A classic African right of passage is the bus ride. In fact, I think you could distinctly separate the world into those who have experienced a bus ride in a developing country and those who haven't and the difference would be quite apparent. For some it's a masochistic pleasure while others simply lose the will to live.
I've done my fair share of such aforementioned bus rides and their chaos has ceased to be an abnormality in my life which is probably unfortunate. But a bus ride is a great foray into the road less traveled and I will take you n my most recent one through Mozambique as an example.
It's still dark when you arrive at the bus station (station meaning muddy lot outside of town with a lot of buses) but the action has been gaining momentum for hours. People yell out where their bus is going, each name competing in volume with the next over the horns that are constantly honking. People grab your arm and pull you towards their bus. Sometimes you can shake them away, sometimes you have to dig your feet into the ground or just plop down on your butt to prevent being shoved into a bus you don't want.
After enough wandering, yelling and grabbing you find your bus, tough you can never really be sure because everyone lies to get you on the bus anyways. It's always a bit of a gamble as to where it is actually going. Never make the fatal mistake of allowing anyone to touch your bag. Insist you put it on top of the bus or into the bus and don't let it out of your sight until it is at least too buried in boxes, bicycles, chickens, grains and bags for someone to easily snatch it.
Once you get on the bus the games begin. You will inevitably be charged at least 5 times the actual price. When they tell you the price the first two times don't' even acknowledge them., The third time is when you show shock and amazement. The fourth try you fix a steely glare and only then to you begin to bargain. The fifth time is usually when you fight to get out of your seat and off the bus until the conductor blocks your way. At the sixth price yawn and look out the window. Finally it all ends with a laugh. The conductor is happy because he overcharged you and gets to pocket the excess and you are because at least you gave it your best shot and T.I.A.
Don't drink water because you won't have a chance to pee all day. You'll sit there a couple more hours waiting for the bus to fill up. Mobs of hawkers descend on the bus selling bread, drinks, eggs, bags, watches, sunglasses, muffins and anything else you could imagine. If they don't have what you want, they'll find it.
The isles slowly fill up with people, cargo, goats and chickens. eventually the bus eeks off over the potholed road. The heat of the day begins to leak in. Your sweat sticks your legs to the seat which is quite handy for going over such a bumpy road. Your leg becomes sealed to the person's next to you.
A bus ride in a developing country is a journey of false hope. The bus starts to pick up speed and you begin to believe, against your better judgement, that you might actually gain some ground. But then it stops again for more people to clamber on and off. Each time it stops hoards of people rush up to it with more goods bobbing up on sticks to reach up to the windows. Hair comb anyone? Fruit? Samosas, dumplings, meat on a stick or a mirror perhaps? A tie? Can you be tempted by a doll, steering wheel or string of fresh fruit? Maybe a bag of nuts?
Now it seems improbably and I used to wonder how anything was sold but, while driving to my hotel in Egypt my taxi driver once bought socks. Another time while stuck in traffic outside the Nairobi airport a man in my shared taxi bought a vegetable peeler. You have to wonder if they ever sell steering wheels though. But hey, if yours falls of in traffic in Africa, you'll probably be sorted right away.
Back on the bus, the air smells of sweat, puke, corn and hay. Babies cry, chickens cluck, people talk loudly in languages you don't understand. You share food and smiles but not words. Usually though, your obvious lack of comprehension, fails to deter the person next to you from long-winded monologues, believing if they talk long enough and loud enough to you they will instill some sort of an understanding.
There is no such thing as comfortable on a bus trip here so resign yourself to the lack of personal space, odors and rough jostling. Eventually you make it to the final destination, and sure enough, the conductor lied to get you on the bus and it is not where you meant to wind up. But never mind, no matter where you are in Africa a mini bus will appear. These are even more common to ride that the regular buses and much more scary. The one you get on now is a typical example.
Once again, you wait for it to fill up. Eventually you set out, techno music blaring. You cruise around the parking lot a few times honking for good measure. The honking is as essential as the loud music. The driver is sure to do it every few seconds through out the trip. You drive a little then slow down. People pile in while the van is still moving. The object is to fit as many people in as possible. There is always room for one more in Africa. At one time there are 28 people, their luggage and a goat in a van made for 11. You are a tangle of limbs, torsos and heads, not sure where you begin and the others end. If you have an itch forget about it. Your body contorts in ways you never knew were possible.
