Zambia

One thing I find amusing about South Africans is beyond Mauritius all-inclusives they don’t really travel in Africa. Whereas to a North American Africa is exotic personified and a destination that will (rightfully) impress everyone back home. Sadly this meant that I couldn’t find a sidekick to bring to Zambia – not even my boyfriend was willing to join me. I can’t decide if travelling in Africa alone as a female is brave...or just stupid; likely it is a mix of both. But I’m not going to let lack of travel buddies stop me from seeing the continent, so I packed my bags and flew to the city of Livingstone - home of Victoria Falls. As I have said before, travelling in Africa leads to lowered expectations with regard to food, accommodation, infrastructure and cities in general. Really, the cities are not the destination anyway – it’s the nature that takes your breath away, whereas the cities tend to make you hold your breath. Livingstone's streets are dusty and pothole ridden, the buildings old (or at least look that way) with peeling paint, the power supply sporadic. Vendors line the streets selling fruits, dried fish decaying under the hot sun (the holding of breath is a good idea here specifically), and thousands of counterfeit mobile phones and Nigerian ’adult’ entertainment. But it’s pretty clean and much more African than South Africa. Most surprising is how incredibly friendly, and actually lovely, the people are. As one taxi driver told me, compared to what happens in Zimbabwe to the south, Zambians just want to get along and be peaceful and happy. It shows. I decided to rough it for the first few days, making home a thatched roofed lodge with a cushion covered floor and mosquito screens in place of windows. Unfortunately half the student population of Ireland had the same idea and they made for extremely loud bedfellows. Apparently the Irish medical students descend on Zambia for work experience in the regional hospitals, which is an admirable program. But they also, in typical Irish style, get blitzed every single night.

As the name suggests, Livingstone is dedicated to famous Scottish explorer David Livingstone. The town lies near the Zambezi River, and just upstream from one of the wonders of the natural world, Victoria Falls. The Victoria Falls National Park covers much of the surrounding region, so there’s plenty of wildlife and scenery to see. Livingstone itself is quaint enough, with a museum that doubles as a shrine to the Scottish adventurer. It also hosts a pretty impressive carvers market and the absolute best weather: it is mid winter and a balmy 26 degrees outside. Livingstone lacks the corrugated tin shacks that dominate South Africa’s townships. Rather, outside town lie traditional thatched straw settlements and villages where maize farmers and their families grow their food crops. Sadly, some massive graveyards and orphanages also lie in the surrounding countryside, reminders of the toll HIV has taken on the country. I spent my first day wandering the town to get a feel for the place. As my cab driver from the airport pointed out (the only airport I have seen that was infested with cats) there are very few “naughty chaps” in these parts who steal from visitors; in other words it was safe to venture out alone in daylight. When crime does occur, they blame Zimbabweans - a common refrain throughout southern/central Africa. Anyway, I was really excited because: Victoria Falls! I have been dying to see them since arriving in Africa. Despite a dodgy operation at the park entrance, where even though every sign stipulated a $20 USD cash fee to enter the park, they suddenly only accepted Kwatcha (the worthless local currency, $1 is equal to 4,500 Kwatchas) and were making visitors exchange currency with a smelly man in the parking lot who kept a large wad of rolled Kwatchas in his armpit. I gave my best bitchitude but arguing got me nowhere. This is the part of travelling in Africa that I hate: you are often helpless in the face of total sheisters. And really, who ARE you going to call when someone is blatantly ripping you off? No one cares, and in fact I suspect that they often just see a large dollar sign where your head is.

The falls, which rim the Zimbabwe/Zambia border make Niagra look precious. A bridge crosses one arm of the Zambezi by the falls, marking both the border and the former bungee jumping area -‘former’ because an Australian jumper suffered a broken chord recently, plunging her into the crocodile infested waters below. While she survived, I’m not sure it was good for business. Victoria Falls seem to stretch for a few kilometres lengthwise, and so visitors can follow a hiking trail alongside them for some distance. The trail, while baboon infested, is picturesque and winds through a lush green rainforest with long vines swinging from exotic trees, in direct contrast to the scorched earth, brown vegetation and red dust that surround the park's perimeter. The closer you come, the wetter the air – and the walkway develops a slippery, slimy carpet of green algae. The pathway can be dangerous, and a friend of a friend died here recently when he slipped off the side. You actually need to rent two layers of full rain gear for the walk, though the gear is rendered somewhat useless by the fact that the rain points upwards. Imagine pouring rain hitting you from above, from below, and directly in the face. Nothing stays dry (not even my treasured Sony NEX camera which no longer works after getting drenched here *sob*). The water droplets look like sparkling diamonds in the sunlight, and rainbows formed by the mist appear around every corner. The power of the falls is indescribable, the roar of the water deafening. They thunder, bubble and seethe all around you. They are truly a sight to behold – yet a confusing one because the eastern cataracts on the Zambezi seem placid – there is absolutely no hint of what lies ahead when you walk along the river from above. At the head of the upper trails sits a monument to David Livingstone marking the spot where he burried visitors felled by malaria (it is still rife in the region). There were a lot of really large baboons wandering the trails at the park. They may look funny with their puffy pink posteriors, but these scavengers are actually dangerous. If you carry any plastic grocery bags with you, you will get jumped by these gangster monkeys. There were a couple of points where I was alone in the trees and they appeared up ahead, making me very nervous. Mostly I tried to stay as close as possible to any other groups of people. On the other side of the falls two baboons had stolen someone’s lunch and created a traffic jam while they dined in the middle of the path. On either side people waited for them to finish, not daring to pass. But two macho male tourists took the opportunity to show off and started menacing the pair, obviously unaware that a baboon can rip your face off with one slap…rookie mistake on their part. The baboons, unimpressed, looked like they were gearing up to attack but luckily park rangers came by just as things were about to get ugly (for the two men – my money was on the baboons). Finally free of baboons, I hiked upstream to the Royal Livingstone, a vestige of colonialism and Zambia’s swishest hotel for lunch (my boyfriend Johannes would call it ‘Africa for white people’). The thatched roofs, manicured lawns, staff uniforms and stunning vistas along the Zambezi made me feel like I had inadvertently time travelled to the early 1900s. Along the way I found three wild zebras grazing in the shade. Because I am obsessed with zebras, I decided to take advantage of proximity and snap some photos. Plus it’s amazing being so close to these wild animals. One took notice and came up not two feet from me, to watch what I was doing. We stood there staring at each other for a solid ten minutes. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch it, but you really can’t do that – Africa is not a petting zoo, and no matter how tempting it might be they are totally wild and known to kick humans in the ribs. The landscape in Zambia really impressed me, a total blend of Africa colours; khakis, deep greens, golds and oranges. Sunrises were spectacular, as was the vegetation. Great swathes of the country remain traditionally populated, and they take great pride in their sustainable way of life. And you are very likely to see random elephants by the side of the road as they roam freely in this part of the continent, crossing the borders of Zimbabwe, Botswana and Zambia indiscriminately. I also loved the colourfully patterned locally produced fabrics seen on women’s clothing and on furniture, as well as the general attitude of the friendly people – they are so proud of their country and of their democratic politics. What a warm, relaxing and hospitable place. What wasn’t relaxing – or enjoyable – was the turbulence on the flights home. Africa seems a particularly bumpy place to fly. I have never been on a plane that has actually dropped in the sky before. It was terrifying, I hated it, and I hope it never happens to me again.

