Milford Sound Check

http://migrate08.wordpress.com/2008/02/16/milford-sound-check/

Hey there, Delilah

http://migrate08.wordpress.com/2008/02/13/hey-there-delilah/

Platkins: One team, One dream, One blog- Laura rejoins the first world

***Note: For the next month, I will be posting the link to Rachel & Greg's blog (Migrate '08) as we have merged our blogs for convenience's sake:
www.migrate08.wordpress.com. Enjoy!***

Soooo, although we have been trying to be as inconspicuous as possible in an effort to avoid the American stereotype (one day after getting yelled at by an angry Austrian, we even contemplated sewing those silly maple leaf patches onto our backpacks), there finally came a day that we were able to walk down the street, bursting with American pride: Superbowl Monday. After managing to find every other American in Sydney by 10 am at a little known bar called “Cheers” (featuring drunken study abroad students screaming “I miss Americaaaaaaaaa!” every 5 minutes) we watched with pride, Budweisers in hand…until the Patriots lost. We then drowned our sorrows in platefuls of noodles in nearby Chinatown, and went directly back to the hostel to nap off the bitter taste of loss, and too much MSG.

We rose early the next day, determined to forget the blurry, smug look on Eli Manning’s face, and hopped on bus 381 to Bondi Beach. The misery of the day before quickly faded as we spent two glorious days sunning ourselves, and drinking green tea smoothies on the beach. After the sun decided that Greg’s skin wasn’t already charred enough, we made our way back to Sydney to meet Laura, who had just arrived fresh off of the African continent. Worried that the third world may have changed Laura in many ways, it was comforting to see that some things really don’t change, as our first order of business was celebrating with two rounds of roo steaks and sausages. It wasn’t long before the first bottle of South African wine was opened, for there was much catching up to do. After many stories and many laughs, we gave Laura a brief moonlit tour of our favorite Sydney harbour and scoped out where we would be dining the following night- our last night in Sydney. As it turned out, the prices at McDonald’s were unrivaled.

After waking Laura up from her jetlag coma, we were out and about in an attempt to finally see the Harbour Bridge before another rainy day began. We were lucky that the overcast skies held out, and after a nice stroll to the bridge (of course after a delicious and cheap breakfast as Hungry Jacks/Subway—the first of many healthy meals of the day), we were able to walk across the bridge and climb of the Pylon Tower.

The view was spectacular and of course, we took far too many pictures. We then said farewell to the Opera House and the Royal Botanical Gardens. After climbing the 200+ stairs to the bridge, we were in dire need of sustenance, so we reprised our noodle run in Chinatown. We capped off our evening at Scubar, with a small taste of Australian nightlife, and a big pitchers of Victoria Bitter.

In the spirit of recently formed team Platkins, from this point forward there will be a merging of the blogs- Muzungulo will be on hiatus for a month, as all of our experiences will live on Migrate08 (or “Our great 08”??). We are off to N Zed tomorrow to hopefully rent a campervan to aid us in our search for Hobbits. As none of us have ever achieved the trifecta of driving a manual campervan on the opposite of the road, the next two weeks should prove to be quite the adventure!

I Heart Cape Town

I really do. Wow, where to begin, I’ve been doing so much here. It’s been so nice not only just to have Alika and Talita’s company, but also of course the added bonus that they know their way around the city. They’ve both been fabulous tour guides of sorts. So after our jam-packed day driving around the Cape of Good Hope on Thursday, I had a bit of lovely beach time on Friday late morning, and then Alika and her friend Shaianne picked me up to take me to the Waterfront, a lively area of shops, restaurants, live music, tourist attractions situated around the harbor. First we stopped at a favorite local café, Vida e Caffe, for excellent coffee and the biggest, most delicious muffins I’ve ever had. Then we wandered around, went into the Apartheid museum, which while interesting of course, I was told used to have a much better display. But I was able to book a ticket for a tour on Robben Island for Sunday afternoon, which when I had called about when I first arrived in town was sold out for the following two weeks! We did a bit of window shopping in the big, beautiful mall (I know, I can’t believe I just wrote “beautiful” and “mall” in the same sentence, but the mall really is beautiful, and coming from East Africa, I do now have a smidge of appreciation for just well built structures!), then went to buy tickets for a 5pm catamaran cruise with unlimited champagne! Talita was racing to join us and literally and frustratingly just missed the boat! But the weather was beautiful and we had lots of bubbly and took in the view of the city from the harbor and beyond, as the wind splashed larger waves all over us.

