Quick Catch-up I: Zulu, Durban, Drakensburg

(written 10/02/05)

ZULULAND
From the land of the Swazis, we headed for the land of the Zulus. We stayed at a game reserve but I didn’t do much game viewing. Instead, I napped, read, organized, wrote in my journal…took a vacation from my vacation.

I did go along on one outing: a ‘Zulu cultural experience’. I wish I hadn’t. I like authentic interaction in real villages with real inhabitants. This was a re-creation of a Zulu Village—a Disneyfied, Living-History-Museum type of place. Not my thing. The guide, Isaac, toured us around some huts where we watched Zulu ‘actors’ creating pots, spears, and shields. We went inside a hut to see how they used to cook, sleep, and gather together. [I did enjoy seeing the traditional Zulu pillow, in picture at right. Ouch.] We then watched a performance of traditional Zulu dances.

For me it was worse than boring. It felt wrong, like the selling of a culture. It was just ‘icky.’ I couldn’t separate the historical background of colonization and Apartheid from my experience sitting there in an audience of white people watching Zulus phone in traditional Zulu dances. Really, it wasn’t a joyous sharing of their history. I felt like a Victorian watching ‘the parade of natives.’

Afterward I (politely) asked our guide some probing questions:
Betsy: “So now, how did this all get started?”
Isaac: “A white man who has money. He owns the village.” [That’s a direct quote]
Betsy: “Oh, so the admission fees don’t go to a local village or the dancers we just saw.”
Isaac: “No.”
Betsy: “They just receive a paycheck for their work?”
Isaac: “Yes, they are paid every other Friday.”

Ooog. In the end, I did learn a lot about Zulu culture, but this is a rare instance where book learning would have been better than actual experience.

DURBAN
Next stop: Durban, South Africa’s third largest city. Our stop there was really just in-transit, so we didn’t stay in Durban for long—just one afternoon to morning—but it was long enough to get a taste for the city. We stayed right along the beachfront, and had quite a nice view out our hotel window (below). Apparently Durban used to be a very nice vacation spot but has lost some shimmer. In general, it reminded me of seafront Long Beach, CA.

I read about Durban in my guidebook and was most tempted by this part:

“Home to the largest concentration of people of Indian descent in the country, Durban also boasts a distinctive Asian twang, with the marketplaces and streets of the Indian area teeming with the sights, sounds and scents of the subcontinent.”

So, shortly after unloading at our hotel, Arica and I headed out to the Indian Market, despite our guide’s incessant warnings about DANGER DANGER DANGER. The dude is from Africa—Mozambique—but he is comically obsessive about safety. Sampling of direct quotes: “Don’t trust.” “Don’t look anyone in the eye.” “Never walk anywhere alone, even during the day.” Most of us just ignore him, choosing instead to use common sense, our wits, a guidebooks, and lots of local advice. (If you are going to travel, you gotta balance the fears with some semblance of trust in the goodness of people.) For Durban, he ranted for so long that a lot of the group too afraid to even stray from the hotel.

But we ignored him. With a restaurant tip from a local, we headed straight for our first stop: Bunny Chow! On my flight to Africa, the young Durbanite sitting next to me told me all about this delectable curry dish, unique to Durban’s Indian quarter. Great tip! Our restaurant was a local classic, our waiter Al Pacino’s long lost Indian brother, and the dish…YUM!!!! A giant loaf of bread, hollowed out and stuffed with curry. What could be better.


HIKE TO SAN ROCK ART
From Durban we headed to the Royal Natal National Park, located in the Drakensburg Mountains (locally known as the uKhahlamba—“Barrier of Spears”—Mountains). Our first activity was a hike to see real, bona fide African rock art! We were led by a fantastic local guide named Elijah, whom I accidentally called Isaac the entire day.

I was really looking forward to this! The region has just been named a World Heritage Site for its “superlative natural phenomenon and beauty…and masterpieces of human creative genius in the form of 35,000 San rock art images.” We hiked uphill in cold rain—and were thoroughly drenched when we were through—but it was worth it. Fantastic! The rock art we saw was only 800 years old (some are over 2,000 years old) but I was thrilled to see them, to picture a diminutive San hunter painstakingly toiling on the very painting I was staring at on this very site just 800 short years ago.


