NOTE: I think it goes without saying, but when you see blue type that means you can click to a website with more information on the subject.
It's hard to write about this trip without thinking about my folks. Those who know them -- and I still find it nearly impossible write about them in the past tense -- know they would have been overjoyed that I am taking this trip.
For the past six weeks I have been consumed with thoughts of my parents. I think of them at least every day, if not every hour of every day.
My parents' lives were so full of accomplishments that I won't name them here. Suffice it to say that many people are living happier and more enriched lives because of them. But much as they gave to others, they chose to give themselves one special gift: the gift of travel -- just as I am giving myself this very same gift now. (I am, of course, my parents' daughter.)
For your enjoyment, here are my thoughts on Africa as I believe my parents would have seen it:
My dad would have loved the fact that you can get calamari everywhere. And I do mean everywhere, with the exception of KFC. (I checked.) Like KFC, that deals solely in chicken, which is a big mistake here, Africa has chains that deal solely in calamari. Always fried the way my dad liked it. They even offer calamari burgers. I don't think my dad ever tasted a calamari burger, but I'm sure he would have been nuts about it. (I stuck to the bun-free calamari, which was deliriously fresh and delicious.)
My dad would also have loved the fact that I found a beautiful place to stay at super bargain rates. The Backpack (definitely not what the name connotes) was right in the heart of Cape Town's hippest district and offered family-style accommodations at $30 a night. They invented the category of "boutique backpack accommodations" 17 years ago and have been named "hostel of the year" for the last three years running.
My dad would have been thrilled that everyone at the Backpack -- and I do mean everyone -- remembered my name from the moment I checked in. He would have delighted in those subtle ways that they treated me as family by teasing a bit and recommending their favorite places to explore and dine. Just about the only time I realized I wasn't staying as a guest in a family members' home was when I was presented with my bill at checkout.
(Of course, in addition to all of the above, I loved the fact that the Backpack was the first place in Cape Town to commit to fair trade for tourism, a commitment that includes working wages for everyone -- including housekeepers and maintenance crew -- a focus on diversity, and community service through their work with a local township and an AIDS orphanage.)
My mom would have loved the fact that my dad found the calamari, which he so craved. She wouldn't have liked the fact that he ate it because it wasn't good for him, but she would have let that go. At some point, you just have to make the decision to live a happy life and it was clear in those last couple of years that they'd both made that decision.
My mom would also have loved exploring the nooks and crannies of Cape Town. In particular, she would have loved the little cafes.
(One morning after she'd had radiation, we were having breakfast at The Half Day Cafe when she told me that eating out wasn't so much about the food as it was about watching people and chatting. For her, chatting typically included extended conversations with the staff, who seemed to delight in serving our table. Given her strong relationships, we tended to go to the same places most days and sit in the same areas. She developed such close ties with the wait staff that I had to visit the restaurants after my mom passed to tell them what had happened. Her illness had never been acknowledged, but during the last four or five weeks of her life it was very clear that the brain cancer was taking its toll.)
My mom and dad would also have loved the once in a lifetime experiences. They'd pass on things like skydiving and budgie jumping (two things I plan to do at some point during this trip -- although they would be happy to know that I have purchased the "special athletic" rider insurance.) They would, however, have been deeply moved by the trip to Robben Island, where Mandela spent most of his 27 year imprisonment for spearheading the struggle against apartheid. They would have loved Table Mountain, although they probably would have taken the tram (as I did) rather than climb (and I do mean climb) to the top of the 3,500 foot mountain.
They both would have loved the safari, but they certainly wouldn't have gone with Dragoman, which aptly brands itself "not your everyday journey". Never -- not at the age of 30, 50, or, in their case, 75. Instead, they would have been over the moon to take a moderately priced overland safari. If my dad had lived long enough, he probably would have found it, too. His greatest joy in life, aside from his relationship with my mom, was surfing the 'net for high quality bargain vacations.
The only thing they would not have liked about this trip would have been the crime rate. They loved strolling at night and you can't do that in Cape Town. You can't even walk the three blocks from this internet cafe to the Backpack after sundown. They would have hated that. They also wouldn't have liked the fact that in order to ensure their own safety the merchants have to buzz you in to visit their stores.
But that is the way of Cape Town right now, and they are doing their best to address it. The country is overjoyed to be hosting the Rugby World Cup in 2010. The World Cup is akin to winning the Olympic Bid for this country and should be an enormous boost for both the country and the economy. That win has given all of South Africa the inspiration do whatever it takes to create a safe environment (as well as a new rugby stadium).
In closing, my mom and dad would have loved their time here. And because I so often see the world through their eyes, I love it, too. (Even the calamari.)
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Three Weeks Across Africa
WARNING: This one is a honkin' entry -- it covers three weeks and thousands of miles. Sit back and enjoy the ride. (At least that's what we tried to do...)
Given this particular entry, it's probably best to see these images in the context of the trip, but if do you want to skip ahead to all the photos Click Here.
If, on the other hand, you'd like to view the photos in context with the editorial, click in the links as indicated. Happy reading!
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We began in Zimbabwe and ended in Cape Town.
At times it was pure Heaven and other times it was pure Hell. Although I've never given birth, it was probably a lot like that -- painful times but remarkable in retrospect. So remarkable, I'd do it again.
Dave Machin, one of the five guys on the trip, said it best: "as hokey as it sounds, the best part has been the people."
It certainly was not the bus.
Our overland truck had a Mercedes engine and even boasted a Mercedes logo on the front, but the rest of it was pure, lovable junk. It was indisputably the single ugliest overland bus on the road. Our driver and guide both took exception to the remark, but they would have been ill pressed to find a worse looking vehicle during the three weeks we called this dump home.
It was pumpkin orange and dirt white. When I asked Hugo, our driver, how many miles the truck had on it, his response was "who knows"? Apparently, the odometer had been around the block so many times that somewhere along the way the mechanics lost count.
The only thing uglier than the exterior was the interior. Dusty, tattered seats with no legroom sat on sticky floors. Two of our compatriots, Dawn and Hillary, were assigned the task of "maintaining the cleanliness" of the truck's interior. "This is your home for the next three weeks," our tour leader Zoe said. "I hope you will treat it just as you would your own home."
If this were my home, I would have saved every penny to purchase a new one.
Click here to see our home away from home...
But it was home and for all its faults we came to love our time on it. I learned more car and card games than I had in the past twenty years, thanks in large part to Hillary, an 18 year old Cambridge teen who will be headed off to medical school next year after spending five months as a "chalet girl" followed by travel to South America with her brother. (Life has changed considerably since I was 18).
If the people on the bus were the highlight -- and thank God they were because we spent a ton of time on that bus -- the almost daily task of setting up/taking down camp was the low point. Although I was blessed to have a "single" room/tent, that came with the responsibility of setting up and taking down the tent by myself. On the first night, though, Dr. Dave, as he came to be known because of his day job as an orthopedic surgeon in Liverpool, England, came to my rescue. He was wicked fast at setting up his own tent before moving on to help me with mine. (Admittedly, it took twice as long to erect my tent because I insisted on "helping.")
Getting There
I'll skip the details of the my initial flight from Cape Town to Zimbabwe except to say that my iPod was swiped at the airport, most likely by customs officials. For those who don't know much about the conditions in Zimbabwe (and I didn't), this country is run by a corrupt government that has driven inflation to a whopping 6,000% per year. Yup, 6,000% -- with a comma, not a period. Zimbabwe has the highest inflation level of any country in the world. You get in a cab on a Monday and it will cost $5,000 Zimbabwean to take a 10-minute cab ride and the next day it will be $10,000. Thinking we were being ripped off, we'd cite the price we'd paid the day before. "Inflation," the cab driver would tell us. And given that $10,000 Zimbabwean was worth about $2.50 US, it was hard to argue.
The primary attraction of Zimbabwe is Victoria Falls, which is one of several places in Africa that has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Click here to see photos of Victoria Falls
I had arrived late in Zimbabwe because in addition to the iPod swipe, my flight was late. I missed the white water rafting (thank goodness), but did arrive in time to go for a stroll with some lion cubs and a lioness. Although advertised as a "Walk With the Lions," in retrospect I think I'm happy that the advertising didn't live up to its promise. (In reality, lions are a little too aggressive to go strolling with a pod of people. In my head I knew that, but it did sound kinda' cool anyway.)
