Having read "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad in high school, I began this summer having some inkling of Africa's unique powers over the human spirit. Granted, I didn't think I would be transformed into a bloodthirsty maniac wanting to "exterminate the brutes!", but I did know that Africa doesn't go easy on anyone. However, I didn't anticipate how comprehensive the challenges that Africa could bring would be. During my brief stint on the continent I faced the assumed difficulties of finding a place to live, a car to drive, and a community to build, but I also found myself having to persevere in the face of questions about what route my life's path should take, who and what I value, and what sort of man I am called to be.
There were many times on my commute when I would rack my brain, wondering what the events of the day and week meant in the context of my life. Was I being called to missionary work, let alone a nonprofit career? Was I being too controlling over what I wanted my life to look like? Was I pushing myself in the right direction, or just the direction that seems most appealing? Though I did indeed find answers in this time, I still carry some of these questions with me, and I think I will for a long time to come. What matters is that I'm thinking about them.
To my delight, though, the payoffs for having taken on such challenges were well worth the tension of dealing with them. This summer has had me exposed to the human spirit at its most resilient in bare township shacks. I have swum with the most fearsome predators of the deep and encountered giants of the bush. Africa has shared her secret beauty with me, a beauty that seems boundless, timeless, and irreproducible. I've witnessed smiles in the face of uncertain fate, humility in moments of passion, and wisdom among angst.
I guess Africa's beauty is bought at a price. Like in her people's lives, what is good and worthwhile comes only after toil- only after tears have been shed and failure has been faced. I come from a place where awe is expected, where the unexceptional is thought of as the exception. Something is expected to come from nothing, and it frequently does, though at a deferred cost. That's not the case with Africa- any amount of awe has been born of toil and uncertainty, making it so much more valuable and inspiring.
This has been a summer worth reflecting upon, and I plan on doing that for some time. I come back to the states with a lot of raw life material, and I plan on processing it in hopes of its quick application in my life. I want to thank every one of you who has showed such breathtaking generosity in taking the time to follow me on my travels as I collected this life material. Writing is a pleasure for me, but to hear response from people I love who have a displayed interest in my life really humbles me and makes me appreciate how fantastic all of the people in my life are. Thank you for your interest and encouragement. My only hope is that in spending the time to read through my thoughts and travels you have somehow benefited. I hope you are motivated to have a heart for those unfortunate but amazing people in townships who long for God, compelled to challenge yourself in whatever ways you can, or just energized to go on your own Old School Adventure.
This has been the summer of 2009, and I couldn't have wished for anything better. Perhaps next summer there will be more to blog but until then, Reader, you stay classy.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
Settling Accounts
Early the next morning I made haste to get ready for a day of errands. First up, I took Aslan to Drive Africa, where they spent an hour checking him out and determining what extra money I would have to pay and how much exactly they would buy him back for. It was a painless experience, and I enjoyed talking with the people at the office. In the end, I was charged for two new tires (because they had worn down), a major maintenance checkup that I had left for them to do, and a charge for them to clean it up and remove all the bits of Africa that still remained inside. The final price was pretty good, and the end calculations came out to about 30 dollars a day to have the car for two and a half months. Not bad, I should think.
Having found out that the All Nations people would all be in a meeting for a couple more ours, I headed towards Cape Point to do some last minute sightseeing and kill some time. The drive was wonderful, and the sights were breathtaking. I didn't make it all the way to the point itself because of its monetary and temporal expense. Snapping photos of the dramatic coastline was fun, but I had more to photograph, so I stopped at a penguin colony, where African penguins reside, making their strange sounds and continuing their unlikely existence.
Soon it was time to get to Africa House. In the parking lot, I emptied the jerry can of gas that I had never used into the tank and returned it. Passing by Floyd as he rushed to another meeting, I said my goodbyes and thank you's, wondering when I would return. Over the next four hours, I retrieved my luggage and laptop from Africa House and spent time catching up with all my friends there. Before long, though, it was time to separate, which was difficult but necessary. Driving home on my last commute, I reflected on the time I spent with All Nations, with all its frustrations, elations, and challenges. I realized that my viewpoint had changed in many respects, but more on that later.
At the hostel Toukam and I met back up after he had spent the afternoon with his coworkers, and we began the task of assessing the financial damage that the previous two and a half months. Despite our having Microsoft Excel, a calculator, plenty of documentation, and two Columbian minds at our disposal, success proved illusive. Finally, after an inexcusably long time all the numbers balanced out, and I was at peace, if also feeling poor. Having done that deed, we had a couple hours left before dinner, so we filled up the time uploaded each other's photos, putting our African CD's on our laptops, and packing a little. Finally the time came for dinner.
My generous parents had read a review of a restaurant in Cape Town called Roundhouse in Town and Country and decided to "take" Toukam and I out to dinner there. Not wanting to pass such an offer up, we made reservations back in Mossel Bay and did indeed spend the last night of the Old School Adventure in style. The restaurant, which lies on the slope of Table Mountain overlooking the sea, is small, scenic, and refined. Opting for the four course meal, Toukam and I had a great time reminiscing about the adventures we had had and pondering about what adventures are in store for us in the future. The food itself was spectacular- I had foie gras, bouillabaisse, aged sirloin, and blood orange shortcake, all of which were superb, although the foie gras definitely took the cake.
The next day was the day of departure, at least for me. Toukam had bought his ticket for the next day. Waking early, I began the day with lots of blogging and packing, trying to get prepared before noon. By the end, we were scrambling- going to internet cafes, picking up souvenirs, grabbing sleeping aids, and eating some lunch at a Cuban cafe. Having stuffed all my duffels and procured all that I needed for the 30+ hours of travel ahead, I said my goodbyes to Toukam, who has been the best roommate, travel companion, and navigator that I could have asked for. I regret that he won't be at Columbia next year, but I know he'll be doing great things at Northwestern.
Hoping to get to the airport early, I left with plenty of time to get to Drive Africa, where the transaction would be finalized and someone would take me to the airport. However, there had been some big accidents on the highways in addition to the apparently usual Friday lunchtime traffic. These snags resulted in a 15 minute trip taking 40, and I was slightly flustered by the time I got to the office. However, there was still plenty of time before my plane would leave, so I got to say my goodbyes to the Drive Africa people, who have proven to be fantastic and helpful. At the airport, things went quickly and smoothly and I was soon on my way to JoBurg, NYC, and beyond. It was the end of a period of my life that had been filled with adventure, soul searching, awe-inspiring sights, motivating people, and life changing challenges. It is officially over, and I have to get used to this new and sobering fact in my life, though I have much to look forward to in the weeks and months to come.
Having found out that the All Nations people would all be in a meeting for a couple more ours, I headed towards Cape Point to do some last minute sightseeing and kill some time. The drive was wonderful, and the sights were breathtaking. I didn't make it all the way to the point itself because of its monetary and temporal expense. Snapping photos of the dramatic coastline was fun, but I had more to photograph, so I stopped at a penguin colony, where African penguins reside, making their strange sounds and continuing their unlikely existence.
Soon it was time to get to Africa House. In the parking lot, I emptied the jerry can of gas that I had never used into the tank and returned it. Passing by Floyd as he rushed to another meeting, I said my goodbyes and thank you's, wondering when I would return. Over the next four hours, I retrieved my luggage and laptop from Africa House and spent time catching up with all my friends there. Before long, though, it was time to separate, which was difficult but necessary. Driving home on my last commute, I reflected on the time I spent with All Nations, with all its frustrations, elations, and challenges. I realized that my viewpoint had changed in many respects, but more on that later.
At the hostel Toukam and I met back up after he had spent the afternoon with his coworkers, and we began the task of assessing the financial damage that the previous two and a half months. Despite our having Microsoft Excel, a calculator, plenty of documentation, and two Columbian minds at our disposal, success proved illusive. Finally, after an inexcusably long time all the numbers balanced out, and I was at peace, if also feeling poor. Having done that deed, we had a couple hours left before dinner, so we filled up the time uploaded each other's photos, putting our African CD's on our laptops, and packing a little. Finally the time came for dinner.
