Writing As I See The World

Robben Island

Days in advance, we purchased tickets for a tour of Robben Island, considered a 'must-do' while in Cape Town.  Robben Island is a prison island, much larger than Alcatraz and 8 miles from Cape Town, but also rocky and fairly arid.  Robben Island became famous as the prison for South African political prisoners during apartheid, with the most famous of it's captives being Nelson Mandela, who spent 18 years (of his 27 years in prison) there. 

Robben Island has a long history of pain - nearly 400 years - as a prison, leper colony, hospital for the mentally and chronically ill, a place of banishment for those deemed unfit for society, and a place to hold political prisoners.  For centuries it was a place to hold native African leaders in attempts by the Dutch and British to quell any uprising against their rule.  Conditions were harsh, as Robben Island had no fresh water and marginal capacity for agriculture.  Robben Island was thrust into the world spotlight when it became infamous as a prison for political prisoners during apartheid.  It was through this time though, that Robben Island came to symbolize human triumph over adversity.

So, with all of that history, why did the visit to Robben island leave me feeling like I came away with bare impressions of the place and it's place in history?  In conversation with Rich and Brad this past weekend, I mentioned that I keep coming up empty when I think of writing about the place.

I think it has to do with the unfortunate conflicting needs of opening the island to many visitors (and revenue) with operating a place to learn about the island, it's history, and apartheid.  It might be that my expectation was to do more than briskly visit (and quite possibly that was enough).  On disembarking from the ferry at Robben Island, we were all taken to two waiting buses.  The buses were driven around the island, with one stop at a rocky point with a good view of Cape Town and Table Mountain (nice, but not why I was there), while a guide talked about the various buildings.  We might have seen the quarry where prisoners labored but I'm not sure.  At the prison both busloads of people were then taken on a tour at the same time.

Our guide in the prison was a political prisoner for 20 years.  He had the unfortunate task of trying to communicate with an enormous number of people while escorting us through narrow passageways, all at the same time.  It didn't work very well.  Here was a man who had been here, had a wealth of knowledge about the prison and life there, who had to balance conveying this experience with shepherding an enormous number of people through the facility.  It was a genuine loss to have his story get lost in the herding of people.

I'm still glad we went.  It would have been helpful to have done more homework about the island before going, but having been there puts subsequent research into some perspective.  What we didn't have the opportunity to see is the vast amount of archival material about the island, including oral histories, photographs, film and video.  I now know that this material is kept at the University of the Western Cape.  It was this type of material that made our visit to the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg so much more valuable as a learning tool and brought more of a human element to the experience.

What was crystal clear from the visit was that life on the island was incredibly harsh for the prisoners.  There is great value in being reminded of how fear, exploited by politicians, so often results in brutality against other people.  History has a way of repeating itself over and over.

The loudest message from Robben Island is the triumph of human spirit over adversity.  Underneath that is the reminder of how perilous it is to chip away at civil liberties until you find yourself living in a society without them.

Cheetahs and Wine

Cheetah Outreach is an organization in Stellenbosch, near Cape Town, that operates a breeding program for cheetahs, increases awareness of the diminishing numbers of free-ranging cheetahs in the wild, and serves as an arm of the Cheetah Conservation Fund in Namibia to ensure the survival of the cheetah. 

We saw no cheetahs in the wild in Botswana.  Part of that was the places we visited, and part of it is that cheetahs are an endangered species.  Their numbers have diminished dramatically in recent decades due to hunting and their range being reduced by human encroachment.  One of the programs at Cheetah Outreach involves taking cheetahs to the public around the world to show first-hand what magnificent animals they are and to raise funds to help protect habitat.  They also do a lot of outreach to rural communities in southern Africa to increase awareness of cheetahs and how people can coexist with the animals.

At Cheetah Outreach, we had the opportunity to see the cheetahs and participated in a supervised interaction with three young cheetahs.  It was truly awesome.  The three cheetah cubs were 8 months old.  The four of us were trained how to approach the cubs and were allowed to pet them!  The cubs had just come in from a run and were tired.  While being stroked, they actually started purring like house cats!  The photo on the left is one of the cubs we met.  One of the cubs had what is called a 'king coat.'  In this recessive genetic variation the black markings on the coat are much larger and run together, creating a very striking pattern.  And, it highlighted how much longer and softer the black hair in the cheetah coat is from the lighter color.  The photo on the right shows the difference between a 'normal' and 'king' coat.

Stellenbosch is also at the center of a beautiful wine producing region.  We became familiar with particular wines in Cape Town, notably Warwick Wine Estate.  Of the wines we tasted there, the Trilogy was particularly memorable.  It is a blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Cabernet Franc.  Amazing wine!  We brought some home with us.  While siting outside at Warwick enjoying their wines, the owner sat down with us for a chat, noting that they their have wines available in San Francisco through Broadbent Selections, one of two importers in the USA.  This led us to a conversation about imagining the winery owner venturing out to visit with complete strangers in the Napa Valley.  Repeatedly we found people in South Africa to be very friendly and open to us.