Click Here to See Photos of my Stroll with the Lion (Cubs)
Zimbabwe's conditions are such that there is a massive shortage of food on grocery store shelves. You may hear that this is a rumor; don't believe it. We couldn't do our shopping for our "truck meals" until we left the country. For those uninitiated to overlanding, our truck meals typically consisted of three meals a day prepared truck-side under the watchful eye of our terrific Zimbabwean cook, Douglas. Douglas had previously worked at the Sheraton in Zimbabwe, but the pay was so unstable that he took the job with Dragoman Overland in order to be paid in US dollars, which he sends home to his wife and three children.
Click here to see our crew -- Zoe (our leader), Hugo (her boyfriend, mechanic and driver) and Douglas (our cook and all-around great guy)
From Zimbabwe, we headed to Chobe National Park, the largest game park in Botsowana, which is famed for its huge elephant population. There are currently around 120,000 elephants in the area, so it wasn't hard to see/snap photos of them. We also saw hippos (more on them later), but it's good to know here that they are the most aggressive animals in the kingdom. While there, we took a magnificent boat trip along the river, where we saw more African wildlife than you would at the Bronx Zoo. It was very, very cool.
Click Here to See Just a Glimpse of What We Saw During our River Cruise
From Chobe, it was off to spend some time relaxing at Ngepi Camp, located in the upper reaches the Okavango Delta, which became my favorite place throughout the trip. (The Delta, not the Camp, although it was amazing.)
What distinguishes the Ngepi Camp most is their outdoor toilets -- 10 in all. Their brochure claims that their johns are among the most photographed in the world. My guess is they are right.
Click Here to See Just a Few of the Most Photographed Johns in the World. (And We Had to Use them, Too...)
Ngepi was also home to the world's only swimming hole that claims to be "hippo and crocodile safe". Yes indeedie, there were hippos and crocs in them there delta, but we swam in a caged off area. Fun for a moment, but scary as hell.
From Ngepi, we drove south into Botswana to Sepupa, where we left our hunk o'junk and boarded small dugout styled canoes and were poled by local tribesmen into the reed beds of the Okavango Delta toward our camp. This trip -- along with a longer trip the next day -- proved to be a surprising highlight of the trip.
Although we had been promised we would be "bush camping" -- read no toilets/no showers/no electricity -- we were shocked and in my case delighted to find a bar, toilets, gorgeous outdoor rain showers and large tents with cots. About the only thing that provided some cause for concern was the warning in the toilets, which were located a fairly long walk from our tents. While perched on the john, a large note warned us to "exercise caution and carry a torch" when visiting the john in the evenings as there were "snakes, hippos and elephants" on the premises.
The Case of the Missing Flashlight(s)
During our first night in Camp, a bunch of us were hanging in the bar when one of the girls (yes, we did call ourselves girls here) went to her tent to grab a sweater. She borrowed a flashlight, but never came back.
So...one of the other girls borrowed another flashlight to check on her. She, too, never returned.
Then...one of the girls borrowed my flashlight. Eventually she reemerged (much to my relief because that was my only flashlight) to announce that the girls were being held captive by a hippo outside the tent.
Yup, it was one of those hippos we'd been warned about. A few of the guys went to the tent to "rescue" the girls. Dave Harrison was most excited about seeing a hippo up close. I guess he forgot that part about hippos being the most aggressive animal in Africa, but his girlfriend, Laura, reminded him.
The guys made their way to the tent and coxed the girls out by assuring them that the bar with the drinks would be safer than the tent with the lurking hippo. Together, they returned to the bar with our flashlights, where we decided it drink heavily and hope our neighboring hippo went to sleep.
(He didn't -- the guy roared, or whatever you call a hippo that makes really loud noises, for most of the night.)
The next morning was in stark contrast to the night before, with one notable exception that I'll tell you about in a paragraph or two. We began the morning with an hour trip through the meandering waterways before catching up with our guide who took us on a two-hour trek through relentless heat to view the wildlife.
Click Here to See Some of the Photos of our Poling Trip Along the Okavango Delta
We saw animals of all kinds, but the highlight of the trip appeared to be our close-up encounter with some elephants. As we snapped away, we saw elephants on our right. Then on our left. Then straight ahead. Then our guide told us to turn around and move slowly but deliberately in the opposite direction. Turns out that nobody wants to be surrounded by elephants. "'Twas a very dangerous situation," he told us later. (We did get some terrific pictures, though.)
And Click Here to See Shots of the Elephants that Surrounded Us During our "Very Dangerous" Trek in the Delta
From the Okavango Delta, it was on to spend the night with the Bushmen in a true bush camp. This was a stop that wasn't on our itinerary -- we were supposed to visit a local community project to "play with the children," but our guide wisely told us that the school had become so overrun with overlanders that it had lost its luster.
As we turned onto the road toward the Bushman's camp, known as The Living Village, some of us -- including me -- were more than a little skeptical. It felt a little like something we might see in Epcot in Florida. But it wasn't.
Turns out that the Bushmen are working hard to develop a way to sustain themselves after years of no longer being able to farm their land. The land is now pure sand and where they used to grow food, they now have nothing.
As we pulled into the camp, we quickly forgot the fact that we'd had to dig our truck out of the sand twice while traveling the two mile road into the bush. We were surrounded by children who saw only one thing on our truck: our soccer ball.
So, before we could even set up our tents, we soon were embroiled in a serious match. It's hard to tell who won, but my guess the kids did. Our team may have been good, but these kids were great.
Click Here to See the Soccer Match in Action
That evening, we moved to a traditional Bushman ceremony. It felt touristy at first, but we were later told that in addition to bringing in income for the tribe, the ceremony provides an opportunity for the children to stay connected to their traditions and culture. The children -- 190 in all -- go to school in the camp until the fifth grade, after which some of them make a three hour trek to a week-long boarding school. Most of the children speak their tribal language, which includes fourteen different 'clicks,' as well as Afrikans and English. There is a relentless focus on education here, but there is also a silent agreement among the bushmen that the children will return home to help the community continue to grow and thrive.
The Case of the Raw Meat
For some reason, getting into the bushman's camp with our dinner for the following night was easy. Getting out, however, was a different story. As we exited what appeared to be a customs area (and it certainly wasn't) we were stopped by customs-looking officials (and they certainly weren't) who said they had to search our bus for raw meat. Not surprisingly, their "station" was surrounded by the nicest houses in the area and well dressed families were outside during the inspection.
Wouldn't you know it that this was the one night -- the only night -- that Douglas had planned to blow much of our food kitty on T-Bone Steaks?
The faux customs officials discovered the T-Bones and told us that because the meat was raw we could not take it any further. We stressed that we'd purchased the steaks outside the bush camp (like you could buy T-Bone in a bush camp), but he could not be persuaded.
From there, one of our guys got practical. "We will just pull over and cook the meat," he said.
And we did. We set up our truck-side stove and cooked 17 T-Bones, much to the surprise of the faux customs official. (The families didn't look too pleased either.)
The only hitch was that one of our guys took a photo of the guard, who became more than a tad agitated. He ordered our guy to delete the photo, which he did. The faux official then wanted to see all the photos on the camera. Given that the camera contained more than 1,000 photos, it was promising to be a long day. Nonetheless, we somehow escaped with our nearly-cooked meat sans the single photo that had caused such an uproar.
We finished off the T's on the grill later that night. I can't recall anytime that steaks have tasted so good.
The Case of the (Near) Wild Animal Attack
I've thought more than once about whether or not to include this next entry in the blog, but since it became a matter of lore on the trip, I figure I have no choice.
First, you need to know that the Etosha National Park in Namabia is home to a vast range of wildlife. While there, we saw virtually every animal imaginable. We also saw a wide range of animals consuming a dead elephant. For some reason, this sight became a highlight of the safari, with numerous people (including us) driving around and around the circle to get the best shots. (I for one decided to skip that one.)
Click Here for Photos of Just a Few of the Animals We Saw During our Safaris in Estosha
After witnessing the animals (many of whom are dangerous) as well as the consumption of the dead elephant, I'm sure you can understand how I felt at about 2 am when an animal scurried across my tent and stumbled on top of my head. I was asleep at the time, but I can assure you it was a serious wake up call.
I sat upright as a loud fight occurred outside the tent. It was pretty clear to me that the animals were fighting over the food we had left in the garbage can, but having seen that damn dead elephant, I couldn't help feeling I might be next. (Especially since at least one animal knew where my head was.)
After about 30 minutes of pure terror, I finally came up with a brilliant idea: I would call my brother in California. When I couldn't reach him due to a bad cell connection, we resorted to text messages.