Afterward, we met Talita who was having a head shaved—what an amazing girl. We headed to Clifton beach to meet up with Alika’s dad who had all the fixings for an excellent sunset picnic on the beach. Some life, huh? But just when you’re thinking, okay, you’re making this up, things are going to well for you now! In the midst of our revelry on the beach, somehow the rental car keys went missing. Oy vey. It was completely dark by the time we realized this, and though Alika and Shaianne made a valiant attempt to search the wide beach with a cell phone flashlight, it was a lost cause. We called the rental company and headed back to wait at Talita’s apartment. Our Friday night plans had gone up in smoke, although as coincidence would have it, so had everyone else’s: the whole of the city centre had a power outage. Camp’s Bay was eerily dark and quiet—the same place that was noisy and vibrant the night before. We took a stroll to pick up some snacks, the rental company brought a new car, and after some more wine on the terrace, headed to bed—a mother nature intended! Especially because we had a big day ahead: Wine Country!

After an early morning run along the beach (and fall, I must admit, not so gracefully!), Talita dropped us off at Alika’s dad’s apartment where I would be staying as T had her boyfriend and friend coming to visit. Then we drive off to pick up her mom in the suburbs and head off for the winelands. First we visited Backsberg, a vineyard estate with lovely gardens, excellent wines, a rustic feel, and a divine chocolate shop. For a mere 10 rand, we had 6 wine tastings. The next stop was a scenic view at Verde en Lust vineyard, before hitting up Graham Beck, a modern, sophisticated vineyard with a tasting room of dark wood overlooking the bottling and boxing area of the wine factory. After a (free!) tasting of 5 wines, we piled back into the card to head for Haute Gabriel, a very upscale winery, where we managed to just miss their 3:30 closing time, but instead of having to pay they gave me a tasting of their excellent sparkling rose and pinot noir. Then we headed to the main street of adorable Franschoek for a late lunch and a delicious cheese plate—ah, how I’ve missed good cheese! Then Alika’s parents dropped us off at University of Stellenbosch in, you guessed it, Stellenbosch, another wineland town. I wandered around town a bit, which was teeming with students as it was their big, start of the year party weekend. Brought me back to good ole time in Charlottesville! Yes, that’s right, at 25 I got to party like an Afrikaans college student. Ah, yes, I forgot to mention this: Alika and Talita speak Afrikaans as their first language. So much of the time I have no idea what they’re saying. They speak English perfectly mind you, but just in their day to day conversation, Afrikaans is the norm. Thus I’m often out of it, but I actually really like listening to it (and having a chance to zone out!). But at the University of Stellenbosch, an Afrikaans school, many of Alika’s friends did not really speak English very much at all, so that definitely added to the experience—as did being a random 25 year old American at an Afrikaans university party—ahh, travelling, gotta love it! But what a great, unique experience, and the late night mushroom and cheese pies (and McDonald’s French fries, I must admit to) were extremely good too.

