Bushwhackin' the Dark Continent

The Bushwhackin' Index

2008-08-07T17:44:00.000-07:00

Countries Visited: 14
Days Traveling: 206
Which is also... 6 months, 24 days
Number of Beds slept in: 64; (Tents: 3, Trains: 1, Other: 1)
Kilometers Traveled: 51,310 (yes, I calculated it)
Circumference of the Earth at its largest: 40,075 km
Currencies Used while traveling: 14
(US Dollar, British Pound, Euro, Moroccan Dirham, S. African Rand, Lesotho Loti, Swazi Lilangeni, Namibian Dollar, Botswanan Pula, Zambian Kwacha, Zimbabwean Dollar, Tanzanian Shilling, Malawian Kwacha, Mozambican Meticais.)
Languages in which I picked up at least 3 words: 7
(Spanish, Portuguese, Sosotho, Sotswana, Chichewa, Swahili, German)
Serious diseases picked up: 0 (thankfully)
Beers drunk: ~800
Unusual animals eaten: 5
(Zebra, Ostrich, Impala, Crocodile, Kudu)
Planes flown on: 12
Number of those I jumped out of: 1
Worst 3 hostels in Africa: Jambo Inn, Zanzibar; Youth Hostel, Casablanca; Shithole (name forgotten), Nkhata Bay. Honourable Mention: Kassuende Hotel, Tete
Best 3 Hostels in Africa: Mabuya Lodge, Lilongwe; Jollyboys, Livingstone; 1322 International, Pretoria

The Ghosts of my Back Yard

2008-08-04T14:53:00.000-07:00

Being home is really strange. For a long time I haven't been in any kind of familiar environments, and now that I am, I'm not sure how to deal with it. I just went to sit in my backyard, and all these emotions and memories began to wash over me. I was looking at places where I used to run around pretending to be this or that, when I was a child, and I could almost see family members and friends who are no longer in my life. I saw spots where I know family pets, long gone now, are buried. I thought about various parties I hosted in my highschool years when parents were away, and remembered how I used to feel in those days, my beliefs and aspirations at the time. I saw my dad again. I felt the warm breeze wash over me and rustle through the trees. I felt incredibly lonely and so strange that I had to leave after a while.

The past and its memories are very comforting for a lot of people. For whatever reason, they make me feel, for lack of a better word, strange. Not good, not bad, just strange. I've had a good life and lots of good times on that patch of earth, which makes me wonder why the memories stored there are not purely 'good'. They say that change is one of the most difficult things for people to deal with - switching jobs, moving houses, death... Maybe being home, in a place that is a setting for so much of my past, is a stark reminder of how many things have changed over the years in my life.

I'm very happy to be home, and for the most part it's been very comforting. But without warning, sometimes I feel like a stranger and I hope it passes.

The ending of a story

2008-07-30T02:29:00.001-07:00

Today is a huge day for me.

It's my last in Africa for who knows how long. I'm excited as hell to be going HOME after 7 months. I don't completely understand why yet, but I'm also terrified. My adrenaline has been pumping for the better part of the morning. Part of this is certainly anxiety over the hassle of traveling alone across 3 continents, on 5 flights (24 hours in the air), in 3 days. I'm so sick of the physical act of traveling - leaving the relative familiarity of a spot, being throw into foreign environments moment after moment, struggling to find your way, dealing with new people and alien languages, hustle and bustle, lack of sleep, uncomfortable seating, and having to keep your wits about you at all times on the off chance that someone wants to steal your bag or your wallet. I'm flying from Johannesburg to Zurich to Madrid to London to Glasgow (overnight there) to Toronto, all because airlines were not designed around the budget traveler.

However, this kind of stress I'm familiar with and have no problem overcoming. It's the unknown aspect of my return journey that I'm truly terrified about. I'm not the same person I was anymore. I've been immersed in cultures with totally different values and concerns from the society I'm returning to and I'm scared of what I'm going to find at home. I have no idea if I will be able to readjust, but I know already it will be difficult. South Africa is a cultural crossroads between Africa and the West. Being here for the last week has been a slow but somewhat alarming reintroduction to the life I used to live.

Believe it or not, watching TV again (I've been doing a lot of that) has been a traumatic experience for me. I cannot believe how mind-bogglingly asinine and offensive commercials are (text i'maconsumerwhore to 12345 for the latest cellphone ring tones!) Movies have not been so bad but reality TV and pop culture almost makes me want to cry. If people paid half as much attention to things that matter as they did to what Drew Barrymore wore last Wednesday, our world would be in a lot better shape. I want to scream and I'm not even back yet.

As my return date has been approaching, I've been getting more and more excited to be home among familiar faces and comforts. I just hope that those things are as comforting as I have been envisioning. Either way, I'm going to take my experience and use it to reshape the world for the better. See you all soon.

Maputo

2008-07-27T05:49:00.000-07:00

The 7 hour trip from Tofo to Maputo was smooth - surprisingly no bus breakdowns involved. We checked into our hostel no problem, and headed out for dinner. 2 blocks down the road, we were stopped by 2 police officers with semi-automatic machine guns. "Show us your passports," the one said. Les produced hers while I silently said to myself "fuck, the travel guide said to carry your passport in this country," and I informed the officer that I didn't have it with me. "Oh no this is big trouble," he said. The law of our country is that tourists must always carry their passport - otherwise how would we know who is here illegally?" Clearly, yes, there is a big problem here with illegal immigrants, especially Canadian ones, in Mozambique. Always the quick thinker, Les offered to run back to the hostel and grab my ID, and took off before the police really had time to figure out another way to get a bribe out of us, and I stood there in virtual custody.

As she left, subtle threats entered the conversation. "You will have to come to the police station with us, this is a very big problem." As always, I just smiled, apologized profusely for being a dim witted tourist, and played the game. "No problem," I said, "I completely understand the law and I'm very sorry I forgot and of course I will be happy to come to the police station with you. Would you like a cigarette? What is your name? Ahh yes Mozambique is a beautiful country." By this time they probably figured I had no clue what was going on, so out came the bluntness. "My friend, I am very hungry. I have been working since 8 this morning and I finish again at 8 tomorrow morning. This job is shit... They only pay me $100 per month. Can't you please give me some money so I can eat?"

Stepping out of my shoes for a minute I realize how bizarre this was, a police officer pleading with me as if he were a beggar. I felt really bad for the guy and the state of the country as a whole; if a person with a government job is having a hard time, how bad is it for the multitudes of unemployed? Its the story of most of Africa, unfortunately.

Les came to my rescue, literally running down the street to meet us. The officer made the obligatory glance at the document, we shook hands, and were on our way. Dinner at a great Italian restaurant. Ahhh... we're getting closer and closer to those Western comforts I've done without for 6 months.

The next day we spent the morning on the net with some of the fastest internet I've been on in a long time (and believe me, fast is relative when you've been on the net in Malawi for 3 months. Home is so close I can feel it! In the afternoon we did a bit of sight seeing, walking over to an artists commune to see some really great sculptures and paintings. It inspired me to do some sculpture with a lot of metal and whatnot when I get home. We had lunch at an authentic (relative term!) Thai restaurant, which Les was ecstatic about, Thai being her favourite food, checked out a garden by the waterfront and arrived at the natural history museum in time for them to tell us it's closed. After dinner at a local place of authentic Mozambican hamburgers and fries, we broke out the cards and played drinking Texas-hold em' (poker) all night. All in all it was one of the best days I've had in a long time. Until of course Les and I had a conversation about 'things' and the next morning we decided we can't be together.

I still don't know how to treat this subject publicly - some of you may think its nobody's business, and maybe you're right. But I have never been a person to hide things about my life and I think life is richer when you're able to talk about these kind of things. I want to share this aspect of my experience here eventually because it has been an inextricable and beautiful part of my journey, but I want to do it in a way that is fair and accurate and of course I'll need Les to be comfortable with it. So if I can figure all that shit out, I'll talk about it eventually.

That brings us to the fancy hotel. As it was to be our last day together, I thought it would be as good a time as ever to get ourselves out of hostels and into a really nice hotel for a bit of splurging. So we checked into the Cardoso Hotel for $140 a night (a fortune in Africa) and enjoyed some amenities - a hot shower for example; more towels and pillows than I knew what to do with; a balcony overlooking the Bay; and of course, satellite TV!!!

Conveniently, we were across the street from the natural history museum so we took that in. The words grotesque and diabolical came to mind very quickly. The central atrium of the building was filled with stuffed animals - lions, elephants, a giraffes, etc. - all once living animals that have become sad victims of taxidermy. And filled with a musty smell reminiscent of the equally bizarre national museum of Namibia. The travel guide boasts that it is probably the only museum in southern Africa with a collection of elephant fetuses!

In the evening we again decided to splurge. We split a bottle of really good red wine on the balcony and watched the sun set. Then we went off to dinner at really nice restaurant on the waterfront (the name eludes me). While sitting at the bar for a quick cigarette, glass of wine in hand (you couldn't smoke at the table, which is unusual in Africa,) Les came to see me with a big devilish grin on her face, one that I will never in a million years forget, and said "Your dinner is served." The bartender just look at me with my big smile and said "You have a pretty nice life bro." He was right.

As an appetizer we had mussels in a garlic-cream sauce, I had Zambezian style chicken, which is surprisingly similar to Canadian barbecued chicken, prawns, calamari and a whitefish. Mmm, delicious. We managed to stumble home in time for a 3rd bottle of wine. I found it mostly un-consumed in the bathroom the next morning. Gooood times. We ordered room service, a first for both of us, and ate our omelets on the balcony, overlooking the city. Unfortunately it was now time to return to reality so we checked out and did some errands. As the universe would have it, bus timetables would see Les leaving the day after, so we managed one more day together. Like a couple of crazy kids, we just decided to have another great day, including another dinner at another fancy restaurant. Tonight was steak for me, and prawns for Les, with clams and seafood ravioli appetizers. Seriously, if you love cheap seafood, make the trek to this amazing country.

At 6:30am the next morning I put Les into a cab and that was that. We cried, a lot.

The rest of the day I was pretty much in a daze but I didn't want to be at the hostel, so I decided to walk around the city snapping pictures. I came across the botanical gardens, which has fallen into an intermediate stage of disrepair. At the West end of the park is what I can only guess is an aviary, giant and dilapidated; a sad statement on decay and yet immensely beautiful. The walls and the ceiling have started to fall down, but the gardens inside are thriving and beautiful. You can see the city skyline through the rusting girders. Although I clearly wasn't supposed to be in there, I climbed through a wall and did a bit of exploring. I ended up sitting in there for almost an hour, contemplating life in solitude (something I haven't had in a long while). Unfortunately I reached no conclusions, came no closer to an understanding of the world, in the process.

After this I proceeded to city hall and the old Portuguese fort, two unremarkable buildings, before arriving at the real heart of Maputo - the shopping mall (thankfully, I'm kidding). The rest of the afternoon I just wandered the streets, stumbling upon the beautiful train station, and basking in the phenomenally dichotomous architecture of a city caught between African, European and Latin cultures.

Although I assure you my opinion is not shared by all, I love this city's beauty. I love that Portuguese is the primary language, and that Portuguese culture, including the ridiculously good bread, has stuck around. I love sidewalk cafes and restaurants in every neighbourhood and the fact that people drink coffee, a far cry from Malawi. That culture is reflected in the architecture, which is often European. The architecture is also reflective of the country's struggle for liberation from their oppressors. I freely admit to knowing nothing about the struggle, but my guess is that the communists were welcomed here with open arms during the Cold War. The street names - Ho Chi Minh, Mao Tse Tung, Vladimir Lenine and Salvador Allende betray that fact. Maybe its just because I'm a political scientist at heart, but I get excited being in a place that was caught up in the ideological struggle between East and West.

The reality of the language also means that Mozambique has close ties with Brazil. Now Africans are all freakin' good dancers to begin with, but when you pair them up with the Latin Americans, holy shit look out, you'll get a pretty good vibe in the city. Now this is the part where Les calls my bluff - we didn't actually do any dancing or see any dancers, but I know that 'Marabenta' is here and I like it.

On top of everything, the architecture is still what gets me most. Stately colonial European buildings share wide, straight street-fronts with new and modern Western-style buildings, while ugly, decrepit, Soviet-style egg-carton housing blocks towering over them in the background, complete with laundry hanging from every second window. What was really a perk for me is that I didn't feel like everyone was watching me all the time. Maputo is close enough to South Africa and filled with enough white Portuguese descendants that I didn't feel like it was risque to be white (compared to Lilongwe when I was eyeballed every day walking to work). The city took hold of me very quickly, and I love it, eyesores and all.

Alas, all good things come to an end and I jumped on the bus the next morning - although I very nearly didn't. Admittedly, there was some drowning of the sorrows the night before, complete with drinking games and my first experience with a ridiculous shot that involves snorting salt and squirting lemon juice in your eye. Maybe for that reason or maybe because my alarm sucks, I missed the wakeup call. For some reason I happened to open my eyes about 20 minutes before I was supposed to meet the bus. I packed in about 2 and whipped up a cab driver into a frenzy in order to get there in time to remember this is Africa and nothing happens on time.

10 minutes into the ride the bus started beeping, which is never a good thing, and we had to pull over. It took the driver about an hour to figure out that it was fine to drive so we just kept on truckin' to Pretoria, South Africa. That is until 30 k outside of Johannesburg. "Ladies and gentlemen, there is a major problem with the bus, we're leaking oil." So we sat by the side of the highway for 2 hours waiting for the bus from Pretoria to fetch us. We got there at 10pm, 15 hours after starting, and 7 hours behind schedule. Opening my bag, I found it was all wet because my body wash had exploded all over... but it smells great!!!

So I fly outta here in 3 days, and although I don't have a connection from Madrid to North America at the moment (working on it, while cursing airlines and the peak season), I'm confident I'll be back safe and sound on August 2nd latest. For the next few days I plan to do a whole lot of nothing except enjoying fast internet and maybe seeing a movie or two. Peace out.

A wealth of pictures

2008-07-25T07:30:00.000-07:00

Don't say I don't love you. Here are 2 more picture albums:

Tofo Beach - Not a bad spot to get lost for a while
Maputo - Love this city!

A post on Maputo will follow in the next few days as I literally have just enough Mozambican currency to eat dinner tonight and take a taxi to the bus station tomorrow and I'm out of time. Then off to Pretoria, South Africa.

On another note, it has not been our finest day. Les and I, as some of you may know, have been having our problems for the last little while. And although things have drastically improved between us, we agreed it was best to part ways and she left this morning for South Africa. I'm hurting, but we are still on the best of terms. I'll leave it at that. Home in 8 days.

Mike

Indian Ocean beach life, continued...

2008-07-25T05:31:00.000-07:00

Lots to catch up on, here we go...

Bazaruto Archipelago

Last week we were still in Vilankulo and we had just left Ricky's palace and checked back into a hostel. On our final day there, first thing in the morning we jumped into a 'dhow', a sail boat that has been used for 100s of years from Indonesia to India to Persia to Zanzibar, all the way down the coast of Africa. We were on our way to one of the biggest islands of the Bazaruto Archipelago, Ilha Benguerua (I think). As we got closer the water turned more and more blue and clear.

Landing on the island our guides told us just to walk the perimeter of the island. It seemed like a stupid idea at the time, but damn what a treat. The sand was white and powder-fine and stretched into the horizon. The dunes were peppered with low palm-like bushes, the green creating a really stunning contrast with the sand and sea. As we walked we came across washed up jellyfish, some white, some purple. The water was warm and shallow and on the side facing the mainland, barely disturbed by a ripple. On the ocean-facing side we came across what seemed like miles and miles of crabs running into the crashing surf, panicked by the vibrations of our footsteps. I felt like a kid chasing after them, laughing like a wild man. Les felt like a mother I'm sure ;) She was none too happy when I finally caught one, only to have its leg snap off. Sorry, crab. We came across sand dollar shells, which are very smooth white discs imprinted with a geometrical pattern on it. Never saw that before.

By the time we completed our circuit, the guides had cooked a very impressive meal, more so because they did it on an open fire in the boat. We sat on the beach eating bread, rice, salad, chicken, calamari, and whole crabs. Decent. After seconds we jumped in the water and did some snorkeling. I've tried this a few times in various places, but damn this was like nothing I'd ever seen. In the first 5 seconds I saw a stone/scorpion fish (the name is a matter of some debate), which is more regal looking than a peacock and will kill you with no regrets if you touch it. We saw schools of smaller fish, dozens of bigger, lone tuna-like fish, sea urchins, moray eels, blow fish and some big octopus. All in the span of about 20 minutes. We returned to the mainland before sunset, had dinner and went to bed in preparation for our onward journey.

Tofo Beach

The next morning we set out for Tofo, which involved another minibus ride to Maxixe (Ma-sheesh), crossing the strait by ferry to Inhambane, and another minibus to Tofo. What we found was a small town essentially entirely dependent on the tourist industry, which I didn't expect. Even in the low season there were a fair amount of 20-something backpackers. A great place to be if you have no purpose in the world, like me. Oddly enough we had dinner at a French restaurant where we spent way too much money - the story of our entire time in the country, come to think of it. Guess we were spoiled that way in Malawi.

Next morning we struck out for Tofinho, a 'suburb' of Tofo. In actual fact it was a 20 minute walk down the beach and consists of rich South Africans' beach homes. Incidentally, it's the unofficial surfing capital of Mozambique. I had a great time wandering down the dirt paths. At one point we climbed a hill to look at the 'Tofinho Monument', a broken-shackle-sporting-fist poking out of a concrete pyramid. Socialist Liberationists are not very original. Anyway I'm taking an obligatory photo of this when Les goes 'oh my God, look!' I turn around and what do I see, but a gigantic whale about 50 metres from the cliff we happen to be standing on. That was incredible. We spent the next 30 minutes or so watching them swim past, and in the distance Les could see one waving its tail for at least 20 minutes in the same spot. Mating ritual perhaps? WILD! On our way back we found a sushi restaurant (random?!) and had a bite and a beer watching whales in the blue yonder.

The next day we were absolutely determined to do some scuba diving. And that's exactly what we did because we are not people that mess around. In the morning we took a refresher course - it had been 12 years since I'd been diving and I have the picture on my diving license, which Les affectionately refers to as the 'little Mexican boy' picture to prove it. We both rocked it, obviously. In the afternoon we got into a speedboat and it immediately started raining, which meant we had to change dive sites from the 'chamber of secrets' to something else... 'chamber of fuck all' I think.

We had to push the boat out manually, against these metre and a half high waves. When the dive master shouted 'everyone' into the boat I took it seriously and ended up kicking Les in the head and coming down with all my weight on my finger, which to this day is now referred to as my 'sausage finger'. It only took 10 minutes to get out to the dive site, but the wind was kicking up a bit of a fuss and apparently that's all the time it takes for both Lesley and Mike to come to the brink of vomiting. We managed to avoid going over the edge by dropping into the water. At first I couldn't submerge - no clue why - then I couldn't equalize and very quickly my ear drums expanded to 100x their size. Pain. But we got sorted out and we managed to have a non-disastrous dive, despite being tossed around by the current like a ragdoll. We saw some interesting site, including some type of manta, but it was no Bazaruto.

After only about 25 minutes we had to come up because I was down to the 50 mark on my air tank. Somehow I had managed to use up my air twice as quickly as anyone else - probably because I'm huge - but I wasn't about to tell anyone that I was the reason for the short dive. We surfaced eventually, despite Les dropping like a stone into the murky depths at one point, with me watching (don't even do that to me again, hun). Oddly enough, I proceeded to puke my guts out with Les following suit momentarily. What a waste of a perfectly good lunch of bunny chow (half a loaf of bread hollowed out and filled with curry). In hindsight we probably should have had something lighter, like a hot pocket.

We finally managed to get into the boat, no mishaps this time, and although neither Les (who had the nausea worse) nor I were capable of arguing at this point, I was definitely not happy that we were going to crawl back to shore so the second dive shop person could do a few tests required for her dive master qualification, including a swim back to shore using only her legs. It took her 30 minutes total. But at least we were returning to a place that was reputed to have the hottest showers in town! AHA, foiled again! There was no water pressure! So looking like drowned rats, Captain Nemo and I hobbled back to the pad and changed into all our warmest clothes. The next day was a write off (the good kind), and the day after that we were on our way to Maputo, the nation's capital (Dun-dun dunhhhh)!!!

Enter the Mozambique

2008-07-23T04:15:00.000-07:00

Les finished her post by recalling that we were offered a lift by a 50-something South African guy and his local sidekick in a 4x4 on our way to the hostel. Having no desire to struggle with our bags, we accepted, and pretty much as soon as we got in he offered us a place to stay. "My boss owns a house on the beach here and we're up doing some work for the weekend. There's lots of extra space." Naturally we were skeptical. I'm very careful when on the road, because really if I had to choose, Africa is the last place I would want to be abducted and/or chopped to pieces.

We bought the guys a beer, and Ricky - let's call him Ricky so he doesn't get fired if his boss reads this - proceeded to talk our ears off, while his Mozambiquan sidekick, 'Bob' lurked in the background (this guy said about 10 words the whole trip). After 10 minutes we were really getting along and thought it was worth at least going to see the place. Back we hopped into the jeep and started driving... and driving... It wasn't exactly a long drive, but it was getting to be the kind of walk where we were no longer in town and the roads turned from pavement to sand.

Our skepticism was quickly obliterated when we entered the compound where about 2 dozen of these houses, built by Ricky's boss - who by the way is a billionaire - are located, all on secluded lots, the roads to each lined with conch shells every 6 inches. Seeing the house was a bit of a surprise. It was a 4 bedroom bungalow overlooking the ocean, complete with housekeeper/gardener, satellite TV, a kitchen I would kill for, air conditioning and a pool. And it looked pretty much brand new. "You can have this room," said Ricky. Les and I poked our heads in to find a giant 4 post king sized bed with white sheets, ensuite bathroom (bathtub and shower). The place was a palace, and we were going to stay the weekend for free. Didn't take us long to accept the offer.

After unpacking and changing we took a tour down the beach, taking note of some of the palaces on the cliffs, and with Les going crazy over the sheer number of conch shells strewn across the sand. Hunger soon set in and we 4 drove back to town to hit the market. We were approached by some teenagers with one of the most ridiculous sights I've seen - a gigantic potato sack full of the most gigantic crabs known to man. Obviously I'm exaggerating but this seems like a good time for a side note - did you know that there's something called a coconut crab that lives in Mozambique which is about a foot and a half across that climbs coconut trees and opens the fruit with its claws? Nature is scary.