DRAKENSBURG VILLAGE VISIT
Elijah, aka Isaac, was so interesting we didn’t want our time with him to end. We asked if he did any other local tours and he said he could show us around his village, located nearby at the foot of the Drakensburg Mountains in the kingdom of KwaZulu-Natal.

Elijah had grown up in the village and is very proud of his heritage. He tried the big city shortly after high school but found it couldn’t compare to his little community. He is now hard at work earning money to buy the eleven cows he needs in order to marry his sweetheart Ciabongo (whose name translates to Thank You in Zulu). He has seven cows already, but she is getting impatient. He supports his three sisters in a home that he is building himself. We visited the modest home this afternoon. He also supports his grandmother in her house, and hopes to become a local official some day. Elijah is 26 and an inspiration. He is grateful for what he has. He is optimistic and giving. And he’s happy.


A highlight was a trip to the local village school, particularly one classroom’s recitation of a poem called “I am somebody.” I photographed the words, which hung on the wall behind the children as they recited the poem from memory.

The ‘pupils’ seemed quite happy to have us visit, and asked the teacher if they could also sing the South African national anthem. They did, and then another child asked if she could recite a poem. When she was done, other children wanted their turn, but the teacher had to cut them off since the dismissal bell had already rung.

Before leaving, several of us took pictures of the children, then showed them the pictures in the digital displays on the camera. As always, they loved it, each wanting a turn, then giggling when they saw themselves on screen. This was a very poor village and I’m sure most of the children do not even own a recent printed picture of themselves.

However, when we got back on the bus some people in the group thought it was inappropriate that some of us had taken pictures. They felt we had turned the school into ‘a human zoo.’ I disagree. You have to read body language, you have to make an effort to interact and see each person as an individual. It’s not hard to tell when someone doesn’t want to interact. It’s immediately clear in their faces, in their actions. In those cases, it is inappropriate to push interaction or take pictures. But these kids were excited, and the teachers were clapping and laughing right along with them. Heck, the principle came out to welcome us.

“It was uncomfortable to be there.” “They don’t like having their picture taken.” What is that based on? I had to wonder in what setting these tour member would be comfortable interacting with the locals. And I wonder whose boundary had really been crossed—the locals or their own. Moving on…

We also visited the village’s traditional healer, the ‘sangoma.’ The other sangoma I visited used bones to communicate with ancestors and foretell the past, present and future. This sangoma was a trance sangoma. Much cooler. The guide explained how she was selected and trained, how the process works, blah blah.

I sat patiently while he talked, waiting in eager anticipation for him to finish so that I could ask for my own ‘consultation’ with her. She only charged R50--roughly $7. Bargain! :)

Finally, I got my chance, but alas, the guide said there wasn’t time. Big missed opportunity. I’m sure Warren was waiting at stage right for his cue. Oh well, next time.

Mayhem at Mlilwane

(written 09/29/07)

I’m now happily in the tiny kingdom of Swaziland, staying at the equally tiny Mlilwane Game Reserve. Our accommodation is in traditional beehive huts, which were quite worrying from the outside but actually very large and comfortable on the inside.

(Remember, all images can be enlarged if you click on them.)

Mlilwane doesn’t have The Big 5 but it does have a lot of animals roaming around. It was my first time seeing the very odd looking Blesbuck, which are very numerous in Mlilwane. And there were scores of warthogs, particularly around our huts, and tame enough for us to get very close.


The Hippo
At Mlilwane, we saw things, we did things, etcetera, etcetera…but the big news of the visit was that I had an encounter with a hippo. It wasn’t as bad as my mountain lion encounter last summer on Vancouver Island. On the terror scale, it was more along the lines of being chased by a moose with Warren the summer before. (I appear to be on a one-terrifying-animal-encounter-per-summer cycle. Looks like I am in the clear for another year.)

Before I share exactly what happened, I must publicly acknowledge that I grew up in the city, where the only dangerous animals were of the two-legged variety. And, I know from experience that when I am out in nature I have to keep a tight reign on my imagination because if TV has taught me anything, it’s that all manner of viscous beasts, precipitous terrain and menacing weather awaits the merry nature-goer around every bend in the trail. And TV is never wrong, eh?