The next day, Alika’s mom picked us up and we went for what may have been the best two hours of my whole time here: a wine and cheese tasting at Fairview Vineyard. As we walked up to the pretty building, we were greeted by the Goat Tower, where the farm’s goats reside and get exercise, very cute! It was 10:30 am and we had not had breakfast, unless you count the pies from 3am, so after just the first couple of wine tastings I could feel myself starting to babble and giggle. We shared our wine tastings so we could sample more of them, which only led to more confusion. Clearly the breakfast of champions as our pourer commented. Clearly, in bad need of something solid in our tummies, we headed around the corner to the cheese tasting sections. HEAVEN. There were seven different platters heaped with cheese cubes, like some Whole Foods on steroids. There were goat's and cow's milk cheeses, along with olives, preserves, pickles, and more to complement each cheese. I went back 3 times! Gross, I know, but it was SO good. Meanwhile, Alika and her mom were compiling a huge basket of cheese purchases for our dinner that night. After we finally tore ourselves away from the cheese room, we walked down to the restaurant for some coffee and croissants. That’s when my first rainstorm in South Africa commenced, we ran for the car with our wines and cheeses, and headed for another stop on our way back to the city: Butterfly World. Now, the only time I’ve ever been to a butterfly place was when I was much younger and on a family trip in Florida or something, but it was too cold and the butterflies just sat there—very disappointing as you can imagine. Not so this time: butterflies were fluttering everywhere above our heads through the dense flowering plants and green foliage of the greenhouse. It was really quite spectacular. In the back room, there were spiders and snakes in cages—um, until the woman in charge there brought out a small coral colored snake and placed it in Alika’s hand. I was panicking at the sight! That is until the woman brought out a humongous snake with a fat body and green patches along its long scaly body. Then terror set it. But I knew I had to hold it, or I’d be disappointed in myself. So I did, giving out sighs of fear all the time. So the question is: Do I look how I felt??

There were also some cute monkey-like creatures, an iguana, parrots, and small antelope like creatures called dikdiks. All it all, it really was a terrific place, as could be seen from how crowded it was with South African locals. After a morning of indulgence and adrenaline rushes, we drove back into the city, where they dropped me off for my Robben Island trip. The trip included a 40 minute boat ride there and back on somewhat choppy waters, which felt a bit long, although the view was nice. Once at the Island, our guide, a former inmate, lead us through the old prison where he and hundreds of other political prisoners including its most famous, Nelson Mandela were kept. We saw Mandela’s former cell, before being taken on a bus ride around park of the 13 sq km island. While it was interesting, there was not enough time to wander around on our own, because we were shuttled back on to the last ferry. Alika and her mom picked me up, and we headed to her dad’s apartment for our second wine and cheese feast of the day. You can imagine I slept well that night!

Today was time for some sightseeing in the city centre. Alika and I took a combi (the local name for a shared mini taxi) into town and made our first stop at the Castle of Good Hope. We looked at the military museum, and then made our way to the inner courtyard where a staged mini cannon was ceremoniously set off at noon that was impressively loud. A guided tour followed which explained the history of the fort and the Dutch-British skirmishes. Our next stop was the District Six Museum, but not until we shared the most enormous and disgusting (and surprisingly good) chip roll that is a local “delicacy”: a sub roll filled with chips and ketchup. Healthy I know. The museum is housed along a main road in current District Six, but one that bares little resemblance to the District Six of old. During the late 1950s and early 1960s, when apartheid was becoming more and more rigid, District Six, the last remaining bastion of a multiracial community within the city center was disbanded. Black and colored inhabitants were forced to leave and their houses were bulldozed to the ground, forcing many of them to move out to the townships on the outskirts of the city. The small museum filled with numerous photos, street signs, and stories of old inhabitants is very moving and thought-provoking. We spent about an hour taking in as much information as possible, and then went back out into the sunshine and wandered down to stroll through the company gardens. Then it was time to race to Talita’s apartment to meet her and her friend Chrissie to drive out to Chapman’s Peak again for horseback riding on Long Beach at Noordhoek. Crazy I know, and even more crazy because I seriously hadn’t been on a horse in over a decade. But it was a lot of fun, despite almost getting bucked off a couple of times. After Nutmeg tried to throw me I finally climbed on Cognac and had no problems. Much better. We rode along the perfectly white sand beaches to the water’s edge and then through the wetlands back to the stables. Then we went back to Talita’s apartment and got dressed up (so clearly I had to borrow clothes since I have five shirts with me right now!) and headed out for some fancier dining at the Waterfront—sushi and drinks and then more food at a nice restaurant called Balducci's. Clearly an excellent couple of days.