Anyhow, the crabs were were haggling over were massive, and of course alive. Our 3 picks were hilarious to watch, squirming around in the back of the jeep. We went back home, and long story short, they were delicious. For the next few days we ate good food, drank a lot of brandy, enjoyed the weather, a few sleep-ins and may have watched Jumanji. We also got to hear some amazing stories from an extraordinary man, Ricky. In his younger years, apparently he worked driving a bulldozer in Mozambique... clearing landmines. He would drive the dozer all day, stoned, hitting an average of 4-5 mines a day.

"The little antipersonnel ones would just go pop, but every once in a while you hit an anti tank mine and the dozer gets lifted off the ground a bit. One time, I hit one of these mines and the front blade came clean off the thing. When I recovered I look around and couldn't figure out where it went. A few seconds later this giant piece of metal came flying out of the sky and drover itself into the ground just a few feet behind me." Wild.

As a South African of a certain generation, Ricky was forced to perform quite active military service. He served in the navy for 20 years, part of it on a submarine traveling the world. On ships, he told us that when the government suspected a village of harbouring or aiding insurgents, a landing party of marines would call in a ship to shore bombardment and obliterate it. "Marines walking through that village after, as teenagers, you would get sick. There would be absolutely nothing left. Nothing. Except maybe an arm here and a foot there. Not a single thing was left living." Nowadays Ricky is in a much more civilized line of work and enjoys being sent up to Vilanculo at his billionaire boss's bidding to take care of a few projects. Ricky, you're an amazing guy and we thank you for your hospitality.

After the weekend we said our goodbyes and returned to the realities of hostel living. Cold showers and drab accommodation.

This is where I curse fancy hotels and their shitty internet connections, cause I had written several more paragraphs but it crashed. Unfortunately I have to leave it here. We're in Maputo, the capital, and having a great time. Off to South Africa soon and I'll be home in about a week. Why are we in a fancy hotel, you might ask? I'll leave that for next time. Peace.

3 new photo albums

2008-07-22T04:18:00.000-07:00

These ones are decent. Enjoy

Independence Day - Malawi's 44th celebration of kickin' out the colonists
Vilankulo - Finally, the sea
Bazaruto Archipelago - paradise just off the coast of Vilankulo

Lesley's Inaugural Post!

2008-07-19T04:11:00.000-07:00

I've been pestering Lesley, my partner in crime, for ages now to write a guest blog. To my surprise, she actually agreed to do it today. Here is her masterpiece!!!

- Mike

----------------------

From Malawi to Mozambique
(How it took 3 days to travel 1000km)

Looking at maps of Africa, things look deceptively simple. There is a nice, big-looking road that takes you from Lilongwe (Malawi) to the border crossing at Zobue (Mozambique), and down to Tete. From there, there is yet another nice, big-looking road that takes you straight to Chimoio, which is a good 2/3rds of the way to where we are headed: a small ocean-side village called Vilanculos, where we plan to be beach bums and not much else. "We can make it to Chimoio in a day!" says Mike, eternally an optimist. "Then half a day to Vilanculos... we'll be on the beach eating crab in 2 days baby! I promise!"

No such luck. What the maps don't show you are potholes. Nor do they warn you about the reliability of African minibuses.

So, full of the aforementioned optimism, we set off bright and early. We packed ourselves onto a minibus heading from Lilongwe to some town (name forgotten), where we could transfer to another minibus that would take us to the border, where we could catch another minibus to Tete, where we could catch another minibus to Chimoio. Easy.

Minibus # 1 picked its way for hours along the 'big-looking' road, swerving perilously around the man-sized potholes (I exaggerate, but only a bit) - when suddenly there is a loud beep sound coming from the bus, and it grinds to a halt at the side of the road. This is breakdown #1. We all pile off the bus, the bus driver calls for a new minibus to come get us, and we sit in the scorching sun and wait. At long last, minibus #2 comes and rescues us, and we're on the road again. We stop and hop into Minibus #3 (where some guys tried to convince me to give them my camera... uh... no thanks) and we set our sites on the border, more than few hours behind schedule.

We cross the border without too much fuss, and hop into Minibus #4, which unexpectedly stops and transfers us to Minibus #5, which again makes slow progress along the beaten-up roads. Mike and I are dozing in the back (with someone else's children on our laps) when we are roused by that foreboding beeping sound again. Breakdown #2; we are out of petrol. A bicycle emerges out of nowhere, and someone hops on to cycle to the nearest gas station, plastic jug in hand. Sitting on the side of the road in the pitch dark, Mike and I decided that Chimoio is no longer looking like an option, so we start looking though our guidebook for places to stay in Tete. It sounds like the armpit of Africa, and so it is. We arrive eventually, and make our way through the concrete city to a place to rest for the night. The room consisted of 2 horribly uncomfortable metal cots, 1 broken sink that flooded the bathroom, one seatless toilet, and one giant giant cockroach. Mmmm.

The next morning we got up at 5 and headed to the bus station, where we discovered that the only bus to Chimoio had left 2 hours earlier. Not relishing the idea of staying in the lovely Tete for a moment longer, we opted for some hitchhiking. We lucked out and found an 18 wheeler willing to give us a lift, so we climbed up and made ourselves comfortable in the back of the cab, perching on the driver's bed. We spent the rest of the day picking our way along the road at a maximum speed of 60 mph, but at an average speed of about 5. But sitting on a bed is significantly more comfortable than sitting on a Minibus, so I'm not complaining.

Eventually we made it to Chimoio, where we slept for a few hours. At this point I am wondering, "Where is my beach?! Where are the promised crabs?! Damn you and your optimism Mr. Pietrzak!!!" We awake at 2 am to catch bus #6, which leaves at 3am for Vilanculo. Cue breakdown #3. Sitting on the side of the road, again, listening to the beeping sound, again, we watched as our bus driver disappeared under the bus to locate the problem. "We'll be sleeping here tonight" one of the passengers said to me. Looking down the stretch of highway and seeing nothing in either direction, I found myself wishing that I had brought my tent.

20 minutes later, the bus driver emerges from under the bus, oil covered, and orders everyone to return to their seats. "What happened?" I ask, to which he responds something about a broken pipe that carries the diesel. The work of potholes, I assume. He says he thinks he's got it fixed. "Will it hold?" I ask. "Let's find out." Clearly I look skeptical, so he says "Do you know how to fix a bus?" Point taken, so I sit down and shut up.

The trip continues without incident, when without warning the bus stops at the side of the road, and Mike and I are ordered off. The bus driver points at a pickup truck and informs us that it will take us the rest of the way to Vilanculo. So, we pile on in and arrive - tired, dirty, and windswept - in Vilanculo. And it only took 6 minibuses, an 18 wheeler, and a pickup truck. And 3 very long days.

Throwing our packs on our backs, we start the walk under the afternoon sun to our hostel, when a 4x4 stops and offers us a lift to our hostel. And so begins our next adventure, but I'll leave that one for Mike.

- Les

Hittin' the ground running in Mozambique

2008-07-16T00:38:00.000-07:00

Ahhhh... another country off my checklist. Mozambique is absolute paradise and already well on its way to becoming my favourite in Africa so far. The mix of Portuguese and African, the beaches, the seafood. What a change from bland ole' Malawi.

Les and I are having an absolute blast here. Net access is limited, and coupled with a desire to spend our time on the beach, I'm going to cut this short. I just wanted to say, "we're alive."

Talk to you all soon.

Mike

End of an era... on the road again

2008-07-09T02:31:00.002-07:00

Last Thursday was my final day at the UNHCR and today is Lesley's - we're on the move again! I wasn't set to finish over there until the end of next week, but basically I just ran out of steam. Early tomorrow morning we're cramming ourselves onto a minibus and pushing forward to Chimoio in Mozambique. The day after hopefully we can make it to the Bazaruto Archipelago on the coast of the Indian Ocean for some beach cocktails, crab, sunsets and dancing.

This past weekend, Les and I and 3 of our coworkers drove up to Kande Beach again, my favourite spot on the lake. On Sunday was the 44th anniversary of Malawi's independence and you could tell that the whole country was in a good mood. The drunkenness was rampant which meant a lot of unwanted hand shaking, hands on shoulders, claims that I am someone's best friend and invasion of personal space, including 'close talking'. Nevertheless we had a stellar time barbequing at our stone cottage, playing pool, swimming and cliff jumping. We even managed to head into the village for a traditional dinner at a local's house. And now that I'm on the way home, my iron will against buying crafts and trinkets has disappated, so I bought a few cool prints. Today, I even spent 40 bucks on a really nice 'bao' board, which is kind of like African chess.

On the Sunday, we drove the hour and a half from Kande to Mzuzu, Malawi's 3rd largest city, and this year's host to the independence day celebrations. The demonstrations at the local soccer stadium were surprisingly impressing. By some freak luck we didn't have to wait in line to get it - a police officer just pointed to the 5 of us and told us to follow. He led us to a back door and there we were. The first activity on the field was a chance for the Malawi Defense Force to show its stuff. A few 'bad guys' were unloaded onto the field with a few makeshift buildings, after which 3 armoured personnel carriers rolled out and started firing blanks with their machine guns at the 'enemy'. A few minutes into the gunfight, a helicoptor flew overhead and 4 elite rangers abseiled down to the field on ropes. Explosions began to go off just outside the stadium wall to which everyone cheered. For a second I thought maybe we were actually under attacked. With the foes driven from the arena, everyone left, the helicoptor landing to pick up the rangers. When the field was clear, the building that the bad guys unloaded unexpectedly exploded into a fragment of twisted wood. Freaking cool. I considered myself lucky to see something like this, as there's no way you could start blowing stuff up inside a stadium anywhere in the West. Later, 5 paratroopers started falling from the sky. Embarrassing for the last 2 guys, they caught a bad wind and had to land outside the stadium. Everyone was supremely impressed with the show.

Tonight we're having a farewell dinner (Ethiopian food) with our coworkers, and after that a few drinks with the hostel owners and some of the regulars who also happen to be leaving tomorrow. I'm definitely going to be sad to leave Malawi, which has been my home for nearly 3 months, but sometimes you just know when it's time to move on. And I can't tell you how good it's going feel when I'm safe and sound in Canada. Until the next post...

Latest from the camp

2008-07-01T10:52:00.000-07:00

We've been spending more time in the camp lately and it's been a very eye opening experience for both of us. Last week we completed a fairly big project involving finding out why Rwandan refugees don't want to go home. The international community's position is that the country is safe for repatriation. The picture we got from interviewing camp residents was completely the opposite.

UNHCR headquarters in Geneva asked our office to go ahead with the task as a fairly routine exercise. We were told that high fives are generally doled out when any office succeeds in convincing people to go home and our bosses felt that Malawi shouldn't be left by the wayside. By the way, the decision to return is voluntary - at least until the country in question is so 'safe' that the world believes people who fled no longer require international protection. So Les and I spent the week before last randomly selecting 16 groups of 14 individuals, broken down by sex, age, ethnicity, and so on. Then we sat down for 3 days and listened to horror stories.

Some of you may know Rwanda for what it's most famous for - a genocide that by some estimates saw 1 million people killed with machetes and screwdrivers in just a few months. A rate significantly more terrifying than the WWII genocide. As is often the case, the problem was because ethic group A couldn't get along with ethnic group B. The Hutus began killing the minority Tutsis that held all the political and economic power in 1994. Kind of ludicrous when you learn that Hutus and Tutsis have been intermarrying for hundreds of years and the only reason the divisions still exist is because the German and Belgian colonial masters divided them up according to height and the length of their noses. Phrenology sounds only slightly less scientific. I digress. The Tutsis eventually took back the country after a civil war and millions of Hutus fled, hence our camp's existence.

So we're in the camp listening to these people's reasons for not wanting to return, and if half the stuff they claim is true, I really don't blame them. They're scared witless. Certain issues were raised repeatedly and I have no doubt that this was because these randomly selected individuals were coached by the community leadership. Nonetheless they're valid points. The first one is one that I was already aware of: 'Gacaca' or grassroots/community courts. The idea for setting these up was to promote reconciliation between Hutus and Tutsis and some of the people we spoke with acknowledged it was a great idea in theory. In practice, the courts have absolutely nothing to do with reconciliation, justice or even the rule of law. In practice, joe blow Tutsi can rock up to the village Gacaca and point a finger at joe schmoe Hutu and claim that he killed Mr. XYZ during the genocide. Sentences of 20+ years are routinely and summarily dispensed. By the way, if I seem flippant or sarcastic, it's because that's how I deal with my outrage.

After you're unfortunate enough to pass through this kangaroo court, you're sent to jail. In jail, torture is allegedly the order of the day. In vogue recently is where they put a plastic bag over your face and light it on fire, essentially melting your face off and horribly disfiguring you for life. My coworker Sebastien took a meeting with a guy who had red spots all over his face from where drops of molten plastic was dripped on him repeatedly. The wives of these men don't have it much better. A few people mentioned that when their partners came to bring them provisions, the guards raped them. One poor lady was carrying a baby on her back as African women do, which fell on its head when she was beaten. This should never, never happen.

Another injustice that I was totally oblivious to - which is strange because Rwanda was one of the countries I studied for my Masters thesis - is the 'Ibuka' or remembrance ceremony. I'm a bit hazy on the details (this was all done through a not so professional translator), but every April during this one week, Rwandans 'remember' the genocide. In practice this means that Hutus are forced to dig up the bones of dead Tutsis, then take them to the river to 'cleanse' (wash) them. God forbid that you drop one of the bones while washing them, because that's an offense akin to killing the person a second time, and you will be beaten to death. Only the losers of the war, the Hutus, are forced to perform this ritual.

Why else would Rwandans not want to return? Oh yes, because your former house is currently occupied by the people that killed your entire family. I heard far too many stories about people returning home to claim their property, only to have the police abduct them in the middle of the night and making them disappear for daring to seek justice. These clandestine abductions seemed to be the main fear. Don't think I need to belabour this point.

Several refugees have also claimed that the current president made a speech last year (Although I can find no record of it despite my google skillz) in which he promised his Tutsis brethren that he would wipe out the Hutus through attrition, e.g. the night time disappearances.

And although the Rwandan government has an official policy of providing returnees with support should they choose to come home, nobody we spoke with believed it exists.

I don't know what to believe. Perhaps the refugees we spoke with were exaggerating, maybe they were lying for some unknown purpose, maybe they were simply misinformed. Certainly some anecdotes or urban legends have been taken and been blown out of proportion. But undoubtedly there are still major problems, and I'd go so far as to say atrocities, ongoing in the country. What an eye opening experience - just another that makes me thankful to live in a safe country.

We have more photos.

2008-06-30T02:53:00.000-07:00

From last weekend's trip to the rain forest at Ntchisi. Enjoy.

Pictures

2008-06-26T07:52:00.000-07:00

2 new photo albums are up. I'm working on a post to let y'all know what the latest is in the camp. It involves Rwandan torture.

Fun Malawi Facts

2008-06-18T04:18:00.000-07:00

Malawi is a hella-intriguing country when you start to peel back a few layers. It makes me wonder what else I would have discovered in my travels had I spent longer in one place.

Fact: A few weeks after I arrived in the country, a coup plot was foiled. If Malawians weren't so darn nice the country might have descended into anarchy! OK perhaps that's an exaggeration. The papers are accusing the former president of orchestrating the government's demise, but more probably than not it was just a ploy to throw the guy in jail, eliminating some uncertainty in the next election.

Fact: "It's not uncommon for Malawi to go 8 months without rain." I stole that from the water conservation note posted above all the sinks at our hostel, but I'm assuming its true. I've been here for 2 months now and I haven't seen a drop, even though the sky has assumed biblical posture on several occasions lately, so it's only a matter of time.

Fact: Speaking of the weather, who knew Africa could get so freaking cold? Because we're in the Southern hemisphere, Malawi's in the dead of winter now. Mind you that doesn't kill off the palm trees, but this morning at 6:30 when I was shaving, there was steam pouring off my face it was so cold. Lesley hasn't taken off her winter jacket for a week. In all fairness it's warm during the day in the sun; but it gets down to about 5 degrees at night.

Fact: sweet Jesus this place is polluted. I swear there are zero emissions controls on any of the vehicles here, which causes a nice blueish haze to sit over the city. Sometimes the trucks are so decrepit that Les and I get engulfed in a noxious cloud during the walk to work. It must be funny to watch Les and I turn to each other on the street, one of these behemoths barreling down on us, while we yell in unison "ahhh shit not again!" One day a few weeks ago our eyes were burning all day. Those carcinogens are combined with the fires burning everywhere. Drainage ditch getting a little clogged? Light it up. Grass too long for your taste? Fire is the answer. "Hmm, how are we going to empty this dumpster?" Set that mother on fire, baby. It leads to some pretty rank smells in the morning and I'm glad I don't eat a big breakfast anymore.

Fact: I don't know how to put this tactfully. Many of the locals smell bad. Real bad. Sometimes its so bad that, strangely, it almost smells delicious. From time to time you are stuck next to them on the bus. And you can't blame anybody - some people literally can't afford soap.

Fact: Malawi is one of the poorest countries in the world (12th poorest per capita on purchasing power parity). Per capita income is $600 per year, or about 4 trips to the ATM for me, which means I generally have way too much money in my wallet at any given time, and I feel pretty guilty about it sometimes. At the same time, my own experience tells me that Malawi has to be one of the countries most saturated with humanitarian organizations.

Fact: The first recorded naval victory of World War I came out of Malawi. How is that possible in a landlocked country? Well before the war the area was a British protectorate, whereas the area that is now Tanzania was in German hands, and Mozambique under Portuguese control. The Brits, in 1899, decided it would be a good idea to put up a show of force in the region and decided to send a 340 ton warship, in parts, from Scotland to Malawi and put it together here so it could patrol the lake. The Germans did the same shortly after. I'm going to steal someone else's paragraph to explain the rest as I'm lazy.

"The Germans also had a gunboat on the lake, the Hermon von Wisseman, and the two captains were reportedly the best of friends, often meeting up somewhere around the lake for a drink. In 1914 when war was declared the Guendolin was ordered to destroy the Wisseman. The British captain knew were the Wisseman would be because the two captains had arranged to meet for one of their regular drinks. The German captain was unaware that war had been declared and was completely caught by surprise as the Guendolin steamed up and opened fire, putting the German ship out of action and taking the crew as prisoners of war. The Guendolin remained in government service until 1940 when she was sold to Nyasaland Railways and converted to a passenger ship; she was broken up for scrap four years later."

Other 'smack you in the face' extreme stats:
- Malawi's main exports are tobacco, tea and sugar. Which finally explains why I've been using those 3 products so frequently
- There's this inexplicable tendency for Malawian professional men to wear their ties incredibly short. Halfway-down-the-chest short. It's hilarious.
- Madonna's new adopted child is from Malawi and she currently holds an honourary citizenship from the government.
- And not to end on a depressing note: Malawi suffered a famine a couple years ago. This is largely because the first president had exclusive control over the country, and he made everyone plant maize (corn - which incidentally is not native to Africa but comes from South America). Not the most stable crop, this is changing now. Don't worry, we're doin fine down here.

I'm off to the bar!!

A Non-post

2008-06-15T13:03:00.000-07:00

You're right, I haven't posted in a while. I'm lacking the inspiration. But something is coming soon. It's come to my attention that the last 3 photo albums were linked incorrectly so were not loading. They're working now. Peace.

Latest haps...

2008-06-01T12:25:00.000-07:00

June 1st already... where does the time go? Life in Malawi has been a little hectic since starting work and unfortunately it means I don't blog as much as I'd like. 9 hours a day of 'refugeeing' plus an hour commute each way doesn't leave much energy for writing. Alas, it's the weekend, and here i am sitting by the pool, enjoying the sun and blue sky with a laptop and wifi, and a plan to make up for my writing lapse.

Last weekend was one to remember. After a month in the country Les still hadn't seen the lake, the country's greatest attraction according to the Mike travel guide. So Friday after work she and I teamed up with one of our new coworkers and headed down to what is by far the best strip of beach I've seen in Malawi. Martina, our Texan lawyer friend who is completing a quasi-internship here, is a lot of fun and we three have in common a love of beaches, drinking into the wee hours, and hangin with the locals. We had no trouble getting along.

One of the upsides of living in a hostel is that you can pick up and leave literally any time you want. Some people find the lack of a home base disconcerting. Others embrace impermanence and find that kind of freedom liberating in a way that I don't believe most people ever find. Take our British friend Aoife (E-fa), for example, who is sitting across the pool from me. She realized yesterday that she doesn't own a pair of shoes in the entire world (only sandals), and she feels great about it. I've had mini bouts of unease when thinking about my lack of an anchor, but for the most part I just bask in the freedom.

I'm not quite sure whether this is fact or I stole it from Jack Kerouac's 'On The Road', but apparently, there is a significant population of people in North America who spend their entire life just traveling the continent in railroad box cars and hitching rides with bored truck drivers. Statements like "today I want to go to St. Louis" embody their creed. I think the politically incorrect anacrhonism for these people is 'hobos'. Rumour has is they choose the lifestyle because they crave that liberty. I'm not quite ready to throw my lot in with those folk just yet (although I DO tend to shower less than I should so I'm halfway there), but I relate to the philosophy.

In the spirit of hoboism we packed up our gear, checked out of Mabuya Camp and Friday afternoon (it's always a half day) piled into Martina's car and started driving East to the lake. Now when I say car what I actually mean is tin-can-on-wheels. No disrepect to Martina's car is intended whatsoever, especially since that beast got us back and forth safely (awww... I killed the suspense.) That's not to say we didn't lose a few hubcaps along the way. About 30 minutes into the drive, we came up behind a flatbed truck with two guys hanging onto back of the cab. Incredibly unsafe and stupid transportation safety standards are the norm in Malawi. It's not uncommon to see 50 guys piled into the back of a pickup truck. In fact, on a daily basis we hear or see what I only guess are highschool kids going to school past our hostel, all sitting around the edge of these flatbed trucks. While they do this, they sing like a professional choir. Every second movie about Africa played in the west features a group of average people singing these beautiful songs. Only when I got to Malawi did I realize that it's true, every African has a singing voice. Stereotype vindicated!

Anyway we came up to this flatbed truck and the guys on the back started waving and hollering at us. At first I was convinced that it was simply because two white women were sitting in the front of the car and they were getting excited. So we passed them, but they quickly caught up with us and passed us again, intensifying their waving and making cryptic gestures and pointing at the car. Living in Africa as a Mzungu, it's only wise to keep a certain level of guard up in these situations. If we pulled over, which I assumed was what they wanted, were we going to be robbed on a desolate stretch of road? It's a shame to think the worst of people, but better safe than sorry.

Martina floored it and we again blew past these guys, which was about the time I decided to poke my head out the window. The hubcap was hanging on by a thread. So it turns out these guys were just genuinely concerned for both our car and the lives of the random walkers on the side of the road. Although the car didn't have a functioning speedometer, I figured we were getting up to around 120 kph at times, and a flying hubcap at this speed could easily take someone out. So we made a quick stop while I jumped out and kicked the cover back into place.

