One Year Anniversary - Time Flies!

Boy, how the time flies. On Christmas Day I celebrated my leaving- Vancouver-one-year which means I have officially been away for a long time. As to be expected, I have completely forgotten what Canadian life feels like and am rather starting to feel like a South African, albeit one who has a better passport. I am also apparently starting to sound like one as certain words and phrases enter my lexicon, unnoticed by me but endlessly amusing to my local friends.

The last few months of the study year were hectic so I have fallen a little behind in my blogging. I have settled in well, having just moved into a gorgeous new apartment in the historic area of town and have acquired yet another South African boyfriend, Johannes, an extremely sweet philosopher who lectures at the university. He is finishing his second PhD from Cambridge University and is genius enough that I don’t actually understand what he is talking about some of the time. I suppose he is amused by my endless stream of nonsense talk and ability to find amusement in the simpler things. However, we travel well together and are heading to the Seychelles, Dubai and Abu Dhabi in a couple of days. While I do still really miss my friends from home I have at least established a solid base of people who I really like here which also helps with the settling process.

I have managed to undertake a few activities of note, including cage diving with great white sharks off the coast of Ganesbaai. It wasn’t as terrifying as one might expect and turned out to be a really interesting experience. It’s a shame the visibility is so bad in the waters though because you can only see the shark when it is about a metre from the cage...and your face. It makes for a pretty up close and personal encounter, and one’s tail even managed to slip between the bars while we were in there, as did an overly friendly sea snake which then proceeded to wrap itself around my leg. If there was one thing shark cage diving taught me, it is that I will never go swimming off the coast of South Africa again. We were maybe 350 metres from shore and were surrounded by ten sharks, some of which were five metres long and one of which had a giant bite out of its fin (her name was Demon and she is known to be a real bruiser). With the terrible visibility you could be swimming two metres from a massive shark and have no idea, which is not an appealing thought.

I also made the trip to Robben Island, a notorious former jail situated off of Cape Town and best known as Nelson Mandela’s home from 1964-1994. As far as prisons go, I found Alcatraz more interesting. The idyllic location and relatively comfortable surroundings actually make this one feel more like a resort. Though it has been a prison for more than 400 years, in its 20th century heyday it housed a lot of ANC political prisoners, particularly those involved in the fight against apartheid. I couldn’t help but think it wouldn’t be a bad idea to return some of the current crop of outrageously corrupt and inept ANC politicos to the island. To be blunt, I worry for the future of this country. Beyond the crime, illegal immigration and seriously flawed policies supposedly promoting equality (BEE does not work in anyone’s best interests)…the general ineptitude and greed of the ANC may well see South Africa head the way of Zimbabwe. Living here, it’s hard not to develop strong opinions about the farcical state of the government.

I have also visited Cape Point National Park on the Cape of Good Hope, which is the southern most point of SE Africa and a notorious ship wreck location containing an old lighthouse and other historic buildings as well as the usual baboons, bokkies and wildlife. It’s a stunning spot! Simonstown, a small coastal settlement has turned out to be my favourite local area with its penguin colony and pretty setting sandwiched between ocean and mountain. I made the trek to Franchoek a couple of times, a town setteled by French Hugenots in the 1700s and with some of the best wine farms the area has to offer, which is no small feat when you consider there are literally hundreds to choose from. In Johannesburg I went to the Joberg Day music festival and learned that there are a lot of great South African bands…which led me to reflect on just how much crap music Canada produces (Lavigne-Bieber-Dion-Nickleback anyone?). We also drove up the wildflower route through a bizarre little drag queen and farmer village (odd combination, I think?) called Darling to the coastal towns of Langebaan and Paternostre, which boasts some pretty impressive fields of colour in springtime.

I’m sure the next year will hold more adventures, especially as I plan to head out further into Africa.

Lesotho: Africa's Mountain Kingdom

The month-plus torture exercise otherwise known as final exams has concluded, just in time for the onset of African summer. With the weather turning and the first of my three years in South Africa drawing to a close, my boyfriend and I decided the time was right for a road trip. I had heard nothing but fantastic things about the Kingdom of Lesotho, described as ‘the Switzerland of Africa’ so without further ado, the destination was decided.

Lesotho is a solid 1100 km or 15 hour drive from Cape Town. Riddled with road works and stretching through the Karoo desert, it is not the most scenic motorway – but it was a great opportunity to see more (or rather most) of South Africa. Tired, sweaty, sunburnt and suffering from a serious case driving overdose, we crossed the overland border into Lesotho’s capital city Maseru.

Maseru is not the star attraction in Lesotho, but rather a necessary evil situated en route to the six-plus mountain ranges, national parks and nature reserves that comprise its countryside. It would be safe to say that Lesotho is in fact all mountains. Don’t quote me on this, but I actually think it statistically qualifies as the world’s most mountainous country... I remember having heard something to that effect. Even the lowlands where Maseru is situated are more than 1000 metres above sea level. The heights made for challenging driving and hiking at times and I did notice my pace was much slower…not to mention the puffing , panting and dramatics (mine) that accompany uphill exertion were just a little worse than usual.

Maseru is really just another African city, full of corrugated metal shacks, stray animals and garbage strewn streets. There are a few remnants of the 1860's British colonial period including a police station, post office, courthouses and the King’s palace (yes, Lesotho is still ruled by a King who lives in a heavily guarded palace – how typically, quintessentially African dictatorial), but otherwise it’s just a quick supply pit stop before heading for the hills. While we saw very, very few white people anywhere on this trip, oddly we did see hundreds of Chinese who are now conducting serious business in Lesotho, including diamond mining and clothing manufacturing. The Chinese contingent was especially concentrated at the local casino where we went to find food during what I now realize is an African standard: all day, city-wide power outages that effectively shut down an entire region. I had a hunch that somehow the casino would have ultra-powerful generators running in order to keep the money flowing, and I wasn’t wrong.

We headed out of Maseru asap, following what can only be described as one of the grossest yet expensive meals in recent memory, and straight to Thaba Bosiu, the mountain top fortress ruins of legendary Basotho King Moshoeshoe. The fort, considered impenetrable back in the day, has nothing on Masada but provided some seriously stunning views and a fun if slightly precarious climb scrambling over rocks and lizards. There were some interesting ruins at the top, though slightly less grand then expected, and we even made friends with a man we found hiding behind a rock. I thought he was going to mug us but instead he launched into a story about his life as a poor orphan whose siblings had died of HIV. He asked for a ride to the next town, and when we said ‘yes’, ran home to change out of his tattered rags and into designer jeans and an expensive sports jersey…and to grab his mobile phone, which was nicer than mine. Obviously this beggar was not quite the tourist milking mastermind he fancied himself to be.

By this point a serious thunder storm was brewing, so we decided to head for the university town of Roma where we spent the night in a little thatched roof hut at the Trading Post Lodge, which I loved but Johannes kept combing for spiders. Thankfully the power had returned at this point as I was not keen on the combination of candles and straw.