Today is my last day in Cape Town. I went with Alika, her mom, and one of her colleagues to see a couple of townships. These were not apartheid specific townships, but similar in many of the problems. Alika’s mom works in the city planning office and much of her work involves getting the funding to put through better housing developments and maintain current ones. While the poor housing and improper living conditions (blocked sewers caused by people trying to flush even blankets, rewire electric wires along the ground unsafely) is always a sad sight to see, I must say that coming from the slums I was working with in Kampala the housing was significantly better. Nevertheless, it was a very interesting side of Cape Town to see, away from the beauty and prosperity that I’ve encountered until now. After some last minute (and last time) shopping the Africa craft market in Greenmarket Square near Long Street, I’m going to pack up tonight, bid Cape Town a found farewell, and be in Sydney in hopefully not too long!

Cape Town: Back to the First World

It’s funny the things one can grow so accustomed to that when they disappear from one’s life, even if somewhat unpleasant, that void is felt very fully. I felt just such a void as my bus travelled into South Africa and I realized I had truly left the third world of my past four months experience several 1000 km behind. Botswana is remarkably successfully, but with such a huge country and a relatively tiny population (8 million—the number of inhabitants in NYC alone!), Gaborone is somewhat of a makeshift capital and felt more first world than not but also quite empty. Not to mention I was being pampered by Kim and Luke and didn’t have to find my way around in any kind of matatu. But the bus park was still quite chaotic, and thus I still felt “at home” there! Ha. But upon my arrival in Johannesburg, which I had done my best to avoid going to (not possible, all buses run through Jo'burg—I did thorough research with Kim’s aid driving around and talking to everyone in the bus park), I saw it as a huge functioning city. Not pretty, mind you, but it had a cohesiveness that I didn’t feel in Kampala often or Dar for example.
I can’t really explain it well unfortunately, but it was just a gut feeling that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. The best illustration of this gut feeling was a conversation I had on bus #2 of the day which I boarded around 4pm due to arrive in Cape Town the following morning (this after a 6:30 departure that morning from Gabs!). An Afrikaans woman was sitting behind me and a black South African business man to my right as we sped along in our double-decker luxury bus. I can’t remember how the conversation was started, but the woman got to asking me where I was going and thus where I was coming from. I explained my overland travels down from Tanzania, and expressed how nice our current bus was compared with the buses I’d rode up north. “Really?!” she asked surprised. Oh my goodness yes I tried to explain—there are usually chickens all over the bus—up in the luggage rack, under the seats. Both the woman and the business man found this absurd and hysterical, and I silly me, had a pang of nostalgia! Too funny.

As I’ve said before, my bus riding skills have really improved and I passed the next 20 hours looking out the window at the beautiful fields, then sleeping stretched out across the isle for nine hours of sleep on my hard as a rock backpack (laptop within) that I awoke from several times with panic as to where my backpack was, until I realized it was the very uncomfortable lump under my head and went back to sleep! In the early morning the scenery became breath taking mountains and then merged into the wine country for which the Cape Town region is so famous. I actually don’t really like when the bus is pulling into it’s final destination because then it means I have to figure out what I’m going to do next, which in my case involved collecting my bags (still there, yay!), avoiding taxi hawkers, and walking too many kilometers to check out one backpackers hostel, although I did get to stroll through some lovely city gardens, albeit with my enormous backpack on! Always, the comparison shopper, I set out from hostel number one to check out the hostels on Long Street—the lively, young area in the heart of the city. But the day was getting on, so I decided to stick with my original choice, despite the 10rand price difference (about $1.50) and do an actual activity.
The woman at the backpackers place suggested Table Mountain, the looming backdrop of the city, because it was subject to close often at short notice for high winds, and had been shut for the past few days. So I collected my cameras and high-tailed it in a rikki (a slightly unreliable taxi resembling a London black cab) and bought my cableway ticket up the mountain, only for one way as I was hoping to hike down. The cable ride is in a revolving car (in theory so everyone gets a view, although being human everyone rushes to the view with the sea stretching out below, cameras poised). When we arrived at the top, I walked out onto the first path of the Table Mt National Park and took in the scenery—low shrubbery and bright flora scattered all over the rocky top strewn with large boulders, with sweeping views on all sides over the deep blue and turquoise waters, craggy mountains, and city buildings and houses strewn across the lower hills of Lion’s Head and Lion’s Rump, two mountains in the heart of Cape Town. I then proceeded to wander the top of the mountain from 3pm until 6pm. I asked about hiking down (in my flip flops no less) and got many a strange look, so instead, I decided to go have a beer, a Foundry cider, at the restaurant terrace that looked south towards Cape Point, and wait for the sunset—I mean, what else did I have to do?? I was feeling a bit lonely and down: here I had just come from the comfortable surroundings of my friend’s home and company in Gaborone and had a week to wander Cape Town by myself. I know, I know, everyone sitting at their cubicle or desk is thinking, aw, poor baby, tough life. But in those moments, alone with a new unknown city, everything feelings 9 parts daunting, one part exciting.