After and hour and a half of East, we turned sharply North. Around this time the sun set, which kind of sucked since we knew parts of the road were riddled with severe potholes, and there is not a streetlight in all of Malawi. Strangely enough, this was the first time I had really traveled in rural African at night. It was strange being consumed by complete darkness save the light of a full moon. Yep, pretty foreboding. For the first little while we traveled through village after village. It was unbelievable how happening these places can be on a Friday night. People were walking everywhere, although I have no clue how they could see where they were going. Once in a while we passed by random bush fires, started deliberately I think just to clear away brush. I will never forget one scene I caught a glimpse of as we sped past. A lady was standing outside the door of her hut, while a ring of fire encircled her house. It was like something out of the videogame Diablo. My imagination pictured her as a witch cackling maniacally as she summoned demons from beyond.

At one point I decided to check the hubcap, which again was ready to fling itself into the night. So we made an emergency stop. I jumped out and noted that it was hanging on only with a plastic tie, the kind police use as handcuffs when arresting 18 year old hippie protesters outside of WTO conventions. Immediately some locals came over to check out the action and practice their English. I'm not sure what they thought of a car full of Mzungus appearing out of the darkness, me hacking away at a tire with a swiss army knife, leaving as quickly as we appeared, but I'm sure I was the talk of town for at least a little while.

As we drove on the distance between towns became greater and the potholes deeper. To her credit, Martina is a phenomenal driver. But no matter what the driver's skill level, a gaping scar in the tarmac doesn't announce itself very well when traveling at 90 kph in the dark, and we were bounced around a bit.

The 5 hour trip was worth it. Kande Beach and the camp there turned out to be paradise. The resorts I stayed at in Cuba and the Dominican didn't compare. And we payed 10 bucks a night each for the room. Because we arrived around 9:30 the restaurant was closed so we had a dinner of peanuts and chocolate. We stayed up until 4 in the morning talking about whatever and having shots of springboks (Creme de Menthe and Amarula - delicious). The next day in the sunlight we got to appreciate just how amazing and laid back this place was. The first stop was the beach for some tanning and swimming. The next order of business was to call our boss and get permission to take Monday morning off. In the afternoon Les and I walked into Kande village. We were immediately adopted by the local 'tour guides' hanging out right outside the camp gate, 17 year olds looking to make a living in the off season. As a rule I hate this kind of attention, because the relationship is premised on them trying to get money out of us. It's unfortunate. But after 5 months of Rastafarians trying to sell you wood carvings of elephants every place you go, you tend to develop a shield.

That shield was broken down somewhat because truly, the guys were immensely friendly. Malawians as a group are the most friendly people I've met since traveling, along with Botswanans. But as in any country, rural folk are more hospitable than city dwellers and these guys didn't push too hard for us to empty our pockets. After scoping out the bars we made a plan to return later with Martina. Every Malawian has a ridiculous name that they're given in childhood and keep pretty much forever. Our guard at work, for example, is called something like McDonalds with Cheese. The guys in Kande were Georgie-Porgie, Winston Churchill, Mr. Smooth (aka Julius Caesar) and others I've forgotten.

After dinner we met them on the beach for a bonfire and a drumming lesson. Then they took us the 30 min walk in the dark through the cassava, maize and sugarcane fields into the village, which was absolutely packed with people in the daytime, but was now a ghost town. Our group didn't see a single person. WEIRD. The bar selected was a single roomed brick structure with a doorway I had to duck to get through and a single lightbulb. Seemingly out of place, it had a pool table and a speaker system that could project Malawian reggae into the upper earth's atmosphere. I made the mistake of leaving an empty beer bottle on top of one of the speakers which was promptly vibrated across the room and shattered. We had to leave the room on several occasions to save what little hearing we had left. So the night was spent playing pool and keeping an eye on Martina to make sure none of her dozens of prospective suitors got too friendly. I've never seen anyone look so uncomfortable. The pictures are priceless. I was supremely proud of Les who kicked some major ass on the pool table. The guy who lost twice in a row was mortified to be beaten by a girl. Unfortunately, while white women are exempt, mphipa (black) women are not allowed to go to bars without being considered prostitutes, and they certainly don't play pool. Sadly, it's a man's world here. So I'm proud of Les for taking them out of their comfort zone, and later arguing with them that just because it's tradition, that's not a good enough reason to put up with institutionalized sexism.

All in all it was a fun night. The next day Les and I went for a 2 hour horse ride. I'm really starting to enjoy it. The animals we got to ride, unlike those in Swaziland and South Africa, were not just tourist-conveyors. They were ex-race horses from Zimbabwe. As soon as I went up to mine she started rubbing her face on my body, a great sign that we were going to get along just fine. This beast had some power, and yet was extremely well behaved. Our guide was awesome and had no problems letting Les and I trot, canter and even gallop even though it's against company policy. I'm not a very experienced rider like Les, so I was in a lot of pain the next day from bouncing up and down and using kung fu grip on the saddle, but shit was it worth it. After the first hour we came upon these dry floodplains perfect for really turning on the speed. The horse and I started at a good clip, faster than I was used to, with me hanging on for dear life. But when I got into a rhythm and was no longer smacking the saddle, which hinders the horse, she really started to give'er and I started to appreciate the raw power and the wind rushing past us. Great day.

Ready to head back to the city on Monday, we noticed one of our tires had gone flat. The spare was in the same condition. Thankfully it turns out that scuba tanks attach perfectly to tires, so we were on our way to a 'service station' pretty quick. I've never seen anyone fix a leak with a hammer, but by god it worked. I've also never seen a guy pick up a car by himself, but apparently it's possible when you have tree trunk arms. I've also never seen anyone use a grinder without protective goggles before, and still don't believe it's a good idea to shoot sparks at your coworker, your radio and a gas can.

Anyway, we got home safe and had a pretty uneventful week at work. We didn't make it to the camp because as interns, we were given a lot of filing which we almost have out of the way. Another post coming soon, hopefully. Talk soon.

Magic is a big problem in Malawi

2008-05-20T11:14:00.000-07:00

I couldn't NOT share this little tidbit of African culture with the world. So ladies and gentlemen, let's turn the conversation to magic.

In the last 4 months I have overheard here and there talk of black magic; people trying to explain away bizarre occurrences as the work of some nefarious individual with supernatural powers. I wrote it off. Only in the last few days did I realize how fully society at large, at least in Malawi, has incorporated this into their belief system.

Read on, and you'll discover that what you actually believed was a myth your whole if is reality. Magic does actually exist!

Today was the first day that I struck out on my own in the refugee camp. I've decided that I want to see people face to face much more often instead of just poring over their case files in my 7th floor Lilongwe office (where office = broom closet, of course). Halfway through the afternoon I ended up in a pastor's house, packed wall to wall with 4 other people and, of course, pitch black (weird!!!) Through an interpreter he began to tell me about the problems his wife was having with her health. "She's a cripple," he said. "We've been to the doctor and have tried traditional medicine but nothing works." And then without batting an eye, he explained that clearly the cause of her "handicap" (which the medical report listed as arthritis) was the use of black magic by assailants unknown. Looking up, my smile was met by... perfectly normal expressions on everyone else's faces, not the mischevious grins of good humoured refugees I was expecting. "Wait a minute, is he serious?", I thought. Yes, he was. About a minute passed in which I tried to divert the conversation away from spells and black magic. Failing that, I admitted that "Mzungus don't believe in magic," to which they laughed and laughed... Oh how they laughed!!! "Of course you don't believe in magic," said the pastor in a manner that was a mix of pity and all-knowing-ness. "You are a white man." Poor, uninformed me.

Later that afternoon at the office my supervisor offloaded onto me what was surely not one of his favourite cases. I still have no idea what to do about this one so input is welcome. The gentleman in question and his wife showed up at our door unannounced with a rather large problem: he was being accused of witchcraft. And although nobody is burnt at the stake in Malawi, suspected witches are from time to time murdered by an angry mob. Fascinating for me and you as readers, but not exactly the best news for the witches.

The details of this case are pretty straightforward really. Refugee living in another town has a thriving business. But of course that has nothing to do with his business acumen, don't be ridiculous. It's obviously because he's using a spell to draw cash directly out of the surrounding shops, GOD, it's obvious! This would be quirky and funny if it was just a few jealous shopkeers and their shenanigans. But this belief is so widespread that not only did the local newspaper print the 'facts' of the story, but the city council passed a decree that he had to leave the area by June 30th. Get outta Dodge, sucka! Now this guy can't live anywhere in Malawi because the whole country knows about his dark secret.

Finally, the best for last... Today Les and I noticed a newspaper clipping on the wall of the office we're stealing this week. The headline reads: 'Man gets 5 years for using magic plane'. Haha wait let me take a minute to laugh again.... HAHA... ok, done. This cheeky character tried to beat the system, but as in all happily ending stories, a group of drunk people saved the day. The accused (picture in the article naked, sitting on a curb and covered in dust), was apparently traveling from point A to point C, but while at point B ran out of money. So unable to pay for public transportation, he decided it would be a good idea to whip out his magic plane. In a crushing twist of fate, however, he just so happened to fly over a house that had strong magical protection and he fell out of the magic plane. Thankfully he landed basically in front of a gaggle of drunks who promptly reported to the police this outrage and the man was sent to jail for 5 years. No, the newspaper was not running a satire; magic is treated with the gravest of seriousness in this country, even by the courts!

I've never believed in magic until now. You learn something new every day! Now if you'll excuse me, I have a magic bed to jump into.

Comments

2008-05-16T05:03:00.000-07:00

Comments on my posts are always welcomed and appreciated. I do read all of them. I just figured out how to allow the posting of anonymous comments and have enable that setting, which means you don't need a gmail account to post.

Now that it's so easy I expect a flood of comments!

Today's events

2008-05-16T04:24:00.001-07:00

I'm happy to report that new photos are up (sorry, I know it's been a while).

Today we spent the day sorting through files and intervieved two new cases here at the office. Friday is a half day so we don't go to the camp. The first man brought in his daughter, a beautiful little eight year old who was all smiles as she bounced around in her chair in the conference room. He told us in half broken English and half French that his little girl had been raped by a 23 year old local man who has now fled the country, and whose family continues to harrass him. Later in the day I had the responsibility of telling a single mother with 8 children (4 of whom are orphans) that she has essentially no chance of being resettled to a new country, which means she will be stuck in limbo in the camp for who knows how long. These meetings are not pleasant, but I'll keep doing this work as long as I think i'm improving someone's life.

First days at camp

2008-05-14T11:57:00.001-07:00

Three days on the job down, and they have been more than eye opening. On Monday Les and I 'rocked up' (my new fav term) to the Kang'ombe building, the tallest in Lilongwe, at about 12 stories. Being back at work after 6 months of doing 'nothing' is a strange adjustment for me, although it feels great to again have a bit of routine and structure, and of course a purpose. The day started around 8:15 by settling into 'our' new office (yes, i'm using a lot of single quotations - the frequency of things not being what they seem justifies it), which is actually an office we are borrowing while some guy is on holiday. Of course we were only told that after we completely rearranged his office.

Half of the agenda that morning involved trying to communicate with the office manager whose personality you might say is intriguing. Instead of creating our computer accounts the week before, which I mistakenly assumed would have been the logical thing to do, I was told that I needed some sort of form, that of course this individual didn't have, and the only way I could get it would be to bother the head of the mission (aka the top guy in the office, who recruited me.) Thankfully this gentleman is a great guy and didn't hesitate to email off the document to the secretary who then informed us that it was the wrong form. To make a long story shorter the rest of the interaction involved her arguing with the boss, proceeding to tell us that we now didn't actually need the form (which I asked her to repeat twice), later returning to our office to again ask for the form. Her other notable feats in the last few days include maintaing a 100% initial refusal rate to each of my requests, sending me through 5 different people to get the requisition form to borrow a laptop, ultimately producing the form when the boss forced her to, and disappearing for at least 50% of the day.

Around 11am on day one we headed to the Dzaleka refugee camp, which is about a 45 mins drive outside of the city. Things were pretty lively. People that weren't just hanging out were lined up for either food rations or identification cards. Being the only whites in the area, we got a lot of attention from the very friendly residents, all of it cheery and positive. What struck Lesley and I about the camp was its permanence. I went with an idea of plastic sheeting and tents and chaotic rushing about. Nope - none of that. The camp looks a lot like any other rural African village. Brick houses with thatched or metal roofs, a market with fresh fruit and vegetables, a hospital and a police station. And just about everyone is smiling! Although in a way this was a nice surprise, it paints a bit of a grim picture - there can only be this kind of permanence if the refugees are there for a damn long time. While some leave after a matter of weeks on their way to greener pastures, many we spoke with had been camp dwellers for 2, 4, 7 and even almost 20 years.

As we got to dig a bit deeper, however, we started hearing about unspeakable atrocities. The first gentleman we interviewed fled from Burundi after being persecuted because he refused to join a political party that was responsible for trying to exterminate an ethnic group. He was kidnapped and taken with 200 other prisoners from his home. While in transit, the soldier-kidnappers surrounded the group and opened fire, killing pretty much everyone. He escaped only by lying still for 3 hours until the coast was clear. Now in the refugee camp, he fears for his and his family's safety because he is among members of that same political party, and his wife is an ethnic Tutsi, the group the party was trying to exterminate. His wife was raped 3 weeks ago and Lesley and I were the first people he has told since then. She hasn't been to the doctor for an HIV test or the police to report the incident. Outrageously, there is a stigma associated with being raped that somehow translates into the community looking down on this woman, and even blaming her for what happened. Not to mention the police are corrupt. So what do you do?

We spoke with a woman who laughed and joked with us for a few minutes before telling us that her whole family was killed in the Congo. Yesterday we interviewed a man whose relatives were beheaded and who showed us the scar from where he was attacked with a bayonet. This morning had to make a stop so that the Red Cross guy in our truck could check up on one of his cases. Walking up to the house, we met a woman of about my age sitting on a blanket, with a baby and a 6 year old boy lying next to her. The woman made no eye contact with anyone but it's clear that she's given up hope. She is infected with HIV and now has tuberculosis. Her baby is not eating well because she can only have formula. Breast feeding is too dangerous if you're positive. Her son stared off into space and moved little as we were told that he was sick with malaria. He hasn't been to the hospital for treatment yet because his mother can't walk anymore. Their house is bare.

All I wanted to do was pick that kid up and take him to the hospital. But I was told by the Red Cross guy to forget it - he would call for a car to pick him up and take him in today. I didn't see him make the call. And besides, you can't take a kid into the hospital unless he's given a bath.

Heavy.

Ok, on a lighter note, today at the camp was an 'open day', which involved presentations to build awareness and education about rape, HIV/AIDS, hygiene, to give out awards, etc. It was all done on the very traditional African model with drums and dancing and some pretty hilarious skits, including African Jerry Springer. Les and I were given honourary seating and got to hit the microphone a few times and hand out some prizes (umbrellas, thermoses, shirts). Although we didn't get any interviews done today, which was our purpose for going to the camp, we did have about 1,000 people learn who we were and we're getting a pretty good orientation to how things work. So far we haven't done much that I would say is truly productive, except for maybe some filing back at the office, but we're learning quickly what the needs are and who to speak with about various problems the refugees have. I'm absolutely sure that in the next few days we'll be able to do something really meaningful. I'll speak about it then!

Best news I've heard all day

2008-05-07T04:09:00.000-07:00

Well I'm in a shit-eating-grin kind of good mood today on account of the news Lesley and I got this morning. We had a meeting with the head of the United Nations High Commission for Refugees in Malawi yesterday, and some of his staff. It was a meeting to 'get to know us', to talk about what the organization does, and to see if we would 'fit' into a role.

It didn't seem to hurt our chances that everyone at the office was in business attire and I was sporting sandals, jeans, a shirt that showed off my 14 chest hairs and a 5 day beard. It turns out that because we're both so lovable, they want us. Sweeeet. What does this mean? Essentially, we're both working in a refugee camp of over 8,000, mainly Rwandans and Congolese. In all of the possible scenarios that I imagined vis-a-vis volunteer work, I could not have envisioned a better outcome. I am ridiculously excited to have the opportunity to do something that matters greatly to me.

Although we're likely going to be flying by the seat of our pants, working wherever the need for that day is, in general I will be doing case work, interacting directly with the camp residents. Tasks like investigating alleged cases of say, a Hutu harrassing a Tutsi (the two main ethnic groups in Rwanda that don't like each other very much) or seeking out people that might be eligible for scholarships in the US. Lesley will also be working in the camp, working with committees of refugees that deal with women's issues. For example HIV/AIDS education and teaching job skills. Did I mention I'm excited? I was born for this shit.

Well, we're off to sign the paperwork now, and to find a place to rent. Tomorrow, it's off to the lake for a weekend of fun in the sun; one last getaway before we get knee-deep into the chaos. Love it.

Random musings

2008-04-29T05:43:00.000-07:00

"Enemy spotted... we caught em' napping, control."
"This is control. Buzz 2-9'er, you are cleared to attack."
"Roger, we are beginning our descent. Malaria cannons armed and... firing."
In my mind it's perfectly realistic that this is what mosquito 'radio chatter' sounds like... What do we as humans really know about mosquitos? Hell, we haven't been able to wipe out malaria in Africa yet.

These were some of the bizarre thoughts running through my head last night between bouts of smacking myself across the head trying to kill the mosquitos swarming me. My mozzie net had big holes in it. I emerged victorious in the end, with a body count of about 14, and 30 minutes wasted. I can't tell you how evil 2 African-sized mosquitos buzzing around your head in stereo sounds.

What was the point of that story?
...
So anyway, after getting all riled up, I couldn't sleep. So I read. Like I've been doing non-stop for the past few days while I get over my cold. I finished a book called 'Road Fever' by Tim Cahill, which is about his Guiness-Book record making road trip from Argentina to Alaska in 25 days. What an amazing book and an amazing writer. I found myself identifying very closely with this guy, his co-driver and their excruciatingly hilarious and moving experiences along the way. What the book gave me was a deeper understanding of just how remarkable (and sometimes similar) my adventures have been, even if I haven't been able to fully get that across in my blog - when you're working with African computers and limited time, you can't refine things as well as you'd like. Which brings me to my next point.

I once heard somewhere that if you want a project to be successful, you shouldn't tell the world about it until it's too late for you to turn back. The rationale behind this is that the vast majority of people in the world love telling you that you can't do something (normally because they don't beleive THEY can), and ultimately you'll succumb to the barrage of naysaying. My homeys Richard Branson and Robert Kiyosaki know what I'm talking about. However, as I get older, I care less and less what people think of my abilities, because I know my potential is literally limitless (either that, or the size of my ego), and failure is NOT the end of the world; in fact, it's a hallmark of all successful peoples' pasts. I've reevaluated the necessity of remaining tight-lipped.

So I've decided that now is as good a time as any to unveil my latest 'project'. Thankfully this time, it won't involve ducking the police in Zimbabwe. No, it's something far more cutthroat, if I can believe what I've heard of the industry. I'm going to publish a book about my experiences. This brainchild came to me a few months ago, sitting on a standing-room-only coach bus through Botswana while the driver was dodging sheep and donkeys on the highway at 90 kph. I may be wrong, but I think I've already banked enough experiences this trip to warrant sharing it with my wider, and, although they don't know it yet, adoring public (and if I'm wrong, I don't want to hear about it, you filthy naysayers!) In my humble opinion, I can do this in a writing style that's much more entertaining than hundreds of books I've picked up (and quickly put down) in my lifetime. You wouldn't believe some of the shit they publish - and hey, that just might work to my advantage!

Lately I've been thinking a lot about what I'm going to do when I get home. I've discovered though talking to other travelers that around the 3 month mark is when just about everybody starts getting homesick, sick of living out of a bag, sick of being crammed into overcrowded dorms and overcrowded buses. My brother Rob, who sent me an email today that made me feel better, went through it in South America last year. While I'm a firm believer in creating your own happiness and that seeking it elsewhere is a temporary fix at best, I'm really looking forward to seeing Lesley on Thursday. For many reasons, but specifically in this case to distract me from brooding about the comforts I'm missing out on, and dwelling in the future, which can be as destructive as dwelling in the past.

But let's be honest, I'm not one to waste an opportunity to bitch and moan. On that note, may I present, a homage to the little things:

I miss my hometown, Sarnia (never thought I would say that). I miss my family house. I miss raiding the fridge to make a sandwich in a dark kitchen when mom has long gone to bed and Rob is on the computer. I miss watching 10 minutes of bad TV while I scarf my food down before going to bed. I miss random Tuesday night dinners at John's restaurant and running into acquiaintances. I miss playing guitar alone in the living room.

I miss the cold - again, an unexpected revelation to myself. I look forward to walking around snow covered landscapes of frost encrusted tree branches on a crisp afternoon when you can see your breath. I miss the peace and quiet that comes with a windless January afternoon in semi-rural Ontario. Surprisingly, I miss virtually nothing about Toronto, except maybe the freedom of living in a bachelor pad and having a purpose (aka a job). Shocking, considering I had become a fully converted Toronto enthusiast in the last few years.

Why I haven't been able to find the same peace in Africa, a continent with abundant, empty wilderness, still eludes me. Maybe it's not even about the peace or solitude. Maybe what I actually miss is familiarity. It disturbs me a little bit. That, and something else has been bothering me lately. I feel guilty saying this, let alone thinking it, so bear with me.

Am I the only guy in the world that has not been able to find the suffering in Africa?

Ten African countries now, and I truly believe that things are really not that bad. Of course I've encountered pockets of desperation - the guys who swarmed our minibus taxi in Tanzania, shoving bunches of onions to sell through the windows; the beggars on the streets in Cape Town. But hell, we have worse urban poverty in downtown Toronto. Africa is not the broken, hopeless continent I expected it to be.

Near the start of my trip, a good friend of mine who is traveling South East Asia emailed me and recounted a personal story. Passing a streetside cafe in either Thailand or Cambodia where white tourists were comfortably enjoying their pad thai, my friend noticed a naked girl of no more than 5 years old wandering the streets, obviously homeless and hungry, maybe abandoned. Ignoring what was right in front of their eyes, not one of those tourists lifted a finger to do something. How? HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? Because they're on vacation and don't want to deal with this shit? What kind of a world are we living in? I don't get mad easily, but this still enrages me. On behalf of humanity, thank you, Erin, for buying that little girl something to eat.

