Swazi, Mozi, Rats & Bats

So here’s the deal - this frickin’ entry is a beast.  I am going against everything I promised myself that I wouldn’t do in keeping a blog: ramble on about meaningless travel stories for 5 pages.  How douchey.  Well, poo, because look at me now going all hypocrite and stuff.  So I have no expectations here in terms of readership, because at the very least I had fun writing and re-living it.   BUT, if you choose to read till the end, you’ll get a peek into what it’s like backpacking throughout Africa.  I don’t think I’ve really gone into much detail of my day-to-day experiences, instead focusing on major events.   If you don’t make it past this intro, just know that in general travel in Africa is 10% planning, 90% improvising.

Public Transport in Africa
The thing about independent travel in Africa is that it is difficult. Distances are long, rides are cramped and sweaty and there’s no official system.  You basically have 2 choices in regards to public transport: minibus taxis or long-distance buses. 

•Minibus Taxis
Remember that game you played in college where you tried to see how many people could physically cram themselves into a phonebooth?  Add some wheels, chickens, luggage, BO and a numb bum and you have yourself an African minibus experience.   They only leave when completely full, so the average waiting time is between 5 min-3 hours depending on who’s already there when you show up.  Although they have a set start and end point, they can make any number of stops in between.  People are constantly hopping on and off every kilometer or so.  You generally need to double or triple the estimated journey time when taking a minibus.  Also, I’ve come to learn that shin-guards would be a nice protective accessory for this type of transport.

•Long-Distance Buses
LDBs are basically Greyhounds minus AC, plus a mini-church sesh to set the bus on its holy way and African jams and/or Celine Dion blaring through the PA system.  My general rule of thumb is to opt for an LDB for any ride over 8 hours. 

Logistically speaking, no African bus companies have any kind of marketing budget and there are certainly no timetables dictating stops or schedule.  Hence, finding out how to get from A to B always involves a solid amount of detective work. 

Case in point: I needed to get from Durban (SA) to Maputo (Mozi), two large cities about 280 miles apart with a good road linking the two.  You’d figure finding a way between the two would be cake.  Wrong.  After some futile internet research and asking around I found out that the only way I could make the trip was by minibus.  A hot, sweaty, 10-hour journey jammed in with 20 of my new closest friends and chickens.   

Fortunately, somewhere along my way I met a South African guy whose son lives in Mozambique and frequently makes the trip to Durban on a long-distance bus.  Ok! Great!  So there IS an actual bus.  After a bit of goose-chasing, he tracked down the phone number for the bus company.  I called.  They (gasp) answered.  I booked myself on.  Heck yeah! 

Swazi
Knowing that the road between Durban and Maputo cuts through Swaziland, I figured I’d stop off there first to hang out for a few days before crossing into Mozambique.  Getting to Swaziland wasn’t going to be a problem; getting myself where I needed to be IN Swazi was.
“Do you cross Swaziland to get to Maputo?”
“Yes.”
“Do you make any stops while in Swaziland?”
“We stop at the border”
“Is there anywhere for me to hop off and catch another bus to Manzini?”
“We can drop you on the road that leads to Manzini.”

Flash forward 24 hours and there I was on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere Swaziland watching my bus pull away and wondering if this was the best decision to have made.  Although this is a frequent question I’ve asked myself over the past 7 months of travel, so it was really nothing new. 

I looked around and saw some ladies sitting under shaded wooden stalls selling a handful of shriveled fruits and water in plastic bags.  I walked over to them and they immediately started giggling.  Sure, the sight of some white chick getting dumped out of a bus with a bunch of bags strapped to her back in 100 degree heat must have been a funny sight around those parts.  I parked myself alongside them and tried to make some small talk (mostly consisting of me smiling and them giggling) and played with the little toddler running around in his underpants.  One of the ladies spoke broken English and told me there should be a bus to Manzini coming soon.  Nice!  Since “soon” could be anywhere from now through early evening I prepared to settle in for a while.  Not a minute later she jumped to her feet, grabbed my daypack and started running like a madwoman.  Befuddled, I looked up having no idea what was happening to see this rickety old school bus barreling down the road towards us. 

“Come! You must come now! The bus is here!” she hollered back at me while in a panicked, wobbly shuffle trying to run while clutching my heavy daypack.  I threw my big pack on and followed suit.  I caught up with her in the middle of the dirt turnoff just as the bus came bursting through.  She yanked my pack off my back and gave it to the conductor to throw into the bus bowels and she insisted I board the bus immediately.  I can now understand her frenzy as the bus never really came to a complete stop before they launched my bags on board and I hurled myself through a cloud of dust and into the open doors. 

