Today, I'm feeling very lucky to be in South Africa. How many internationals have the opportunity to witness the changing of a still-young democratic government, by such radical but relatively safe means? The most political unrest in the country since 1994, and I am here to witness it (safely).
Just in case you've missed the news: last Saturday the ANC (South Africa's ruling political party since the collapse of apartheid) asked Thabo Mbeki, former ANC president and current South African president, to leave office before his term finishes in April 2009, because of questions about his involvement in the corruption trials of Jacob Zuma, the current ANC president (and the man who will most likely become South Africa's next president). Mbeki assented fairly quietly and will be stepping down officially tomorrow (Thursday). In the last two days, 10 other government ministers (most of Mbeki's cabinet) as well as the deputy president have also resigned, also official as of tomorrow. This puts South Africa in a potentially perilous position: suddenly, the country which is only 14 years and two presidents out of such a crippling system as apartheid is faced with having no president and, even worse, no governmental officials. Just saying the words sounds terrifically scary: I'm living in a country with no president and no government.
But the hopeful thing is this: the economy built up by Mandela and Mbeki together over the last 14 years, the stability of the democracy for which South Africans fought side by side for so many years, is proving itself strong enough to handle the supposed blows of such a radical governmental change-over--even in the wake of such recent violence as the xenophobic attacks last spring, even in the face of what some here call "Afro-pessimism"--the idea that Africa is doomed to always be a more violent, dangerous, third world continent--even in the face of a multitude of government officials being charged with various corruption scandals (even the hint of which would not be tolerated in America, as has been seen again and again), even with the highest crime rates, rape rates, and percentage of AIDS victims in Africa (and the world?). ANC deputy president Kgalema Motlanthe will be sworn in Thursday as temporary president until the elections in April 2009.
And I get to live here while history is being made.
The amazing thing about South Africa is its ability to hope and its capacity for inspiring hope in other people. Yesterday afternoon I had the privilege of hearing Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu speak in Stellenbosch's Faculty of Theology (I'm still on a high...). His message focused on the youth of South Africa, and how they--and older South Africans, as well--need to focus on the progress that has already been made; they need to look at the leaps and bounds they've already made as a people since apartheid. He spoke of youth as being gifted with idealism and hope--a gift, he said, that had to have come from God. "God gave young people the gift of idealism. He says to you, dream. For when you dream, you are dreaming my dream". Tutu is an amazing and wise old man. Adorable, too. He randomly bursts into giggles, and he made his audience laugh for several minutes at a time so he could hardly speak. And the best part: AIFS has arranged for us to go and hear him say an Anglican church service in Cape Town Friday morning, a far more intimate meeting than yesterday's press-and-other-famous-folks-attended ceremony. I don't really do the celebrity obsession thing, and I don't particularly care for the word "hero", but I greatly admire Tutu and the incredible wisdom with which he's worked and helped South Africa grow in the last 50 years, both spiritually and as a whole people.
I am so lucky to be here right now. :-)
CNN's take on the political situation:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/africa/09/21/south.africa.mbeki.resigns/index.html
http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/africa/09/23/south.africa.resignations/index.html
My favorite Tutu quote from yesterday, which is slightly unrelated to the above: he was describing the political struggle of apartheid and how emotionally and spiritually devastating that was for some people. We never doubted that God was in charge, he said. "We knew He was in control. But when things got tense, sometimes I wanted to whisper in His ear (mimes reaching up and pulling God's ear down towards him) 'God, we know you're in charge. Please...could you just make it *slightly* more obvious?'".
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Long, long, long: Spring Break in September OR the Garden Route (with no Gardens)
It’s difficult to write well about intensity of emotion. In one of my English elective classes last week we read a poem by a woman (Ingrid de Kok) who worked as a transcriber for the Truth and Reconciliation Commission after the collapse of the apartheid government and the installation of democracy. Her job was to listen to the recorded confessions and stories of victims and oppressors alike who spoke before the Commission and transcribe their narratives into a written format still available for reading today. One of the main points of her poem (which is beautiful, though I won’t take the space to include it here) is that much of what was expressed in those interviews was completely incomprehensible when constrained to written language. It was simply beyond words, and the author struggled with the writing of it: “But how to transcribe silence from tape? Is weeping a pause or a word?” Even silence can mean a thousand un-transcribable things. In another realm, Mystics throughout the centuries have struggled trying to explain experience with the divine to those who have not had that experience; the language simply isn’t there. Some do the best they can; others make up new vocabularies to suit their intentions. But they almost all struggle with it.