Here's a verbatim recap of the exchange (thanks to my brother who sent it to me as a way to relive the experience -- gee thanks Michael).
MELINDA: Michael, are you there?
MICHAEL: Yes.
MELINDA: Can you try to contact officials at Estosha National Park? We are in campsite 22 and surrounded by dangerous sounding game. It is the middle of the night here.
MICHAEL: I'll be back to you soon.
MELINDA: Try Vicky Papas at Adventure Center in Emeryville. She is my travel agent and should know what to do.
Long pause before next text. Very, very long pause.
MICHAEL: Vicky's office is getting in touch with Dragoman's offices. They say to stay put (like I was going to go outside the tent...). Dangerous game is not unusual. (Thanks for the insight.) I'll keep looking for a direct phone at the Park.
After numerous more e-mails and the passing of more than 90 minutes, I told Michael that it had been quiet for awhile and "the danger may have passed.")
Of course, the next day I was the laughing stock of the camp. Everyone had slept through the incident with the exception of Douglas, our cook, who checked out the scene with his flashlight before determining that it was a bunch of wildcats fighting over food and went back to sleep.
Of course, I might have slept through it as well, but for the fact that that damn animal ran over my head when he ran over the tent. Honestly, I felt his feet...
After that experience, I wasn't at all disappointed to leave Estosha (as beautiful as it was) to head off to a Kamanjab, home to an enormous private cheetah reserve.
For those who don't know (and, again, I didn't), there are less than an estimated 7,500 cheetahs left in the world, and about 6,000 of these are found in Southern Africa. Recent surveys have shown that Namibia has 2,000-2,500 cheetah. Unfortunately, Namibia is one of the few areas in the world where it is still legal to shoot cheetahs, despite the fact that they are on the endangered species list. Namibia has been granted this exception because cheetahs have a tendency to get onto farm land and kill the stock.
The family running the Otjitotongwe Cheetah Park is dedicated to preservation of the cheetah. Today, they have a program to capture and then pay farmers for their stock as a way of avoiding certain death. The captured cheetahs are then transferred to the cheetah park, where they are released into an enclosure with other wild cheetahs.
Our trip to the Park began with a tour of the family home, where three cheetahs live as family members, wandering the front and back yard and cozying up to visitors. I never would have thought cheetahs would make good pets, but as long as you're comfortable keeping large quantities of Zebra liver in your refrigerator it seems to be fine.
After visiting with the "tame" cheetahs, we went on a cheetah safari.
Click Here to See the Cheetahs at their Wild Best
Note: Those who are a little squeamish should skip these photos of the cheetahs consuming really, really big pieces of Zebra liver...
(I'll also chose to skip the part where Pareet -- one of three vegetarians in our group -- was showered with Zebra liver when the guide misjudged a throw... He was a remarkably good sport, but I'm not sure we saw that shirt again.)
After visiting a couple more places, Swakopmund was our next major stop. Surrounded by massive dune fields of the Namibia Desert on one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other, this was the first metropolitan stop on our tour. Finally -- no tents and a bar with MTV! It was there that I learned to balance a bottle of beer on my head. (Others may have photos of that -- in fact I know they do -- but I'll skip them for now.)
My appointment to go skydiving was postponed in favor of a trip to the chiropractor, who told me that my back/neck problems were the result of sitting too much and not getting enough exercise. Not much I could do about that, given that we were spending about eight hours a day on a bus. He did, however, give me drawings of the "ideal posture" I should be using on the bus. That might have worked were the seats a little more conducive to "ideal posture."
I did, however, go dune biking. I didn't realize it at the time, but that involved heading off on an ATV for about two hours through the purest sand you can imagine. The scenery was among the most beautiful I've ever seen, which would have been a joy to behold were I not terrified of flipping my bike while traversing the mountains at remarkable speeds. (OK, not so remarkable -- I was in the baby group -- but it certainly felt fast.)
The dunes got even more beautiful when we arrived at Sesriem Canyon & Soussusvlei, home to some of the largest dunes in the world. Soussusvlei is also home to a forest of dead trees that are hundreds of years old and sitting in a concrete solid patch of sand.
This Click is Worth It: Visit Some of Largest Dunes in the World, As Well as the Dead Trees in the Sand
From Soussusveli, we began the trek back to Cape Town, stopping at many beautiful sights along the way. Again, I clicked away with my camera, but I think I've given you enough of a taste so far. (In other words, I'm going to skip the 150 shots I took of baby penguins.)
For all the scenery and wildlife experiences, though, Dave Machin was right: it was the people who made this trip unforgettable. Special shout outs to my "special bus buddies", with whom I shared numerous card/car games: Dave Harrison, Lara Fitt, David Machin, Hillary Graffy, and Rachel Ford. Machin gets special thanks for helping me put up/tear down my tent.
In addition to our crew there were 17 overlanders --
11 Brits
2 Irishmen
2 New Zealandars
1 Canadian
1 American (me)
We were 4 couples, 1 guy traveling alone and 13 women.
Despite our differences -- and there were many -- we had the time of our lives.
My mother used to say that if you were truly having fun on a vacation you'd forget to shoot pictures. While I did a pretty good job on the tourist-type shots, I was positively lousy at shooting shots of my new friends.
Click Here to See Just a Few of My Bus Buddies
Next Stop is China.
Again, you may have to wait a bit for the entry. The photos are more honkin' than the editorial (which is easy). The photos take forever to load!
Cheers (British) or Zai Jian (Chinese),
Melinda
Given this particular entry, it's probably best to see these images in the context of the trip, but if do you want to skip ahead to all the photos Click Here.
If, on the other hand, you'd like to view the photos in context with the editorial, click in the links as indicated. Happy reading!
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We began in Zimbabwe and ended in Cape Town.
At times it was pure Heaven and other times it was pure Hell. Although I've never given birth, it was probably a lot like that -- painful times but remarkable in retrospect. So remarkable, I'd do it again.
Dave Machin, one of the five guys on the trip, said it best: "as hokey as it sounds, the best part has been the people."
It certainly was not the bus.
Our overland truck had a Mercedes engine and even boasted a Mercedes logo on the front, but the rest of it was pure, lovable junk. It was indisputably the single ugliest overland bus on the road. Our driver and guide both took exception to the remark, but they would have been ill pressed to find a worse looking vehicle during the three weeks we called this dump home.
It was pumpkin orange and dirt white. When I asked Hugo, our driver, how many miles the truck had on it, his response was "who knows"? Apparently, the odometer had been around the block so many times that somewhere along the way the mechanics lost count.
The only thing uglier than the exterior was the interior. Dusty, tattered seats with no legroom sat on sticky floors. Two of our compatriots, Dawn and Hillary, were assigned the task of "maintaining the cleanliness" of the truck's interior. "This is your home for the next three weeks," our tour leader Zoe said. "I hope you will treat it just as you would your own home."
If this were my home, I would have saved every penny to purchase a new one.
Click here to see our home away from home...
But it was home and for all its faults we came to love our time on it. I learned more car and card games than I had in the past twenty years, thanks in large part to Hillary, an 18 year old Cambridge teen who will be headed off to medical school next year after spending five months as a "chalet girl" followed by travel to South America with her brother. (Life has changed considerably since I was 18).
If the people on the bus were the highlight -- and thank God they were because we spent a ton of time on that bus -- the almost daily task of setting up/taking down camp was the low point. Although I was blessed to have a "single" room/tent, that came with the responsibility of setting up and taking down the tent by myself. On the first night, though, Dr. Dave, as he came to be known because of his day job as an orthopedic surgeon in Liverpool, England, came to my rescue. He was wicked fast at setting up his own tent before moving on to help me with mine. (Admittedly, it took twice as long to erect my tent because I insisted on "helping.")
Getting There
I'll skip the details of the my initial flight from Cape Town to Zimbabwe except to say that my iPod was swiped at the airport, most likely by customs officials. For those who don't know much about the conditions in Zimbabwe (and I didn't), this country is run by a corrupt government that has driven inflation to a whopping 6,000% per year. Yup, 6,000% -- with a comma, not a period. Zimbabwe has the highest inflation level of any country in the world. You get in a cab on a Monday and it will cost $5,000 Zimbabwean to take a 10-minute cab ride and the next day it will be $10,000. Thinking we were being ripped off, we'd cite the price we'd paid the day before. "Inflation," the cab driver would tell us. And given that $10,000 Zimbabwean was worth about $2.50 US, it was hard to argue.