Okay, disclaimer now out of the way, here’s what happened. It was late afternoon, overcast but still plenty of daylight left. I had planned to do a short game walk, but hadn’t planned to walk alone. Arica, my roommate, and I were going to walk together, but she was not back from the craft market and daylight was quickly fading.

So, I ventured out on my own. If you are thinking “okay, first mistake”… not exactly. I checked with the information desk to make sure it was safe—this is a game park after all—and I was reassured that it would be fine, that the only dangerous animals were crocodiles, so as long as I didn’t stray close to the lake shorelines, I would be fine.

I only had about two hours of daylight left so they recommended a shorter trail and guided me to the starting point, just past the gate.

The walk started out ‘uncomfortable.’ The trail that they sent me on skirted the shoreline virtually the whole time. I was rarely further than 30 feet from the shoreline. I was baffled that the trail would take me so close to certain death by crocodile, but continued on, remembering my proclivity for paranoia and reassuring myself that the Mlilwane people surely knew something I didn’t.

I snapped these pictures (stitched together) at one point on the path where the shoreline was a good distance away, a point where I was actually relaxed and happy to be out walking.

After about 20 minutes of trying to get into the experience, trying to ignore that I was all alone and feeling very vulnerable, I reached one of the main lakes.

I spied another couple off in the distance and made my way over to the viewpoint where they stood watching the water. They weren’t terribly friendly, but I did manage to pull out of them that they had been hearing hippos all afternoon, but had yet to see them. They had walked all around the lake but to no avail. Within minutes of my arrival, they gave up their quest and headed back to the campground.

Alone again, I stood at the viewpoint overlooking the lake and wondering what to do next. I turned away from the lake to search for a trail heading away from the water, figuring that would be a little more in my comfort range.

I turned back to take one last look at the lake, and there he was. Staring at me, not very far from where I stood…a big, nostril flaring hippo. I was momentarily stunned and excited—“Wow, it finally came above the water. Wonder if I can catch that couple? Are they too far by now? Oh my gosh, a hippo.” It went like this: glee, glee, glee, wonder, awe, fascination, panic.

It was still moving toward me through the water. And still moving. And still moving. Okay, stop now.

It was just me and the hippo and I felt very little. I decided I was too close, so I calmly turned around and walked about 30 paces away from the shoreline. I then turned back to check my comfort level at the new distance, and noticed that the distance hadn’t changed. The hippo had continued in my direction.


I then began an irrational, irritated (but quiet) conversation with the hippo. “What? What do you want? I’m going. Don’t follow me.”

I walked horizontal to the shore on the far side of the trail, talking to the hippo, thinking that would help. The hippo followed me. Perhaps to stave off a desperate panic, I got mad. “If you are just being curious, knock it off. You are freaking me out.” Still following me. My distance-estimation skills are woefully bad, but I would guess that the hippo, at that point, was just 30 feet away from the shoreline, 50 feet away from me.

I pondered running directly away from the shore, into the tall grass, but I didn’t know if that would make things worse. Would running into snake- and tick-infested grass be better? (There was a detailed snake warning back at the campground, which I read, in horror, from start to finish the night before.) And would running spark some chase response in the hippo? I figured probably not, since hippos aren’t carnivores. But they are the most dangerous animal in Africa. They kill more people than any other animal in Africa. Who? Why? People who walk along their shoreline and irritate them?

I had all these thoughts as I tried to walk calmly along the path with my hippo friend or foe (not sure which) keeping pace behind me.

I finally got to a fork in the path. To the left, the path continued along the lake, in water too shallow for hippos but just fine for crocodiles. To the right, the path veered into the tall grasses. Not a tough decision. I chose the right, and barely got 10 feet before I spotted a big bliesbuck or nyala or waterbuck—not sure which—a short distance away. It spotted me too, then lifted it’s head and let out a short loud hissing noise. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be a big deal. The bliesbuck/nyala/waterbuck/whatever is a herbivore, and generally skittish. Not the type to attack. But I was already in a freaked out state, so I stopped in my tracks.

