Kay Burley

Josh went to the LSE with my son.

Challenge his views by all means, but demanding his imprisonment while sneering at his Yoruba name because your spellchecker doesn’t recognise it?

The ignorance is staggering and the hypocrisy even more so.

Your dictionary isn’t the problem here, pet.

Five days in the South African Winelands. My liver has requested annual leave.

Gentle start at Millineux.

Tomorrow it’s the rather swanky @babylonstoren and Mont Rochelle - Richard Branson’s
Gaff

Namibia: Pink Lakes, Red Dunes, Pelican Boat Parties and a Ghost Town

Namibia really is a country of extraordinary contrasts, and our latest adventures have been quite something.

First stop, the salt lakes near Walvis Bay, where the water is an almost unbelievable shade of pink, thanks to salt-loving microorganisms. They’re showcased by gigantic, snow-white salt mounds.

We clambered back into our 4x4 to be whisked off to the Namib Desert, home to some of the oldest sandy landscapes on earth. Vast mountains of the stuff, ranging from golden yellow to deep red, stretch towards the Atlantic Ocean. Naturally, I couldn’t resist a little leap for the camera!

Lunch was on the beach, with the Atlantic on one side and the desert on the other. Not exactly your average picnic spot.

On the way back, we saw some of Namibia’s wildlife, including a jackal and a springbok, while I put the zoom on my iPhone to the test, capturing the extraordinary colours of the red sand.

After a night back aboard Silversea, we headed out to Sandwich Harbour in search of dolphins and whales.

The attention-seeking pelicans and seals seemed equally determined to have their Kodak moments too! One pelican practically took over the boat.

Next stop was diamond territory, but that involved an extremely uncomfortable overnight sailing, with the grumpy Atlantic clearly in no mood to cooperate.

Our reward was Kolmanskop, the extraordinary ghost town near Lüderitz. Once a prosperous diamond-mining settlement, complete with a hospital, ballroom and ice factory, it was eventually abandoned as the diamond industry moved elsewhere.

Today, sand pours through doorways, fills rooms and creeps up walls. Entire houses are slowly disappearing beneath the desert.

Eerie, beautiful and a powerful reminder of how quickly nature reclaims what humans leave behind.

Pink lakes, spectacular dunes, astonishing wildlife and a town being swallowed by sand.

Namibia, you really are a sight to behold.

No, I’ve been before 😎

There are journeys that stay with you long after you’ve returned home, and our visit to Elmina Castle on Ghana’s Atlantic coast will certainly be one of them.

We set off from the port of Takoradi for what turned out to be a very long, very bumpy drive along roads that, in places, barely deserved the description. Potholes that even Gloucestershire County Council would wince at. Uneven surfaces and seemingly endless traffic made progress dusty and painfully slow, although it did offer a fascinating glimpse of everyday life in Ghana.

Eventually we arrived at Elmina, where the colourful, if smelly, fishing harbour provided an extraordinary contrast to the grim history waiting for us just a short distance away.

Fishing boats covered the water, fishermen tended their nets and the market bustled with vocal traders selling the day’s catch. It was noisy, vibrant and full of life.

Then there was the castle.

Built by the Portuguese in 1482 and subsequently captured by the Dutch, Elmina Castle became one of the most notorious centres of the transatlantic slave trade.

Walking through its dungeons was a profoundly disturbing experience.

Hundreds of enslaved Africans were crammed into dark, airless spaces, deprived of sanitation, adequate food and water, and held in conditions almost impossible to comprehend.

The treatment of the women was particularly horrifying. Some were kept in cramped dungeons for months, while the governor could select women to be brought to his quarters. Those who resisted could face punishment, including being left exposed to the blistering sun without food or water.

The Door of No Return.

A narrow opening through which enslaved men, women and children were forced towards the ships that would carry them across the ocean, many never to see their homeland or families again.

Standing there, looking out towards the sea, it was impossible not to reflect on the unimaginable suffering of those who had passed through before us.

The Portuguese built the castle, the Dutch controlled it for centuries, and Britain played its own enormous and shameful role in the wider transatlantic slave trade. History demands accuracy, but it also demands remembrance.

The journey back to Takoradi was every bit as uncomfortable as the outward trip. Yet after what we had witnessed, complaining about potholes seemed rather beside the point.

Some places you visit for pleasure. Others you visit because their stories must never be forgotten.