The primary attraction of Zimbabwe is Victoria Falls, which is one of several places in Africa that has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Click here to see photos of Victoria Falls
I had arrived late in Zimbabwe because in addition to the iPod swipe, my flight was late. I missed the white water rafting (thank goodness), but did arrive in time to go for a stroll with some lion cubs and a lioness. Although advertised as a "Walk With the Lions," in retrospect I think I'm happy that the advertising didn't live up to its promise. (In reality, lions are a little too aggressive to go strolling with a pod of people. In my head I knew that, but it did sound kinda' cool anyway.)
Click Here to See Photos of my Stroll with the Lion (Cubs)
Zimbabwe's conditions are such that there is a massive shortage of food on grocery store shelves. You may hear that this is a rumor; don't believe it. We couldn't do our shopping for our "truck meals" until we left the country. For those uninitiated to overlanding, our truck meals typically consisted of three meals a day prepared truck-side under the watchful eye of our terrific Zimbabwean cook, Douglas. Douglas had previously worked at the Sheraton in Zimbabwe, but the pay was so unstable that he took the job with Dragoman Overland in order to be paid in US dollars, which he sends home to his wife and three children.
Click here to see our crew -- Zoe (our leader), Hugo (her boyfriend, mechanic and driver) and Douglas (our cook and all-around great guy)
From Zimbabwe, we headed to Chobe National Park, the largest game park in Botsowana, which is famed for its huge elephant population. There are currently around 120,000 elephants in the area, so it wasn't hard to see/snap photos of them. We also saw hippos (more on them later), but it's good to know here that they are the most aggressive animals in the kingdom. While there, we took a magnificent boat trip along the river, where we saw more African wildlife than you would at the Bronx Zoo. It was very, very cool.
Click Here to See Just a Glimpse of What We Saw During our River Cruise
From Chobe, it was off to spend some time relaxing at Ngepi Camp, located in the upper reaches the Okavango Delta, which became my favorite place throughout the trip. (The Delta, not the Camp, although it was amazing.)
What distinguishes the Ngepi Camp most is their outdoor toilets -- 10 in all. Their brochure claims that their johns are among the most photographed in the world. My guess is they are right.
Click Here to See Just a Few of the Most Photographed Johns in the World. (And We Had to Use them, Too...)
Ngepi was also home to the world's only swimming hole that claims to be "hippo and crocodile safe". Yes indeedie, there were hippos and crocs in them there delta, but we swam in a caged off area. Fun for a moment, but scary as hell.
From Ngepi, we drove south into Botswana to Sepupa, where we left our hunk o'junk and boarded small dugout styled canoes and were poled by local tribesmen into the reed beds of the Okavango Delta toward our camp. This trip -- along with a longer trip the next day -- proved to be a surprising highlight of the trip.
Although we had been promised we would be "bush camping" -- read no toilets/no showers/no electricity -- we were shocked and in my case delighted to find a bar, toilets, gorgeous outdoor rain showers and large tents with cots. About the only thing that provided some cause for concern was the warning in the toilets, which were located a fairly long walk from our tents. While perched on the john, a large note warned us to "exercise caution and carry a torch" when visiting the john in the evenings as there were "snakes, hippos and elephants" on the premises.
The Case of the Missing Flashlight(s)
During our first night in Camp, a bunch of us were hanging in the bar when one of the girls (yes, we did call ourselves girls here) went to her tent to grab a sweater. She borrowed a flashlight, but never came back.
So...one of the other girls borrowed another flashlight to check on her. She, too, never returned.
Then...one of the girls borrowed my flashlight. Eventually she reemerged (much to my relief because that was my only flashlight) to announce that the girls were being held captive by a hippo outside the tent.
Yup, it was one of those hippos we'd been warned about. A few of the guys went to the tent to "rescue" the girls. Dave Harrison was most excited about seeing a hippo up close. I guess he forgot that part about hippos being the most aggressive animal in Africa, but his girlfriend, Laura, reminded him.
The guys made their way to the tent and coxed the girls out by assuring them that the bar with the drinks would be safer than the tent with the lurking hippo. Together, they returned to the bar with our flashlights, where we decided it drink heavily and hope our neighboring hippo went to sleep.
(He didn't -- the guy roared, or whatever you call a hippo that makes really loud noises, for most of the night.)
The next morning was in stark contrast to the night before, with one notable exception that I'll tell you about in a paragraph or two. We began the morning with an hour trip through the meandering waterways before catching up with our guide who took us on a two-hour trek through relentless heat to view the wildlife.
Click Here to See Some of the Photos of our Poling Trip Along the Okavango Delta
We saw animals of all kinds, but the highlight of the trip appeared to be our close-up encounter with some elephants. As we snapped away, we saw elephants on our right. Then on our left. Then straight ahead. Then our guide told us to turn around and move slowly but deliberately in the opposite direction. Turns out that nobody wants to be surrounded by elephants. "'Twas a very dangerous situation," he told us later. (We did get some terrific pictures, though.)
And Click Here to See Shots of the Elephants that Surrounded Us During our "Very Dangerous" Trek in the Delta
From the Okavango Delta, it was on to spend the night with the Bushmen in a true bush camp. This was a stop that wasn't on our itinerary -- we were supposed to visit a local community project to "play with the children," but our guide wisely told us that the school had become so overrun with overlanders that it had lost its luster.
As we turned onto the road toward the Bushman's camp, known as The Living Village, some of us -- including me -- were more than a little skeptical. It felt a little like something we might see in Epcot in Florida. But it wasn't.
Turns out that the Bushmen are working hard to develop a way to sustain themselves after years of no longer being able to farm their land. The land is now pure sand and where they used to grow food, they now have nothing.
As we pulled into the camp, we quickly forgot the fact that we'd had to dig our truck out of the sand twice while traveling the two mile road into the bush. We were surrounded by children who saw only one thing on our truck: our soccer ball.
So, before we could even set up our tents, we soon were embroiled in a serious match. It's hard to tell who won, but my guess the kids did. Our team may have been good, but these kids were great.
Click Here to See the Soccer Match in Action
That evening, we moved to a traditional Bushman ceremony. It felt touristy at first, but we were later told that in addition to bringing in income for the tribe, the ceremony provides an opportunity for the children to stay connected to their traditions and culture. The children -- 190 in all -- go to school in the camp until the fifth grade, after which some of them make a three hour trek to a week-long boarding school. Most of the children speak their tribal language, which includes fourteen different 'clicks,' as well as Afrikans and English. There is a relentless focus on education here, but there is also a silent agreement among the bushmen that the children will return home to help the community continue to grow and thrive.
The Case of the Raw Meat
For some reason, getting into the bushman's camp with our dinner for the following night was easy. Getting out, however, was a different story. As we exited what appeared to be a customs area (and it certainly wasn't) we were stopped by customs-looking officials (and they certainly weren't) who said they had to search our bus for raw meat. Not surprisingly, their "station" was surrounded by the nicest houses in the area and well dressed families were outside during the inspection.
Wouldn't you know it that this was the one night -- the only night -- that Douglas had planned to blow much of our food kitty on T-Bone Steaks?
The faux customs officials discovered the T-Bones and told us that because the meat was raw we could not take it any further. We stressed that we'd purchased the steaks outside the bush camp (like you could buy T-Bone in a bush camp), but he could not be persuaded.
From there, one of our guys got practical. "We will just pull over and cook the meat," he said.
And we did. We set up our truck-side stove and cooked 17 T-Bones, much to the surprise of the faux customs official. (The families didn't look too pleased either.)
The only hitch was that one of our guys took a photo of the guard, who became more than a tad agitated. He ordered our guy to delete the photo, which he did. The faux official then wanted to see all the photos on the camera. Given that the camera contained more than 1,000 photos, it was promising to be a long day. Nonetheless, we somehow escaped with our nearly-cooked meat sans the single photo that had caused such an uproar.
We finished off the T's on the grill later that night. I can't recall anytime that steaks have tasted so good.
The Case of the (Near) Wild Animal Attack
I've thought more than once about whether or not to include this next entry in the blog, but since it became a matter of lore on the trip, I figure I have no choice.
First, you need to know that the Etosha National Park in Namabia is home to a vast range of wildlife. While there, we saw virtually every animal imaginable. We also saw a wide range of animals consuming a dead elephant. For some reason, this sight became a highlight of the safari, with numerous people (including us) driving around and around the circle to get the best shots. (I for one decided to skip that one.)
