Thirsty?
We left Swakopmund early, to avoid the heat. The cool Atlantic breeze feathered in through the windows as we headed south along the coast to Walvis Bay, and the day spread out before us in all its glory. We were light-hearted. We sang.
Then we headed inland, into the Namib desert, and things warmed up a little.
By midday, all the bottled water in the car was almost at boiling point.
By one, we had a dilemma – to keep the windows open and hope the hot, dusty air would cool our sweat, or close the window to avoid the bulk of the dust and rely on the hot, dusty air filtering in through the ventilation holes*.
By two, we were no longer speaking. Sweating and grunting was all we were capable off, and not in a good way.
After what seemed like hours of being slowly broiled in a light coating of dust, during which I felt as if I was an unwilling participant in an Anthony Worrall-Thompson recipe, we passed this sign, standing alone on the empty, baking plain.
This is clearly someone’s idea of a sick joke.
*I can’t afford to hire a car with air-conditioning.