I was stuck. Behind me, hippo. In front of me, hissing buck-thing. I stood in that spot for 20 long minutes. The main gravel road through the park was just to my right, and I decided eventually a car would come along. Eventually I wouldn’t be alone.

And eventually a car did. A young couple pulled up in a VW Rabbit (called a “Chico” here). They drove by slowly, and I said “Want to see a hippo?” They stopped.

Now there were three fleshy little humans, not just one. That felt better. They got out of the car and I pointed out the hippo, still about 20 feet from the shoreline. There were now two other hippos in the water, just beyond my hippo.

Just then, my hippo surfaced more and yawned a really big, slow, dramatic yawn. The couple thought it was really cool. It wasn’t a yawn. It’s what hippos do to scare off other hippos or menacing predators or little fleshy humans that are bugging them. They open their mouths really slowly and wide in order to display their huge dagger teeth.

[I watched the yawn in amazement, and only thought to photograph it at the very end. So the shot is blurry and doesn’t capture the yawn well. But you forgive me, eh?]

It then clamped its teeth down, and the three of us backed up. At this point I was enjoying the encounter because (1) I was no longer alone, and (2) we had a Chico to jump into. We climbed into the car and drove to a safer viewpoint—the original viewpoint I was at when I first saw the hippo.

Three other hippos had joined the group, and the six of them made their way over to the viewpoint, but not close and not scary. Eventually they went underwater and we grew tired of waiting for them to resurface.

And so I walked back to my beehive hut, still in one piece.

---

(Note on the first photo above: As I walked away from the lake for the last time, I turned back to snap a photo of where it had all started. The hippo, now in a good mood I guess, was kind enough to move to where I initially spotted it—near the first viewpoint—so that I could take the first of the two photographs shown above.

Note on the second photo above: My hippo, “the stalker”, was by the island for most of the encounter. This photograph was taken after the yawn, after we had backed up and the stalker moved away from the shoreline and toward the other two hippos. So…it was closer than what is depicted in the second shot.)

I Heart Swaziland

This morning we entered the Kingdom of Swaziland, one of the smallest countries in Africa. What a fantastic surprise. Having just traveled for over a week amongst the guarded, still shell-shocked Mozambicans, the friendly, laid-back vibe of Swaziland was a welcome change. My guidebook Lonely Planet is right when it says “What [Swaziland] lacks in size it makes up for in its rich culture and heritage, and relaxed ambiance…[I]t’s a complete change of pace from its larger neighbors.”

The Tree
I knew my stay in Swaziland would be a good one when I saw all the beautiful purple Jacaranda trees:


They make me happy. They remind me of What Dreams May Come, one of Warren’s favorite movies. Since Warren’s death, it’s one of mine as well. The movie is about a woman whose husband dies, and she never gets over it. His heaven is her painting, the purple tree just one of many beautiful trees that makes up her painting and his heaven. It was comforting to see the trees. They make me happy.

AIDS
One of the highlights of our stay in Swaziland was a trip to a local village. Just a few miles from where we were staying, this small village runs an orphanage, and to support the orphanage, they invite visitors to their village to learn about Swazi culture, hear Swazi music, see Swazi dancing.

Unfortunately, this village orphanage is just one of many in Swaziland. This tiny country has more than 200,000 AIDS orphans and it will only get worse. By 2010 one in six people will be a child under 15 who has lost both parents. You see, Swaziland has the world’s highest HIV infection rate in the world.

Not depressing enough? More incomprehensible stats: 39% of all adults between 15 and 49 are HIV positive (compared to 3.9% in 1992). A quarter of the population is predicted to be dead from the disease by 2010. Life expectancy has fallen from 58 to 33 years. So horrifying.

The Village Visit

The kids and village leaders danced and sang, demonstrated how to weave mats and crush corn, taught us simple Swazi words, and laughed. Lots of giggling. It was a simple, intimate exchange—not one of those pre-packaged “culture shows” that always ends up feeling so icky.

I took a lot of pictures of the kids. They were adorable. The little guy on the far right is sure to be the next chief. He took the entire affair very seriously.