Click Here for Photos of Just a Few of the Animals We Saw During our Safaris in Estosha
After witnessing the animals (many of whom are dangerous) as well as the consumption of the dead elephant, I'm sure you can understand how I felt at about 2 am when an animal scurried across my tent and stumbled on top of my head. I was asleep at the time, but I can assure you it was a serious wake up call.
I sat upright as a loud fight occurred outside the tent. It was pretty clear to me that the animals were fighting over the food we had left in the garbage can, but having seen that damn dead elephant, I couldn't help feeling I might be next. (Especially since at least one animal knew where my head was.)
After about 30 minutes of pure terror, I finally came up with a brilliant idea: I would call my brother in California. When I couldn't reach him due to a bad cell connection, we resorted to text messages.
Here's a verbatim recap of the exchange (thanks to my brother who sent it to me as a way to relive the experience -- gee thanks Michael).
MELINDA: Michael, are you there?
MICHAEL: Yes.
MELINDA: Can you try to contact officials at Estosha National Park? We are in campsite 22 and surrounded by dangerous sounding game. It is the middle of the night here.
MICHAEL: I'll be back to you soon.
MELINDA: Try Vicky Papas at Adventure Center in Emeryville. She is my travel agent and should know what to do.
Long pause before next text. Very, very long pause.
MICHAEL: Vicky's office is getting in touch with Dragoman's offices. They say to stay put (like I was going to go outside the tent...). Dangerous game is not unusual. (Thanks for the insight.) I'll keep looking for a direct phone at the Park.
After numerous more e-mails and the passing of more than 90 minutes, I told Michael that it had been quiet for awhile and "the danger may have passed.")
Of course, the next day I was the laughing stock of the camp. Everyone had slept through the incident with the exception of Douglas, our cook, who checked out the scene with his flashlight before determining that it was a bunch of wildcats fighting over food and went back to sleep.
Of course, I might have slept through it as well, but for the fact that that damn animal ran over my head when he ran over the tent. Honestly, I felt his feet...
After that experience, I wasn't at all disappointed to leave Estosha (as beautiful as it was) to head off to a Kamanjab, home to an enormous private cheetah reserve.
For those who don't know (and, again, I didn't), there are less than an estimated 7,500 cheetahs left in the world, and about 6,000 of these are found in Southern Africa. Recent surveys have shown that Namibia has 2,000-2,500 cheetah. Unfortunately, Namibia is one of the few areas in the world where it is still legal to shoot cheetahs, despite the fact that they are on the endangered species list. Namibia has been granted this exception because cheetahs have a tendency to get onto farm land and kill the stock.
The family running the Otjitotongwe Cheetah Park is dedicated to preservation of the cheetah. Today, they have a program to capture and then pay farmers for their stock as a way of avoiding certain death. The captured cheetahs are then transferred to the cheetah park, where they are released into an enclosure with other wild cheetahs.
Our trip to the Park began with a tour of the family home, where three cheetahs live as family members, wandering the front and back yard and cozying up to visitors. I never would have thought cheetahs would make good pets, but as long as you're comfortable keeping large quantities of Zebra liver in your refrigerator it seems to be fine.
After visiting with the "tame" cheetahs, we went on a cheetah safari.
Click Here to See the Cheetahs at their Wild Best
Note: Those who are a little squeamish should skip these photos of the cheetahs consuming really, really big pieces of Zebra liver...
(I'll also chose to skip the part where Pareet -- one of three vegetarians in our group -- was showered with Zebra liver when the guide misjudged a throw... He was a remarkably good sport, but I'm not sure we saw that shirt again.)
After visiting a couple more places, Swakopmund was our next major stop. Surrounded by massive dune fields of the Namibia Desert on one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other, this was the first metropolitan stop on our tour. Finally -- no tents and a bar with MTV! It was there that I learned to balance a bottle of beer on my head. (Others may have photos of that -- in fact I know they do -- but I'll skip them for now.)
My appointment to go skydiving was postponed in favor of a trip to the chiropractor, who told me that my back/neck problems were the result of sitting too much and not getting enough exercise. Not much I could do about that, given that we were spending about eight hours a day on a bus. He did, however, give me drawings of the "ideal posture" I should be using on the bus. That might have worked were the seats a little more conducive to "ideal posture."
I did, however, go dune biking. I didn't realize it at the time, but that involved heading off on an ATV for about two hours through the purest sand you can imagine. The scenery was among the most beautiful I've ever seen, which would have been a joy to behold were I not terrified of flipping my bike while traversing the mountains at remarkable speeds. (OK, not so remarkable -- I was in the baby group -- but it certainly felt fast.)
The dunes got even more beautiful when we arrived at Sesriem Canyon & Soussusvlei, home to some of the largest dunes in the world. Soussusvlei is also home to a forest of dead trees that are hundreds of years old and sitting in a concrete solid patch of sand.
This Click is Worth It: Visit Some of Largest Dunes in the World, As Well as the Dead Trees in the Sand
From Soussusveli, we began the trek back to Cape Town, stopping at many beautiful sights along the way. Again, I clicked away with my camera, but I think I've given you enough of a taste so far. (In other words, I'm going to skip the 150 shots I took of baby penguins.)
For all the scenery and wildlife experiences, though, Dave Machin was right: it was the people who made this trip unforgettable. Special shout outs to my "special bus buddies", with whom I shared numerous card/car games: Dave Harrison, Lara Fitt, David Machin, Hillary Graffy, and Rachel Ford. Machin gets special thanks for helping me put up/tear down my tent.
In addition to our crew there were 17 overlanders --
11 Brits
2 Irishmen
2 New Zealandars
1 Canadian
1 American (me)
We were 4 couples, 1 guy traveling alone and 13 women.
Despite our differences -- and there were many -- we had the time of our lives.
My mother used to say that if you were truly having fun on a vacation you'd forget to shoot pictures. While I did a pretty good job on the tourist-type shots, I was positively lousy at shooting shots of my new friends.
Click Here to See Just a Few of My Bus Buddies
Next Stop is China.
Again, you may have to wait a bit for the entry. The photos are more honkin' than the editorial (which is easy). The photos take forever to load!
Cheers (British) or Zai Jian (Chinese),
Melinda
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Redefining Community
Click Here for Photos of the Township
“The children are so clean,” said one “ugly American” shortly after we arrived at a township just outside Cape Town. Initially, I was horrified by her callous remark, but as I took another look at the kids I realized she wasn’t an ugly American after all. She was simply more observant and honest about these sort of things than I. These children were remarkably clean, especially considering the dirt and dust surrounding them. In fact, they were immaculate; their clothes were probably cleaner than mine were while growing up. (Sorry, mom…)
“Of course, they are clean,” a woman told us. “These are our children.”
But it wasn’t just the children. It was everyone. There is a certain pride –the locals prefer to call it dignity – that permeates the townships of South Africa.
There are some in the city of Cape Town who beg; those in the townships do not. The people living here are adamant that they do not want a hand out. The unemployment rate may be 40%, but the 60% of people who do work share what they have. It is, they say, what people do when they live in community.
There is tremendous care and pride taken in the family homes. Shacks or shanties we might call them, but to the people living there, they are homes. They are clearly not shacks and certainly not houses, we are told. A local man points out that houses are “merely structures.” Homes, he says, are a place of family. These are homes, regardless of the fact that they are remarkably overcrowded and most do not have running water. (Porta-potties have been erected and community water stations are provided by the government for cooking, drinking and laundry.)
As the townships grow – and they are continuing to grow rather than shrink –the infrastructure is increasingly taxed. The largest township in Cape Town has 1.2 million people, but the infrastructure is designed to support far fewer. I visited two townships: the first with 80,000 people supported by an infrastructure for about 30,000; the second township – the newest in Cape Town – has 20,000 people, but it is growing very rapidly and the government has frozen its infrastructure for only 8,000.
It was there, in that township of 20,000, that we met one woman who shares one water structure with eighty people.
The biggest fear in the townships is not crime; it is fire. Most of these structures are made with wood. If one catches fire an entire community could burn. It is a terrifying concept. No doubt this is why the government provides most of the homes with electricity, rather that encouraging people to resort to fires for heat and cooking.
Because the townships are located a distance from the city, the economy relies primarily on home-based businesses that sell within the community. We visited one home-based business where a woman bakes doughnuts that she sells for 1 Rand (or about 7 cents) each. We met two men who run a grocery store that sells fresh fruits and vegetables. They are particularly popular on Saturdays as families prepare for their Sunday meals, the main meal of the week.