The next morning we climbed another mountain (as you can see, a pattern is starting to form) to check out some preserved dinosaur footprints. While the footprints themselves were a disappointment, the views were spectacular and I enjoyed hiking through the dirt village and being chased by seriously cute children demanding “pompoms”, their name for sweets. We were happy to oblige and I have to say that I was smitten with more than a few of those kids. The Basotho are generally really friendly, and everyone greets you, though of course very little English is spoken. They are simple country people who still dress in traditional blankets and hats, ride horses and donkeys for transport, and often delight in seeing their photos taken on the digital camera. Almost everyone in rural Lesotho is a sheep/goat/cow/donkey herder, and there are very, very few modern buildings. It is like taking a trip back in time – for the most part the modern world doesn’t exist, which I actually loved because I was craving a ‘getting away from it all’ experience.

We then hopped in our rented VW Polo – possibly the most ridiculous car to take to a country where there are two paved roads and everything else is mud, gravel and boulder dotted – to head deep inland through some of the higher mountain ranges. Needless to say, everyone else tackles these roads with huge trucks and 4x4 SUVs, but we decided to do it differently (read: like total clueless tourists). There were a few times where we nearly got stuck, and once we just had to give up and walk. Next up was some bushman cave paintings located down the roughest, rockiest, muddiest seven km road cutting through a valley that itself looked like a painting. The setting was beautiful, and the paintings were found on colourful rock faces lining a river and yet again there were no tourists anywhere – just a couple of shepherds and one extremely ripe smelling guide who led the way but spoke no English. We then headed deeper into the mountains over the Bushman’s, Molimo Nthuse and Blue Mountain passes towards the Mohale Dam, driving through settlements with unexpected names like Nazareth. The dam is part of the Lesotho Highlands Water Project, which wouldn’t be the type of attraction that usually catches my eye when traveling – but I am so glad we went. It looked like a giant crystal lake contained between a number of green mountains --and when you are trekking through extremely rural parts of Africa something like this makes for an unexpected sight. The drive alone makes the trip worthwhile because the views are seriously out of this world.

Our ultimate destination was Semonkong, a mountain lodge located in Lesotho’s central highlands by the Drakkensberg range and found at the very end of a dirt and gravel road running through another series of mountain passes with fitting names such as ‘God Help Me”. The drive is only 120 km, but takes between 4-5 hours to complete thanks to the treacherous climbs (average height is 3000 metres) and road conditions that prevent driving at speeds greater than 30 km/hour. I’m not going to lie: we were often scared. There were moments when we discussed fast evacuation strategies should the car slide over the side of a cliff. For once a seatbelt didn’t seem like such a good idea. The drive is considered one of Africa’s most stunning, and takes you past the “Breast Mountains” (they have nipples...maybe you need to see them to understand) and through lush green peaks and valleys. Apart from the occasional shepherd and his sheep/mountain goat flock (you should see the cliffs those things climb – unbelievable!) and a few thatched rondavel hut villages built on steep mountain faces, we encountered no other humans. I can’t ever recall a time I felt more in the middle of nowhere. Not that we minded since it was so incredibly beautiful…however, one small problem was that we underestimated the length of the drive and the sun was quickly setting. Soon we were enveloped in total blackness, in a region with no electricity, no people and no legible road signs…oh yes, and a one lane rocky gravel road with no guardrail. It was starting to look like we would be spending the night in the car with nothing but mountain goats for company. The route seemed to wind on forever, and we have never felt such relief as when we finally found Semonkong, which was completely non sign posted. It ended up being this tiny oasis in the middle of nowhere, with a South African chef (food, let alone edible food is hard to find outside of Maseru so a meal that wasn’t a stale bag of chips was welcome) and an electrical generator that was running for a whole hour! Bliss.

Lesotho is the skiing capital of southern Africa, and is covered by a thick layer of snow much of the year, which meant we were actually staying at a little thatched roof winter lodge complete with down bedding and a miraculous sight: indoor heating. It is located on a rushing river and is built on a steep mountain side, with little cottages dotting the hill – we loved it, and will definitely return though next time we will be making the drive in a 4x4. From the lodge we explored the Thaba Putsoa mountain range, with its rolling green hills dotted with the standard huts, donkeys, horses and flocks of sheep. The highlight was a hike to Maletsunyane Falls, which are southern Africa’s tallest at 150 metres, found in a narrow crack between two mountains and so tall that the bottom isn’t even visible from the top. Such an incredible area! The drive back was equally stunning, past farms with rust red soil fields, colourful people in traditional dress, and of course…sheep.

My final thoughts on Lesotho: While the roads and mountain passes are rough, winding, crumbling and at times terrifyingly steep, they provide some of the most dramatic, scenery of mountains and valleys to be found anywhere. And surely the population of sheep and goats is hundreds of times that of humans. In all, it is a really special place, friendly, laid back and primitive in the best possible way. Just bring a 4x4 and decent food should you go.

Next up: Namibia.

The Exotic Isle of Zanzibar

Zanzibar has always intrigued me. I think I had a romanticized notion of it dating back to childhood, from stories of slaves and pirates, of Sultans and their harems, and spices. And it didn’t disappoint.

While not exactly clean, and predominantly third world, the word that best sums up Zanzibar is exotic. It’s also eclectic in the sense that your surroundings make it hard to pinpoint where exactly in the world you are. Technically it’s Africa yes, but both the population and the architecture are a diverse mix of Arab, Indian, Malaysian, as well as African – though the people are predominantly Muslim and dressed accordingly no matter their racial denomination. To disembark from the ferry into the crazy melee at the terminal wasn’t a terrible experience. I actually found it enhanced the sense of adventure and reinforced the knowledge I was thousands of miles from home.

Zanzibar comprises two islands, and is two hours by high speed ferry ride from Dar Es Salaam. It is surrounded by the clearest, bluest waters imaginable and is bordered by beaches of the whitest sand I have ever seen – it has the consistency of talc and felt like clay between my toes. Add to this coral reefs, colourful fish and gigantic seashells – and what you get is paradise. It has so much to offer: it is so astoundingly rich in culture and history, and the natural physical beauty of the place is truly breathtaking.

The main city is Stone Town/Zanzibar Town, a UNESCO World Heritage site. The settlement is extremely old, and still has a colonial (German, British) vibe. Zanzibar, a Rastafarian I befriended on the ferry told me, doesn’t consider itself part of Africa or Tanzania and in fact has its own separatist movement. Up until the 1960s it was actually presided over by the ruling Sultans of Oman. The city is a jumble of old Indian, Arab and colonial buildings that feature the most intricate architectural detailing – there’s old palaces, an old dispensary, the old slave market (so sad what happened there), the old customs house, old mosques and churches, and bustling spice and produce markets. There’s also a market where you can watch them slaughter chickens as a form of entertainment, but I had neither the stomach nor heart to partake. The Old Quarter is a maze of narrow, winding alleyways lined with small mosques and market stalls. You really need to hire a walking guide for navigation, otherwise you will get lost – and possibly robbed. The buildings are crumbling, but feature carved wooden balconies and shutters, and most famously, massive, elaborate doors. These I learned are what Zanzibar is famous for. The doors are either Indian or Arab made - the Arab version features only ornate wooden carvings, while the Indian ones feature large metal spikes originally designed to stop elephants from charging them. The city’s hotels are built in old mansions painted brightly and with mosaic tiling and ebony embellishments, as well as little balconies and large arch shaped windows. In typical Middle Eastern style every building has a rooftop patio – an amazing venue from which to watch sunset over the roofs of the city (there are no buildings exceeding five floors here). One of the big attractions is the house where Freddie Mercury grew up. I had no idea he was from here and Queen isn't my thing, but it seems to be a huge tourist draw.