A little more Johannesburg

I spent part of the June/July break in Johannesburg doing some mining communications work. Jozi as the locals call it has really grown on me. It’s not beautiful like the Cape…in fact you could say it’s pretty ugly. In winter, even though it is sunny every day, the city envelops you in brownness. The grass is brown, the trees are brown, the buildings are brown, and even the sky has a thick layer of brown smog upon which the blue rests. And the ridiculously dry air sucks all moisture out of your system leaving you thirsty, dry eyed, and leathery skinned. And yet, despite it all this the place really gets under your (leathery) skin. Beyond the massive shopping malls lie unique little neighbourhoods like Melville and Newtown, and awesome weekend farmers and arts markets. Spending a Sunday afternoon dancing salsa on a rooftop patio at Arts on Main was pretty amazing, especially because it was 25 degrees in the winter sunshine. But unfortunately, unless you are lucky enough to know locals you will never find these places as a tourist. Even the CBD, one of the more dangerous neighbourhoods has a certain kind of African flavour that you don’t see in Cape Town. Maybe it’s because it’s dangerous that it becomes kind of exhilarating to visit. My friend Charles (Howard) who many back home will know, took my friend Tsholo and I on a tour of the historic Anglo American offices which occupy almost a quarter of the CBD. Maybe they weren’t quite as impressive as their London outpost, but there’s something about the history and legacy that holds you in awe. Also, they aren’t shabby. I would never move to Johannesburg, but if I did, I know where I would be applying for work. The nightlife too is different to Cape Town. I think because it feels mixed – you don’t really find this in the Cape - it’s more fun, more African feeling and you end up in conversations with an interesting range of people on any given night out. I’m not sure I will be spending much time in Jozi from now on, but I have to admit that if I don’t come back again I will be disappointed.

Botswana

Following a masochistic five months dominated by a full time plus three-extra course study and exam schedule, I was desperate to hit the road. Besides a five week stint in Johannesburg to look forward to, I was ready to delve into some authentic Africana. I was intrigued by Zambia and wanted to see Victoria Falls…and even more so by Botswana. Since I was alone on this trip, I decided a small scale tour was the way to go. So I hooked up with a couple of Russians and a driver, and off we went. The overland border was little more than an hour’s drive from Livingstone, over relatively well paved roads (by African standards), running though national parks and traditional villages where maize farmers still live in thatched straw and mud huts. Village schools were basically four wooden poles held together by a thatched roof – almost like miniature pavilions. In the dry months I’m sure this is fine, but when the rainy season arrives I’m not clear how this set up can possibly work. At least they elevate the houses a little so that the floors don’t turn to mud. The border proved chaotic as expected, with rampant squawking chickens, hundreds of hawkers selling colourful blankets, fruit and wood carvings, and trucks trying not to run down the masses of humanity running wild. The tiny immigration office was also a seething mass of sweaty bodies, bearing no real semblance to a line. Please don’t judge me for being happy when I realized that there were two lines, the efficient one of which was for ‘vips’ aka tourists. After getting our stamps, we fought through the throngs down to water’s edge – turns out a little ferry needed to be taken across to reach Botswana. In fact, this little ferry corner sits on the edges of four countries - in one direction you see Namibia, the next, Zimbabwe, then of course Botswana and Zambia.

Besides the little metal speed boats, there is a truck barge that transports giant trucks one at a time across the waters – not the utmost in efficiency but quaint nonetheless. Waiting to hop on our ferry, we were descended upon by the most obnoxious, aggressive souvenir hawkers imaginable. The captain and our driver had to help us fight them off. Luckily the arrival of some new white faces provided adequate distraction. One four minute ride across the Zambesi later, we were picked up in a safari vehicle and subjected to a second round of Botswana entry border frenzy. Finally safely into the country, we headed for the northern town of Kasane on the Chobe River. En route we passed roadside herds of chickens, goats, scrawny cows and elephants. I had heard that tourism in Botswana was two things: very focused on sustainability (excellent!)and very expensive, so I was only a little surprised when we arrived at our beautiful waterfront thatched roof luxury lodge (I had earned this after roughing it in Zambia) to find an ocean of white faces. I haven’t seen this many Americans since I was last in America and it was actually a little disconcerting. Day one included a boat trip up the Chobe, such a beautiful and peaceful region, and the midwinter temperatures of 28 degrees were very much to my liking. We boarded a tiny safari boat with some friendly Australians and annoying Italians who made it their mission to try their damndest to tip the boat into the croc infected waters. Chobe is a massive 11,500 square kilometre national park, uninhabited and ruled by animals. And unlike game drives in South Africa – which don’t get me wrong, are great – it is a lot wilder, a lot more adventurous …and just a lot more ‘African’, except for all the Americans. Cruising up river we found exotic birds including African eagles, spoon bills, a giant humming bird, herons and really colourful fishers.