My generous parents had read a review of a restaurant in Cape Town called Roundhouse in Town and Country and decided to "take" Toukam and I out to dinner there. Not wanting to pass such an offer up, we made reservations back in Mossel Bay and did indeed spend the last night of the Old School Adventure in style. The restaurant, which lies on the slope of Table Mountain overlooking the sea, is small, scenic, and refined. Opting for the four course meal, Toukam and I had a great time reminiscing about the adventures we had had and pondering about what adventures are in store for us in the future. The food itself was spectacular- I had foie gras, bouillabaisse, aged sirloin, and blood orange shortcake, all of which were superb, although the foie gras definitely took the cake.
The next day was the day of departure, at least for me. Toukam had bought his ticket for the next day. Waking early, I began the day with lots of blogging and packing, trying to get prepared before noon. By the end, we were scrambling- going to internet cafes, picking up souvenirs, grabbing sleeping aids, and eating some lunch at a Cuban cafe. Having stuffed all my duffels and procured all that I needed for the 30+ hours of travel ahead, I said my goodbyes to Toukam, who has been the best roommate, travel companion, and navigator that I could have asked for. I regret that he won't be at Columbia next year, but I know he'll be doing great things at Northwestern.
Hoping to get to the airport early, I left with plenty of time to get to Drive Africa, where the transaction would be finalized and someone would take me to the airport. However, there had been some big accidents on the highways in addition to the apparently usual Friday lunchtime traffic. These snags resulted in a 15 minute trip taking 40, and I was slightly flustered by the time I got to the office. However, there was still plenty of time before my plane would leave, so I got to say my goodbyes to the Drive Africa people, who have proven to be fantastic and helpful. At the airport, things went quickly and smoothly and I was soon on my way to JoBurg, NYC, and beyond. It was the end of a period of my life that had been filled with adventure, soul searching, awe-inspiring sights, motivating people, and life changing challenges. It is officially over, and I have to get used to this new and sobering fact in my life, though I have much to look forward to in the weeks and months to come.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Wayward Gardeners
The night at the Sugar Shack turned out to be satisfactorily peaceful, and I furthered my understanding of so many people's compulsions to live as close to the sea as possible. It wasn't too cold in the pre-dawn morning, and Toukam and I got to shower and pack in peace before exploring the beach for a few moments before heading out. On the sandy shore we encountered a couple of East London's characters, including two guys with energetic collie dogs that would sprint full force into the ocean in pursuit of a seaward projectile and a speedo-clad native performing some sort of ceremony with an empty water jug. Puzzling over such sights, we started up Aslan, who had acquired plenty of overnight condensation, and returned to the N2.
The highlight of the day as we headed towards Mossel Bay was the beginning of the Garden Route. To many this route, which follows the N2 as it approaches Cape Town along the coast, is one of the most beautiful exhibitions of South Africa's best. Though hard to peg superlatives on any part of this amazing country, I won't deny that the sights the Garden Route offers are breathtaking. One of the more irresistible of these sights was Nature's Valley, a cut in the mountains at a large but quiet estuary. The brief and windy detour that it required was well worth the extra time, and we immensely enjoyed looking out over the quiet lake with its sights of feeding fish and enjoying the beach.
With the weight of many more kilometers left to go weighing heavily on my sensibilities, we tore off again, passing through countless seaside towns, including Port Elizabeth, a large harbor city that seemed to be a wonderful place to visit. Eventually we made it to Mossel Bay, which is located in the Western Cape, the province in which Cape Town lies. Like the guidebook had forwarned, the initial appearance of the Mossel Bay was very industrial, but only a slight amount of automotive perseverance brought us to downtown, which is at the end of a peninsula. There we watched as apparently warm-blooded surfers took on huge waves that crashed dangerously on nearby rocks. Though the wind was biting, Toukam and I enjoyed witnessing these great waves batter the rocks. Further along the road we found a path along the edge of a cliff over the water, where truly gigantic waves sent spray up for dozens of yards as they violently pounded the rocky cliff. It was quite a sght to see, and I could only think how appreciative ships must be for the cautioning lighthouse that stands in silent protection.
Though it was getting late, we couldn't resist the sign for an internet cafe, where I updates the blog. Having satiated our cyber appetites, our course took us to that night's lodging at the Santos Express. Quite unlike any backpackers I have ever stayed at, the Santos Express was a train, literally. At some point the owners had acquired the locomotive cars, which stand permanently stationary on a track next to a track currently in use by the town's industrial trains. When checking in, the receptionist warned us about the live track, but I had thought it had been a joke until we heard a train passing while unpacking. Enchanted with the uniqueness of our lodging and making due with its cramped nature, we got settled and decided to return to the surfer beach for dinner.
Recommended by the guide, the King Fisher restaurant sat on the second floor of a complex overlooking the ocean. Excruciatingly hungry, Toukam and I opted for a dinner more characteristic of a opulent feast. Ordering the "Full House" seafood platter, which included copious amounts of mussels, prawns, fish, crab, and calamari, we plunged headlong into Mossel Bay's best. Needless to say, we were thrilled with the meal and we left the establishment quite full and capable only of spending the rest of the night reading and taking it easy.
Waking the next day was marked with an overtone of sobriety, because it would be the day we return to square one- Cape Town. We fought off the potential discouragement from the ending of the Old School Adventure and loaded into the car after an enjoyable continental breakfast in the train. Back on N2 the Garden Route got into full steam and we were awed by sights of immaculate and endless green pastures covering rolling hills that transformed into dramatically rocky mountains in the distance. With the moving shadows from the rolling clouds constantly changing the lighting as we drove, South Africa seemed to be putting on a grand finale of beauty for two of her newest admirers.
We forwent the most direct path back to the Mother City and instead headed away from the coast, towards the Huguenot-founded town of Franschoek. Those loyal readers of the blog may recall that our first attempt at seeing the winelands was sadly sabotaged by rain, thus limiting us from seeing this town, which many consider to be the culinary capitol of all of South Africa. Ironically, it was again raining when we made our way into the foreboding mountains, taking hair-raising hairpin turns on wet cliff-sides. We refused to let the rain water-log our spirits and opted to lunch at a guidebook-recommended restaurant called Bouillabaisse.
The restaurant turned out to be wonderful, both in quality of food and aesthetics. Being a "concept" restaurant, it was small and intimate, with an open galley kitchen running the length of the rectangular diner. We were the only ones there, considering the early hour, and we enjoyed the peaceful setting to admire the funky blown-glass fish and sharp angles that added character to the place. For our food, I could do nothing but order the special for the day- unlimited mussels and frites. It was indeed as delicious and indulgent as it sounds, and I did not at all regret my decision.
Still having time to spare, Toukam suggested that we go to the local Huegonot museum which, though well done, was almost entirely in French, limiting my understanding. From what I could gather, the Hugonauts, a persecuted Protestant group in France, fled from their country and some of them arrived in the Cape at the bidding of the Dutch East India Company. Upon arrival, they were charged with the task of farming enough food to restock the Company's wayward ships. They were successful at this and established their own subculture in the Cape. However, despite their deep roots in the country, their French culture was somewhat muted by the future British colonists. I'm just thankful that their expertise with food survived til today.
Though we had put up a valiant attempt at stalling our return, the time came when all diversions were exhausted and we found ourselves in Cape Town's city limits, passing the eternally saddening townships as Table Mountain grew in the windshield. Cruising our way down the familiar streets, we arrived at the Backpack, our hostel for the next couple nights and the same one I stayed at prior to Toukam's arrival. For the rest of the day, we busied ourselves with internet cafes and packing before venturing out into the city for dinner at Addis in Cape, an Ethiopian restuarant we had had our eyes on for a while.
It turned out to be a wonderful place to have dinner. We ordered the set menu and were subsequently led through a panorama of no-utensiled foreign food, ranging from pork and lentils to baclava, Having had Ethiopian food only once before, it was a wondrously unique experience. After walking back to the hostel, we met some of our fellow roomies, one of whom turned out to be a huge fan of none other than Floyd McClung! He was in town for other business with a nonprofit, and he had been disappointed to not have been able to meet with Floyd. He and his friend, both from Switzerland, were very nice people and I enjoyed getting to know them before crashing to bed.
