Monday, 2 November 2026

Namibia Notings

Route map of the caper

Travel time of twenty-six hours. From around Tropic of Cancer to a land south of Tropic of Capricorn. Circa 11,000 kms on air. Three flights with two layovers. Three friends on a discovery of a country from where Planet Earth, as we know it, evolved.

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Indian travelers on international flights offer you perspectives that you cannot otherwise imagine. The aircraft settled in mid-air after take-off at dawn from Mumbai. The crew of Ethiopian rolled out the breakfast trolleys. A thirty something scraggly beard from the cow belt occupied the window next to my aisle perch. The flight attendant handed over the breakfast tray and inquired, “Sir! What would you like to drink”? Scraggly beard had a one-word response. “Alcohol”. She recoiled in horror. Managed to recover composure and respond, “We don’t serve alcohol with breakfast”. Scraggly beard ultimately settled for a chocolate milk shake. 

On the return leg, it was afternoon in mid-air. Alcohol was available for consumption. The fifty something pot-belly (surname Shah, printed on his boarding pass), occupying middle seat next to me, was asked the same question by the attendant. The response was curt, prompt. “One Carlsberg please, with Fanta and ice”. 

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I have rarely managed a wink on flights. Flight time is utilized to catch up on reading. There’s one other activity on international flights, childish as it may seem, that keeps me glued. Watching flight path on the 3D interactive map on the screen in front of your seat. The last leg onward from Addis Ababa to Windhoek, 4200 kms over six hours, was a ride from north-east to south-west Africa. The flight carried us over eight countries. It commenced with the lakes and mountains of Ethiopia, morphed into Kenya (familiar names like Naivasha, Nakuru, Eldoret popped up) and Tanzania. The heart skipped a beat when `Gombe Stream National Park’ came up on screen. This was where Jane Goodall began her remarkable journey with chimpanzees many years ago.  Rwanda, Burundi, Democratic Republic of Congo, Angola followed, before we circled over Namibia to touch down at Windhoek.  

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For city-bred folks from India, three matters require reboot when you enter Namibia. Time, space and population. Aspects on the first two shall emerge as this diary progresses. The expanse of Namibia can house UK, Germany and Portugal, with room left over. At around 3 million, Namibia has the least population density (2 per sq. km) after Mongolia.

Except around public areas like malls and government offices, we did not see a pedestrian. Naming of roads in Windhoek deserve a separate chapter. All roads in one residential cluster were named after composers (Beethoven, Mozart, Wagner, Rossini, Strauss etc.). Elsewhere in Windhoek, there was an eclectic selection. Guthenberg, Jonas Salk, Pasteur, Mandela, Olaf Palme are some that come to mind.

One of the `busy’ thoroughfares is named after Frankie Fredericks. This was exciting for a one-time sports buff. In a continent that churns an assembly line of champion middle and long distance runners, Fredericks is a standout as Africa’s best-known sprinter. He lit up the 1992 and 1996 Olympics with four silver medals in 100 and 200 meters, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Linford Christie and Donovan Bailey. He gave Namibia its first Olympics medals after their independence in 1990.

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The scales may be different. But if you compare the `V’ shapes of the bottom half of Africa and India, they are similar. Both Eastern and Western Ghats in India enjoy abundant vegetation and soil fertility. Ditto for the eastern strip of Africa as you move up from the southern tip of South Africa through Mozambique, Tanzania and Kenya. The contrast lies on the western side as you travel north-west from Cape Town. Desolate, arid land covers the entire western coast up to Angola. This zone is dominated by the Namib Desert. The twin towns of Swakopmund and Walvis Bay are perhaps the only meaningful human settlements here. This topography is attributed to the icy Benguela current. The current is fueled by coastal upwelling that brings cold, deep water from the Atlantic Ocean to the surface, alongside wind-driven movement. Consequently, it cools the air above it, which suppresses rainfall and contributes to the aridity of the Namib Desert.

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A nation is known by the beer it offers. In Thailand it is Singha. Cambodia lets you choose between Angkor and Hanuman. Bia Saigon is the staple in Vietnam. India is too diverse to agree on its own flavour. The Namibian equivalent is Hansa, delightfully `krafted’.