The harbour is a mix of yachts, freighters and old wooden dhows, one of which I took to Prison Island, about 30 minutes out. These dodgy wooden boats (I watched them bail one out with coffee mugs before the passengers boarded) seat 5-8 people and have non appropriate names painted across the sides like “Gladiator” or “Jambo”, and the crews are smelly, salty old seadogs in filthy tattered clothes. Anyway, Prison Island was both tranquil and amazing. It houses the ruins of an old slave prison, long since closed and now painted bright colours – it’s the happiest looking prison I have ever seen. It’s a prime diving and snorkeling spot with a deserted beach and best of all a giant tortoise sanctuary. The oldest is age 150 years and the others range from babies to more than 100. There are just over 150 tortoises, and you can wander among them, feed them (they love pineapple and cabbage), pet them, play with their babies – it’s like a petting zoo. They have far sharper teeth than I imagined, and they are massive – also, they can move damn fast when they want to. But they are so gentle, and their skin feels so leathery; they are very docile really. And just like dogs they enjoy a good chin scratch.

I also toured the old buildings and Sultan’s Palace in town, and bought the autobiography of national heroine Princess Salme, the Arabian princess who eloped with a German (oh the horror) in the 1800s, escaping the repressive life of a royal Muslim female. These places, which haven’t changed since the colonial period, effectively transport you back in time. The nightlife isn’t bad – we hung out at various cafes and a rooftop bar, sitting on pillows surrounded by Arabic flourishes and an arched roof watching the sunset, drinking watermelon,lemon and sugarcane juice, listening to the ‘call to prayer’. Being a Muslim country, alcohol is prohibitively expensive so we forewent booze. Most eating is done on rooftops, including breakfast for which we had a traditional Zanzibari spread– Papaya, special fried breads and Tanzanian donuts – oooh, and they make the BEST coffee, but damn it’s strong. In general, the food was really good though everything tastes like curry. There was one exception: I bought a peeled mango that looked so tasty at a street stall – but didn't realize that Zanzibar people don`t care for sweet things. So with fruit such as mango, they pour cayenne pepper and loads (seriously-loads!)of salt all over it. Lesson learned: salted, spicy mango is disgusting and not something I`d recommend.

Zanzibar is an incredibly lush place –it's nickname is the `spice island`. I went on a spice plantation tour with some Germans and a Dutch doctor I met, which took us far up the west coast of the island. Once you leave the city, it just has such a feeling of peace and calm, and your body automatically relaxes. The sound of the wind rustling in the palms, the dappled sunlight shining through the spice and fruit trees, the beautiful plants and the smell of spices and flowers in the air… and the locals, so friendly and laid back and in their colourful traditional clothing - there’s something really unique about it. The popular local saying is 'hakuna matata' which means ‘no worries’(you know it from the Lion King I’m sure) and that really is how they live. I have found very few places in the world that make me feel this way. I’m not the type to relax when I travel (always too much to see and do), but here, Uruguay, the French Riviera, Tel Aviv, Macau and Byron Bay have all had a similar vibe about them that I can’t quite articulate. The plantation was fantastic in that they literally picked everything fresh off the trees for us to try – the bark of the cinnamon tree smells amazing! The climate is so conducive to growth and the soil so rich that they can, and do, grow almost everything. We ate pepper corns, fresh cacao, jack and bread fruit, star fruit, vanilla, grapefruits, cayenne, cumin, cloves, cinnamon…and the food was great. A little hot - they use the spices and mix them with coconut milk and vegetables I have never seen before – and it tastes a little like some Thai foods. Unfortunately, Tanzania is also well known for parasites and food poisoning. I fared relatively well but definitely had stomach ‘issues’ for a solid week after returning to SA.

I was also lucky enough to be on the receiving end of a serious marriage proposal from a toothless old Muslim as we finished up the spice trip. Apparently the women of Zanzibar are ‘nasty’ and `a handful` but he had heard that Canadian women were well behaved and obedient. I had to decline – probably worked out best for him as well – I’m not sure many of my exes would describe me in those terms...and I like my men with teeth.

Next up, I headed along the East Coast (the deserted coast) to a thatched hut cabin for a couple of days of seriously needed peace and quiet. It was located between the villages of Paje and Jambiani, right on the beach. I didn’t love the miniature jumping spiders that looked suspiciously like tiny tarantulas, or the constant power outages – but did love pretty much everything else there. For three days I wore no shoes, didn’t comb my hair and basically just lived in a bikini on the most incredible beaches. Yes, I looked like a filthy hippie but I didn’t care. There were a few small hotels along the beach, and a kite surfing school, but otherwise it was quiet except for some annoying Masai from Kenya who lived in a tent and spent their days lying on the beach (sun tanning???) and harassing girls. I had to make up a fake husband to get rid of them – maybe I should have brought my toothless suitor along. I spent the days beach combing and found some incredible shells, as well as swimming, and lazing on the white sand or lying in a hammock listening to the waves and reading about the renegade princess. I also spoke with a few locals about living conditions in Zanzibar, and was even invited to a birthday party one night – but in the interest of my safety didn’t go though I really wanted to (sometimes being a girl sucks). I also trekked out to a super remote village to snorkel with dolphins, but as luck would have it a massive storm hit that morning. At 7 am I was not stoked to be on a rickety wooden boat with two non English speakers in gnatty speedos, chasing dolphins through massive waves that were totally unsnorkle-able. I ALMOST lost my breakfast over the side. So after beating a hasty retreat, I instead visited some small villages and saw how the people lived and played with local children. And then later in the day, I lay on the beach surrounded by a random herd of cows that just wandered down to sit at the water’s edge. Nights were spent socializing with the other guests – there were ten of us in all, dining by candle and star light on the actual beach, with millions of twinkling stars lighting up the sky. It was magical.

Travel in Africa - A Wild Ride

After a crazy 24 hours traveling between point A (Stone Town, Zanzibar) and point B (Johannesburg), I thought it might be worthwhile to describe what the African version of travel can entail.

ON THE FERRY…

I boarded the ferry on Sunday afternoon, a high speed catamaran, slightly outdated (but top of the line for 1985) for the usually two hour trip between Stone Town and Dar Es Salaam (both in Tanzania). The weather seemed fine - it was sunny and steaming hot. Granted the water had been too rough for snorkeling earlier in the day, but really, there was no indication of eight to ten metre plus swells and gusting winds that awaited us anywhere near the city.