On a MUCH less drastic level, this is kind of how I feel about this country.
It’s been a week now since I returned from “spring break” on the Garden Route, and I still don’t know what to write to you all at home, sitting in Washington or Minnesota or wherever, already tired of election advertisements and campaign speeches and polls, celebrating the last warmth of summer as the leaves start to turn (maybe soon, maybe not, depending on where you are…). I had plenty of experiences of which to tell, I just don’t have words for them. I’ll do my best, but I may be a bit scattered. My apologies in advance, then….
Day 1: Ostrich Riding
We drove out under the auspicious eye of the constellation Orion—my favorite constellation and one that I have not seen in a long time since at this time of year in SA the only opportunity to see it is after 4 am but before the sun comes up. Anyone who knows anything about me at all knows I am very rarely up at these hours; hence, I have not seen Orion for at least 2 months, and was very grateful to stare sleepily up at his bright-burning belt as we drove out of Stellenbosch at 5:30 am on Saturday the 6th of September.
Luckily our drivers were not as sleepy as the rest of us were; my van passed out pretty quickly and slept most of the long car ride there while our poor driver had to keep himself awake the whole morning. We stopped once for gas, and to my astonishment I stepped out of the car to find I recognized the countryside we had paused in. On my first trip to SA we had stopped just up the road for lunch on a sunny January day on our way, I believe, to an organic olive farm in the Klein Karoo. Perhaps we stopped after the farm; I don’t really remember clearly. As astonished as I was then, this random déjà vu continued throughout the week: we’d be driving through beautiful hills and low scrub-lands, start to climb a hill, turn a corner, and suddenly I heard Barbara Temple-Thurston’s voice in my head telling me that whoever saw the Indian Ocean first would get R5 (Barbara was the professor who led my first trip here, and a native of SA). Soon a sign for George would appear, and I remembered clearly making this drive the first time. The most surprising of all these remembrances was near the end of our trip; we were driving along through the town of Knysna for the second time, on our way to the Buffalo Bay Backpackers where we would be staying for two nights, and I looked over to see a market along the side of the highway that looked strangely familiar. As I stared I realized that this is the market where I’d purchased many presents for friends and family on my first trip; my most memorable market experience had occurred here (wherein I got trapped in a young man’s tent and given an address, a phone number, a name and an insistence that I write him when I went home, as well as a 6-7 in. carved baboon I promptly named Eric and which now belongs to one Kaitlin Hansen). It was with great excitement that I fit together the puzzle pieces of my previous journey. I didn’t realize how little I actually knew of where I was or what I was doing until I saw it this second time, as someone who can call South Africa ‘home’, even if just for now.
On to the less theoretical and more practically exciting aspects of my week (as Americans we all love the practical, or so I’ve learned). That first day we split into two groups and visited an ostrich farm and the Cango caves, a network of huge, very old caves stretching into the hills for hundreds of km. The caves were beautiful, but on the whole much less exciting than the ostriches. We have caves in America that look quite similar. Walking through them, I was reminded of two things: the Eye-Witness Gems and Stones book my brother used to own (so, consequently, I walked through the caves thinking about Stefan) and the time my dad dragged us to some similar caves in (I think) Iowa and all I remember is when we reached the bottom of the tour/caves the tour guide turned off the lights and it was so very, very black and it kind of scared me. Random thoughts. Anyway, *ostriches*.
I felt bad for our guide at the Ostrich Farm. He was very boisterous, but he had to be to talk over the simple ENERGY of our group. I swear most of them are so American they can’t even SIT quietly. They’re good people, but loud. Anyway, there were 30 of us and four other poor tourists in our group, who took being with us relatively well. We were given some background info on the farm and on ostriches themselves and then taken to see some of the animals. Ostriches, by the way, are incredibly stupid, quite ugly, and amazingly fierce. Males are black, females are brown. Some members of our group got to ride a few of the birds and feed some as well. As a whole, it was a smelly stop—they feed the birds extra calcium so that they’ll produce more/stronger eggs so the farm can in turn sell the eggs. One ostrich egg is the equivalent of 20 chicken eggs, and can withstand fantastic pressure. Pretty interesting stuff.