It's that kind of madness, and a belief that I as a human being can do something about it, that brought me to Africa. But In 3 and a half months here, nothing I've seen has moved me, emotionally, like that email. I thought I would be tripping over causes, yet I haven't found one. Is something wrong with me? I don't doubt that there's a whole lot that I'm not seeing. And statistically, intellectually, I know that things are grim: this many people have AIDS, the average life expectancy in this country is 40, people in xyz province live on less than a dollar a day. And yet virtually everywhere I go, life goes on. People are happy, smiling and friendly. Families actually spend time with each other, and interact with their neighbours. A random traveler told me a story the other day. A lady she met in a remote rural village commented, "I feel sorry for the people of the city, because they are always frowning. Here in the village we have the best life." Will giving Africans access to TVs, cars, and a new flavour of Coke improve their lives one damn iota?

What I've learned from this, is that we in the west have to be very careful about how we handle development and aid. Alleviating suffering = good. Improving health and education = always good. Annihilating HIV/AIDS = imperative. It is not as clear that development for the sake of development, is always good. Molding 'these savages' in our image is not going to make for a better world or raise universal happiness levels. I think that often, governments especially and Non-Governmental Organizations secondarily, fall into the trap of thinking 'development = good'. And I acknowledge that such an erroneous belief is slowly disappearing after the failed World Bank mega-projects of earlier decades. But allow me to put forth a humble proposition: If Africans live in mud huts, live out their days as subsistence farmers and lack access to the Internet; as long as they are happy and have the same opportunities as everyone else (health, education, etc.), that is OK. We don't need a Westernized world, thank you very much.

Many of you know I want to run for political office some day. Whenever I write a blog entry in the back of my mind I wonder if the things that I say here are going to come back to haunt me someday in a world that is often far too sensitive, that misinterprets. I know some of what I'm saying here is highly philisophical and radical, but I hope it's not misinterpreted. Those of you that know me, know that whatever I do is motivated by a desire to see a better world for everyone. Talk to you all soon.

Faux-toes posted

2008-04-24T02:09:00.000-07:00

2 new photo albums are up.

Right now I'm hanging out in Malawi's capital city, Lilongwe. So far I haven't come across a building that's more than 2 stories high. If you read between the lines, you may get that I'm hinting at a general lack of excitement here. Although I'm not discouraged yet, I'm having a bit of trouble finding some suitable volunteer work. Although there's lots of volunteer activity, the groups are either hard to get into (US Peace Corps), uber-religious (I'm not into proselytization) or maddeningly disorganized. If I'm going to last for another 3 months, I'm going to have to do something that acually makes a difference and that I'm passionate about. Hopefully in the next few days I have some leads...

addendum to last post

2008-04-21T01:38:00.000-07:00

Ya so my mind must be going. I forgot to complete one of my paragraphs from the last post, the one about Mdokera needing perfume for the dead mother ritual. Because he was fresh out and all the shops were closed, he asked me if I had any. All I had was a roll-on axe deodorant. To my surprise he accepted it, so as bizarre as it may be, my armpit deodorant was used in a funeral ceremony. Only in Africa.

ps. Despite spending an hour today at a different inet cafe, I'm no closer to having any of the pictures up. BOOOO

Weirdest experience of my life... makes for good blog post!

2008-04-20T02:55:00.000-07:00

Safe and sound in Malawi, where I'm planning to settle down for a bit and find some volunteer work. Of course safe and sound didn't prevent me from having by far the strangest experience of my trip so far. I'll get to that.

Out of Tanzania...

Let's see.. last I posted I was wasting away in 'Shit-es-Salaam', as Casey refers to it. I hopped on a 12 hour bus ride the next day to Mbeya, in South-West Tanzania. I ended up sitting beside an American doctor who was off to do some volunteer work and deliver $50,000 worth of antibiotics to a rural hospital. It was an uneventful ride (thank God for a full iPod charge) until we got dropped off. Doctor Danielle went first thing to book her onward transportation with another bus company, and 5 minutes later, when she got back, the bus had already taken off with her luggage. SHIT! Thankfully, it had only gone across town to get washed and a local guy jumped in a cab with us to rescue her precious cargo. In the end all was well and we found a decent (barely) hostel to have a much needed sleep and some dinner (rice and chicken).

The next day I managed to get my ass out of bed and barely communicate with the hostel staff to find a minibus taxi (English is not very common in S-W Tanz), which took me to the place where I was supposed to get... another minibus taxi. Already by this point I have no idea where on the planet I am. There was a very good likelihood that I was the first white person in history to be in this spot. When I stepped out of the first bus, I looked around and literally over a hundred people were staring at me and making no bones about their intrigue. I took a puff on my cigarette and stared right back until they again went about their business.

Although I've been in a fair number of minibus taxis over the last few months, these took chaos to a whole new level. Everywhere I went, TVs and radios and car stereos were turned up to full blast, so that the speakers were popping. Nobody seemed to mind, not even the fragile octogenarian sitting beside me on the bus to the Malawi border. I think we set a new world record for the amount of people you can squash into a bus. We had roughly 20 seats in the last one, with about 55 passengers, sitting on top of each other and standing in the vacant spaces. At one of the ubiquitous police checkpoints, they stopped the bus and had about 20 people get out. So what did our driver do? He drove 50 metres down the road and waited for the others to catch up on foot, who then got back on the bus and we continued on our way.

...and Into Malawi

Crossing the border into Malawi was fine. The bus dropped me about 1 km away. As usual, I was swarmed by locals trying to get money out of the stupid tourist. I didn't have any Malawi currency (Kwacha) so against my better judgment I decided to get rid of my Tanzanian Schillings and try my hand at the black market. At first, the 16 year old entrepreneur-slash-swindler I was dealing with tried to give me a rate that was at least 1/3 below what it should have been. Then, when I argued a better rate, he gave me the cash, and to his chagrin, I started counting it in front of him. Halfway through the first stack he took it back from me and told me "Oh sorry those are small notes," and replaced them with others from his pocket. What he had done was pre-package stacks of 500 Kwacha and tried to pass them off as 1000 Kwacha. What a little shit! Once we sorted that garbage out I settled on a price for the same guy (who knows why) to take me to the border. His 'taxi' turned out to be a bicycle. Picture me, with my massive backpack, sitting on the back of a bike that's being pedaled by a 16 year old. Wild times.

Across the border I found a real taxi that took me the 50 km or so to a place called Karonga, where I stayed for the night. Although we had settled on a price of 500 Kwacha, when I got out he tried to say it should be 700. Well, having been nearly ripped off far too many times in one day, I kind of flipped on this guy and went into a big lecture about how not all Mzungus are made of money and when you agree on a price, that's the price and so on. I think he was really sorry he even bothered.

On a completely different note, the hostel was in a beautiful spot where I got to catch my first glimpse of Lake Malawi, something I've been looking forward to for a long time. Unfortunately, because it had rained, the rice paddies between the hostel and the shore were completely flooded and I couldn't get close enough to swim. Instead I took a walk into town and hit the local dinosaur museum. On the way another kid adopted me in hopes that he could direct me to his craft shop. Surprisingly, he waited outside the museum for an hour and a half for me. Even more shocking, I actually bought something. Also on the way I remarked on a very significant difference between Malawian and Canadian police stations: ours don't have cows grazing within the fences.

Pushing on the next day, I arrive in another small and even more rural town called Chitimba, another 70 km south. What a gorgeous spot. The lake, with sandy beaches on one side, and the lush mountains of the Nyika Plateau on the other. It sucked, but I was dropped about 5 km from the campsite I wanted (I was told it had a bed in a tree!), so I decided to walk. It took me about an hour in the blazing sun with a 80 pound backpack on me. And every man, woman and child along the way decided to say 'Hi' to me and for good measure call me a Mzungu. Arriving there, the owner came rushing out into the road to greet me. At first I thought it was just some crazy guy trying to give me a hug. But he was very welcoming and hospitable and insisted that I peruse his guestbooks from the last 12 years. After this I was thankfully left to my own devices - for a time - to swim and suntan and read on the beach. And of course to joke around with Mdokera's nephew, Joni, who was mentally challenged but had the biggest smile I've even seen. But after a little while, Mr. Mdokera came by and asked me a question.

Here's where it starts to get weird...

Mdokera: "Would you like to visit my mother? She is very sick."
Me thinking: *umm... that's kind of a weird request*
Me: "Umm... are you sure she wants to be bothered?"

Of course he insisted and I didn't say no. So we went over to the hut where she was laid up in bed. This tiny lady was covered entirely by a blanket with 3 other ladies sitting on the bed beside her. I was given a chair and told to sit, and as soon as I did I was asked to get up and come over to the mother to say hi. Mdokera lifted the blanket briefly and I saw her hands. One of the ladies on the bed said something in a foreign language and Mdokera just got very silent. I immediately knew what happened from the way all the ladies had lowered their heads and avoided eye contact with everyone else. Mdokera turned to me, and I will never forget what he said:

"I'm sorry Mike, but my mother is dead."

What. The. Hell. Did this just happen? I didn't know what to do so I went over and gave the guy a hug and told him how sorry I was. ASAP I got out of the hut and sat down on the beach to process what might have been the strangest thing that's ever happened in my life. "Was this a scam to get money out of me," I wondered? "Oh don't be so cynical, Mike." Well one thing was clear, I couldn't stay there for the night. A) I didn't want to be a burden, and b) I personally didn't want to deal with this drama. So I started to pack up my gear with the plan to walk back to another campsite I passed.

Of course as I was walking over to tell Mdokera my plan, a friend of his brought my lunch, which I couldn't let go to waste. Long story short, the owner convinced me to stay with the argument that his sister, brother-in-law, father, etc. had passed away in recent years and business still goes on because his extended family takes care of the guests. Again, against my better judgment, I stayed. In another cultural intrigue, Mdokera asked me not to tell anyone that his mother had passed away. "In our culture, we need to first take the body to the chief and let other elders know before anyone else."

Despite assurances that I would be taken care of, for dinner I had only a piece of uncooked corn (plain corn, not sweet corn), and I didn't get to sleep in the tree because nobody prepared it. After 'dinner', Mdokera materialized again with a crisis. In his culture, when someone dies, you need to use perfume to perform whatever ritual it was that is performed when someone dies.

And the marathon walk of hell...

Next day, I climbed a mountain. What drew me to Chitimba in the first place was the possibility of walking from there up the mountains to Livingstonia, a town founded in honour of19th century explorer and missionary David Livingstone (where the term 'Dr. Livingstone, I presume' originated,) and to see a waterfall. Have to say that I was not truly prepared for what 50 kms, half uphill, half in torrential rain and mud, meant. My feet are blistered and my hips, quads and hamstrings are still killing me. About halfway up the mountain I caught up to a group of 7 travelers who were on an overland tour from Nairobi, Kenya, to Cape Town S. Africa. They turned out to be good fun and we had some laughs along the way. The town itself was interesting, as it looked like a very proper British Victorian village. At one point I thought I might be in a scene out of 'Anne of Green Gables'.

because I can't stop ramblin'!!!!

So where am I now? In another little piece of paradise and backpacker haven called Nkhata bay, another 100 km or so south of Chitimba. The view is stunning, but alas because the internet here is worthless, I'm going to have to wait until at least tomorrow to get pictures up. Last night I stayed in a dive that topped even the Youth Hostel in Casablanca and the Jambo Guest House in Zanzibar, which I didn't think was possible. The room and sheets were so musty and covered with sand that I couldn't sleep on my side, lest my head gets too close to the pillow and I start gagging. Thank God for a sleeping bag liner. Needless to say, I got out of there first thing this morning and am staying in a much nicer place!

Life is good. I've read some amazing books lately, including Richard Branson's (Head of the Virgin Group) autobiography. This guy is my new hero - he's a man of incredibly integrity, and who does what's right and not expedient, but who still makes mistakes and admits it. Someone who came from humble beginnings but who has had more experiences in his lifetime than most people have in 10. Someone who is incredibly successful because he was driven by a passion and wasn't afraid to take big risks. The man loves life and his family and hasn't lost sight of that by taking business too serious or becoming greedy. All qualities that I admire and desire and if I live my life half as well as him I will be happy. If you haven't figured it out, I highly recommend his book.

Finally, I'm getting very excited that Lesley will be on a plane to join me in about 11 days. I can't wait to see her...

And now it's time for a rant

2008-04-14T01:31:00.000-07:00

This post is a product of my advanced travel weariness. I'm ready to lose my shit. So I apologize in advance if I say anything offensive.

I've been stuck in Dar es Salaam for the past 4 days, but it seems like 4 million. Now that wouldn't be so bad if this town wasn't both so paradoxically boring and high stress. And I still haven't figured out how my money is being siphoned out of my bank account so quickly here.

The rain: out of my 2 weeks in Tanzania, all of one day has passed without rain for between 1 and 18 hours. Walking down streets covered with more than a foot of water is just ridiculous. Obviously, it limited the beach experience in Zanzibar, and it prevents us from walking around Dar much. Not that there is anything to see but dirty, run-down streetscapes. Everything closed at 1pm on Saturday and was closed all day yesterday. Including every freaking tour company and airline.

The inefficiency: That meant that when Air Malawi finally picked up the phone at 9 this morning, I found out that today's only flight out of this black hole is at 10 am, despite the fact that the website lists it as leaving at 5:30 pm. Not nearly enough time to get to the airport, and the next flight is in 2 days. Casey is having much more of a struggle. She's trying to organize a trip to Rwanda to see the mountain gorillas with a possible stopover in the Serengeti to do a safari. Allow me to illustrate how the typical tour company here operates:

*** We walk into a shop labeled 'XYZ Travel and Tours'...
Casey: "Do you organize tours to the Serengeti?"
Automaton: *Speaks in Swahili to coworker* "No we don't do that"
Casey: "Do you organize flights?"
Automaton: *More Swahili* "No"
*** Silence...
*** Mike and Casey stare dumbfounded at each other...
*** Mike and Casey walk to the next tour company to repeat the same process

The pestering: Nanoseconds out of our hostel, a restaurant, a bar, an internet cafe or just crossing the street, multiple taxi drivers pounce: "Hello, excuse me, boss... Taxi?" I was standing on our balcony today 5 minutes after waking up and some guy across the street started waving at me then pointed to his taxi. We got out of a taxi the other day and a taxi driver asked us if we needed a taxi. I'm approaching the stage where I'm going to involuntarily unleash verbal fire and brimstone on these guys, and I hate that. I completely understand that they are trying to make a living, but the constant barrage of attention because of the colour of my skin is maddening. In the beginning, I thought it was really cool that every second person said 'Hello, how are you' to Casey and I. How friendly they are!!! When I'm greeted now, staring into space is the only option for my sanity.

The flies: Contrary to what the World Vision ads would have you believe, Africans are not always covered in flies. Actually, Africa has been pretty darn fly free for me. Until Zanzibar. Every time we sit down for dinner or lunch or a drink, the flies begin accumulating. It's normally not so bad that you have to move, but with creatures landing on you and your food every 5 seconds, you get to the point where you want to scream. And what are the restaurants doing about it? Not a damn thing. There is no hint that they are remotely apologetic. I'm convinced that all it would take to solve the problem is to wipe down the tables with some soap. I'm not even hoping for lysol, just break out some dish soap guys. Africaaaaaggggghhhhhhh!!!

Deep breath, count to ten...

I realize that my complaints are largely trivial compared to what millions of people suffer daily. I'm a product of a very comfortable upbringing in what I recognize more and more every day to be the greatest country in the world. I haven't yet learned how to prevent these things from stressing me. It's part and parcel of being sweaty and tired in an alien land and having no home or routine, so I don't feel unjustified for feeling this way. At the same time, I do feel guilty for losing perspective a bit...

Anyway, thanks for listening to the rant, it made me feel better (but no less sweaty). I'm off to Mbeya at 6:30 am on a 12 hour bus journey tomorrow, which is in the south of the country. Another barrel of laughs I'm sure. The day after I'm crossing into the promised land, MALAWI! where I'm going to be keeping my eyes out for volunteer opportunities and a place to settle down for the next few months. And I'm not sure if I mentioned before, but it's official now: Lesley quit her job and is joining me May 1st for our quest to save the world!

Mystery of the Missing Media - solved

2008-04-09T02:24:00.000-07:00

Some of you will have noticed by now that my story about the Zimbabwe elections did not appear in the National Post last week. How embarrassing :) But I only heard back now from the editor as to why. Slightly unprofessional, but no hard feelings. He indicated that it was because there wasn't enough space, which is a perennial problem, and not because there was anything wrong with the story. There were 4 other Zimbabwe stories in the paper that day, all written by their staff writers, so as a little fish, I was punted.

But guess what! You lucky bastards get to see what was never printed! Enjoy...

March 29, 2008

Zimbabwe on the Brink of Violence

VICTORIA FALLS, ZIMBABWE -- It is clear that seventeen year old Akim is desperately struggling to make a living as he rushes down the street to greet me in hopes that I will buy the crafts that he is hawking. When I decline, his pleas shift to, "Please give me your sunglasses... your shoes... your trousers. Zimbabwe is an economic basket case after years of destructive leadership by long time President Robert Mugabe and the ZANU-PF party. The country's population is out of patience.

Despite his desperation, or perhaps because of it, Akim has developed a strong understanding of the issues defining Zimbabwe's upcoming elections on March 29th. "When you go to the shops, you can't buy many things. There is no cooking oil, no clothes right now. And what is there is very expensive." Today was the first in five that fruit was available in the market, and milk is still nowhere to be found. Malnourishment and even starvation is a reality for many children wandering the streets in cities across the country, begging for food. Up to eighty percent of Zimbabweans work outside of the formal economy, which suffers from the highest rate of inflation in the world. Doctors and teachers are attempting to do the impossible with limited resources and fuel shortages compound every aspect of this nation-wide crisis.

Zimbabwe is a country on the edge - its citizens overwhelmingly hopeful for political change, yet fully aware of the likelihood that this will come at the cost of bloodshed. "People are tired, we can't last another 5 years," says a visibly exhausted man who was hours ago released from jail, being put there for espousing his political views. Mr. Mugabe has remained president for twenty eight years, and while he began this career a liberation hero, his waning popularity has led to the use of vote rigging, intimidation and violence in recent years. People on the street laugh when asked if this election will be free or fair. And yet despite the risks of being politically active for the wrong side in this country, several strong opposition parties have mobilized and are fighting for change. Mr. Morgan Tsvangirai, leader of the Movement for Democratic Change party (MDC), is one of the leading opposition candidates. A target of 3 assassination attempts and a victim of brutal torture as recently as March 2007, the MDC leader is still facing harassment. Expected to attend a rally of7,000 supporters in the North-West last week, he was detained by police on trumped up charges.

A third colourful presidential candidate, running as an independent, but backed by a splinter faction of the MDC, is also making waves despite only announcing his intentions as recently as February 2008. Simba Makoni has already garnered a sizable following, yet many distrust his motives. As a long-time ZANU-PF member of cabinet, MDC members are united in their belief that his candidacy is simply a Mugabe-orchestrated ploy to split the opposition vote. "It's a trick to confuse people," claims Gift Mabhena, a hopeful for the Hwange West MP seat, who was also detained last week on trivial charges and without access to a lawyer. Mugabe has also sharply denounced his former Finance Minister and is railing against what he believes Mr. Makoni's candidacy to be: a British-led effort to sap support away from his party through vote splitting.

The tension around the country is palpable. Police and military leave has been canceled until further notice in preparation for violence. Officers in full riot gear are stationed every second block in Zimbabwe's second largest city, Bulawayo, and there is a police vehicle on every corner in the capital, Harare. Tear gas has allegedly been distributed. Every day, it seems fewer people are comfortable being outdoors - police now outnumber civilians. Their mission today: to chase down groups of street children. Locals claim that 'undesirables' like these are regularly beaten, suffering bruises and cuts to their feet and backsides - some being only ten years old.

These abuses are allowed to continue in part because freedom of speech is non-existent. Foreign journalists are at risk of physical harm. I have been warned several times, "be careful who you talk to." Interviews have to be handled discreetly. On one occasion I was instructed to lay down in the back of a pickup truck during the drive to interview MDC Vice-President Thokozani Khupe so as not to be seen -"there are police watching us." Had I been exposed as a journalist, I would certainly be detained or worse. Thankfully I give the appearance of a harmless tourist and kept my notepad out of sight; as I discovered later, undercover police were watching us from across the room. Instead of feeling fear, I could only think about how dire, even bizarre, Zimbabwe's situation is. Asked what will happen if this election is stolen again - as she believes it will be - Ms. Khupe responded that "things are different this time around... Zimbabweans have learned a lesson from Kenya," a reference to the violence that broke out late last year after electoral irregularities were observed in that country.

Despite concessions made by the Mugabe government in the name of openness on election day, several have been rescinded just days ago, indicating that those promises were made in bad faith. Police will now be stationed at polling places on the 29th, creating fears of voter intimidation, and ballot boxes for the presidential vote will be transported to Harare for the count, rather than being done on-site. And while the government assured voters sufficient fuel would be available to allow travel to the polls, areas of the country are still without gasoline.

Being here, one gets a clear sense that popular support has all but abandoned Mr. Mugabe. Although he enjoyed a base of rural support in the last election, this has dwindled as economic disaster spread beyond urban centres. Yet the ruling elite is not prepared to let power simply slip from its hands. Mugabe recently commented that out of twenty-eight ways he knows to win an election, he's only used two... so far. Out of this situation comes no easy solutions, only a question: not *whether* violence will break out after the 29th, but,"how bad will it be?"

Sage advice for tourists

2008-04-07T01:54:00.000-07:00

2 new photo albums are up!

While I was looking through them, this picture reminded me of something I feel needs to be said, in hopes that fewer travelers will stick out like khaki-coloured sore thumbs. Please, when you are on vacation, avoid common tourist pitfalls - those that this gentleman is aptly demonstrating for us.

1) Do not wear a tilly hat, even if you burn easily
2) Do not wear khaki shorts
3) Do not wear a giant SLR camera around your neck
4) Do not carry a gigantic bag to the beach
5) Do not wear hiking boots on the beach

For if you do, you will attract every kid on the beach selling CDs and sunglasses like this guy did. I don't have many pet peeves, but man, your 'typical tourist' is up there.

Zanzibar'in it

2008-04-07T00:44:00.000-07:00

Just got back from the South West coast of the island. We had hitched a ride out there with James and Rob, the two guys we met at the restaurant the other night. They're both here in semi-long term capacities (Rob is an engineer overseeing the redevelopment of the StoneTown waterfront, which has had no maintenance since the 60's, and James is here from England looking for a place to build a hotel), so they are pretty good guides. We stayed at a beach resort overlooking a white sandy beach and the blue-est of blue waters I've ever seen. I'm uploading pictures now but here's the thing about internet in Africa: it's damn slow at the best of times. When you travel to an island off the coast of Africa, things get markedly worse. So take what you can get!

While I remember, I have a working cell phone now (And the number will be the same for AT LEAST 2 days!!!). So by all means, call me to chat. Just remember that I'm 7 hours ahead of Ontario time. Country code 255-(there may be a zero here) 783-571-859.

