The C34 motorway along the Namibian coast is almost indistinguishable from the surrounding desert.
We had been driving for four hours without seeing a single person. No one. No cars. Only an eerie, dim void stretched south to the horizon. On the left is the desert and on the right is the sea. The compacted salt road is a slight gap between the two. Under the gray sky, the surface of the three people gradually disappeared, turning into an indistinguishable gray-brown color.
We are traveling along Namibia's Skeleton Coast, known by many as the end of the earth.
Looking out through the dusty front windshield, it feels like the name is apt. The untouched Skeleton Coast stretches from the Namibian-Angolan border in the north to the south for 500 kilometers to the former German colonial town of Swakopmund, where the streets are still filled with bakeries and beer gardens selling pies – it was here that thousands of Hereros and Naama Africans were killed by German soldiers a century ago.
The seaport town of Swakopmund was founded in 1892 as a colony of the German Empire, and the influence of German culture is still evident in language and architecture. During the Herero War in the early 1900s, two thousand Herero were killed by the Germans in their concentration camp here. Years later, it became a tourist destination mainly for white Namibians.
It's an area that blends cultures, landscapes, and species from the rest of the world and sometimes feels like a wasteland of the end of the world.
In early 2021, halfway through a three-week trip to Namibia, my partner and I drove along the C34 highway in this remote, treacherous land. A year ago, we started a whole new life, we left home to work to travel the world around Seattle, and just a few weeks later, our trip was suddenly interrupted by a global lockdown, so we were the first to travel. The destination, Portugal, has been blocked for seven months.
At the end of 2020, everything began to slowly reopen, and we decided to try to continue the original itinerary.
The special color of the Namibian Whale Bay Salt Plate comes from the halogenated Duscella.
Namibia quickly rose to the top of the shortlist. It is one of the least densely populated countries in the world and allows us to travel completely independently, which seems like a good option. What we didn't expect, however, was that the vast and diverse landscape here would be so stunning.
I knew very little about the country before I set my sights on it, so I immediately delved into its history and geography. While studying Skull Coast, I read about shipwrecks, desolate landscapes, and 20th-century diamond mining, and I felt its charm. It's wild, desolate, mysterious — it sparked my imagination and I knew I had to experience and photograph it.
The Ugabu Gate at the southern entrance of Skull Coast National Park is decorated with a pair of skulls and whale bones to warn visitors of the harsh environment when passing by.
We entered the gates of Skull Coast National Park near the Ugabu River, guarded by two crossbones and a towering whale bone. These things seem to be warnings: "Everyone, please give up all hope." ”
Before entering 16,000 square kilometers of protected coastline. We must provide our names and information — in case we cannot leave before nightfall — in exchange for transit permits and an appropriate level of apprehension. As we drove through the gate, we held our breath and folded our hands, praying that our rented Toyota Hilux wouldn't explode and that we wouldn't be eaten by the beach lions in the no-man's land ahead.