Oh Wilderness

May 6, 2002-Paranoia
(photo:View from room at Dunes Lodge)

We had breakfast in the main house of the B & B. I didn’t realize the thatched roofs were visible from inside. The ceiling was vaulted and beamed and the thatch was exposed. It was charming. Unfortunately, one of the guests had their car broken into last night. Despite the wall and security alarms, someone got into the parking area, popped their door open, and took their radio. The wine that was in the back seat was untouched although it looked as if an attempt had been made to access the trunk from inside the car. We left just as the police arrived. Other than making a report for insurance purposes, there was little to be done.

When we parked to go into an Internet café, we were pretty paranoid. It was metered parking but there was also an official looking “car watcher” wearing a fluorescent vest who was offering to take care of the vehicles. I know there’s a saying in business: find a need and fill it. The people here seem to be very entrepreneurial and have come up with a variation on that theme. They’ve created a need and filled it. The locals are the ones who rip off the cars and other locals can extort “protection.” Even if we get out of the car for a short time we’ve started to put the backpack that sits in the back seat into the trunk.

No Eden

When we left Hermanus, we anticipated the beginning of the highly touted Garden Route. So far we’ve been disappointed. We’re not hard to please and reveled in the fact that the road was blacktopped and had a centerline. Drivers out here tend to pass in the Greek way by moving to the shoulder so faster cars can go around them. The courtesy is acknowledged by the passer briefly putting on the hazard lights (flashers) and the pasee saluting with his headlights. The way out of town was lined with rainbow hued rock walls of red and yellow and pink and brown, orange and mauve and gold. The road doesn’t hug the coast as we thought it would and we’ve spent today driving through pastureland. Although that’s not my favorite scenery, there were some sheep that deserved a second look. In this land where color and race is such an issue, I’m happy to report they have white sheep with black heads.

Aloe products are a thriving business in Albertinia and it was suggested we stop at an aloe factory. It was pouring and an indoor activity seemed like a good idea. They had a small café where we had pretty respectable hamburgers. There’s no heat in any of the buildings in the area even though temperatures dip into the low 50’s. The door to the café was open and a fire was going in a walk-in fireplace. We chose a table close to the fire and I kept sliding closer until David suggested we just move ourselves onto the hearth. When it came time for the tour, there was only one real English speaking person to guide us. Afrikaans is very pervasive in the Western Cape area. It’s the primary language of the coloreds, as they’re referred to here, and most of the whites. This is the route that the Boers took for their Great Trek in an attempt to leave the British behind. The factory was pretty rudimentary and the stench got into David’s nose and mouth. He had to eat a bag of small chips and drink some pop before it would go away.

Mossel Bay was a quaint little town that was eaten by a petroleum refinery. The plant dominates the approach from the West but doesn’t detract from the historical importance. Bartholomeu Dias landed in Mossel Bay in 1488. He was sailing a Portuguese caravel and was the first to sail around the Cape of Good Hope in search of a route to India. There was a model of the ship in the maritime museum and it was a wonder. In 1988, it actually was sailed from Portugal to Mossel Bay to celebrate the 500th anniversary of Dias achievement. It is 70 feet long and 20 feet wide. It’s the size of a modern tugboat. Even on land, the deck was slanted and the footing was insecure. The railings were very low and there just wasn’t a lot to keep a sailor from falling overboard. It was steered by using sails and a rudder and tiller system since the use of a wheel to steer hadn’t yet been invented. The enormity of the challenge was emphasized when we saw the navigational instruments available then. They were so primitive, but they seemed to do the job.

Near the museum is a 500-year-old milkwood tree called the Post Office Tree. Since 1501 sailors would put letters into a shoe under the tree. Anyone going in the direction of the recipient would pick the mail up and deliver it. Today the tree is the size of a large house and looks like it can go on for another 500 years. The branches have gotten so heavy they drape all the way to the ground. It’s very private and peaceful when you walk underneath.
Heaven

We slept well last night in spite of a thunderstorm. As I was dozing off a massively loud clap of thunder nearly lofted me out of bed. That was the last thing I heard until the alarm and the voice of our granddaughter Alex saying, “Love you Sabba and Savta. Hope to see you soon. Miss you. Bye.”