The highlight of the day as we headed towards Mossel Bay was the beginning of the Garden Route. To many this route, which follows the N2 as it approaches Cape Town along the coast, is one of the most beautiful exhibitions of South Africa's best. Though hard to peg superlatives on any part of this amazing country, I won't deny that the sights the Garden Route offers are breathtaking. One of the more irresistible of these sights was Nature's Valley, a cut in the mountains at a large but quiet estuary. The brief and windy detour that it required was well worth the extra time, and we immensely enjoyed looking out over the quiet lake with its sights of feeding fish and enjoying the beach.
With the weight of many more kilometers left to go weighing heavily on my sensibilities, we tore off again, passing through countless seaside towns, including Port Elizabeth, a large harbor city that seemed to be a wonderful place to visit. Eventually we made it to Mossel Bay, which is located in the Western Cape, the province in which Cape Town lies. Like the guidebook had forwarned, the initial appearance of the Mossel Bay was very industrial, but only a slight amount of automotive perseverance brought us to downtown, which is at the end of a peninsula. There we watched as apparently warm-blooded surfers took on huge waves that crashed dangerously on nearby rocks. Though the wind was biting, Toukam and I enjoyed witnessing these great waves batter the rocks. Further along the road we found a path along the edge of a cliff over the water, where truly gigantic waves sent spray up for dozens of yards as they violently pounded the rocky cliff. It was quite a sght to see, and I could only think how appreciative ships must be for the cautioning lighthouse that stands in silent protection.
Though it was getting late, we couldn't resist the sign for an internet cafe, where I updates the blog. Having satiated our cyber appetites, our course took us to that night's lodging at the Santos Express. Quite unlike any backpackers I have ever stayed at, the Santos Express was a train, literally. At some point the owners had acquired the locomotive cars, which stand permanently stationary on a track next to a track currently in use by the town's industrial trains. When checking in, the receptionist warned us about the live track, but I had thought it had been a joke until we heard a train passing while unpacking. Enchanted with the uniqueness of our lodging and making due with its cramped nature, we got settled and decided to return to the surfer beach for dinner.
Recommended by the guide, the King Fisher restaurant sat on the second floor of a complex overlooking the ocean. Excruciatingly hungry, Toukam and I opted for a dinner more characteristic of a opulent feast. Ordering the "Full House" seafood platter, which included copious amounts of mussels, prawns, fish, crab, and calamari, we plunged headlong into Mossel Bay's best. Needless to say, we were thrilled with the meal and we left the establishment quite full and capable only of spending the rest of the night reading and taking it easy.
Waking the next day was marked with an overtone of sobriety, because it would be the day we return to square one- Cape Town. We fought off the potential discouragement from the ending of the Old School Adventure and loaded into the car after an enjoyable continental breakfast in the train. Back on N2 the Garden Route got into full steam and we were awed by sights of immaculate and endless green pastures covering rolling hills that transformed into dramatically rocky mountains in the distance. With the moving shadows from the rolling clouds constantly changing the lighting as we drove, South Africa seemed to be putting on a grand finale of beauty for two of her newest admirers.
We forwent the most direct path back to the Mother City and instead headed away from the coast, towards the Huguenot-founded town of Franschoek. Those loyal readers of the blog may recall that our first attempt at seeing the winelands was sadly sabotaged by rain, thus limiting us from seeing this town, which many consider to be the culinary capitol of all of South Africa. Ironically, it was again raining when we made our way into the foreboding mountains, taking hair-raising hairpin turns on wet cliff-sides. We refused to let the rain water-log our spirits and opted to lunch at a guidebook-recommended restaurant called Bouillabaisse.
The restaurant turned out to be wonderful, both in quality of food and aesthetics. Being a "concept" restaurant, it was small and intimate, with an open galley kitchen running the length of the rectangular diner. We were the only ones there, considering the early hour, and we enjoyed the peaceful setting to admire the funky blown-glass fish and sharp angles that added character to the place. For our food, I could do nothing but order the special for the day- unlimited mussels and frites. It was indeed as delicious and indulgent as it sounds, and I did not at all regret my decision.
At Bouillabaisse
Still having time to spare, Toukam suggested that we go to the local Huegonot museum which, though well done, was almost entirely in French, limiting my understanding. From what I could gather, the Hugonauts, a persecuted Protestant group in France, fled from their country and some of them arrived in the Cape at the bidding of the Dutch East India Company. Upon arrival, they were charged with the task of farming enough food to restock the Company's wayward ships. They were successful at this and established their own subculture in the Cape. However, despite their deep roots in the country, their French culture was somewhat muted by the future British colonists. I'm just thankful that their expertise with food survived til today.
Though we had put up a valiant attempt at stalling our return, the time came when all diversions were exhausted and we found ourselves in Cape Town's city limits, passing the eternally saddening townships as Table Mountain grew in the windshield. Cruising our way down the familiar streets, we arrived at the Backpack, our hostel for the next couple nights and the same one I stayed at prior to Toukam's arrival. For the rest of the day, we busied ourselves with internet cafes and packing before venturing out into the city for dinner at Addis in Cape, an Ethiopian restuarant we had had our eyes on for a while.
It turned out to be a wonderful place to have dinner. We ordered the set menu and were subsequently led through a panorama of no-utensiled foreign food, ranging from pork and lentils to baclava, Having had Ethiopian food only once before, it was a wondrously unique experience. After walking back to the hostel, we met some of our fellow roomies, one of whom turned out to be a huge fan of none other than Floyd McClung! He was in town for other business with a nonprofit, and he had been disappointed to not have been able to meet with Floyd. He and his friend, both from Switzerland, were very nice people and I enjoyed getting to know them before crashing to bed.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Dubious Durban
We woke up in St. Lucia knowing that there was more to see in Durban, so we headed out early, hoping to beat the Women's Day holiday traffic and see a little of the city before meeting up with Toukam's childhood friend from Camaroon, Patrick. On the road, we found ourselves yet again on an extortionist toll road, made acceptable by the fast speed at which we could drive on it. It was only about 250km to Durban, which meant about a 2.5 hour drive.
The guidebook that we had mentioned a sunday flea market that promised to wow us with its smorgasbord of local items, so we made our way to the sketchy and dirty city center, where we parked Aslan and set out on foot to the Durban exhibition center. It was only after a couple circuitous reroutes that Toukam and I found the flea market, which sprawled across the city center. The guidebook was indeed correct about the large amount of goods, but misled us about their diversity and quality. Unfortunately, it was all the same stuff we had seen sold at tourist shacks across the country. There was one delicious exception, though, and those were the freshly made Indian Samoosa's that we had for breakfast.
Still having a couple hours to spend before our rendezvous with Patrick, we walked to the beach which, though touted as a mugger's paradise, was pleasant enough and provided a distinct mark of progress when compared with the landlocked beginnings of our dual adventure. We relieved ourselves with some cool ice cream and talked about the large group of uniformed Methodist women, who had been singing gospel songs in front of the city hall in remembrance of Women's Day. Women's Day in South Africa memorializes a day in the 50's (?) when a huge group of women, both black and white, marched against the government, which had proposed making all women carry passes in order to move around the country. They were successful in the effort, and women around the country celebrate the victory each year.
As I mentioned, he lives in the Berea in a tall apartment building that proved to be quite stringent in its visitor policy. Right after we parked Patrick, a stout and taciturn Camaroonian, came out to greet us and I witnessed yet another longtime reunion between Toukam and one of his friends. He helped us with our bags and took us up to his third floor apartment, which had a good amount of windows. After getting comfortable, Patrick served us wine, cookies, and cake while catching up with Toukam and keeping the TV blaring the latest episode of Australian "Biggest Loser." We learned that he is a civil engineer and likes living in Durban, despite its grime.
By the time we had finished our homemade snacks, the door to the previously shut bedroom, which had been blasting music for the previous 30 minutes, opened and out came mPome, Patrick's live-in girlfriend. She greeted both of us with bubbling affection, embracing us warmly and allowing her facial expressions to fully convey her excitement at everything we said. Her eyes popped at the description of our past route across the country. Her mouth dropped, agape, at our descriptions of Kruger. Her shrieks of delight accompanied our tales of transnational drives. In short, she was a master of theater. Such lively responses were punctuated only by Patrick's shushing at intervals.