The vans are usually in poor condition. They defy logic by missing bits you are sure are essential for motion. They like to make you think they will fall apart any minute and shudder when another minibus speeds by on the road and shakes you at such speed. It makes it more exciting. In between short stops the driver tries to make up time by going as fast a s possible. You usually close your eyes and pray, looking it far too scary, especially because the driver is usually swigging sips of local whiskey as he goes. Still, locals manage to doze of on the ride.
Every time you stop, the conductor has to throw himself at the door to get it to slide open. Then, he puts it back on its hinges while running along side of it. You are driving down the road when the door falls off completely. Out goes your backpack, some bag and the goat. They cram it all back in and continue on. Just another day on public transport.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Smooth Sailing in Swaziland
An ostrich ate my friend's breakfast the other day. An ostrich is really quite intimidating despite it being a bird and the whole incident was rather unnerving. She put her granola on the picnic table just outside teh door. She went to get the yogurt from the fridge. I was in the shower when I heard the scream. I jumped out and ran to the kitchen to see what the commotion was. All 3 of my friends were now at the kitchen window, one waving her yogurt and "shooing" the other yelling and the third was waving his arms and trying to make ostrich sounds. Do you know what an ostrich sounds like? I don't. Neither did he.
Finally the ostrich had enough and waddled off, neck protruding with each step, buggy eyes glaring at us as he continued on his day after being so rudely interrupted by us.
In Swaziland we found a real gem. It was backpackers hostel on a wild life reserve. Affordable accommodation where animals are is almost impossible to find and this place was incredible. It was a rocky week for me so I would go for runs to relieve stress. As I ran though wooded trails I passed within a few feet of warthog families, antelope, springboks, heartbeats, impalas, zebras, ostriches and even the occasional crocodile or hippo. There's nothing like that to forget your far away problems.
Swaziland was a great escape from the intense undercurrents of South Africa. It is extremely laid back, the locals are super friendly and its just a relaxing place to be. I spent days hiking all over the reserve, summiting peaks and ambling around lakes. Our hostel was close enough that we went to the legendary "House on Fire", one of the best concert venues I have ever seen, complete with jungles, bamboo balconies, a wicked dance floor, fire twirling, caves, a campfire and cozy nooks. We saw the band "Freshly Ground" and it proved to be an epic night.
It would sit around at a coffee shop and listen to the local women tell me about how when they were younger they would always take place in an annual ceremony where all the young women do a special dance, then, traditionally the king picks a new wife each year.
Two wasted days were spent trying to get a visa in the capital which might be the most boring city in the world. And that is how this blog might turn out, but I couldn't' leave Swaziland out completely. It was a very pleasant place to visit. Very smooth going. I guess uneventful isn't always a bad thing. That's just about all I have to say about that. The end.
Finally the ostrich had enough and waddled off, neck protruding with each step, buggy eyes glaring at us as he continued on his day after being so rudely interrupted by us.
In Swaziland we found a real gem. It was backpackers hostel on a wild life reserve. Affordable accommodation where animals are is almost impossible to find and this place was incredible. It was a rocky week for me so I would go for runs to relieve stress. As I ran though wooded trails I passed within a few feet of warthog families, antelope, springboks, heartbeats, impalas, zebras, ostriches and even the occasional crocodile or hippo. There's nothing like that to forget your far away problems.
Swaziland was a great escape from the intense undercurrents of South Africa. It is extremely laid back, the locals are super friendly and its just a relaxing place to be. I spent days hiking all over the reserve, summiting peaks and ambling around lakes. Our hostel was close enough that we went to the legendary "House on Fire", one of the best concert venues I have ever seen, complete with jungles, bamboo balconies, a wicked dance floor, fire twirling, caves, a campfire and cozy nooks. We saw the band "Freshly Ground" and it proved to be an epic night.
It would sit around at a coffee shop and listen to the local women tell me about how when they were younger they would always take place in an annual ceremony where all the young women do a special dance, then, traditionally the king picks a new wife each year.
Two wasted days were spent trying to get a visa in the capital which might be the most boring city in the world. And that is how this blog might turn out, but I couldn't' leave Swaziland out completely. It was a very pleasant place to visit. Very smooth going. I guess uneventful isn't always a bad thing. That's just about all I have to say about that. The end.