But that’s often when luck strikes, when you’re feeling most down—a silver-lining shall I say? ;) As I was sitting drinking my beer, trying to give myself an internal pep talk about how lovely the view was, how lucky I was to be doing this, blah blah blah, two girls came and sat at the picnic table next to me. They were obviously celebrating something and scarfing a big boer roll (traditional Dutch sausage roll) and toasting with champagne. The main cable station kept making these irritating announcements: “Ding dang dong, the sunset will be at 7 minutes to 8!” every five minutes, and talking about some sunset special. I turned to the girls bewildered after one announcement and asked, “What’s the sunset special?” And with that simple question, we got to talking, Alika and Talita introduced themselves. Alika who’s 18, grew up in Cape Town and was leaving in two weeks to begin job training in the UK, had met Talita who’s 27 and from Jo’burg on a catamaran cruise in Cape Town Bay in December. Talita is in Cape Town for treatment for stomach and esophagus cancer, and had just had a chemo appointment that morning, and so Alika was taking her out for a fun afternoon to brighten her day. That in and of itself was a pretty inspiring reminder of one of those “I’m so lucky” moments. But then came the really incredible stroke of good luck: they asked what I was doing after this. Um, nothing! Going back to the backpackers place somehow. No, I must join them for drinks, or dinner, or at the very least they would give me a ride back in Talita’s rental car, and actually I should just stay at the apartment Talita was renting—business class to my economy class hostel! We ended up heading back to my backpacker place to get some of my stuff, and after going out for a couple drinks on Long Street, heading back to her apartment which is in the Camp’s Bay section of Cape Town, almost on the beach. She was right: definitely business class—a gorgeous 3 bedroom apartment with a huge terrace overlooking the beach and the Twelve Apostles mountain range in the background, truly stunning. We had some red wine from Stellenboch (local wine country) out on the terrace, and then I happily crashed in the guest bedroom, grateful mostly to just not be sleeping on a bus!

The next day, I checked out of my backpackers hostel (I was to stay with Talita instead of staying at a silly hostel), Alika made us breakfast at her dad’s apartment (another lovely ocean view perched on a steep hill—very San Fran like!), and we headed off in the rental car for a tour of Cape Point. We stopped in Fishenhoek for soft serve ice cream cones and some beach time—i.e. a dip in the freezing cold waters (much warmer than on the western side of the cape I was informed by the locals!)—before heading off on a drive along Chapman’s Peak down towards Cape Point. We stopped in Boulders Bay to see the most adorable penguins (once known as Jackass penguins, poor guys). We avoided going into the paying section of the park (thanks to my brother for the good advice), and instead got to clamber over the boulders at the sea’s edge as the penguins waddled around us, leaned in and even tried to nip us with their beaks. I took far too many pictures, but here’s just a sampling!