After some brief discussion about what to do that evening, mPome decided on the Box Bar, a hip and contemporary place up the coast about half an hour. Along the way, we listened to the beautiful music of Adele and got to know each-other more. At the bar, which featured two white guys playing Bob Marley and Johnny Cash covers, we had some delicious food and listened to mPome's dubious Zulu dating advice, which included admonitions to "experiment" around with other girls while dating one, as long as you don't get caught. Taking such wisdom with a grain of salt, we left the restaurant and Patrick brought us to a mall where we made some phone calls and saw the latest Harry Potter film, which didn't disappoint too much. By then it was late and we went back to the apartment, where I slept on a very comfortable futon.
The Stop on the Way
The rest of the day was made up of an excruciatingly long drive that took us up and down hills and through more villages. We had a brief roadside lunch and eventually, as the sun was going down, got into East London. It was a brief search before we got to the Sugar Shack, our accommodation for the night. It turned out to be a wonderful place- it was on the beach and nearly empty, so Toukam and I got to enjoy amazing views of the water and listen to the waves as we slept. We suffered yet another unsuccessful search for an internet cafe and comforted ourselves with some large grilled subs. The rest of the evening was fairly low key, and I got a little closer to the end of Karamazov.
Sugar Shack
The guidebook that we had mentioned a sunday flea market that promised to wow us with its smorgasbord of local items, so we made our way to the sketchy and dirty city center, where we parked Aslan and set out on foot to the Durban exhibition center. It was only after a couple circuitous reroutes that Toukam and I found the flea market, which sprawled across the city center. The guidebook was indeed correct about the large amount of goods, but misled us about their diversity and quality. Unfortunately, it was all the same stuff we had seen sold at tourist shacks across the country. There was one delicious exception, though, and those were the freshly made Indian Samoosa's that we had for breakfast.
The Fleamarket
Still having a couple hours to spend before our rendezvous with Patrick, we walked to the beach which, though touted as a mugger's paradise, was pleasant enough and provided a distinct mark of progress when compared with the landlocked beginnings of our dual adventure. We relieved ourselves with some cool ice cream and talked about the large group of uniformed Methodist women, who had been singing gospel songs in front of the city hall in remembrance of Women's Day. Women's Day in South Africa memorializes a day in the 50's (?) when a huge group of women, both black and white, marched against the government, which had proposed making all women carry passes in order to move around the country. They were successful in the effort, and women around the country celebrate the victory each year.
The Beach
Toukam and I were starting to get nervous about the dubious surroundings of Durban's city center, so we quickly took some photos of a famous mosque and cathedral (separate buildings) and drove northwards to the Berea, a more upscale suburb and the home of Patrick. After unsuccessfully searching for an internet cafe in a mall, we drove to a nearby park and had a pleasant lunch on the grass, and I even snuck in a quick nap. Soon, though, it was time to head to Patrick's place.
As I mentioned, he lives in the Berea in a tall apartment building that proved to be quite stringent in its visitor policy. Right after we parked Patrick, a stout and taciturn Camaroonian, came out to greet us and I witnessed yet another longtime reunion between Toukam and one of his friends. He helped us with our bags and took us up to his third floor apartment, which had a good amount of windows. After getting comfortable, Patrick served us wine, cookies, and cake while catching up with Toukam and keeping the TV blaring the latest episode of Australian "Biggest Loser." We learned that he is a civil engineer and likes living in Durban, despite its grime.
By the time we had finished our homemade snacks, the door to the previously shut bedroom, which had been blasting music for the previous 30 minutes, opened and out came mPome, Patrick's live-in girlfriend. She greeted both of us with bubbling affection, embracing us warmly and allowing her facial expressions to fully convey her excitement at everything we said. Her eyes popped at the description of our past route across the country. Her mouth dropped, agape, at our descriptions of Kruger. Her shrieks of delight accompanied our tales of transnational drives. In short, she was a master of theater. Such lively responses were punctuated only by Patrick's shushing at intervals.
After some brief discussion about what to do that evening, mPome decided on the Box Bar, a hip and contemporary place up the coast about half an hour. Along the way, we listened to the beautiful music of Adele and got to know each-other more. At the bar, which featured two white guys playing Bob Marley and Johnny Cash covers, we had some delicious food and listened to mPome's dubious Zulu dating advice, which included admonitions to "experiment" around with other girls while dating one, as long as you don't get caught. Taking such wisdom with a grain of salt, we left the restaurant and Patrick brought us to a mall where we made some phone calls and saw the latest Harry Potter film, which didn't disappoint too much. By then it was late and we went back to the apartment, where I slept on a very comfortable futon.
Patrick
It was yet another early morning when we left Durban, getting back on the same toll road and heading south along the coast. Passing beach after beach, we couldn't resist pulling off and exploring one, which proved to be a nice diversion. Among the tidal fisherman and bold morning swimmers, we glimpsed yet another area where South Africa proves to be incredibly beautiful. Such relaxing settings must have had a powerful effect on us, because we soon found ourselves off course after missing a turnoff. It was relitively easy to fix, and we took a shortcut that brought us through a bunch of little villages and gave Aslan yet another workout. All was well, though, when we got back on the N2 after about half an hour.
The Stop on the Way
The View from Sugar Shack
Sugar Shack
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Kruger Kreatures
Determined to take advantage of the common knowledge that wild animals are active at dawn, Toukam and I awoke well before the sun came up. We were disappointed to see that we were no cleverer than our fellow campers, and ended up being the fourth group to leave. Recovering from such a blow to our early morning dignity, the team headed back onto the paved road going Eastward into the center of Kruger. Though our self-drive safari was not as immediately gratifying as the day before, we started encountering animals after about an hour beginning with springbok and giraffes and eventually culminating in the morning's highlight of a herd of Buffalo crossing the road. They were the first of the "Big Five" animals that we would see. The other four are lions, leopards, rhinos, and elephants.
Buffalo
We stopped briefly at Satara, an inland camp area, for a hearty breakfast aptly entitled "Dawn Patrol" and a news update from the TV. Before long we were heading out on a dirt road, the S100, which Joel had recommended as having many animals. Our following his advice was soon rewarded when we came upon a large group of cars parked at a bend in the road. We consulted some of the enraptured drivers and found out that in a partially obscured ravine there was nothing other than an elusive leopard lounging by the river. Our binoculars worked perfectly, and we got a satisfactory glimpse at the great cat in all its relaxed glory.
Further along that same road, a dip in the road over a river gave us close views of the most dangerous of all the animals in the park- the hippo. There were about 5 of them almost completely submerged in the water, noticeable only by their quivering ears. On the other side of the road in the river were two sunbathing crocodiles, covered in caked mud. Finally, right when we were about to drive on, we spotted what I think is a monitor lizard but what Toukam claims is an iguana about 2 feet from the car. Perhaps a more biologically-minded reader can settle the argument.
Returning to the paved road once again, we faced about an hour without any significant sights. However, please don't be fooled by the "significant" part- by this time we had become desensitized to the otherwise-wondrous appearance of giraffes, zebras, kudu, wildabeest, warthogs, springbok, and every sort of bird. Just when we were on the edge of boredom, a watering hole brought the most memorable moment of the day.
As we passed on a raised levee on the side of a large watering hole, we witnessed a herd of elephants some 12 members large. They were perhaps 200 yards away, splashing around in the muddy water, flinging mud on their backs, and looking after the couple of baby elephants around. Awed by the sight, we got even more excited when the elephants moved closer to us and started scratching themselves on a tree. The grand finale, though, was when the entire herd started walking away from the watering hole- and directly toward the car! Luckily for our sense of safety, they were crossing behind the car, leaving our escape open, but the 20 foot difference between their location and ours made for some drama. As the largest elephant in the heard crossed with a baby in tow, it spotted Toukam, who was hanging out the window taking pictures. It stopped. Standing in the road, facing us, it started stomping its feet and flapping its ears, a definite sign of aggression. Toukam yelled for me to start driving, and I yelled at him to take more pictures. Luckily for us, the elephant calmed down, but the experience of having the largest living thing I have ever seen about to charge was quite exhilarating. The big one continued on and we watched as the rest of the herd crossed the road and disappeared into the bush.