One family fashions purses out of old somewhat scratched records. I’d have bought one were it not for the fact that I couldn’t figure out how I’d pack it for the rest of my journey. Surprisingly, a number of people operate cell phone businesses out of metal shipping containers.
It is not possible to leave the townships without being changed in some way. In three hours, not one person exhibited bitterness or anger about their living conditions. As one man said, “We do not complain about our lives here, for if we did, nobody would listen.” Easy to say; hard to do.
The government has declared that the townships will be gone by 2010, but they have made almost no progress toward that goal. Furthermore, the people in the townships are exerting no pressure to move. Unbelievably – or believably if you have been here – most of those who live here have no desire to leave.
I am not naïve. I did not come away convinced that people in the townships should continue living in these horrific conditions. But there are enviable aspects of the townships. The challenge for those living here now will be to balance a move into new communities in a manner that combines the values of the townships with infrastructure that most of us in America (and central Cape Town) have come to depend on.
“The children are so clean,” said one “ugly American” shortly after we arrived at a township just outside Cape Town. Initially, I was horrified by her callous remark, but as I took another look at the kids I realized she wasn’t an ugly American after all. She was simply more observant and honest about these sort of things than I. These children were remarkably clean, especially considering the dirt and dust surrounding them. In fact, they were immaculate; their clothes were probably cleaner than mine were while growing up. (Sorry, mom…)
“Of course, they are clean,” a woman told us. “These are our children.”
But it wasn’t just the children. It was everyone. There is a certain pride –the locals prefer to call it dignity – that permeates the townships of South Africa.
There are some in the city of Cape Town who beg; those in the townships do not. The people living here are adamant that they do not want a hand out. The unemployment rate may be 40%, but the 60% of people who do work share what they have. It is, they say, what people do when they live in community.
There is tremendous care and pride taken in the family homes. Shacks or shanties we might call them, but to the people living there, they are homes. They are clearly not shacks and certainly not houses, we are told. A local man points out that houses are “merely structures.” Homes, he says, are a place of family. These are homes, regardless of the fact that they are remarkably overcrowded and most do not have running water. (Porta-potties have been erected and community water stations are provided by the government for cooking, drinking and laundry.)
As the townships grow – and they are continuing to grow rather than shrink –the infrastructure is increasingly taxed. The largest township in Cape Town has 1.2 million people, but the infrastructure is designed to support far fewer. I visited two townships: the first with 80,000 people supported by an infrastructure for about 30,000; the second township – the newest in Cape Town – has 20,000 people, but it is growing very rapidly and the government has frozen its infrastructure for only 8,000.
It was there, in that township of 20,000, that we met one woman who shares one water structure with eighty people.
The biggest fear in the townships is not crime; it is fire. Most of these structures are made with wood. If one catches fire an entire community could burn. It is a terrifying concept. No doubt this is why the government provides most of the homes with electricity, rather that encouraging people to resort to fires for heat and cooking.
Because the townships are located a distance from the city, the economy relies primarily on home-based businesses that sell within the community. We visited one home-based business where a woman bakes doughnuts that she sells for 1 Rand (or about 7 cents) each. We met two men who run a grocery store that sells fresh fruits and vegetables. They are particularly popular on Saturdays as families prepare for their Sunday meals, the main meal of the week.
One family fashions purses out of old somewhat scratched records. I’d have bought one were it not for the fact that I couldn’t figure out how I’d pack it for the rest of my journey. Surprisingly, a number of people operate cell phone businesses out of metal shipping containers.
It is not possible to leave the townships without being changed in some way. In three hours, not one person exhibited bitterness or anger about their living conditions. As one man said, “We do not complain about our lives here, for if we did, nobody would listen.” Easy to say; hard to do.
The government has declared that the townships will be gone by 2010, but they have made almost no progress toward that goal. Furthermore, the people in the townships are exerting no pressure to move. Unbelievably – or believably if you have been here – most of those who live here have no desire to leave.
I am not naïve. I did not come away convinced that people in the townships should continue living in these horrific conditions. But there are enviable aspects of the townships. The challenge for those living here now will be to balance a move into new communities in a manner that combines the values of the townships with infrastructure that most of us in America (and central Cape Town) have come to depend on.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Robben Island
I will not attempt to describe the trip to Robben Island, except to say that any trip to Cape Town must include the visit – no matter how difficult it is or how little time you have in Cape Town.
Click Here for my Photos of Robben Island
For those not familiar with it, Robben Island was home to nearly 200 political prisoners, including former president Nelson Mandela, who was imprisoned there for 27 years. In 1994 – just three years after the last of the prisoners was released (including my tour guide) -- Mandela called a prisoner reunion to help determine the future of Robben Island. Although the majority of the public seemed to want to develop the land it into a casino, the only acceptable choice, the former prisoners said, was to memorialize it.
The mission of Robben Island is not to exhibit the obvious horror of Robben Island, our prison-guide told us, but rather to serve as a testament of the human spirit…
Said Ahmed Kathrada, prisoner 468/64, who was imprisoned for 26 years:
“While we will not forget the brutality of apartheid, we will not want Robben Island to be a monument of our hardship and suffering. We would want it to be a triumph of the human spirit against the forces of evil. A triumph of wisdom and largeness of spirit against small minds and pettiness; a triumph of courage and determination over human frailty and weakness; a triumph of the new South Africa over the old.”
Robben Island accomplishes mission by bringing together not just the physical structures and museum-quality exhibit but, most importantly, by employing eleven guides – all of whom are former political prisoners – to lead the tours. It is remarkable to hear the word “we” to describe an experience rather than “they.”
We learned of the ingenuity the prisoners used to communicate with each other. In one case, they used to put messages inside tennis balls and hit them over the fence into the next yard. “The guards used to claim we were the worst tennis players they had ever seen,” said Yamoula, our guide. Always trying to cause infighting within the prison ranks, the guards typically gave one protest group more food than another. The prisoners refused to give in. They took their food back to the cafeteria and carefully doled out equal portions for each person.
When public pressure rose to release Mandela, the government finally gave in. But Mandela said that unless everyone was freed, he would not go. It took some time, but eventually he got his guarantee. My guide, Yamoula, was among the final 120 prisoners who comprised the last group to leave the Island.
Since 1995, Yamoula has been leading tours of the Island. Each day, he spends eight hours sharing his stories. Those who go on the tours are horrified by what this gentle man once accused of terrorism has to say, but this is not what he wants. “I just want people to understand how we worked together to fight the we experienced at brutality of Robben Island,” he says. “I want them to understand that it does not work to fight violence with violence, but instead with dignity and courage.” Dignity seems to be a word we hear a lot throughout the people of South Africa.
I’m not sure how much longer these guides will work. Yamoula doesn’t seem to be as bothered by the emotional toll the tour takes as he is the physical toll. He says his feet get tired walking the site eight hours a day, but he’s going to do it for as long as he can. Yamoula lives makes his home there on Robben Island, next door to a former warden who now works in the “curio shop.” I ask if he has any desire to get off the island. “One day,” he says.
Click Here for my Photos of Robben Island
For those not familiar with it, Robben Island was home to nearly 200 political prisoners, including former president Nelson Mandela, who was imprisoned there for 27 years. In 1994 – just three years after the last of the prisoners was released (including my tour guide) -- Mandela called a prisoner reunion to help determine the future of Robben Island. Although the majority of the public seemed to want to develop the land it into a casino, the only acceptable choice, the former prisoners said, was to memorialize it.
The mission of Robben Island is not to exhibit the obvious horror of Robben Island, our prison-guide told us, but rather to serve as a testament of the human spirit…
Said Ahmed Kathrada, prisoner 468/64, who was imprisoned for 26 years:
“While we will not forget the brutality of apartheid, we will not want Robben Island to be a monument of our hardship and suffering. We would want it to be a triumph of the human spirit against the forces of evil. A triumph of wisdom and largeness of spirit against small minds and pettiness; a triumph of courage and determination over human frailty and weakness; a triumph of the new South Africa over the old.”
Robben Island accomplishes mission by bringing together not just the physical structures and museum-quality exhibit but, most importantly, by employing eleven guides – all of whom are former political prisoners – to lead the tours. It is remarkable to hear the word “we” to describe an experience rather than “they.”
