“Oh that the desert were my dwelling place.”
-Lord Byron, from Childe Harold
Our visit to Walvis Bay, Namibia, was all about the sand. Red sand, white sand, black sand, all together on sand dunes large and small. First we went through the Valley of the Moon, a desert of bleak, black iron deposits and, of course, sand. The closest thing I’ve ever seen to it is the Badlands in South Dakota. It is beautiful in its starkness, with fascinating rock formations and life forms that we could see limited to lichen, klipspringers (an antlelope-like animal), and a 200-year old plant that I cannot begin to describe.
We then visited the sand dunes, which vary in color and complexion as the light shifts through the day. Most are red in color, but with some parts white and some black. The sands shift constantly with the winds, and it is all the roads maintenance people can do to keep the sand from obliterating the roads (the main one of which is well-paved and maintained).
The town of Walvis Bay is pretty, with colorful ranch-type cottages and a beautiful lagoon at its center. During the morning, the lagoon is typically filled with white flamingoes. However, we got there later in the day and the flamingoes were gone. Those who know me can imagine my disappointment at this turn of events.
What little I saw of Namibia seems a lovely country. I saw little of the visible poverty seen in places like Kenya and Tanzania, nor the press of people seen in so many locales. No surprise with respect to the latter—Namibia is the second most sparsely populated country in the world.
In the evening, the ship put on a “dune dinner under the stars”. It was a wonderful evening. A percussion band greeted us as we arrived, and then a chorus from a local school put on a terrific concert. The dinner was barbecued meats, seafood, and vegetables, and was delicious. The only part missing was “under the stars.” It rarely rains in the desert. But it did that night. It was not a hard rain—more a light drizzle—but it was entrancing to be in the desert for such an unusual event. And, it made the conditions ripe for a truly spectacular sunset.
It was with great reluctance we returned to the ship that evening, and sailed away the next day from this place where the desert meets the ocean.
Our departure from Namibia marked the end of our sojourn in this hemisphere, and we set sail across the Atlantic bound for Brazil. Our mid-ocean stop, after two days of sailing, would be the island of St. Helena, which is my next blog entry.
-Lord Byron, from Childe Harold
Our visit to Walvis Bay, Namibia, was all about the sand. Red sand, white sand, black sand, all together on sand dunes large and small. First we went through the Valley of the Moon, a desert of bleak, black iron deposits and, of course, sand. The closest thing I’ve ever seen to it is the Badlands in South Dakota. It is beautiful in its starkness, with fascinating rock formations and life forms that we could see limited to lichen, klipspringers (an antlelope-like animal), and a 200-year old plant that I cannot begin to describe.
We then visited the sand dunes, which vary in color and complexion as the light shifts through the day. Most are red in color, but with some parts white and some black. The sands shift constantly with the winds, and it is all the roads maintenance people can do to keep the sand from obliterating the roads (the main one of which is well-paved and maintained).
The town of Walvis Bay is pretty, with colorful ranch-type cottages and a beautiful lagoon at its center. During the morning, the lagoon is typically filled with white flamingoes. However, we got there later in the day and the flamingoes were gone. Those who know me can imagine my disappointment at this turn of events.
What little I saw of Namibia seems a lovely country. I saw little of the visible poverty seen in places like Kenya and Tanzania, nor the press of people seen in so many locales. No surprise with respect to the latter—Namibia is the second most sparsely populated country in the world.
In the evening, the ship put on a “dune dinner under the stars”. It was a wonderful evening. A percussion band greeted us as we arrived, and then a chorus from a local school put on a terrific concert. The dinner was barbecued meats, seafood, and vegetables, and was delicious. The only part missing was “under the stars.” It rarely rains in the desert. But it did that night. It was not a hard rain—more a light drizzle—but it was entrancing to be in the desert for such an unusual event. And, it made the conditions ripe for a truly spectacular sunset.
It was with great reluctance we returned to the ship that evening, and sailed away the next day from this place where the desert meets the ocean.
Our departure from Namibia marked the end of our sojourn in this hemisphere, and we set sail across the Atlantic bound for Brazil. Our mid-ocean stop, after two days of sailing, would be the island of St. Helena, which is my next blog entry.
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