Knowing that that experience would be hard to beat, we continued our search for the remaining two members of the Big Five, the hino and the lion. Over the next two hours, after grabbing some lunch at a bird-infested camp site, we spotted more animals including baboons, another leopard (this time camouflaged in a tree), and more antelope. To our joy, we finally came upon a group of cars that were all looking at a huge solitary rhino, which was lounging in the grass. It was the second rhino we had seen, but the first had been nearly impossible to see. Feeling like we could perhaps pull off seeing all 5 in one day of driving, we neared the southern border of the park. With about 20km left to go, we encountered another, though smaller, herd of elephants grazing on some trees. These ones were less aggressive and passed right in front of some cars without incident.
We continued. Upon getting to the 5km mark before the gate, Toukam and I began to lose hope in finding a lion. However, in a dramatic moment of poetic justice, we happened upon another group of cars. We whispered prayers for lions and we were vindicated upon hearing from a fellow driver that, far away and barely visible, a solitary lion was lounging on a bank of sand. Though perhaps not the ideal way of seeing one, we were thrilled to have seen every one of the Big Five, with only 2km to spare of the 250 we drove!
Happy with our Kruger experience, we exited from a southern gate and headed towards Jeppes Reef, a border post with Swaziland. Oddly, we first passed through a lush golf course, complete with properly-dressed golfers teeing off, a sight I found strange in the middle of Africa. Heading towards the border, we were hoping to get Toukam into Swaziland somehow, despite his not having a proper visa. It was a bet against the capability of Swaziland border officials, and our hourlong detour was met with much time crossing borders, but only South African ones. The Swaziland authorities noticed the lack of a visa and we turned back. In the midst of our international disappointment, though, we were cheered by a South African official who went out of his way to shake Toukam's hand and tell him that he really respects all Camaroonians.
With daylight fading quickly, we made our way to Barberton, our base for the night. It was a two hour drive and it was dark when we got to the town. Calling the tourist office, we were directed to the Phoenix Hotel, where we ended up staying for the night. Comforted by its nomenclature being so reminiscent of home, we got settled and had dinner in the empty hotel restaurant. The special, chicken schnitzel, was alright, and it was priced at a wonderful 5 dollars. Halfway through the meal a portly and tipsy Briton, limping and wincing from the pain of his pulled back, came up and introduced himself as the owner of the hotel. He was kind enough to offer a lot of travel advice and, upon hearing of my plan to leave Toukam at the border while I spent the day exploring Swaziland and then drive to Durban in one day, strongly urged us to skip Swaziland and make headway towards Durban. According to his advice, our current course would have us only driving and not seeing anything. Bummed at the removal of Swaziland from the next day's plans, I agreed to take his advice and we modified our plans so that we would be driving to St. Lucia, a town about 2 hours east of Durban along the highway.
Before heading to St. Lucia the next morning, we took some photos at the first stock exchange in South Africa, located in Barberton and founded in the 1800's. Though quite lame, it was fun to connect with the beginnings of South Africa's financial history. From there, all I can say was that we spent nearly 9 hours driving down the highway, stopping in Piet Retief for a KFC lunch, and wading through endless construction. Eventually, as we neared the end of our nerves, we got to St. Lucia, which lies on a drying estuary along the coast. We drove to the town and had a delicious dinner at Fishy Pete's, which touted the slogan of "Fish so fresh, their next of kin don't know they're here yet." We enjoyed some cheap but delicious seafood kababs before driving to a Zulu town a little outside St. Lucia, where we slept in a slightly dilapidated backpackers hotel, complete with floors covered with tile-patterned paper. As we fell asleep in the humid air, I thought about what the arrival in St. Lucia meant- the begging of the end of our Old School Adventure.
Buffalo
We stopped briefly at Satara, an inland camp area, for a hearty breakfast aptly entitled "Dawn Patrol" and a news update from the TV. Before long we were heading out on a dirt road, the S100, which Joel had recommended as having many animals. Our following his advice was soon rewarded when we came upon a large group of cars parked at a bend in the road. We consulted some of the enraptured drivers and found out that in a partially obscured ravine there was nothing other than an elusive leopard lounging by the river. Our binoculars worked perfectly, and we got a satisfactory glimpse at the great cat in all its relaxed glory.
Further along that same road, a dip in the road over a river gave us close views of the most dangerous of all the animals in the park- the hippo. There were about 5 of them almost completely submerged in the water, noticeable only by their quivering ears. On the other side of the road in the river were two sunbathing crocodiles, covered in caked mud. Finally, right when we were about to drive on, we spotted what I think is a monitor lizard but what Toukam claims is an iguana about 2 feet from the car. Perhaps a more biologically-minded reader can settle the argument.
Returning to the paved road once again, we faced about an hour without any significant sights. However, please don't be fooled by the "significant" part- by this time we had become desensitized to the otherwise-wondrous appearance of giraffes, zebras, kudu, wildabeest, warthogs, springbok, and every sort of bird. Just when we were on the edge of boredom, a watering hole brought the most memorable moment of the day.
As we passed on a raised levee on the side of a large watering hole, we witnessed a herd of elephants some 12 members large. They were perhaps 200 yards away, splashing around in the muddy water, flinging mud on their backs, and looking after the couple of baby elephants around. Awed by the sight, we got even more excited when the elephants moved closer to us and started scratching themselves on a tree. The grand finale, though, was when the entire herd started walking away from the watering hole- and directly toward the car! Luckily for our sense of safety, they were crossing behind the car, leaving our escape open, but the 20 foot difference between their location and ours made for some drama. As the largest elephant in the heard crossed with a baby in tow, it spotted Toukam, who was hanging out the window taking pictures. It stopped. Standing in the road, facing us, it started stomping its feet and flapping its ears, a definite sign of aggression. Toukam yelled for me to start driving, and I yelled at him to take more pictures. Luckily for us, the elephant calmed down, but the experience of having the largest living thing I have ever seen about to charge was quite exhilarating. The big one continued on and we watched as the rest of the herd crossed the road and disappeared into the bush.
Ready to Charge
We continued. Upon getting to the 5km mark before the gate, Toukam and I began to lose hope in finding a lion. However, in a dramatic moment of poetic justice, we happened upon another group of cars. We whispered prayers for lions and we were vindicated upon hearing from a fellow driver that, far away and barely visible, a solitary lion was lounging on a bank of sand. Though perhaps not the ideal way of seeing one, we were thrilled to have seen every one of the Big Five, with only 2km to spare of the 250 we drove!
Happy with our Kruger experience, we exited from a southern gate and headed towards Jeppes Reef, a border post with Swaziland. Oddly, we first passed through a lush golf course, complete with properly-dressed golfers teeing off, a sight I found strange in the middle of Africa. Heading towards the border, we were hoping to get Toukam into Swaziland somehow, despite his not having a proper visa. It was a bet against the capability of Swaziland border officials, and our hourlong detour was met with much time crossing borders, but only South African ones. The Swaziland authorities noticed the lack of a visa and we turned back. In the midst of our international disappointment, though, we were cheered by a South African official who went out of his way to shake Toukam's hand and tell him that he really respects all Camaroonians.
With daylight fading quickly, we made our way to Barberton, our base for the night. It was a two hour drive and it was dark when we got to the town. Calling the tourist office, we were directed to the Phoenix Hotel, where we ended up staying for the night. Comforted by its nomenclature being so reminiscent of home, we got settled and had dinner in the empty hotel restaurant. The special, chicken schnitzel, was alright, and it was priced at a wonderful 5 dollars. Halfway through the meal a portly and tipsy Briton, limping and wincing from the pain of his pulled back, came up and introduced himself as the owner of the hotel. He was kind enough to offer a lot of travel advice and, upon hearing of my plan to leave Toukam at the border while I spent the day exploring Swaziland and then drive to Durban in one day, strongly urged us to skip Swaziland and make headway towards Durban. According to his advice, our current course would have us only driving and not seeing anything. Bummed at the removal of Swaziland from the next day's plans, I agreed to take his advice and we modified our plans so that we would be driving to St. Lucia, a town about 2 hours east of Durban along the highway.