The prices on Warwick wines are nearly double the price here in the US.  With the favorable exchange between the dollar and rand, we found repeatedly that a 'splurge' on wine at a restaurant was $15-20.

We had a wonderful stay in Stellenbosch at a beautiful guest house.  This gave us time to get to know the town better and enjoy being there.  It is stunning.  I took a morning run around town and was able to see even more of it.  It is truly spectacular and well worth a visit.

While at Xigera Camp in Botswana, a couple from Austria told us about whale watching in Hermanus, south of Stellenbosch.  Hermanus is another spectacular place, described as the world's best land-based whale watching spot, with mountains meeting the sea, and whales spouting and breeching just offshore.   We stood on a bluff and watched the whales.  It was awesome to see so many of them so close to shore.

After visiting Hermanus, we followed the coast back to Cape Town, via Betty's Bay and the east side of False Bay.  At Betty's Bay we visited an huge colony of African Penguins, offering another opportunity to see them in the wild.  It occurred to us what an amazing trip it had been, being in Botswana on safari, and then seeing whales and penguins along the sea!  The drive along False Bay was a winding road hugging cliffs high above the water.  More spectacular scenery!

Beautiful South Africa.

LOST: In Search of Pizza

We were looking for an easy dinner. We were tired after a long day running around the city, and pizza seemed a good option.  A guide to the city described a pizzeria in downtown Cape Town that sounded particularly good. 

As it was after 7:00 on a week night, we hoped it was open.  The streets of the inner part of Cape Town become very quiet early in the evening, giving a sense that the only thing that would accentuate this further might be a couple of tumbleweeds rolling down Long Street.  The address, on Hans Strijdom Avenue in the heart of downtown, seemed reasonably straightforward.  The street is only 5 blocks long.

After driving around the traffic circle at the end of the street for the third (or so) time and not finding any address close to our quarry, I decided to park and ask.  Across the street were two men in fluorescent yellow vests, a ubiquitous part of life in Cape Town.  They act as street parking attendants.  When parking on the street anywhere in the city, they help you out and you tip them 6 rand (a bit less than a dollar) or so, sometimes more if you are planning to park there for a long time.

I left my friends Brad and Rich in the car (Brad Crowell stayed home) and walked across the boulevard to ask the two men where this pizzeria might be.  After some back and forth they determined they didn't know, and before I knew it there was a lively dialog in Xhosa among 5 men in fluorescent vests occurring before me.  After some time spent debating among themselves and pointing in various directions, during which I felt an amused sense of the surreal, there seemed to be a general agreement reached, and the initial two asked me to join them and they would show me where the restaurant was located. 

I explained that my friends were waiting in the (only) car on the other side of the street as we briskly walked away from them, two blocks down, between two tall buildings, and proceeded to diagonally cross a dirt lot.  At this point I had doubts about their veracity.  Here I was trying to be open and trusting while being led further from anyone who might be helpful should anything happen.  I pictured being mugged in the next alley, and was mildly relieved when I realized that I had on my light hiking shoes which could double as running shoes in a pinch, while noticing that their shoes were much heavier...

And then one of the men asked the question:  "Are you married?"  Taken aback, I replied "no," to which he immediately asked, "why not?"  Quickly assessing my current situation, I found myself dodging the question by asking the man, "are you married?"  He replied "no" and I followed up with "why not?"  At this point the second man started laughing and repeating my question over and over, saying that I had 'got' the first man.  We all started laughing and the tension I was feeling about my safety dissipated.  I asked their names, we shook hands in the traditional manner, and they assured me the restaurant was just a bit further.

Having crossed the dirt lot, we continued down a narrow alley of dumpsters and loading doors.  As we reached the next block, they pointed to the entrance of the restaurant, off the alley.  It was a place we would have never found on our own.  They then brought me to the front, making note of where to turn off the street and where I could park.  We went back to the car the way we came, down the alley, across the dirt lot, between buildings....

Back to Hans Strijdom Avenue, where a block ahead I saw Brad and Rich out of the car looking around, clearly anxious.  By this time I had probably been out of sight for 20 minutes, and I realized the last they knew, I disappeared between two buildings escorted by a couple of strange men in a deserted downtown.  Their relief at seeing me was palpable.

I introduced my escorts to Brad and Rich, and one of the men suggested that perhaps I might buy them a drink.  I happily gave them a 20 rand note for their trouble. They were delighted, and we parted, proceeding directly to the restaurant.  Brad and Rich recounted their worry about my being missing and wondering if they were going to find me mugged in an alley. 

