t was a tad windy, as it tends to be here. If it were early November, the wind would be welcomed with open arms by the migrant wind surfers gathered in this sleepy yet surprisingly vibrant corner of Namibia’s southern coast. For them, the wind means world records. For us, on this bright yet gusty Feb morning, the wind means hair in your face if you, like me, continuously forget will get us where we need to be (and back), the scene leans more toward adventure and discovery than the sailors’ version of doom.