Upon arriving in Manzini, I shuddered once I caught a glimpse of the taxi rank.  It was the standard mess of small, medium and large buses creating a neverending maze through which passengers, loiterers and vendors shimmy their way.  Before getting off my bus, I asked where I could get transport to the Ezulwini Valley.  The conductor motioned for me to follow him and he escorted me through the hordes.  Once we found the right minibus, I jammed my luggage under and in front of my seat, giving me just enough room to squeeze myself in with my legs overflowing to the side.  After about an hour of shooing away the vendors asking, “Sissy, sissy, cold drink? Ice cream?” through my window, the minibus finally found its final passenger and we set off. 

Thirty minutes later and I again found myself getting dumped on the side of the road.  After aimlessly hiking around for a bit I eventually found my backpackers and by the expression on the guy’s face when I arrived, I probably looked like the hot, sweaty lovechild of Swamp Thing and a hobo.   But I made it. 

The next week in Swazi I did a bunch of bartering with the curio vendors at the market, visited the capital city of Mbabane, arranged for my Mozambique visa, toured an amazing Fair Trade organization and spent some time with a few new friends relaxing at the Royal Swazi Hotel pool.

My final night in Swazi the sky released its buildup of rain wrath on the earth and sent water gushing down uninterrupted for at least 18 hours straight, all the while making sure your pants were properly soiled after each massive thunder and lightening strike.

I was still camping at this point and although I knew my tent was only rated for “light drizzle,” I had confidence that I wasn’t going to wake up in a puddle of mud.  I was right about the mud part, but I spent most of the night curled up in the fetal position, freaked out about the thunder and trying to avoid the walls of my tent that were at this point fully soaked through and dripping rainwater inside.  And that officially marked my last night of camping. I ditched my tent before setting off again to catch a series of minibuses to Mozambique.

Mozi
After another full day of minibus travel with a watermelon rolling over my toes and the obligatory marriage proposals, cow offerings and my favorite game of “guess my age and marvel at my single & childless state of being”, I made it to the Mozambican capital city of Maputo and met up with my Couchsurfing host. 

I stayed with Lucas, a Brazilian expat who was transferred there for an international stint with his job.  His company hooked him up with a nice air conditioned apartment overlooking the Indian Ocean and a sweet 4x4 to drive around in.  We decided to put his 4x4 to the test on my birthday when we set off to Macaneta beach.

To get there, you drive about 1 hour north of Maputo before loading your car into a ferry, crossing a river and 4x4-ing it on a sandy, rutted road while dodging stubborn cow herds.  We spent a great afternoon on the beautiful, secluded beach and ate delicious guavas and cashews, both of which are grown locally and sold ridiculously cheap by street vendors and/or kids.

At around 4pm, we made our way back to the ferry where a massive line of cars had already formed.  We calculated that we’d be on the 3rd ferry, which would get us to the other side in about an hour and a half.  Our optimistic bubble was burst once we realized the ferry had broken down and we wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.  As the sun set and the moon rose, we could only imagine how long we’d be stuck waiting in vain for the ferry to reappear to take on a fresh load.  One guy capitalized on the situation and started charging people to row them in his canoe to the other side. 

We ended up teaming up with some other 4x4 drivers and began scheming ways out of this predicament.  One of the locals knew of a road that could get us around the river, but it would be on even rougher, sandier road and there was a chance we’d get stuck.  But his cousin just called and said it was ok.  Which brings me to another African rule of thumb:  if someone’s cousin says it’s ok, it’s definitely a good idea.  Knowing how things in Africa work - or don’t work, rather - we figured we’d have a better chance of escape by taking matters into our own hands than waiting on this ferry.  And hopefully we’d be back in time to do some evening birthdaying in Maputo.

We spent the next 2 hours in the equivalent of a washing machine on wheels, getting jostled and churned around in our seats. The guy leading the way was flying around the hairpin turns and careening over the shittiest road imaginable.   I doubt anyone had driven that way in a decade as the overgrowth on either side left barely enough wiggle-room for a car to pass unscathed.  This was true African bush.  If anything were to happen to the car here, you’d be completely screwed.  There were no towns, villages, or signs of life in general aside from the occasional flash of a human figure watching us pass from the side of the road that we were convinced must have been ghosts.