Then it was off to Houts Bay to wander the harbor, watch the seals play in the water near the boats, and then indulge in fresh fish and chips of the Snoek and Hake varieties. We ate the crispy fish and chips, wrapped in paper, dosed in vinegar, ketchup, tarter sauce with our finger—simply delicious! We drove back for more stellar views along Chapman’s Peak (Talita is a fearless driver!) and back to her place to meet up with Alika’s dad and friend Shaianne to go out for drinks along Camp’s Bay—very reminiscent of the scene at Miami Beach actually with small trendy cafes spilling onto the sidewalk, and big beautiful palm trees lining the beach across the street. So I must say my first two days in Cape Town have been quite magnificent and filled with good fortune. It’s just so refreshing to meet such fun and generous people halfway around the world from where you live. Not sure what’s on for today yet, but I’m heading to the beach for now!

Getting to Gabs

Nothing is simple in Africa—at least not transport-wise. Having had extensive experience with transportation in much of the southern part of the continent now, I have made attempts to take this into consideration and do my best to overcome it. It ain’t easy, let me tell you.

I spent a considerable amount of phone time calling a bus company based in Lusaka that runs several buses a week from Lusaka to Gaborone, stopping for pickup in Livingstone in the early hours of the morning. The office gave me the cell phone number of the bus driver, Tembo, whom I called and had me call back later in the afternoon. When I called back, I explained that I would like to be picked up in Livingstone and inquired as to the time and place I should be waiting. In front of the post office at 5aam I was told. I had heard from people at the hostel that the pick up time was as early as 3 or 4am, so just to be sure, I asked Tembo, “So definitely 5am, not 4am??” No, he assured me, 5am the bus would come by the post office and pick me up.

I arranged for one of the guards from the hostel to escort me out in the dark of the early morning to meet the bus at 5am. “Are you sure not 3 or 4am?” he asked me. No, I told him, the bus driver had assured me that 5am was the right time. I could barely sleep that night for fear of not waking up and missing the bus (and I don’t think the next one ran again until Sunday) and because I kept thinking I could hear the bus on the main street, and got up at 4:30 to gather my bags and find the guard. We walked out in the dark night down to the main street post office just two blocks away. The guard, George, asked a woman sitting on the bench whether the Gaborone bus had been by and was told yes—it was not even 5am yet. Furious Laura, take one. I called the bus driver’s cell and had George speak to him. Yes, the bus driver confirmed, he was on his way to Livingstone, on a bad road into town that would take about 30 minutes. So I sat on the bench with George and some other local bus people and waited. At 5:30, at George’s suggestion I placed another call to check on the progress. Furious Laura, take two. The bus was actually on the way to the border and would not be coming through town. WHAT??? Why the lies? So George helped me find a taxi, but it was not even 6am, and unless I wanted to pay the full price (the same cost as the price of the bus all the way to Gabs), I had to wait for 3 other people to share my taxi. Around 6:30, in the early morning light, we headed for the Zambia-Botswana border at the town of Kazungula. I arrived at immigration, called Tembo, and was told to hurry through and catch the bus. I passed through the Zambian side and raced for the ferry 200m away, where I could see a bus perched and many people waiting, it was about to depart. I made the ferry with not a moment to spare and we were shuttled over to the Botswana side to walk another 200m to immigration, got my (free!) 30-day entry permit, and finally boarded the long awaited bus around 8am.

When I finally met Tembo, I asked him with a bitter smile, why he had lied to me. In that impressive evasive way I’ve encountered too often here, he smiled a pleasant smile and chuckled a bit. I’ll explain all later. Of course, I never got an answer. But I did get him to cover my taxi ride to the border and deduct it from the price of my bus ticket. The bus ride was pretty uneventful aside from some fun giraffe and elephant spotting by the side of the rode driving through Chobe NP. At one point not far into Botswana we had to deboard the bus, take off all of our luggage, show all our shoes either wearing or in our suitcases, and dip them in some ambiguous sandy mixture in these pits in order to prevent bringing some sort of animal disease into Botswana—it was all very confusing. I’ve gotten very good at staring out the window however, and passed most of the day this way—the bush looked similar to Zambia (although I’m told this is unusual but there’s been a lot of rain recently), and reading Out of Africa.