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There is nothing called `public transport’ in this land. If you do not own a vehicle, your only options are to walk or to hitch a ride. A tough ask for both, given the vastness and distances involved, and the low density of traffic on the highways. The average Namibian’s priority in life, therefore, is to acquire a vehicle, even before he contemplates owning a roof above his head. The extreme climes, dust and nature of roads do not permit two-wheelers as a viable option.

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Namibia drives on the left, like India. About 15% of the roads are tarred. The remaining 85% are gravel roads, frequently serrated due to wind erosion and vehicular movement. You need to maintain speed between 60 to 80 kmph on the gravel roads to avoid bumpy rides. This requires skill and knowledge. We had a travel mate who had spent years in driving on similar roads in neighbouring South Africa. He was at the wheel for the entire 3,800+ kms route in our outing. The only blemish in his otherwise flawless negotiation of roads occurred early in our trip, on the second day. Namibian authorities require you to have your car headlights on at all times. There are multiple reasons for this law. Vehicles on gravel roads generate dust clouds that limit visibility. The long, open terrains allow other drivers to spot you from a distance when the headlights are on. Somewhere between Mariental and Keetmanshoop the highway patrol police waved us down. We had omitted to turn on the car headlights. The polite police personnel took pains to explain our driving violation. They informed that a fine of NAD 750 (about INR 4,200) had to be paid. They proceeded to fill an elaborate pre-printed form which, I noted, was headlined `Charge of Guilt’. We were advised to pay the fine at the nearest police station, which was at Keetmanshoop. There was major commotion at the police station, as the cops tried to resolve a noisy dispute with locals. We couldn’t make any sense of the exchanges since they were presumably in Afrikaans. Amidst the chaos, we managed to get a word in edgeways with a lady constable. She read the `Charge of Guilt’, looked ceiling-ward for inspiration, and proceeded to fill out another long form. This was headlined `Admission of Guilt’, which was duly acknowledged and signed by my travel mate. A section of this second form caused us concern. It was an innocent entry that mentioned `Date of court hearing’, which the constable filled in as 14th December 2026, about three months from date. Would that mean that we were stuck at Namibia till the court hearing? The lady’s reply was reassuring.

“Oh no! This is just procedural”. 

“What would happen on 14th December”?

“The police shall present the case to the judge. The judge shall ask for `Charge of Guilt’. Once provided, the judge shall then seek the signed `Admission of Guilt’. Next, Your Honour shall verify the copy of the payment receipt of the fine. Once satisfied, the case shall stand dismissed”.

The process of LAW seems more or less constant across countries. Time is not of essence. The PROCESS is.

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We stayed at Cañon Roadhouse during our visit to Fish River Canyon. It is a unique property, guarded by a dachshund named Jellybean. The property is themed around junked automobiles and allied memorabilia.

As for Fish River Canyon, it is second in size only to Grand Canyon. Hiking is a popular activity here. One can undertake a hiking trip to the bed of the Canyon. For a person with adequate fitness, it should take about five hours each way. We declared ourselves unfit for this exercise.

An early morning hike in the hills overlooking Gondwana Nature Park was what we opted for instead. The park is home to several rare species like mountain zebra and black rhinos and extends over 125,000 hectares. It is privately owned by a consortium of six people. The majority of Namibia’s land and resources continue to be privately owned; specifically, by former German and Dutch colonisers.  

Jellybean

Car decor at Canyon Roadhouse


Sunrise over Gondwana Nature Park


En route Fish River Canyon

Fish River Canyon

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Our longest drive was from Cañon Roadhouse to Sessriem. We covered 594 kms in 8 hours. Midway through, we stopped for a coffee break at Helmeringhausen. This is a human settlement in a (guess what) private farmland of former German Schutztruppe. Hotel Helmeringhausen, maker of `the best apple pies in Namibia’, complemented their fare with excellent Americano.