We're now just waiting for my photos to upload, then will hit up some lunch, then we're off to the North coast for a few days to spend some quality time playing with crabs on the beach.

ps. I've ticked off octopus on my 'things I've eaten' list. Pretty tasty with a nice garlic-olive oil dip.

3 days on a train and ZANZIBAR!

2008-04-05T04:39:00.001-07:00

Hmmm... I could have sworn I wrote a post when I was in Lusaka, but I guess I'm mistaken. My bad for keeping you waiting. Alright, where to start?!?! We have a lot of ground to cover, so keep up. The hostel in Livingstone, Zambia was a freakin' paradise! Most definitely the nicest I've been to. And of course that didn't have anything to do with the fact that I was one of the only guys there, surrounded by dozens of girls in bikinis.

After the stress of Zimbabwe I decided just to do a whole lot of nothing for a few days except have a few beers by the pool. Surprise, surprise, I ran into Casey from the Namibia tour at the same place and a very good guy, a retired Brit by the name of Gary, so we three hung out for a few days. I was happy to get to a restaurant the first night where we were the only white people. The music was a lot of fun, with the very drunk band playing covers of Elvis and Bob Marley to an island rhythm. We took a taxi back 'home' because it's not advisable to walk around town at night (or anywhere in Africa really), but as I was getting into bed I had a panic attack: I had left my bag at the restaurant. Why I brought my passport, Ipod, cell phone, and traveler's cheques out with me remains a mystery. So, thankfully a Dutch guy who also joined us for dinner offered to walk (run, actually) with me back to rescue my shit, and aside from virtually breaking my toe on an uneven part of pavement, it all turned out fine.

While in town we took a gander at the Vic Falls from the other side of the Zambezi river. I didn't think it was possible, but the spray was about twice as heavy on this side - it was like being in a hurricane, but without the winds. I got very few pictures because I feared for my camera's life (kudos to the inventor of the zip loc bag, and a pat on the back to me for wearing my bathing suit). The morning I left town, I did a flight in a microlight plane - a kind of hang glider with a propellor attached - over the falls. Despite the great things I heard about the experience, I was not all that impressed. But I did get some cool pictures from the left wing ;)

Later that day I jumped on a 7 hour bus to Lusaka, the country's capital. Passing by a pickup truck packed half full of men and half full of baby goats was a highlight of the trip, as was avoiding potholes at 100kph in a huge coach in the pitch black of rural Zambia. Zimbabwe's run-down exterior, with its lack of activity and feeling of hopelessness was in stark contrast to the upbeat, thriving towns with shops that have brightly painted facades that I noticed traveling Zambia. Or at least that's what I thought until I got to Soviet Lusaka. What a really weird place. That's the only way to put it. There was clearly some communist style central planning going on here. The East Berlin style housing compounds looked bleak and the bizarro architecture was trying to be modern but succeeded only in looking childish. Walking the main drag on a Sunday, not a damn thing was open except a string of about 4 restaurants, including a Subway! They only had one kind of bread, used about half the toppings I'm used to, took half an hour to make my cold cut trio and claimed that the watery sludge out of the tube was mustard, but it was nice to get a bit of home on the other side of the world.

I'm not exactly sure why I spent 3 nights in this excitement abyss, but it was good to be in a place that hasn't yet been Westernized (yet). Walking through the market on the last day was a freakin' experience. Every five minutes, someone shouted at me "Hey white man!" (or in the local language, 'Umazungu'). The first time this happened I was stunned. All I could think to say back was "Hey black man!" Hah. I was offended until I realized there was no racism intended here; we white folk are just a novelty in these backwaters.

The first night at the hostel, Casey and I had an interesting conversation with a very nice, UK educated Zambian couple. I'm still not sure how to interpret this experience, but it seemed to me that they were trying desperately to shrug off their 'Africanism' and impress us with how posh they've become. Regrettably, I fell into that trap and started minding my grammar more closely and using vocab I usually don't. Their views on tourism was mind openening: Casey and I agreed that the potholes, the delays, the power outages were all part of the charm of Africa and the reason we chose to come here and not somewhere like Western Europe. Their master plan was to dismantle this authenticity and replace it with five star hotels and great infrastructure. But I could understand that their prime goal was to eliminate poverty and that my hope to keep things 'real' was a product of where I was raised.

While in town, Casey somehow convinced me to take a 2 night, 3 day train to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania with her, eventually going on to the tropical paradise island of Zanzibar. To prepare for the trip, we had to grab some groceries. In one of the most surreal moments so far, our taxi driver said to us "Could you please wait here for one minute, we [the other drivers] have just bought a communal drink and I haven't had my share yet." To translate, he had to take a big swig of beer before driving us across town.

For some backwards reason, the train doesn't leave from Lusaka and we had to take a bus from Lusaka to Kapiri Mposhi, about 200 k north. That bus station was the most chaos I've ever seen in one place. 50 people in my face trying to sell me transport to Livingstone, buses intent on running me over, horns blaring. A lot like what I imagine urban India to be like. Kapiri - what a dismal town - it's essentially a village of mud huts with a ginormous communist style train station in the middle. I made a friend outside the station who offered me some salted fish. It took a few days to get that taste out of my mouth.

At the station we ran into a bit of an inconvenience. Tanzania is a Muslim country, so men and women are not allowed in the same train compartment unless they're family or they can get a compartment with nobody else in it. The prospect of Casey and I being separated the whole time wasn't appealling, so I spent the whole time trying to convince the ticket guy that we were married and needed our own caibn, and when that failed, talking to other tourists and seeing if they wanted to book a cabin together. Foiled in the end, but that wasnt' much of a big deal. We got compartments next to each other and spent most of our time in the bar and dining cars anyway. Speaking of which, I'm very happy we brough a bottle of gin and a few of wine. It made time fly quicker ;) Ditto for my Ipod. All in all, I can't really complain about the trip. While it was hot and bumpy and smelly and Casey and I were both not very talkative, the scenery was amazing. The tracks took us through a remote region of Zambia and Tanzania that you just can't access by road.

One of the greatest experiences (and photo-ops) was whenever the train stopped. From the surrounding rural villages, dozens or even hundreds of kids would rush to meet us to beg for whatever we wanted to throw out the window (plastic bottles seemed to be a hot item), sell potatos, carrots, nuts and other stuff, or to just wave at us and stare in awe at my white-ness. When I tried to take pictures, the kids would scramble like I was pointing a gun at them. As we got farther into Tanzania, things really started to change. The weather for one - it's damn (i mean damn,) hot here owing to the ridiculous humidity. Also the people - although most of the rural kids were absolutely filthy, most of the adults would wear clothes with beautiful bright patterns. Nobody here spoke much English. Laundry would be laid out on the grass to dry. The last day, the train took us through the tip of a game reserve, so we saw wild zebra, giraffe, elephants, impala, etc... But probably the most extraordinary experience for me was the stand up shitting! Yes, you heard right! While this rickety train was rocking back and forth and bumping around, you would have to squat over a toilet bowl with no seat, all while holding onto nothing but the walls, and pray you have good aim. Wiping was another story. My quads still hurt.

And now, we're just kickin' it in Zanzibar, an island famous for it's beautiful beaches, seafood and intriguing history as a source of wealth for several empires - Arab, British, Portuguese... We're staying in a part of Zanzibar Town called 'Stone Town', a beautiful, if run down place that looks way too much like the old parts of cities in Morocco. The only problem is that until last night it was raining literally non-stop in torrential downpours. We arrived off the ferry from Dar-es-Salaam (Tanzania's capital, opposite Zanzibar) two days ago. Getting to our hostel (which smells damp, and is damp), we had to wade through water rushing down the streets that was 2 feet deep at some points. Thankfully it stopped last night and hasn't started, but the skies are grey. I want to go to the beach, dammit!

Last night was a blast and a half - we had dinner at a cool (if touristy) restaurant on the beach, and a live band started playing at 10. Pretty quick the dance floor was packed and everyone was having the time of their life, including us. Uncharacteristically, I danced all night, and have never sweated so much. Around 11 we left there with some Brits that were trying to pickup Casey and after making a few stops around town, driving with the driver's door open because the switches for his power windows had been stolen (yes you read that correctly) and we were fogging up like mad, we stopped at a local 'Umuzunga' club for more dancing. By this point I was on my 15th gin and tonic, so I wasn't thinking all that clearly, which may explain why I suspected one of the girls I danced with was a transvestite. This morning I realize I have no valid reason to believe she was, but at the time I was convinced. Oh Africa, you crazy bastard.

By the time we got to the THIRD bar I was really ready to go home. I had resorted to drinking water and was exhausted. Being the only white people there, it was clear that we were not welcome. I was surprised the music didn't stop when we walked in the door like it does in the movies. The black dude I was with decided it would be safer if he walked with me to the washroom, and I'm glad he did. From there we went to a reggae bar around the corner which was much more welcoming, but I seemed to be the only one enjoying it, so everyone wanted to go back to the last place. However, it was 5am and I put my foot down so Casey and I jumped in a cab, getting into the hostel just as other people were waking up. We woke up at 12 today, and plan to do nothing! Hopefully will move over to the East side of the island tomorrow where the weather and beaches are better. Then from here it's off to Malawi to settle for a few months and do some volunteering! Until next time...

Quick post

2008-04-04T09:07:00.000-07:00

Literally seconds left of internet time but just wanted to say i'm safe and sound in Zanzibar, Tanzania after a very sweaty 3 day train ride from Lusaka. Big post coming soon!

And now, all is revealed...

2008-03-28T01:27:00.000-07:00

Two posts ago I mentioned that I was working on a special 'project'. Well there was a good reason that I waited to go into detail - I didn't want to scare anybody before I got safely out of the country (I'm in Livingstone, Zambia).

I've had an adventure more exciting than anything in my wildest dreams. Over the last few days I ceased to be a tourist and became a freelance journalist. I was incredibly lucky that in the first 20 minutes of getting to my hostel, I ran into several senior organizers for the MDC, the leading political party opposing the autocrat Mugabe. I started interviewing right away. By the end of the day, I was offered an interview with the Vice President of the MDC who happened to be in town. I jumped on that immediately, or rather, jumped into the back of a pickup truck, and was told to lay down for the ride to her hotel so I wouldn't be spotted by police. Had I been outed as a journalist, I would have been arrested, as there is zero freedom of the press here. I conducted a quick interview, without a notebook, because I was told undercover police were watching us. Thankfully I have cultivated the stupid tourist look well after 3 months on the road.

In the next few days I learned about what kind of shit is happening here - all police and army leaves have been canceled in preparation for violence - they are in riot gear on every second street corner in major cities. On the day I decided to leave, the police were chasing street children, and apparently they often beat children as young as 10. The shelves are bare; people are starving. Opposition candidates are being bribed, hassled or arrested. I got a really good interview with a prospective MP an hour after being released from jail. Most of those I talked to assure me that Mugabe will steal this election again and that there will be violence when that happens.

Things are in shambles in Zimbabwe but I felt that it was worth putting myself at risk so that the world can see what is happening there. My story will likely be published in Saturday's National Post, so keep an eye out for it. An absolutely phenomenal experience!!!

Victoria Falls

2008-03-24T03:07:00.000-07:00

Note: 3 new photo albums up

After my post yesterday I braved the throng of peddlers hawking their wood carvings and went down to see the Victoria Falls. I'm hesitant to even attempt to write something about it because it's so beautiful that words are inadequate. Just to give you a sense of the Falls' awesome power, I can hear them from my hostel at night, which is a 20 min walk away. Next to the Falls, the noise of this much water crashing down was humbling. Niagara Falls, in my opinion, does not compare. The water in the Zambezi River is currently flowing in a raging torrent on account of the unusually massive amount of rain this region of the world has had lately. Vic Falls drops into a mile-long canyon that is actually several different falls: Devil's Cataract, Main Falls, Rainbow Falls and Eastern Cataract. It took me about an hour to walk from one end to the other, with time to snap photos.

At my first glimpse, I got tears in my eyes. I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Everyone should see this first hand before they die.

The Falls throw up a ridiculous amount of mist, which has the effect of creating incredibly clear rainbows everywhere, and even a double rainbow as you can see from one of my pics. It also meant that as I walked farther East, I got more and more wet. By the time I got to the Eastern Cataract, I was standing in a virtual torrential downpour. At one point I thought I might actually be in the middle of a monsoon rain, because I couldn't believe the Falls were throwing down this much spray. But looking up, the skies were clear blue. Thankful that I brought my raincoat.

I didn't stay very long at the Falls, the reason being that I wanted to leave there with the sense of awe that struck me originally. I didn't want to become used to this much beauty. Have a look at my pictures.

Zimbabwe... Something is going to happen

2008-03-23T05:39:00.000-07:00

Wow, what an exciting time to be in Zimbabwe. I just so happen to have arrived a week before their presidential election. In most countries - Canada for example - elections are boring affairs unless you're a political junky like me. But here it's a matter of whether dictator Robert Mugabe allows free and fair elections (which he would undoubtedly lose), or whether he appoints himself another term and faces the possibility of violence, or even a coup. I've got a bigger post on this coming up, but for now let's just say I'm having the time of my life. Just so everyone is not worrying, the place I'm staying is a tourist haven and there's no chance of violence here.

I crossed the border into Zimbabwe yesterday, and immediately noticed a shift in the mood. Whereas border officials in other African countries so far were laid back, friendly, almost lacadaisical, the guys here were clearly on ego trips and determined to make me understand that their balls are bigger than mine. But again, my belief that you can change anyone's mood with a smile and a few jokes was vindicated and I was on my way with no problem (except maybe for the $65 visa cost... ouch). Again, I was taking 'public transport', and as soon as I crossed the gate to where the minibuses were waiting, I think all the guys were thinking, "Ahh, here comes another stupid wet-behind-the-ears tourist." The first guy wanted $40 US to take me the 70 km to Victoria Falls. I laughed in his face and told him I could buy a car here for that. Stupid tourist delusion shattered.

I found a different minibus and the guy asked for $10. Got him down to $6. Minibus taxis only leave when they're full, so as we were waiting the original guy started to get pissed off that he was first in line and that we should all move over to his cab (he was acting like a madman, actually). After he moved his bus to block our bus, to my surprise people actually rewarded this bad behaviour and moved to his taxi. I reluctantly followed. As soon as i got in, the passengers asked about the price, which he said was $4.50. Notice a discrepancy here? He didn't seem to care that he just admitted he was ripping me off. The passengers refused to pay this much and wanted to pay $3. After some talk in Ndebele (the local language) they calmed down, which I'm guessing meant they agreed on $3 but he didn' t want me to know.

When I got out of the cab I paid him the $6, telling him "I know you're ripping me off, but we agreed on $6 and I'm going to keep my word." My honestly was met with silence and a look of disdain. Asshole (Hmm, maybe I am a stupid tourist?)

Haven't seen much of town on account of my other project, to be explained later, but I have learned a few things. The country is an economic disaster. I changed $100 US yesterday and got 3 one-inch stacks of 10 million Zim Dollar bills. And they just dropped 3 zeros from the currency! Talk about inflation. As soon as I leave the hostel, I'm swarmed by peddlers trying to sell wood carvings. When I decline they ask for my sunglasses, t-shirts and such. Clearly this is out of desperation as people can no longer afford to live (Time for a goverment change, perhaps?)

Anyway the hostel I'm staying at is really nice, despite the power being out most of yesterday, and I've met a few cool people. Looking forward to meeting up with the Namibia tour people yet again tonight on their last night of the tour, and to seeing Vic Falls after this! Off to it...

ps. Still no chance to get pictures up - the computers are getting more and more dated as I travel East. But hopefully tomorrow.

"You Hitchhiked from Where?!"

2008-03-21T02:41:00.000-07:00

That seems to be a fairly common response I get when I tell people how I've been traveling for the last week.

After my last post I met up with the Namibian tour people for dinner at Joe's Beer House, a bit of a splurge after a few days of belt-tightening. Because I didn't book far enough in advance, the hostel I had been staying at was full for the night. Being homeless in a foreign land is a scary prospect, so thank God for my friend Erling and his generosity or I would have been sleeping in a ditch. I packed up my shit and left the hostel, flagging down a cab. Cabs work a little differently in Namibia - they're all shared. The driver had no idea where the restaurant was, so it was a funny sight to watch the other 3 passengers grab for my travel guide map in hopes of helping me out.

I felt kind of lost in the universe carrying my gigantic pack into the restaurant, but you do what you have to when you're backpacking. We had a pretty great night, and I got to add a funky meat to my growing checklist - Zebra. Tastes like beef! Mmmm.... Leaving the restaurant, the tour people decided they wanted a real Namibian experience and called a few taxis to go to a local club. However, Erling arrived in his pickup truck to get me before the cabs, so my drunk white tourist friends packed their 20 selves into the back, instigated by some annoying girl I didn't know, and Erling dropped them off. I was kind of embarrassed that he had to do this; I knew in his generosity he couldn't say no. I slept like a baby in his spare bedroom.

The next morning, up at 6 and Erling dropped me at the minibus stop where I met a girl from Botswana - Gidi - who, like me, was going to Maun. All minibuses go in short legs, so it was going to be a long day of traveling. The first bus (packed to the brim) was going as far as Gobabis, which is about 100 km from the Botswana border. Fairly immediately it became apparent that we 2 were the only ones in town interested in continuing our travels East. We waited for at least 2 hours before a S. African truck driver in a big rig pulled over to let us in. Nice guy, but for some reason was convinced that all women smelled bad. 10 minutes into the trip we were pulled over by the police. I thought, 'oh shit, what now', but it turned out that one of the guys just wanted a lift to the border as well. How can you say no to the cops?

Pretty soon we were in the Kalahari Desert (which apparently isn't really a desert). Truck driver guy took us all the way to the crossroads where he was going south and we north. So sitting at the side of the road, I had a bit of time (an hour?) to reflect upon how darn beautiful Botswana is. I couldn't believe how flat it is. But unlike a prairie, it's covered by low bushes and trees and rests under a beautiful sky. The Botswana government subsidizes some transportation between various points. So as luck would have it, one of these ramshackle, covered-pickup-truck deathtraps stopped for us to take us the 100km to Ghanzi. I am still convinced that if I didn't make it a point to press my back against the side of the cargo bay it would have been torn apart in the wind.

About the time we arrived, it was getting dark. And although Gidi, my guardian angel slash hitchhiking mentor wanted to continue on to Maun, I knew after 20 minutes and no cars that it wasn't going to happen today. So we walked a few kilometers back to town centre and, by what I think is a miracle, found a guesthouse in a very questionable area. It wasn't exactly cheap, so decided to share a room with 2 single beds. At this point you may be questioning the wisdom of sharing a room with a strange female that I don't know. Believe me, the same thought crossed my mind - "this is really fucked up..." But after hitchhiking with someone for 12 hours you start to trust them. And she didn't rob me in the middle of the night.

So we got up the next morning and parked ourselves at the hitchhiking spot. Thankfully it only took 3 hours for someone to stop. And halfway thru the trip to Maun it started to rain. While it may not have been a great idea, maneuvering half standing up in the back of a crowded pickup traveling about 120 kph to extricate a raincoat out of your bag is a hell of a lot of fun. The beer cans flying out the driver side window was surreal (everyone in Botswana - and probably Africa for that matter - drinks and drives). "I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M DOING THIS!" kept running through my head. By another strange coincidence, I ran into some of the Namibia tour people as soon as I got dropped off.

With a final minibus taxi I made the 10km to the lodge, a beautiful spot on the Okavango river that made me think this is what the Louisiana Bayou must look like. Inexplicably it took me literally 2 hours to get a BBQ fire going. But I had cold beers in my hand and good tunes on the stereo so nothing in the world mattered at that point. When 'Wastin' Away in Margaritaville' came on, I thought "wow, I can relate - that's how I feel like right now!" What I mean by that is that if you wanted to, you could get lost in a drunken haze for months and months on this continent. Everything is so laid back, the scenery beautiful, the people chilled out, unhurried, friendly and convivial. 5 American students were hanging out at the bar, so i attached myself to these guys and we talked politics all night. They turned out to be really great guys. Regrettably, one was a staunch Bush supported so wow I had a field day toying with this guy. But it was all in a manner of mutual respect and I think I gained a new appreciation - well maybe tolerance is a better word - for Americans. I was flattered that one guy told me I was 'really good at debating' and that I'm 'more mature than my years' and an 'old soul'. Thanks, guys, for breaking down some of the prejudices I didn't even realize I had.

The next morning I braved a vicious hangover, the result of a shot-filled night, instigated by the bartender (I think she actually beat us), and got onto a speedboat at 830. A gorgeous 45 minute trip later, I was transferred to a 'Mokoro', a type of dugout canoe that the locals use to get around the Delta, and is pushed with a pole. While I knew in theory what a delta was - an area where a river branches out into thousands of 'fingers', I was shocked by what it was in practice. The Okavanga Delta is the largest in the world - about 15,000 square km, and at least in the area I was, pretty much all water. But it doesn't look like water. It looks like you're sitting on a gigantic grass plain, which is actually reeds growing in about 1-5 feet of water full of plant life. The experience of quietly rolling across this watery landscape was a little haunting. An environment I've never even imagined in my life. While there are some channels where the reeds and lilys are absent (the main transportation conduits, we got to slide across quite a large area that was thick. Unfortunately this meant being hit in the face with unnemurable spiderwebs and really big spiders until I figured out you can hold a reed in front of your face to avoid most of them.

We stopped for lunch and a quick bush walk at an island. As we approached, I saw there were other tourists hanging around among the tents. As soon as I stepped onto shore, I saw John. what the hell is John doing here? Then JP. Then Frank.

By some cosmic mixup, I had run into the Namibia tour people, AGAIN, this time at a bush camp in the middle of the Okavango Delta. What. the. Hell. I am now certain that there is such a thing as a divine sense of humour. I got some interesting stares when I recounted my travel stories. I'm not sure if they were out of awe, confusion or whether my friends thought I was mentally insane for doing what I did. So we had a few laughs before we again parted ways, I'm sure to meet again in Victoria Falls.

Back at the lodge I had to plan the next stage of my trip. Looking at the map of the continent in my lonely planet, I started to think, "what the hell do I do now?" It finally dawned on me, perhaps for the first time on this trip, that I don't really believe I'm actually here. "What am I doing? Am I crazy? How have I not had a nervous breakdown by now?" And yet I'm still full of energy. This is living. Being outside of my comfort zone just means that I can appreciate life so much more.

Another early morning the next day, I made my way to town and found a bus that was leaving for Gweta about 250 km east of Maun. I had a plan to stay there for the night so I could take a tour of the Makgadikgadi salt pans. I got off the bus in 'Downtown Gweta' (a dusty road, a few goats. Many people with missing teeth.) The first thing I asked I immediately regretted: "Is there an ATM here?" Oh how we laughed... Anyway, I crossed the road to a lodge and had my plans altered: the pans were completely submerged and unnavigable. Another victim of climate change? The 2 people behind the counter looked at me with the same awestruck-puzzled expression when I told them how I was traveling across the country.