Day 2: Cats and Monkeys and Keurboom
Day 2 was fairly chill, but also exciting. The morning was spent (for me) relaxing and journaling at a local beach, once just sand but because of crazy weather the last few weeks now covered in huge rocks. Much of the Garden Route is along the coast (at least what we traveled) and much of the coast has been completely ravaged by the worst storms in a decade. But more on that in day 3…
In the afternoon we again split into two groups and one toured Monkeyland while the other went to our first surprise for the week: Tenikwa. Monkeyland is a corner of the Tsitsikamma National Forest, caged off as a monkey sanctuary. Hundreds of monkeys—either born in captivity, captured, injured or for some other reason unable to live in the wild—live in the jungle-forest of ML. We walked through the forest with a guide and just looked at monkeys swinging by on trees, feeding from stations periodically placed and even heard them arguing with one another. I helped a giant tortoise with a cracked shell climb over the edge of a feeding box so he could eat (unfortunately, I have no pictures of me with the tortoise). A couple girls had their sunglasses stolen from on top of their heads by passing monkeys. A little yellow one tried to climb my leg. I saw a ring-tailed lemur feeding her tiny baby, and was within 6 inches of another of the same family. All in all, pretty exciting.
Tenikwa, like Monkeyland, is also a sanctuary for normally wild African animals. But there are no monkeys here, there are….CATS. And as most people know, Africa has some wicked cool (big, dangerous) cats. Unfortunately, there were no lions at Tenikwa. But there were cheetahs and assorted other cats in the cheetah family, and there were most definitely cheetah cubs. The most exciting part was the petting of said cubs. They’re so adorable and playful you just want to pick them up and bring them home with you. Until you remember that they could probably eat you if they wanted. Even as 5-month-old cubs, they were bigger than most small dogs. Pictures to follow, hopefully.
Day 3: The Not-Bungee and Equally Dangerous Hike
Monday, day three, was a big day for many of my fellow Americans. This was the day of the bungee jump off Bloukrans Bridge; at 216 meters (approx. 709 feet), this is the Guinness Book of World Records certified highest bungee jump in the world. Apparently our group set a new record at Bloukrans for the number of people to jump in one day—40 something (I don’t know the exact number). Rather than spending $90 to jump off a bridge (I guess the classic maternal exclamation “if everyone else jumped off a bridge would you do it too?” can be safely negated with confidence, as I’ve twice had the opportunity to jump off this bridge with peers and have not) I chose to go on what turned out to be an equally life-threatening 6.4 km (3.9 miles) hike along the coast in the Tsitsikamma National Park. A hike sounds safe enough, by itself, but introduce certain factors and immediately you may have a problem. Several of these came into play for my little group of five, including but not limited to big, slimy rocks, washed out trails, rain, missing (necessary) bridges, and a guide who believed we were fine by ourselves and was consistently ¼-½ a mile ahead of us. Our first warning was the bright orange construction netting over the trail entrance, which Mike (our guide and current AIFS director here in Stellenbosch) promptly leapt over with the words, “We’ll turn back if it’s too dodgy”. No, I take it back. Our first warning was driving along the coast to the trail-head and marveling at the destruction from the storms the last few weeks. Holiday homes and campsites were completely demolished, foundations shifted, bricks dislodged, plants and trees uprooted and once-sandy beaches covered in rocks. We should have made the connection between “hike along the coast” and the coastal destruction we were witnessing. The construction netting and bright red stop sign would have then been an obvious sign that, indeed, the trail was perhaps not the safest for hiking at present. But rather than go back to Bloukrans and watch our comrades have the adrenaline rush of a lifetime, we hopped the fence and ignored the warning signs.
I tend to overdramaticize, just a tad. It was a beautiful hike, in all, and though not easy it was great fun. The end-point was a waterfall that flows into the ocean, a sight that I hadn’t ever seen (hadn’t even thought about ever seeing—the Pacific I know is accompanied by open beaches or development where no waterfall could possibly form). The trail we hiked, however, was rated difficult even in good condition, because of the rough terrain—a majority of the hike was over those giant boulder-type slippery rocks you encounter only at the beach, and which you never know if they are actually slippery or just look like they may be covered in wet algae, a discernment made more difficult with the addition of misty rain. The “easy” part of the trail, through a beautiful and mysterious-feeling jungle, was as ravaged as the rest of the coast we had seen. Parts of the hillside upon which the trail sat had simply collapsed into itself, slid into the ocean, or been uprooted into piles of ancient aloe and tree roots. Bridges cemented into the rocks were just…gone. One was still there, but sideways and shoved by the waves under an overhanging boulder several feet from where it should have been (and consequently completely useless to us). When, on the way back to the car, it began to rain and Mike left us to fend for ourselves (I honestly don’t know what he was thinking; I was fine but the others were NOT experienced hikers and were struggling quite a bit) it made the day all the more complete in absurdity. I mostly felt bad for the kids who had to bungee in the rain, however. I can’t imagine hanging upside down 216 meters off a bridge, tied by the ankles to a cord that could just possibly become slippery in the rain and fog. Luckily, no one got hurt. And as we were reminded several times, Bloukrans has a 100% safety record.
