded stencils and accumulating
sand—Ali voicing her observations and thoughts on the tour introduction and the
realities of the DeBeer's Co. practices.[2] Echoing my own thoughts, and expanding on them.[3]
We stayed
until the last possible minute, then headed back into town. I had my first turn
at the wheel of a manual transmission in… a decade. I stalled that mother. A
lot. Those next thirty minutes were comical. Also, pedestrians do not cross the
street in the same type of fear you witness in the north of Namibia. In the
south, they stroll. Evidently ‘right of way’ is an acknowledged right of
pedestrians. Culture shock, for this northern Namibian transplant.
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| Kolmanskopp, Namibia |
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| Kolmanskopp, Namibia |
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| Kolmanskopp, Namibia |
Afterward we picked up the local PCV, who we’d previously (unceremoniously) dumped at the tourist bureau to scramble to the NamDeb tour. Before we headed to a braai at Griffith Bay, we decided to head to Agate Beach and try our hand at spotting washed up agates (diamonds embedded in rock) on the shore.
‘Smooth, and oh they can be any colour’ wasn't
the most illustrative expression of the object we sought… With a questionable
description on what we were looking for, exactly, and after rambling a ways down
the beach, we had given up. I hadn't cared much to begin with, and had actively
been picking up shells and keepsakes as if I've never seen an ocean before. (My
purse pocket was filled, and by then possessed the salty smell of decay
particular to such treasures).
Finally, I
looked down, and saw one rock that was not like another.
Success. An
agate. Embedded in rock, beaten by the ocean floor, until the hearty strength
of the stones within were exposed by a softer stone, layer by layer. Upon
holding out the stone for inspection, Ali pounced upon the smoothed encrusted
stone, and I knew I’d need to find another if I hoped to have one for myself.[4]
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| Can you spot the agates? |
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| Diaz Point, Luderitz, Namibia |
Then off to a braai held monthly by the international volunteers in Luderitz. (First with a detour to Diaz Point, of course). All quite young, and mostly recent transplants, it was a fun, but interesting dynamic to observe the conversation amongst them. I may just be jaded, and though I am absolutely thrilled by their spirit of service, it is hard to relate, at times, with newer volunteers—and those who have not experienced the cultures of the Namibian north. I hope they make their way from the coast, and above the Red Line. [5]
[3]
Namibia bought a 50% share in the DeBeer’s diamond mining industries in the
nineties, and as such, the controlling interests are ‘NamDeb.’ This
means the government is able to participate in and profit from mining their own
resources. This is, of course, after the great bulk of diamonds have been
harvested from the sands of the coast over a centuries’ time. In some places,
like in Sperrgebiet, the diamonds were so plentiful, they could be gathered,
essentially, by the shovel-full from the dunes in which they resided. The tour
guide, of European descent, gave the introduction a level of incredulous humor in stark
contrast to the gaping realities of the subject matter. Especially in reference
to the smuggling attempts, and southern Africa’s first and finest x-ray
machine. The NamDeb tour needs to be rethought, and a cultural curator employed.
Stat.
[4] I
did, of course, once we knew what they looked like, but my favorite catch of
the day is a nearly perfect orb of clear quartz reminiscent of a pearl.
Much of my rock
quarry was abandoned in the courtyard at the back-packers. I’d like to lie and
say I artfully arranged them to some end, but really, I just dropped them in a
half moon around a potted succulent and then laughed at the absurd number I’d acquired, then discarded, in an afternoon’s time.
[5] One
particular volunteer was highly offended by my using my knee to gently push back the face of a waist high dog that was nosing for food near the fire. She
gave an insulted cluck, and snidely remarked ‘That’s rude...’ Americans and Europeans, you are this close to driving me nuts with your
treating dogs like humans. And the expectations that others should do so, too. Curb
your damn dog.