Afterward, I took pictures of some of the kids, then showed them the images on my camera’s digital screen. This is always a real treat so I try to do it as often as possible. Most of these children have probably rarely if ever seen a picture of themselves. They were thrilled, clambering to be the next one photographed.

At the end of our stay the women laid out handmade crafts for sale (to generate money for the orphanage). I don’t buy souvenirs, but I made an exception for the exceptionally good cause. I bought a keychain with a carved wooden mask. It looks like the one that Greg Brady stole from that sacred Hawaiian burial site. Maybe that explains what happened to me next in Swaziland…read on.

I hope this whole endeavor is a good money maker for the orphanage. I know that our group certainly gave. Touched by the plight of the children and the charm of the performance, we all gave additional donations.

Or another option...
For travelers for whom kids are not their philanthropic cup of tea, you can always sponsor a Swazi toilet in a bathroom just north of the South Africa border:


I saw this a few days ago. Lemme know if you’re interested. I’ll hook you up.

Maputo

(written 09/26)  We spent today exploring Maputo, the capital of Mozambique. We started along the coastline, where I caught this photo. (Nothing much to say about it in terms of commentary…other than ‘cool scene, eh?’)


Architecture: You can certainly see Maputo’s history written in its architecture:

• Remnants of the colonial period (when this area was called “Portuguese West Africa”)
• Decaying Art Deco splendor (including the hotel we stayed at--Costa do Sol--which I thought was fascinating but most everyone I am traveling with hated. It had a real Cuba vibe--a feeling of decaying splendor, of being somewhere that was once opulent and trendy but has since fallen out of fashion and into disrepair)
• Countless 1970s buildings, the last era of progress before Mozambique's devastating civil war. Mozambique is now emerging from the chaotic aftermath of the civil war, but its capital city is still in an architectural time warp. [I happen to really dig mid- century architecture.]

But when I wasn't looking up at the buildings, I found Maputo is anything but frozen. It is CHAOTIC--an overwhelming blur of activity and noise... and some parts I found to be downright intimidating.  I would definitely not travel here solo!

In the end we didn’t really spend enough time in Maputo. The pace of this tour is a bit too fast. But it’s the only way I can conceive of traveling in Mozambique. Formal public transportation isn’t of the Greyhound variety here. These pictures show the 'official' public transportation in Mozambique. I like experiencing the real, authentic way people travel in a country, but for short stints…not for long distances, and certainly not alone.

Our Group
At some point during our day in Maputo we did take a ‘wee break’ [in the super-frequently-uttered words of fellow traveler Garreth] at a nice café in an upscale area. Here’s Laura (Scotland), Kate (Australia), and Garreth (No Ireland) at the café:















We’ve got a great group on this trip, with a good mix of ages and nationalities. We have a mother and daughter from Australia. A family of four from Australia. A young couple from Ireland (he) and Scotland (she). Two twenty-something friends from London. Two thirty-something friends from Austria. A retired couple from Scotland. My roommate from Brooklyn. And me.

Everyone gets along swimmingly, and we have logged countless hours discussing all manner of topics over dinner.  And those new friendships are such a fun part of international travel!

Mozambique…Now I’m in Africa

(written 09/23)   This is the Africa of my imagination…red dirt, huts, heat, women in brightly-colored sarong skirts, people selling all manner of items on the streets and carrying all manner of items on their heads. And…crushing poverty. South Africa surely presents one face of Africa, but not the one I picture when I imagine the continent. This is more like it. Here are some random snapshots of life in Mozambique:


Devastation
Mozambique is poor, very very poor. The average annual income is just US$300. And the country is still struggling to emerge from a 17 year civil war that ended in 1992.

It wasn’t a civil war, really, since the rebel group (Renamo) had no desire to govern. Its sole objective was to paralyze the country. Renamo was set up and backed by South Africa and Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) with the sole intent of destabilizing Mozambique. You see, the black consciousness movement was growing in strength in Mozambique, and South Africa and Rhodesia didn’t want that spilling over into their countries. So, they backed a rebel force that completely destroyed the country for seventeen years. That was its sole mission. Disgusting.  (Of course, the US has done the same thing, messing with other countries for its own benefit, ie…Central America in the 80s, Cold War proxy wars, etc.)