We didn’t make it back to Maputo until 10pm, a full 6 hours or so after having left the beach.  Determined to keep the ridiculousness alive, we cleaned up and hit the town for some more birthday celebrations, visiting a few bars and restaurants and meeting up with Lucas’ friends along the way.  It was probably one of my more memorable birthdays outside of that time I went to that live Double Dare show back in ’89.

Rats
After hanging with Lucas in Maputo for a few days, I decided it was time to head up the coast to do some of the famous diving in Tofo I kept hearing about.  After another bus journey and 8 hours of watching my bag get successfully trampled into a dirty, blue pancake as it resided in the aisle at the front of the bus and the only way people could get on/off was to step on it, I made it to Tofo and parked my stuff at Fatima’s Nest Backpackers.  I had heard of Fatima’s through the backpacker grapevine, and the consensus was that you’d either love it or hate it.  Honestly? The only saving grace for this place is its bar scene because outside of that the place is a legitimate dump.

I consulted with my new friend, Ema, from the bus ride up, to decide whether we felt like walking around to find another hostel.   We figured we’d stay a night and see how it went because all we wanted to do at that point was jump in the ocean. So we settled in and immediately a number of red flags went up.  Ominous warnings that we should have heeded.  The first one being the obvious dumpy state of the hostel, the second being an army of ants swarming around the stove area, and the third being conversations with other travelers warning about a mouse infestation.  Apparently people had woken up in the morning to find their backpacks, clothing, jewelry and soap chewed through by mice throughout the night.  Fan-frickin-tastic.  So off I went to fish out my soap and beaded necklaces and set them in the fridge - the safest place I could imagine putting them. 

At around 4am that morning, everything came to a head.  I woke up with a fright to Ema shaking my bed and calling my name.  She had run into my dorm after being completely traumatized by a dozen mice scurrying about her room.  There is no way I can describe with as much hilarity the situation she found herself in with these mice, but I will try my best.

She had been peacefully sleeping most of the night when the noise of a plastic bag rustling woke her up.  She shot up and listened to the mysterious noises for a while before realizing what she was hearing were these mice I had warned her about.  She remained prisoner in her bed for a solid 30 min before mustering up the courage to set her bare feet on the floor and run over to the light switch to see what was happening.  As soon as she flicked the light, she saw at least 7 giant mice frozen in place, all 14 beady eyes on her.  Not a second later they broke their silence and continued on scurrying about her room, climbing around the rafters and falling down onto the floor.  Sick.  She grabbed the sealed container of peanut butter sitting on the dresser, ran out the door and chucked it as far away into the darkness as she could while booking it over to my dorm.  And that’s when she shook me awake in a panic and in utter fear that the mice were going to touch her and bite her toes off.  Not an unreasonable fear by any means, but at 4am I honestly just brushed it off and tried to soothe her fears enough for her to go back to sleep.  “They won’t touch you, it’s going to be fine.  Just use your mosquito net as a shield. They aren’t going to get in.”

That next morning I woke up to holes in my jean shorts, laptop case and miscellaneous bags…all chewed up by these damn mice.  And there was Ema with a big, "I told you so" grin on her face.  Touché, touché.  

Being that I have a zero-tolerance policy to rodent infestations, I packed and trucked my ass down the road to move into Bamboozi backpackers, by far a much nicer and cheaper place to stay (I will say, though, that Fatima’s at least sympathized with us and gave refunds for our night’s stay.  So cheers to them for that).  Later that morning Ema joined me at Bamboozi and after a night or two of paranoia associated with any kind of rustling noise, we settled in nicely.  That is until the third night. 

Bats
So there we were doing a bit of reading before heading to sleep, Ema at the desk and me in my bed.  I kept absentmindedly noticing the lights flickering, but paid no attention to it.  Just as I realized the flickering was actually some sort of night-creature darting past the lights, Ema started shouting at me:
“Oh my God, bats! Cover your hair!! Cover your hair!”
“What? What? What? What the hell? Bats?! What? Why are they in here?”
“Cover your hair!!!”

We frantically sought shelter under our mosquito/bat nets simultaneously screaming and laughing our faces off.  Ema proceeded to warn me about some sort of membrane in bat’s feet that if it makes contact with your hair will get stuck.  And the bats will freak out and you will freak out and then you’ll have to shave your head.  So, great, the only thing preventing us from imminent baldness and a potential bout of rabies is a flimsy, hole-pocked piece of mesh.  After a futile effort of scream-laughing for help, the bats spared us and flew away, but not without leaving us reverting back into our state of nocturnal and disease-laden animal paranoia. 