It didn’t take long before we found our first hippo, soon to be followed by literally hundreds more, the females lying along the shore in squishy piles of ten to twenty resembling a pile of rocks from a distance, while singular large males stood guard over their harems twitching their tiny little ears, exposing their pink mouths through lazy yawns…and fanning their poop everywhere with their little tails. I have never seen so many hippos, or been so close to them in their natural habitat. By day they are usually pretty reclusive – I think Chobe is one of the few places in the world you can get so close and actually see such a large quantity hippos in the wild. Along the edges of the water lurked giant water monitor lizards, lazing in the sun or crawling through the high grass in search of bird eggs. On a swampy island in the middle of the estuary giant Cape buffalo grazed. Massive, prehistoric crocodiles lay in the sun, seeking camouflage for their scaly bodies in the reeds, fast asleep with their mouths hanging open to display jagged teeth all the better to eat you with, and baby crocs lay along the sandy beaches.

Herds of sable antelopes ran along the shore, as well as springboks and other small antelopes. We also passed families of wart hogs come to drink at river’s edge. The absolute highlight was encountering a giant bull elephant having play time in the water. He was almost fully submerged, and would roll over occasionally so that only his huge feet showed, then a trunk would appear and spray…then ears would flap. One giant eye watched us at a distance of about five metres, the other observed his elephant friend waiting patiently at the shore line, pacing back and forth. Apparently the elephants and really big hippos are the only animals that can safely cross to the island free from threat of croc attack.

The opportunity to get so close to these animals in the water in a tiny boat is such a special experience. What wasn’t so special was the Italian tourists’ inability to heed the guide’s warning that we must keep our weight balanced at all times to avoid tipping over into utterly croc and hippo infested waters – there were some close calls. The next morning we jumped into an open safari vehicle and headed to the Chobe National Park entrance for a game drive. As we drove through Kasane, we saw co-inhabitants giant baboons playing at the national bank, and had to make stops along the way to let rogue elephants cross the street. In Botswana, the national parks have no fences, meaning that animals are free to wander across parks, streets, cities and national borders – and they do. I do wonder what the result of this policy is where lions and leopards are concerned. Luckily unlike in neighbouring Namibia poaching is not a problem, but this is partly because they have shipped out the last of their rhinos to sanctuaries for protection. The threat against rhinos in Africa is so dire and so heartbreaking. Despite their endangered status, their horns are still in huge demand for traditional Chinese virility ‘medicines’ – and poachers are only too eager to comply by killing these beautiful creatures. This situation is nothing less than sickening and disgusting. The massive park is exquisite, featuring very different scenery to Namibia or South Africa. The trails are red sand (making for very bumpy rides and sore tailbones), and everything is golden in colour…it’s just so…African! The trees drip with birds’ nests, and there are paths that lead from the main trail made specifically by elephants – they like to make and maintain their own walkways. A family of giant baboons greeted us at the entrance and it didn’t take long before we came across a flock of Kudu grazing. We also saw many giraffes and were able to watch antelopes run at full speed from a perceived predator. From a hilltop we observed what looked like giant boulders in the water below, but were actually a cluster of more than forty hippos. Our best find was a herd of hundreds of elephants – stretching as far as the eye could see. We stopped just a few metres from two matriarchs with a young male and a tiny baby who our guide reckoned was less than four months old. Baby elephants are almost unbearably cute. We sat quietly and watched them as they watched us back with only minimal interest, ripping up grass with their trunks. The baby ran from elephant to elephant, adorably getting underfoot and trying to emulate the grownups but only able to rip one stem of grass up at a time. Eventually he gave up and ran to his mother to breast feed.

Unfortunately for me, this is the point where my camera decided to run out of batteries. We didn’t encounter any of the predators, namely lions or leopards, but I wasn’t disappointed because I have seen them before and because Chobe is one of the most beautiful, magical places I have seen in my life – it could never disappoint. If you ever get the chance to go, I would recommend this over Kruger any day. Botswana is so much wilder, so much more authentic…leaving here was so incredibly difficult to do!

Namibia - The Spectacular Namib Desert, Skeleton Coast and Much More...

This summer two good friends and I decided to join an overland, safari style tour of Namibia, the country best known to North Americans as where Brangelina gave birth. But movie stars aside, Namibia is actually one of the most dramatically beautiful countries in the world. The scenery is amazing!

The tour got off to a less than perfect start when hung over Fabian missed the bus. What ensued was a high cost, high speed taxi chase up the coast in an effort to catch Luke, myself and 20 others before we entered the wilderness. Luckily he found us 80 km north of Cape Town, but not so luckily it cost him R800. Our ‘bus’ was actually a large scale safari vehicle named ‘Ella’, built for African off-road driving and yet having zero suspension; our tour group was an international mix dominated by Swiss. After a brief stop in a traditional bushman’s camp, we headed hundreds of kilometres north to the Cedarburg Nature Reserve where we camped in a vineyard under a full moon, then through serious Boer farm country, through little mining towns, over Namaqualand and the Orange River to the Namibian border. Along the way we stopped in small dorpies and camped by the Orange River where we swam against the strong current while trying to avoid leaches, surrounded on one side by the barren, black flat top mountains of the Namib Desert and on the other by the cultivated agriculture of South Africa.