So, for almost two decades, the rebel forces destroyed roads, bridges, railways, schools and clinics. Villagers were rounded up, anyone with skills was shot, and atrocities were committed on a massive and horrific scale.  What would even remain almost two decades of wholesale destruction? Some estimate the country had been set back half a century or more. It’s been over ten years since the civil war ended, but Mozambique still shows the scars. It’s sad.

So why would I bother going to Mozambique?  That’s easy:

1. Tourism brings in much needed money.

2. Because it’s there. Because if I don’t go, I will stare at Mozambique on the map for the rest of my life, wondering what it’s like.

3. Because traveling is when I feel most alive—especially when traveling in some far off corner of the world like Mozambique. I need that right now. I need to feel alive after a year of being numb. And I need to relearn to appreciate being alive.

4. International travel always keeps one promise: it reminds me of all that I have. It makes me feel very grateful. This trip is no different.

But, it’s also a bit confusing right now. I am depressed. I don’t want life without Warren. But I stare out the window at the passing landscape of poverty and hardship, and I simultaneously feel very lucky. The latter doesn’t ‘cure’ the former. I feel both emotions at once.

And so I just stare out the window, waiting for all of it to come together in some logical way, waiting for that big epiphany that makes life good again.

(…You know, the big epiphany that will never come if I am waiting for it. Oops, getting too Zen for a blog about Africa. Wrong continent.)

Wow...beaches!

I’m now in Mozambique, the country just northeast of South Africa. And so far we’ve spent all our time in Mozambique at beaches. Apparently, “Mozambique is all about the beaches.” At least that is what the guide keeps saying whenever I bemoan the lack of cultural interaction. (Friendly bemoaning, mind you.)

Beaches are nice. I like beaches. However, having lived a mile from the beach for roughly two-thirds of life, I’m not keen on traveling half way around the planet to visit one. I’d much prefer to see village life, culture, historic sites, nature… Beaches are a bit boring. Oh well, ‘it’s not the destination, it’s the journey’ and other cliché statements like that.  (I do acknowledge that a large percentage of my family/friends who are reading this are surely sitting at work right now and thinking ‘Oh blah, blah. Poor thing has to spend the day at the beach.’ I’m not exactly making friends with this entry.)

We have visited two beaches so far. Luckily for me, the third planned beach stop has been nixed due to time limitations. Mozambique’s roads are riddled with giant potholes which swallow up huge blocks of time. (For long stretches, we never hit 40mph.) Such is travel in a developing country. :)

Beach One
We first visited Praha Di’ Bilene, a small resort town situated on a large lagoon separated from the Indian Ocean by a sandy spit. Here’s my minimalist shot of the sandy spit:


It was a beautiful, relaxing setting. I took in the beauty, relaxed, then quickly got bored.


On the second day there, several of us hired a local boat to cruise us across the lagoon to see the ocean. It was my first time seeing the Indian Ocean. The sun was very intense, as were the ocean waves—too violent for my meager swimming skills.  It was nice to finally lay eyes on the Indian Ocean, but the boat ride was a bit of a bust.  On the route back, I took random pictures to pass the time.


Beach Two
Next, we had a FULL travel day north to go to a beach called Guinjata. The AC on the bus picked the hottest day to break down so we were all good and cranky by the time we got to the beach.  We spent hours on the hot bus until we got to the middle of nowhere...

 ...where we then piled onto our next mode of transport, an big old army truck...

...and drove through lots of rural villages on a loose sand road (loved this part, so fascinating!) 

Finally we arrived at our beach.  Huh, kinda looks like the Laguna Beach cliffs (near where I grew up).

We went to Guinjata because the snorkeling is supposed to be among the best in the world. Unfortunately the weather was much too windy to go snorkeling so we missed out. Huge bummer. Instead of snorkeling, I passed a good portion of the day just sitting and talking with my tour mates. We have a really great group, but I’ll write about that later. I also sat on the porch of our house and read, wrote, stared at the breathtaking view.

My favorite activity at Guinjata was crab digging with a local family. On the second day there, I went for a walk along the beach before breakfast, and ran into a local family digging in the sand for crabs.

