The Best Seafood Dish You’ve Never Heard Of

The Best Seafood Dish You’ve Never Heard Of—Found Deep in the Namib Desert

I crest a ridge on the desert road, 10km out of the small Namibian coastal town of Luderitz — there, hardly 100m in front of me, is a magnificent Oryx. Desert adapted and the national symbol of Namibia, the skittish antelope is endemic to the area, and always tantalisingly out of reach of my short 40mm camera lens.

This one is different — Regal. Unafraid. 

He straddles the middle of the road, imperiously locking eyes with me.

I cannot believe my good fortune in bringing the car to a quiet halt, less than 50 meters from him. Fumbling for my camera, heart pounding, I dial in my settings and gingerly attempt to lower the electric window. 

That unexpected sound is unfortunately enough, and in a clatter of hooves he bolts, leaving me utterly crestfallen at the missed photo opportunity.

Haunted by “the one that got away,” I roll into the dusty, windy town of Luderitz at lunchtime. The cry of gulls and smell of the ozone-rich ocean air pulling me out of my despondent reverie — the editor of the travel magazine I pitched before departing had been unequivocal — we need wildlife photos to publish.

“First time in Luderitz?” The hostess of Alta Villa, asks me. The quaint guest house overlooks the ocean and is my home for the next few nights. 

“Go enjoy the Cataplana at the Greek Fisherman, and you won’t eat anywhere else in Luderitz,” she tells me with a knowing smile.

At first blush, the idea of an earth-shattering traditional Portuguese meal in the deep Namib Desert seems unlikely, but after the Oryx incident, I need a glass of wine and a good meal. On arrival, the convivial atmosphere at the Greek Fisherman immediately cheers me. Bright sun streams through the fishing nets erected to give shade to diners, and I meet the proprietor, Francisco Carvalho, a passionate Portuguese transplant who arrived two decades ago in Luderitz with his father’s clam-shaped “Cataplana” copper pots and never left.

“The secret to the Cataplana,” he says, “is in the use of fresh ingredients — lobster, squid, prawns and white fish — all sourced daily from the local harbour, together with simple staples of garlic, onion and pimento”. The result is a dish simple in preparation, yet deeply complex in flavour. The deep red colour from the pimento sets the senses alight well before the first sublime mouthful.

The copper pots may have since been replaced by Francisco, but the exquisite dish remains a gastronomic delight, and I fall into deep conversation with Rob and his wife seated next to me — we recognise one another from an earlier stay at the Fish River Canyon Lodge, and quickly share histories and backgrounds — our different origins swept away by our shared meal and a glass of Chenin Blanc. 

This becomes a theme of the rest of my Namibian journey — the meeting of many of the same people and families in the dusty destinations of the Namib Desert, the connections becoming deeper with shared experiences and meals. People that we may otherwise never have had the good fortune to meet.

Luderitz, usually shrouded in fog and wind, had crept Into my heart and provided a balm for the “One that got away”. Satiated with good food and even better company, it was however time to leave — this time, for the towering, ochre sand-dunes of the Sossusvlei, 500km north.

Mid-Winter Oslo

Oslo in Winter: The City of Fire and Ice, and Unexpected Emotion

We arrived in Oslo in late February after heavy snowfall — the train from the airport sped past a wilderness of pine trees shrouded in heavy snowfall.

The following days, however, were wet, damp, and foggy — my wife and I struggled to find our rhythm, as Oslo was seemingly more austere and less vibrant than other European cities we had visited . 

Bad coffee and good hot dogs were the order of the day.

Even the iconic Oslo Opera house was a subdued silhouette in the cold, wet gloom. The reflected lights on the wet streets offered the only trace of cheer against the gloom . Certainly not the overwhelming experience we anticipated on our arrival in Norway.

As we cast about trying to find our travel rhythm in a city that seemed ambivalent to our arrival, we walked past the immensely popular quayside saunas. It was a discordant sight - sauna visitors clad in swimsuits and little else, plunging into the freezing Oslo Fjord , much of which was covered in ice from the recent cold snap.

We resolved to try the sauna experience, while acknowledging that swimming in the icy fjord was likely a bridge too far, for seemingly obvious reasons.

Booking online was easy and a testament to Norwegian efficiency. The next evening we arrived on time for our sauna , scheduled for 6 pm. The wan winter sun had long fled the sky, and we were delighted to find the sauna burning hot — cheery red coals glowing in the brazier.

We changed quickly into our swimsuits and entered the welcoming heat — it was the first time, since our arrival, that we had been able to shake the seeping Oslo cold.

The temperature, however, crept steadily upwards. Initially comfortable, the mercury soon rose to uncomfortable levels. An urgent escape from the overwhelming, dry heat was needed, but to where? Surely our only option wasn’t plunging into the icy fjord?

We resolved to stay a little longer… just 5 minutes more, and then we would make our decision. After the allotted time, it became alarmingly clear that there would be no other alternative but to find respite in the icy fjord.

Gingerly, we approached the hole cut into the ice and, with a deep breath, plunged into the water.

Visceral, mind-numbing cold embraced us as a thousand icy needles pummelled our senses.

An instant physiological and emotional catharsis — every pore and cell in our bodies springing to life. After the first plunge it was clear — the next 60 minutes would be spent in the sauna , first becoming as warm as possible, and then once again plunging into the frigid waters of the fjord for respite.

We shared our sauna with two other couples we had just met. Conversation quickly followed — the pleasant conversation you have with people with whom a profound experience is shared, but that you know you are unlikely to see again.

At the end of the time slot, we reluctantly had a last plunge, dressed, and said our goodbyes.

Heading home, our bodies tingling with life, the two of us delighted to have finally found our travel groove after a memorable Norwegian experience.

The city of Oslo had finally welcomed us into its embrace with a time-honoured Scandinavian ritual.