What's that? We are leaving camp at 0530? Meaning we get up at 0445? In the pitch black? In a dust bowl? Stumbling about with only one eye working? Disassembling the tent in the light of a headtorch? Taking each discrete thing to the truck as soon as it's finished with, rather than put it down on the ground and risk mislaying it in the dark? What an appealing prospect.
And for what? A possible good sunrise over Brandberg, viewed from a point a mile or two down the road, where we were to set up tripods and stuff and wait to be impressed. Most on this trip are (seriously) past 21. All have travelled pretty extensively. We have seen sunrises. We have photographed them to death. And, dear reader, this one did not even begin to mount a challenge. In short, it was naff. The scrambled-eggs-and-ham concoction, with pancakes and blueberries, hit the spot, however.
Our midday stopping-off point was Cape Cross Seal Reserve. As with sunrises, I have seen seals, so was not expecting much. Fortunately, this attraction offered much more than the fierce odour, which was in evidence from hundreds of yards away. The number of seals was huge, all ages, shapes and sizes. Some alive, some dead and already providing snacks for the seabirds. I heard the word cute being used by fellow spectators in response to the youngsters' antics. And yes, it fitted.
On to Swakopmund, an extremely Germanic town. Everywhere one sees Deutsch on the shop windows and hears it on the Straße. Nice place, though, with attractive Victorian architecture mingling with ultra-modern buildings, which look like they have been there only five minutes. AiF surprised us by announcing that we are to be put up in bungalows, two bedrooms in each, for the next three nights. Fandabidozie; we can all tip out our big luggage, discover stuff we haven't seen for seven weeks, rejoice that such things have not been lost, and repack neatly. Icing on the cake? A laundrette 200 yards away. Many of the group remark upon the incongruity of such a setting coming so hard on the heels of this morning's starting point, a bleak, empty wilderness.
We dine at Kücki's gastropub. Lemon sole and Rösti. Pretty damn fine. The Windhoek lager not so. Will try a different one tomorrow.
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