With little else to do, I saw no reason not to join the effort. It was great. And so was I…at first. I caught three or four within the first five minutes! Each time I would find one, I would let out a rather cowardly squeal and hand the squirming, tiny crab over to the little girl digging next to me. And each time, the group would let out a big laugh, imitate my squeal, and then smile big smiles at me. It was a fun, silly exchange. (Mozambique was colonized by Portugal, so Mozambicans speak Portuguese. And, of course, I don’t.)

Alas, after my dazzling start, my crab-per-minute average dropped off precipitously. I started to feel badly that I wasn’t pulling my weight. Ahh, the pressure. Eventually, I said goodbye and headed back to the resort. (Although, on the way back, I found a REALLY big crab and I literally chased it around the beach until I was able to thump it unconscious with my shoe. I then walked it back to the family and (kind of proudly) presented it to them. They smiled as they accepted it, but looking back I'm not sure if it was a “thank you” smile or a "what a weird white lady' smile. Oh well, at least I tried to help.

Before I sign off for the day, lemme leave you with this photo of the view from my bedroom window. The roar of the crashing waves was so loud it was hard to get to sleep. Ah, the troubles I must endure.

Back at Kruger National Park

(written 09/19/07)

Day One at Kruger:
I’m back to Kruger, this time with the tour. The first day was spent on the edge of Kruger National Park at a private game reserve. At Kruger, the ‘private reserves’ are where the truly luxurious safari lodges are situated. We are not at one of those. But, our accommodation is charming—in rustic but nicely appointed individual huts in the bush. It’s really great to be out in the bush, breathing in the fresh African air, hearing all the bird calls, taking in the amazing star-studded dark skies.

The first afternoon was spent on a relatively fruitless game drive. The evening, however, was spent on fruitful solitude. The entire group went on a night game drive, but I didn’t go since I had done a night game drive when I was at Kruger before, and my budget doesn’t allow for repeats. Instead I spent the evening alone in the stillness of the bush lodge, eating cashew nuts and drinking “Coke Light,” culling through photographs, writing in my journal, just relaxing. So calm, so beautiful. Four hours to re-charge in solitude. I photographed the breezy spot where I sat (below). Fantastic.

After dinner that evening we were treated to some traditional African dancing by campfire. This part of South Africa has a mix of tribes—Kwazi, Zulu and Shangan—and the dancers performed traditional tribal dances from all three cultures. Near the end of the performance, the leader asked for a volunteer from the audience to dance with the witch doctor. No one else wanted to, so I volunteered (what with all my vast experience with witch doctors). I’m currently operating under the “I don’t know anyone in Africa” philosophy so I don’t care if I make a fool of myself. [You should see how I am wearing my hair. Shameful. :)] While I’m certain I looked hilariously bad, it was fun! Some of the steps were just speedy renditions of “The Pony” so I was able to handle those. Who knew growing up during the 80s aerobics craze would pay off twenty years later in Africa.

Day Two at Kruger:
The next day we went on an all-day game drive in the national park—this one nowhere near as spectacular as the all-day drive I did with James and Elise a few weeks ago. However, we did have some great up-close encounters, including a spectacularly long and close visit with a curious spotted hyena. And, among other animals, we saw two lions far off in the distance—stretching, lounging, rolling around—and later in the day, we saw a black rhino grazing with some zebra and impala (my first in-the-wild rhino sighting).

Warren had coordinated all the animals for the drive with James and Elise, but for this drive, he must have been off doing something else. [he he :)] Of course, I shouldn’t blame it on Warren when it is probably more likely the fault of our ridiculous bus! The small 16-passenger touring bus we are using on this tour SUCKS, and we did the game drive in this bus. (This is a cheapy tour, so they didn’t splurge for the cool safari vehicles). The bus is tiny so there is no leg room and, even worse, there’s stinking bar right at eye level. Not so good for viewing game or checking out the landscape.

The whole group was in revolt over the bus until, after several days on the road, we realized that all small touring buses in Africa have windows like these—horizontally sliding windows on top, one solid window on the bottom, and a big black bar in the middle. Argh!

Nonetheless, it was another truly memorable visit. We leave Kruger tomorrow. Bummer. I’m glad I spent so much time here…it’s magical.