I arrived in Gabs around 8pm, after a full day’s journey. I went to a local hotel who phone Kim for me, and she and her husband, Luke, came to pick me up, and with that simple change, the Rest & Relaxation began!! They took me to a marine party for new foreign service people briefly (I was looking good after my bus trip! Ha) and then home to their lovely abode, across the street from the house of the President of Botswana no less! I have my own bedroom and bathroom (tub & shower!), a full fridge (I haven’t been shy), and laundry facilities (washer & dryer! I don’t think anyone in the States can fully appreciate the excitement this instills. My clothes are streeeetched out). I’ve had the most chill days I’ve had in months: sleeping, reading, watching K&L play squash, driving around Gabs (there’s not much here really) visiting some pottery places, and cooking.

Today was a great day. We visited a game reserve that just about 20 minutes from their house and went on a two hour game drive that included a cheetah petting session. Yep, you read that correctly—CHEETAH PETTING! A group of 7 of us went into an enclosed compound where two rescued cheetahs live and were allowed to go one by one and kneel beside the cheetah and pet them on the head. They were big, but so cute and soft, and purred just like huge cats, which I guess they are! Can’t do that everywhere. Then we came home and had an afternoon of cooking and eating (my idea of a perfect day!). We made buttermilk pancakes with banana for breakfast, sage and gorgonzola risotto for lunch, and steak, scalloped potatoes, salad, and homemade chocolate-walnut ice cream for European-time dinner. It was insanely delicious. K&L have really been superb hosts, and I thank them for that, and for getting me back in (somewhat) working order. Now I’m trying to plan my onward journey to Cape Town, although it will be hard to leave the comforts of (someone else’s) home!

Natural Wonder: Vic Falls

Victoria Falls has been worth it, believe it or not—even 60 hours of travel! I’m here during high water season, in fact perhaps the highest. The Falls are gushing with literally tons of water, and it’s a spectacular sight to see. I arrived late Monday night, around midnight, to Jollyboys Backpackers Lodge—one of the cleanest backpacker places I’ve seen that has a great casual atmosphere complete with a sunken pillow lounge and loft and landscaped pool and picnic tables near the bar. I had met a Zimbabwean, Paul, on the bus to Lusaka who helped me find a bus to Livingstone as he was heading in the same direction, and after we both checked into the 16 bed dorm and hung out with some of the other guests—Canadians, American, Brits.

The next day I was up early and ready to catch the free shuttle to the Falls which are about 10 km outside of Livingstone. Paul gave me a guide of the Zambian side of the Falls which he had been to once before, and it’s courtesy of him that I have all these photos of myself in front of the falls. I got soaked to the bone—it was like being in pouring rain as the mighty falls rained down on the slippery footbridge and path. I’m continually amazing by how laidback things are in Africa—never, I mean never, would such simple railings (or lack there of in some spots) be in place at such high risk areas. After hiking around the national park for a few hours, Paul headed to the Zimbabwean border and I headed back to Jollyboys to book a few extravagant activities—hey, I’m only in Vic Fall once (actually I already have plans for that not to be true!).

A friend had told me I must, absolutely MUST, go on a microlight above Vic Falls, a small motorized open-air hang-glider flown by a pilot, as it was “one of the 1000 things to do before you die” according to someone somewhere. They only fly when the weather conditions are fair enough, and in the morning or afternoon with light winds, so it being a lovely day, I went for it and booked for 4pm that day. I was picked up at the hostel and driven to the launch site where there were also helicopter rides available. After signing my life away (per usual), I was rushed outside to board a microlight craft that had just landed from a previous flight. I was introduced to Heiko, the pilot, and allowed a picture with my own camera in front of the craft before it was stored in a pouch on the plane’s side. Cameras aren’t allowed as you could drop it and it could fly back and get wedged in the propeller and well, that’d be the end of that. And to be honest, I was very grateful not to have a camera up there—I was holding on for dear life. A crew member belted me in, put a microphone (connected to the pilot’s) and a helmet on my head, and put down an eye visor. There was no time to be scared really, but had I thought about the whole setup a bit more, I definitely would have been. But all of a sudden, the propeller was revving, we were cruising along the grassy dirt runway, and then we were up, up, and UP. Within a few seconds we were climbing high above the treetops, gaining sweeping views of the Zambezi with Vic Fall’s mists thundering up in the distance. We climbed higher and higher, the wind building and rushing in my ears, and for a moment I looked down and panicked, especially when I noticed that the seatbelt looked like the one on an airplane with that metal flap—I mean really, who feels secure in that?! But then the sheer beauty and awe of my surroundings overcame me and we were heading for the falls, with the zigzagging gorges of Zimbabwe leading out through the green African bush to the horizon on all sides. I know I’ve said this before, but for this there really are not words.