The next morning we crossed the border into Namibia, which was a slow and needlessly bureaucratic endeavor. On the other side, the massive Namib Desert (90,000 square km)and the world’s second oldest loomed, all black stone flat top mountains and grey parched plains (the area receives less than 10 mm annual rain fall- take THAT Vancouver!) that eventually transition into red and then golden sand dunes. The desert is completely flat, in some directions as far as the eye can see, except of course for the mountains, which are also flat topped. While it is really beautiful in a totally lunar way, the idea of ever being stranded there is terrifying, worse so because it is riddled with snakes and scorpions - and this was to be our home for the next week.

First stop was Fish River Canyon, the world`s second biggest and Africa’s largest. So often in Africa I see the most incredible places and I wish there were words to do justice when describing them to my friends back home…but there just isn`t the adequate verbiage; this is one of those places. To give you an idea of the size, the canyon is 160 km long, 27 km wide and 550 m deep, and as with its Grand American counterpart, a river runs through it. In summer, temperatures reach 48 degrees, but luckily for us there was some overhead cloud on this particular day. We ended up braaing (BBQ-ing) dinner on the rim of the canyon, entertained by the most incredible sunset of my life.

The next day, we collapsed our dusty two-man (but three occupied) tent and headed off on a ride so bumpy it was almost concussion inducing, across rock strewn desert trails to the 50,000 square km Namib Naukluft National Park, Africa’s largest game park. Here the colours turned golden – the rocks were gold, the (dead) grass was gold, the earth was rust red, the trees were a golden green. From here we hiked into another canyon, this time called Seisrim, which was also amazing but in a different way. It looked like it should have been in the Middle East rather than Africa with it high, strangely shaped walls. It was like walking through a sun dappled crevice in the earth. The canyon isn`t even visible from the surface until the last couple of feet, and then all of a sudden it opens beneath you. That evening we camped in another desert spot, complete with tumble weeds and whirlwinds, enjoying a bottle of wine and another gorgeous African sunset over the distinct flat top trees…and watched as antelopes and springboks crept into our camp to forage for food. Later that night we had a visit from a brown hyena and one camper was lucky enough to find a large black scorpion… which brings me to the fact that when you wake up in the middle of the night in a tent in the desert and nature calls, it is not only annoying but kind of scary. Since tents must be zipped at all times, the scorpions can’t come in…but they, and snakes, can both be waiting for you in front of your flap and if you are bare foot…well…I don`t want to think about it.

The next morning`s 4 am wake up call was painful. Thirty minutes later we were waiting at the entrance to the famous Sossusvlei Dunes, the world’s tallest and basically the model sand dunes you see in most calendars, posters, post cards and magazines. Dune 45 in particular holds the title of world’s most photographed sand dune. Our mission: to hike to the top to watch sunrise over the towering red dunes of the Namib. From the base it looked like an easy 200 metre hike up. No problem, I thought. Wrong! Hiking 200 plus metres up a steep 170 metre high dune with powder fine sand falling away under your feet is exhausting! But when I finally reached the top and surveyed the scene below, it was worth the pain. We were surrounded on three sides by massive red dunes for as far as the eye could see, sparkling under the golden rays of the sun as it began its daily climb. Below us spread a massive ancient clay pan. When we were done taking a million photos and the sun had risen, we tumbled down the steep side of the dune, falling and rolling and laughing in the sand. At the foot of the dune we hopped in a little safari jeep for a ride through the desert to Deadvlei, an ancient flood plain covered in fossilized tree stumps. Along the way we passed ostrich, oryx and springboks seeking shelter from the blistering sun under the few scarce trees. Hiking through more desert to the plain, I felt like a character in a ‘lost in the desert’ movie. Even though it was barely 8 am, it was already more than 40 degrees, and the sun reflecting off the red sand was relentless. Deadvlei seriously looked like the surface of the moon, a really bizarre sight well worth the hike. On the drive back we again spotted plenty of game: flocks of ostriches, antelope, oryx and Mountain zebras.

Later that day we headed to a private farm, set between golden mountains for a final night of desert camping. Here we met a bushman guide who took us though the fields tracking micro desert life such as baboon spiders (as much as I hate spiders, these are kind of cute – they live below a trap door in the ground which they pull shut) and told us about local bushpeople traditions. That night, surrounded by kokerblom and aloe trees, zebras visited our campsite, walking between our tents as they sought their watering hole. A leopard has also been known to hang around the site but luckily decided not to pay a visit on this particular date.

By this point in the tour everyone was suffering from horrendous desert dust inhalation allergies…the wheezing, sneezing and sniffling was getting pretty out of control, as were the snoring noises coming from most tents at night.

Throughout the tour we stopped in lots of funny little desert villages with populations less than 20, such as Solitaire (another stop off on the Jolie-Pitt Namibia trail), famous for it’s apple pie, and another dorpie whose name escapes me but was filled with excessive amounts of taxidermy and famous for its biltong.

Next up, we headed over more desert trails, crossing Henry Miller's Tropic of Capricorn en route to the Atlantic coast. It was strange scenery with the desert continuing right to ocean’s edge, so there is no real ‘beach’. And from the ‘beach’, there is nothing but flat desert for as far as the eye can see. The first stop was Walvis Bay, a nondescript little seaside holiday town where we found a massive red jellyfish washed up on the shore. The Atlantic here is a deep, twinkling sapphire blue, a really beautiful colour that contrasts against the caramel coloured sand…but the seashore itself was nothing special.