In this scenario a lot was happening simultaneously.  If the men had not been wearing the 'official' vests of organized parking attendants, I would likely not have gone up to them.  Being a white man, clearly a tourist, on a deserted street in Cape Town certainly has the potential for producing anxiety.  In the presence of the five men debating directions to the pizzeria, it seemed clear to me that they were being genuinely helpful and I elected to be trusting and sweetly amused that they went to so much trouble as they each voiced their thoughts and ultimately came up with a group consensus. 

It occurred to me afterward that my escorts sensed my discomfort, and broke the tension by asking if I were married.  My experience is that black men, like gay men, or anyone else who isn't straight and white in a straight white world, often develop a fairly refined sense of other's unease.  You sense it straightaway.  An edge in a voice, body posture and language, a look.  You know it when you experience it.  Black people in South Africa must get lots of practice with this skill, as the legacy of the racial separation lingers.

Above all, it was a wonderful moment during which I had choices.  I could have come from a place of fear rather than trust and the scenario would likely have played out very differently, if at all.  I might have missed a grand opportunity to peek into life in Cape Town and missed another reminder of human desire to care and be helpful to one another.  My life is a little richer for the opportunity.

On Top of the World

Nearly everyone who talked about visiting Cape Town mentioned had one suggestion in common:  If it is a nice day, cancel any other plans and take the cableway up to the top of Table Mountain.  One person bemoaned a 2-week visit without a clear day.  It was something we understood, coming from San Francisco.  The weather in SF is very similar in Cape Town.  Generally cool-ish and definitely changeable.  We are familiar with how a relatively warm, sunny July noon has a habit of becoming a blustery chill with incoming fog by 4:00pm, catching the unaware shivering in shorts and t-shirts while creating a brisk market for sweat-shirt vendors.  The cableway can close without much notice due to the wind.

We awoke on our second morning in Cape Town to clear-ish skies and sunshine.  Over breakfast, we changed our plans to go to the Cape of Good Hope in favor of Table Mountain.  We watched clouds come and go atop the mountain as we waited 1.5 hours in line for a cable tram at the bottom.  Our plan for the morning was clearly shared by a good many, but it was exciting to be there and we were full of anticipation.

The tram itself was delightful as it made a full rotation while ascending the mountain, offering a complete set of views to everyone on board.  The top offered spectacular views of the city, paragliders floating around the top of Lion's Head, the striking contrast of blue water at Table Bay, False Bay, and the rocky, pounding surf of the Atlantic coast, steep suburban towns clustered around beaches, a view of Robben Island out in the ocean, and the spine of mountains heading southward to the Cape.  There was a lot to take in.  Cape Town, and the Cape region in general, are breathtakingly beautiful.

There are lots of trails to hike at the top, and we soon became taken with the beauty of the immediate landscape.  Exotic proteas in all sorts of shapes and colors growing abundantly, an array of other wildflowers, and fascinating rock formations made the trip to the mountain much more than a quick stop at a scenic viewpoint.  It became clear that the mountain is a place to savor.

Sitting atop cliffs, we watched the play of light and shadow on the surrounding mountains, breathing it in, experiencing that delightful sense of quietness in the presence of the majesty of nature.  Noticing the juxtaposition of delicate wildflowers in a seemingly harsh, rocky environment.  Listening to water trickling from a small fall somewhere on the other side of a canyon.  Looking down at hikers making their way up long switchbacks in a more grounded ascent.  Seeing small lizards that look like miniature crocodiles.

Being present.  Slowing down.  Noticing.  Delighting.  Breathing deeply.  Connecting  with  the beauty and rhythm of nature.

Click on the links in the lower left column for more photos.

Cape Wildlife Encounters, or... Baboons Are Dangerous!

On our way to the Cape of Good Hope, we had a quintessential urban stoplight (or robot, in South African parlance) experience.  In Muizenberg at False Bay, south of Cape Town, we were at a very busy intersection at the end of the freeway.  As at many intersections in South Africa, men walked up and down the lanes between cars selling just about anything.  This particular intersection stood out due to the breadth of items one could purchase, including wood carvings, paintings (velvet!), cell phone chargers for autos, bean bag chairs, fruit, candy, and our all-time favorite item, Rubik's Cubes (Wow!  They are still out there!).  It is like a bazaar at many intersections, with goods lined up next to the roadway as well.

We had brought along some picnic items for the day, stopping in Simon's Town, a quaint city further south along False Bay, at a shop for a few more items.  Boulder's Beach in Simon's Town is also home to an African Penguin colony.  Penguins are hilarious to watch.  They are so ungainly on land, hopping around, over boulders and occasionally mis-stepping and toppling.  The process of getting in and out of the water is simultaneously streamlined and ungainly.  They glide effortlessly through the water, hop up onto the rocks, and periodically waves wash them over the rocks or knock them down.  They take it in stride, get back on their feet and continue on.  It is very entertaining.