Wild Coast (South Africa)
Get away from the "Garden Route" where tourists flock like hippos to a pond and enter the "Wild Coast" and the Transkei, the original homeland. It' s worth it, I promise. You need your own car which is frustrating, but I got lucky and joined up with 2 Germans and a Dutch girl and we were able to explore the area, which, true to its name is wild.
Endless beaches are interrupted only by jungle and cliffs and the occasional cow enjoying the view of the surf. Proper villages with colorful huts speckle the rolling green hills and lush mountains. Woman paint their faces white and people speak with clicks. Electricity is scarce and cows, horses, goats and sheep are constant road hazards, wondering in the way of our oncoming car, forcing us to drive slowly and stop often. But it's worth is to get away from the commercialism that runs rampant on other parts of the coast. Instead of feeling like I'm in California, I once again feel like I am back in Africa.
I camped or stayed without electricity along postcard perfect beaches. Driving through chaotic cities with vendors spilling into the streets and a jumble of minibuses honking as the only white person in the area cruised through made me feel right at home.
One day we heard about a hidden waterfall. We drove down a back road and 12 naked children ran up to see our car. They beckoned for us to follow them. We slid down a steep, muddy and rocky jungle path and found the waterfall. It was really just a trickle going into a chocolate milk colored river in a gorge but it was worth it to see the kids catapult themselves off staggering heighths, plummeting down into the water. They laughed at our fear and jumped again but higher this time.
If I were 5 years younger and less concerned about the shambles of the U.S. health care insurance system I would have plunged in after them. It's sad to see how much we change.
Endless beaches are interrupted only by jungle and cliffs and the occasional cow enjoying the view of the surf. Proper villages with colorful huts speckle the rolling green hills and lush mountains. Woman paint their faces white and people speak with clicks. Electricity is scarce and cows, horses, goats and sheep are constant road hazards, wondering in the way of our oncoming car, forcing us to drive slowly and stop often. But it's worth is to get away from the commercialism that runs rampant on other parts of the coast. Instead of feeling like I'm in California, I once again feel like I am back in Africa.
I camped or stayed without electricity along postcard perfect beaches. Driving through chaotic cities with vendors spilling into the streets and a jumble of minibuses honking as the only white person in the area cruised through made me feel right at home.
One day we heard about a hidden waterfall. We drove down a back road and 12 naked children ran up to see our car. They beckoned for us to follow them. We slid down a steep, muddy and rocky jungle path and found the waterfall. It was really just a trickle going into a chocolate milk colored river in a gorge but it was worth it to see the kids catapult themselves off staggering heighths, plummeting down into the water. They laughed at our fear and jumped again but higher this time.
If I were 5 years younger and less concerned about the shambles of the U.S. health care insurance system I would have plunged in after them. It's sad to see how much we change.
Kingdom in the Cloud (Lesotho)
Winding my way up Sani Pass I saw some of the most impressive scenery imaginable. Terrace after terrace of green flanked with imposing rocky cliffs engulfed the pass. Water is everywhere, twisting down valleys to meet up with the river or tumbling down rock faces as waterfalls. It looks like J.R. Tolkien puked the Sani Pass area out of his imagination but instead of hobbits hiding in the rocks there are baboons and people in tribal clothes.
Looking up the tallest cliff and seeing two people in full tribal regalia, their bright green and red blankets trailing out behind them in the wind as they beheld the endless valley in front of them was awe-inspiring for as long as I could focus on it, but the state of the road make the awe short-lived as I held on so as not to be lurched out the window to my death.
Once you cross into Lesotho, ti's like going back in time. This tiny kingdom floating in South Africa really seemed incredibly distinct from the first moment I entered. Even the landscape changes dramatically. Instead of lush and green, it became rocky and rough. Being above treeline, it's much more brown. We cruised into the highest pub in Africa and after a brief stop there we headed farther into the mars-like landscape where horses are the main mode of transportation and sheep and mules scatter themselves amidst the rocks. People seem rugged and hardy wrapped in blankets. Some wear long woolen grey cloaks wrapped over their heads to keep out the cold with colorful tassels coming out the top. Their eyes are darker and their skin more weathered.
The villages are stone huts with thatched roofs clustered together. The inside of the huts is packed with mud to keep out the cold and also contain an open fire pit. They bake amazing bread and brew fruity beer in the huts. To make ends meet, many people will sell things To indicate to others what they are selling they put up flags on their homes. A green flag means bread is for sale, a white one means beer.