Thirty km down the road lies Swakopmund, a place Fabian and I (as Germanics) found hilarious. I should start by telling you that Namibia is a former German colony dating back to the scramble for Africa. So here in the middle of the desert and wildest Africa, surrounded by thousands of km's of sand dunes and with mostly unpaved sand streets lies this perfect little German town, and I mean straight out of Deutschland. The people are German, the language is German, the food and beer is all German, streets and buildings have German names, and the buildings are all Bavarian. For someone who has spent a significant part of her life in Germany…well, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It gets incredibly foggy here and is actually cold by Namibian standards, never more than 25 degrees. The town is filled with quaint historic buildings, and has an old red lighthouse and picturesque seaside cottages. On one side you can see the massive sand dunes of Sandwich Harbour which lead right into the ocean, on the other the Skeleton Coast stretches out for hundreds of miles. We explored this awesome little town for a few days (civilisation was welcome after sleeping in desert tents for a week) and ventured up the Skeleton Coast to visit one of the famous shipwrecks. The Skeleton Coast earned its name through the many, many wrecks caused by stormy Atlantic waters. When sailors lucky enough to survive made it ashore, they perished instead from thirst in the Namib Desert. The same applies to animals – many starve to death in this region. On the day of our visit a baby jackal lay dying on the sand. I desperately wanted to help but it was too far gone. There were also random bones (probably seal or whale) scattered on the beach. Such is the harsh reality of life in this treacherous but beautiful region.

Because Swakopmund is the adventure capital of southwest Africa, we decided to spice up our lives by going quadbiking on the sand dunes outside of town. I should have known that having personally never operated a quad bike (I back-seated once in Santorini which was awesomely fun), the massive golden sand dunes of Dorob National Park were probably not the wisest place to start. I almost set a new record for stalling (*ahem* nine times) though was told not to fret because ‘Chinese people are worse’. Manoeuvring those things through sliding sand is hard, and I kept feeling like I would tip as I scooted across the sides of dunes. Some dunes had sheer drops of more than 100 metres, and on these I wimped out and asked the very cute and terribly flirtatious guide…hmmm...to take me down on the back of his. It was so much fun but really scary at times. The desert looked like the setting for Lawrence of Arabia. As the sun began to set over the dunes we headed towards the ocean. Perched atop the last hill overlooking the water we watched as the bright pink sun sunk over the golden sand and sapphire water. It was so breathtakingly beautiful.

With our adventure drawing to an end, we headed to Namibia’s capital Windhoek, about five hours east of Swakopmund. En route we were stopped by one of the ubiquitous road patrols – they were everywhere and we couldn’t figure out what all these road checks could possibly be for. Turns out it was power tripping local ‘police’ looking to procure bribes. Despite being in the middle of the country they made us show our passports and we had to sit for 20 minutes while they passed them around. They even threatened one guy who only had South African ID saying they were going to throw him in jail. The way these men were posturing was really pathetic – good to see BEE at work. I have to say, we encountered a lot of really sour people of all denominations in Namibia. In fact, we could only really recall two or three people who were even friendly by trip`s end. Between us we had a German, a South African and a Canadian, so it’s not like they were expressing a dislike for a particular accent or country. Perhaps the desert hardens the people. Who knows, but they provided the singular disappointment on an otherwise fantastic journey.

Anyway, we were in for a surprise in Windhoek: it was spotlessly clean. If you have travelled in Africa at all, you know this is not the norm for a city here. It is a very pleasant (though uncomfortably hot) little place full of pretty churches and boulevards named for autocratic dictators internationally despised yet admired by the Namibian government. We walked around the government buildings and visited a historic fort and museum, but eventually the heat of the day drove us to the local shopping mall for respite.

On our return trip the national border was once again a total nightmare. At 4 am the authorities made all 50 people debark our bus, searching every suitcase one by one until no bag remained unopened. Obviously the border staff were bored.

For the most part, we loved Namibia. It is so spectacular, dramatic and remote – the scenery in both the desert and on the coast is incredible. It may be the most stunning country I have visited and is a really special place. It`s a shame about the people. But even they couldn’t ruin an utterly magical trip, taken with good friends and on which more friends were made. I feel privileged to have visited Nambia – it really is that amazing.

The Seychelles- Mahe, Praslin, La Digue, Moyenne and Cerf Islands

The two month summer break provided a good opportunity for further exploration of Africa. Itching to use my new snorkel, craving the obscure and intrigued by the settlements off Africa`s east coast, we decided to head for the Seychelles, a chain of 115 equatorial islands 1600 km beyond Kenya in the Indian Ocean.

Spread over one million square km, the Seychelles archipelago is comprised of tiny islands with a total population of just 88,000. While technically Africa, they feel far more Caribbean in flavour. The people are Creole, a blend of French, Indian, African and Asian spanning hundreds of years and many generations, and the three official languages are Creole, French and English (the latter two thanks to colonisation in the 1800s) – with Creole being the most widely used. With their Rastafarian dreads, love of reggae, laid back manner and exotic looks the people made me think most of Jamaica.

The equatorial location makes for an incredibly steamy, humid climate – on any given day there is generally a mix of thundering tropical downpours, low hanging cloud and brilliant blue skies. This translates to lush, verdant, almost teeming plant life – including banana trees, frangipani and hibiscus and the Coco de Mer x-rated palm trees, which I will explain later. The larger islands feature narrow two lane roads characterized by hairpin turns that wind, twist and turn through rainforests. These roads are not for the easily car sick.

Mahe and Praslin are very mountainous, with granite peaks towering above the tree line and giant boulders casually scattered throughout the islands – in people’s yards, by the roadsides and along the beaches. More than 50% of the (very few) inhabited islands are dedicated national parks and nature reserves, so plants, bugs and animals run the show. Regarding wildlife, giant Aldabra tortoises can be head groaning loudly throughout the islands, and lizards and geckos are constantly underfoot – and in your food, since I found a gecko hanging out in my cookie box while snacking one evening. While there are lots of colourful birds flitting around, bats are far more common and can be seen flying overhead at the beaches and heard twittering in the trees after dark. The islands are also rife with massive snails. At first I wondered why there were giant seashells scattered around non-beach areas, then I realized they were in fact giant snails.