Segment Two---“The Tour”

(written 09/17/07)
Yesterday I began the second leg of my journey—the “Gap Adventures” tour from Johannesburg to Cape Town.

28 Day Internet Fast
I have spoken to the guide, and it’s not looking good as far as internet access during the tour. I will continue to write about my experiences every couple of days, since my writing serves as a journal for myself in addition to a blog for everyone else. Then, when I do have access, I will post a bunch of entries at once, and then send out an email notice.

Since my access will be so limited (and will cost), I will most likely not be able to respond to emails until I am in Cape Town in mid-October. However, once in Cape Town, I will have high-speed wireless during my entire stay (3.5 months) so I can correspond via email and Skype then.

Pretoria
The tour started in Pretoria, although I didn’t get to see much of the city as I was more in the mood to read than explore. (You gotta take breaks from exploring now and then when you are traveling for seven months.) However, I eventually pulled myself away from my book, and spent the late afternoon wandering around the (upscale) Arcadia neighborhood where we were staying. I walked over to the huge parliament building where Nelson Mandela was inaugurated, then joined the crowds on the streets as they enjoyed their Sunday afternoon. A soccer game had just gotten out at the nearby stadium, and the streets were full of fans cheering their team, “hooting” their horns (as the South Africans would say), laughing and waving at each other. Everyone was in such a cheery mood that it really picked up my spirits.

Pretty, laid-back Pretoria feels nothing like hectic, kind-of-frightening Jo’burg (at least what I saw of it). It moves at a slower pace and remains Afrikaans culturally. I felt very safe and relaxed as I strolled along the streets. I especially liked the city’s 1960s architectural vibe. It was like stepping back in time.

Over the entire afternoon, I saw only a handful of white South Africans. (Perhaps it was just the area I was in?) This was really shocking considering that just 13 years ago, all of Pretoria—the center of the apartheid state—was designated ‘white only.’ Blacks were not permitted to live in Pretoria, and were only allowed in the city during the day if they could demonstrate employment there. Human rights issues aside, I find the whole apartheid system incomprehensible. How could such a small minority so thoroughly dominate so many?

I know ‘the answers’ to that question are out there and are well known. And I know that this dynamic—the powerful few dominating the weak masses—has happened countless times in history. But to see it first hand—to see so many blacks and so few whites…it’s an outrageous ratio given what’s taken place here over the last century. Shocking.

The Highveld

We spent the first days exploring the edges of the Drakensberg Escarpment, where the cool, mountainous ‘highveld’ plunges down to the hot, flat ‘lowveld.’ The area is strongly Afrikaaner in culture and full of very charming little ‘get-away’ towns.

What Flagstaff and Prescott are to Phoenicians, the Drakensberg Escarpment towns are to Jo’burg and Pretoria residents.

Our first stops included:

(1) an overlook of the Blyde River Canyon [think: smaller Grand Canyon]

(2) a short hike out to the Bourke’s Luck Potholes [cylindrical holes carved into the rock by whirlpools near the confluence of two rivers]

And, uh, try as I might I couldn’t generate the requisite awe for these stops. With all the trips Warren and I made to spots on the spectacular Colorado Plateau, I had a hard time fighting off the dreaded ‘been there, done that’ feeling.

A number of other spots, however, were quite memorable, including Lisbon Falls and a hike through a lush rainforest--which reminded me of the hike Warren and I did on Vancouver Island. (Both are pictured below).

At some point we stopped at a grocery store and I decided it was time to break out of my comfort zone. So, my roommate (Arika from NYC) and I bought the following snacks for the road:

1. Apricoteen Red Cakes—These little cakes looked so much like ground beef that several others on the tour wondered what exactly Arika planned to do with cold beef. The verdict: Average, a plain cake with some coconut. The red was just a superficial dye. 
2. Traditional koeksisters—This is a popular Afrikaans dish with a very cool name. Certainly means something different in the US (koek pronounced coke). The verdict: Like donuts drenched in honey. Overly sweet, but it didn’t stop me from eating three. :)
3. Fruit Cubes—These just looked too much like dog food not to try them. The verdict: One part fruit, six parts sugar!