Private game reserves, private ranches, arid landscapes and gravelled roads led us to the dunes of Namib Naukluft National Park. Google says that at ~60 million years, Namib Desert is the oldest of its kind on earth. The dunes, at an average of 5 million years, are much younger. We hit a series of landscapes straight out of John Wayne westerns.


The road to Sessriem

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We had an early morning head start to capture the sunrise at Deadvlei and Sossusvlei. How we managed that one-hour head start over others is a story for another day. In Afrikaans, `vlei’ means `marsh’. `Sossus’ is `dead end’. So Deadvlei and Sossusvlei, situated shoulder to shoulder, bear similar meanings. There is a key difference, however. Sossusvlei is an `endorheic’ drainage basin. It holds water, but there is no drainage outlet. At Deadvlei, the marsh dried up many years ago as the surrounding dunes altered the course of the river. The trees of Deadvlei died. The dry weather did not permit them to decompose. They just turned black under the scorching sun, monuments to their own destruction. There they have remained for the past 900 years.

Road to Deadvlei from Sessriem

@ Deadvlei

@ Sossusvlei. Big Mama Dune on the right

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Dune 45 is the most photographed dune in the world. We spent time in taking in the light-and-shade effects on the dunes against a setting sun. Ascending Dune 45 amidst strong winds, shifting sand, narrow trail and a considerable gradient was lung-busting. The photo-op from above made it worthwhile.



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Night arrived in the desert. The sky dazzled. The whole country could function as a dark sky reserve. For the keen stargazer, this is a double delight. Apart from visibility, the position of the stars relative to earth south of the Equator is acutely different from that up north. You get to see the alignment of stars differently.

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We understood why it is a challenge for human settlement to exist along Africa’s west coast when we arrived at Walvis Bay. Being part of the Namib Desert, sand dunes rise straight from the Atlantic shores. The desert heat is in constant tussle with icy, blustery winds from the Atlantic. A cold blanket of clouds above lends the ocean a menacing dark grey hue. Combined with the crashing waves on hidden rocks and sand beds, this is not a sight for the weak hearted. We undertook a couple of heart-in-the-mouth experiences in this setting. A gravity-defying drive up the dunes of Sandwich Harbour, 40 kms north of Walvis Bay. A speedboat ride in the Atlantic followed next morning as we sought sightings of seals, dolphins and whales.

Dusk arrives over Atlantic @ Walvis Bay

The road to Sandwich Harbour

Atop Sandwich Harbour

Black backed jackals gorging on a seal corpse on Atlantic shore near Sandwich Harbour

Seal colony @ Pelican Island off Walvis Bay

The colour of Atlantic, in the backdrop of an oil rig and seal colony

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Swakopmund is a picture postcard town on the Atlantic coast, home to the well-heeled white community. The Germans refer to it as `Bavaria by the Sea’. The weather at Swakopmund is benign compared to Walvis Bay, since it sits on a convenient curvature on the Atlantic shore. The shops bear signboards in German, Wilhelmine architectural influence is evident in the buildings. Food options are eclectic. We preferred to settle in a `biergarten’, gloat over schnitzels, steak pies and draught and watch the ocean waves break on shore.




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Mining is a major activity in Namibia. Forty kms out of Swakopmund, on our way to Spitzkoppe, we saw signboards leading to Rössing Uranium Mine. No prizes for guessing who owns it. It is China National Uranium Corp.

Further on in Damaraland, we crossed the town of Uis. This is a colony built around tin mines.

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We took a north-easterly direction from Swakopmund into Damaraland. Two hours on, we hit an extended pit stop. From far away across the desert floor, the granite hills or `inselbergs’ of Spitzkoppe stood out. The hills have been around for 120 million years and attracts rock climbers from all over. We had to do our bit of amateur climbing, too, to capture Instagrammable photos. 


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In 2007, UNESCO accorded Namibia its first world heritage site at Twyfelfontein. In Afrikaans, the word means `uncertain spring’, certifying it as an unreliable source of water. This site is remarkable for its petroglyphs as a form of rock art. The nomadic San tribesmen created this art as part of their shamanic rituals between three to six thousand years ago.