We chose to make our home base on Mahe, the largest island (which is still tiny) and from there visited four other islands: La Digue, Praslin, Cerf and Moyenne. Mahe is covered by a comprehensive bus service which makes it easy to explore. The buses are old, blue and slightly rusty (with zero suspension) and barrel along the narrow roads taking the steep hairpin turns at top speed, mowing down passing motorists. Taking the bus was like riding a roller coaster- at times terrifying, but always exhilarating. Plus, at five rupees a trip it was the only bargain to be found in the islands. We did opt to rent a car one day, and driving with these buses turned out to be a pretty intense experience.

We stayed at a little beach front guesthouse in Beau Vallon, a small town three km from the capital city of Victoria. It was a nice area though the food selection was not great. Then again, the food everywhere was ridiculously overpriced and mediocre at best. From Beau Vallon we visited some incredibly beautiful beaches, including Anse Major, Anse Takanaka and Anse Intendence. Most are quite hard to access and include hour plus hikes along lush, overgrown rainforest trails, where a sudden clearing through the trees reveals a beach spreading before you. The beaches were a little different then I expected, and swimming could be challenging thanks to really strong currents and undertow. Many people, including one of the Seychellois prime ministers have drowned or been dragged out to sea. It is definitely the strongest I have yet to feel. Also, the waves are huge, so shells and coral wash up on the shores crushed, unlike in Zanzibar where you find really incredible intact seashells on the beaches. The sand is more golden than white and is not as fine-grained as I had hoped. Because the main islands are granitic, there are massive rocks and boulders strewn on most beaches, some in really outlandish, almost lunar shapes, which makes them totally unique and unlike anywhere else. There is a lot of greenery and plant life since most are surrounded by rainforest, so you feel much more in nature. On the more protected snorkelling beaches, the water is so crystal clear you can see tropical fishes swimming around your feet almost immediately. Medium size crabs skittering across the sand are a common sight, as are massive sea turtles and flying fish that skim across the surface of the water at high speeds for up to a minute at a time. We were lucky enough to see hundreds of the flying fish on a boat trip between islands – they make for an unusual sight, and at first I didn't quite believe what I was seeing.

As Victoria is the hub for all traffic through the island, we ended up there for brief periods on most days. When it rained the hardest – intense, roof crushing tropical downpours - we decided to explore the city since beach visits were futile. It’s cute and clean though not an exciting spot – there are no hotels or nightlife, but this is hardly surprising since no one travels to the Seychelles to see the city. It is still very colonial – there are French and British influences including a miniature Big Ben, an old mission and stone clock tower and typical 19th century tropical architecture. It also has a really nice botanical gardens with giant tortoises and lovely flowers.

We tried to visit Le Jardin du Roi spice garden in Les Canelles, which entailed a 1.5 hour bus trip to the south of the island and then a 1 km hike up a hill so steep, it could have been a black diamond ski run. When we finally reached the top, we were feeling pretty good about our accomplishment in 37 degree steamy heat. But upon arrival, the owner decided she didn’t feel like opening that day…so that was a painful bust. More successful was a visit to the ruins of an old slave school in the Mission just outside of Sans Soucis at the very top of Mahe. From the lookout you could see any number of the islands below and gorgeous beaches and lush rainforest for miles. Down the road we found an old tea plantation and factory, also an interesting spot to visit. And on our last day we lazed around at the Ephelia Resort just past La Misere, set in a mangrove forest with a tiny private beach called Anse L’Islette.

Praslin, the second largest island feels even lusher than Mahe, which is pretty difficult to imagine. It is about an hours sail by catamaran and has one small town, Baie St Anne. Again, it is mountainous and very steep and is covered in thick rainforest. Even the water around Praslin seems emerald coloured – adding to the effect that the whole island is shades of green. From the ferry dock, you can see thousands of tropical fish in the water below. The traffic at the port is a mix of gypsy style Creole ships and massive, luxury catamarans rented by wealthy visitors for island hopping. Praslin`s main attraction is the Vallee de Mai National Park rumoured since the 1700s to be the location of the biblical Garden of Eden. Besides being stunning, the park’s claim to fame is that it is the home of the rare Coco de Mer palm tree. What is so special about this palm tree? Well, it has male and female versions; the male is large and extremely…phallic. The female…cannot even be described politely.

We also took a boat to the tiny, tropical paradise of La Digue, which I loved so much that I am at a loss for words. There are no vehicles on the island other than utility trucks, so all transportation is either by ox cart or rented bicycle. It is populated with quaint little guest houses interspersed with vanilla plantations and rainforests. A reef surrounds the beaches, making the water calm enough for really great snorkelling. Sadly, the coral is no longer as colourful as other spots due to lingering damage from the tsunami and climate change, but the fish are gorgeous and if you’re lucky you might spot a giant sea turtle. There is also a scattering of historically important buildings and of course, an Aldabra tortoise colony. We rode on our rusty old bicycles through the historic park, vanilla plantation and old cemetery to the main attraction, the world’s top rated beach Anse Source d’Argent, and….wow. It was so beautiful, we just stood there laughing for the first few minutes. The whitest sand, the clearest water through which you could see the coral and fish just from standing on the shore, massive palm trees providing much needed shade, and huge granite rocks carved by the tides to resemble giant shells and providing miniature private inlets all along the beach. La Digue is unarguably paradise. One local sat on the beach weaving hats from palm leaves, another sold fresh coconuts, papayas, start fruits and mangoes. We spent much of our time there snorkelling and managed to burn our back sides so badly neither of us could sleep on them for a week. It literally broke my heart to leave and I hope I make it there again some day. Sailing back to Mahe, our boat was accompanied by flying fish for the duration and we watched one of the most spectacular sunsets I have ever seen. It was another one of life’s perfect moments, and I felt lucky bearing witness to something so beautiful.