To start, the Zanzibar Town ferry ‘terminal’ is like a third world zoo. Hundreds of bodies pushing and shoving to get on board the boat…unwashed bodies…very sweaty bodies. The smell of curry and serious B.O. was compounded by extreme humidity and the hot sun. There wasn’t much seating, so people were just strewn across the cracked, dirty pavement. And the luggage situation was random as well – people had fridges, old tvs and random piles of outdated electronics equipment, though surprisingly no farm animals. After a hectic boarding where I managed to fight my way to a seat on the back deck, beside a particularly ripe smelling gentleman and a floor littered with Muslims, we were on our way. I was really enjoying the nice sunny weather for the first half hour…and then it got ROUGH. Huge swells, waves coming up over the boat, smashing in our faces – everyone and everything was drenched and sliding around precariously. The catamaran was slapping down hard into the water and rolling precariously from side to side. It was literally like being on a roller coaster. This being Africa, there was of course no life jackets on board – and the knowledge that if anything happened, no one would come to the rescue, and land was out of sight. People were vomiting everywhere – all over each other and the floors. The smell of vomit mixed with curry and BO was absolutely disgusting. I’m so glad I don’t get seasick. I’m fairly certain I was the only person on that boat not retching, but I was soaked and too busy making pacts with god that if he/she let me survive the boat ride I would be a much nicer person forever more to focus on bringing up my lunch. I really did not want to die on a sketchy boat off the coast of Africa, surrounded by strangers. The usually two hour boat ride took 4 hours and Freddy, who was picking me up in Dar told me that when he went to ask where the boat was the officials at the terminal were worried it might not make it. Needless to say, I have vowed to avoid all ferries in the developing world from now on. Actually, I will not be found on any small boat in stormy waters in less than a life jacket and wet suit.

ON THE CITY…

When we limped back in Dar nearly two hours late and spent, I was desperate to shower, being covered in salt and the smell of sick people. However it was not to be. The power was out for the entire city, which is a regular occurrence and the emergency generator was also broken. So despite my filthy state, we went for a nice dinner in hopes that it would be fixed in the meantime. Nope. So I used my ipod to light my way up the stairs to my room. Even though there is no hot water in Tanzania, I figured I would make do with a cold shower in the dark. Nope again. There was no running water either. And in the dark I couldn’t even open my suitcase to get my toothbrush and a bottle of water. I also couldn’t pack my suitcase for my 5:30 am trip to the airport the next morning. So, with no other options, I crawled into bed, poking around in the dark for the opening in the mosquito netting, fully clothed to sleep, smelling like god knows what…and to be dripped on like Chinese water torture by the disabled air conditioner. The lights came back on suddenly at 3 am, at which point they were the last thing I wanted to see.

ON THE AIRPORT…

At 5:30 am I was happy to see the power was still on, even though I continued to be without running water. At least I was able to SEE my suitcase in order to pack it.

Freddie dropped me at Dar Es Salaam International airport. Due I suspect to the Muslim leanings of the population, a number of security checks must be cleared the first of which is the terminal entrance. So I put my bags on the x-ray machine, which had large signage asking people to ignore the security staff’s bribe requests, and walked through – to find the security guy trying to loot my purse. I stood there watching (he didn’t realize I was) as he searched for my wallet and valuables. I then asked him what exactly he was doing. He was only mildly embarrassed at getting caught (he was actually probably more disappointed – he hadn’t yet found something to steal), saying ‘oh, this is yours’ and sheepishly handed it over. Luckily I had packed well and he didn’t find anything. This, I repeat, is the airport security.

I checked in and then promptly went through the wrong security check, which is easy to do when there is no signage in any language. I was a little nervous about clearing security since I had several large cans of bug spray (malaria requirement) and sunscreen stuffed in my bag. Not to worry, I cleared all three security checks with ease since they don’t even look at what’s in your luggage (unless it’s something they want personally). They did manage to dump my jewellery upside down in the x-ray machine, but luckily it all came out the bottom and could be found scattered on the floor underneath.

As I entered the gate I was grilled about my passport for more than ten minutes while an assortment of nefarious looking characters file past unquestioned. The officer held it up to various lamps and x-rays convinced it was a fake. Because really, I don’t look like a legitimate Canadian at all. Maybe he thought I was a Chinese spy…. I’d say perhaps he was concerned about the Middle Eastern stamps I gathered earlier in the year, but literacy isn’t big in these parts so I’m fairly confident he couldn’t read what they were.

As we sat waiting for the plane, another power outage struck leaving the entire airport in the dark. Luckily it’s not a busy airport and most people had already cleared security. So, sans power we finally boarded the plane. A large, piss drunk man in army boots (not to stereotype, but I’d put my money on him being Nigerian- they are as notorious here as elsewhere) was bothering everyone in the waiting area. I couldn’t believe they were going to let him on the plane, but was becoming less surprised by anything at this point. Once we’d all boarded and seated, there was a delay during which a group of soldiers and armed police got on board to haul off the drunk. Turns out he was some kind of dangerous criminal. Awesome. Luckily I was seated beside the former Tanzanian ambassador to Canada for the flight – an interesting man to talk to. Thank god because my mood was turning seriously foul at this point.

And THAT is a fairly typical travel in Africa experience. I wonder what adventures Namibia holds in December.

Lessons learned:
 Hide your wallet and passport deeply in your belongings
 Carry-on luggage only
 Always carry toilet paper (there is none) and hand sanitizer
 Be careful when buying anything – they will try to change the price when it’s time to pay. Also, count your change.
 Nowhere accepts credit cards
 Carry lots of USD because no one wants the local currency
 Bring lots of extra camera batteries because no adapters seem to fit the outlets
 Spend one night in a nice hotel…you have no idea how amazing a hot shower feels after days/weeks without one

Tanzania: Dar Es Salaam & Bagamoyo

I walked off the plane at Dar es Salaam, capital of Tanzania, straight into a hot, muggy mosquito swarm - a malaria bearing welcome wagon. After being finger printed like a terror suspect, and exhausted from being jammed into a middle seat between two massive men for the duration of a four hour flight, I was glad to have a coworker picking me up in an air conditioned SUV.

Dar es Salaam turned out to be a pleasant surprise. I know my criteria has changed as increased exposure to the third world expands my horizons and obviously it’s not ‘nice’ like Paris or New York, but really…it’s not bad. It is a melting pot – Indians, Chinese, Muslims and Africans blend together, and what’s more, everyone gets along. Israel: take note. The people are genuinely nice; friendly and warm and the women dress beautifully. I love the traditional African costumes - the colours, the patterns, the head wraps…It’s such a nice, cheerful change from South Africa. The city itself is green and lush with vegetation – it smells like flowers, and the buildings are colourful. Tanzania is a former German colony, and the architecture is a real blend of Indian, Arabic and German colonial painted with Miami style pepto pink, mint green and purple. The traffic is crazy – think tuktuks weaving in and out of massive traffic jams, the city busses, called Dala Dalas – old, purple, hand painted and overcrowded to the point of tipping, and safari jeeps all jammed together in a seething, honking mess. As you head away from the CBD, goats, chickens and markets selling everything imaginable line the roadside.