We were in their midst, and quite close.  At one point I was taking pictures next to a large rock, and realized there was a penguin right next to me under a small overhang intently watching what I was doing.

The drive down to the Cape is spectacular:  Mountains, cliffs rising straight out of the ocean, the occasional beach strewn with boulders.  The water was a beautiful azure blue in the sun - and glass clear.

In the National Park, we stopped at a beautiful beach for our picnic, choosing a site right on the water with low flat rocks perfect for laying out our lunch.  There was a small group of people also having a picnic a short distance away who had created fortress-like walls with their cars on three sides of their picnic area.  We thought it was strange, but perhaps due to the wind.

As we enjoyed our sandwiches and the lovely cheese we had found in Simon's Town, I noticed some baboons running along the rocks in our direction.  Our neighbors started yelling, throwing rocks, and making noise by banging sticks and shooting an air rifle.  Quite the scene!  We watched, thinking how weird this was, as the baboons dodged their rocks and continued on the beach.  Toward us.

Three baboons were running toward and past us, when they suddenly veered off in three different directions directly at us.  The next thing we knew, baboon hands were grabbing for the food.  I went on auto-pilot, snatching up a plastic shopping bag of food at precisely the same time as a baboon also grabbed it.  I was tugging on one handle face-to-face with a baboon snarling at me and tugging on the other handle.  I was frozen.  It all happened so fast!  Baboon teeth are huge! 

As the baboon and I were tugging the bag back and forth a package of ham and half a loaf of bread fell out.  The baboon snatched it up and ran.  It was then that I was conscious enough to realize that our neighbors had come to our rescue and were banging sticks, shooting the air rifle, and yelling for us to leave the food and collect our day packs and cameras.  In the moment, face-to-face with snarling baboon teeth, I didn't even know they were there.

We were lucky they were.  Stunned, we quickly snatched up everything we had and made a beeline for the car.  It was then that I realized my heart was racing and I was trembling.  On a nearby rock in the water, a baboon dined on bread and ham.

OK.  We had seen the signs along the road.  We had also been on safari in the midst of baboons and they seemed to keep to themselves, and, if anything, be wary of us.  A woman from the group who rescued us came over to the car and told us that in this place in particular, baboons have become accustomed to stealing food.  As a result, you keep food in the car, and only take things out as you are eating them.  If baboons come, all food goes in the car and you close the doors. 

Our neighbor came back over a short while later as we sat in the car, windows closed, finishing our picnic, recounting the coordinated nature of the baboon raid.  She was pointing at something behind us, and we looked to see a group of ostrich coming down the hill to the beach. 

The baboons were still hanging out nearby, but with food safely inside the car the excitement of something new won out and we got out of the car and watched the ostrich. Still wary of the baboons, Brad Chilcoat held onto a couple rocks and kept them with him for awhile afterward.   Just in case.

As we left the beach area to continue on to the Cape, we passed a small group of people grilling meat, with baboons circling around them.  We weren't the only rubes in the vicinity.  I wonder how they managed to get the meat off the grill without becoming another primate fast-food outlet...?

Click on the links in the left column for photos

Cape Town Rhythm

Beautiful!  Spectacular!  Cape Town immediately loaded my senses with its physical beauty.  Waking up to sunshine and a spectacular view of the City Bowl, from the waterfront at Table Bay through downtown and  back to Table Mountain.  The mountains create a horseshoe around the center of the city, the bowl.  It is such a tremendously beautiful setting - I found myself standing on the deck breathing it all in, enjoying the play of light and color against the city, mountains and sky.  Cape Town felt instantly comfortable. 

The view from our apartment offered a dramatic overview of the city.  We immediately wanted to explore, and quickly found ourselves heading down the long, steep hill in our little SUV to experience the city close-up. 

First impression?  Cape Town is vastly different from Johannesburg.  Gone were the walls, razor wire, electric wire and palpable tension.  An entirely different sensibility prevailed, to have houses open up directly onto the street.  To see lawns and gardens and people walking.  I felt an immediate sense of openness and ability to be in the city without being so guarded/closed off from the experience as I felt in Joburg.  Cape Town felt like a city I could spend much time in and enjoy.

Our first stop was directly below us in the City Center.  Greenmarket Square, an open-air daily craft market, strongly reminded us that we were in Africa.  The warren of walkways through the stalls created a sense of disorientation, while every vendor yelled out to us with exhortations of "half price!," "high quality!" and "two-for-one!"  It was a tad overwhelming.  After an hour or so, realizing that we were starting to see many of the 'unique' items over and over again, we found an exit from the maze and regrouped nearby over tea.  A block or two away, the indoor Pan-African Market was similarly overwhelming in scale, but much more low-key.  There, it was fun to get a sense of what people made without feeling pressured to purchase - a lot of wire and bead work, tin sculpture, animal carvings, and lots of carved wood masks.