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Wildlife is spread across the 50,000 sq. kms expanse of Namib Naukluft National Park. Sightings are common as you drive through the desert. For concentrated wildlife viewing, however, you need to visit Etosha National Park, an expanse of 22,000 sq. kms.. There is a method involved in tracking wildlife here. Given the scarcity of water, man-made waterholes have been constructed at strategic distances for the inmates of Etosha. As a visitor, you simply park your vehicle at these waterholes and wait for magic to happen, your camera on the ready.

Sunset. Okakuejo Pan, Etosha

When night falls on Okakuejo Pan, Etosha

Perspective on relative sizes

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The technically correct name is Oryx Gazella. Namibians call it Gemsbok. It is Namibia’s national animal and features in the country’s coat of arms. A buff coat, black shoulders and tail, black and white stockings and face mask with ornate antlers. It a sight to behold.

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Imagine a sandstone plateau, 15 kms wide, rising above vegetation as a water reservoir-cum-fortress. That’s Waterberg plateau. The rocks here are over 850 million years old. There are also 200-million-year-old dinosaur tracks in the vicinity. For those in the know, Waterberg is the prime bird watching hotspot in the country. With some luck, you also get to observe elusive fauna like porcupines. Our night stay was a two kms drive from the lodge reception amongst forests below the plateau rocks. `Solitude’ takes on a new meaning in such surroundings.



Go-away bird among jacaranda blossoms, Waterberg

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Namibia is perhaps the only country where, as Indians, we were met with frequent sideways glances, even direct gazes, from passersby. On multiple occasions, people walked up to us to inquire where we were from. 

As our plane taxied for take-off from Windhoek, words of the poet played on my mind.

‘মহাবিশ্বে মহাকাশে মহাকাল-মাঝে

আমি মানব একাকী ভ্রমি বিস্ময়ে, ভ্রমি বিস্ময়ে’॥

Badly translated, that would read:

`Amidst the vast universe, in the depths of space, through the expanse of eternal time,

I, a human, wander alone—filled with wonder, filled with wonder.’

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Wednesday, 10 June 2026

Himalayan Diary-aah!

 

Twenty years ago, Teesta was a sight to behold. Unbridled, roaring, raw energy. As I make my way up the banks of Teesta, past Sevoke, Kalijhora, Durbindhara, I am dismayed. Today’s Teesta lies like a tranquilized tigress in a rangebound cage. She is being utilized for her hydro potential, for the benefit of mankind. River rafting still occurs along Teesta, but on a surface that is bereft of roughs and rapids, more akin to a paddle boat ride on a tranquil lake. Teesta is placid and tired, having given up her fight.

Confluence of Teesta and Rangit

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The hamlet of Kashone (pop. 2,449 distributed between 500 odd families), at an elevation of 4,000 ft., lies near the border of Bengal and Sikkim. Time stands still here. The only sounds you hear emanate from birds and crickets. For a city-based soul, it takes time to adjust the ears to the surrounding sound. The sound of silence. My hideout is the solitary homestay at Kashone, run by Mangal Bhutia, of a non-descript age and genial disposition. He’s the sole operator in this five-room outfit, a local version of Reginald Jeeves.

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Terraced organic cultivation is prevalent here. An abundance of millepedes contributes to the preservation of soil fertility. The produce from the fields, when presented on the table, brings a smile of contentment. Mangal is a superb self-taught chef, passionate about his craft. He does not rely on YouTube videos for inspiration. He operates on his gut feel, mix-and-match approach to concoct delectable fare. On my first evening, he dished out a wicked chicken curry. Breakfast the next morning was a ramen dish that left me scrambling for multiple helpings.

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I remember lines from a poem in our school curriculum.

`What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows
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Google validates that William Henry Davies, a Welsh poet who spent a large part of his life as a tramp or a hobo, wrote these lines. He titled it `Leisure’. I am a relentless practitioner of this pursuit since I bade goodbye to a nine to five routine.

