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| Wake me up before you flamingo, go. |
Stepping loudly along the camel path, I had upset a tide pool filled with flamingos. They filled the sky, circling above and eventually gliding back in when I stood still. As they took flight, their long, awkward necks stitched together clouds in the sky. Others stood tall in the water, like egrets, a flash of black under the wing.
Heading down the beach, I restored their peace.
Street hawkers amble up, seemingly following the same script: "Where are you from? I'm from Etosha. My name is Mike; what's yours?" From under worn windbreakers, they produce small, carved ornaments crafted from nuts. Unlike anywhere else I've been, though, they seem to fade away when you say you aren’t interested.
We're in Swakopmund for a couple days, where the soaring dunes of the Namib desert meet the Atlantic Ocean. There's a saltiness and a chill to the air. Some of the group's adventure seekers are spending their time quad biking and horse riding in the dunes, while a couple others are thinking of skydiving.
For me, the ocean has always been a happy place. I'll stick to that.
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