Days 4 & 5: Jeffrey’s Bay and Elephants
Tuesday was a free day for doing one or two of 4-5 different activities planned by the backpackers at which we were staying in Jeffrey’s Bay, which has some of the best surfing in the world. We could choose between surfing, sandboarding, a township tour, shopping, chilling, or horseback riding. I, having always wanted to ride a horse (that 10 minute pony ride at the zoo when I was 6 does NOT count) and having ridiculously romantic ideas about even the *concept* of horseback riding, naturally chose that. Everything is an adventure with me; I swear I’m not allowed to simply have a normal time with anything. While the afternoon group who went riding (the same trail and guides and horses as my morning group) came back glowing and talking about how magical and perfect it was, my group came straggling back a half hour late, beat up, bruised and wanting nothing more than to shower and snuggle in bed for the rest of the day.
(I really did love riding the horse. Not even my hips aching two days later could take away the slightly magical concept of riding a horse. I’m not entirely sure where this overly romantic notion came from, but I have an inkling it was all those books I read as a child. The desire to ride horses has been hidden deeply, alongside a desire to have been born in colonial America and live in a hollowed-out tree in the mountains by myself (My Side of the Mountain, anyone?). Riding horses is obviously the most practical of these desires. And yet it took me 21 years to get there.)
Just a rundown, since this is getting long: the horses were barely broken and mostly untrained. Since I spoke up about never having ridden before, I was given one of the lazy horses named Lady. Lady, I learned, had to be at the very back of the line because otherwise she would kick any horse behind her. Luckily, this impulse didn’t act up until the very end, but by then I was so ready to be done with the over-2-hour ride that it only irritated me more. Two girls fell off while their horses were galloping because the horses wouldn’t stop. The trail was half dunes and half beach (which was gorgeous) and most of the horses started galloping as soon as they got on flat sand. My horse, however, decided this was the time for a leisurely walk. No matter how hard I kicked or coaxed she would not go any faster. One of the girls who fell off walked half the trail home; I arrived only five minutes before she did, still on my horse.
Many people had similar experiences with their activities that day, I guess. My roommate had a hard time with both sandboarding and surfing, and considered the day a dud in general. I heard similar stories from other friends. The evening was spent hanging out at a backpacking place along the beach—the coolest backpackers I’ve been to by far, though not quite the most gorgeous location.
The next morning we woke early (6 am) and drove to Addo Elephant Park, a long drive followed by a cold, windy safari inside the park. We saw lots of elephants, a few Kudu and other antelope-type animals, and a warthog. No black Rhinos, unfortunately, or lions. But the elephants were almost close enough to the vehicles to touch, and there was a week-old baby with one tribe, which was fantastic to see. We drove from Addo to Buffalo Bay (several long hours) and were entertained that evening by a live Rasta band called the Reggae Ambassadors hired specifically to play a concert for us in the backpackers. I wish I could post video clips for you to hear, but alas, I cannot.
Last Day: Ahoy, Rastafari!
Our last day was spent in Knysna, half shopping and half touring a Rastafarian community called Judah Square in the middle of a township—the community from which the band of the previous evening had come. Our tour guide was one of the more interesting characters I’ve met so far in South Africa, though not the most educational as to the Rasta beliefs and way of life. His hair was one gigantic dread hanging all the way down his back, nearly to his knees. There were even little Rasta chil’uns! For the sake of time, I won’t go into what I did learn of the Rastafarian religion and community, but feel free to leave me a comment and I’ll send you a message with more info. In fact, if there’s anything in this blog you want to hear more about feel free to ask. I’m trying to keep it short but I tend to be wordy anyhow….
That evening we were treated to an amazing dinner on the Knysna waterfront (which was another of those “oh! I’ve been here!” moments) and awoke the next day to make the long 5ish hour drive home to Stellenbosch.
Immediately upon my return I set to reading a book I needed to do a presentation about on Wednesday (darn, back to procrastinating), which I succeeded in doing and quite well, in fact. My professor was impressed by my “American”-style presentation (which apparently means not just reading my presentation notes but actually “engaging” with my topic). I also was given back the English paper I turned in just before break on Snow White (for a different class), and was very pleased with my mark (as was my professor, who made me and another student read our papers out loud for the class). So I’m feeling affirmed and productive this week, which is nice. The last few days of break I spent with a bad throat-cold I feared might be tonsillitis, as several other students in my group have had it (one had his tonsils removed yesterday). This cold, however, has dissipated since with tea and sleep and a lack of sugar. Good deal.
