Cruising out of the barren wasteland of the Skeleton Coast, one comes immediately to the improbable seaside city of Swakopmund. Resting at the mouth of the usually dry Swakop River, the city gleams like a quartz monument to the desert it was raised from. If Windhoek is the beating heart of Namibia, this haven is its weekend getaway.
African cities are not usually noted for their safety, but Swakopmund's broad sandy streets and low rise German-inspired architecture, beer gardens and seafront markets inspire a rarely found ease on the streets generally absent in this corner of the globe. Cruising into the city in a desert-adapted truck, making a very sharp transition from desolate sand to paved plaza, feels silly until you notice all the locals' vehicles look the same.
The other thing I immediately noticed about this charming city is the lack of razor wire around houses - unthinkable in an equivalent city in South Africa - which brought an instant feeling of calm and excitement about getting to explore this lesser known adventure stop in the ensuing days.
Shortly after Namibia gained its independence, the SWAPO government set about using American and German loans to boost the country's tourism sector in what has since become a shining example of how to take one of the poorest countries in the world and turn it into a regional economic power.
Much of the early expenditure and promotional tourism focused on developing access to adventure sports and the unique desert environment of the Namib-Naukluft and particularly the city of Swakopmund. That Namibia has managed to balance this development with stringent environmental and wildlife protections that have seen a number of endangered species recover is all the more impressive.
Due to its unique desert environment being perched on the rim of Africa's equally unique bushveld and tropical wetland, Namibia exhibits a high degree of endemism and locality to its wildlife populations; simply put many such animals are found only in this part of the world. Continuous with the Namib Desert and its namesake region of South Africa, the Namaqua Chameleon (Chamaeleo namaquensis) is Swakopmund's quiet poster child for the success of local wildlife tourism.
We swung through the quiet streets to a set of cabins on stilts above the wetland lagoon adjacent to the fog-burdened, crashing waves of the South Atlantic. On the horizon our destination for the following morning - the undulating faded yellow dunes of the Dorob National Park; or part of it at least. The Dorob is fragmented into many parts, carved up and cut off by the riverbeds and highways leading into Swakopmund.
Pelicans and street cats darted between the stilts, and down below the arresting sight of a herd of domestic dromedaries - fitting with the dune background, but totally out of place in Southern Africa. We later learned they were kept on the scrub land around the lagoon to keep it free of overgrowth. Settling down for a moment of respite in the traditionally decorated interior, we were at last able to sample some genuine Namibian gastronomy after spending weeks away from urbanity.
An evening wandering the streets and we found a plethora of fantastic restaurants, and dropped in to a supermarket to find the elusive eembe berry liqueur native to Namibia. We succeeded in this endeavour - it tastes like hazelnuts blended with a gently fragranced sultana; a celebration of this uniquely Namibian fruit.
We stopped at what was clearly a heavily instagrammed cafe doubling as a sunglasses store to pick up my third (maybe fourth?) pair after the cruelty of desert living on such personal effects, and moved on to a converted tug boat turned restaurant. We were served the obligatory pepper-dusted antelope (springbok this time) as well as the delicious Namibian national dish - spicy okapana beef and vetkoek.
The meal ended with a world-changing marula-laced baklava that I cursed the chef for afterwards as this endemic woody fruit beloved by elephants and baboons is unobtainable outside of Southern Africa. Pleased with our culinary win, we staggered back for the most restive night of sleep we'd had for weeks.
Days start early in Namibia. Approaching midday the blasting sun is intolerable and goes down early and quickly in the late afternoon, so we were up and out joined by a local desert specialist, Buzz, to head into the Dorob on the outskirts of town. Buzz, an expert in arid-adapted reptiles and bugs, took us straight into the mounds against the coast, instantly disorienting us in a sea of identical and ever-shifting sand dunes.
The sun was still hidden by the early fog bank along the coast that stretches over the desert some fifty miles on occasion only to be burned off each morning by the blistering sun. On the way in we passed another desert truck sunk deep into the loose surface sand - an off-road attempt gone badly awry. Buzz repeated what I learned previously, that heading over to help was likely to get us both stuck. Out here you must dig yourself out; fortunately vehicles are all well equipped to do so and the other crew made it out in short time.
Bouncing over the sand on essentially flat tyres, Buzz stopped suddenly and jumped out, bare-footed (I still wince) onto the scorching sand. Somehow he had spotted the imperceptible flux in a dune to reveal a buried Namib Sand Lizard - a tiny digging specialist with a semi-translucent body and enormous eyes. We marveled at the lizard, and Buzz's considerable tracking skill, and continued our quest for the Namaqua Chameleon.