Freddie took me first to the fish market which lies on the harbor. It was already steaming hot by 9 am, so you can imagine that the smell wasn’t appetizing. But it was worth enduring to see the exotic tropical fish, caught on traditional wooden dhows, laid out for purchase– think orange, yellow and turquoise scales.

I enjoyed watching the fish mongers haggle, and the women carrying large buckets of fish balanced on their heads – now THAT is a talent. The water was crystalline turquoise and between the fish I have seen here so far and the colour of the ocean, I cannot wait to snorkel in Zanzibar!

To follow, we cruised around downtown Dar and saw the tourist sites– nothing terribly exciting. It’s a very political place full of embassies and international banks – obviously an African business hub. But I was charmed by the little things – the men selling coconuts and mangoes off the backs of their bikes, the tuktuk garbage truck, the nuns everywhere (this place is full of convents), the business men in their shiny polyester suits. We went for lunch at the Seacliff Hotel, which is one of the last vestiges of colonial culture in the city. It featured thatched roofs, black service men dressed all in white and a helicopter pad…but the food was good (well, as good as it gets for these parts) and it overlooked the Indian Ocean.

Later, we drove to the town of Bagamoyo , about 60 km up the coast. Bagamoyo is a modern day artist’s colony that happens to contain ruins of an Indian/German palace (the Old Boma) and centuries old slave quarters where prisoners were detained until shipped out to an unimaginably horrible existence in the new American colonies. A sad old tree with a chain suspended from it was used to hang uncooperative slaves. Today, it’s hard to imagine that so much violent suffering could have occurred in a place as peaceful as this – It is really imbued with a feeling of serenity.

The old, crumbling Arabic houses which line the dirt streets are so beautiful –they feature the most ornate doors and windows made from intricately carved local wood. Paintings hang randomly along the road where wild baby goats run freely amongst lush greenery and colourful flowers which scent the air. And the Muslim women wear robes of bright oranges, greens and golds, surrounded by little children so happy and carefree. I fell absolutely in love with this place.

What amazes me is how industrious the people are. They can load their bicycle full of wooden planks, brooms, baskets…massive loads, and somehow they are able to ride with all of it. And what doesn’t fit on their bikes, they balance on their heads. No wonder they all have amazing posture.

I also picked up my ticket for the ferry to Zanzibar tomorrow. I met the first Canadian I have encountered in a long time at the terminal – a smoking hot dive instructor from Ontario. Sadly, we were headed to different places, but we were happy to see each other as it helped alleviate some home sickness. Anyway, for me Zanzibar is a dream trip. It is somewhere I have always desperately wanted to visit, and in my mind is unimaginably exotic. Needless to say, I am thrilled!

Two Months in Johannesburg...

For the past two months I have been living in Johannesburg, or perhaps I should say Sandton, since this neighbourhood appears to exist in its own little bubble. Why have I chosen the purported `world`s most dangerous city` as my temporary home, you are likely asking yourself. Well, mostly because we are on break from uni and I was offered a fantastic job by a mining company carrying out some corporate communications work. They have generously put me up in a lovely hotel for two months (having a maid is awesome, but I miss my friends in CT, must say) to undertake a number of projects. I love the CEO and many of the great people I have met here, but am finding the lack of professionalism and work ethic amongst a select few of my coworkers a bit of a shocker. Also, the weather in Cape Town is horrible this time of year and winter in Johannesburg is characterized by cloudless blue skies and decent temperatures. The only downside is the dryness of the air - no amount of moisturizer can make my poor Canadian skin feel human. Put it this way - I feel, and look, like Ashy Larry from the Chappelle Show.

My time in Johannesburg has not been short on adventures, though it has been a little drama (and tequila…and wine…and champagne) packed for my taste. I think the laid back Canadian in me has difficulty with some of the cultural and mind set adjustments required when living here. One thing I do find endlessly amusing is the men – they seem to thrive on the drama almost more than the women do.

As with my life in Vancouver, I have brought along my knack for meeting the most random people to RSA. No Pauly Shore or Richard Branson run ins thus far (though I did sit behind Mandela`s grandson at lunch not long ago) but nonetheless...so far I have managed to end up mid-afternoon sauced at a polo club (and was more than a little unimpressed with myself when I woke up to find a British polo playing banker in my bed the next morning – damn you tequila!), at a pig farm in the middle of nowhere with two massive identical twin professional rugby players, fly fishing in the middle of the South African mountains with a random dachshund who decided to charge me from a cabin and much, much more. I also went to Polokwane once again, this time for my friend`s birthday which was another booze fueled weekend of bush and debauchery. The only downside was that some seriously pathetic South African girl was making snide remarks about Canadians at dinner the very first night (apparently we`re all stupid…interesting observation from a country party planner whose face looked like...a pig actually).

Excepting the above's rudeness, it’s actually a pretty good deal being a Canadian here. I have to say, I meet so, so many people because of my accent and pale skin. Sounds strange to say seeing as personally, I think we have one of the worst accents going, but genuinely I am perplexed at how many people want to hear me say certain words and listen to me talk. I suppose I have a bad track record of falling for men`s accents, so that`s probably the root of my paranoia. It seems like my name here is in fact “Canada”. At least that is what everyone calls me. I even went on a date with one guy who insisted on taking me to his friend’s family’s house because they wanted to see ‘a foreigner’. I suppose it keeps life interesting.

I am really excited for next week. I’m reverting to the life of the great unwashed traveler, heading for Dar Es Salaam in Tanzania and Zanzibar, which has always been one of my dream holidays. I can’t wait to snorkel with dolphins again, and am beyond excited for the photo opportunities presented by Stone Town and the spice plantations!

I`ve realized that I`m definitely not ready to settle down for the next couple of years at least. In fact, my travel bug is raging out of control. Maybe it's strange that someone my age doesn`t mind not bathing for days, and living out of a back pack…but it seems like as long as I have a camera and a laptop I`m pretty content for now. I`m still fairly bent on ruling the world at some point down the road, but am actually thinking I may take a different route then initially planned. I have decided that I am going to write and publish a book. Ideally I would like to pull together my photos and musings on my travels, though I know that may not prove interesting to anyone outside of my friend circle. If anyone has any good ideas for subject matter – let me know! In the meantime, the wanderer in me is already getting antsy and I need to FOCUS since I really do need to stay in Cape Town for a couple more years.

Next stop: Tanzania.

South Africa: the good, the bad and the ugly

It has been a busy three plus months in South Africa, what with settling in, school and the drive to have as many adventures as possible in any and all downtime (a quest not conducive to weekend studying and essay writing). I genuinely feel like I live here and in my mind this country now qualifies as home.