Sorry about the length—there was too much to say! I trust all is well back home, and my love goes out to each and every one of you.
Cheers!
(and check out the new pics to the right...)
On a MUCH less drastic level, this is kind of how I feel about this country.
It’s been a week now since I returned from “spring break” on the Garden Route, and I still don’t know what to write to you all at home, sitting in Washington or Minnesota or wherever, already tired of election advertisements and campaign speeches and polls, celebrating the last warmth of summer as the leaves start to turn (maybe soon, maybe not, depending on where you are…). I had plenty of experiences of which to tell, I just don’t have words for them. I’ll do my best, but I may be a bit scattered. My apologies in advance, then….
Day 1: Ostrich Riding
We drove out under the auspicious eye of the constellation Orion—my favorite constellation and one that I have not seen in a long time since at this time of year in SA the only opportunity to see it is after 4 am but before the sun comes up. Anyone who knows anything about me at all knows I am very rarely up at these hours; hence, I have not seen Orion for at least 2 months, and was very grateful to stare sleepily up at his bright-burning belt as we drove out of Stellenbosch at 5:30 am on Saturday the 6th of September.
Luckily our drivers were not as sleepy as the rest of us were; my van passed out pretty quickly and slept most of the long car ride there while our poor driver had to keep himself awake the whole morning. We stopped once for gas, and to my astonishment I stepped out of the car to find I recognized the countryside we had paused in. On my first trip to SA we had stopped just up the road for lunch on a sunny January day on our way, I believe, to an organic olive farm in the Klein Karoo. Perhaps we stopped after the farm; I don’t really remember clearly. As astonished as I was then, this random déjà vu continued throughout the week: we’d be driving through beautiful hills and low scrub-lands, start to climb a hill, turn a corner, and suddenly I heard Barbara Temple-Thurston’s voice in my head telling me that whoever saw the Indian Ocean first would get R5 (Barbara was the professor who led my first trip here, and a native of SA). Soon a sign for George would appear, and I remembered clearly making this drive the first time. The most surprising of all these remembrances was near the end of our trip; we were driving along through the town of Knysna for the second time, on our way to the Buffalo Bay Backpackers where we would be staying for two nights, and I looked over to see a market along the side of the highway that looked strangely familiar. As I stared I realized that this is the market where I’d purchased many presents for friends and family on my first trip; my most memorable market experience had occurred here (wherein I got trapped in a young man’s tent and given an address, a phone number, a name and an insistence that I write him when I went home, as well as a 6-7 in. carved baboon I promptly named Eric and which now belongs to one Kaitlin Hansen). It was with great excitement that I fit together the puzzle pieces of my previous journey. I didn’t realize how little I actually knew of where I was or what I was doing until I saw it this second time, as someone who can call South Africa ‘home’, even if just for now.
On to the less theoretical and more practically exciting aspects of my week (as Americans we all love the practical, or so I’ve learned). That first day we split into two groups and visited an ostrich farm and the Cango caves, a network of huge, very old caves stretching into the hills for hundreds of km. The caves were beautiful, but on the whole much less exciting than the ostriches. We have caves in America that look quite similar. Walking through them, I was reminded of two things: the Eye-Witness Gems and Stones book my brother used to own (so, consequently, I walked through the caves thinking about Stefan) and the time my dad dragged us to some similar caves in (I think) Iowa and all I remember is when we reached the bottom of the tour/caves the tour guide turned off the lights and it was so very, very black and it kind of scared me. Random thoughts. Anyway, *ostriches*.
I felt bad for our guide at the Ostrich Farm. He was very boisterous, but he had to be to talk over the simple ENERGY of our group. I swear most of them are so American they can’t even SIT quietly. They’re good people, but loud. Anyway, there were 30 of us and four other poor tourists in our group, who took being with us relatively well. We were given some background info on the farm and on ostriches themselves and then taken to see some of the animals. Ostriches, by the way, are incredibly stupid, quite ugly, and amazingly fierce. Males are black, females are brown. Some members of our group got to ride a few of the birds and feed some as well. As a whole, it was a smelly stop—they feed the birds extra calcium so that they’ll produce more/stronger eggs so the farm can in turn sell the eggs. One ostrich egg is the equivalent of 20 chicken eggs, and can withstand fantastic pressure. Pretty interesting stuff.