Before heading to St. Lucia the next morning, we took some photos at the first stock exchange in South Africa, located in Barberton and founded in the 1800's. Though quite lame, it was fun to connect with the beginnings of South Africa's financial history. From there, all I can say was that we spent nearly 9 hours driving down the highway, stopping in Piet Retief for a KFC lunch, and wading through endless construction. Eventually, as we neared the end of our nerves, we got to St. Lucia, which lies on a drying estuary along the coast. We drove to the town and had a delicious dinner at Fishy Pete's, which touted the slogan of "Fish so fresh, their next of kin don't know they're here yet." We enjoyed some cheap but delicious seafood kababs before driving to a Zulu town a little outside St. Lucia, where we slept in a slightly dilapidated backpackers hotel, complete with floors covered with tile-patterned paper. As we fell asleep in the humid air, I thought about what the arrival in St. Lucia meant- the begging of the end of our Old School Adventure.
The Stock Exchange
The Breathtaking Bush
With the unyielding sound of my alarm clock at 6AM we awoke and prepared for yet another day brought forth with much driving. Luckily for us, the process of leaving was unhindered, as the manager was awake and could unlock the gate for the car. Our journey started off with success as we made our way back to the highway without any misdirection, a marked difference from the night before. To our shock, rush hour was in full swing at 7AM for commuters heading to JoBurg, which was the opposite direction from our course, thankfully.
The land flattened out as we passed through some more toll booths and all was going well until we realized that our gas ("petrol") was getting low and found out that the next gas station on the route was out of range, according to a toll attendant. Sobered by this fact but energized by the break in the monotony, my fearless navigator rerouted us to Butha Butha, a large town about 20km off the main highway. It was a pleasant place, although the pungently permeating smoke from the nearby townships offered asthma-inducing coughs, and we got our fill of gas, supplies, and cheap scones for breakfast.
On our way back to the highway we passed by a handful of shacks selling everything from biltong to fresh ginger ale, and it was only with the greatest effort that we resisted such temptation. Once back on the highway, it was two more hours until we arrived at the provincial capitol of Limpopo, Polokwane. It was there that we met up with Toukam's friend from his days at DePauw University in Indiana and current Peace Corps volunteer, Joel. Joel was in the town for his weekly run for supplies like bananas and toilet paper, and we happily agreed to join him on his errand running after a joyful reunion between him and Toukam.
After a refreshing snack of soft serve ice cream, Joel took off to pick up some mended shoes while Toukam and I talked at a local coffee shop. Before long, Joel was back and ready to take us to his village, which was about 50 minutes' drive away. To my delight, he offered to drive, and I got an extremely rare chance to actually ride in a car instead of drive it. The drive itself was pleasant as we meandered through low mountains and passed through sprawling towns.
Joel's village, called Ntooseng, is populated by about 300 hundred families, has a primary and high school, and needs a lot of help. The Peace Corps sent Joel there to work with a woman named Mama Mavis, who has started a program with Maringa Trees, which have enough protein and vitamins to help families with just one tree get all the nutritious supplements they need. In addition to that work, he helps with a "drop in" center, where orphaned children can get a meal, and teaches a lifestyle ("awakening") class at the high school. He was gracious enough to host the both of us for the day and night, and it was an incredible experience.
As he took us around the village, greeting fellow residents in their native language, and allowed us to glimpse into the life he has been living for a year and a half. At the drop in center, we got to meet a group of volunteer ladies who work tirelessly to help the orphans and see the garden where they grow vegetables and Maringa trees. To top it all off, we got to have a meal of the food they had given the orphans, a combination of beans and corn meal, which we ate with our hands, which was a lot of fun.
The Garden
Back at Joel's place, we chatted while some local kids climbed all over Aslan and touched Toukam and my hair and face. The weather was pleasantly warm, and I enjoyed hearing more about what sort of experience Joel has had. His living quarters, consisting of a room and concrete living area, are cheerfully decorated but notably sparse in luxuries like running water, sinks, counters, and much electricity. For dinner, we went over to Mama Mavis' house, where we ate some curry that Joel had made along with rice and salad that the Mavis family had prepared. We also got to meet Mama Mavis, who had the air of a supremely loving person who has and continues to work tirelessly for the benefit of others. We returned to Joel's home where we enjoyed a smoldering fire outside and more conversation. Exhausted, I turned in to bed and left the two old friends to catch up.
Up with the dawn the next morning, Toukam and I took some time to experience another aspect of Joel's life- sponge baths. Since there isn't any running water, bathing is reduced to a bucket of water, procured from the town's water tap and partially boiled in a water boiler, and a wash cloth. This process, executed in the living area of Joel's home, was an interesting experience, and I resolved never to complain about a lack of pressure or cleanliness from any running shower I will ever encounter again.
We quickly said goodbye to Mama Mavis and dropped off Joel at the high school before getting back on the road, this time to the east with Kruger National Park as our destination. The beginning of the long drive was a monotonous sea of villages, but soon the mountains got bigger and we found ourselves in Blyde River Canyon, a dramatic opening between mountains that is rumored to be the third largest in the world. At a lookout called Three Rondavals, Toukam and I took in breathtaking views of the canyon, with the Olifants river raging below.
Next up was God's Window, another lookout, this time from the cliff-like edge of a plateau looking out onto a huge forest below. Though it was an impressive sight, it was hard to compare with Three Rondavals. It was frightening, though, when our departure was nearly completely sealed off by a screaming mob of South African school children.
It was a couple more hours on a twisty road that ran though tall forests of pine trees before we turned off onto an abandoned road that took us through the Orpen Gate and into Kruger National Park. The fee to get in was slightly exorbitant, but it was soon rendered worthwhile as our first half hour in the park was met with a wildebeest, springbok, and giraffes. We only had an hour before getting back to our camp site, which was quite crowded, and we had high hopes for the next day, which would be almost entirely composed of driving around the park.
Finding a grill at the campsite, we opted for a dinner consisting of something meatier than peanut butter and honey. It was a quick drive back to the gate, where we found a shop that sold marinated kabobs and, to my delight, springbok pelts. I picked one up for a decent price, and I look forward to the shocked looks that Columbia liberals will give when they come into my dorm room this year. Haha
After some significant foibles in making the fire start and remain lit without the grill falling down and spilling the fire all over the ground, we got it to the coals and began grilling the succulent skewers. They turned out deliciously and we enjoyed a very luxurious meal at the campsite. We spent the rest of the evening talking and getting some heat from the dying flames, eventually taking refuge from the cold in our tent. The next day was fraught with possibilities of wildlife encounters, and it did not disappoint.
And finally, the promised photo of Toukam and I on our horses in Lesotho:
The land flattened out as we passed through some more toll booths and all was going well until we realized that our gas ("petrol") was getting low and found out that the next gas station on the route was out of range, according to a toll attendant. Sobered by this fact but energized by the break in the monotony, my fearless navigator rerouted us to Butha Butha, a large town about 20km off the main highway. It was a pleasant place, although the pungently permeating smoke from the nearby townships offered asthma-inducing coughs, and we got our fill of gas, supplies, and cheap scones for breakfast.
On our way back to the highway we passed by a handful of shacks selling everything from biltong to fresh ginger ale, and it was only with the greatest effort that we resisted such temptation. Once back on the highway, it was two more hours until we arrived at the provincial capitol of Limpopo, Polokwane. It was there that we met up with Toukam's friend from his days at DePauw University in Indiana and current Peace Corps volunteer, Joel. Joel was in the town for his weekly run for supplies like bananas and toilet paper, and we happily agreed to join him on his errand running after a joyful reunion between him and Toukam.
After a refreshing snack of soft serve ice cream, Joel took off to pick up some mended shoes while Toukam and I talked at a local coffee shop. Before long, Joel was back and ready to take us to his village, which was about 50 minutes' drive away. To my delight, he offered to drive, and I got an extremely rare chance to actually ride in a car instead of drive it. The drive itself was pleasant as we meandered through low mountains and passed through sprawling towns.
