Urban Desert

We reached the end of our desert safari today, making a journey from the camp near Sossusvlei to Windhoek with only one stop for a picnic lunch along the way. After saying my goodbyes – especially to Nat, Sammie, and Shin – I headed off separately to the Chameleon Backpacker’s lodge. I arrived without a reservation, under the assumption that a hostel always has at least one bed to spare, somewhere. And that is exactly what I got: the very last bed in the compound, which was not technically in a room but rather next to the building outside with the campers, who appeared to be long-term guests. With my payment, I received a small locker the size of a dresser drawer to store my valuables and a key to the front gate.

Today, I have traded desert camping for its urban counterpart. This reminded me so much of Paco and my urban camping adventure of summer 2006, making our way to the roof of an unnamed apartment complex and camping on one of the picnic tables up there. From my bottom bunk, I have a clear view of the stars, even more so than I had yesterday through the vent of my canvas tent. The cool breeze feels nice on my face and shoulders. It is a welcome respite to what lies just outside the gate…

The ambience of Windhoek as a whole is strange and somewhat off-putting. The German influence in the city layout and general mentality is clear – from street signs bearing names like Schlossstrasse to the pubs and beer gardens lining the main streets to the invisible nightly curfew that everyone seems to follow without exception – colonialism has clearly left its mark on this place. ‘Vibrant’ is hardly a word I would use to describe what it’s like to walk on these lonely streets. Shops close at 17:30 sharp. The streets begin to clear out shortly thereafter. Everything is neat and tidy but somehow devoid of a 'city soul.' Casinos can be found staggered throughout the town bearing names like “Bandit.” Young men loiter outside ATMs, eager to “help” expatriates to use their “international cards” on local machines. Conversations with shopkeepers are frequently awkward and unpleasant. One gets the feeling that everything, from the lack of local hospitality to the unavailability of just about anything after five, seems to be saying “Get out.” After dark, every variety of unscrupulous individual can be found wandering the otherwise empty streets.

I texted Mario from the “Grand Canyon Steakhouse” (which belongs to the Spur franchise), as I sat on the restaurant's balcony that I would be heading to Swakopmund the next morning. He replied that he was planning to travel to Omaruru to join colleagues for the Microlight Association meeting and invited me to come along. I accepted the offer enthusiastically – how could I have refused?

So Mario informed me, “Ok, ich freue mich dich zu sehen. Erhole dich und pass auf dich auf. Samstag morgen um 6 uhr fliegen wir alle microlight in Omaruru. Bis morgen.” (“Ok, I am looking forward to see you. Get yourself together and take care on your trip back. Saturday morning at 6 o’clock, we will all be flying microlights together in Omaruru. Until then.”) And that was that.

I managed to find an internet café in the area, where I started to research flights and entry requirements to the DR Congo for next month’s mission to Lubumbashi. I was disappointed to find no flights under 500 USD. (I thought that M- had mentioned something about a $100 one-way?) and the website for the Congolese Embassy in Windhoek was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, I headed back to Chameleon in a shared taxi with Brett, where we said our bon voyages and Don’t Dies. Now I am just hoping to get a wink or two of sleep in my al fresco suite before I catch the next minibus to Swakop early tomorrow morning. These last days have been strange and surreal, and are likely to continue to be so in the upcoming months…