It was the wire and bead work that seemed most appealing and unique.  We learned quickly that the masks are not indigenous to South Africa, and despite their appearance, finding a mask that was genuinely carved by people in their place of origin was fairly unlikely.  The advice we received was to find one that appeals to you and don't spend too much for it.

Eventually, we found places that were both unique and offered a place to directly benefit the people who made the artwork.  Directly down the hill from us in Bo Kaap, two places stood out.  The first, Monkeybiz, is a project to create employment and empowerment for disadvantaged women in the townships of Cape Town.  In addition, the shop helps support an on-site HIV/AIDS wellness clinic for women.  They offer beadwork training, HIV/AIDS counseling, yoga therapy, homeopathic treatment, and basic nutrition.  It is a very cool place, and a great place to support. 

The second was Streetwires, a project with a mission to channel creativity through wire art into sustainable employment.  The quality of the wire and bead art at Streetwires is spectacular. They have a gallery at their entrance with breathtakingly beautiful pieces of wire and bead art.  I wish there were photos of these pieces to share!  The wire/bead art form has a unique South African feel, and by going to places like Monkeybiz and Streetwires, we could also support local sustainability and empowerment. 

It didn't take much to look around and see how important it is to support projects like these in post-apartheid South Africa.  While Cape Town is clearly an affluent place, it is also surrounded by huge townships of corrugated tin shacks.  The clear disparity created a strong consciousness of the legacy of apartheid and the need for projects like Monkeybiz and Streetwires to help create a means for black South Africans to address poverty and unemployment. 

Once again, it involved being open to the underlying rhythm of Africa.  It would be easy to stay in a beautiful apartment and be in awe of Cape Town as a spectacular city with a clear European feel.  These facets of Cape Town are certainly part of the it's appeal.  Ultimately, it was richer to get a sense of the unique vibrancy of the city.  The beauty of it was that Cape Town seemed open to us too.

Zambia to Cape Town

Our stay in Zambia was brief, and on our last morning it was time to say farewell to Russell, our intrepid guide, as well as our two fellow travelers, Eddie and Brenda from the Isle of Man.  We were completing an incredible safari.  Russell, as I mentioned earlier, was preparing to retire from Wilderness Safaris and move to New York City.  He thought it likely that he would continue to lead groups in southern Africa through other organizations or on his own.  And he is doing just that.  I recently found that he is leading what sounds like a fabulous adventure in South Africa in August and September.  With Russell, it will be a terrific experience.

Leaving Zambia was a sort of organized chaos.  At Livingstone Airport, we first needed to figure out whether to pay a departure tax or whether it had been included in the cost of our ticket (the latter for us after some quandary).  We then went through security to enter a fairly small room with desks for airlines, where you queue up as best one can in the confined space.  The process of checking in took a very long time, including substantial time for finding/rebooking(?) our flight (we were very glad to have reservation printouts handy).  The room got even more crowded behind us.

In the same small room, you maneuver through people to then fill out exit forms and present them and your passport to a man at another desk in the corner before going through security again to get into the blessedly more spacious waiting room for flights.  Our flight time came.  And our flight time went, with no sighting of our Nationwide Airlines plane anywhere.  We reminded ourselves that we were on Africa time, and were glad we had built in a fairly large buffer of time in Johannesburg to catch our flight to Cape Town.

It is, it seems, part of the essence of Africa.  You can choose to be uptight when things run late or otherwise don't mesh with expectation, or you can choose to acknowledge that Africa has it's own rhythm.

Eventually the airplane came, we lined up, went through security again, and were told to wait outside under a tree until the flight was ready to board.  There were a few overturned attached rows of chairs that we could tip up if we wanted to take a seat.  This secondary outdoor waiting room was a unique benefit (although nobody lifted up the rows of chairs as it seemed everyone was more than ready to get going).  The photo of our plane is from the outdoor waiting room.

The flight finally boarded and about 1.5 hours later we were in Johannesburg.  The first order of business after customs in Johannesburg was to find the storage room where we had checked our luggage (as we carried only small duffel bags with us on safari).  That accomplished, we then had to figure out the very confusing route through crowds and construction (ubiquitous in airports, it seems) to get from the international terminal to the domestic terminal - a reminder to leave at least three hours for this process.

Mission accomplished, and we had ample time for our flight to Cape Town, which was, surprisingly enough, late.  ;)   The flight to Cape Town was a little longer than the flight from Livingstone, and by the time we were preparing to land it was getting dark.  As we were landing a woman asked if we were aware that a Nationwide Airlines flight had dropped an engine the day before during takeoff at Cape Town.  We then noticed the news splashed across the front pages of newspapers around us.  Impeccable timing.

With much relief, we landed safely, navigated the terminal and found our rental car just outside, quickly got the hang of shifting with the left hand and keeping left on the road, drove into Cape Town and directly to our apartment in Schotschekloof (say that five times fast) on Signal Hill overlooking downtown and out to Table Mountain. 

