To our astonishment, the port has been given a remarkable facelift. The wharves look neat and modern, yet one thing is conspicuously absent: there is no customs or immigration building. Instead, every passenger is cleared onboard, just as I described in my previous blog.
A Curious and Captivating Display
As we gaze from the starboard side, an intriguing maritime ballet unfolds before us. A small harbour craft approaches and begins unhooking a long length of broad, heavy-duty rubber boom. As it is slowly towed through the water, the undulating chain resembles a giant sea dragon gliding across the harbour, each link leaving its own tiny wake behind it.
At first, I puzzle over its purpose. Why is this strange floating barrier being drawn around the ship and extended to the opposite side? The answer soon becomes clear: it is an oil-containment boom, deployed as a precautionary measure. Should any oily discharge accidentally escape from the vessel, it would be trapped within this enclosed area, protecting the surrounding waters.
But the real surprise lies beyond the boom. Along its outer edge drifts an extraordinary gathering of hundreds of brilliant orange jellyfish. Gently rising and falling with the swell, they seem to perform a synchronized underwater ballet, each pulsating to an invisible rhythm. Against the blue-green harbour, their glowing forms create a mesmerizing spectacle—nature providing its own impromptu performance .
Shuttled to the Dunes !?
Private taxi operators woo us with glossy maps and enticing pictures, promising trips to the dunes and Swakopmund. Many of our friends take these tours, but few know what to really expect. Some report spending two hours simply driving around, stopping occasionally for photographs. It is not even the season for flamingos.
We are surprised to discover that there is now a shuttle bus to the Dunes. Boarding requires some patience and planning, as there are only two buses shuttling back and forth. Passengers are also not allowed to queue along the side of the entrance because heavy port trucks frequently pass through the area.
Ten minutes later, we arrive at the Dunes—not the desert dunes we could have imagined, but a gleaming new shopping mall filled with international brands and equally international prices. After a brief look around, we board the shuttle and head straight back to the port.
Where are all the people?
It wouldn’t have been too far to walk, but the spanky new roads are worth a try. The bus carries us along palm-lined avenues, past horse-riding paddocks, a vast and immaculately kept cemetery, and row upon row of housing backed by rolling sand dunes. Amazingly, these are not cookie-cutter homes; each seems to possess its own personality, as though every house has a story to tell. How astonishing it is to witness the scale of the city’s growth.
Yet not a soul is in sight.
Most residences appear shuttered, their air-conditioning units wrapped in burlap like carefully preserved relics. Succulent plants spill from gardens and yards, thriving against all expectation in this harsh, sandy landscape. Then a huge road sign appears: “No Prowling!” The words spark immediate curiosity. What happened here to warrant such a warning? One imagines tales of wandering intruders, desert mischief, or encounters now lost to local memory. Perhaps the explanation is more mundane—the heat, the sandstorms, the occasional housebreaker—but the mystery lingers.
The silence itself feels extraordinary. Where is everyone? Sheltering indoors from the fierce climate? Away on holiday? Or is this simply the rhythm of life in a place shaped by extremes? The empty streets give the city an almost dreamlike quality, as though it has been carefully constructed and then paused in time. It feels less like travelling through a neighbourhood and more like passing through the set of an unfinished story, waiting for its characters to emerge and reveal what lies beneath the stillness.
The Risqué
At the port, we take a risky shortcut to what was once a quiet esplanade along the lagoon. Yet again, we are caught by surprise. The port area has transformed dramatically, with broad multi-lane roads sweeping towards the harbour and new developments tracing the natural curve of the bay.
The new esplanade is a sensory assault. Vendors crowd every available space, their carved wooden animals displayed on sheets spread across the pavement. Topless women call out to passers-by, inviting them to pose for photographs while browsing the colourful menagerie and other curiosities. The atmosphere is lively, provocative, and impossible to ignore.
As we weave our way through the bustle, children latch onto us, pleading for a dollar. One appears, then another, then three more. What do you do when one has been indulged and a growing entourage begins to shadow your every step? The attention is relentless, and for a moment it feels as though escape may be impossible.
Determined not to be swallowed by the crowd, we press on towards the yacht club, putting precious distance between ourselves and the throng. Only then do we begin to relax.
The reward is worth the effort. What was once little more than a handful of waterside shops and simple eateries has evolved into a vibrant waterfront destination. Gleaming new buildings house stylish restaurants, a lively bar, an art gallery, and a welcoming coffee shop, all sparkling in the tropical light and giving the area an energy that was unimaginable on our last visit.
And the risk
The trip has us crossing working railway lines, where the warning bells and steel rails make us instinctively glance both ways before hurrying across. Brand-new gigantic trucks and other vehicles stand in long, silent rows awaiting delivery inland, their sheer size and number lending the dock an imposing, almost unsettling feel. They have replaced the marble chunks that lined the waterfront 14 years ago, a reminder of how much this place has changed.