It was only 11am at this point so I got a lift back to the main highway and broke out my thumb (actually your index finger in Africa) for the next round of 'hiking'. Had to wait for 2 hours, but eventually another coach bus (standing room only this time) came to take me the 100km to Nata. The entire way we were dodging various livestock from cows to goats to horses, which all seem to be attracted, magnetlike to the middle of the road. At one point this giant coach bus missed a mule by about a foot travelling at 80 kph. It's not that it was a last minute escape - the driver saw it well in advance - but apparently this is really common so why bother slowing down? The mule didn't flinch.

In Nata, I waited again for only about an hour before a guy with a minibus took me to my current location, Kasane, which is at the gate of Chobe National Park. Thankfully I made the journey with 3 other guys that were eager to help a tourist. The people here are the nicest I've met so far. Because these minibuses are always packed, it's never comfortable. And traveling 350km with no stops with someone virtually on top of you means that my ass has never been so sore in my life. I got out of the car at the first lodge that looked half decent. How's that for living day to day?

Through all of this, I have been surprisingly able to keep my cool and my wits about me. I didn't know I had this much strength. At the same time, yesterday was closest I've come to losing it. 12 hours of traveling will do that to you. The feeling was exacerbated by the really disappointing conversation I had with the lady at the lodge. She was entirely unhelpful in setting up a game drive for the next day. And then when I finally agreed to worry about it tomorrow, she had the audacity to suggest that my desire for a minimum standard of customer service was because "I think you are not well". In my earlier years, this might have made my blood boil. But these days I just chalk it up to being in a different world, and realizing that it really doesn't matter. And, she was probably right. I was mentally exhausted yesterday from pushing myself so hard.

So all is indeed well. I've opted for a boat cruise instead, and I'm off to Victoria Falls tomorrow. I will try to get some pictures up when I get there.

Windhoek is a drag, man

2008-03-16T04:06:00.000-07:00

TWO days ago I took the 5 hour bus from Swakopmund to Windhoek, Namibia's Capital city. The country's largest city at 400,000, it may be the most boring place on Earth. I may just be saying that because it's Sunday and literally everything but this internet cafe is closed (and i'm the only one in here), but wow it's a sleepy town. It does have it's pluses - the weather is great. It's in the highlands at 1,600 feet, so the air is cool and probably the cleanest I've ever breathed. And it's safe. And i'm out of nice things to say...

The first day here, I arrived around 6 and ran into Batya from the tour at the bus stop, who was on her way back home. We said goodbye again, I got to the hostel, and called my friend Erling whom I met 5 or 6 weeks ago in Pretoria, S. Africa. He picked me up and we got a few bottles of Jack Daniels to celebrate his birthday (good timing for me, huh?) A few of his friends and cousins came over, all good people, and we BBQ'd until the wee hours of the morning. Although Erling is a local, he's not your average Namibian. At 31 he's working on his second PhD in tourism while teaching, and has been to more than 40 countries. Although not part of the elite (his family is middle class), he's clearly part of the country's intelligentsia, and is going to do some amazing things for Namibia. Regardless, it was nice to finally be in a non-white neighbourhood and hang out with a crowd in which I was the only white guy. Getting away from tourist bullshit is part of the reason I didn't continue on with the tour all the way to Victoria Falls, even though I was having a blast.

The next morning I woke up early in Erling's spare bedroom and after being dropped at the hostel to shower and change, I set out to do some sightseeing. I covered all the town's highlights before 3pm - Alte Fest, Windhoek's oldest surviving building, which houses the National Museum, the National Parliament buildings, which has a garden that far surpasses Queen's Park's, the Owela Museum (chock full of stuffed game animals and some other freaky, freaky shit... not to mention the museum was as dark as a funhouse...) and strolled up and down the main streets a bit. With nothing else left to do, I had a traditional Namibian Tex-Mex dinner and watched TV at the hostel all night. Da Vinci code... woo hoo!

I have to say, it's been one of the more bizarre hostel experiences I've had. There are very few young people staying there, and the ones that are look at me like I'm crazy when I talk to them. The diminuitive Japanese David Suzuki look-alike who was fixing his Dr. Seuss-esque bicycle in the hallway for 2 hours yesterday, and who slept in his clothes on top of his bed sheets from 7pm last night to 9am this morning is a pretty fair representation of the average guest. I was also intrigued by the 7 foot tall Sikh gentleman who snored all night... Wait, did I say snore? I'm not sure that's the correct terminology. It was something more akin to 'attempting to cause gravity to implode on itself through use of the nasal passage.' Seriously I've never heard a guy snore like this... I think he gave himself whiplash a few times. Then finally was the unspoken fued between myself and the 4 Spanish people that decided to have a lively debate behind me while I was finishing my movie. I didn't want to deal with them directly so I just kept putting up the TV volume (yes, literally up to full blast) until they got the message and left.

Tonight the people from the tour are passing through Windhoek, minus the few that left when I did, so I'll try to meet them for dinner. Tomorrow morning I'm going to attempt to catch a very early minibus taxi for the ~14 hour trip into Botswana, and hopefully make it all the way to Maun so I'm not stranded somewhere. May be out of contact for a week. Talk to you soon.

Namibia is exhausting

2008-03-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

So as my last post mentioned, I left Cape Town about 8 days ago and joined an overland camping tour with 17 other tourists, aged 21-64 (The tour company was Nomad which I definitely recommend). It was the most jam-packed week of my life, and I'm thoroughlly exhausted and in need of a sleep in. What a diverse group we were, but I've never people get along as well and become friends as quickly as we did. It was really sad for the 3 of us that are ending our trip here in Swakop to wave bye to the rest of the people as the truck pulled away. My least favourite part of traveling is the constant making of good friends only to have to say goodbye. Thabani, John, Jean-Paul, Frank, Birgit, Jonna, Maike, Moni, Christiana, Abir, Linn, Casey, Mika, Nanae, Batya, Shaak, Tracy, Teres and Crystal: you guys are awesome and will be missed. Good luck with the rest of the trip and I hope to run into you again on the road or at least online.

Day one of this week long epic was spent in the Cedarberg mountains, a place where the orange orchards span the valley for kilometres. I'm happy to say that I think my lame sense of humour had something to do with helping the group bond. Arriving in the afternoon, we went for a quick dip in the nearby river which was great because it was DAMN HOT here. Come to think of it, going for a 2 hour hike in the sun was probably not a wise idea, but our Rastafarian-Bushman guide Skoki was hilarious and we did get to see some several-thousand-year-old San rock paintings. Who knew 4 blurry, faded blobs could lead to a 20 minute explanation?

Up early the next morning - and every morning after - we filed back onto the truck, "Sammy" (don't call it a bus or Thabani will get upset) and headed directly north to the Orange River, which is the border between South Africa and Namibia. I was amazed how quickly the landscape changed; I closed my eyes for a nap, surrounded by lush greenery, and woke up to a dry landscape that looked something like Arizona. It got hotter and dryer as we moved north through Springbok, sweating the whole way. Arriving at our campsite, we pretty much headed straight for the bar, where the wind began to kick up something fierce. The massive dust storm across the river was fun to watch but not so much to eat. After a quick dinner break it was back to the bar, where we waited for the expected 60 Swedish to arrive on their pink buses. No, it wasn't a gay tour company but apparently they operate all over the world so that Swedes don't have to be bothered with interacting with other nationalities. Some of these people had been drinking all day already, so the show was pretty entertaining.

Day three started with a leisurely 9km canoe trip down the Orange River, which was a lot of fun. Because it was so hot I jumped out for a cool down at least 5 times. Fun Fun. Getting back on the road, we crossed the border into Namibia and booted it for Fish River Canyon, the second largest in the world (which, means I've seen the big-3: Grand, Fish River and Blyde River.) We arrived at camp and set up tents just in time to see hands down the most beautiful sunset I've witnessed. You could look in 4 different directions and see a completely different background, I couldn't shut up about it for hours after. This was probably my favourite experience.

On day 4 we entered the Namib-Naukluft National Park, which is mostly semi-desert. A day of mostly driving, and a roadside lunch under one of the only trees along the way, we got to enjoy a long "African massage" thanks to the "African style roads" (unpaved). Setting up tents, we made our way to the Sesriem Canyon. Although this one was much different than the last - maybe a thousandth of the depth, it was really interesting nevertheless. Plus we got to hike down to the bottom. Another amazing sunset. At home, "somebody" started a game of 'I never' which really helped the bonding, and I think I won (lost?) the game.

Day 5, we woke up at the ungodly hour of 5:30 to make sure we could hike to the top of Dune 45, a 250m high sand dune in 'Sossusvlei' for the sunrise. This brought me back to the Moroccan Sahara - the colours were killer - but somehow I was not as impressed by the view. That is until I got to the bottom of the hill (via a short sprint), and got a better sense of how freakin' massive this dune is. REALLY IMPRESSED. Our guide said something interesting - in his 37 years it had never rained in this desert... except for the massive downpours the past 2 years. Climate change anyone? We didn't have far to drive today, so we decided to take advantage of the fact that our campsite had a pool and broke out the rum. To convey the quality of this rum, a bottle of Captain Morgan's spiced rum costs about 10 dollars in Springbok. This stuff was half that price. But hey, when you mix it with Litchi-Apple juice, it doesn't taste half bad. So with 4 or 5 of us having a really good buzz going, we got on the bus. Drunk people usually aren't punctual so I missed a chance to shower, but I did manage to get half the bus corked with this evil concoction. We had some great laughs.

Arriving at our new home in Solitaire, the smallest city in Namibia, we continued with a few beers and some apple crumble.This afternoon was another one of the highlights - I don't remember the last time I had a group of people in stitches for so long, including myself. I love to laugh. Eventually and inevitably the conversation turned more serious - a dozen people discussing life, the universe, everything, and attempting to solve Africa and the world's problems. I am really happy to know that there are so many amazing people out there that want to do good in the world and I have no doubt that they will. Thanks guys for an amazing conversation.

Day 6 we traveled inland to Walvis Bay to take shots of flamingos in the distance. Unfortunately I didn't bring my 9 thousand x zoom lense so the pics might not be great. Finally we arrived at my current location, Swakopmund, the self-proclaimed 'adventure capital of Namibia'. A bang on description. We checked into a real hostel (!!!) and took a little tour around town, did some shopping, and went off to an amazing dinner. I had crocodile (kind of tasted like a cross between chicken and halibut), oryx (a kind of antelope - like beef) and springbok (a kind of deer... which tasted like deer and was damn tasty!). And of course these crazy things called 'chips' that look like french fries to me.

Day 7 was yesterday and completely kicked my ass. We started sandboarding at 9am. It was loads of fun but it takes 10 mins to climb the dune and about 1 to get down it so the 'fun efficiency ratio' was kind of low. Although sandboarding is done with a snowboard, we also got to try lay-down sandboarding which is done with a piece of laminate wood. I got up to 75kph!!! The pictures to follow of me wiping out off a jump are legendary. Later that afternoon I had the most exhilarating experience of my life:

I jumped out of a plane at 10,000 feet.

They aren't kidding when they say it's the most fun you can have with your clothes on. The first 4 seconds out the door you find yourself in absolute terror, then it's incredibly peaceful, exciting and liberating to be free falling. At 5,000 ft they open the chute and your tandem partner lets you control the direction (extreme right!! yaaa!!!). I couldn't stop smiling for the entire day, and it wasn't just because of the beers and shots we had at the airport. This morning as I said I waved bye to my new friends, and to get over my melancholy I decided to spend 2 hours catching air off sand dunes on a 350cc quad bike. Great fun!

Now I'm looking forward to a quiet night where I can do nothing at all. Hopefully tomorrow I'll do a bit of sightseeing and move onto the capital, Windhoek, day after to meet up with a guy I met in Pretoria some weeks ago, and eventually into Botswana. Thanks for reading this long winded post, you guys rock!

note: pictures hopefully up tomorrow when I can find a better internet cafe

Halfway thru Namibia

2008-03-10T06:41:00.000-07:00

Just a quick update to say that I'm safe and sound in Swakopmund, Namibia. Have spent the last 6 days on tour with 17 other awesome travelers seeing highlight after highlight in the South of the country. Again, I can't believe how much I've seen already, and you may pee a little when you see the pictures. I plan to spend a few days here in town to take a breather from the road and plot my next moves into either the north or to Botswana. No time for a full post right now - we're about to sit down to our first dinner indoors since leaving South Africa (we've been bush camping), but I'll get to that tomorow or next day, after skydiving... Seeya soon.

ps. I greatly enjoy getting emails from people about what's happening at home. So don't hesitate to email me.

South African Epilogue

2008-03-04T07:40:00.000-08:00

As I did with Morocco, I wanted to reflect on my time in South Africa. Here goes...

South Africa is an amazingly beautiful place in so many ways. I fell in love with the country from the beginning. The country enjoys the best of so many things from other parts of the world that I value: The weather, the wildlife, the coastline, the surfing and the propensity toward 'Braai'ing' (barbequeing) from Australia; the vaste expanses of beautiful wilderness of Canada, the colonial architecture and democratic/judicial institutions of Europe. And beyond this, these lucky bastards get to enjoy so much more: an immensely rich ethno-cultural diversity and history that not even Europeans, let alone Canadians, typically understand. There are 11 official languages in South Africa, and a heck of a lot more ethnic groups with their own proud traditions that go back millenium.

I've come to really enjoy the S.A. accent with its lingo - 'hectic' (crazy), 'howzit?' (how's it going?), 'it's all cocked up' (screwed up) and 'hey brew' (bro, or brother). African time is something I've very patiently had to deal with but have come to accept. If you set something for 10am, expect it to happen at 11 or 11:30am. Regrettably, the beer absolutely sucks here.

I am very fortunate to have picked up the book "A History of South Africa", by Leonard Thompson. He is a white South African, but that didn't stop Archbishop Desmond Tutu from endorsing his book as a compassionate, balanced look at such a tricky subject. Although I'm only halfway through the text, it's given me a much better understanding of what I would call one of the most fascinating histories in the world.

I look at South Africa with deep sadness but with an even greater optimism. The country and its people have suffered immensely. Millenia prior to white colonization, certain groups (San hunter-gatherers) were oppressed by others (Bantu-speaking farmers). Slavery was instituted after the Europeans' arrival. As white pioneers spread East, tragic wars were fought between Black and White, and ethnic hierarchies were imposed. Black tribes began killing each other. Dutch and British fought wars with each other. Eventually, whites consolidated power over what became modern South Africa, however unlike in North America or Australia, whites never made up more than 20% of the total population. Tragically, the result was that whites continually lived in a state of unease that brought about apartheid, a system that robbed non-whites of all political power and material wealth.

In my opinion it should NOT have taken this long to eliminate apartheid. At the same time, that should not take away from the immensely heartening progress that has been made in 14 short years. Racism still exists. Of course it does. It exists in the black woman working the bus station that refused to deal with me. It exists in the white man that gave the black parking attendant the finger for no apparent reason in front of my eyes when the attendant tried to talk to the driver. It's been entrenched in this society for hundreds of years and it's ugly.

But goddamnit that should not take away from the amazing kindness and love between black and white that I have witnessed over the last 4 weeks. When I smile at a black African, she smiles back with all her heart. When I offer my hand, he takes it without hesitation and with vigour. I have felt welcome everywhere I went. The golden rule is alive and well in this country. When you treat someone like you want to be treated, you reap the rewards.

The wounds of the past are healing before my eyes in this country. It's plain as day to me. South Africa has a long way to come. But still, I consider the way it is repairing its society as a model for change that any country would be wise to adopt. Let me illustrate...

As I mentioned in my last post, I was uplifted by an experience I had today at the District 6 Museum. Two groups of school children were on a field trip there (I'd say grade 5s, all male and the most aryan looking children I have ever seen. Seriously there were only 2 non blondes out of 50). These very well behaved children sat on the floor in front of the 'non-white' guide from the museum, listening intently to him speak about Apartheid, politics and racism, with questions flowing both ways.

I, in turn, stood off to the side for about 10 minutes, also mesmerized by this profound dialogue that was happening before my eyes. The intelligence and understanding in the answers being given was remarkable. I wish I could remember the particulars, but I recall that these 12 year old boys had schockingly good understanding of the country's dark past, of equality and of justice. At the same time, clearly the (now black controlled) education curriculum had not made them to feel guilty or ashamed about it. My faith in humanity was uplifted in that 10 minutes, to know that we as human beings can come such a long way in such a short time (only 14 years since the end of Apartheid).

Another important topic is the large Afrikaaner population in the country. These are the original white pioneers of dutch origin. I am torn between loving and hating these people. In one sense I am saddened because I get the sense that they are still deeply resentful of equality for non-whites and long for the good ol' days of Apartheid. I sense this especially in the older generation but it also exists in those that are university aged. I read a newspaper story the other day about several Afrikaaner kids making a youtube video of them forcing black students and cleaning staff to drink 'urine-soup' to protest integration of black and white in the same dormatories. I still can hardly believe this kind of shit still exists in the world.

On the other side of the coin, I greatly admire and relate to what I've heard termed the 'White Tribe of Africa' (Afrikaaners). These are people who fled religious persecution in Europe to build a better life for themselves on a very inhospitable frontier. Much like the Quebecois, they persevered against incredible odds and to this day have a strong heritage, are fiercely proud of their language And yet these people allowed Africa to shape them into something unique of their past. An incredibly fascinating people.

Because my best efforts to stay concise have failed, I'll leave it here. I love this beautiful country, and encourage you to visit if you ever have the chance. I know I will be back someday...

Leavin' Las Cape Town

2008-03-04T06:30:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I enter a new phase of my trip, leaving the relative prosperity and familiarity of South Africa to discover what will surely be a very different, more impoverished Africa that is less affected by the 'West' and more traditional. I've signed up for a 7 day tour of Southern and Central Namibia. Although I'm loathe to be on camper with other tourists for that long, the itinerary matched almost exactly what I wanted to get out of this leg of the trip; and having everything arranged for you is a hell of a lot easier and cheaper than renting a car. Not to mention having a knowledgeable guide will allow me to get more out of this.

So what have I been up to in Cape Town for the last few days? After the penguins, Lesley and I spent a day on a wine tour. The region around Cape Town and neighbouring Stellenbosch is very hospitable for making wine. It also one of the most gorgeous landscapes I've ever seen (anyone seeing a trend here?) For a total cost of about $50 each, our very knowledgeable guide took us to 5 architecturally impressive wineries to taste a total of about 35 champagnes, wines and ports. It was just Les and I, which was nice, and we had perfect weather that day. We started by walking through the bowels of the area where they process the grapes, glass of champagne in hand at 9:30 am, which was bizarre, learning how wine is made. I felt incredibly posh. By the end of the day I was enveloped in a cloud of absolute blissful oblivion - what I imagine taking Soma would be like.

We had a great pasta lunch overlooking one of the vineyards. At the next winery, owned by the 5th richest man in S. Africa, we enjoyed some fresh olives in a building so beautiful that Lesley has decided she will buy at the earliest opportunity. We ended off, slightly tanked, at a spot where they not only allow you to choose your last 6 wines from a list of about 40, but they let you sample their local cheeses, from Blue to Parmesan to Havarti to Sundried Tomato Goat's cheese. Complete Heaven. I managed to get away with trying each one about 9 times before they stopped me. In my defense, we did end up buying half of everything they sold including some amazing sweet chilli spread that I'm still having on fresh bread every morning. Seriously I'm way too spoiled and need to get out of here. Despite being very drunk, we got the guide to drop us off at a restaurant he recommended, 'Jimmy's Killer Prawns' (Prawn = large shrimp), where we kept the party alive with another bottle of wine, a helping of oysters, and my main course of Hake (a white fish), Queen Prawns and the best calamari I've ever had. Have i mentioned that the seafood here is out of this world? Oh, and they put this spice on all the french fries which makes them taste 10 times better than normal. I'll have to figure out what that is.

So the next day we woke up late (obviously) and took the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain (about 1,000 m high). The result was a 360 degree view of the city and some pretty amazing pictures. We attempted to hike to the highest point of the mountain but that was cut short as Les wasn't feeling well so we headed home.

The next day was my turn to be sick as a dog. Not literally - that would be weird - but ya I really don't have my sea legs. We signed up for a shark dive that took us to 'Shark Alley' about 2 hours north of Cape Town. After only 20 minutes on the boat, we arrive at a very small rocky outcropping, an atoll, if you will, that was home to 60,000 seals. Yes, sixty thousand. And the island was so small that we could have boated around it in 5 minutes flat. So, check out the pictures of the seal throng. Shortly after leaving this area to search for Great White sharks, I started getting a little queasy on account of the gigantic waves. Although I didn't throw up (even when a German guy puked right in front of me), I was straddling the border for a good hour. So I didn't make it into the diving cage and now you know why I don't have any shark pictures (but Lesley does! to be posted soon!).

Hmm, I've been here for over a week, what else can I tell you? Today I went to the District 6 Museum. District 6 was an area of Cape Town that in decades past was a model of ethnic cooperation and harmony that the South African government should have learned something from. Instead they demolished the entire area in the early '80s, displacing 60,000 people, to remodel it as a 'white only' community. Despite the Lonely Planet travel guide's positive review, I got virtually nothing out of the museum itself, which is a disorganized collection of kitsch in my opinion. However, the trip was far from being a waste. I'll discuss that in my next post.

Later in the day I stumbled across the 'Company's Gardens' founded by the Dutch East India Company centuries ago. What a beautiful spot. I also wandered across some beautiful buildings set against the backdrop of my favourite Table Mountain.

For those of you that noticed my 'we' switched to 'I' halfway through this post, well spotted. It's true, Lesley's vacation has run out and she flew back to Canada on Sunday. Without getting too emotional, I will say that I miss her like crazy already. Although it was totally unexpected for me, I fell completely in love with her and wish she was still here. The next 4 months will not be the same without her. Lesley, I will be counting the days... Thank you for making the last 3 weeks the best of my life.

And now, time to shift gears with a different kind of post.

Swaziland to Coffee Bay with no brakes

2008-02-27T02:54:00.001-08:00

For this post to make sense you have to understand that it takes place after Kruger Park and Before Cape Town. Right then, let's continue...

After our 2 for 1 tire blowout outside of Nelspruit, we headed out for Swaziland again the next morning, this time with a much nicer ride, a VW Polo. We successfully navigated the winding, mountainous and eventually dirt roads through some beautiful scenery and made it through border security at Josefdal (2 buildings, 3 staff members, some livestock). The four of us (we're still with the Maltese couple at this point) had a pretty good lunch at a very local restaurant at Pigg's Peak, Swaziland. However, par for the course and not at all to my surprise, about an hour into the country the dashboard exploded. That is, a warning light and its lovely warning bell came on. This is a good point to note that we lived with this bell for the next 5 days.