I stare out at a tall hill across the Rangpo river valley. The green draped hill is marred by a tanned white, winding gash that cuts its way up the hill. That’s the road built to carry people to Pakyong airport. The airport, Sikkim’s first, was built at a cost of INR 600 crores plus. The project was hailed as a technical triumph of reinforced soil structure engineering. Our Prime Minister inaugurated this airport for commercial flights in 2018 with fanfare and photo-op. By 2024, Pakyong airport was declared closed. The primary reason attributed for the closure was the challenge of weather conditions and visibility issues for take-off and landing, a fact that was known ab initio to the powers that be. `Development’ can be tricky!

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Evening arrives. Clouds had been gathering since afternoon. The skies burst open in fury. `Torrential’ would be the word for it, I suppose. Amidst strong wind gusts, an unstable power distribution grid ensures complete darkness. The evening is thus a sonic presentation; sitting in pitch darkness in my balcony to hear the rain fall on the tinned roof. `Listen to the falling rain, listen to it fall…..’.  (Jose Feliciano).

The skies clear by the break of dawn. Puffs of innocent clouds float across the valley. Resplendent, dazzling green wherever your eyes go, in shades that a palette cannot hold.



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This zone is home to a varied avian population. It would also be a lepidopterist’s delight. There is a misconception that butterflies were originally called `flutterbies’ which, though logical, has no basis. Why split hairs over such trivialities when you are better off marvelling at the riot of colours that these little creatures bring?  

Verditor Flycatcher

Red-billed Leiothrix

Ring butterfly

Himalayan Bulbul

Dark-branded Bushbrown

Common five-ring

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A meaningful bakery culture flourishes in the region. The fastest moving items off the shelves are not breads or cakes, but a whopping range of cookies. They come in myriad shapes, sizes and flavours. The business is dominated by Muslims. It may be an interesting study to understand how this industry evolved and spread in the Kalimpong / Darjeeling hills, and why cookies hold centrestage.

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Mangal had to drive down to Kalimpong for work at the district civil court. I joined him on the drive. We passed Deolo on the way. This hilltop entered the Bengali's conscience in 2012 when a purported secret meeting occurred between our erstwhile Chief Minister and the promoters of two now-defunct Ponzi schemes. Word spread and tourists began flocking. Deolo transformed from a sleepy, secluded hilltop. An indiscriminate construction boom followed, resulting in the existence of at least 60 homestays here now.

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The drive from Teesta Bazar to Dawaipani is an experience. The 6,500 ft climb begins with gravity-defying gradients and sharp hairpin bends. Once that is done, the carpeted tea bushes in the surrounding estates take over. We pass by familiar names for the discerning tea lover; Peshok, Lopchu, Takdah, Runglee Rungliot. There are also names like Tinchuley, Lamahatta, Lovers’ Meet View Point along the journey that occupy mind-space in this social media age. A 20 kms run that should have been completed in an hour ultimately consumes three, thanks to the traffic chaos caused by these Instagram stopovers. Setting aside the picture postcard landscape, the remaining environment is a replica of Kolkata’s Burra Bazar. Ugly, makeshift houses masquerading as homestays round every corner, temporary stalls offering momo, thukpa, chow mein and even dosa and phuchka. Eager, screaming batches of tourists being unloaded from diesel belching SUVs, beer-bellied gents in skin-fit tees, women adorned as Christmas trees and kids engaged in bickering when they find time to take eyes off their screens. At Tinchuley ladies line up for photo-shoots amidst tea bushes, dressed in `phiran’ (yes, `phiran’, which is Kashmiri), faux gold jewelry and wicker baskets on their backs to ape tea pluckers.


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Gujarat is a `dry’ state. I am informed that parched souls drive to neighbouring Daman or to Mount Abu to quench their thirst. Bihar, too, is a `dry’ state. It is just a two-hour ride from Kishanganj (in Bihar) to the base of the north Bengal hills beyond Siliguri. That may explain why one in three vehicles you see in these hills bear a Bihar registration plate.  

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The last evening at Dawaipani. The sky remains overcast, though without threat of imminent rain. Balmy 16 degree Celsius weather. From my sitout, I observe a bonfire party in progress in the lower reaches. Wild gyrations to the boombox output of `Budtameez Dil’. The alcohol flow helps up the tempo. Tourists come in all forms. Touche!


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