Out here it's easy to get lost - water is your only friend and you drink litres of the stuff in a couple of hours. A line of sight to the top of the lighthouse in Swakopmund on the horizon was the only tether to rely on, though only intermittently sighted as we kept dipping below dunes. A few bushes grow here - seemingly providing respite for small animals from the violence of the palpable sunlight.
How wrong to assume protection; each tortuous bush was home to a buried secret, coiled and poised to strike at a moment's notice. The Peringuey's Viper, or African Sidewinding Adder, is a small snake by most standards, but its bite can hospitalise even the sturdiest of people and risk amputation of the affected limb.
We barely saw their obscurely positioned eyes, but as they unearthed themselves we finally made out their ornately crafted scales and battering ram heads. So engrossed in these turbulent vipers was I that I didn't hear Buzz the first time he called us from afar.
Only when I turned to ask him about the strike range of the vipers (forty centimetres it turns out) did I see him miraged, hand up in the distance. He'd found a chameleon. Wandering, unprotected, across the open gravel pans there it was - smaller than I imagined, but no less spectacular; a truly wild Namaqua Chameleon, purposefully walking and oblivious to his onlookers.
I crept up a little closer, though in truth stealth is not necessary to get within photographic range of this locally common species. Chameleons are fearless, actively ranging the pans in search of others to fight and seize territory from. Though small, chameleons will spar in vicious combat to the death to protect their range. Resources are scarce out here and interlopers must be punished.
Crouching down to try and achieve that coveted ground-up action shot, I was acutely aware of the near invisible vipers and worse lurking in the sand. Thankfully there were none in the immediate area and I was treated to iconic displays of the classic projectile tongue and mismatched eye positions so evocative of chameleon behaviour.
How strange to be seeing this ancient relic out here. Chameleons are notoriously difficult to see in the wild, despite many species still being thought to be relatively common. The jungle-dwelling vibrant green species of children's books is every bit accurate, but these desert chameleons were a pasty grey, changing from white to dark brown depending on the position and the ferocity of the sun overhead.
A surprising visitor appeared out here, in the form of a Tractrac Chat. These tiny grey birds are arguably even better camouflaged against the dunes than the chameleons, but these individuals were known to Buzz who informed me of their adoration of people and the crumbs they bring, with remarkably little fear despite the hostility of their own homes.
Frustrating the slower chameleon, the chats darted in stealing food and waiting just long enough for him to get nearby before flying elsewhere in what was clearly some sort of hilarious game. Eventually the birds grew tired and flew off elsewhere, no doubt to hassle an unsuspecting snake or other lizard.
We resumed our viewing of the chameleon as he began lumbering incessantly forward over the relative boulders and, for him, towering sand dunes created by our footprints. With a glance back he wandered deeper into the open desert pan, just as the midday sun peaked and blazed across the glassy sculpted plain. The mysteries of how these animals survive in such aridity are only just becoming apparent.
After yet another water stop, we broke out of gravel bank and slowly bounced through the tallest dunes in this portion of the desert, reserved as a sandy theme park for those with more adventurous pursuits in mind. Duneboarding and skydiving are popular pastimes out here on the edge of nowhere, and the communities of the Dorob have done well from thrill-seeking visitors.
This desert is a surprisingly fragile place though. To the uninitiated sand dunes and flat gypsum pans look featureless, unimportant and open to disruption with minimal consequence. Sadly this is not the case, and we understand now that the extremity of survival out here puts virtually all life on a knife edge; the slightest flux in the environment can wreak widespread damage.
Tragedy besets desert-dwelling wildlife: so much of it is so hard to find that damage to populations and their environment can be very difficult to spot or quantify. Namibia has worked hard to protect its precious environment - these deserts are ancient and home to a wonderful array of animals. Hundreds of square kilometres of seemingly empty desert are under permit orders, patrolled by air and sealed off from the masses, which has done wonders to protect these environments in-situ.
The local abundance and positive conservation status of the chameleons and vipers that live here should not, however, give us cause for relief - such animals can only live here in this narrow band along a special periphery of the African continent. We must continue to preserve such environments by respectful education and constant conservation efforts, or we may not ever know the treasures we stand to lose.
All photography © Chris Milligan Photo. All views are my own. Seek local recommendations before photographing or approaching any wildlife.
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