It’s a funny thing – I had been planning my escape from Vancouver for years, ever since I moved back from Australia. The longer I stayed, the sadder I was. While beautiful, Vancouver has always left me feeling less than inspired - I always believed it a city great for other people but not for me. By leaving, I hoped to find… it’s hard to pinpoint… inspiration, adventures, history, a city with soul, a more organic environ. While ultimately my heart lies in Boston/NYC/Sydney, I have found something in Cape Town remiss in my world for quite some time. Now, I feel genuine pleasure every time I step outside. The beauty of the city, its organic-ness, the disorganized mess of colours, the lushness…and the sunsets make me feel excited about life. I think since my brother’s death I really lost my spark, and now I can feel it starting to filter back in – and it feels fantastic in the moments when it does.

In fact, it will be odd when I leave SA to once again live somewhere where organization and timeliness exist, where the internet always works, where making any phone call doesn’t cost a fortune, where the quality of food (including the five star restaurants) is once again decent, where you don’t have to worry about your security quite so much…that being said, this country is slowly getting under my skin and I find myself charmed by its physical beauty and many of the people I have befriended. I have certainly met some characters and had some amazing experiences. I often find myself thinking that I am really lucky to lead the life I do – being a free spirit is definitely under rated.

In South Africa, the people are both a blessing and a curse. I could write a lot of exceedingly unflattering things, observations conceded by most every expat and foreigner I meet, save those who come from even worse environments– but have also made some wonderful friends here and would hate to ever offend them by making sweeping generalizations that, while widespread, do not in any way, shape or form apply to them. I will however say this: living here has made me incredibly proud to be Canadian/German/Australian, and I am grateful to have been raised in the culture(s) that I was. In the eyes of the world, we might be polite pushovers, but I’ll take that over some of the shocking attitudes of entitlement, total disregard for basic manners and desperate social climbing that I bear witness to on a daily basis living in the Western Cape. But I digress…I should highlight my travels more and the societal disappointments that exist less.

I am recently returned from a sojourn up north, to the provinces of Gauteng and Limpopo, as well as a safari at the Pilanesburg game reserve. The safari was undertaken with my most colourful Vancouver friend, Jen and her sidekick Brad. Familiar faces were a welcome sight and it was nice to hear Canadian accents again – it has been a while, and there aren’t many of us in this country. We went on a camping safari, meaning that while we had a guide who did our cooking, driving etc, we had to erect and sleep in tents. I half expected a bushman Afrikaaner with guns and an unintelligible brogue, but our guide was in fact Scottish, with a full blown Edinburgh accent and pasty complexion to match. During our stay we were lucky enough to spot lions, rhinos, hippos, giraffes, zebras, elephants and a leopard, as well as various lizards, birds, turtles and antelope and springbok like animals…and a monkey with sky blue balls. The highlight was a sunset drive in the open safari truck – watching the sun go down over the spectacular scenery was breathtaking. I really cannot do it justice beyond saying that everyone should go on a safari at least once. There is something so tranquil about being out in the middle of the African wilderness, no other humans around for miles…surrounded by nature and animals – and knowing that you are in their territory. It’s a very peaceful experience.

Following the drive and a tasty braai prepared by our Scotsman, Jen and I headed off for some skinny dipping. While in the water, we could hear strains of house music coming from the woods…unexpected to say the least. Curiosity aroused and lit by a full moon, we followed the music until we found the source: not African drummers but rather a hilarious, green hooch swilling South African weatherman, straight out of the movie Anchorman (I swear), who invited us to celebrate St Paddy’s Day with him. Even in the wilds of Africa those of good Irish stock are enjoying a drink … Of course we obliged, and things were soon messy, with the camp guards asking us to shut it a number of times. When we finally returned to our tent two hours before the 5 am wake up call, I was at least tired enough that I could sleep through the animal noises coming from the sleeping bag beside me (Jen’s snoring, not a lion).

We also spent some time in Pretoria, a city about which I can’t find much exciting to say - it's a bit of a throwback. We ended up at the city’s nicest hotel thanks to Brad’s points, right across from the historic Union buildings – the location of the RSA government. For the most part, Pretoria is verging on the dilapidated. A shame really, because you can tell it was once a beautiful city. The entire CBD is considered unsafe for whites (it’s Zulu territory), and Jen and I unsuspectingly ended up in the city’s most dangerous neighbourhood while having dinner one night. We definitely had the feeling something was off, and when our driver came to fetch us, he basically herded us into the car as quickly as he could before speeding away. We also enjoyed partying Hatfied Square, the centre of the city’s nightlife. It’s a pretty fun area, a big square surrounded by maybe 30 restaurants, clubs, pubs and bars – in between which you can walk freely with your drinks. A good, if slightly tipsy time was had by all until our driver failed to show up at 2 am when it was time to head back to the hotel. In SA there is no such thing as hail-able street taxis, nor is there really any public transportation (unless you want to get on a minibus where if you aren’t murdered, you’ll be mugged).

We also visited Johannesburg for a couple of days – I was intrigued by ‘the world’s most dangerous city’ moniker. We hired a local driver who works for a CBS news correspondent Jen knows (figuring this would buy us good access), and were treated to a tour of Hillbrow (apparently SA’s most dangerous neighbourhood). As a white, you can only go in the daylight, you best not get out of the car, and you do not under any circumstances get caught taking photos. The area was featured in one of my favourite movies of recent times, District 9. It definitely felt scary and shady, and the Nigerian drug dealers were indeed plentiful. We also toured Soweto, including a rip off lunch on Vilakazi Street and a stop by Nelson Mandela’s former home, Winnie Mandela and Desmond Tutu’s current homes, and a drive by of Mandela’s residence in Houghton. I spent the rest of my time in Sandton and Melrose Arch – both nice areas very much in contrast to the burnt out war zone feel of the Johannesburg CBD.

The other highlight of the trip, and one I highly recommend anyone who comes to SA undertake, was a trip to The Ranch, a resort just outside of Polokwane. For those who saw and liked my lion photos – this is where they were taken. It’s a fantastic spot, situated on a game reserve, with semi–tame and wild lions, as well as lots of babies, which are too cute for words. Their squeaky little roars are the funniest noises…there were also some baby hyenas on hand, and apparently I just missed baby tigers. The Shearer family were excellent hosts – such nice and hospitable people, and activities included muddy off-roading in a rainstorm (it was nice to see a Land Rover being put to proper use and not just for yuppie transportation), and seadoing at a lake side cottage that looked like a scene straight out of Muskoka. Unfortunately, I managed to flip the seado. Fortunately, it still worked, though my pride was a little damaged. I also spent the night in a luxury tent by a rushing stream, including an ice cold swim in the morning (very Canadian) – which means that I have now slept in tents four times in my life – three more then before I came to Africa. I must also say, regarding Limpopo and Johannesburg - before coming to SA, I envisioned that my friend circle would include people of all colours; it is the supposed rainbow nation after all. But in the Western Cape there is a fairly defined separation between ethnic groups. In Gauteng and Limpopo, the same does not apply and everyone intermingles as a normal society – it was nice to actually spend time with some awesome black people.