Etc.
Our days were spent in a much more peaceful state.  Beaching, surfing, walking, bargaining, souveniring, ocean safari-ing and scuba diving.  One of my favorite things was snacking on the fresh cashew nuts grown locally in Mozambique.  You could get a huge bag for 1/3 the price you’d pay in the States.  Totally raw, unprocessed and delicious.  I pretty much ate them for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  It was only after my face and eyes puffed out so much that I looked like a human goldfish did I find out that I am allergic to cashew nut skins.  The fruit that cashews grow on produce an oil related to that produced by poison oak/ivy.  And seeing as though full-bodied poison oak rashes were a huge and dark part of my childhood, my evil, oily arch nemesis had obviously resurfaced.  Lesson learned.  I’m just happy to know that if I actually had permanent elephantiasis-face, people would still be my friend.  Or at least they’d pity me enough to be nice to me.

To top off the comedy-of-errors trip to Mozambique, I was having THE worst luck seeing any of the major big-game sea-life that these waters are known for.  Mainly giant manta rays and whale sharks.   Tofo is renown for being one of the few places in the world spot these creatures.  Not only that, but it is also supposed to have one of the highest concentrations, so your likelihood of seeing these guys is very good.  So after 4ish days of failure and being told by others that they’ve seen nothing after 12 ocean safaris and dive trips, I nearly gave up hope.  Not until my final 2 days in Mozi when I decided to go for broke and blow all my cash on a last-ditch effort trying to see these frickin’ things did my luck turn for the better. 

I booked myself on a dive to Manta Reef, named so for obvious reasons.  The dive was amazing.  I love the negative-entries you do in Tofo where as soon as you roll off the boat, you bomb it head-first to the bottom.  So fun.  Except I just end up sucking down my air way too quickly, so I need to work on that.  Anyway, like I said, the dive was amazing.  No, we did not see any mantas that time, but the reef itself was beautiful and teeming with life.  More fish than I’ve ever seen in one place, a big, crotchety old potato bass, massive lobsters and a moray eel that could have literally swallowed me whole.  That thing was massive – I’d guess 3ft around.  

That afternoon, I headed out on an ocean safari.  The sea was super calm and the sun was beating down from above – the perfect conditions for spotting the massive grey shadows you look for as telltale signs of a whale shark.  After maybe 30min of searching someone shouted “mantas!” and we were in the water snorkeling with these guys.  Not even joking, they had at least a 6ft wingspan.  Once the mantas out-swam us, we headed back to the inflatable to continue our search for whale sharks.  We didn’t even make it back before out of nowhere this big 11-meter mama appeared with her beautiful grey and white speckled body. I swam with her for about 10min and watched her suck in gallons and gallons of zoo-plankton through her behemoth 6ft wide mouth.  Dang, those things are absolutely amazing. 

So after all was said and done, I successfully saw 3 mantas, 4 whale sharks and of course that ridic massive honeycomb moray eel thrown in.  In each case, I remember gasping in amazement each time I caught my first glimpse.   Unreal experiences and no better way to end my time in Mozambique!!!

OMG.  The End.  Finally.  Thanks for making it.

I'm from America. You know which one.

I might as well have the United States flag tattooed on my forehead because 99% of the time people correctly guess right off the bat that I’m American.  I always ask how they know this and I’m told it’s because of the way I dress (bedazzled stretch pants?), my accent (strong pronunciation of the letter R) and/or choice of vocabulary (use of the word ‘totally,’ etc). Otherwise, if I’m just asked “where are you from?” in general, I always reply with, “I’m from the US; from California.”  There are specific reasons I have chosen this particular wording, based on a series of trial and error:

A) I do not just say “I’m from America” due to the fact that I will open myself up to getting shit from people who will say, “well, there are a lot of Americas – North, Central, South – do you think the United States encompasses all of the Americas?” To which I would like to respond by Stooge-poking them in the eyeballs.
B) I do not just say, “I’m from the US.”  This will then elicit a knowing eye-roll and a “no-shit” expression being that this is apparently obvious.  They will then follow this up with the comment, “right, but what state?”
C) I do not just say, “I’m from California.”  This invites more shit-lashing in that people from the US are apparently so proud that they don’t even need to specify their country of origin before jumping right to their state.

Hence, I avoid all of the above by detailing my birthplace as previously described.  However, I have gotten shit for this as well in that I’m being overly descriptive.  So if the international community could please come up with a non-offensive way to describe where we “United States of Americaners” are from, I would love to know so that I may comply with your standards. 