There is something magical about Lesotho that I can't explain, and not, it's not just because it's considered a kingdom. It's amazing that there can e this little nation in South Africa and it can be so different from the country that surrounds and dwarfs it. Tradition still runs strong in Lesotho. The boys, for example, have an initiation period before they become men. They go off and learn all about what it's like to be a man, traditional medicine, etc. They have a circumcision ceremony, then once they are healed they go far up into the mountains as a small group and build a hut. When the time is right they light the hut on fire. They walk away and don't look back, saying goodbye to their childhood. They come back to the village as men. Now who can't love a place like that?
Looking up the tallest cliff and seeing two people in full tribal regalia, their bright green and red blankets trailing out behind them in the wind as they beheld the endless valley in front of them was awe-inspiring for as long as I could focus on it, but the state of the road make the awe short-lived as I held on so as not to be lurched out the window to my death.
Once you cross into Lesotho, ti's like going back in time. This tiny kingdom floating in South Africa really seemed incredibly distinct from the first moment I entered. Even the landscape changes dramatically. Instead of lush and green, it became rocky and rough. Being above treeline, it's much more brown. We cruised into the highest pub in Africa and after a brief stop there we headed farther into the mars-like landscape where horses are the main mode of transportation and sheep and mules scatter themselves amidst the rocks. People seem rugged and hardy wrapped in blankets. Some wear long woolen grey cloaks wrapped over their heads to keep out the cold with colorful tassels coming out the top. Their eyes are darker and their skin more weathered.
The villages are stone huts with thatched roofs clustered together. The inside of the huts is packed with mud to keep out the cold and also contain an open fire pit. They bake amazing bread and brew fruity beer in the huts. To make ends meet, many people will sell things To indicate to others what they are selling they put up flags on their homes. A green flag means bread is for sale, a white one means beer.
There is something magical about Lesotho that I can't explain, and not, it's not just because it's considered a kingdom. It's amazing that there can e this little nation in South Africa and it can be so different from the country that surrounds and dwarfs it. Tradition still runs strong in Lesotho. The boys, for example, have an initiation period before they become men. They go off and learn all about what it's like to be a man, traditional medicine, etc. They have a circumcision ceremony, then once they are healed they go far up into the mountains as a small group and build a hut. When the time is right they light the hut on fire. They walk away and don't look back, saying goodbye to their childhood. They come back to the village as men. Now who can't love a place like that?
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Dirty Word (South Africa)
"The only reason that I can sit here in this bar with you and not worry that if I went to the bathroom 4 guys would follow me and beat me up is because people can tell we are both foreigners." Sam, a black Malawian who has lived in South Africa for 11 years told me.
Already walking down the street with my friend, someone had slowed down in their car and, thinking I was a local, yelled in Afrikaans at me. I didn't understand the words but Sam and I understood what he had meant completely.
Apartheid is over, but has anything changed? The whites live in the cities and most of the blacks below the poverty line in townships. "The problem is there is no middle-class. There are only extremes but the middle class are the spenders so something is sure to collapse." Said Simon, a local to Plettenberg Bay.
So the different colors remain dead locked in a sort of static equilibrium, both need each other, but both are highly suspicious of the other with little interaction. With the vast majority of people living in townships, I asked why the people didn't retaliate because all of the violence and discrimination you hear of is white oppressing black. Just last week white students at a university were discovered to be abusing black workers in horrific ways, beating them, forcing them to eat feces, etc. What kind of a mentality has the workers to not stand up for themselves while at the same time what kind of mentality allows the whites to continue to abuse the majority? Does it go both ways?
"Because they still need their jobs and they work for the whites. It's all interconnected, that's why they don't retaliate," is Simon's opinion.
It seems one-sided, whites hurting the blacks, but I know nothing is that simple. I had been told I would be welcome in a black club, where as a black wouldn't be welcome in a white one.
"You would be welcome in a black club and treated like an honored guest, the most popular person in the club but only because you are a foreigner," Sam told me.
"But how would they know that I was a foreigner?" I asked him.
"Simple. If you were a local you wouldn't be there." said Sam.
So what is to happen to South Africa? The economy is growing but so many live in absolute poverty. The disparity between rich and poor is gigantic. With no mixing and contact between the races I don't see how it can be resolved. I told Sam how to me, appearance-wise, South Africa seems like paradise, yet socially, I could never live here. He agreed that it seems to be nearing a breaking point, a shift that seems hard to break, especially because there is such a lack of education for those growing up in townships, but that education is necessary for upward mobility.