Day 2: Cats and Monkeys and Keurboom
Day 2 was fairly chill, but also exciting. The morning was spent (for me) relaxing and journaling at a local beach, once just sand but because of crazy weather the last few weeks now covered in huge rocks. Much of the Garden Route is along the coast (at least what we traveled) and much of the coast has been completely ravaged by the worst storms in a decade. But more on that in day 3…
In the afternoon we again split into two groups and one toured Monkeyland while the other went to our first surprise for the week: Tenikwa. Monkeyland is a corner of the Tsitsikamma National Forest, caged off as a monkey sanctuary. Hundreds of monkeys—either born in captivity, captured, injured or for some other reason unable to live in the wild—live in the jungle-forest of ML. We walked through the forest with a guide and just looked at monkeys swinging by on trees, feeding from stations periodically placed and even heard them arguing with one another. I helped a giant tortoise with a cracked shell climb over the edge of a feeding box so he could eat (unfortunately, I have no pictures of me with the tortoise). A couple girls had their sunglasses stolen from on top of their heads by passing monkeys. A little yellow one tried to climb my leg. I saw a ring-tailed lemur feeding her tiny baby, and was within 6 inches of another of the same family. All in all, pretty exciting.
Tenikwa, like Monkeyland, is also a sanctuary for normally wild African animals. But there are no monkeys here, there are….CATS. And as most people know, Africa has some wicked cool (big, dangerous) cats. Unfortunately, there were no lions at Tenikwa. But there were cheetahs and assorted other cats in the cheetah family, and there were most definitely cheetah cubs. The most exciting part was the petting of said cubs. They’re so adorable and playful you just want to pick them up and bring them home with you. Until you remember that they could probably eat you if they wanted. Even as 5-month-old cubs, they were bigger than most small dogs. Pictures to follow, hopefully.
Day 3: The Not-Bungee and Equally Dangerous Hike
Monday, day three, was a big day for many of my fellow Americans. This was the day of the bungee jump off Bloukrans Bridge; at 216 meters (approx. 709 feet), this is the Guinness Book of World Records certified highest bungee jump in the world. Apparently our group set a new record at Bloukrans for the number of people to jump in one day—40 something (I don’t know the exact number). Rather than spending $90 to jump off a bridge (I guess the classic maternal exclamation “if everyone else jumped off a bridge would you do it too?” can be safely negated with confidence, as I’ve twice had the opportunity to jump off this bridge with peers and have not) I chose to go on what turned out to be an equally life-threatening 6.4 km (3.9 miles) hike along the coast in the Tsitsikamma National Park. A hike sounds safe enough, by itself, but introduce certain factors and immediately you may have a problem. Several of these came into play for my little group of five, including but not limited to big, slimy rocks, washed out trails, rain, missing (necessary) bridges, and a guide who believed we were fine by ourselves and was consistently ¼-½ a mile ahead of us. Our first warning was the bright orange construction netting over the trail entrance, which Mike (our guide and current AIFS director here in Stellenbosch) promptly leapt over with the words, “We’ll turn back if it’s too dodgy”. No, I take it back. Our first warning was driving along the coast to the trail-head and marveling at the destruction from the storms the last few weeks. Holiday homes and campsites were completely demolished, foundations shifted, bricks dislodged, plants and trees uprooted and once-sandy beaches covered in rocks. We should have made the connection between “hike along the coast” and the coastal destruction we were witnessing. The construction netting and bright red stop sign would have then been an obvious sign that, indeed, the trail was perhaps not the safest for hiking at present. But rather than go back to Bloukrans and watch our comrades have the adrenaline rush of a lifetime, we hopped the fence and ignored the warning signs.
I tend to overdramaticize, just a tad. It was a beautiful hike, in all, and though not easy it was great fun. The end-point was a waterfall that flows into the ocean, a sight that I hadn’t ever seen (hadn’t even thought about ever seeing—the Pacific I know is accompanied by open beaches or development where no waterfall could possibly form). The trail we hiked, however, was rated difficult even in good condition, because of the rough terrain—a majority of the hike was over those giant boulder-type slippery rocks you encounter only at the beach, and which you never know if they are actually slippery or just look like they may be covered in wet algae, a discernment made more difficult with the addition of misty rain. The “easy” part of the trail, through a beautiful and mysterious-feeling jungle, was as ravaged as the rest of the coast we had seen. Parts of the hillside upon which the trail sat had simply collapsed into itself, slid into the ocean, or been uprooted into piles of ancient aloe and tree roots. Bridges cemented into the rocks were just…gone. One was still there, but sideways and shoved by the waves under an overhanging boulder several feet from where it should have been (and consequently completely useless to us). When, on the way back to the car, it began to rain and Mike left us to fend for ourselves (I honestly don’t know what he was thinking; I was fine but the others were NOT experienced hikers and were struggling quite a bit) it made the day all the more complete in absurdity. I mostly felt bad for the kids who had to bungee in the rain, however. I can’t imagine hanging upside down 216 meters off a bridge, tied by the ankles to a cord that could just possibly become slippery in the rain and fog. Luckily, no one got hurt. And as we were reminded several times, Bloukrans has a 100% safety record.
