Namibia Road Trip – Days #5 and 6: Swakopmund
The definition of surreal? Driving into an African desert and driving out hours later and you’ve arrived in Germany. I’m not kidding. I waved good-bye to the (black) African guy who pumped our gas in Uis (a town in Namibia), I drove a few hours, and when I pulled into the next town, everyone was German (and white). Dude, the Master Race has a city in the middle of Africa!
Top Three Indications You’re in Germany (even though the map says you’re in Africa)
#3 – a Street is a “Strasse” … and it’s named after a German WW I Flying Ace
#2 – Fun within City Limits is strictly “Verboten”
#1 – The Sign Says You Are!
This is not an aberration in the space-time continuum, but rather an accident of geo-politics. The town of Swakopmund is populated by the descendants of the German Southwesters who moved from Germany to German Southwest Africa (as Namibia was called during the period of German rule) 100 years ago. They are the descendants of the soldiers, farmers, and bureaucrats who used to administrate this Imperial Protectorate (my best translation of “Kaiserliche Schutzgebiet“) during Kaiser Wilhelm’s Reich.
How did this happen? Well, Imperial Germany jumped into the colony game very late in the second half. (It was practically overtime.) Most of Africa had already been contemptuously divided up amongst the European powers: England, Portugal, France, Italy, and Belgium (yes, even Belgium was able to feel like a big man swaggering around the Congo). Germany finally woke up and could only take the scraps: a sausage factory in Tangyanika, and the territory that is now Namibia.
Germany only administered German Southwest Africa from 1880-1915. Once the Great War kicked off (aka, World War I), the few colonial Schutztruppe the Kaiser had stationed in his only colony surrendered after a couple of actions against the Commonwealth troops pouring in from South Africa. The Schutztruppe surrendered, and the UK quickly snapped up it’s latest prize, no doubt keen to further exploit Southwest Africa’s mineral wealth. Although the German troops were “repatriated” back to Germany in 1919, the civilians were allowed to stay (wars were fought with rules back then, you see).
As the photos evidence, they never left.
Having lived in Germany for a number of years, I can say with great confidence that the residence of Swakopmund were still “keeping it real” five generations later.
To whit, I got smacked in the head with das Gesetzbuch (that German Book of Rules I explained during Oktoberfest) twice within ten minutes of arrival at our guest house. My first beating before I’d even crossed the threshold. The owner – I nice woman to be sure – greeted us outside. The reservation was made under my wife’s maiden name, and I made the mistake of trying to correct our Gastgeberin.
“Ah, but the important thing is that reservation is made under her maiden name.”
*SMACK*
The second beating occurred when we tried to go eat dinner in Swakopmund. For a lark, we decided on the Brauhaus, one of Swakopmund’s two German restaurants.
“You must have a reservation!” Our hostess urged. “They are always full.”
“Okay,” I shrugged. “How about 8pm?”
“How about 7:30?”
“Uh, how about 8pm?”
“7:30.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Excellent,”she clapped her hands in glee (she didn’t really, but I’m just using dramatic license), “I will make ze call.”
“But we wanted to eat at 8 pm,” my wife pointed out.
“Shhhh!”I whispered. “I don’t want to get hit with the Gesetzbuch again.”
“Zo.” She sashayed back into the room. “They can take you from 6:00 until 7:30 pm.”
Come again?
“Only from 6:00 until 7:30 pm?” My voice sounded pathetic.
“Yes. After zat, zey are full.”
*SMACK*
“We’ll take it.”
So there we sat, in beer hall in Africa. Completely surrounded by empty tables with placards bearing the word “Reserviert” on them. Kind of reminds me of my Misanthropic Oktoberfest Rule #2 .
We sat there eating excellent calamari steaks and whacking back bottles of Windhoek Lager, and watching the bartender and waiters stopping anyone who dared to enter the restaurant and sit down without a reservation.
“This is so, so, so damn Deutsch,”I marveled.
And I wasn’t wrong. They could have easily allowed these clueless tourists (all of them from Windhoek, it turns out) to stay for a beer or two. No such luck. As in Germany, ze Rules always outweigh profit motive. Always.
1 Comment
January 4, 2008 at 10:52 pm
Yes. I learn about germany in high school. I like the no sign from photo 2