Brad, Angelina, and My Bi-Lingual Tour Guide

It’s been more difficult than I though to join along with a guided tour. I’ve been itching to see some wildlife since I’ve been here – even though Windhoek feels different than any city I’ve ever been in, I have this idea that seeing zebras and cheetahs will make it feel more “African.”

On the recommendation of Guido, I contacted Adolph at Gourmet Tours, an Austrian who has been living in Windhoek for most of his life. Adolph was giving a tour of the city to an Austrian couple Sunday afternoon and said I was welcome to join. Happily, the spoke a little English, so we were able to joke and converse a little bit. Otto and [wife whose name I didn’t catch] are from Vienna, and I felt like a total tourist dork when mentioned I loved Vienna, but the three things I really remembered were the opera, Sachertorte, and Mozart chocolates. So it goes.

Adolph was a phenomenal tour guide. He’d speak a few sentences, or a few words, in English than in German. Otto had a lot of questions, so I was happy they usually filled me in on what they were talking about. Windhoek is actually a pretty young city, it’s only about 120 years old. While it’s a fairly wealthy city, Adolph also warned us about the crime situation and told us to be extremely careful at all times.

The Parliament building was my favorite. Locals refer to it as the “Ink Palace” for all the bureaucrats and paperwork that filled its halls. Perched on a hill near the Parliament, looking over the city, was a large statute of a German soldier on horse. Adolph mentioned how curious he found this statute – though a very large symbol of German colonialism, there it remained in perfect condition overlooking the city, as if the Germans were still watching over the city. It's interesting how the colonial history is remembered here. Kathleen, one of the clinic instructors at Stanford, was wonderful to recommend King Leopold’s Ghost for summer reading – I had just finished a chapter discussing how Belgium portrays its colonial history of the Congo, so it was very interested to hear Adolph talk about the history of Windhoek.


Next to the Parliament and statue is the Christ Church, a historic German Lutheran church dating back to 1896. A plaque inside the Christ Church listed the name, rank, date, and place of death for each soldier killed in the battles with the Huerora in the early 1900s. The church listed 2,000 German names. There was no official record of the Namibians (Huerora) who were killed, Adolph said some figures were as high as 75,000, a more reliable figure (he thought) was between 20-40,000.

I didn’t expect the disparity to be quite that dramatic, since I’m pretty sure the figure he referenced was discussing only battle casualties, and not starvation, disease, and other indirect deaths resulting from the conflict. Again, no memorial for the tribes, even though Germany has not been in power since the first World War.

















I think the funniest moment of the tour was when Otto mentioned something about Austrians not knowing there was a country called Namibia (I couldn’t completely understand him) until Brad and Angelina went to Africa. Suddenly African awareness went up and now everyone understood where they were headed for their holiday. I couldn’t help but laugh, thinking how Ana, Trinh, and Alison all warned me not to bring back a half dozen Brangelina babies because I’m a sucker for cute kids. I explained this to Otto and his wife, they understood me and we all had a good laugh. It’s funny the way you connect with people sometimes.

What is this squash?

Today got off to a frustrating start but ended very well. I went to Wernhill Park (mall) in hopes of finding some throw pillows to brighten up the room, nail clippers, and a hamper. I came back with nothing I needed, except some more hangers, but I did get some more groceries. The lines were long in most stores and I was having some trouble with my credit card. I would have liked to spend some more time shopping but I planned to check out the gym, and since it closed at 1pm, I wanted to give myself enough time to get there and get a workout in.

With a little help from a local, I found Nucleus Fitness hidden inside the Craft Centre. Unfortunately, the price of a gym membership increased 400% over the price in my guidebook (published just one year ago) and they only take cash. For one month, it would be N$450 ($56), and since I would probably only use it on the weekends it was more than I hoped to pay. I also felt a little uncomfortable on my walk / jog over – the “streets were quiet” even though it was 11am on a Saturday and I’ve had enough warnings to know I should avoid being on any street by myself, even in the broad daylight. No running is hard enough, but no gym too?! Maybe some other interns would be interested in going with me. I’ll have to work on this – I have a feeling the workout DVDs I brought will get old after a few weeks.

At any rate, I spent the rest of the afternoon reading in the sun and chatting with Guido (the flamboyant Lufthansa flight attendant). There was a family from Zambia cooking quite an elaborate meal in the kitchen, so we didn’t start cooking until almost 7. Marguerite joined us for dinner.