Actually, scratch that.  I'm going to revert back to "I'm from America."  You clearly know which America I'm talking about.  Deal with it.

Race to the Border

Ok, so after a bit of wild goose chasing I found out that Lesotho no longer has the authority to issue visas or visa extensions for South Africa.  I mean, I could have probably done a bit of bribing and spent a day or two hanging out at the border making phone calls to the US Embassy in Pretoria to get them to convince South African Home Affairs to let me stay in SA longer, but that would have been ridiculous.  I have no urgent or valid reason to stay in SA longer other than "I want to."  Which sucks because that means I only got to spend 4 hours on the edge of Lesotho vs. 4 days traveling throughout.  Argh, Lesotho looked so cool and different from the rest of Africa, too, I really wanted to check it out.

Anyway, I have 2 days to get out of SA, so am booking it to Swaziland and/or Mozambique.  So far everything is going super smoothly as I got a ride from some Germans to the nearest town of Underberg where I got the last spot on the minibus to Pietermaritzburg where I transferred to a Durban minibus where I made 2 other bus transfers and made it back to the Happy Hippo backpackers by 2pm.  The whole trip only took about 4 hours!  Seeing as though I was expecting to wait for 2-3 hours in Underberg for the PMB minibus to fill up before it left, I'd say the universe is on my side today!

Tomorrow is my only shot to get out of SA before my visa expires since the 1 long-distance bus that runs from Durban to Swazi/Mozi goes on Fri, Sun and Wed.  Tomorrow is Fri and Sun is too late.  Assuming all goes well, South Africa's doors will just barely be hitting me on my way out.

Bye, SA! Love you!

(Riding a minibus with 18 of my closest friends)

Pushing My Luck

Illegal alien
So I have 9 days left on my South African visa before I become an illegal alien.  If I overstay my welcome I’m going to be fined something like $300-400.  I’ve been taking my sweet ass time up the coast and loving every second of it, but didn’t really take into account the fact that 9 days isn’t enough to cover everything I wanted to do along the South Coast and in the Drakensberg Mountains.  

You used to be able to cross into Lesotho or Swaziland and get an extra 90 days, but this is no longer the case since everyone was abusing the system.  Word on the street is now you get anywhere from 0-30 days maximum.  Most likely 7, though, but no guarantees.  I guess it all hinges on your groveling and/or bribing abilities.  And surely if you look like Shakira that couldn’t hurt, either.

Shark bait
Perhaps a more risky endeavor to be pushing my luck with is the dive I’m to do tomorrow.  I will be entering the water sans cage with scores of Oceanic Blacktip sharks as well as Tiger and perhaps Bull sharks. Aliwal Shoal is one of the few places in the world that offers diving with Tiger sharks, and I am crossing my fingers that we see some tomorrow!  Even just 1 would be awesome!  Regardless, there are supposed to be somewhere between 20-30 Blacktips around, which will be rad in itself!

Nice knowing y’all…


**UPDATE**
Best dive EVER!!! Scores of Blacktips, 6 Tigers and 1 huge Bull shark!!
Click here to check out the vid on YouTube!
 

Do I Really Have to Leave?

What I find funny looking back through my blog is that I’ve posted fewer entries in South Africa than I did in Kenya, Tanzania, Malawi, Zambia, etc.  Which, given the fact that I have had way more access to reliable and sometimes free wifi here in SA, is totally unacceptable!  My only explanation for this is that I’ve been having the time of my life and can’t peel myself away long enough to sit in front of my computer for hours to write updates about it.

That said, I can’t even begin to explain the feeling I get when I look back on my blog entries, photos and videos.  When people ask me how long I’ve been traveling and the words “six months” comes out of my mouth, I can hardly believe my own ears.  Not to mention I have another six months ahead of me.  It’s a daunting thought. 

My time in South Africa is nearing an end and I am really going to miss this place.  Travel here is super easy and I have had most of the comforts from home afforded to me, which has been a welcome respite from the 3rd world ruggedness sandwiched on either end….of course, that is aside from the fact that I’ve been camping sans mattress, when I do book a room I share with 5-9 other people, and I am 100% reliant on the Baz Bus and Coast to Coast guides.