We’re sipping hot cocoa and eating cookies in our room at The Dunes Lodge, our B & B for tonight in Wilderness. There was a change in topography as we came into this area. All of a sudden we were in densely forested terrain. Our room has the most magnificent view of any place we’ve ever stayed. There’s an entire window wall with sliders out to a deck on the beach. The Indian Ocean is literally lapping at our door. There have been rainstorms on and off today and it’s reflected in the angry green-gray color of the sea. The waves are intimidating, large, and topped with foam that looks as if it has the consistency of shaving cream. The wind is whipping the white caps into froth and spray is flying two to three feet into the air. The house itself is new and modern in its adaptation of terra-cotta color stucco with a Mediterranean flair. The entry opens to a great room with soaring spaces that overlook the pool and ocean. With breakfast, the cost is $65.

David wants me to buy him an ocean. It will be very hard to tear him away to go to dinner. It’s dark now and all we can see is the white of the foam, a fading blue corner of sky, and the last glint of the sun on the clouds.

Toby

Hopes and Fears

May 5, 2002-Helpful
(photos:Us at Southernmost point of S. Africa,
Road compannion)

A question I would never think to ask at a Shell Gas Station: Do you take credit cards? We found one in Hermanus that only takes special bank debit cards for use at petrol stations. Credit cards aren’t accepted at any gas stations in South Africa. The gas was pumped and in our tank when we found out. We’re getting short on Rands and have to pay cash at our B & B tonight. I guess it’s a trip to a bank tomorrow to cash another travelers check.

I was interested in the explorers of long ago when I was a child. I was fascinated by them as a teacher. Names like Vasco de Gamma and Magellan sound to me like the Scott Carpenters and John Glenns of today. There was no way I wasn’t going to the Cape of Good Hope. It’s about an hour by car from Cape Town and we left before breakfast. We meandered along the shoreline to the town of Camp Bay and on to Hout Bay. There we stumbled into a restaurant called The Rumblin’ Tum. The food was plentiful and lovingly prepared, but the bonus was that there was a TOBI (Tourist Office of Booking Information) at the back of the place. We chatted with the owner/agent about our planned itinerary to the Cape and along the Garden Route. While we inhaled our breakfast she got us organized. She provided us with maps, routing, bookings, and a detailed verbal compass of written directions to our B & B’s as well as sights along the way. She cautioned us about dangerous roads to avoid and suggested driving times so we didn’t have to rush as we “tootled” along. Although one route looked shorter on the map, she said we could be assured that if the car broke down we’d be robbed, the car stolen, and perhaps our lives taken. This was in an area between the sand dunes and the highway to the airport. There are miles upon miles of “township” settlements just like the shantytowns of Soweto that we see on the news. From a distance, the bright colors of the patchwork shacks jump out, but up close it’s deadly.

The way to the Cape took us through the wine country of Constantia, upscale walled residential neighborhoods, past horseback riders in traditional English habits, and cottages with thatched roofs. We climbed up into the Tokai forest and down through seaside dunes. Towns were pastel blurs hanging between the crags and sea. Buildings were a hodge-podge of Cape Dutch, tile roofs, and stucco construction giving them a Mediterranean ambience. Scuba divers were parked on the roadside at every turn and unabashedly changed into and out of their wet suits..

We paid our entry fee at the Cape Peninsula National Park. David later noted that no one checked our tickets to be sure we’d not sneaked in by bribing an official as they did in Kenya. For a minute we did think we were back on a game drive. The road was posted with warnings about the danger of feeding the baboons and we were kept alert dodging ostrich. There were enough ostrich to say there was a herd but I didn’t know if this was the correct terminology. I knew that a gaggle was of geese and ostrich are too big to be a flock. I decided that a large number of ostrich was an oodle. Oodles of ostrich has a nice ring.

Hopeful

The Cape of Good Hope is where the warm waters of the Indian Ocean meet the cold Atlantic. We were headed for the south-westernmost point in Africa overlooking this region called Cape Point. It was raining as we boarded a funicular that went up to a promontory where there was a lighthouse built in 1857. By the time we reached the top, the sun was out and the clouds had lifted. We ended up in the midst of a Turkish tour group whose English consisted of “Istanbul, Turkia, and Bosphorous.” Everyone was taking each others pictures and we understood when they offered to take ours. We returned the favor.