Apartheid hangs in the air like a dirty word. Everyone I have spoken with refuses to say it. It's never "apartheid." Instead it is always, "the past," or "what happened."
I'm reading a book about apartheid now and was talking to a waitress who said she wanted a book to read. I said she could have mine when I finished it. She asked what it was about and I said the A-word. She visibly flinched.
It affects everything you see today, but it is never mentioned. From an outsiders viewpoint, it' snot so much the distribution of wealth that worries me, I think that will take time to remedy. Rather, it's the lack of dialogue, connection and contact between the races that is where the paradise fades. It is the palatable suspicion of everyone and tension.
As Sam says, the problem is the fact that, "There is no love." A huge problem indeed.
Already walking down the street with my friend, someone had slowed down in their car and, thinking I was a local, yelled in Afrikaans at me. I didn't understand the words but Sam and I understood what he had meant completely.
Apartheid is over, but has anything changed? The whites live in the cities and most of the blacks below the poverty line in townships. "The problem is there is no middle-class. There are only extremes but the middle class are the spenders so something is sure to collapse." Said Simon, a local to Plettenberg Bay.
So the different colors remain dead locked in a sort of static equilibrium, both need each other, but both are highly suspicious of the other with little interaction. With the vast majority of people living in townships, I asked why the people didn't retaliate because all of the violence and discrimination you hear of is white oppressing black. Just last week white students at a university were discovered to be abusing black workers in horrific ways, beating them, forcing them to eat feces, etc. What kind of a mentality has the workers to not stand up for themselves while at the same time what kind of mentality allows the whites to continue to abuse the majority? Does it go both ways?
"Because they still need their jobs and they work for the whites. It's all interconnected, that's why they don't retaliate," is Simon's opinion.
It seems one-sided, whites hurting the blacks, but I know nothing is that simple. I had been told I would be welcome in a black club, where as a black wouldn't be welcome in a white one.
"You would be welcome in a black club and treated like an honored guest, the most popular person in the club but only because you are a foreigner," Sam told me.
"But how would they know that I was a foreigner?" I asked him.
"Simple. If you were a local you wouldn't be there." said Sam.
So what is to happen to South Africa? The economy is growing but so many live in absolute poverty. The disparity between rich and poor is gigantic. With no mixing and contact between the races I don't see how it can be resolved. I told Sam how to me, appearance-wise, South Africa seems like paradise, yet socially, I could never live here. He agreed that it seems to be nearing a breaking point, a shift that seems hard to break, especially because there is such a lack of education for those growing up in townships, but that education is necessary for upward mobility.
Apartheid hangs in the air like a dirty word. Everyone I have spoken with refuses to say it. It's never "apartheid." Instead it is always, "the past," or "what happened."
I'm reading a book about apartheid now and was talking to a waitress who said she wanted a book to read. I said she could have mine when I finished it. She asked what it was about and I said the A-word. She visibly flinched.
It affects everything you see today, but it is never mentioned. From an outsiders viewpoint, it' snot so much the distribution of wealth that worries me, I think that will take time to remedy. Rather, it's the lack of dialogue, connection and contact between the races that is where the paradise fades. It is the palatable suspicion of everyone and tension.
As Sam says, the problem is the fact that, "There is no love." A huge problem indeed.
False Paradise (South Africa)
I woke up on my first morning is South Africa covered in bruises. Dark blotches were punched into both my arms. This isn't unusual in a country infamous for its crime bu the bruises weren't from a mugging (yes, I had my "welcome to South Africa" mugging experience the night before as well but it had all been very cordial and business like with no bruises). I had been introduced to the Cape Town music scene and found my way into a mosh pit.
Cape Town is pretty much the coolest city imaginable. Almost all the residents look like they are on their way to or from a photo shoot. I actually saw 4 photo shoots and a music video (complete with 3 Elvises, a break dancer and a cafe where the waitresses were serving a gorilla and a ware wolf) being filmed while I was there.
The people are hip, stylish, thin and glowing with health. They could put any Southern California city to shame. There is always something to do in Cape Town; climbing Table Mountain, climbing Lion's Head at the full moon, full moon parties, galleries, hiking, beaches, concerts and the hippest restaurants and clubs around.
Throw in the university and all that brings and the most manicured and pretty government section I have ever seen in a city and you have only touched the surface of what Cape Town has to offer. But I'm going to leave it at that before I sound too guide-book-cheerleadery.