A new, and different, adventure awaited.

To Mosi-oa-Tunya (Victoria Falls)

Traveling along the road from the Zambian border to our lodge was fascinating.  We passed through a couple small villages of mud walled/thatched roofed huts.   We saw people walking along the side of the road, most often women, and often carrying improbably large loads of firewood or baskets of goods atop their heads.  Scenes of daily life, hanging out laundry. Children running and playing.  We passed a truck loaded with timber and a half dozen guys atop the logs waving to us as we passed.

Our next destination, Sussi and Chuma Lodge near Livingstone consisted of two large thatch-roofed villas and a group of 10 "treehouses" in which guests stayed among the ebony trees all along the Zambezi River.  Once again, we were the only guests.  The lodge is a good distance from anything else, it seemed, surrounded by Mosi-oa-Tunya National Park.  Mosi-oa-Tunya is the name of Victoria Falls in the Lozi language, meaning "the smoke which thunders."  We were eager to visit the falls, and Russell took us there after tea.

To get to the falls meant driving a few miles into and then through the city of Livingstone.  As we neared Livingstone, we came upon the cemetery.  It was a stark reminder of the impact of AIDS in the area, as it extended along the road for such a long way, and had a huge number of fresh graves.  Further along, we passed the high school, which had a mural painted on its wall with the reminder that "HIV and AIDS are real."  It was very difficult to see, knowing that so many of those deaths would have been preventable if the country had the resources to purchase protease inhibitors.  However, Zambia is one of the poorest countries on Earth.  In the US, drugs to suppress HIV can cost $20,000 per year, a sum over 20 times the per capita gross domestic product of Zambia.  Life expectancy in the country is 35.  It is not a pretty picture, as AIDS impacts individuals, families, communities and the economy.  Zambia has a large number of orphan street children as a result of the epidemic.

It was a sobering drive to the falls.

To get to the falls, we parked at the crafts market, which is fairly large and in which every vendor seems to be trying to get your attention simultaneously.  We came back after our walk to the falls, and found some wonderful wood carvings. 

Our first view of the falls is in the picture.  It was awesome, even though the Zambian side of the falls was mostly dry.  In the distance, the smoke that thunders is on the Zimbabwean side of the falls, where the rock is a little lower.  In the wet season, the cliff on the entire right side forms the biggest single curtain of falling water in the world, well over a mile long.  For more on Victoria Falls, click here.    Russell gave us a great lesson on the geology of the falls, which was so clearly visible.

Even with low water the falls were incredible.  As we stood directly opposite the face of the falls, just a couple hundred feet away on the other side of the gorge, Russell reminded us that in the wet season, the mist is so great that one often couldn't even see the falls from where we standing (and we would be getting drenched).  Apparently, in the last wet season, there were a number of cases of elephants being swept over the falls.  The water was particularly high, and the elephants had misjudged the force of the water upstream. 

We went back to the falls early the next morning.  This time, we were on a tour, which took us to a boat landing at the Royal Livingstone Hotel near the falls.  Our boat was taking us out to Livingstone Island, in the middle of the falls, for a closer view of the running falls.  Getting to the island is impossible except in low water season.  Our boat turned out to be a narrow outboard motor boat, and it occurred to me that I was about to trust this boat to take me near the top of the falls. 

As we got out on the river, it seemed relatively calm, and we tended to stay outside of the main channel.  That is, until we got close to the falls, and we drove directly into a set of rapids, with the edge of the falls in full view.  It was simultaneously really cool, and really scary.  Midway through the rapids I was holding my breath and praying that the motor would keep going.  It did, and we veered left over to a sandy bank on the island.  On the island we were asked if we wanted to go swimming.  I thought they were kidding and initially said yes, along with two women from England, and they went off in a different direction from where our little group was being taken.  I didn't join them.  They weren't kidding.

As we were walking along the edge of the cliff, looking down into the gorge with the falls right next to us, I thought... this would never happen in the US.  No railings, wet rock, and a 325 foot drop.  It was exhilarating and nerve-wracking.  Then we saw the women in the water at the edge of the falls.  Completely in the water, as a guide took their picture while they waved at the very brink, looking over the edge of the falls into the gorge.  It was stunning to imagine.  And there was a part of me that wished I knew they were serious (and had brought a swimsuit).

Afterward, the women who went swimming told us that a second guide was holding onto their ankles at the edge of the falls while the first took the photo.   Oh my...  there is apparently a natural rock pool at the edge (which we couldn't tell), but still...

Part of the group of Brits asked if they might take the first boat back because they needed to catch a flight.  They departed, and shortly thereafter we saw the two guides on the boat paddling feverishly to get the boat back to the bank.  The engine cut out.  That brought the anxiety level of getting back to terra firma a wee bit higher... passing through those rapids knowing that the engine had cut out.