I was attempting to cook schnitznel, green beans, and butternut squash sticks (conveniently cut and prepackaged at Pick N Pay) and Marguerite was very confused thinking I was going to put cinnamon on my meat. I explained to her I like cinnamon on my squash, which only added to her confusion. She asked wasn’t squash like tennis, with the rackets? I laughed and understood what she was saying. Explaining there was no relationship between the sport and the veggie, I also added that “squash” could be used as a verb, like “squash the competition” or “squash a bug.” If anyone knows if the various uses of squash have any logical relationship, please let me know. I had no answer for Marguerite. This is a good exercise for me – I need to be more precise with my choice of words, and speaking with the Italians has forced me to slow down and think a bit before I speak.

Puccini House would be perfect in the summer. The picnic tables outside are wonderful – the sky is clear and the stars are bright, it’s just hard to eat dinner outside when it’s 40 degrees. We sat, talked, and enjoyed dinner together. Guido’s bottle of South African Chardonnay helped with the cold a bit, but I slept with two sweatshirts and sweatpants last night. I should have packed more warm clothes…

Staying Fit

I was warned well in advance I probably would not be able to run in Windhoek. It’s unusual, and people might think I’m crazy, which is fine by me, the problem is that it’s actually not safe. I’ve been warned numerous times not to go out when the “streets are quiet” – both before and after work, unfortunately, especially since it’s winter here and the daylight hours are very limited. It doesn’t quite make sense to me – if I’m running, I’m obviously not carrying valuables with me (I wouldn’t take my ipod or anything, just my keys)… I figured I could at least go on the weekend, but everyone I’ve talked to has strongly advised me against it and as much as it stinks, I don’t want to put myself in a dangerous situation. White, female, and solo makes me a target for trouble, I’ve been told.

It’s really too bad. With the mountains and hills in the distance, this would be a gorgeous place to run. I’ve been running almost every day since I graduated from high school and I don’t know how I’m going to go almost twelve weeks without it. We ran in the cold and through the snow at Colgate, I woke up at 5:45 to run six days a week in Perpignan, I ran through the humidity in DC, and even ran on my hotel treadmills in Shanghai (I hate treadmills) – I’ve never gone more than a few days at a time without running.

There are two gyms in Windhoek. Nucleus Fitness is actually really close to Puccini House, maybe a ten minute walk? It’s pretty small, and filled with mostly weights and men, but they do have some treadmills, stationary bikes, step machines, and aerobics classes at 5:30pm each weekday. The problem, again, is safety. I could probably walk there from work, but it’d be dark coming home, and I’ve heard some bad stories about the public cabs, and I’m extra nervous by myself at night. Taking a private cab every day is too expensive – the gym itself is more expensive than I thought, N$450 for the month, about $60. That’s what I’d pay in DC, but adding the cost of transport and the risk factor, I’m not sure.

I did bring a bunch of fitness DVDs from home, Jillian Michael’s Banish Fat and Boost Metabolism, The Firm Cardio Challenge, Denise Austin Hit the Spot Pilates, MTV Pilates Mix, Crunch Power Yoga, and 10-minute solution: Abs. So far, I’ve been doing one a day in my room. It’s not running, and I think the staff here thinks I’m crazy, but it’s something to stay active, till I figure out what makes sense to stay in shape.

Angolans Speak Portuguese

After leaving work early (the Internet stopped working at 2:30, so being a Friday, we called it an early day!), I went to the Namibian Culture & Tourism Expo with Ruth and Mark. We didn’t see too much about tourism, but we did spend quite a while pretending to examine cookware while sampling cheese, chocolate, pastries, and McCain potato products. They both left on their bikes, so I decided to walk to Mauera Mall to catch a cab. I hadn’t been to the mall yet and noticed there was a Checkers inside, so I figured I might as well pick up some groceries as long as I was taking the cab home.

It was getting dark around 5, and though there were a lot of people around the mall, I didn’t see any registered cabs around. When a man approached asking if I needed a taxi, I noticed a blond woman a few feet away in Dolce & Gabanna sunglasses eye the man suspiciously. I told the cab driver no, introduced myself to the woman, and ended up having a delightful hour and a half with Isabella. Advising those cab drivers are all “trouble,” she suggested I join her in the private cab coming to pick her up. Spending N$14 on a public taxi seemed more appealing than N$50 on a private service, but it was getting dark and it’s worth taking risks over a few bucks, so I thanked her and we waited for her car service.