Anyone who loves coffee shops and cafe hopping as well as the outdoors as much as I do would be in heaven. My days rolled over from beautiful beaches (despite teeth-shaking wind), walking around the city, exploring the posh waterfront, trendy cafes, a wine tour, hiking, sunsets on the mountain overlook and seeing the penguins to the legendary nightlife of Long Street that had me greet each day with a hangover.
Staying on Long Street you don't really have a choice; the music and drunken relics will keep you up all night no matter what, so you may as well join the party. I pried myself away from the near-perfection of Cape Town for the heartbreakingly beautiful cliffs of Hermanus- waves crashing into the rocks. From there it was the quiet wooded seaside village of Wilderness, then miles and miles of unspoilt beaches with incredible rock formations in Buffalo Bay. I sat, hypnotized as the w2aves shattered against the rocks in a synchronized spray far more impressive than at the Belagio.
On the surface, it would seem I have found my paradise. The locals are friendly and easy to meet. The area has everything I could ever want. All the places I have been are filled with fun things to do and the most impressive natural beauty I have ever seen. But if I have learned one thing on this trip it is that things are not always what they seem and I don't know if that perfect place I'm looking for exists.
It has been a strange transition in to such a developed country. I could be in California. Where is the Africa I know? Also, it is overwhelmingly white in the nice areas at least. The paradise feeling stops when you drive outside the beautiful towns and see the shadows of poverty. The vast majority of the population, all of whom are black, live in townships and slums. This is hard to see in any country, but the stark contrast between such a wealthy and developed city, just like one you would find in the U.S., and the slums and townships that surround the cities is horrific.
It seems like these people are just hidden from society, but because they are the majority, I wonder how long this will last. I was talking with a white South African who told me that he thinks they as people are all extremely insecure. They grow up with such violence and crime they they are always behind bars, looking in. Add that to the unstable political situation and instabilities for the whites in particular and you can see why they are so suspicious and insecure. He observed that when people like me come to visit South Africa, we feel like a right has been taken away because we are so limited due to the crime. For him, when he goes to Europe, the first thing he does is sit on a park bench at sunset because he can and he feels he has been given this gift of freedom.
One thing is for sure, you can feel the tension between the races and it is something that seems to destroy the country. It is always there, but never spoken about, impossible not to feel.
The damage of apartheid is deep. South Africa has elections coming up and many of the whites I have spoken too fear that it will turn in the direction of Zimbabwe with land redistribution and zoning, but who is to say what is right. It's like two different worlds here, that of most blacks and that of most whites. It's like the people in the cities don't even see the ones in townships. It's incongruent with paradise to say the least. I don't understand what is happening here and I need to talk to more people, but where before I was just very aware that I was the only white person or one of the few where I was, that was different. Here I am embarrassed and feel oppressive just by being white.
Cape Town is pretty much the coolest city imaginable. Almost all the residents look like they are on their way to or from a photo shoot. I actually saw 4 photo shoots and a music video (complete with 3 Elvises, a break dancer and a cafe where the waitresses were serving a gorilla and a ware wolf) being filmed while I was there.
The people are hip, stylish, thin and glowing with health. They could put any Southern California city to shame. There is always something to do in Cape Town; climbing Table Mountain, climbing Lion's Head at the full moon, full moon parties, galleries, hiking, beaches, concerts and the hippest restaurants and clubs around.
Throw in the university and all that brings and the most manicured and pretty government section I have ever seen in a city and you have only touched the surface of what Cape Town has to offer. But I'm going to leave it at that before I sound too guide-book-cheerleadery.
Anyone who loves coffee shops and cafe hopping as well as the outdoors as much as I do would be in heaven. My days rolled over from beautiful beaches (despite teeth-shaking wind), walking around the city, exploring the posh waterfront, trendy cafes, a wine tour, hiking, sunsets on the mountain overlook and seeing the penguins to the legendary nightlife of Long Street that had me greet each day with a hangover.
Staying on Long Street you don't really have a choice; the music and drunken relics will keep you up all night no matter what, so you may as well join the party. I pried myself away from the near-perfection of Cape Town for the heartbreakingly beautiful cliffs of Hermanus- waves crashing into the rocks. From there it was the quiet wooded seaside village of Wilderness, then miles and miles of unspoilt beaches with incredible rock formations in Buffalo Bay. I sat, hypnotized as the w2aves shattered against the rocks in a synchronized spray far more impressive than at the Belagio.