The second boat arrived and off they went, while the guy running the first boat worked on the engine.  I kept thinking there was no way I was going to get on that boat, and would be happy to wait for the other one.  He got it started, looked up and saw the look on our faces, and probably thought it best to not even ask.  When my feet touched the dock back at the Royal Livingstone I was very glad to be there.  But!  What an amazing experience to have been able to be out there!

Click on the photo link in the left column for more pictures.

Escape From Botswana (?)

We knew we were getting close to the ferry crossing the Zambezi River from Botswana to Zambia well in advance.  Trucks were lined up for miles waiting for the ferry, and we were told it could take 2-3 days of waiting.  Onward we zipped along the highway in the oncoming lane around the long line of trucks.

Ferry.  To me the word conjures up a picture.  In this case, where I knew there would be vehicles on board, I pictured a multi-decked boat where cars and trucks drive onto the lower level, while people board and go to decks upstairs.  There are seats, and sometimes places to get something to eat or drink.  Like ferries I've taken on Lake Michigan, or Puget Sound, or to cross the Weser River north of Bremen, Germany.

As was often the case in Africa, my image of what would be and the reality of what is often collided.  As we neared the ferry landing, it became clear why there was such a long line of trucks.  The ferry is a flat steel boat with a single deck that can accommodate two trucks.  People stand in the available space between the trucks and around the edges.  The ramp onto the ferry is a steel gate that opens down onto the sandy bank (a reminder that the Zambezi has widely fluctuating dry and wet seasons, and thus river levels).

This was also not our ferry.  Our ferry was a small aluminum motor boat, also waiting for us on the bank.  This again made me smile.  It was probably much more efficient than trying to coordinate the process of getting onto the larger ferry, but again, it was not what I was expecting.   We all got a  chuckle out of the disparity between our expectations and reality.

While we all filled out our forms to exit Botswana in a small office (they were the same as the entrance forms with word 'entrance' crossed out and 'exit' written in) there was also a little time to take in the scene outside.  People saying goodbye to others, a queue to get onto the ferry, and women wearing strikingly colorful clothing with bold patterns.  The scene had a routine feel about it.

We got ourselves and our little duffle bags on our small motorboat and set out onto the river.  We joked that we were pulling off our 'escape from Botswana.'  On pulling up to the sandy bank on the Zambian side, we knew immediately we were in a very different place.  Chaos seemed the rule!  Trucks parked everywhere, and people, mostly male truckers, hanging out, seeming to have been there awhile.  It had also been raining, and we hopped across patches of mud and puddles with our belongings.  As we navigated the trucks and men and mud to get to the passport control office, we heard one of the men call out:  "White people!  We like white people in Zambia!" to much laughter all around.  I looked back, smiled, laughed and waved, but having been plunked into this fairly daunting milieu, it seemed prudent to just keep walking as expeditiously as possible to the office.

To get into Zambia, we needed to be on a list of people expected to be crossing that day, which noted where we would be staying.  Given the feel of the place, this seemed like a lot of coordination to expect. Our fellow passengers, Eddie and Brenda, who had been through this before, noted that the last time they were not on the list and it took hours to straighten out.  It was with some trepidation that I surrendered my passport to the gentleman behind the window, who barely looked up and reached just far enough to get ahold of my passport if I reached well under the window.  He flipped through pages of paper and had a difficult time finding my name until I saw it fly past and pointed it out to him with considerable relief. Stamped form, stamped paper, stamped passport, stamp... stamp... and I was on my way.

As each member our little group went through this process, it gave time to stand outside and watch the still-chaotic-on-second-glance comings and goings.  Especially, we noted that everyone who came off the ferry walked right past the passport control office.  Curious.  Amusing.  I also noted something else that was at the heart of my anxiety while navigating the gauntlet of truckers.  It was being white in a completely black and very foreign environment - the sense of standing out, being so visibly different, of potentially being a target.   Being a little unsure about whether the trucker calling out to us was a completely friendly gesture.  In this chaotic environment, so different from the one we had left in Botswana, it didn't seem comfortably clear.  I wasn't fearful, but I was anxious.  There may be a thin gray area between the two, and I suspect the tipping point one way or the other is small.  I gained a much clearer experiential understanding of what it is like to be black in an all-white environment. 

We all finished up at the passport office, and loaded onto our strikingly contrasting sparkling clean van for the drive to our lodge near Victoria Falls.  As we drove away from the Kazungula border crossing, we passed miles of trucks heading the other direction, waiting for a ferry into Botswana.   Amongst the trucks a billboard stood out:  A picture of a man in a suit with a briefcase, with bold type declaring, "Do Things the Right Way Not the Corrupt Way."  It was a quite an introduction to the country.