I couldn’t have planned it better, really, since roughing it in developing nations is nothing short of “an experience.”  You certainly learn a hell of a lot about local culture, customs and yourself.  You don’t travel to the 3rd world for a vacation.  You go to test your limits and to venture into the unknown.  You experience things most people never will and you will be mentally, emotionally and physically moved beyond anything you could have anticipated. This is not to slight my experiences in South Africa, but I can’t say the same about traveling amongst throngs of other 20-something backpackers, all of whom are on the same track as me.  It’s the same concept as taking an overland tour.  You have a great time, but ultimately you are just stuck in a bubble with a bunch of other Western tourists.  I won’t get into that now, though.

Anyway, I am so looking forward to hurling myself back into the hectic, disorderly, dirty, disheveled 3rd world, but not without appreciating the time I’ve spent in SA.  I have had so many memorable experiences here and have met the most amazing people.  Locals and other travelers alike.

That said, South Africa at the core is a 3rd world country with many 1st world enclaves throughout.  The majority of SA is as poor and rugged as many other African nations once you get off the beaten track.  Admittedly, I have stuck to all of the tourist destinations which has given the impression of being in a 1st world country, but there is no getting around the obvious signs of blatant inequality and socio-economic gaps.  One of the most bizarre examples were all the nice homes and apartments barricaded behind barbed wire, electric fencing and guard dogs…it’s as if all the white people live in compounds to keep the black people at bay.  Additionally most of the black and “colored” populous live in townships, which were set up during apartheid as places for non-whites to live on the outskirts of major towns and cities.  So although apartheid is no longer in effect, it is still informally taking place in that at the end of the workday, all of the non-white workers catch their minibus back home to the township…it’s just that now there is no formal punishment for black people to be “caught” in city centers outside of working hours.

I wasn’t alive during the Civil Rights movement in the US, but I can imagine the aftermath is much like current-day South Africa.  People are still adjusting to the new way of life and it is going to take decades for things to start righting themselves.  Not that the US has been righted, but we’ve got an extra 30ish years of mending on SA.

So initially I was going to write this entry about how awesome South Africa is, but clearly I veered off track somewhere along the line.  Let me get back to my SA lovefest for a minute and reflect on my favorite times so far:

• Cape Town – one of the most beautiful, active and entertaining cities in the world.  I could so live here.
• Stellenbosch – unbelievably beautiful wine country.  Behold the scenery.
• Hermanus – cute little town, liked it enough.  Can imagine it’s awesome during whale season.
• Mossel Bay – decent town, but not the prettiest. Has one of my favorite hiking trails ever along rocky, tumultuous coastline.   And of course the sharks.  Some of my best times were spent here!
• Oudtshoorn – cute town amongst throngs of ostrich farms in which you can sample eggs and ride these feathered beasts.  Awesome cave system to go adventuring in as well.
• Plettenberg Bay – very small, but very cute.  Great scenery, overlooks & beaches.  Robberg Peninsula is beautiful.
• Jeffrey’s Bay – more Billabong shops per square mile than Starbucks in Seattle.  Loved Ubuntu Backpackers and the people there.  Beautiful beaches and great surfing as well.
• Cintsa – not much of a town outside of the Barfoot Café, but some great times were had here.  Buccaneers Backpackers is my favorite in SA.  Amazing view of the ocean, decent surfing, cute dogs, swimming pool, bar pool, ping pong, daily volleyball sessions, free evening goon wine…the list could go on forever.  I couldn’t stop raving about this place after I left.  I wish I stayed longer!
• Hogsback – Gorgeous mountain scenery, great hiking and pretty waterfalls.  Overrun with hippies, though, so that might have an impact on how much time one can spend here.
• Coffee Bay – contrary to everything I heard about CB and the Coffee Shack Backpackers, I thought this place was a dump.  The setup wasn’t conducive to mingling and I’ve seen way better facilities.  What makes up for it, though, are all the daily activities they have on offer – hikes, cliff jumps, beach days, etc. 

I have another 2 weeks left before I must leave South Africa, so the list will go on from here.  I'm on the fringes of Durban now, and plan to do some diving on the Aliwal Shoal before I make my way to the Drakensberg mountains and on to Lesotho, Swaziland, Mozambique and Madagascar before I leave Africa.  Unless I go to Ethiopia, but I'm not sure about that yet....

BUNGY

It's been a few days now since I did the (arguably) world's highest bungy jump at Bloukran's Bridge, South Africa (216m/709ft).  Highest schmighest, ANY bungy is scary.  I've now done a handful of bungys in my life, all of which have been pants-soiling.  I will say, though, that this one was the scariest yet, obviously due to the lengthy free-fall.  You really are only falling for something like 5 seconds before you start to feel the cord tugging at your ankles, but those 5 seconds are sheer insanity...or perhaps joy.