We learned of the ingenuity the prisoners used to communicate with each other. In one case, they used to put messages inside tennis balls and hit them over the fence into the next yard. “The guards used to claim we were the worst tennis players they had ever seen,” said Yamoula, our guide. Always trying to cause infighting within the prison ranks, the guards typically gave one protest group more food than another. The prisoners refused to give in. They took their food back to the cafeteria and carefully doled out equal portions for each person.
When public pressure rose to release Mandela, the government finally gave in. But Mandela said that unless everyone was freed, he would not go. It took some time, but eventually he got his guarantee. My guide, Yamoula, was among the final 120 prisoners who comprised the last group to leave the Island.
Since 1995, Yamoula has been leading tours of the Island. Each day, he spends eight hours sharing his stories. Those who go on the tours are horrified by what this gentle man once accused of terrorism has to say, but this is not what he wants. “I just want people to understand how we worked together to fight the we experienced at brutality of Robben Island,” he says. “I want them to understand that it does not work to fight violence with violence, but instead with dignity and courage.” Dignity seems to be a word we hear a lot throughout the people of South Africa.
I’m not sure how much longer these guides will work. Yamoula doesn’t seem to be as bothered by the emotional toll the tour takes as he is the physical toll. He says his feet get tired walking the site eight hours a day, but he’s going to do it for as long as he can. Yamoula lives makes his home there on Robben Island, next door to a former warden who now works in the “curio shop.” I ask if he has any desire to get off the island. “One day,” he says.
The Landscape of Cape Town
In just four days, I have been overwhelmed by the sadness, the joy, the filth and the beauty of this place. The beauty, like everything else here in Cape Town, is stunning.
Click here to see my various photos of the landscape
Click here to see my various photos of the landscape
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
London
Experienced my first three nights of Couchsurfing – a place where hosts offer free couches to people like me who don’t much enjoy hotels while traveling alone. Couchsurfing.com is named aptly, except the case of Lynne’s flat, which is located about 40 minutes just outside London. Instead of a couch, she offers a cozy shabby chic bedroom. I’d give you her online ID at couchsurfing.com, but I feel the need to protect her. She’s an incredibly warm woman who has trouble saying no to potential surfers and now hosts guests an average of three nights a week.
For those who haven’t experienced it – and most of us haven’t – couchsurfing.com is the match.com of travel (without the matching in the classical sense). People sign up as hosts and/or travelers and post comprehensive profiles.
My friend Laura me about couchsurfing. She and her husband had just hosted their first guest and while they didn’t find him the most exciting person on the planet -- he was a physicist, after all --they said they’d do it again.
I went on-line and found Lynne, age 50, who had wonderful references. (One of the things that separates couchsurfing.com from similar sites is that guests rate their visits. It’s a bit like the reader reviews you can post at Amazon.com, but in a very cool twist, the hosts also review the visitors, which is a bit like allowing the author to review the critics. I know more than a few folks out there who’d appreciate that one.)
Departure: My flight from Los Angeles to London had not gotten off to a great start. It was an overnight trip and I’d planned for weeks to equip myself with Ambien. It wasn’t until I boarded the plane that I discovered the Ambien bottle bore a remarkable resemblance to the medication I take for a hyper-thyroid condition.
I was ever so slightly apoplectic when I discovered I didn’t have anything on-hand to induce sleep. I think my seatmate only heard the word “hyper” when I told him about my thyroid condition and he quickly offered me one of his own Ambien. He had a few, but I think he would have offered me his last. The idea of spending the night with a hyper woman was more than he (or I, frankly) could have dealt with.
Arrival: Like many tourists, I packed far more luggage than I should have – even for a six month trip. That, combined with the fact that I’m incredibly frugal (downright cheap, in fact) prompted me to attempt the Underground with a 49 pound canvas bag on rollers, a 32 pound bag canvas bag not on rollers, a camera bag with two cameras and full of equipment, as well as an 18 backpack complete with laptop.
I arrived in London at 2:30 pm and spent more than two hours in the immigration line, where I met so many people that I actually ran into one of them on the streets of London the following morning. We had breakfast. Lynn later told me that she had never in her life run into a friend casually on the streets of London. Well, we had enough time in the immigration line to meet lots, and lots of people. At that point, I probably had as many friends as Lynn had.
Turns out that clearing customs was just the beginning of the nightmare. T took 90 minutes lugging four pieces of luggage through numerous train transfers and no fewer than five terrifying luggage-filled escalator rides (they don’t seem to have elevators), I emerged (again on an escalator) to meet Lynne for coffee before “hopping the bus” home.
All told, the transfer from Los Angeles to London had clocked in at about the travel time as my transfer from London to Lynne’s. I arrived jet-lagged and a sweaty mess. Not the way to make the best impression, but Lynne cooked up a dandy dose of pasta and we shared a bottle of Italian sparkling wine – think Champaign without the attitude or price – before I fell into bed.
Of course, didn’t sleep a whit because my body had absolutely no idea what time it was. This is why Jeff Greenfield had told me, just two weeks before leaving, not to take a sleeping pill before departing. (Let’s admit it, though: the guy also recommends Fed Exing your luggage to your hotel. As the correspondent for the Today show, you can only assume that he’s got a car – rather than the Underground – waiting for him at arrival and that he’s traveling something other than economy class. And he’s got to have some sort of key to the city (make that the country) that allows him to bypass the two-hour immigration line.
The great thing about couchsurfing is that you get to see the city through the eyes of your host. If you weren’t lucky enough to participate in a foreign exchange program in high school (I applied but was rejected), this is even better. For one thing, you are a grown up so you can join your host for bottle of Italian sparkling wine. For another, as tired as you might be, you will somehow summon the energy to get out and see the city.
Having not slept for something like 42 hours (not even the Ambien was going to help me on that flight), I was awake at 6 am and join Lynne for her journey to work. It turned out that trip was probably the highlight. After taking the bus – she detests the Underground as much as I now did – we got off at a stop that allowed us to walk through St. Johns Garden, where we stopped to feed the swans, as she does every morning.
That afternoon, I took a river tour – a favorite from childhood memory when I visited here more years ago than I’m going to admit. Once there, I make up on the sleep I had lost on the plane. I sat down on the bench and unconsciously put chin to chest as the tour guide began what I’m absolutely certain was a fascinating walk through London’s architecture and history. When I awoke a couple of hours later, I tried it play it off that I’d been in a meditative state listening deeply to every word, but I don’t think he believed it.
The rest of three day stay in London was a bit of a blur until I arrived to the British Airways lounge four hours prior to departure for Cape Town South Africa. After spending two-hours getting into the country and another two hours getting into London, Lynne and I had decided to change strategy. I took the bus – this time with even MORE luggage, thanks to a bizarre British Airways baggage restriction that isn’t worth going into here and whisked my way through check-in. In another bizarre, but outstanding, twist, British Airways provides American Airlines very frequent fliers free access to their club. At nearly one million miles, I qualified.
For those who study these things, British Airways offers one of the best clubs in the circuit. A “sanctuary room” has couches that can serve as beds. They even provide wake up calls. Then there’s a free buffet and open bar, which I didn’t discover until I’d awakened from my nap and was headed out for my next overnight flight.
This time I brought the Ambien.
For those who haven’t experienced it – and most of us haven’t – couchsurfing.com is the match.com of travel (without the matching in the classical sense). People sign up as hosts and/or travelers and post comprehensive profiles.
My friend Laura me about couchsurfing. She and her husband had just hosted their first guest and while they didn’t find him the most exciting person on the planet -- he was a physicist, after all --they said they’d do it again.
I went on-line and found Lynne, age 50, who had wonderful references. (One of the things that separates couchsurfing.com from similar sites is that guests rate their visits. It’s a bit like the reader reviews you can post at Amazon.com, but in a very cool twist, the hosts also review the visitors, which is a bit like allowing the author to review the critics. I know more than a few folks out there who’d appreciate that one.)
Departure: My flight from Los Angeles to London had not gotten off to a great start. It was an overnight trip and I’d planned for weeks to equip myself with Ambien. It wasn’t until I boarded the plane that I discovered the Ambien bottle bore a remarkable resemblance to the medication I take for a hyper-thyroid condition.
I was ever so slightly apoplectic when I discovered I didn’t have anything on-hand to induce sleep. I think my seatmate only heard the word “hyper” when I told him about my thyroid condition and he quickly offered me one of his own Ambien. He had a few, but I think he would have offered me his last. The idea of spending the night with a hyper woman was more than he (or I, frankly) could have dealt with.