Joel's village, called Ntooseng, is populated by about 300 hundred families, has a primary and high school, and needs a lot of help. The Peace Corps sent Joel there to work with a woman named Mama Mavis, who has started a program with Maringa Trees, which have enough protein and vitamins to help families with just one tree get all the nutritious supplements they need. In addition to that work, he helps with a "drop in" center, where orphaned children can get a meal, and teaches a lifestyle ("awakening") class at the high school. He was gracious enough to host the both of us for the day and night, and it was an incredible experience.
As he took us around the village, greeting fellow residents in their native language, and allowed us to glimpse into the life he has been living for a year and a half. At the drop in center, we got to meet a group of volunteer ladies who work tirelessly to help the orphans and see the garden where they grow vegetables and Maringa trees. To top it all off, we got to have a meal of the food they had given the orphans, a combination of beans and corn meal, which we ate with our hands, which was a lot of fun.
Ditching the Fork
The Garden
Back at Joel's place, we chatted while some local kids climbed all over Aslan and touched Toukam and my hair and face. The weather was pleasantly warm, and I enjoyed hearing more about what sort of experience Joel has had. His living quarters, consisting of a room and concrete living area, are cheerfully decorated but notably sparse in luxuries like running water, sinks, counters, and much electricity. For dinner, we went over to Mama Mavis' house, where we ate some curry that Joel had made along with rice and salad that the Mavis family had prepared. We also got to meet Mama Mavis, who had the air of a supremely loving person who has and continues to work tirelessly for the benefit of others. We returned to Joel's home where we enjoyed a smoldering fire outside and more conversation. Exhausted, I turned in to bed and left the two old friends to catch up.
Joel's Pad
Up with the dawn the next morning, Toukam and I took some time to experience another aspect of Joel's life- sponge baths. Since there isn't any running water, bathing is reduced to a bucket of water, procured from the town's water tap and partially boiled in a water boiler, and a wash cloth. This process, executed in the living area of Joel's home, was an interesting experience, and I resolved never to complain about a lack of pressure or cleanliness from any running shower I will ever encounter again.
Getting Water
We quickly said goodbye to Mama Mavis and dropped off Joel at the high school before getting back on the road, this time to the east with Kruger National Park as our destination. The beginning of the long drive was a monotonous sea of villages, but soon the mountains got bigger and we found ourselves in Blyde River Canyon, a dramatic opening between mountains that is rumored to be the third largest in the world. At a lookout called Three Rondavals, Toukam and I took in breathtaking views of the canyon, with the Olifants river raging below.
Next up was God's Window, another lookout, this time from the cliff-like edge of a plateau looking out onto a huge forest below. Though it was an impressive sight, it was hard to compare with Three Rondavals. It was frightening, though, when our departure was nearly completely sealed off by a screaming mob of South African school children.
It was a couple more hours on a twisty road that ran though tall forests of pine trees before we turned off onto an abandoned road that took us through the Orpen Gate and into Kruger National Park. The fee to get in was slightly exorbitant, but it was soon rendered worthwhile as our first half hour in the park was met with a wildebeest, springbok, and giraffes. We only had an hour before getting back to our camp site, which was quite crowded, and we had high hopes for the next day, which would be almost entirely composed of driving around the park.
Wildabeest
Finding a grill at the campsite, we opted for a dinner consisting of something meatier than peanut butter and honey. It was a quick drive back to the gate, where we found a shop that sold marinated kabobs and, to my delight, springbok pelts. I picked one up for a decent price, and I look forward to the shocked looks that Columbia liberals will give when they come into my dorm room this year. Haha
At the grill (Sorry about the layout)
After some significant foibles in making the fire start and remain lit without the grill falling down and spilling the fire all over the ground, we got it to the coals and began grilling the succulent skewers. They turned out deliciously and we enjoyed a very luxurious meal at the campsite. We spent the rest of the evening talking and getting some heat from the dying flames, eventually taking refuge from the cold in our tent. The next day was fraught with possibilities of wildlife encounters, and it did not disappoint.
And finally, the promised photo of Toukam and I on our horses in Lesotho:
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Small Town, Big City
Waking up with the dawn at Malealea lodge in Lesotho, Toukam and I hurriedly took pressure-less showers and packed up the Corolla, getting into the furious pace that had come to define the trip. Toukam paid for the room, dinner, and horse ride while I warmed up the car, which had frosted over in the Lesotho night. Soon we were bouncing along the dirt road, passing by Paradise Gate, and charging down the paved road eastwards.
The main highway was as potholed as ever, so we took our time as we explored scenic routes that took us through poverty-stricken towns and fist-clenchingly close calls with animals of all types. In some of the towns, we saw Chinese owned stores, which reminded us of our guides words the previous day, when he told us how the Chinese have build clothing factories all around Lesotho, which pay nearly nothing and work the people to the bone. It is so sad to see such advantage-taking going on, but interesting to see how far the reaches of Chinese industry go.
After an hour or two of driving, we were faced with the capitol, Maseru, which was essentially a huge town, with the same huts and poor roads, but on a huge scale. Declining to explore (get lost in) the city center, we bypassed the most crowded bits and continued on the Lesotho highway, which pretty much skirts the border with South Africa.
We rolled over hills and valleys while admiring the continued views of large snow capped mountains and colorfully dressed locals. Interestingly, we were stopped at a police checkpoint, where they inspected my documentation and waved me through- I guess there's a problem with license-less drivers in Lesotho. It was only another hour or so before we reached the quiet border post, which we went through without hindrance and made our way to Fouriesburg, a border town where we hoped to find lunch.
Our first attempt, the Windmill Cafe, was closed, but after consulting a French-speaking Portuguese shop owner, we got to a local hotel where Toukam got a cheeseburger that required more of a separation between "cheese" and "burger", because it was simply a burger with a cold slab of cheese on top. It was a pleasant lunch and we were soon on our way to our home for the night- Clarens.
The drive to Clarens was short but incredibly scenic, and when we arrived we were faced with a multitude of art shops, which ranged from trendy to aboriginal. Our browsing took up some time, and we eventually got some home made biltong (South African beef jerky) and enjoyed its salty flavors as we continued. Without finding anything worth buying, we began our search for our accommodation for the night: Clarens Inn.
After a couple passes on a dirt road, we came upon the "inn", which was much more like an abandoned military compound in appearance. Finding the manager out back chopping some trees town, we got ourselves sorted out in our mildly smelly dorm room. Our initial suspicions about the place were soon assuaged as we got to know Kevin and Andre, the two people running the place. They were both incredibly nice and hospitable, attributes that were made clear as they arranged a braii (BBQ) with the guests and built a huge bonfire for our temperature needs. Toukam and I accompanied Kevin to the butcher, where we picked out the evening's grub and listened to Kevin's horror stories from living in JoBurg. Back at the hostel, the fire was in full swing and Kevin took it upon himself to cook all of the food himself, much to our pleasure.
With all the hard stuff taken care of, we sat around the fire sipping the complimentary sherry and meeting our fellow guests, who included a grad student couple from Duke who were studying liberal arts (they wouldn't say anything more specific), a woman whose family was from Zimbabwe but was driven to live in Mozambique, and a woman from Clarens who was friends with Kevin and Andre. We had some great conversation, made better by Andre's skillful playing of a didgeridoo and Nate and Nathalia's (the couple from Duke) tales of two wheel drive mishaps in both South Africa and Swaziland.
As it got late, Toukam and I did a payphone run and retired to bed. Knowing we wanted to get to JoBurg as early as possible, we awoke before dawn, quickly showered, and got on the road. Before getting to the capitol, though, we drove through Golden Gate Park, one of the few national parks in existence because of natural beauty instead of wildlife. It was a very pleasant drive and we enjoyed all the views we had of the cliffs as we twisted and turned down the road trying not to be blinded by the new sun.
Before long we were on the fast moving toll road that would take us into the heart of JoBurg. It took about 3 hours to get to the city, and the drive was pretty boring. Upon arrival, Toukam nearly perfectly directed us to the Apartheid Museum, which was in the south of the city. We spent about 4 hours at the museum, which was incredible and featured a large special exhibit on the life and accomplishments of Nelson Mandela. Perhaps the most poignant part of the museum was its entrance, which had separate doors for whites and blacks- your race was assigned by the ticketer. As Toukam and I entered in separate doors (He was white, I was black), we started the process of learning a ton about life in South Africa when the government did its best to separate the different races in every way possible. In addition to its educational value, the museum had a profound impact, and I left feeling a lot more informed and emotionally connected to this country.