The five-minute wait turned in to twenty, and twenty has soon turned in to an hour and a half. There was a café open nearby, she ordered espresso and smoked several cigarettes as I soaked up her wisdom and thoughts on living in Windhoek. She’s been living here for two years, raising two boys (10 and 16) while her husband works for a cement contractor of some sort in Swakopmund. I was surprised to hear her speak in Portuguese on the phone with her cab driver. He’s Angolan; I learned that many Angolans speak Portuguese, since the area was originally colonized by Portugese. I also learned that prices in Angola are much higher than Namibia – according to Isabella, where a top-notch dinner here with drinks might set you back thirty Euros, she said a nice dinner in Angola was over $100 Euros. Nuts.

I was excited she took me under her wing. She called to make sure I arrived home safely and invited me out for drinks tomorrow evening – there’s a South African singer she likes at a club in Klein-Windhoek. I think I’m going to go!

Adventures in Cooking (Me vs. the Stove)

I’m not sure when or how I developed a fear of lighting matches. I enjoy campfires and roasting marshmallows, I was a Girl Scout for goodness sake. For whatever reason, flames and fire make me a little nervous.

At the wise old age of 26, I’m cool with lighting candles from regular books of matches, but when I realized the stovetops in our kitchen didn’t have pilot lights, I had visions of eating raw vegetables and yogurt all summer. I was so nervous on my first try, I turned on the gas but didn’t put the match anywhere near the burner. When I started to smell gas I panicked, threw up the match, and nearly lit my hair on fire. I imagined how my face would look without eyelashes or eyebrows and stayed away from the kitchen for the rest of the day. After several meals of boxed raisins and Luna bars (those were supposed to last me all summer…and thanks Mom for the raisins!) and two nights of waking up with a growling stomach, I decided to suck it up and try again. After lessons from both the housekeeping staff and a patient Italian couple also staying at the hostel, tonight I pulled back my hair, rolled up my sleeves, and managed to cook dinner without any explosions or permanent injuries.

Where are you from?

One nice thing about Puccini House are the friendly guests. People seem surprised I’m here by myself and are curious about what I’m doing. I’m never sure how to respond to the question of where I’m from. Even when I’m in the states, I might say Rochester, outside Rochester, half-way between Rochester and Buffalo, Western NY, Upstate NY, just plain ol’ NY, California, or something more complicated like “I grew up in NY and go to school in California now” or “I went to Colgate and then worked in DC before coming to California.”

Most of the people I’ve met so far had introduced themselves by country. Since most people know California and New York, I wonder if I should give a more specific answer than just the United States?

Background Noise

I’m sipping Rooibos tea while listening to a German couple pour over a guidebook in the courtyard. At least, I’m pretty sure they are speaking German. Brave parents, they have four boys who all look under the age of ten. I don’t understand a word they are saying, but the sound is comforting: it reminds me a bit of the soundtrack at Starbucks – I can drown it out but enjoy it at the same time. The internet isn’t working today and shops in town close at noon (it’s a Saturday!), so I haven’t been able to get a phone card or cell phone. It’s a beautiful day, but I’m a bit flustered. There’s a lot of things I want and need to do, but I need to remember I’m on African time now.

[Correction: I later learned they were speaking Dutch.]

Apartment Hunting

I’m staying at the Puccini House, a guest house / hostel of sorts, technically in Windhoek West but very close to the city center. I’m staying in the Zebra Room, a double room (two twin beds) since they did not have any single rooms available. The Stanford-recommended apartments are booked through August, so it looks like I’ll be apartment hunting for my first few days, which is fine. I arrived Friday afternoon, planning to start work on Monday afternoon, not realizing Monday is Africa Day, and the office is closed. Whoops! My boss didn’t say anything when I suggested the 25th as a start date, so I guess I have a bonus day to get settled. Now I just need to find a good map, get a cell phone, and cross my fingers I can find something soon.

Welcome to Windhoek!

Hello from Windhoek, Namibia!

I brought a journal and had ambitious plans of writing in it every day. It’s already been a couple days and I haven’t written in it since the flight from JFK to Johannesburg. Eek. Though I still hope to write in it on a semi-regular basis, I thought a blog might be a good way to reflect and my experiences and update everyone back home.

I have a feeling all the bad writing habits they try to beat out of you in law school will resurface in this blog… I tend to be pretty long-winded - I definitely can’t promise clear and concise writing here. I’m sure I’ll write more than anyone will want to read, but in case you have some time to kill, this blog should provide a decent summary of my summer in Namibia. Happy reading!