Elle UK May2020

ELLE.COM/UK May 2020

About an hour from Swakopmund, a

batteredwhitesignannouncesI’mcrossing

theTropicofCapricornand,weirdly,the

radiocracklesintolife.Afterthelonghours

ofsilence,it feelslikemakingcontactwith

apocalypsesurvivors.Twiddlingthedial,

I strikeplaylistgold:TheDoors’RidersOn

The Storm, and then Bruce Springsteen

(andme)beltingBornTo Runoutofthe

windowintothedrydesertair.

YoucandrivethefullsixhoursnorthfromSwakopmundto

MoweBay,ontheSkeletonCoast,namedforthewhalebones

andshipwreckswashedupalongits5OOkmlength.Oryou

canflyintotheBay,asI did,ononeofScenicAir’sCessna21O

four-seaters:9Ominutesofbeingbuffetedbyhot-aircurrents

aboveolddiamondmines,sculptedochredunesandlunar-like

rocks,butnota singlehouse,camporsignofhumanlife.

MoweBayisjustanairstrip,a tinymuseumofwhalebones

andwreckmemorabiliaandhutsusedbyscientists.TheCape

fursealcolonyisnearby,wherehundredsofsealsdiveinto

waves,orlollonglisteningrocksascormorantswheeloverhead.

ToreachShipwreckLodge,whereI’mstaying,youhaveto

ditchyourcaratMoweBay.Theownersagreedthat,alongwith

giving5O%ofprofitstothelocalnomadicHimbatribes,no

roadswouldbeconstructed.Instead,theycollectyouina jeep,

drivingyouoverthedunestothelodge.

Earthy palette

LEFT: HOANIB VALLEY CAMP.

ABOVE: BOAT-STYLE

BATHROOMS AT

SHIPWRECK LODGE. BELOW:

HOT-AIR BALLOONING

IN SOSSUSVLEI

T HECAMP Kulala

Desert Camp

Apainfullyslowhourlater,myheadlights

pickingoutredanimaleyesinthedarkness

I finallycrawl into Kulala.The 1O cosy

thatchedbandashaveflatroofswhereyou

cansleepunderthestarsand,inatented

diningroom,largepotsofchickpeaand

kudustewarewaiting.Atbreakfast,beforeit getstoohot,you

caneatoutside,watchingspringbokdrinkingatthewaterhole.

Spenddayspedallingintothedesertonelectricbikes,hot

airballooningordrivingtoSossusvlei’sdunes,whereyoucan

climbuptothe325msummitofBigDaddy,wadingknee-deep

inhotsand.PhotographingDeadVleiis easier,whereblackened

treespointtheirwizenedbranchestowardsthesurrealbluesky.

THEDESERT Sossuvlei to Swapokmund

Aftertwonights,I’monmyownagainforthe4OOkmdrivenorth

tothesmalltownofSwakopmund.Occasionally,I spota white

dust cloud spirallingon the horizon, signalling the eventual

arrival of another vehicle. We wave as wepass, with the

camaraderieoffellowtravellersaloneinthewild.I slipintomy

thoughtsagain,problemsseeminginconsequentialinthefaceof

suchvastwilderness.If drivingtherapyisn’ta thing,it shouldbe.

Elle E X P LORE

” OCCASIONALLY,

I SP OT ANOT HER

VEHICLE.

WE WAVE WITH

THE CA MAR ADERIE

OF FELLOW

TRAVELLERS

alone in the wild”^

making me lose all sense of time and place in this surreal,

Mars-like landscape. How often do you have hours just to think?

Two wrecked cars half-buried in sand among giant cacti

mark the entrance to Solitaire: a bakery, a café, a (cash-only)

petrol station and a store. The apple pie is as moreish as

everyone says, but it puts me further behind schedule. I reach the

small settlement of Sesriem, the gateway to the Namib- Naukluft

National Park, as the sky is darkening. Kulala is still 37km away

and on this terrain I can only do 2Okph.

I see a large orange oval hanging in the

sky. Assuming it is a camp sign, I follow it

before realising it is the moon – a strange,

amber one, its shape distorted by the

desert air. The disappointment is crushing.

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