With the fear of carjacking and mugging in our hearts, we made a beeline to Sandton, a very wealthy northern suburb where Brian, Toukam's friend, lives. Before meeting up with Brian, though we returned my rental satellite phone, which was a process fraught with incompetence. Soon after getting the phone off my hands Brian had arrived and he and Toukam were soon sharing stories from their time together in Cameroonian boarding school. He decided to take us on a tour of that part of JoBurg in his new red BMW, blasting French pop music the whole way.
The first stop was Mandela Square, the location of a huge upscale mall and one of the best hotels in JoBurg. We had a quick lunch there before we had a whirlwind tour of Hyde Park, the most exclusive and expensive of JoBurg's suburbs. There we found huge houses that were surrounded by gigantic walls of more than 20 feet with electrified tops and guards posted at every entrance. It was like exploring a compound of modern day castles, where defense was the main priority.
We relaxed at Brian's bachelor pad and eventually decided to get back on the road before rush hour got too bad. We were staying in Pretoria, so it was about a two hour drive north through construction-hindered roads before we got to the city, but had not the faintest idea of how to get to the hostel. As the sun set, we found that the directions that the hostel people were giving us were completely wrong resulting in about half an hour of running around before getting to the hostel, which was nothing more than a large house run by some African teenagers. The price was right and after unpacking we went to a nearby square to get dinner. We found out later that we ate in the college nightlife center of the city, which explained the crowded bars on a Tuesday night. Our Italian food was filling and we topped it off with an internet cafe visit.
It wasn't long after we got a parking spot back at the hostel that we were falling asleep while trying to carry on a conversation with an extremely talkative Dutch traveller. He had arrived in Swaziland and was making his way to Cape Town by Baz Bus, an Australian hop on hop off service around South Africa, where he would go on an overland tour through southern Africa, much like the one I mentioned in my first post. Finally he decided to cease his talking and we were quickly asleep, though our initial slumber was interrupted by more roommates coming in later.
The main highway was as potholed as ever, so we took our time as we explored scenic routes that took us through poverty-stricken towns and fist-clenchingly close calls with animals of all types. In some of the towns, we saw Chinese owned stores, which reminded us of our guides words the previous day, when he told us how the Chinese have build clothing factories all around Lesotho, which pay nearly nothing and work the people to the bone. It is so sad to see such advantage-taking going on, but interesting to see how far the reaches of Chinese industry go.
After an hour or two of driving, we were faced with the capitol, Maseru, which was essentially a huge town, with the same huts and poor roads, but on a huge scale. Declining to explore (get lost in) the city center, we bypassed the most crowded bits and continued on the Lesotho highway, which pretty much skirts the border with South Africa.
We rolled over hills and valleys while admiring the continued views of large snow capped mountains and colorfully dressed locals. Interestingly, we were stopped at a police checkpoint, where they inspected my documentation and waved me through- I guess there's a problem with license-less drivers in Lesotho. It was only another hour or so before we reached the quiet border post, which we went through without hindrance and made our way to Fouriesburg, a border town where we hoped to find lunch.
Our first attempt, the Windmill Cafe, was closed, but after consulting a French-speaking Portuguese shop owner, we got to a local hotel where Toukam got a cheeseburger that required more of a separation between "cheese" and "burger", because it was simply a burger with a cold slab of cheese on top. It was a pleasant lunch and we were soon on our way to our home for the night- Clarens.
The drive to Clarens was short but incredibly scenic, and when we arrived we were faced with a multitude of art shops, which ranged from trendy to aboriginal. Our browsing took up some time, and we eventually got some home made biltong (South African beef jerky) and enjoyed its salty flavors as we continued. Without finding anything worth buying, we began our search for our accommodation for the night: Clarens Inn.
After a couple passes on a dirt road, we came upon the "inn", which was much more like an abandoned military compound in appearance. Finding the manager out back chopping some trees town, we got ourselves sorted out in our mildly smelly dorm room. Our initial suspicions about the place were soon assuaged as we got to know Kevin and Andre, the two people running the place. They were both incredibly nice and hospitable, attributes that were made clear as they arranged a braii (BBQ) with the guests and built a huge bonfire for our temperature needs. Toukam and I accompanied Kevin to the butcher, where we picked out the evening's grub and listened to Kevin's horror stories from living in JoBurg. Back at the hostel, the fire was in full swing and Kevin took it upon himself to cook all of the food himself, much to our pleasure.
With all the hard stuff taken care of, we sat around the fire sipping the complimentary sherry and meeting our fellow guests, who included a grad student couple from Duke who were studying liberal arts (they wouldn't say anything more specific), a woman whose family was from Zimbabwe but was driven to live in Mozambique, and a woman from Clarens who was friends with Kevin and Andre. We had some great conversation, made better by Andre's skillful playing of a didgeridoo and Nate and Nathalia's (the couple from Duke) tales of two wheel drive mishaps in both South Africa and Swaziland.
As it got late, Toukam and I did a payphone run and retired to bed. Knowing we wanted to get to JoBurg as early as possible, we awoke before dawn, quickly showered, and got on the road. Before getting to the capitol, though, we drove through Golden Gate Park, one of the few national parks in existence because of natural beauty instead of wildlife. It was a very pleasant drive and we enjoyed all the views we had of the cliffs as we twisted and turned down the road trying not to be blinded by the new sun.
Before long we were on the fast moving toll road that would take us into the heart of JoBurg. It took about 3 hours to get to the city, and the drive was pretty boring. Upon arrival, Toukam nearly perfectly directed us to the Apartheid Museum, which was in the south of the city. We spent about 4 hours at the museum, which was incredible and featured a large special exhibit on the life and accomplishments of Nelson Mandela. Perhaps the most poignant part of the museum was its entrance, which had separate doors for whites and blacks- your race was assigned by the ticketer. As Toukam and I entered in separate doors (He was white, I was black), we started the process of learning a ton about life in South Africa when the government did its best to separate the different races in every way possible. In addition to its educational value, the museum had a profound impact, and I left feeling a lot more informed and emotionally connected to this country.
With the fear of carjacking and mugging in our hearts, we made a beeline to Sandton, a very wealthy northern suburb where Brian, Toukam's friend, lives. Before meeting up with Brian, though we returned my rental satellite phone, which was a process fraught with incompetence. Soon after getting the phone off my hands Brian had arrived and he and Toukam were soon sharing stories from their time together in Cameroonian boarding school. He decided to take us on a tour of that part of JoBurg in his new red BMW, blasting French pop music the whole way.
The first stop was Mandela Square, the location of a huge upscale mall and one of the best hotels in JoBurg. We had a quick lunch there before we had a whirlwind tour of Hyde Park, the most exclusive and expensive of JoBurg's suburbs. There we found huge houses that were surrounded by gigantic walls of more than 20 feet with electrified tops and guards posted at every entrance. It was like exploring a compound of modern day castles, where defense was the main priority.
We relaxed at Brian's bachelor pad and eventually decided to get back on the road before rush hour got too bad. We were staying in Pretoria, so it was about a two hour drive north through construction-hindered roads before we got to the city, but had not the faintest idea of how to get to the hostel. As the sun set, we found that the directions that the hostel people were giving us were completely wrong resulting in about half an hour of running around before getting to the hostel, which was nothing more than a large house run by some African teenagers. The price was right and after unpacking we went to a nearby square to get dinner. We found out later that we ate in the college nightlife center of the city, which explained the crowded bars on a Tuesday night. Our Italian food was filling and we topped it off with an internet cafe visit.
It wasn't long after we got a parking spot back at the hostel that we were falling asleep while trying to carry on a conversation with an extremely talkative Dutch traveller. He had arrived in Swaziland and was making his way to Cape Town by Baz Bus, an Australian hop on hop off service around South Africa, where he would go on an overland tour through southern Africa, much like the one I mentioned in my first post. Finally he decided to cease his talking and we were quickly asleep, though our initial slumber was interrupted by more roommates coming in later.
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