Thing is, each time I've bungied I've gone twice on the same day.  I really think this is the way to go because you get a totally different experience out of each jump.  The first jump I'm always super nervous, tense and have a moment of "I might die right now."  My brain just feels totally twisted and violated.  On the other hand, my second jump experiences have been much more chilled and relaxed.   I’m over the initial shock and know what to expect so totally enjoy the free-fall.  It feels more like floating or flying than uncontrollably plummeting to the bottom of a gorge.   So fun!

If it were free, I’d seriously jump until my eyeballs popped out of my head.

Getting Fancy

I've decided to try to add a photo here and there to my posts.  So, yay.

How to Ride an Ostrich

In Theory
1. Find an ostrich to ride.
2. Mount the bird.
3. Hold on tight as it sprints around like a bucking bronco.

In Practice
1. Find an ostrich to ride.
2. Give camera to someone to take video/photos.
3. Mount the bird, legs under wings.
4. Adjust butt positioning while bird starts getting visibly annoyed.
5. Grab base of wings.  Do not grab neck.
6. Hook legs as tightly as possible around front of now angry bird.
7. Lean way back.
8. Try to stay on massive, flailing bird as it sprints around, hating you and hating life.
9. Fall back into handlers, attempting not to yank any more feathers out of this poor bird than you already have.
10. Review photos taken by aforementioned 'someone' and get annoyed that they suck at taking pictures and didn’t get anything Facebook-worthy.

All-in-all, it's not something I’d necessarily do again or recommend to anyone because of the minor animal-cruelty aspect of it…but I’m not gonna lie, it was good, ridiculous fun.

Shark Month! (and a bit of conservation preaching)

I’m never going to view Shark Week on the Discovery Channel the same way again.  I just spent every day of the past month admiring, learning about and working with Great White sharks.   I’ve seen each unique scar, I’ve seen them roll their eyes as they go for bait, I’ve seen them extrude their jaw bearing their 7-rows of teeth, I’ve seen ¼, ½ and full-bodied breaches, I’ve touched them as they glide past the cage, I’ve been face-to-mouth as they gnaw on the cage right in front of me and I’ve even suffered a minor back injury after a WWF-style smackdown from a flying Great White.  It’s pretty much been one of the best months of my life.  

I’ve always had a fascination with sharks being that I grew up on the Pacific.  Great Whites in particular.  I fear them yet simultaneously love them and now want to be around them all the time.  I guess that all boils down to massive respect for these awesome beasts of the deep.  I’m going to go through serious shark withdrawal when I leave the program.  They’ve oddly become like pets to me and I have definitely picked favorites:

• Stinger is a 1.9m female who will always have a special place in my heart.  She’s only a lil’ girl, but she has massive personality.  She’s quite feisty and is almost puppy-like in her demeanor.  I’ll never forget the first time we met her when she went up and mouthed a jellyfish not knowing that they sting.  I saw the pink blob disappear into her mouth and then watched as she flinched and spit it out right away.  So cute. I wanted to name her Jelly but I guess that was too wimpy, so Stinger it is.  She’s my girl!
• Flash is a 2.7m female who always puts on a great show.  She makes for awesome photos.  She’s all about the sneak attack from below and loves to make vertical ascents to the surface before explosively breaching out of the water for the bait.   There is no way to see her coming and she’s successfully snagged 22 total baits in January alone.  In comparison, the second-place bait-snagger has only gotten 5.  Note: we do not feed the sharks and only use the bait as a lure.  Think of it like a matador’s cape to a bull.  But there’s only so much reaction time you can have when a shark like Flash is around.
• Little Sharkira is a 2.6m female who is absolutely gorgeous.  She is littered with all kinds of black, white and pink scars that make her look super cool.  Michael, the videographer on the boat, totally has a crush on her.
• Tina is a 3.3m female who just showed up towards the end.  She’s a big mamma with a lot of girth but is very agile.  Her trademark is to make a pass at the bait like she’s not interested and then make a U-turn and go for it full-on.  Such a tease.  I suggested we name her Tina Turner and it stuck.  She’s a super nice, calm shark and is one of those ones that you could do nose-ups and free-dive with.  I mean, not me, but someone else, obv…

I’ve gotten a peek into the world of people who have devoted their lives to sharks, each with a different story as to how they got into this line of work.  Some even started out as poachers who have since done a 180 after realizing how amazing and crucially important these animals are to the health of our oceans. 