Arrival: Like many tourists, I packed far more luggage than I should have – even for a six month trip. That, combined with the fact that I’m incredibly frugal (downright cheap, in fact) prompted me to attempt the Underground with a 49 pound canvas bag on rollers, a 32 pound bag canvas bag not on rollers, a camera bag with two cameras and full of equipment, as well as an 18 backpack complete with laptop.
I arrived in London at 2:30 pm and spent more than two hours in the immigration line, where I met so many people that I actually ran into one of them on the streets of London the following morning. We had breakfast. Lynn later told me that she had never in her life run into a friend casually on the streets of London. Well, we had enough time in the immigration line to meet lots, and lots of people. At that point, I probably had as many friends as Lynn had.
Turns out that clearing customs was just the beginning of the nightmare. T took 90 minutes lugging four pieces of luggage through numerous train transfers and no fewer than five terrifying luggage-filled escalator rides (they don’t seem to have elevators), I emerged (again on an escalator) to meet Lynne for coffee before “hopping the bus” home.
All told, the transfer from Los Angeles to London had clocked in at about the travel time as my transfer from London to Lynne’s. I arrived jet-lagged and a sweaty mess. Not the way to make the best impression, but Lynne cooked up a dandy dose of pasta and we shared a bottle of Italian sparkling wine – think Champaign without the attitude or price – before I fell into bed.
Of course, didn’t sleep a whit because my body had absolutely no idea what time it was. This is why Jeff Greenfield had told me, just two weeks before leaving, not to take a sleeping pill before departing. (Let’s admit it, though: the guy also recommends Fed Exing your luggage to your hotel. As the correspondent for the Today show, you can only assume that he’s got a car – rather than the Underground – waiting for him at arrival and that he’s traveling something other than economy class. And he’s got to have some sort of key to the city (make that the country) that allows him to bypass the two-hour immigration line.
The great thing about couchsurfing is that you get to see the city through the eyes of your host. If you weren’t lucky enough to participate in a foreign exchange program in high school (I applied but was rejected), this is even better. For one thing, you are a grown up so you can join your host for bottle of Italian sparkling wine. For another, as tired as you might be, you will somehow summon the energy to get out and see the city.
Having not slept for something like 42 hours (not even the Ambien was going to help me on that flight), I was awake at 6 am and join Lynne for her journey to work. It turned out that trip was probably the highlight. After taking the bus – she detests the Underground as much as I now did – we got off at a stop that allowed us to walk through St. Johns Garden, where we stopped to feed the swans, as she does every morning.
That afternoon, I took a river tour – a favorite from childhood memory when I visited here more years ago than I’m going to admit. Once there, I make up on the sleep I had lost on the plane. I sat down on the bench and unconsciously put chin to chest as the tour guide began what I’m absolutely certain was a fascinating walk through London’s architecture and history. When I awoke a couple of hours later, I tried it play it off that I’d been in a meditative state listening deeply to every word, but I don’t think he believed it.
The rest of three day stay in London was a bit of a blur until I arrived to the British Airways lounge four hours prior to departure for Cape Town South Africa. After spending two-hours getting into the country and another two hours getting into London, Lynne and I had decided to change strategy. I took the bus – this time with even MORE luggage, thanks to a bizarre British Airways baggage restriction that isn’t worth going into here and whisked my way through check-in. In another bizarre, but outstanding, twist, British Airways provides American Airlines very frequent fliers free access to their club. At nearly one million miles, I qualified.
For those who study these things, British Airways offers one of the best clubs in the circuit. A “sanctuary room” has couches that can serve as beds. They even provide wake up calls. Then there’s a free buffet and open bar, which I didn’t discover until I’d awakened from my nap and was headed out for my next overnight flight.
This time I brought the Ambien.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Introduction: A Word About Travelogues
Warning: Those who hate travelogues – and I’m honestly not one who is big on them – might want to skip the essays and go straight to the pictures. This, of course, assumes that I learn how to post pictures. The idea for this site came to me at the Backpacker, the “boutique hostel” voted the best hostel in Africa. (A great place to stay, by the way, if you are traveling alone and looking to meet people.) At the Backpacker, they offer guests the opportunity to add pictures and photos to the Backpacker Facebook site. Despite my six years at IBM and my pride in my ability to quickly grab onto the latest in web developments, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to use this site. In fact, I found it downright annoying at the idea that once signing on I would be thrust into a “community” of more than 40,000 Chicagoians.
So now I’m back to blogging. This is concept I have trouble with. My feeling is that very few of us (including me) lead lives that are interesting enough to write about. Even fewer (including me) have the talent to write about them.
Yet more than six and probably fewer than twelve people have asked me to keep them posted on my trip through South Africa, China, Viet Nam, Cambodia, Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, etc. (yes, there is an etc – I am certain I’ve missed a country or two).
Blogging is the easiest way to do that. My intent is to focus on photos more than words, but it turns out that posting the words are easy; I’m still having some trouble with the photos. (Johnny – I’m waiting for your instructions to arrive via e-mail!)
If you are one of my friends who actually asked me to “keep them posted,” then feel free to check out this travelogue. (Let’s see how long I keep that up.) If you’re like me, though, feel free to skip the words and go straight to the pictures, which begin in the South Africa section. (I was so wacked with exhaustion in London that I had the energy to shoot exactly one picture – the exterior of my digs in the city.)
The photos will be posted as soon as I figure out how to do that. In the meantime, the travelogue begins.
Another important word to the wise: If you are one of those people who are offended by missing words or misspellings, then don’t read this! Much of what I’m writing here is stream of consciousness followed by a quick attempt to edit. As Tom Kelly knows, that process is frequently followed by sentences that may have glitches. I’d send the posting to him for proofing/editing, but the guy has a real job heading media relations for Chase. (Thanks to you, Tom, and you still have permission to offer editorial comment!)
So now I’m back to blogging. This is concept I have trouble with. My feeling is that very few of us (including me) lead lives that are interesting enough to write about. Even fewer (including me) have the talent to write about them.
Yet more than six and probably fewer than twelve people have asked me to keep them posted on my trip through South Africa, China, Viet Nam, Cambodia, Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, etc. (yes, there is an etc – I am certain I’ve missed a country or two).
Blogging is the easiest way to do that. My intent is to focus on photos more than words, but it turns out that posting the words are easy; I’m still having some trouble with the photos. (Johnny – I’m waiting for your instructions to arrive via e-mail!)
If you are one of my friends who actually asked me to “keep them posted,” then feel free to check out this travelogue. (Let’s see how long I keep that up.) If you’re like me, though, feel free to skip the words and go straight to the pictures, which begin in the South Africa section. (I was so wacked with exhaustion in London that I had the energy to shoot exactly one picture – the exterior of my digs in the city.)
The photos will be posted as soon as I figure out how to do that. In the meantime, the travelogue begins.
Another important word to the wise: If you are one of those people who are offended by missing words or misspellings, then don’t read this! Much of what I’m writing here is stream of consciousness followed by a quick attempt to edit. As Tom Kelly knows, that process is frequently followed by sentences that may have glitches. I’d send the posting to him for proofing/editing, but the guy has a real job heading media relations for Chase. (Thanks to you, Tom, and you still have permission to offer editorial comment!)
Friday, September 7, 2007
The Itinerary
Tours I'll be Taking
(This does not include time on my own)
Sept. 24-Oct.15
“Deserts, Delta & Dugouts” trip
Oct. 21-Oct. 31
South African Wine Country trip
Nov. 4 - Nov. 22
China & Yangtse Cruise
Nov 23 – Dec. 29
Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand
Jan 6 – Jan 20
Malaysa
Jan 20 - Jan 27
Alam Indah Resort in Ubud, Bali
Jan. 27 – Feb. 10
Bali and Lombok
Feb 20 - Feb 17
Alam Indah Resort in Ubud, Bali
Feb. 18 – Feb. 28
Sailing in Thailand
(This does not include time on my own)
Sept. 24-Oct.15
“Deserts, Delta & Dugouts” trip
Oct. 21-Oct. 31
South African Wine Country trip
Nov. 4 - Nov. 22
China & Yangtse Cruise
Nov 23 – Dec. 29
Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand
Jan 6 – Jan 20
Malaysa
Jan 20 - Jan 27
Alam Indah Resort in Ubud, Bali
Jan. 27 – Feb. 10
Bali and Lombok
Feb 20 - Feb 17
Alam Indah Resort in Ubud, Bali
Feb. 18 – Feb. 28
Sailing in Thailand
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