My fifteen minute ride seemed suspended in time but of course in retrospect passed in a flash. We circled the falls again and hovered lower then headed back toward the launch site. Heiko let me take hold of the wing-bar and control the craft (well, not really of course!), but it was an awesome feeling to shift the bar and have the hanger change course. He also pointed out hippos and crocodiles far below. I know I had the biggest smile on my face, and it was still there when we came down for the smooth and light landing. I just couldn’t stop. Another woman had landed and I just started gushing to her. Although you can’t take pictures, there is a camera mounted far out on the tip of the left wing that takes photos of you against the backdrop of the falls. Of course I promised myself I wouldn’t buy them, but once I saw them of course I did! And here they are for your viewing pleasure. Just looking at them gives me the rush all over again. In short, I highly recommend it, the next time you’re in Vic Falls.

Tuesday night I hung out with some Australians at the hostel and took in the Zambia vs. Sudan football match that was part of the Africa Cup—Zambia won 3-0!

On Wednesday morning, I was up early again to catch the shuttle, this time to attend a breakfast at Livingstone Island—another extravagant activity that just seemed too good to pass up. Only problem was that it was pouring rain by the time we started off for the island! The trips to the Island, where Dr. Livingstone first took in the magnificent sight of the Falls, is only accessed by a guided walk in low season, when you can literally walk across the top of the falls and swim in a pool suspended over the edge (see, how can I not go back some day!), or by trips run by the Royal Livingstone, a five-star hotel in the area. A group of 12 of us were shuttled out to the island in about 5 minutes by motorboat, then lead to the front edge near the falls where a lovely white tent was set up for a high-class breakfast. Despite the pouring rain, the Falls were not diminished in the least. If anything, I just felt nature’s awesome power—so much water everywhere! The guide led me and an older British couple out to the edge and pointed over a few rocks a few feet away—“that’s the edge”—um, yes, I can SEE that!!!! We looked off to the left to see the curve of the raging side falls. Then our guide led up over to the other side of the island where he escorted us one by one out to the edge so we could gaze on the face of the main falls. At one point I was instructed to put my arm around his shoulder and leap across a gush of water that flowed over the edge a few meters away instilling another adrenaline rush! He took some frame worthy photos, and then we headed back to towel off and dine on some of the most fantastic eggs benedict I’ve ever had with coffee, scones, and muffins all served with white china, linens, and silver. I felt quite special!

Upon returning to the hotel by motorboat, the rain was still coming down, so I relaxed in the very posh surroundings and gazing out over the Zambezi River. As the weather began to clear up, I headed for the Zimbabwean border, to get yet another view of the Falls from the bridge that spans the river and connects the two countries, add another stamp/country to my passport, and possibly do a gorge swing as had been recommended by the Zimbabwean. I didn’t manage to fit in the gorge swing (next time!) but one of Paul’s friend was able to give me a tour of Vic Falls (the name of the Zimbabwean town) and drive me out for a magnificent view of the Falls from afar.

I feel like I could spend another week here in Vic Falls with all the (pricey) things to do, but transport in Africa being was it is, it’s time for me to find my way to Gaborone, where I will be visiting an old friend from St. Martin’s who is now stationed in Botswana with the US Foreign Service. Wish me luck getting there, I’m sure I will need it.