Unfortunately, poaching and finning still happens to a large degree today.  Shark populations are being decimated, which leads to a terrible chain-reaction in the oceans.  Sharks keep the populations of seals and other lower-level predators in check.  Without sharks, seal populations would explode which would in turn wipe out fish populations.  So I hope you don’t like seafood because there goes the fishing industry.  And then there’s finning.  The process of finning is sick: once a shark is captured, its fins are sliced off (all the while you can see them rolling their eyes back each time indicating that they do in fact feel the pain) before their limbless bodies are dumped back overboard to drown and sink to the bottom of the ocean.  And what’s most absurd about it is that the fins are mainly used in Asia as an aphrodisiac.   People really suck sometimes.

On a lighter note, at least there is some work being done to protect sharks around the world.  South Africa was the first country to enact conservation laws with the USA and Australia not far behind.  

So now that I’ve convinced everybody to love sharks and stop killing them :), I will leave you with a few interesting bits of information on Great Whites:

• They are warm-blooded.  Their core temp hovers around 25C.
• They have the ability to detect electrical fields, pressure changes and vibrations in the water.
• They roll their eyes back into the sockets to protect them while preying.
• They like their personal space.  Great Whites are the only shark that doesn’t like touching.  You’ll never see a Great White feeding frenzy.
• They constantly regenerate new teeth.  Their bottom jaw has 7 rows of teeth at any one time waiting to replenish those that fall out. 
• There is a social hierarchy based strictly on size.  The smaller shark always gives way to the bigger shark.
• Females grow larger than males.  Males can get up to around 6m, females 7-7.5m, but are believed to be able to grow larger (!!!)
• Their favorite food is whale due to its uber-high energy-content.

Based on my time with the program, I took it upon myself to collate some of the data they’ve been collecting to come up with some sweet insights.  Bar charts, pie charts, the whole shebang. Not gonna lie, it’s actually cool to analyze data on sharks…no offense to all the wrinkle and zit creams I used to analyze, but shark data is way more interesting...

Highlights:

• Total Sightings: 150
• Total Individuals (estimated): 45
• Total Number of Trips: 21
• Average Sightings per Trip: 7
• Average Size: 2.6m
• Share of Females vs. Males: 90% F; 10% M

I LOVE SHARRRRRRKSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!

PS - we did some work tagging smaller species of sharks in the bay.  Pajama sharks, leopard catsharks, etc.  We also took some bait down on a dive with us where we fed, pet, hugged, kissed and “put into tonic” about 15 of these little guys.  So hilarious and awesome.

PPS – I must also note that I met some of the coolest peeps ever while on the program.  Naturally they taught me some phrases in Afrikaans and Xhosa, clicks and all...which is way hard, btw.  I learned how to say, “good morning, how are you, fine thank you, I’m a hungry hippo, you smell like fish, you need a pedicure,” and for those times when tourists do not listen to the fact that you are only allowed to go #1 in the bathroom on the boat, “whose turds are those?”

Namibia Rewind

I haven’t had the chance to write about Namibia yet so I’m going to rewind a bit and talk about how much I loved it there.  Then I’ll get to the sharks.

Before I started researching for my trip I had probably heard of Namibia twice in my life.  Once in elementary school geography class and the second time sometime probably in middle school.  Let me just tell you now that Namibia is awesome and totally underrated.  It is definitely in my top 3 favorite countries.   

Namibia is a massive place and very spread out - it’s one of the most sparsely populated countries in the world - but it has a ton to offer in regards to game parks, culture & scenery.  My favorite aspect, though, was the scenery.  The dunes of the Namib desert were unlike any landscape I’d ever seen.  Specifically Dune 45 and those of Sossusvlei.  The colors were so simple – black petrified trees, orange dunes, blue sky, white salt pan - yet in such beautiful contrast with one another that it made you feel like you were standing in a Windows desktop.  Which, actually, we were…Dune 45 is the site of one of their stock photos.

Not only that, but there’s a smattering of adventure activities to choose from, which, for me, was an added bonus.  That stuff always sucks me in.  The sandboarding and quad-biking in particular were unreal as the size of the dunes made for double the fun.  Not to mention the sand-sledding where I got clocked going 73kph (45mph) while hurtling down the side of a dune on a piece of slick plywood.  Fastest chick speed of the day!  You KNOW it!

In conclusion, Namibia is rad.