As we were leaving the park, we saw a road going down to Cape Point at sea level. It was a terrifying and impressive experience. We were face to face with enormous roiling breakers and could easily see white caps crashing over daunting reefs. A freighter was rounding the Cape and making its way West from the Indian to the Atlantic Ocean and the plight of the early mariners became clear. Our respect for them grew as we thought about how they were out in the elements in small ships without the aid of sonar, radar, radios, satellites, or global positioning and weather data.

Our drive towards the Garden Route took us through Strand, an unimpressive seaside town of bland buildings across from a bleak beach littered with kelp and pebbles. I think the beaches of the Gold Coast have spoiled me forever. The natural beauty surely outshone the manmade. The sun was bouncing from sea to mountains as it illuminated the vertical rib-like rocky protrusions that clung to the cliffs. Black storm clouds hung over the peaks as we admired the red rock face that covered the lower ranges. The drive was so pristine that even the overlooks were paved with tidy red bricks in neat geometric patterns. I’ve seen mountains, sea, and sky in such a splendid display before this. I guess I’m blessed with a poor memory since each time I look upon those wonders it’s like seeing them for the first time.

We made good time since we realized that certain stretches of road had no speed limit. We got to Hermanus at dusk and had trouble finding our B & B, Westcliff House. The voucher had the wrong house number on it. We sorted things out as the heavens opened and we had to dodge the rain as the thunderstorm that avoided us all day hit with a vengeance. It was short lived and we moved into our cozy $30/night room. Westcliff House is behind a wall and has an electric security fence. All the houses in this neighborhood do. All the houses in all of the nice neighborhoods do. The B & B is a salmon colored stucco building with a thatched roof. I feel like I’m going to be sleeping with Shakespeare tonight.

We had pizza for dinner. We tried one with beef and peri-peri sauce. That’s a spicy African marinade. It was delicious even with the gherkins that were on the pizza. They served a dish of minced garlic on the side. I was in garlic lovers heaven and liberally applied the mushed cloves making a big dent in the bowl. I hope Shakespeare likes garlic.

Toby

Uhuru

May 3, 2002-Making A Getaway
(photos:Table Mountain,
Mandella's jail cell)

Computer “Chai” (lives)! I didn’t want to give it a “k’ayna hora” (to jinx as in giving an evil eye), but it has survived the highways and by-ways of Kenya. We held our breath after every ride and Jackson always checked with us to see if we were still up and running. He was a sincerely conscientious guide and put our comfort and safety first. He put in a bid for us to promote tourism in Kenya and emphasized that it was safe to go on safari. I reminded him that it was not long ago that the U.S. embassy was blown up in Nairobi. He agreed that might still be a deterrent for Americans.

I must say that the staff at the tent camp was on the spot when things didn’t go right. When I mentioned my ultra hot shower, they sent a crew of four men over to fix it. They all jammed into the stall and made a mess as only plumbers can. A maid who cleaned it up followed them. David had a blissfully temperate shower.

We’re now waiting for our flight on South African Air to Cape Town. David has only panicked three times since we got to the airport. He thought he’d lost his passport, a boarding pass, and a ticket on separate occasions. They were all found safe and sound where they should not be. We always like to look at the departure board to see the names of places we haven’t been. I decided I didn’t want to go anywhere I couldn’t pronounce.

The faces of passengers in the boarding area here are so white. It was a bit startling. Where are all the black Africans? I guess they’re not flying today. We got hit with another $10/person “insurance tax” but paid it with $20 U.S. cash so we didn’t have to mess with a credit card this time. We shifted the weight around in our carry-on bags in case they weigh them. We’re carrying water from India (we found it at the bottom of a suitcase) and Kenya, granola bars that came to us from the U.S. by way of Australia, and bread and butter sandwiches from our tent camp. We will not starve or dehydrate. When we bought film with our leftover shillings I saw a bill in the cash drawer that confused me. I questioned the cashier and he said it was a new U.S. $5 bill. We’ve been away too long.

I think the Hong Kong brothers made it to Nairobi, but we had to stop to help two vanloads. One was stuck in the mud. Six drivers pulled up and helped push. The second one had electrical trouble and help was on the way. We couldn’t take on their passengers since we were deadheading to the airport. Another “k’ayna hora” is that we never got stuck and we didn’t break an axel.

