Later that same day

Sitting on my balcony eating my hotdog and sipping my wine (Elle 1, Pick & Pay nil) I turn over my card purse in my hand. When I’d got back to the hotel the mini bus company had dropped it off saying they’d found it on the bus after all. I was glad I’d got the cards back because the purse itself was expensive and it saved me having to buy another one but of course all the cards in it were by this point useless. But full of Bratwurst hotdog and two glasses of wine, I decided life could be worse and I would just have to do all the things in Swakop that were free. The sun was shining,, the sky was blue and the beach was beckoning and to enjoy these things didn’t cost me a bean. Carefully locking my bedroom door behind me and hiding anything that might remotely be considered valuable and with only my daily cash budget in my pocket (now reduced by the cost of a hotdog and 1/5 the cost of the wine) I decided to go and explore the town properly. Pension Rapmund is one of a handful of hotels built on a slight rise, maybe 25 feet or so above beach level which gives you a nice perspective and also means there are no buildings in front of you that obscure the view. It’s situated a few minutes walk from town one way and a few minutes walk from Palm Beach the other way and from my window I can see the Lighthouse, the tennis courts and the corner of the beachfront museum as well as the public gardens leading down to the beach. At the centre point of this upper esplanade there are a series of wide steps that lead down to an area at beach level that serves as a marketplace and every morning about 8 o’clock traders arrive and set out their wares. The stuff they sell is mainly wood or stone carvings and jewellery but they place it with care and attention and in a way that suggests that it holds some real value for them. All of them have feather dusters or something similar that they constantly use to keep the various statuettes, bowls, carvings and necklaces free of the fine red sand that gets whipped up by people walking by or cars passing. On the corner above the market is Café Anton where I have taken to going every morning to write. The café looks out over the steps down to the market below, out over the palm trees through which you can just see the beach beyond. I write for about three hours, drinking a couple of cups of coffee and eating a slice of the cheapest cake which is enough to justify my taking up a table in what is one of the most popular coffee houses in Swakop. Café Anton like everything else here exists somewhere in the period between 1975 and 1985. Laminate wood panelling extends half way up the wall, the furniture is covered in a kind of tapestry material with a weird concoction of colours which I think is supposed to suggest ‘modern’, at least 1980s modern, and net curtains edged with lace hang from the pelmets to about half way down the windows. It feels a little dated compared to coffee houses back home but the atmosphere is pleasant, it is bright and airy and there is the quiet murmur of conversation in the background. I get left alone in my corner to tap away writing about the trials and tribulations of my holiday and when I’ve finished as much as I want to do or I’m just seduced by the sunshine I pack my laptop into my bag, drop it at my hotel which is only two doors up and then walk five minutes into town to the internet café where I upload onto squarespace. It’s become a nice little routine.

There is a nice walk which I have taken to doing with some regularity once or twice a day. The walk runs along a path which follows the beach northwards starting at the museum and one end of Palm Beach and which ends at what looks like another resort 4 or 5 miles in the distance. Where the path starts is a children’s playground, a café, a bar and restaurant and the indoor swimming pool. It is a busy little area and the many brightly painted wooden benches are popular for just sitting and watching the world go by and for the short amble to the Italian ice-cream kiosk which whenever I pass it is doing brisk trade. On the left is the beach and sea, and on my right, once past the complex with the swimming pool are a variety of what look like holiday apartments designed in a modern tiered style and decorated with flashes of the kind of colours that only Germans would like. But none the less they are quite attractive and clean and tidy and have a lovely and unhindered view across the beach and out to sea. After about a quarter of a mile the holiday lets start to give way to what look like private residences and the further you go the larger and plusher they become. This is obviously where the money is. There are benches set out at various points and I sit down after I’ve been walking about 30 minutes or so and spend my time looking out to sea where apparently you see the odd dolphin (but so far I’ve seen only seagulls and cormorants) and then swinging round and gazing at the houses. It makes me think about my home and the various work I might like to do on it over the summer. When I’ve sat for a little and my bum is starting to go numb from the wooden slats I head back, diverting before I get to the swimming pool and walking behind the back of the lighthouse and Presidential residence (he’s not currently there and best avoided, apparently when he is) and head into town to look at some of the buildings from the Germanic period and which are well preserved albeit usually not open to the public and viewable only from the outside. It’s quite a strange experience to be walking through what feels just like a small German town when you know you are actually in Africa. Beyond these areas of traditional German style the rest of the town centre is 1970s concrete built like so many other places in that concoction of box like but unplanned and undesigned retail and office units and its not very pretty but I decide I like Swakop in many ways and overall it reminds of Brighton twenty or thirty years ago, but unfortunately minus the nudist beach. In my new status as a pauper I studiously note the cost of menus in cafes and restaurants and can tell you where to get the cheapest coffee or the best rates for internet access. It doesn’t bother me really, not having any money, and I know I can do the activities I’d originally planned either back home or on my next holiday. What is bothering me slightly is that though my hotel was pre-booked and paid for as is my transfer back to Windhoek and my final nights accommodation (though sadly that will have to remain back at the Chameleon guest house) I don’t actually have enough money to get back from the airport to home. But I figure that something will work out and even though I stopped a guy, a Brit, on the street and explained my plight, he told me I looked like a con-artist (well, really). But I truly believe in karma and so will let things run their course and see what happens.

In the evenings I have taken to watching the sunset from my balcony with a glass of wine. Namibia is on the west coast of Africa and so every night there are lovely sunsets. I sit with my feet propped up on the balcony surround and watch until the last vestiges of sunlight and colour disappear and it’s a lovely way to spend twenty minutes or half an hour. When at last it is dark, usually around 6 0’clock, I get ready for the evening. My choice of outfits is narrowing as my clothes become too grubby or smelly to wear and I can’t afford to get them laundered. There is a sign (what is it with Namibia and signs?) on the back of the door that says that under no circumstances must washing be done in the bathroom or clothes be hung to dry. So, there are certain items of clothing that are now borderline acceptable (mostly the whites) and I am starting to see how you can end up becoming a hobo. Certainly I wouldn’t sit next to me for too long in a café. I just hope to God that no-one decides to search my bags on the way back into the UK as they might get more than they bargained for and on the odd chance I do get searched I shall fully recommend they done a gas-mask and a pair of rubber gloves.. My restaurant of choice in the evenings is by the Lighthouse and is called The Lighthouse Restaurant (unsurprisingly) and it has a menu which has dishes ranging from very cheap to cheap, through moderate and then the occasional expensive dish which is usually seafood. Needless to say, I’ve become acquainted with the cheap and very cheap end of the spectrum and my gastronomic meals now constitute dishes like chicken burger and pizza. But my budget for dinner is N$100 which is about £7.20 and if I stick to the cheaper end then I get a meal and also a glass or two of wine and can even leave a small tip for the waitress. The Lighthouse Restaurant is very popular and so I arrive early so I can get a seat at one of the casual tables in the bar rather than in the more expensive restaurant and also by a light so that I can read my book. I wile away a few hours eating slowly, savouring my wine (no mean feat, it’s very cheap wine) and making notes from my book about things which I think will be helpful for my studies comes October. At about nine o’clock I wander back, check my messages to see if my Fairy Godmother has shown up (no) and then read a bit more before going to bed.