Pula! Linyanti to Kasane

We woke to rain the last morning in Linyanti.  The storm clouds we saw off in the distance at Chobe came through with much-needed rain.  This was to be a big day: Driving the 1.5 hours from camp back to the airstrip, flying to Kasane, the northernmost city in Botswana, boating on the Chobe River, followed by crossing the Zambezi River into Zambia, driving to our lodge near Livingstone, and visiting Victoria Falls. 

After breakfast, including our morning rooibos (red bush) tea, the tea we had throughout the trip, we said our farewells to the staff at Linyanti Camp and bundled ourselves on the Land Rover.  It was a bittersweet moment.  I think we all had a wonderful time at Linyanti, enjoyed the staff tremendously, and the safari was rapidly coming to an end.  At the same time, we looked forward to adventures yet ahead.  This was also our last morning of waking up to Russell's cheery South African-accented "Morning Guys, Morning Morning!"

We bundled ourselves on the Land Rover quite literally, with warm ponchos as the rain was falling fairly hard, and the open-sided Rover offered little protection as we moved in pairs as far toward the center of the seats (and away from pools of water on the seats) as we could.  It was amazing to see how quickly the landscape was changing in the rain.  The mopane trees were rapidly leafing out and everything was greener, making the animals substantially more difficult to spot.

About 30 minutes out, a bull elephant was standing in the middle of the track, clearly with no intention of moving any time soon.  He challenged the Rover, ears flapping and trunk held high, making a mock charge forward.  He was about 30 feet in front of us.  He stood there looking at us after his statement, and Russell chuckled and said he was now confused.  Normally, that would be enough to make another elephant or animal turn in the other direction and we just sat there.  It was a standoff.  Russell moved the Rover forward and back a few feet in answer.  The elephant responded.  Russell responded.  And the elephant stood and watched us for awhile, still confused by us, until he finally elected to move on.  We waited for him to disappear into the forest before continuing down the track.

Near the Kings Pool airstrip, out in the middle of a field, we came across a hyena sitting in the rain a few feet off the track.  We stopped and watched him and he watched us without a flinch.  He was like our farewell party, and wound up running beside us as we drove the length of the airstrip to our waiting plane.

They were just untethering the Cessna when we arrived, and needed to put it through it's paces before we could board - checking the mechanicals.  Among the funny things about leaving an airplane out on a bush airstrip was the need to put foam covers on the tires.  Hyenas will eat just about anything, including airplane tires.  Russell told us about how one needed to take care out in the bush when sleeping in the open at night.  Hyenas could mistake a sleeping person as dead and nibble on a foot.

We took off in the rain, and got a last look at Linyanti Camp from up above.  It is a pretty small speck out there in the wilderness, the Linyanti River looking like more of a grassy wetland than watercourse from above.   About 40 minutes later we landed at Kasane International Airport after flying over the vast expanse of Chobe National Park.  The landing was on asphalt, which was a novelly smooth experience after a couple weeks of clay airstrips.

Driving through Kasane, stopping at a shopping center along the way, was our first real visual of daily life in Botswana.  Women selling used clothing at the side of the parking lot (fabulous color!), the comings and goings at the Pik-N-Pay grocery store, a glimpse of daily life.  The visuals were of a relatively affluent city. 

Our next adventure was to take a small aluminum boat out onto the Chobe River near Kasane.  The Chobe and Linyanti are the same river.  Further upstream from Linyanti it is called the Kwando (or Cuando) until it is diverted abruptly by the rift zone into the Linyanti Swamp and river, with most of the water disappearing into the Kalahari sand.  The lower part of the Linyanti, the Chobe is very broad, largely from backwash from the nearby Zambezi, with low grassy islands also covered with water during the flood season.  Chobe National Park meets the river and Kasane, and the river is filled with hippos and crocodiles.  There was also great viewing of buffalo and antelope on the islands and river banks.  It was exciting to see some many crocodiles and pods of hippo from out little boat.   

You can click on this map to enlarge it to get an idea of where we are, if you would like.  Kasane is just to the left of #9, before the Chobe runs into the Zambezi.  The Kwando runs down from Angola (1)through the Caprivi Strip of Namibia (2), hitting the Linyanti Swamp (3-4), and then abruptly turning left at the rift to form the Linyanti River (6), running through dry Lake Liambezi (7) and then becoming the Chobe River (8).  The confluence of the Chobe and Zambezi at Kazungula (9, and our border crossing into Zambia) is also where Namibia, Botswana, Zambia, and Zimbabwe (unlabeled small triangle lower right corner) all meet.  The Zambezi and Caprivi Swamps (10) are flooded in this photo.  Also on the map, #5 is the Okavango River and Delta.  Hopefully not too didactic an exercise.  Sometimes it helps to get the lay of the land.  I am also a confessed map-aholic, so I find it thrilling. ;)

Our boatride on the Chobe was our last wildlife-specific experience on the safari.  Next came our crossing the Zambezi River to see Victoria Falls in Zambia.