Another stellar outing: A couple of weekends ago, I went on an overnight camping trip with an international contingent to Kogel Baie (Pronounced Cool Bay), a stunning, surfer friendly beach on the Atlantic coast en route to Hermanus. Our group included three Dutch (I love the Dutch, such down to earth, laidback people), two Americans, two Canadians, and two South Africans. Despite the howling winds which deposited a lot of sand in our braai, it was amazing. The sand was white powder, the stars were out in full force, the crashing waves were soothing to fall asleep to, and there were phosphorescents in the water! Every time we jumped in a puddle or even took a step in the ocean, it lit up with bright yellow sparkles that flew around our feet. It literally felt like being in a video game where every step we took was infused with magic. It was beyond cool – it blew my mind! Unfortunately in the morning I was the first riser and decided to take a walk on the beach – it looked deserted for miles. But once I had trekked maybe two km down the way I was harassed by drunk, coloured men. It’s a sad fact of life here that no matter how beautiful a vista is you cannot enjoy it alone (even in the middle of nowhere) and that your safety must always be your first priority.

Later that day we made the miscalculation of taking the train from Stellenboch to Cape Town – a mistake that lead to my first real run in with crime (other than the world’s stupidest car accident). The trains here are disgusting – full on ghetto and not a wise choice for whites in groups of smaller than 5. We were three, girls, white and with large bags…so probably asking for it. As soon as we hopped on the train I had the feeling it was a very bad idea, and sure enough not ten minutes into the ride one of our group was mugged. The muggers, who had the dead eyes of drug addicts and took off into a township as soon as the doors opened, only escaped with a new blackberry. Still, it was incredibly unsettling, and made the next hour of the train ride extremely tense as we wondered what other criminals might get on the train at each township stop.

One afternoon after class I went down the coast to see a wild penguin colony with a population of thousands in the most picturesque setting imaginable. They really are the cutest. One was holding his head up in the wind with a look of sheer ecstasy on his little face as it ruffled his feathers. Others were chilling in their penguin dens watching the humans watch them. They waddle along, always on the verge of tipping forward yet miraculously never do. I have always adored penguins with their unique personalities, and I was charmed.

Another weekend we made the trek to Crystal Pools, a local baboon infested cliff jumping destination up the road from the Strand. It’s an exhausting hour plus hike up a mountainside in the hot sun to reach the pools, but well worth it. Along the way you pass a number of baboons who are completely unphased by humans, and in fact regularly attack. They are incredibly intelligent, recognizing and targeting bags that may contain food – hence you must cover all bags with towels to prevent attack. The pools are an ascending series of five, with fresh, icy mountain water for swimming (filled with tadpoles and frogs) and rocky waterfalls that you can climb. I have to say, despite my fear of heights, scrambling up waterfalls and giant rocks in my bikini was amazingly fun. I only managed to jump off the lower cliffs, leaving the 50 metre plus cliffs to the brave souls and show offs.

I have begun volunteering one afternoon per week with a small scale United Nations sponsored initiative –the Kayamandi Literacy Project, where we help township elementary students with their spoken English and reading. I was nervous at first – I have never felt an inclination towards teaching and it can feel daunting when a group of 12 children and their assistant are sitting there staring at you. However, the work is really satisfying, and the children are charming, with distinct little personalities that shine through (I’ve never been the most maternal, so I don’t spend much time with kids). It can be hard to get them to focus, the girls especially want to play with your hair (they aren’t used to the smoothness of white hair) and jewellery, and the little boys all compete for attention. I feel sad for these kids and really want to help them rise above the lots they were born into. They are after all the future of SA and this country has a long way to go before equality is widespread.

Through this activity I now recognize that I have led such an incredibly privileged life. I was spoiled rotten as a child, spending my summers in Europe and having almost every toy I could imagine, and probably never really appreciated any of it. Yet despite my upbringing, I thought that I understood the world. But between my travels in the Middle East, South America and here I realize that I didn’t understand anything – and I haven’t even been to India yet! It’s strange – sometimes when I’m in these areas, I almost feel as if I’m on a movie set – that it can’t be real, and that real people cannot actually live in this way – it MUST be staged. What kind of a life could that be? As we drove through the township back to Stellenbosch it occurred to me that the old LV purse in which I carry my school books is probably worth more money then many of these people see in even ten years. And at that moment I felt deeply ashamed and a little ridiculous.

Last weekend was particularly interesting. On Friday I joined a group of international students for an escorted trip into two famous Cape Town townships (you DON’T go there without a local) – Gugulethu and Langa. These townships are rife with history – famous anti apartheid protests, killings and whatnot. It is sickening what the government here did to black people. They treated them more as animals than humans – it is no wonder that this country now faces the crime problems that it does. We visited various community spots including an arts centre, walked through the streets, and a drove through the business areas where we saw the witch doctor (sangoma) supply shop and the various sheds that form the central marketplace of township life. We also went into one of the homes to meet an elderly lady, and saw how she lived in shockingly cramped, smelly (but typical) quarters. And yet she kept it impeccably tidy. She answered our prying questions about life in Langa, and we learned about the white families of the desperately social-climberish Constantia neighbourhood who hire these women at a young age to raise one to two generations of their children, while paying them a pittance. And then, when they are no longer needed or reach retirement age, they are given a severance of something ridiculous like R100 and sent on their way. No pension, no gratitude for the years of service. Nothing. This is indeed the type of thing that is very difficult to swallow. But the night finished on a high note with an excellent dinner at the famous Mzoli’s Grill restaurant, a massive, smoky tent filled with the music of African drums and the only place in the township where whites (tourists mostly) and blacks can be found intermingling and happily chowing on the best braai I have had in South Africa. It was a fantastic and thoroughly enjoyable experience that felt really authentic. An amazing place, though perhaps a little daunting to get to due to its township location.

I also spent a great day with my friend Luke, who took me on a tour of many places I have yet to see in the region – despite the hurricane force winds(we estimated 70 km/hour). Our outing included the scenic drive to Chapman’s Peak (all I can say is wow!), and a turn in the antique shops of Hout Bay and Noord Hook, as well as some stellar ice cream and a leisurely stop in one of the area’s wine farms where I drank all of my wine and his as well. We attempted to visit a really beautiful beach, but I literally got sand burn from the wind, so this activity was short-lived. I also enjoyed dinner at my favourite Cape Town eatery which is always a treat, the Side Walk Café perched high on the side of Table Mountain, and one of the very few restaurants (actually only the second so far) that rivals the quality of food we enjoy back home.

I’m sure I’m missing a million stories, but have been too busy with school to update regularly. In future I will make a better effort at regularity and save myself the effort of writing 5,000 word updates!

Settling into South Africa

I’m closing in on three weeks in South Africa now (tomorrow is the official anniversary – and my birthday – I’m sad to not be able to spend it with friends and family from home). While I still love it here, the last week or so has been an emotional roller coaster as I have struggled to cope with pretty intense home sickness. It’s not that I want to be back in Vancouver, because I don’t. But I miss so badly being able to pick up the phone and chat to someone who actually knows me…and I miss talking nonsense with my friends. Here I am in this gorgeous country, and all I want to do is go hiking and for a body surf to the beach – and I don’t know anyone yet who wants to do the same things. I have to admit that this is throwing me for a loop – but it’s finally starting to get better as I am now meeting more people who aren’t 19 year olds. I’m actually feeling quite at home as I establish daily routines and the novelty wears off. I still think this is one of the most beautiful countries in the world and have to say that apart from missing friends, family and dog, I am content.