Days 4 & 5: Jeffrey’s Bay and Elephants
Tuesday was a free day for doing one or two of 4-5 different activities planned by the backpackers at which we were staying in Jeffrey’s Bay, which has some of the best surfing in the world. We could choose between surfing, sandboarding, a township tour, shopping, chilling, or horseback riding. I, having always wanted to ride a horse (that 10 minute pony ride at the zoo when I was 6 does NOT count) and having ridiculously romantic ideas about even the *concept* of horseback riding, naturally chose that. Everything is an adventure with me; I swear I’m not allowed to simply have a normal time with anything. While the afternoon group who went riding (the same trail and guides and horses as my morning group) came back glowing and talking about how magical and perfect it was, my group came straggling back a half hour late, beat up, bruised and wanting nothing more than to shower and snuggle in bed for the rest of the day.
(I really did love riding the horse. Not even my hips aching two days later could take away the slightly magical concept of riding a horse. I’m not entirely sure where this overly romantic notion came from, but I have an inkling it was all those books I read as a child. The desire to ride horses has been hidden deeply, alongside a desire to have been born in colonial America and live in a hollowed-out tree in the mountains by myself (My Side of the Mountain, anyone?). Riding horses is obviously the most practical of these desires. And yet it took me 21 years to get there.)
Just a rundown, since this is getting long: the horses were barely broken and mostly untrained. Since I spoke up about never having ridden before, I was given one of the lazy horses named Lady. Lady, I learned, had to be at the very back of the line because otherwise she would kick any horse behind her. Luckily, this impulse didn’t act up until the very end, but by then I was so ready to be done with the over-2-hour ride that it only irritated me more. Two girls fell off while their horses were galloping because the horses wouldn’t stop. The trail was half dunes and half beach (which was gorgeous) and most of the horses started galloping as soon as they got on flat sand. My horse, however, decided this was the time for a leisurely walk. No matter how hard I kicked or coaxed she would not go any faster. One of the girls who fell off walked half the trail home; I arrived only five minutes before she did, still on my horse.
Many people had similar experiences with their activities that day, I guess. My roommate had a hard time with both sandboarding and surfing, and considered the day a dud in general. I heard similar stories from other friends. The evening was spent hanging out at a backpacking place along the beach—the coolest backpackers I’ve been to by far, though not quite the most gorgeous location.
The next morning we woke early (6 am) and drove to Addo Elephant Park, a long drive followed by a cold, windy safari inside the park. We saw lots of elephants, a few Kudu and other antelope-type animals, and a warthog. No black Rhinos, unfortunately, or lions. But the elephants were almost close enough to the vehicles to touch, and there was a week-old baby with one tribe, which was fantastic to see. We drove from Addo to Buffalo Bay (several long hours) and were entertained that evening by a live Rasta band called the Reggae Ambassadors hired specifically to play a concert for us in the backpackers. I wish I could post video clips for you to hear, but alas, I cannot.
Last Day: Ahoy, Rastafari!
Our last day was spent in Knysna, half shopping and half touring a Rastafarian community called Judah Square in the middle of a township—the community from which the band of the previous evening had come. Our tour guide was one of the more interesting characters I’ve met so far in South Africa, though not the most educational as to the Rasta beliefs and way of life. His hair was one gigantic dread hanging all the way down his back, nearly to his knees. There were even little Rasta chil’uns! For the sake of time, I won’t go into what I did learn of the Rastafarian religion and community, but feel free to leave me a comment and I’ll send you a message with more info. In fact, if there’s anything in this blog you want to hear more about feel free to ask. I’m trying to keep it short but I tend to be wordy anyhow….
That evening we were treated to an amazing dinner on the Knysna waterfront (which was another of those “oh! I’ve been here!” moments) and awoke the next day to make the long 5ish hour drive home to Stellenbosch.