After eight days of in depth exploration Johannes was exhausted by my travel Nazi antics, so I left him at the hotel and joined a tour on a tiny glass bottom boat to two further islands, Cerf and Moyenne. Moyenne, the only privately owned island in the Seychelles, is held by Brendan Grimshaw, an 86 year old Brit. He bought if for 10,000 GBP in the 1970s, and has since devoted his life to creating a nature reserve and sanctuary. Media refer to him as the real life Robinson Crusoe, which seems pretty apt. On his little island, tortoises rule and have the right of way at all times which is sweet but means that the smell isn’t great. There are also a number of old pirate graves dating back hundreds of years, and the standard accompanying legend of hidden treasure. They suspect it is buried with a pirate but it is illegal to dig up a grave and therefore will remain a mystery.

Surrounding Iles Moyenne and Cerf is the protected St. Anne Marine National Park. Here there is some great deeper water snorkelling which I enjoyed except for cutting my ankle quite badly on the ship's propeller, leading to remembrances of Praslin's fatal bull shark attacks last year. From the boat we tossed bread into the water and watched the tropical fish feeding frenzy that ensued beside us.

We also cruised around Ile Longue, until recently the jail island from which prisoners often swam to Victoria to buy booze and cigarettes. They have since relocated the facilities, realizing that imprisoning criminals in a tropical paradise with full beach access doesn’t exactly discourage breaking the law. We finished our little tour at Ile au Cerf , a small island in the Marine Park with average beaches, where we had a locally cooked Creole buffet lunch. I was sad that on the second last day of our stay, I had finally found the best food – local coconut fish curry, squash salad, papaya ice cream…it was really good.

On the final day we rented a car and drove the circumference of Mahe, and through many of the rainforests and mountain ranges in between. It is impressive how non-touristy the Seychelles have remained. Even Mahe, the hub of the islands is more than 50% protected rainforest. Driving, one passes through many tiny local villages, past beautiful old churches, mangrove forests and of course amazing beaches, many of which feel totally undiscovered and pristine. The locals live well and the Seychelles have the highest HDI ranking in Africa. There are no townships, but rather sizeable, colourful colonially inspired houses with lovely gardens and long, steep drive ways often at 100 degree angles. You will need a good set of brakes to live here!

In conclusion, I loved the Seychelles. It felt really relaxing to be so deeply immersed in nature for ten days. The beaches are spectacular and the rainforests so dense and alive. To visit feels as if you have discovered a secret tropical hideaway, far from mass civilisation. Plus La Digue might just be the most beautiful tropical island in the world. However, to travel here is really, really expensive. The tourist board has carefully selected a target market of honeymooners and wealthy Europeans in an attempt to retain both exclusivity and stop the environmental ravages that accompany mass tourism. The value for money isn`t great – you pay Euros for most items and even by Euro standards they are expensive. And there is no justification for the terrible state of the food (Ile au Cerf excepted). But if you have the money and feel like travelling to islands that are literally thousands of miles from anywhere, these would be the ideal place to come.

Dynamic, Delicious, Dreamy Dubai - UAE

We decided to fly Emirates to the Seychelles, mostly because I don’t really trust obscure African airlines with names like Air Seychelles but also due to the fact it meant a free stopover in Dubai. In my opinion this more than made up for the extra ten hours of flying time our little detour added…though Johannes seemed less thrilled. Probably because he didn’t have sleeping pills and I did.

Let me start by saying that while Dubai is not for everybody, it is definitely for me. How do I even begin to describe this crazy place? It has a touch of the Las Vegas about it, though of course alcohol, scantily clad women and casinos are totally illegal and the UAE is a Muslim country. But it has the same vibrancy as Vegas – it is incredibly international with 85% of the population comprised of immigrants, 50% of whom are Indian, and there’s an electrifying energy in the air. Plus everything here is built in both grandiose scale and style – there must be a governmental decree of some sort demanding everything be the biggest, the best and the most luxurious.

The shopping is some of the best in the world and cheaper than in international counterparts like London, New York and Paris. Dubai brings together the best of these cities into the ultimate shopaholic’s wet dream: there’s a Galleries Lafayette and Laduree (with my favourite pistachio macarons…heaven) from Paris, a Bloomingdales and Saks Fifth Avenue from New York, and a Harvey Nics , Jo Malone etc from London…as well as a giant flagship boutique from every designer you could possibly think of. Then of course there’s the gold souk in Bur Dubai, where you find stall upon stall, block after block of fine jewelry hawkers where you can negotiate mad bargains on all that glitters. Our visit to the souk coincided with the arrival of a Bollywood star looking to expand his bling collection, causing mass pandemonium and confusing me because it looked like an emergency scene.

While I like to shop, I generally hate malls and prefer buying online or visiting Nolita style boutiques. But in Dubai the malls are on a completely different level to anywhere else. For instance Mall of the Emirates has the Ski Dubai indoor ski slope complete with chairlift, as well as a Sega World fun park (and Harvey Nics –yay!). The Dubai Mall, the world’s largest, spans more than 50 football fields and boasts a shark filled aquarium and skating rink. It also features an Armani hotel housed within the world’s tallest building, the Burj Khalifa. At nearly one km tall, the 160 floor Burj looks almost unreal. We had to laugh when we heard the call to prayer blasting through the malls, and saw the store directories flashing the message "time to pray". Even my boyfriend, the ultimate non shopper with the exception of book stores and golf boutiques fell in love with the malls – those who know him won’t believe it, those who don’t must understand that this is beyond momentous.