On the surface, it would seem I have found my paradise. The locals are friendly and easy to meet. The area has everything I could ever want. All the places I have been are filled with fun things to do and the most impressive natural beauty I have ever seen. But if I have learned one thing on this trip it is that things are not always what they seem and I don't know if that perfect place I'm looking for exists.
It has been a strange transition in to such a developed country. I could be in California. Where is the Africa I know? Also, it is overwhelmingly white in the nice areas at least. The paradise feeling stops when you drive outside the beautiful towns and see the shadows of poverty. The vast majority of the population, all of whom are black, live in townships and slums. This is hard to see in any country, but the stark contrast between such a wealthy and developed city, just like one you would find in the U.S., and the slums and townships that surround the cities is horrific.
It seems like these people are just hidden from society, but because they are the majority, I wonder how long this will last. I was talking with a white South African who told me that he thinks they as people are all extremely insecure. They grow up with such violence and crime they they are always behind bars, looking in. Add that to the unstable political situation and instabilities for the whites in particular and you can see why they are so suspicious and insecure. He observed that when people like me come to visit South Africa, we feel like a right has been taken away because we are so limited due to the crime. For him, when he goes to Europe, the first thing he does is sit on a park bench at sunset because he can and he feels he has been given this gift of freedom.
One thing is for sure, you can feel the tension between the races and it is something that seems to destroy the country. It is always there, but never spoken about, impossible not to feel.
The damage of apartheid is deep. South Africa has elections coming up and many of the whites I have spoken too fear that it will turn in the direction of Zimbabwe with land redistribution and zoning, but who is to say what is right. It's like two different worlds here, that of most blacks and that of most whites. It's like the people in the cities don't even see the ones in townships. It's incongruent with paradise to say the least. I don't understand what is happening here and I need to talk to more people, but where before I was just very aware that I was the only white person or one of the few where I was, that was different. Here I am embarrassed and feel oppressive just by being white.
Cage Diving with Great White Sharks (South Africa)
I'm sitting in the water in a metal cage as the boat its attached to lurches unforgiving with each 6 foot swell. The "Jaws" theme song is stuck in my head as I scan the wobbly water for fins.
"Ready, divers read," the captain of the boat yells. He throws the line of three large fish heads at the end and begins to drag it towards the cage.
"Down! Down!" he yells.
The chill of the Atlantic is no match for my wet suit. The water is so cold its like someone has punched me in the stomach. I struggle with buoyancy despite the weight belt to get as low as possible in the cage without any extraneous limbs sticking out of the bars as live bait.
The cold is instantly forgotten as I see the great white; all muscle and sleek, cruise up to the cage right where I am floating. Suddenly he surges and snaps for the bait just above my head and the open roofed cage above me. The classic snapshot of his teeth make the "Jaws" music intensify.
The captain pulls the bait away before the shark closes his powerful teeth on it. He cuts by my side of the cage within inches of me because I fought for the seat at the very end of the cage where all the action seemed to be. He appears to stop, motionless and look at me with his huge eye before rounding the corner close enough for me to touch him.
Gansbai, South Africa is known as the "Great White Shark Capital of the World." The company I dove with, Shark Dives Unlimited, has seen all sorts of celebrities and nature show hosts walk though their doors. Mike, one of the owners is the man you wee in the classic footage of a man swimming with great whites with nothing but his camera between him and the shark in the open water.
Despite appealing to adrenaline junkies like myself, the company is enthusiastic to correct the bad reputation of sharks. Shark attacks are so minimal, yet so highly publicised. The average annual deaths for shark attacks between 2001 and 2005 was just 4.4. Falling coconuts kill more people each year than sharks do. Think about your odds of dying when you get in a car and the fact that it is 30x more likely one would be stuck by lightning that bitten by a shark in a given year and its obvious they do not deserve the reputation they have.
"He's more afraid of you than you are of him," Mike says.
Humans, on the other hand are a shark's worst enemy, killing as many each year that many types will soon be on the endangered species list. According to estimates by NOAA fisheries, humans kill over 100 millions sharks each year. Who is more dangerous then?
Seeing a great white swim inches away from you is more calming than scary. It's like time stops and there is something so primal about this incredible shark, all taunt and muscle. For me, it was mostly about the adrenaline. I am always off to find the ultimate adrenaline rush and though it wasn't in the shark diving, it was still one of the most fun things I have ever done.