I spent an excellent last weekend with an old co-worker for whom I always had a soft spot – Stuart Marchant - and his awesome wife Elaine. They picked me up on the Friday afternoon, and we drove through the countryside and the rolling farmlands of the Western Cape, including townships, rainbow villages where the Cape coloured people live, to the seaside town of Langebaan where they have a retirement nest. I got to experience SA infrastructure at work, including massive road potholes and ridiculous traffic jams literally in the middle of nowhere. I also saw my first zebras, springboks and steerboks. Actually, from Stuart’s patio you can just sit and watch the “bokkies” as they call them, wander through the field. For a Canadian, this is exciting, as was their view of totally turquoise water and world class kite surfers at play. At night we would turn off all the lights and sit outside looking at the stars. There are so many more in the sky here – it looks totally different from the northern hemisphere.

Anyway, I digress. As well as it being great to see my old friends, the weekend involved way too much really good wine and port. Here the wine drinking starts at lunch, continues through dinner, and ends as a night cap. And the wines are absolutely incredible! We ate at some great beachfront restaurants, and I finally got to run into the ocean…it was damn cold! I also had the most South African Sunday imaginable, including watching morning cricket (my new crush Woakes plays for England), and drinking tea while eating a rusk – a South African biscotti type thing. The crowning glory of the weekend was attending my first braai where I was served Boerwurs. I have been hearing about this sausage non-stop from various people ever since I made the decision to come here. It was good! Much better than biltong which is basically the equivalent of the beef jerky red necks back home eat. I had tried it through an acquaintance once before and had to spit it out, so know better than to get sucked into having it again. My immersion into African-ess also continued as we saw some scams such as people by the roadside pretending to be out of gas, people wandering on the highway selling grapes out of boxes, random markets run by Nigerians selling sport jerseys in the middle of nowhere. I also encountered lots of drunk Bergies, these black people who live by the river and pretty much drink 24/7. They are harmless but smell appalling.

I had a really good weekend this week as well. After classes finished on Friday, I went with some classmates to the nearby town of Paarl and spent the afternoon drinking really good wine under a shady tree while chatting about traveling. It was pretty ideal. We then pulled a quick change and headed into Cape Town for the weekend. I really, really, really love Cape Town. We met up with yet more friends of theirs and had a group dinner at this fantastic little café up near the base of Table Mountain, drank jugs of Pimms (my new favourite hot weather drink – forget Sangria) and exploding champagne, and then headed into the CBD to hit up some wine bars and meet yet more interesting people. I think it was the best night out I’ve had in South Africa so far and I forgot all about my home sickness.

The next night I went to a braai in Constantia thrown by a former Alaskan co-worker which also turned out to be quite fun – had some good conversations, made a couple of new potential hiking friends…drank some good port…and was mesmerized by the greasiest mountain of meat I have ever seen. Then one of my new friends (yay, it feels good to use that word) picked me up relatively early so we could get a decent nights sleep for a 6 am sunrise hike up Lion’s Head. But unfortunately a good night’s sleep was not in the cards, as at 3:30 am the entire block was woken by the sound of screaming chainsaws. I thought gangsters were trying to cut down the security gate, but turned out that half a tree fell down in the middle of the street sometime after midnight and the city (god knows how they knew) brought in a big truck and a crew with chainsaws at that ungodly hour. Keeping in mind that a.) this is some obscure, low traffic side street, and b.) nothing in South Africa gets done quickly EVER, we were totally mystified as to where this crew materialized from at that time of night. It went on for well over an hour and the whole block came out in their pajamas to watch. It’s not like anyone was going to get sleep with that racket. Then, the electrical fence started short circuiting for the rest of the night – also a common thing to hear around here. Needless to say, I was supremely unstoked for the 6 am wake up call this morning. It was really foggy as well, so everyone bailed except for Nickel and I, and we hiked the mountain in zero visibility. It was a great hike, but gets really steep and slippery during the very last section. Maybe a little like the Chief in Squamish, with the ladders and chains – but with far narrower walk ways. When we reached the last two minute portion, there was a ladder you need to climb that kind of hangs off the rocks…I eventually made it up after lots of coaxing but in the end my fear of heights got the best of me and I just couldn't do the final stretch.. In my defense, there were lots of other scared people – so I’m not as wussy as I sound. One thing that impressed me on the hike was that every single person we passed said a friendly ‘good morning’. I love that people here are like that – you would never see this back home.  

Everyone, young and old goes to church here – it is a very Christian society. So, I decided to take my friend up on his invite to attend service. Bearing in mind that I have only been to church twice in my entire life, I wasn’t sure what to expect. It was mostly in Afrikaans, so I just copied what everyone else did and it made for an entertaining morning. It’s the first time I have sung in a non karaoke bar in a very long time. We next drove through the larger scale and far more dangerous shanty town Kayalitsha on the way back to Stellenbosch – I believe the population is more than two million. This place is really intense –shacks upon shacks crammed in really tightly – some even have second floors. I think it’s quite dangerous to stop and take photos, so I didn’t. One thing that quite impressed me however, is how colourful the shacks are. They are literally a rainbow of sorbet tones. I think it demonstrates that people, no matter what their living conditions, can really take pride in their homes…and somehow the colour imbues a sense of optimism and happiness with their lot. Another interesting sight on the side of the highway was finally seeing the police hard at work (a rare/non existent thing in SA)). They were busy herding, manhandling and prodding stray cows that wandered out from the streets of the township onto the freeway. Seriously – you see the most random things happen along the side of the road in this country – I love it. Nickel also provided entertainment in the form of field stories from his medical work in Namibia, including the tale of a woman who brought her son in for treatment because she caught him having sex with the family dog.

My most disturbing run in of the week happened when I was washing my hair yesterday. A GIANT, hairy yellow rain spider appeared out of nowhere, dangling right in front of my face. I screamed and ran out of the shower. I thought about trying to drown it, but it was so big it never would have washed down the drain. So I had to trap it in a glass. I couldn’t rest comfortably knowing that thing was in the house with me.

I’ve also decided I am not anywhere near being ready to drive in this country, where they rip down the shoulders of the highway as if it were just another lane, going 120. So instead, I have bought my first bike in eons. The first day or two were pretty wobbly and embarrassing, but I’m actually getting used to it. Though I feel like a ridiculous dork with the basket I just had attached. Unfortunately I need it for my text books. Maybe I’ll buy some streamers for the handle bars and a glitter saddle next.

I have to say that we have the most spectacular sunsets here – really mind blowing. And to see the black silhouette of the African trees and Table Mountain against the orange sky is one of the best sights imaginable. Now that I own a bike, I’ve taken to going for a daily sunset cycle around the vineyards in Stellenbosch. It really is a fantastic life.