With a sigh of relief, we made it to the coastal town of Swakopmund (or Swakop/SWAH-KOP, if you’re cool and in-the-know) without a hitch. The temperatures in this Atlantic resort-ish town were easily 10-15 degrees cooler than we’d experienced near Sossusvlei. Sweet relief. It was like stepping from a sauna into a cool summer’s day. We had 3 nights in a wonderful guesthouse run by Jean and Richard and their chess-playing 8 year old son. Those 4 days went by in the blink of an eye.
We rolled in like the Namibian version of the Beverly Hillbillies – filthy, sick, sandy, exhausted and jittery from lack of sleep. The guesthouse was a mirage…clean white sheets, fluffy duvets, bathtubs, laundry, and home cooked breakfasts, all two blocks from a pounding surf.
Swakop is a funny town…Germanic in the extreme. Every street name, every menu, every statue is some sort of ode to Germany. At the same time, Swakop feels like an outpost – a strange little lush resort town carved out of the desert and abutted by the Skeleton Coast. Sushi restaurants and craft breweries vie for space on the gorgeous pier and adventure-sports and backpacker hacks all try to lure you and your Namibian dollars (completely interchangeable with SA Rand) their way.
We settled a still-sick Tom into bed and spent our first day napping, bathing, doing laundry and trying to find miso soup. Tom hadn’t eaten in days and it was all he craved. But alas, no miso. He gamely agreed to eat some salt & vinegar chips (Alert! Alert! Sign of extreme dehydration says the hysteria-inducing Dr. Google). I even let him eat them in BED. And if you know me, you’d know that things must’ve been pretty desperate…
When Tom’s fever still hadn’t abated sufficiently by day 2 in Swakop, our host Jean made a hasty appointment at the Cottage Medical Clinic. For those who share my demented People Magazine obsession, you may recall that this is where Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie chose to deliver their first child. And so I figured, if it’s good enough for Brangelina, it’s surely good enough for Tom.
We were seen almost immediately by an attentive doctor in a very modern practice. Tom, as it turns out, had a bad case of bronchitis and was quickly prescribed loads of antibiotics and other meds. I was so impressed…the whole episode took less than an hour, cost less than $40 (meds included) and was as good, if not better, than any care he’d have received in Canada. Score one for the Namibian medical system.
So it was back to the guesthouse and another day spent relaxing, reading, playing with the resident dogs, jumping on the trampoline, and getting some rest. We ventured out for dinner at a Swakop institution – the Tug, but turned in early and slept some more.
By Day 3, the meds had begun to kick in and we were able to explore Swakop in earnest. Tom was still a bit…meh…so spent much of the time swaddled in blankets in the 25 degree weather. We took a boat tour out to Sandwich Harbour to see the resident seal colonies. The kids loved the extroverted seals and pelicans who’d jump right onboard the catamaran looking for fish and handouts. I loved the fresh oysters and champagne.
We also did a quad-bike tour of some of the dunes. This was a definite highlight for Henry who was let loose with his own quad, not a “L” sign in sight. We had a great guide named B1 (‘sorry, what is that short for?’, Jean asks. ‘It’s not short for anything’, B1 answers. Oh, riiiight). He spent some time explaining the formation of the dunes as well as letting us rip it up a bit. He also brought along a big magnet to pick up the iron oxide found in the dunes and managed to spell all the kids’ names using the shavings. Fun little parlour trick, for sure.
Having spun our wheels for a few days while Tom was sick, we also crammed in a “Living Desert” tour after sundown. Our enthusiastic young guide took us out into the dunes to see what, if anything, we could find. Turns out the the dunes aren’t as desolate as one would think. He spotted geckos and huge spiders, though we weren’t able to find any snakes or scorpions that night. Which, fyi, was quite ok by me. The desert is kinda creepy in the dark.
On our last morning, we awoke to a healthy, hungry Tom and a hacking, fevered Lucy. Old pros by now, we quickly made another appointment with the clinic. Dr. Black took one look at us and said, “You’re back?! I really don’t want to meet your eldest too”. As we were about to head off into the wilds of Damaraland and Etosha (read: middle of nowhere), he prescribed all sorts of “just-in-case” meds and merrily sent us on our way. Score two for the Namibian medical system.
We said goodbye to our clean sheets and comfy guesthouse and headed north along the Skeleton Coast, so named for the whale skeletons that used to dot the coastline as well as the countless ships that foundered along the rough, breaking coast. Some old, some not so old.
The Skeleton Coast felt eerie…gloomy, dark, haunting. I couldn’t imagine a rougher, more desolate spot to be wrecked. And then it was back onto the gravel, washboard-y tracks towards Damaraland, with two healthy kids, one sick kid and two tired parents in tow.