Immediately upon my return I set to reading a book I needed to do a presentation about on Wednesday (darn, back to procrastinating), which I succeeded in doing and quite well, in fact. My professor was impressed by my “American”-style presentation (which apparently means not just reading my presentation notes but actually “engaging” with my topic). I also was given back the English paper I turned in just before break on Snow White (for a different class), and was very pleased with my mark (as was my professor, who made me and another student read our papers out loud for the class). So I’m feeling affirmed and productive this week, which is nice. The last few days of break I spent with a bad throat-cold I feared might be tonsillitis, as several other students in my group have had it (one had his tonsils removed yesterday). This cold, however, has dissipated since with tea and sleep and a lack of sugar. Good deal.
Sorry about the length—there was too much to say! I trust all is well back home, and my love goes out to each and every one of you.
Cheers!
(and check out the new pics to the right...)
Friday, September 5, 2008
I'm leaving...in a Kombi?
This will have to be short, both because I have little to say and little brain capacity with which to say it.
Not a whole lot has happened here in the last couple weeks, except the usual snow-balling of stress and work that happens mid-semester in any college or university setting. Last Wednesday I turned in my first English paper at this institution, an event which made me curiously nervous despite the fact that I've been writing English papers for almost...well, close to half my life. I actually--and here it's a pity certain professors and/or former teachers aren't reading this--had my paper done two days *early*, with over 7 outside references, and it ended up being almost 1 000 words over the minimum. *shakes head* I was kind of in shock, I think. It was a very interesting topic, though--I had to analyze Neil Gaiman's short story "Snow, Glass, Apples", a twisted but excellently written re-telling of the fairy tale Snow White, from the perspective of the stepmother. We'll see how my efforts turn out.
As for the future: in roughly 4 hours myself and 69 (ish) other folk will be straggling into 9 7-seater Kombi vans to head out on what promises to be the best week of the entire semester. I should have been asleep about 4 hours ago, but I'll have a long drive during which I can sleep tomorrow. Our trip will last about a week and take us on what's called the Garden Route--a route of the most famous (and beautiful) tourist attractions in South Africa, including Jeffrey's Bay (with some of the best surfing in the world), the Tsitsikamma adventure forest (some options include ziplining through the forest canopy; Monkeyland, a primate sanctuary for different monkeys from all over the world and bungee jumping-the highest jump in the southern hemisphere) and Addo Elephant park. We'll also go climbing through the Cango caves, tour a Rastafarian township and have the opportunity to do a multitude of things such as whale-watching, sea-kayaking, horse back riding (on the beach), sandboarding (like snowboarding, but on dunes) and surfing. I myself don't know how many of these I'll be able to participate in (as most things, they all cost $$) but the trip should be exciting no matter what. And when we return in a week...plenty to blog about!
Signing off for now!
Not a whole lot has happened here in the last couple weeks, except the usual snow-balling of stress and work that happens mid-semester in any college or university setting. Last Wednesday I turned in my first English paper at this institution, an event which made me curiously nervous despite the fact that I've been writing English papers for almost...well, close to half my life. I actually--and here it's a pity certain professors and/or former teachers aren't reading this--had my paper done two days *early*, with over 7 outside references, and it ended up being almost 1 000 words over the minimum. *shakes head* I was kind of in shock, I think. It was a very interesting topic, though--I had to analyze Neil Gaiman's short story "Snow, Glass, Apples", a twisted but excellently written re-telling of the fairy tale Snow White, from the perspective of the stepmother. We'll see how my efforts turn out.
As for the future: in roughly 4 hours myself and 69 (ish) other folk will be straggling into 9 7-seater Kombi vans to head out on what promises to be the best week of the entire semester. I should have been asleep about 4 hours ago, but I'll have a long drive during which I can sleep tomorrow. Our trip will last about a week and take us on what's called the Garden Route--a route of the most famous (and beautiful) tourist attractions in South Africa, including Jeffrey's Bay (with some of the best surfing in the world), the Tsitsikamma adventure forest (some options include ziplining through the forest canopy; Monkeyland, a primate sanctuary for different monkeys from all over the world and bungee jumping-the highest jump in the southern hemisphere) and Addo Elephant park. We'll also go climbing through the Cango caves, tour a Rastafarian township and have the opportunity to do a multitude of things such as whale-watching, sea-kayaking, horse back riding (on the beach), sandboarding (like snowboarding, but on dunes) and surfing. I myself don't know how many of these I'll be able to participate in (as most things, they all cost $$) but the trip should be exciting no matter what. And when we return in a week...plenty to blog about!
Signing off for now!
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