This isn’t to say that we spent the entire trip trawling shopping malls, because we didn’t. We explored Bur Dubai, checking out the old town and more traditional souks, we ferried across the creek in the little wooden water taxis, we visited the Grand Jumeirah Mosque and drove along iconic Sheikh Zayed Road, home to some of the world’s most impressive skyscrapers. We also visited the Burj Al Arab hotel, the famous sail shaped building with the satellite tennis court, which impossibly claims to be the world’s first seven star hotel when the absolute maximum score is only five. But our highlight was a trip to the top of the Burj Khalifa, which I had to book online well in advance due to it being a perpetual sell out. The view from the observation deck is unreal – and makes your realize what an odd city Dubai is. In between pockets of skyscrapers, you see that large gaps of sandy desert still line the streets, and the waterways (besides the Creek) are really just giant swimming pools. It looks as though Dubai could be swallowed up by desert within a few years if it was ever to fail as a city. Towards the (real) water you can also see manufactured island development The World, which is an odd looking, spotty collection of sandy shapes in the water that look nothing like planet Earth. I was more impressed with the two Palm Jumeirah islands which we saw from the plane as we left on our journey home. The deck even featured a gold vending machine, where various gold coins and bars could be purchased by inserting your credit card. By night there is a fountain show set to dramatic Arabian music at the base of the Burj, and while a little tacky, it was worth catching for the spectacle.

Eating in Dubai is gastronomic heaven and you are totally spoilt for choice. Anything and everything from anywhere imaginable is available. I (but not my waistline) really enjoyed reuniting with some of my favourite French pastries, and the chocolate selection was overwhelming. I was tempted to sit and eat all day though shopping demands meant that this fantasy remained unrealised – at least until my next visit. Strangely, with all of these options the hardest food to find was traditional Arabic which is what we craved. We managed to find one spot in less touristy Bur Dubai for schwarmas, but even there most of the restaurants were Indian which is my least favourite.

Dubai is massive and covers a huge area, and is therefore not a walking city. What looks like two city blocks on a map is actually a multi-kilometre, hour long trek under a scorching sun – think 37 degrees in the middle of winter. Anyway, you will be too exhausted from the shopping mall marathons to wander any streets. While taxis are reasonably priced and easily found, it is definitely worth taking the Dubai Metro because the stations themselves are tourist attractions. This must be the nicest metro I have ever seen: spotless and featuring sparkling marble and gleaming metallics, Dale Chihouly inspired chandeliers, glass escalators and elevators… they look like some kind of futuristic luxury space port as imagined in the pages of Architectural Digest.

In typical Middle Eastern style there are massive photos of the ruling UAE Sheikhs plastered everywhere – on buildings, awnings, road side billboards and posters, pieces of jewellery, passing cars...seriously, everywhere. The English language newspaper is full of complimentary stories covering their most excellent and generous good deeds and all around amazingness. Of course, these papers are also full of stories on female sorcerers and their spell casting, and the joys of polygamy…so, while entertaining and good for a chuckle, perhaps not the best news sources.

With Dubai being the least strict Islamic centre of its region, female visitors are asked to dress respectfully but are not required to cover themselves from head to toe. However, this dress code proved difficult to understand for some of the more chavtastic British females and many Russian…’ladies’ who seem convinced that dressing like a prostitute circa 1995 is the apex of style, especially in a Muslim country liberally sign posted with guides on acceptable attire.

Dubai is both tacky and terrific. It isn’t the destination for an extended holiday but spending four jam packed days there was perfect. From now on I will fly Emirates to take advantage of free stopovers and am even contemplating spending a year there once I finish in South Africa. I was really impressed with the marketing campaigns and design work I saw, and see some future potential for myself. Not to mention, I am starting to develop a bit of a crush on the Middle East. With the exception of some male attitudes, I find it exotic, mystical and somehow alluring. I can’t seem to quite get enough and am now thinking about Oman, Qatar and Kuwait as possible destinations.

...and I finally make it to Abu Dhabi, UAE

Throughout the past year I have sustained mild annoyance over the fact I wasn’t allowed into Abu Dhabi en route to South Africa. Nothing pains me more than foregoing a free travel opportunity, particularly one deemed unworthy of dedicated destination status…and especially when it is Air Canada’s fault. But in one of life’s little ironies, I finally made it there almost exactly one year to the day later. And…well…it turns out I hadn’t actually missed much.

To be honest, after the excitement of Dubai, Abu Dhabi is kind of a snooze. As opposed to its neighbour, which is where Emiratis and the rest of the world come to spend their money and eat like gluttons, Abu Dhabi is very relaxed and overwhelmingly (or maybe under-whelmingly is more appropriate) beige, lacking the showiness and dynamic energy of its younger neighbour. While they are building skyscrapers at a shocking rate, these tend to be conservative in design and the city mostly comprises pleasant parks (no small feat when you see the bleak desert and oil refineries that surround this place), offices and smaller scale shopping malls. It is the city where most Emiratis chose to live and seat of the UAE government and is therefore more conservative and more strictly Muslim. Like Dubai, life here also centres around a shopping complex, this time the Marina Mall and I must hand it to the Emirati: they do shop like champions.

Express buses run between the two cities every twenty minutes, and the drive takes around two hours. Upon arrival we caught a taxi straight to AD’s purported highlight, the Corniche, which is their answer to Vancouver’s seawall. While it offered a pleasant stroll past the city centre via the waterfront, construction was underway along the beach blocking us from the sand. There were views of the Marina Mall and government buildings but other than that it was not outstanding. Quickly bored, we headed for the CBD in search of souks and skyscrapers. I was surprised to find a lot of poor, decrepit apartment buildings which while ubiquitous across the rest of the Middle East were surprising to find in the world’s wealthiest country. These people are mind blowingly, vastly, filthy rich. Unfortunately the CBD didn’t appear to have much to offer either, so we made an executive decision to head back to Dubai and enjoy our last day there instead. The only things I was disappointed to have missed were the museum containing the sheik’s car collection and Ferrari World theme park, both of which appealed to my inner tomboy.