There is something completely surreal about sitting in the cage, a cage that could easily be crushed by an angry shark with an open top just a few inches above water level that the shark could jump into no problem, as the boat crew spills fish blood and guts into the ocean to attract a great white.
It was a truly unique feeling and I was struck with the hilarity of it all and this quest for an adrenaline rush. Waiting in the cage before the first shark, the tangible unknown assaulted me and I was happy.
Back on the boat, everyone furiously chews gum to relieve seasickness. The way the boat anchors makes even those who think they have an ocean-worthy stomach nauseous and more people than not lost their lunches to the ocean. But when the captain yelled out, "shark" and the people from the top deck could see the dark shadow gliding through the water towards the boat and a fin slicing through the swell, all else was forgotten.
Down in the cage, holding your breath in the icy cold in the shark's own dark territory you can't help but be impressed by its beauty. But be careful because shark diving is absolutely addictive.
So for me, it was no that great adrenaline rush I had hoped for, but it was still pure fun and one of the most unique things I have ever experienced.
I guess now I have to convince someone to take me base jumping.
"Ready, divers read," the captain of the boat yells. He throws the line of three large fish heads at the end and begins to drag it towards the cage.
"Down! Down!" he yells.
The chill of the Atlantic is no match for my wet suit. The water is so cold its like someone has punched me in the stomach. I struggle with buoyancy despite the weight belt to get as low as possible in the cage without any extraneous limbs sticking out of the bars as live bait.
The cold is instantly forgotten as I see the great white; all muscle and sleek, cruise up to the cage right where I am floating. Suddenly he surges and snaps for the bait just above my head and the open roofed cage above me. The classic snapshot of his teeth make the "Jaws" music intensify.
The captain pulls the bait away before the shark closes his powerful teeth on it. He cuts by my side of the cage within inches of me because I fought for the seat at the very end of the cage where all the action seemed to be. He appears to stop, motionless and look at me with his huge eye before rounding the corner close enough for me to touch him.
Gansbai, South Africa is known as the "Great White Shark Capital of the World." The company I dove with, Shark Dives Unlimited, has seen all sorts of celebrities and nature show hosts walk though their doors. Mike, one of the owners is the man you wee in the classic footage of a man swimming with great whites with nothing but his camera between him and the shark in the open water.
Despite appealing to adrenaline junkies like myself, the company is enthusiastic to correct the bad reputation of sharks. Shark attacks are so minimal, yet so highly publicised. The average annual deaths for shark attacks between 2001 and 2005 was just 4.4. Falling coconuts kill more people each year than sharks do. Think about your odds of dying when you get in a car and the fact that it is 30x more likely one would be stuck by lightning that bitten by a shark in a given year and its obvious they do not deserve the reputation they have.
"He's more afraid of you than you are of him," Mike says.
Humans, on the other hand are a shark's worst enemy, killing as many each year that many types will soon be on the endangered species list. According to estimates by NOAA fisheries, humans kill over 100 millions sharks each year. Who is more dangerous then?
Seeing a great white swim inches away from you is more calming than scary. It's like time stops and there is something so primal about this incredible shark, all taunt and muscle. For me, it was mostly about the adrenaline. I am always off to find the ultimate adrenaline rush and though it wasn't in the shark diving, it was still one of the most fun things I have ever done.
There is something completely surreal about sitting in the cage, a cage that could easily be crushed by an angry shark with an open top just a few inches above water level that the shark could jump into no problem, as the boat crew spills fish blood and guts into the ocean to attract a great white.
It was a truly unique feeling and I was struck with the hilarity of it all and this quest for an adrenaline rush. Waiting in the cage before the first shark, the tangible unknown assaulted me and I was happy.
Back on the boat, everyone furiously chews gum to relieve seasickness. The way the boat anchors makes even those who think they have an ocean-worthy stomach nauseous and more people than not lost their lunches to the ocean. But when the captain yelled out, "shark" and the people from the top deck could see the dark shadow gliding through the water towards the boat and a fin slicing through the swell, all else was forgotten.
Down in the cage, holding your breath in the icy cold in the shark's own dark territory you can't help but be impressed by its beauty. But be careful because shark diving is absolutely addictive.
So for me, it was no that great adrenaline rush I had hoped for, but it was still pure fun and one of the most unique things I have ever experienced.
I guess now I have to convince someone to take me base jumping.
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