A quick consultation of the car's manual informed us that we could be dealing one of three problems: a) I'm driving with the hand brake on (nope); b) the brake fluid is low (nope); or c) "There is a problem with the brake system. Stop driving immediately and seek a certified mechanic's assistance." So faced with option 'c', and the Maltese's phone not working in Swazi, we pulled into the nearest gas station to find a phone to call my now close friends at the car rental roadside assistance. Not having any Swazi coins for the phone, I bought a Swazi phone card, which of course didn't work for calling South Africa (50 Rand down the drain). And if you think the rental company had an office in Swazi you would be kidding yourself. Without any alternative, and not noticing any obvious problem with the brakes, I very slowly drove us the ~50 km to our hostel in Mlilwane Game Reserve.

We were determined not to waste the day, so Les and I dropped our gear in our beautiful rondavel with a breathtaking view of the surrounding vast expanse of hilly savannah and went for a hike around the park. We definitely would not have been able to do this in Kruger, but because there were no serious predators here wandering was allowed. On our way we ran into a few zebra hanging out in a clearing, a family of warthogs, and a beautiful scene of about 50 Impalas grazing in a wooded area. Back at the hostel we cooled off in the pool. Although there was a fence around the hostel property, at least 5 or 6 warthogs managed to get into the yard to chow down on the grass. I can't really explain how unreal it was to be floating in the pool, watching a mom and baby warthog roaming less than 20 feet from me. By the way, warthogs are extremely dangerous as they have sharp tusks and will defend their young like nobody's business. Later that evening we had a 'Braai' or BBQ where we ate.... Warthog!!!

One of Lesley's must-do's for the trip, and something that I was excited about, was a horse ride through the wilderness. So that's exactly what we did early the next morning. We were booked for 9am but the lady came around to knock on our door at 7:30am to tell us that we actually had to go at 8am - "Sorry". We came across some zebra, which was great because both animals are not at all scared of each other, and because they are distantly related, they actually have the same greetings which is a kind of head bob. Very interesting to watch. Unfortunately, Les was the only person out of the five of us with any horseback experience, so we were not allowed to move any faster than a slow walk. Naturally the horses were not informed of this, so when a small group of Impalas got spooked behind one of the dutch girls that was with us, her horse bolted. She made things 10 times worse when she started screaming like a banshee. I hope I won't offend anyone when I say this, because she wasn't hurt more than incuring a few scrapes, but it was quite an experience to watch her get throw over the horse's head to the ground. She didn't get back on the horse. Later on that ride we added another animal to our sighting list: two crocodiles (which, by the way, live in the same pond as hippos, although on opposite banks).

Done with nature, we packed up our gear and move 30 km down the road to another hostel. We picked this spot because it offered volunteer opportunities on a daily basis. As there was an orphanage up the road, we drove over there to find out what we could do. I have to say that I definitely would not have made the effort had Lesley not had her heart set on it. Before participating I felt almost guilty and like a stupid tourist on an adventure for offering only a day of my time. What good can be done in a day, right? Well it turned out that they actually didn't have any food for dinner that night and didn't know how they would feed the 37 orphans. So with a list in hand from the headmistress, we did some shopping and returned with giant bags of maize meal, potatos, onions, fruit and vegetables, and with a dozen childproof scizzors, which we were told was a luxury item that they have never had. We spent the rest of the afternoon throwing a coat of primer (aka painting) on the walls of some of the new classrooms under construction. It did feel good to do something helpful, but at the same time it underscored how much need there is in the world. All in all, the look on the kids' faces just to see us there and to get a hug was worth the trip.

Coffee Bay

Leaving Swaziland in our death-trap-mobile the next morning, we had delusions of driving all the way to Coffee Bay, which is on the Wild Coast abutting the Indian Ocean. By this point I had been able to convince Lesley that the brakes were probably hopefully certainly not a problem (I joke, but if I had any concerns we would have ditched the car immediately so don't worry mom!). Driving all day, we only made it to Pietermaritzburg and gave up, hosteling for the night. Heading almost directly south from Swaziland, we ended up inadvertently driving through the Transkei ('trans' = over; Kei = a river). Those of you up on your history will recognize that this was one of the ten 'homelands' under the apartheid system. Wikipedia says it best: "In South Africa, under apartheid, blacks were stripped of their citizenship, legally becoming citizens of one of ten, theoretically sovereign, bantustans (homelands)... The homeland system disenfranchised black people residing in "white South Africa" by restricting their voting rights to the black homelands, the least economically-productive areas of the country." In my understanding, if you were black and so much as didn't have your passbook, or were unemployed, you could be 'deported' to these arbitrary homelands - permanently. Needless to say, this was our most striking brush with large scale poverty in South Africa. The Transkei appears to be comprised mostly of mud hut villages with no electricity for most people, who are primarily still subsistence farmers. A far cry from the metropolitan areas of Pretoria and Cape Town.

We pulled off the main highway about 3 hours outside of Pietermaritzburg onto the road to Coffee Bay, which quickly became what I want to say is a dirt road but would be more precise to say a 'rock' road half of the distance, with the other half being 'paved' (note: paved means 50% potholes deeper than my forearm. And guess what? WE GOT ANOTHER FLAT TIRE! FUCK! Thankfully this time it was only one, and we had a proper spare, not one of these temp spares that get you 40 km on a good road. A cop stopped and actually finished changing the tire for me, which was nice although my cynical side says he was looking for a donation.

Coffee Bay is essentially the bay and 2 backpacker hostels with the assorted tourist services they support, with the surrounding hills spotted with rondavels. It's absolutely gorgeous. Being here was a complete escape from reality; cut off from hustle and bustle, stress and, for a day and a half, electricity. The bar at our hostel (which was supposedly the quieter one of the two) was always packed with tired, shirtless surfers or surfer wannabees and bathed in laid back tunes coming from the stereo (I dont' remember the last time I heard so much beach boys, or if I had ever before had Surfin' USA stuck in my head for an entire day.) We stayed 3 nights here doing absolutely nothing productive and it felt great.

Arriving late the first day meant it was a writeoff... Day two we went on a bit of a tour of the adjacent village to learn about Zulu culture and contemporary ways of life. As some of you may already know, in many African cultures, when a man wants to marry a woman, he must offer to the woman's father a 'Libola', a type of reverse dowry that usually comprises 12-15 cows. The female, of course, has no choice in the matter. As a feminist, an idealist and someone who always has her heart in the right place (all qualities I greatly admire in her), Lesley had a really hard time dealing with this reality. Essentially, "these women are being bought and sold," was her reaction. And she is absolutely right. It's a human rights issue and although things are slowly changing in the cities, rural African women are being deprived of their fundamental freedom of choice and I've come to the conclusion that it's not ethnocentric to say that this is wrong. I don't know how to change it, but learning about it I think was a great thing for both Lesley and me and I know she is going to use that learning experience to change the world.

On a lighter note, I almost died 3 times the next day. We went out for a surfing lesson at 10am Africa time (11am actual time). Everything was going fine, and I was standing up on the board halfway thru the day. After a quick break to puke up all the salt water I swallowed and to have a drink and catch my breath (surfing kicks your ass, even if you're in shape!), I went out again. I decided to go a bit further so I could catch some bigger waves. After no success, I raised my head up long enough to realize I'm getting pretty damn far from the shore. People are looking like ants. Ok well I'll start paddling back. After about 5 minutes of paddling, I'm close to twice the original distance from shore. I finally clued in that, every time a 3 metre wave came by, I wasn't carried forward on the crest, but I was being sucked back down the tail end of the wave, out toward Antarctica. Hah. Nobody bothered to tell me about rip tides. By this time I've finally accepted that I'm in trouble and I start waving to Lesley who has been watching me (I find out later, in terror) to get help. I also accept that I'll probably have to just hang onto the surfboard and see what happens. Thankfully my guardian angel appeared in the form of our surf instructor behind me and he started yelling at me to paddle across the wave to get out of the current instead of toward the shore. By this time my arms were completely useless and I literally couldn't paddle to save my life. But with his help and my legs and a lucky wave, I made it back to shore. I didn't fully comprehend how much trouble I was in until much later, when it was too late to thank Johnny for saving my life. So thanks, Johnny.

My second adventure came when Les and I jumped on horses later that day and went for a trot around the hillside. TONS OF FUN! Our first stop was the beach where we got to gallop almost full speed on the shore. Who knew cliches could be so worthwhile? Keep in mind that my lifetime horse riding experience is limited to the one hour walking in Swaziland and sitting on a horse for 2 minutes at Travis's birthday party when I was 5. The rest of the ride we did mostly walking but we did a bit of trotting and cantering up and down paths in the hills. Felt great to be going fast on a living, breathing animal with that much power. Near the end of the ride we made our way to the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. We started galloping along the crest of the cliff so fast that I started to get airborne! Had I not kept my cool and been able to slow the horse down I would have gone flying for sure. And the prospect of doing that without a helmet was not appealing. Not to toot my own horn, but I feel like a natural on a horse; the controls felt very intuitive and Lesley will be happy to confirm that ;)

My third, embellished, near death experience for the day came right before bed. Our room was infested by mosquitos, so I devised a cunning plan to hang my mosquito net from the ceiling lamp. All was well until it pulled the bulb and fixture right from the ceiling. In my slightly intoxicated state, I decided to fix it. As soon as I touched the metal contact with the metal fixture, the sparks started flying. Whoops, forgot to turn off the switch. Not to worry, I'm fine and it makes for great stories!

That evening, before dinner, we walked down to the beach and split a bottle of wine, watching the sun set, and had a great philosophical conversation about something now forgotten. One of the things I love about Lesley is that she's the most intelligent woman I have ever met, and it makes for some amazing conversations. Hearing the dinner bell, we rushed back to the hostel. After dinner, we had a drumming lesson, then the pros got together and put on a show for an hour. 6 African drums, a few beers and no electricity in a lightning storm can combine to be shockingly mesmerizing.

My memory fails me, but for our 3rd day in Coffee Bay I think the only thing we did was chill out during the day. Our failed quest for the internet took up part of the time but I honestly think we spent the day playing chess and doing f* all. That night, however, was the full moon party. The local Sangoma or medicine man came down to bless the party, then we had some traditional dancing by about 10 of the local girls. The way they move is absolutely incredibly and seemingly beyond what a human should be able to do. They make it look effortless. And to see these 12 year old girls beating the crap out of a drum for 30 minutes and achieving that kind of sound was fairly impressive. The rest of the night was spent dancing and drinking and what can I say? Just another day in paradise...

The next day we got back into the car, turned the music up louder than the dinging warning light, and drove the 4 or so hours to East London, the closest place to catch a flight to Cape Town, and conveniently somewhere we could ditch this increasingly troublesome vehicle. The cops were unfortunately out in full force on the highway and I got nabbed for what I think was 100 in an 80. Of course instead of being asked for my license and registration, I was asked for 500 Rand to make my troubles go away. I bartered him down to 200 rand (about $30) and was again on my way. My first experience with bribery!!!! Yay!!!

We made it to the boarding gate with 20 minutes to spare, and arrived in beautiful Cape Town 3 days ago, so I guess sometimes things do work out without a hassle! Lesley and I are trying to make the most of our last 4 days together so I'm going to leave it there and go keep her company while she sketches. After that, I have to figure out how to get to Namibia....

Real Africa, and the pictures of lions to prove it

2008-02-26T06:08:00.000-08:00

Of course by 'real' Africa I mean the ethnocentric stereotypical conception of the 'wild and untamed dark continent' that popular culture has raised us on. Having said that, visiting Kruger National Park was an incredibly authentic experience. While many Africans live in cities and have probably never seen a lion or an elephant, the natural world is obviously a big part of what comes to mind when one thinks about 'Africa'.

Venturing out from Pretoria for a second round, this time with my partner in crime Lesley by my side, we and another couple from Malta made our way toward Kruger to go on safari. The first day was spent half travelling and half exploring the Blyde River Canyon, the 3rd largest canyon in the world after the Grand in Arizona and Fish River in Namibia (which I will be visiting next month). Our first stop in Blyde was 'God's Window' - a fitting name for the view; we were overlooking a vast, lush plain. Too bad it was so hazy that day. From there we made our way to the 'potholes', an area with a river running over rocks that had the effect of carving out the rocks to form hundreds of formations that look like potholes. Truly beautiful, I think this was still Lesley's favourite. Our final sightseeing trip for the day was to the 3 rondavels (another word for a round mud hut with a thatched roof). These seemingly impossible formations are of 3 gigantic rocks that have been eroded over millions of years to look like 3 rondavels. I know, it's mind blowing how often things are named after things they look like. To end the day, our driver dropped us at a tribal village to learn about how the Shangaan people 'used' to live. Les and I found this experience a little tacky and unauthentic, something like a pioneer village in Canada, but I thought it was still a good experience. We were taken around the village and told about how things would function, were shown how they make maize meal, straw mats, etc. At night we had a traditional meal of maize meal or 'pap', pumpkin, chicken, cabbage and essentially the same stuff I had in Lesotho and have been having all over the country. After dark the boys that lived there did a traditional Zulu dance which was actually really damn cool I thought. We slept in a traditional rondavel like the one in Lesotho with a door made of some sticks lashed together.
Early next morning we were dropped at a camp just inside the Orpen gate of Kruger National Park (which by the way is the size of Israel and completely untamed) and picked our tent. Soon after we got into an open sided truck and went hunting for animals. Our guide told us it was one of the best days she has ever had in her decades of experience. Within the first 5 minutes we had seen a pack of cheetahs, impalas (a kind of deer) and an elephant. Throughout the day and over the next we ran into some Kudu (type of moose), hippos, over 2 dozen giraffe, a variety of birds including vultures, eagles and banana beak birds, a hyena nursing it's cub on the side of the road, turtles, wildebeest, zebras, a herd of elephants, warthogs, cape buffalo, baboons, and a family of about 10 ostrich. The final day we went on a night drive, as some animals are nocturnal. We managed to see a pack of hyenas hunting and finally I got to see my Rhino even if it was for a few seconds and I couldn't get a picture! Interesting to note is that the animals were almost completely unfazed by our presence. Apparently they cannot see a vehicle as anything but an unrecognizable but non-threatening animal until humans stick their appendages out the window.

The night drive had the unfortunate side effect of strengthening my dislike of tourists. I could not believe how childish people were acting - making way too much noise and pushing and shoving each other. This one particular gentleman had me laughing out loud because of how excited he got to see a bush baby (type of tree creature - not really sure how to describe it. The guy wouldn't stop going on about how "Oh my God it just ran from that branch to that branch, that's magical! Look, now he's over there... quick, everybody come look!" As usual, the pictures speak for themselves.

After Kruger we were dropped in the cultural abyss of Nelspruit. Unable to get transportation to Swaziland on the same day, we were forced to relax for a day which I spent far too drunk in the pool of our hostel (I have the pictures of myself hugging a giant octopus to prove it.)

The next day we rented a car with the intention to drive into Swazi with the Maltese couple. I was nervous about driving on the left for the first time, and my experience with stick shift is limited and only compounded by the gear shift being used by the left hand, but I was determined to learn. The car arrived late but hey at least we're on our way now, right guys!?!?! God: "Haha no sorry Mike, not quite yet." As fate would have it, we got 15 mins outside of the city then "Bam-Bam. Hissssssss." Not one but TWO flat tires on the same side. I had hit a pot hole. 2 flat tires minus one spare tire equals... still one flat tire. Thank God the Maltese couple had a cell phone to call a tow truck. Our delusions of pressing on into Swazi were corrected after waiting 3 hours for the truck to arrive despite repeated assurances that it was 10 minutes away at hour 1 and 2. The driver was instructed not to bring us a spare tire, but to tow us back to the airport, about 20 mins drive PAST the hostel. On the upside, we got a much nicer replacement car and I got to ride in the bed of the tow truck with the wind in my hair and white knuckles. With night falling, the four of us headed back to the hostel for another night of drinks. The next day we set out for Swaziland. But that, is a story for another post...

Takin' a breather in Cape Town

2008-02-26T05:14:00.000-08:00

Ahhh... time to take a few deep breaths. There's so much to tell so I'll break it down into a few different posts. It's been a hell of a two weeks jumping from one end of South Africa to the other and Lesley and I have seen more in that time than some people see in a lifetime.

For the last two days we've been recuperating in Cape Town, which has quickly become my favourite city in the world. For a metropolis of 4 million people, it's surprisingly laid back. I have a feeling it has something to do with the amazing scenery and great weather. Cape Town is situated on a peninsula at the Cape of Good Hope, basically the southern tip of Africa that separates the Atlantic and Indian Oceans. In the centre of town is Table Mountain, a 1000+ metre high, flat topped outcropping that is visible from any vantage within the city. Half of the time it is covered by the 'table cloth', clouds that form around the top and gently spill over the sides of the peak, disappearing into nothing. Talk about having a view. We got some great pictures of this from the plane when, after flying from East London over a grey void for an hour and a half, the clouds suddenly broke to be replaced by a steep mountainside drop. The temperature has been quite a bit cooler than the rest of S. Africa which has been a nice break in my opinion, although Lesley, in her sweater, thinks I'm nuts for wearing shorts.

Cape-tonians (?) are pretty 'cool' for lack of a better world. Trendy, beautiful, tanned and seemingly carefree. Admittedly, like most urban centres in the country, this applies mostly to whites with it being far more common for blacks to be stuck with the lower-end jobs. I plan to dedicate an entire post to race relations here at some point so I won't dwell on it now. The music scene is a progressive meld of rock, dance music and African drumming. I haven't heard any hip hop yet which makes me happy.

The first day we were here, Les and I decided to splurge a little bit after being stuck in the bush for a while and go for a really enjoyable oyster/steak-in-chocolate-chilli-sauce/fresh fish dinner at an ' expensive' restaurant (the term is relative - it was about $30pp including the best bottle of white wine I've had). What struck me as odd was that, despite this being a classy restaurant with patrons in collared shirts and ties and nicer dresses, I still received the most friendly treatment from the owner and wait staff despite being in shorts and a tshirt with my hair flying all over the place. In a similar establishment in Canada (or the US or Europe for that matter) I would have been staring down the upturned nose of the same people and feeling like I really don't belong there. It was a really nice to have my expectations challenged.

Day two in town happened to be a Sunday, which meant that a massive flea market was happening down by the waterfront. Lesley and I walked around the endless stalls for a few hours. She found a great deal on a quality bongo drum so she's still grinning. We made our way to the harbour for a quick lunch where I had some of the best smoked salmon in history. Although the harbour is clearly the most touristy area of the city, that didn't take anything away from it. The place is absolutely gorgeous and is on an entirely different plane of existence than Toronto's waterfront. Half the reason I suppose is that it is still a working harbour. If anything gave me a sense that Cape Town is a thriving, healthy city, it was the bustling waterfront. In the evening we went for a few drinks at some local establishments on Long Street, the major bar area and crashed early (this traveling shit takes a lot out of you!)

Yesterday, we had a pseudo-surreal experience. We took a train down to 'Simon's Town' which is about 30 minutes south on the peninsula. It's the archetypal quaint, picturesque (insert other rhetorical descriptors here) seaside village cum rich suburb. The main attraction and our reason for visiting was the penguin colony that resides at aptly-named Boulder Beach. I truly had no idea what to expect. Our taxi dropped us in the parking lot and immediately we could see at least two dozen penguins sitting on the rocks not even 20 feet away. I didn't expect to see so many. I could have gone home happy, but then we actually walked down to the beach. There were freaking hundreds of them (About 3,000 in the colony I learned later). We could move amongst the throng of creatures -- that by the way you can't help but laugh at when they walk -- without causing them any distress. They just sat there looking (I'm almost convinced smiling) at us! Of course, as Lesley can tell you, if you do get within about 2 feet of them they do have a tendency to lunge for your fingers. Another experience in a series of irregular adventures, we had a picnic lunch on a rock in the middle of a group of about 50 of them. Wild. We ended the night with a late dinner and some short lived dancing at a club that might not have been disappointing had I been dj'ing (and by dj'ing I mean changing alternative rock CDs). The rest of our week is up in the air but there's a good chance a cable car trip to the top of Table Mountain and a tour of wine country will factor into our agenda somewhere.

Still kickin'

2008-02-24T09:12:00.000-08:00

I am indeed alive, I just really haven't been by a computer in the last little while. But am now in the metropolis of Cape Town so should have an entry up tomorrow at the latest. Peace out.

I traveled thru Lesotho with a hard boiled egg in my pocket...

2008-02-09T02:21:00.000-08:00

... And the egg didn't even crack, so although it was rough, it couldn't have been that bad. I wonder if the concept of using a hard boiled egg as a 'barometer' of the ruggedness of a country could catch on?

It's been an inspiring last few days traveling out of Pretoria and into the Drakensberg Mountains and through Lesotho (pronounced Le-soo-too), the country surrounded by S. Africa (or as some say, on top of S. Africa, as the lowest point is 1,100m above sea level). The day I arrived in the Northern 'Drak' I opted not to waste any more time by the pool and did a quick hike with a Finnish lady to the beautiful Tiger Falls. After 5 minutes on the trail we had ran into a family of babboons which was a lot of fun.

The next day I went out on an all-day, fairly strenuous guided hike to one of the highest points in the Drak (~3100m), the Amphitheatre. It's called that because this 8-km long, 1000m high sheer cliff face forms a crescent that looks like, you guessed it, an amphitheatre. The weather that day was a mixed blessing; because the mountain was shrouded in fog, we missed the best vistas, but it did make for a really eerie experience, literally walking in the clouds. The hills in some areas were full of babboons. At one point we rounded a corner and either scared these guys or they were fighting amongst themselves - the ones we could see began to start screeching, which set off a chain reaction across the mountain with what I would estimate as 100's of babboons all having a bird. Because of the terrain, the echoes were absolutely haunting. What an amazing feeling that unfortunately can't be explained with words. Toward the end of the trail we had to climb down 2 25 metre chain ladders over fatal drops. Extremely exhilarating. I'll let my pictures do the rest of the talking on this.

Wanting to spend at least a few days in Lesotho just to say I was there, I joined another guided tour into the country the next day and had them drop me off there. Our first stop in this village of roughly 1,000 people was the elementary school. In this remote area of the country, visitors are not very common, so the kids absolutely loved us and were mesmerized by our digital cameras. They were so damn cute, begging to have their picture taken, and posing for the cam. Later in the day we made a quick hike to see some San Bushmen cave paintings that were thousands of years old. Unfortunately between being worn out and vandalized, my camera couldn't pick them up well. Another notable highlight was our stop for some pineapple beer, which they make out of sorghum. Wouldn't be half bad if it wasn't flat (they don't exactly have bottling facilities here, so the 14 tourists shared one giant cup.)

