Saturday

After a somewhat restless night I woke early. I stretched one leg out of bed and grasping the curtain with my toes I pulled it open. Shuffling further down in my bed and lying on my side with one leg hanging out over the side of the bed I lay looking out of the window musing on my situation. I could just see the sea through the line of palm trees and houses on the edge of the beach about 100 metres away. Waves were breaking onto the shore and the water in the early flat light looked cold and uninviting. Welcome to Swakop I thought. I’d carefully checked my money situation the night before, laying out all my cash on the bed and including even the smallest denomination coins. I’d got a few dollars and a bit of sterling that I could also exchange but my Namibian cash had got quite low and I’d intended to find an ATM first thing on Saturday morning. All in I reckoned I had about 68 quid which equated to £11.41 a day over the remaining six days. Not a lot by any stretch of the imagination. After Amex had called me last night I had got back on the phone and spoken to every bank I held an account or credit card with plus my travel insurance company (also Amex) and had exhausted every possible route to get money out to me before I left. Namibia was turning out to be a banking black hole and I was slowly being sucked in. Not one to take things lying down I got up and dressed, making my way down to breakfast. Not wanting to splurge even a cent unnecessarily and deciding to skip lunch everyday so that I could afford dinner, I put one of everything on the breakfast table on my plate and went and sat by the window glumly chewing my way through it. I decided Namibia and I just didn’t get on. Whilst showering I’d considered some more options and made a plan to go into one of the banks in town to see if they could help me. Post breakfast, indigestion already kicking in from my eclectic menu combination, I consulted my map and headed off into the centre of Swakop, a five minute or so walk from my hotel. Town was busy, stonkingly busy and every bank appeared to have people queuing out of the door. I passed Bank Windhoek, Standard Bank and then went onto Neb Bank and all were the same, people were queuing from the counters, out through the door and down the street. It looked like every bank was having a run on it. Wanting to find an explanation for the unusual phenomena I stopped and asked someone in the queue what was happening. Its pay day she told me and a public holiday on Monday and the banks close today at 12. Not having much choice in the matter I chose Bank Windhoek and bypassing the queue went in to see if there was an information point. There were only four people at this queue so thinking things were looking up, I joined the end of it. Now I can only assume that the people in front of me were discussing important and far reaching banking requirements on an international scale because whatever they were talking about was taking a very long time. A very long time indeed because I stood in the queue for 45 minutes before my turn came at last. I settled myself into the seat in front of the girl who I hope would be able to help me just like the sign said and I explained simply and clearly what my needs were. Wrong queue she said, you need to speak to....and she gestured to her colleague sitting at the next desk. With a sigh and no argument (I worked for a bank for eleven years, I know there’s no point in arguing) I went and stood back at the front of the queue and waited for her colleague. Again, I settled myself into the seat and explained my problem. Sorry she said, my colleague should have told you, we can’t help. Back out on the street I tried the next option on my list. The guidebook on Namibia mentioned a woman who for ten years had run one of the tourist information offices in the town and who was seen as a tourism ambassador. Her name was Almuth Styles. Namib-I, which she runs was just down the street and I figured if she knew everyone she might be able to help. Pitching up at her shop and pressing the bell on the wrought iron gate at the entrance (visiting a country where everything has to have security, you can’t carry a handbag because you’ll get mugged and it’s recommended you wear shoes you can run in gets a trifle wearying after a while), I walked to the counter, introduced myself and explained the situation. Almuth was pleasant and sympathetic but the only option she could offer was for me to transfer some money into her business account, let it clear and then she could give me the cash. This was kind of her and might have been an option if Monday had not been a bank holiday and I was staying longer but it was really no different to what the banks were offering me. I thanked her and left, hearing another door clang closed behind me both in reality and metaphorically. By now my list of options was getting very short indeed, it was lunchtime and I was really very hungry. I’d retrieved the half eaten sandwich from the wastepaper bin earlier than morning – beggars can’t be choosers – and rewrapped it but in my fairly depressed state having to consume a day old partly eaten sandwich was just more than I could bear the prospect of and I decided I would spend some of the 150 dollars I now seemed destined to accept as my daily budget. At the end of the street was a supermarket called the Pick & Pay and this sounded like the cheap end of the market so I headed for it to see what I could find. It is an unfamiliar sensation to be walking around a supermarket having to look at the price of things and back in the UK I would be hard pressed to tell you the cost of a pint of milk or a loaf of bread but over the course of 20 minutes I became minutely attuned to price checking and if anyone had so desired to ask me I could have exhibited an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the cost of various commodities including wine and beer. The manager had noticed me perusing the (cheaper end) of the wine selection and he came over to tell me that they would stop selling alcohol at 1.30 and wouldn’t open the section again until Tuesday due to the public holiday. Buying from the supermarket was going to be cheaper than buying a drink in a bar so this somewhat focused my attention and I quickly made my selection – a 2L box of cheap SA white- and made my way to the till via the hot sausage stand where I chose a bratwurst in a roll with marinated cucumber, tomato ketchup and a touch of chilli sauce at 9 dollars (63p). A bargain which I decided could not be missed. With the smell of hotdog in my nostrils and a box of wine in my hand I made my way to the checkout already savouring the thought of sitting on my balcony consuming the hot dog and having a glass of wine. The wine would not be chilled granted, but I was starting to get a whole lot less fussy. As I placed my goods on the belt the checkout assistant took hold of the wine and told me that she couldn’t now sell it because it was past 1 o’clock. My eyes narrowed and retaining hold of the handle I told her the manager had expressly told me I had until half past one and it was now only one fifteen, that was a whole fifteen minutes earlier than the cut-off. No she assured me, the cut-off was 1 o’clock and I couldn’t have it and she had to take it off me. For a moment we played a little game of tug of war as she pulled the wine box away from me and I pulled it back. I had no intention of losing this game. Get the manager I told her through gritted teeth, he told me one thirty. The woman behind me in the queue, bless her, backed me up. The checkout assistant relinquished hold of the wine and I pulled it to me possessively. As she went off to find the manager I considered how close the exit was and how far I thought I would get if I ran for it. Judging by the number of security guards on duty not very far I decided and so I’d obviously have to rely on my powers of persuasion and if strictly necessary shouting a bit. But this was my wine and if I had to I was willing to fight for it. TO BE CONTINUED.

Comments

[Anne]

Lorraine - I have really enjoyed reading your blog. I admire your energy, your resourcefulness and your willingness to try out every opportunity that presents itself. Sorry to hear about your purse. I hope by the time you read this (Monday late pm here) that you have been able to resolve the situation. Lots of love, Anne xx

[Richard]

Well done Lorraine.
One should always fight on a matter of principle.
I was recently charged an extra 5p just because I'd ordered a half pint.
I complained.
The result was positive.
I look forward to positive news tomorrow.
Cheers,
Richard

[Ruthie]

Lorraine, find your purse sweetie. Are you sure you have really looked everywhere? And to think I am planning on insisting you come to Cadiz to swim in the Europeans in September. Are you safe to be let out of the country again?

I do hope you manage to salvage something out of the last few days. Have you considered turning to crime?
love
Ruthie x