Next came a moment that will be burned into my mind forever - waving goodbye to the other tourists as I came to fully grasp the gravity of my situation. I'm in Lesotho, in a mountain farming village that is disconnected from the world, that has no electricity or plumbing, and I'm not even sure where I am. Shit...

But Damn what a great experience!!! My host Kabelo, the grade 7 teacher, took me for a little walk around the village to buy dinner (chicken), then we got into his mud hut with a thatched roof to cook. I got the feeling that he was one of the more wealthy individuals in the village as he actually had a gas stove, a bed, a linoleum floor and certain other trappings of 'civilization'. I have to say I had no freaking clue what I was doing when it came to making dinner as they do things slightly different 'round those parts. He had me break up the chicken with my hands - no problem. Now where do i wash my hands? Oh right, we just share the dirty rag. I walked around for the next 30 minutes feeling like an idiot for worrying about salmonella, but eventually got over it and, like the romans, ate with my dirty hands. We also cooked half a cabbage, which his wife pulled out of the garden (he had me water the cabbage patch after dinner... jealous?), and something called 'pabh', which is a very bland boiled maize meal that is eaten for all 3 meals, every day.

Washing the dishes was awesome. I used a basin, a bit of boiled water, and the same dirty chicken rag. And I'm still alive!!! After dinner I was pretty tired. Kabelo wanted to give me his nice hut with the double bed while he, his wife and his 9 month old baby slept in the spare hut on mats. I absolutely refused to displace his entire family and took the less luxurious second mud hut. I learned that the traditional floor in there was made from a mixture of ant hills and dried cow dung. I've never slept so well in my life, and I had some really great dreams to boot.

The next day I got into a 'taxi' - a minivan with 12 seats and 24 passengers, blaring African music - at 6am with Kabelo and his family and we made the 2 hour trek down what I suppose could loosely be called a 'road' (we had to fjord several small rivers) into town (Butha-Buthe). My host then kindly directed me to another bus that he assured me would take me to Sani Pass, through which I could get back into S. Africa and the Southern Drakensberg. Well 2 o'clock rolled around and my journey ended in a town called 'Mokhotlong', a place the lonely planet guide describes as a 'Wild West' town. Trying to get another taxi to Sani was futile so I hiked to the only hotel in town to regroup. I learned later that we had traveled about 150 km in 7 hours. Because it was hot I threw on some shorts and went out to do a bit of grocery shopping.

The shorts was a really bad idea. The staring was blatant and constant and I'm pretty sure I got called a homo a few times in the local language. I neglected to note on my way to the hotel that all of the men were wearing either pants or long blankets. I want to clarify, though, that the people were really nice and there was no malice in their actions - they were genuinely gobsmacked to see a white guy running around town. The group of about 20 school kids that started to follow me were fascinated with my appearance and mentioned that my 'English is so strange'. I locked myself in my hotel room until morning.

The next day I jumped in another taxi and made it all the way to the border. Somehow, I had neglected to get my passport stamped coming into Lesotho. I'm not sure if the border guard was joking when he threatened to arrest me for being in the country illegally, or if he was fishing for a bribe, but a few smiles and jokes later and I was across the border and coming down the Sani Pass, which you can see from the pictures is possibly one of the worst 3 roads in the entire universe. I think we averaged 0.5 km/hr, but wow what a view. Again, although I paid for the taxi to take me to a town in S. Africa called Underberg, the driver let everybody out at a crossroads near some ruins. Another taxi was on it's way in 30 minutes (2 hours, Africa time I'm sure), so I decided to walk to my hostel which was only 4 km down the road. Walking alone in the middle of nowhere on a beautiful day with some great tunes blasting on the ipod was a really uplifting experience. Arriving safely, I chilled by the pool (which I'm beginning to think is a mandatory fixture at hostels in this country). My horse riding for the next day was cancelled due to rain so I just hitched a ride with some dutch girls to Pietermaritzburg and then grabbed a 7 hour greyhound bus to Pretoria last night. I'm back at the paradise hostel and meeting Lesley tomorrow which I'm really pumped for. And now, as my milk is getting warm, I have to get back poolside. Talk to you all soon. Mike

I'm living in a South African paradise

2008-02-01T07:23:00.000-08:00

On January 29th I got on a plane in Casablanca and 24 hours later I arrived at Johannesburg International airport, via Madrid and Zurich. Not the nicest connections, but the price was right. Not wanting to deal with the crime in the 'world's most dangerous city' after that kind of flight, I opted to stay in Pretoria over Jo'burg, or Jozi. If my abysmal hostel in Casablanca had an sister estalishment that was its diametrical opposite, my hostel in Pretoria is it. I'm not even sure you can call it a hostel - it's surrounded by tropical vegetation, has a pool, a bar, laundry, hot water any time of the day, a great, friendly staff and is walking distance to a shopping centre and the major bar area. The place is paradise!

Only after 3 days I am completely in love with the country. Mind you I am staying in a rich suburb, but I did spend yesterday in Soweto, the country's most notorious township during the apartheid era, the sight of numerous violent and deadly clashes with police in the 70's. I also hit the apartheid museum to learn a bit about the country's history, which is extremely tragic and fascinating.

For me, observing modern South African society has been incredibly interesting. From my calculations it's about 85% black and 15% white. Everyone lives in harmony and the people are extremely friendly. If you hold a stereotype about black Africans being gregarious, always smiling, dancing and having fun, it would be accurate. Their love of life is contagious! I was unsure of what to expect in Soweto. I had heard horror stories about these townships being some of the most dangerous places in the world. Hell, compared to some places I've been in Detroit, the places here looked like a country club. I was almost ashamed to have been so ignorant. Again, I've only been here for 3 days, but I think the world needs to get a freakin grip on reality and change its preconceptions about Africa.

Tomorrow I venture out of my ivory suburb into the Drakensberg (Dragon's) Mountains for a few days before I cross the Sani Pass into the otherworldly, cloud shrouded, (enchanted, perhaps?) mountain kingdom of Lesotho (from what I'm told my rhetoric is not unjustified), before I trek back to Jo'burg to collect Lesley so she can join in the fun for 3 weeks. No pictures posted this round as I don't have anything too spectacular besides a really cool subway train in the Zurich airport that looks like a scene from Half-Life (/computer nerdity).

Moroccan afterthoughts

2008-02-01T06:52:00.000-08:00

Beautiful Morocco is now behind me. Looking back, I think the country can best be described as one in transition between past and future.

Although the country is technically secular, and influenced a great deal by its European neighbours, Islam is still very much the cornerstone of the population's collective psyche. Drinking is legal, but still quasi-taboo; as Namir explained to us (and to paraphrase) 'drinking in public is the same as going to the toilet in public'. And yet on my second night in Marrakesh, we managed to find and patronize several 'Western' night clubs where the women dressed provocatively and booze consumption was excessive. The call to prayer was repeated like clockwork 5 times daily, and yet while this was happening I never witnessed a single person drop what they were doing to head to a Mosque.

The country's politics was particularly interesting for me. Monarchys are not really covered in a 4 year political science degree, so it was fascinating to see one functioning up close, especially one that has managed to survive in a fairly developed country! Litereally every Moroccan I asked had nothing but praise for the King. And it is not hard to see why - the man really seems to have the country's best interests at heart. Morocco is developing at a rapid pace. In my two weeks I saw numerous road projects in the works, a major hydroelectric dam/artificial lake, power lines everywhere and upgrades to bus and train stations. And not only in urban centres, but remote rural areas as well. The fact that internet cafes exist in Saharan border towns says a lot.

Unfortunately I do have some negative things to report. The cities are filthy, crowded, polluted (I don't believe there are any vehicle emission standards), congested and stressful. After Marrakesh I spent some time in Casablanca. I won't waste my breath on this except to say that it is a shithole - don't go. Although I really did grow to like Marrakesh a lot after spending an extra day exploring it. Morocco has massive tourist potential beyond what is already established; the challenge will be to avoid becoming a disneyland destination, and to maintain its arabic, medieval mystique (that, and to avoid destroying its pristine natural beauty of the countryside.) Finally, I can't leave this without complaining about the hustlers. Persistent would be the precursor to a word that does not yet exist, but which would describe how irritating those bastards can be. They give the country a really bad name, and although the police have apparently cracked down on the 'faux guides' and drug peddlers, there is a long way to go in my humble opinion.

The best part of Morocco for me was the time exploring the mountains and the Sahara. I will never forget the feel of that red sand in my shoes. Unlike the coarse stuff most of us hate to have in our sandals after a day at the beach, this fine powder felt like slipping your foot into a warm blanket. Amazing. For those of you that I know will ask, the women were actually quite beautiful and exotic. That's to say, at least the ones that were not covered up. My whole time there I saw at least 15 that could have been supermodels... I think it's their big, dark eyes.

Seeing sheep with their shepherds everywhere was an interesting sight. Seeing traditional nomads camped out in a field was amazing. Seeing a woman wandering in the mountains without a settlement visible for miles was almost disturbing. I forgot to mention, but at our second night in the mountains we stayed at a hotel that Namir described as '2 star'. The place had a pool, pristine rooms, air conditioning (not that we needed it) and great food. The defining moment of that experience was when this frail old man sitting in a corner of the hotel restaurant pulled out an instrument that looked like a sitar played like a violin, and played a few tunes in a style of music I've never heard.

Finally, I would like to give a shout out to Gustavo for coining a new term to describe Moroccan cuisine: it's all "Hand Made" (as in, they stick their fingers all over everything).
What a great experience!!!

Atlas Mountains, Sahara Desert

2008-01-24T12:03:00.002-08:00

Just hangin' out here in Marrakesh, you know... standard stuff really. My time in Fes, Morocco was definitely enjoyable. It's a massive city with pretty much zero city planning behind it. I'm told about 300,000 people live inside the old/medieval city, or Medina, making Tangier's medina look like sleepy hollow. On the first morning I met up with some Brazilian, German and Austrian guys who invited me along on a tour they had booked. Our guide, despite being official or so we were told, still took us to the carpet, leather and trinket shops (where he of course receives a commission for every item purchased). Not that I'm complaining, really - we still got to see a lot of the city - the tanneries where they make leather, and which smells like hell on earth, the place where they make tiles and bricks from mud, one of the current King's palaces, and various others. My two new Brazilian friends, Daniel and Gustavo, and I ended up leaving for a 3 day trek into the Atlas mountains and the Sahara desert for 3 days with our guide and a model human being, Namir. If you are ever in Morocco, get in touch with this guy for a tour (website).

I cannot emphasize how amazing this experience was. It was THE most beautiful scenery I have witnessed in my life.

The first day we had a pancake breakfast in a small village. Deeeelicious. We stopped for a bit in a town that looked like an authentic Swiss village (clearly a skiing playground for rich Moroccans - yes, there is lots of snow here in the mountains). Before the end of the day we had cross the Middle Atlas mountains. The pictures will speak for themselves. By the end of the day we could see Saharan sand dunes on the horizon. Did i mention we were doing this journey into the desert in a really nice Mercedes? So just before sunset we got onto our camels and had a guide take us 2 hours into the desert, a few Km away from the Algerian border. We stayed in an authentic Berber camp (the peoples who first settled Morocco, long before the Arabs or even the Romans). I picked up a drum and had a jam session with them. Sleeping in a tent under the desert stars is freakin' unreal. It gets near freezing at night but with 5 blankets you manage. The food and the hospitality was amazing. When the women went to bed we had 'man talk', them inquiring about whether it's cool to sleep with women before marriage, to have more than one wife, and the average price of a hooker where we live. Apparently masturbation jokes are universal.

Trekking out of the desert at sunrise was equally phenomenal. Getting back into our chariot we covered more of the Atlas mountains, hitting a place called 'Todra Gorge' which is indeed, a gorge. The river than runs thru it literally begins out of the ground at a point within the gorge. Cool pics but unfortunately a bit touristy. On the third day we make the final push to Marrakesh thru the High Atlas. The Grand Canyon is a piece of shit compared to what I saw here. The roads became treacherous and winding and as we descended the snow disappeard, the rocks became redder and the landscape lush and green. So very impressed.

Marrakesh is not quite what I expected. It's been defiled by tourists over the last decade and the hustlers in the main square (which is massive) are suicide-inducing. However, it's not to the point where it's lost all of it's medieval charm and a lot of the stereotypes still ring true, whether it's a show for a tourists or not (I don't believe it is entirely). The locals still make up the 95% majority of people that actually hang out in the square. Snake charmers, that crazy snake charming music, food stalls everywhere and mass confusion and chaos. Today we checked out some tombs of princes from the Saadian Dynasty, as well as two palaces, one more of a ruin really. Interesting places to check out for an hour or so but nothing to write home about.

I haven't quite decided yet but i'm likely to head off to Casablanca tomorrow and spend a day and a half. Then perhaps Rabat, and onward to South Africa from either Madrid or Frankfurt (Who knows). And now I'm going to go get some street meat and get drunk on Anise with my (now 4) brazilian and 1 Australian friends on the roof of our hostel. Peace out.

ps. the internet here has decided to screw me so no pictures available at this time, sorry!

*update Jan. 25 - pictures are now up, here

Spanish roadtrip, Morocco part 1

2008-01-19T09:03:00.000-08:00

(disclaimer: french keyboards lead to frustration and typos)

Guess what? Im in Africa! (with a big f'in grin on my face). Jake and I rented a car a few days ago and did the 7 hour drive from Alicante to Algeciras. Southern Spain is unreal - i think the pics speak for themselves. this process involved me having to learn how to drive stick. in summary, the gears were mislabeled and i was starting in 3rd gear for the first 10 minutes. the white smoke coming from the hood was comical... i have never heard of anyone driving 700 km with 2 engine lights flashing but apparently its not impossible. to complete this adventure i was forced to parallel park on an upslope. yes, i smacked a parked car pretty hard. remarkably no damage but we still decided to get the hell out of there before the engine light inquiries began. regardless, im pretty proud of myself for getting us there alive haha.

So we crossed the strait of gibraltar (we saw the rock of gibraltar by the way) from Algeciras to Tangier, Morocco and spent two nights there. without a doubt it is the most alien place i have ever set foot. we walked to our hotel around midnight (after almost not being let off the ferry), through the medina (old/medieval city). what an experience that was... Miles and miles of winding narrow, claustrophobic alleys. The night watchman, wearing his Jellaba, or hooded robe, thankfully stirred long enough to open the gate for us and sign us in. I cant say how helpful my little bit of French has been already.

We were woken up the next day by some exceedingly bizarre 5, 6 and 7am prayers. Now I have heard many of these in my lifetime, having lived in Malaysia for 2 years, and i have great respect for Islam, but the sound of this particular prayer was very out of the ordinary and terribly disturbing. Jake got a good recording. Our explorations deeper into the medina and kasbah (castle) later in the day ramped our culture shock up to full throttle. We were adopted by an illegal tour guide, Moon, who showed us some very cool spots. but invariable we ended up in his good friend's carpet shop and why were we so stubbornly refusing his efforts to get us a great deal?? When he tried to collect 40 euro from us for his trouble (without having mentioned money until now), of course we refused and he got pissed off with 5 euro. Hey, what can you do?

So now in Fes, the 'cultural capital' of Morocco, after a stunning 6 hour bus ride, Im feeling a lot better. The tour guides are still annoying but the city is far more cosmopolitan than shady Tangier. Im looking forward to exploring this medina tomorrow, which is the largest in the world. Until then, enjoy the pictures (if i can get 'em up) and i'll talk to you in a few days. Peace...

Welcome to Spain

2008-01-15T16:28:00.000-08:00

It only took a year and a half of planning but I'm finally on the road, and the feeling is priceless. I landed in Madrid January 10th, but unfortunately my luggage decided to catch up with me later. "Sorry sir, your bag is in Britain." So, no problem, they would deliver it to Jake's place in Alicante next day, and I could still make the last train out of Madrid. But the backpack confusion, combined with the struggle to decipher the subway system with a vocabulary of 3 Spanish words, meant I ended up rolling into the train station 5 minutes too late. So, no problem... I'll just hang out here until the next train - 11 hours later. I had lots of movies on my ipod, a magazine, and I can catch a few hours of sleep here.

That was a great plan (no, not really) until they kicked me out at midnight. On crossing through the doors my two thoughts were 'damn, it's cold' and 'now what'. So I walked around for 4 hours snapping pictures of some weird shit and cursing my shoes that needed to be broken in. I killed off the rest of the time by sleeping on the roof of the train station. Thankfully it opened at 5 right before hypothermia set in.

After getting about 30 minutes sleep in 42 hours, I had no choice but to snooze the train ride away. 4 hours later Jake and I were having a sweet, sweet cerveza in sunny Alicante under the palm trees. They came to deliver my bag while I was having a nap, but regrettably I don't remember packing only golf clubs and my name is not Mr. Escobar. Learning of this screw up, Jake's Venezuelan roommate Rebeca said "Welcome to Spain," which is a phrase that describes the general backwardness of this country. Long story short, I got my actual bag yesterday, the 14th, and my golf game still needs work.

For those who like to party with a drink now and then, Spain is definitely the place. Until today I hadn't seen the sun since being here. We go out at midnight and come home around 7 or 8am. The drinks are generally cheap, the food is great, the music is a lot of fun and the people are cool. I did finally force myself out of that routine today and did some sightseeing at Santa Barbara castle which overlooks the Mediterranean. That salt water air on your face feels damn good. The pics are amazing, check em out.

Jake and I are off to Morocco on Thursday, and definitely looking forward to it. Next post coming soon...

one week to go

2008-01-02T18:13:00.000-08:00

The flight is booked for January 9th! The plan has drastically changed!

I realized a few weeks ago it wasn't realistic to do the entire continent in 6 months so I've scaled plans back to just the Southern part of Africa. In a crushing twist of fate, Lesley will not be able to come with me for an extended period of time... But she does have 3 weeks vacation so hopefully she can join me in Spain and Morocco.

The working plan is:
1) Fly into Madrid, Spain, bus it to Alicante to meet up with Jake
2) He and I cross the channel into Morocco and spend a couple weeks there.
3) I fly from Casablanca to Johannesburg
4) Spend the next 6 months in South Africa, Lesotho, Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Malawi, Tanzania, Mozambique and Swaziland, hopefully with a 2 month period of volunteering.

who knows if this plan will stick. fun times...

the plan

2007-11-29T12:40:00.000-08:00

Until recently, my naivety led me to believe I could travel entirely overland from country to county during this journey. I planned to start in Morocco, generally following the west coast down to South Africa, then up the opposite coast to Egypt. I was never deluded that it would be easy, considering the brutal shape of transportation down there, but I assumed I could draw a solid (if zig-zagging) line from point A to B, hiring drivers, jumping on trains, buses, or in desperation, camels (No camel jokes please, who knows just HOW desperate things will actually get).

A few days ago, I sat down with photoshop, a map of the continent, and the Foreign Affairs Canada travel warning website open. I drew fake borders in red indicating which areas I absolutely have to avoid unless I want to get kidnapped or end up in the middle of a civil war. As this map has demonstrated in its uniquely mocking way, the areas I need to avoid account for more than half of the continent. This wouldn't be a problem if those areas didn't cut several solid swaths across my now impossible route.

Thankfully, I also have good news to share. As fate would have it, there is now a very good chance that I will have a travel partner for the majority of the trip. Her name is Lesley. We met at a lunch not even two months ago and have really hit it off. Turns out that dropping everything to travel Africa is a ludicrous idea that we've both had on our list for a long time. For now all I will say is she's fucking amazing.

As the plan continues to take shape, I get a growing sense of how truly amazing, exciting and terrifying this journey is going to be. Shit is getting real. We fly into Madrid, Spain the first week of January. From there we meet up with Jake, another old soul I'm lucky to know, in the Mediterranean sea-side town of Denia. Denia is a little piece of paradise Jake picked out for himself as a new home base, just because he can. It may have something to do with the weather, or perhaps the tendency of Swedish university girls to vacation in the region. Check out his adventures here.

I plan to spend a week in Spain, learning about Siestas and Cervezas, before the 3 of us get on a boat in Algericas and cross over to Tangier, Morocco, a place my travel guide describes with phrases such as 'gritty charm', 'the inspiration for a generation of beat writers' and a 'host for every power who ever dreamed of conquering the Mediterranean.' From Tangier we're off to Fes, the cultural capital of the country, before making a quick stop in Meknes, the Versailles of Morocco and on to the actual Capital, Rabat. Moving west we'll hit Casablanca, then Marrakesh. The latter gets my adrenaline going, and here's why:

"The name Marrakesh conjures up images of medieval bazaars, labyrinths filled with exotic smells and the cries of hawkers, sunlit squares hidden from the outside world and a musical accompaniment to a way of life little changed in centuries. Marrakesh is all that and more."

This point will likely see Jake returning home, with Lesley and I embarking on a fairly brisk dash south through the Sahara desert, following the coast into Mauritania, and specifically Zouerat. This is the starting point of the longest (and unfortunately) slowest train in the world. Only time will tell whether I have the guts to ride for free in the back of one of the open top wagons carrying whatever black-soot like material they mine there. Halfway thru the trip I plan to get off and head toward Chinguetti, the 7th holiest city of Islam. By road we'll head to the coast again, spending some time in Nouakchott, the capital.

I expect little to see or do in Mauritania, so we'll make our way to St-Louis, Senegal, before making it all the way to Dahkar, the capital. A day trip to Kaolack and it's off to Banjul, the capital of The Gambia. Regrettably, travelling any further south at this point is too dangerous, so the compass will shift east into the heart of the continent: Bamako (Mali), Ouagadougou (Burkina Faso), Naimey (Niger), Benin, Togo, and Ghana. This is where I have currently hit a road block, as Nigeria and Northern Niger are too dangerous to travel through. For the past few days I have been attempting to secure sea-travel into Cameroon, a futile endeavor so far. It's looking like our only option here will be to fly all the way into Namibia, which may be pricey.

The planning continues...

Inaugural Post

2007-11-17T12:32:00.000-08:00

I still have a hard time believing what my life consists of these days, and I'm absolutely loving the ridiculousness. I highly doubt that I will ever be in a position like this again, 'the dream job', which, for those of you that don't know, consists of living off severance for the next little while. Recognizing that, I'm making the most of every day, which has led to a perpetual state of partying. My liver hates me.

Africa prep is well underway. I'm slowly accumulating gear, and every few days pick up my travel book to hammer out, country by country, my route. At this point I expect to be on the road for 5 or 6 months starting in January, covering 30 countries (give or take). Without a doubt, I'm in for an amazing adventure that I'm extremely privileged to have as an opportunity. In an interesting new development, I may have a travel companion for at least part of the trip (in addition to Jake). More on this as things happen.

And now, off to the next party...