We went from primitive life to the sophisticated city and it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. I don’t really think there’s a division at all. As we passed a glistening white satellite substation, we came upon goatherds and gazelles wandering in the road. When we entered the city limits of Nairobi there were still women toting huge bundles on their backs that were supported by straps that went around their foreheads. The swales and ditches along the roads are public domain and were being cultivated by people who live along the way. A truck had jack-knifed and the traditional way to alert drivers was to cut branches and lay them in the road similar to the way we use flares. Never without a machete, drivers stopped to help with this project. We rolled past public housing that make tenements in the Bronx look luxurious. In the city traffic jams, men were hawking wares as they set up a roving marketplace and wove in and out of the slowly limping traffic. It was a patchwork of eras, societies, and civilizations. My last sight of the “wild” was a hartebeest running across a field. His powerful muscles drove him on in pursuit of nothing but the feel of the wind in his face. He epitomized what black Kenyans fought for: Uhuru, freedom.

May 4, 2002-Detainees

The pilot on our flight to Johannesburg was a real card. He announced that one of the passengers decided to go into Nairobi to shop and was not back yet. His luggage was off the plane and we were ready to go. We went. When we were landing the pilot addressed the cabin crew and told them he had a 1 ½ hour drive home and didn’t want them to drag their heels getting off the plane once the passengers were unloaded. They seem to be a folksy bunch. I know this will sound pathetic, but I really got excited about the food on the South Africa Air flight to Johannesburg. There was a marinated salad that actually had flavor and a really nice chicken and rice. The food on safari was so average.

We only had one glitch when we landed in Johannesburg. We were finally at a real airport with shiny floors and high ceilings. It was an airport that looked complete. It was neither being renovated, partially built, nor falling apart from neglect. Aside from admiring the airport, we found out we might be denied entry to the country and have to spend 7 DAYS in the lovely airport. It did not seem so lovely anymore.

They wanted our vaccination certificates at immigration. All those papers were in a suitcase that had been checked through to Cape Town. We had to retrieve our luggage at baggage claim in Johannesburg, go through customs, and re-check them since Johannesburg was our entry point into the country of South Africa. David’s knees got weak. The official said he would keep our passports until we got the certificates for him. David told him we had to make a connection to Cape Town at which time the official stamped the passports. David offered to come back with the certificates but the man said he believed we had them. I wasn’t freaking out since I was having trouble understanding the official’s accent and in my mind things seemed to be moving along swimmingly.

Needle and Haystack

As an added bit of excitement, one of our bags was the last to appear at baggage claim in Cape Town. David was getting philosophical saying that somebody’s has to be last. We picked up our rental car in Cape Town at 11:30 PM after having traveled from the tent camp since 8 AM. We didn’t want to get lost going to the hotel late at night. We’d heard it’s not prudent to be driving around Cape Town in the evening without knowing where the safe places are. We got explicit directions from Avis and they were explicitly wrong. We were looking for the Holiday Inn Waterfront and had to stop at a gas station to ask. They tried to help us, but we went astray again. The place didn’t seem that sinister, but David was punchy and had stopped functioning. To add insult to injury, the rental car had the windshield wiper and directional signal controls reversed from the cars we’d driven in Australia. Every time David went to signal he put on the wipers. It unnerved and irritated him to such an extent that it became a real distraction. I was able to keep track of where we’d been in relation to where we were. I remembered passing a Holiday Inn off the highway and decided we should go there to ask where ours was. We lucked out and a local couple was just leaving that hotel after visiting a friend. They told us to follow them and led us to the doorstep of the Waterfront. We collapsed into our lovely room that actually has sheet rock walls and ceiling and electricity that stays on 24 hours a day. It’s a little piece of heaven.

Tarnished Jewel

Europeans first approached Cape Town as a way station while sailing around the Cape of Good Hope to the Indies. In 1652, the Dutch came. French Huguenots and British followed them. There were battles among the Europeans, among the African tribes, and between the Africans and Europeans. When anything of value was discovered like gold and diamonds, the British solution was annexation of that territory. In the end, South Africa was run by the Boers (Dutch, Germans, etc.) and the British. Apartheid and its evil was institutionalized in 1948 and mostly supported by the Boer population with Brits going along without much protest. It’s hard to imagine the Dutch settlers were so bigoted since The Netherlands is such an open society today. I guess the Calvinist Church of the 1600’s was the instigator for that mind set. When apartheid ended, the country was left with eleven official languages. English and Afrikaans are the most common and most signage is in both. I was surprised by how many people speak Afrikaans as a first language and how many speak heavily accented English. It’s kind of like French Canada. Those here of British stock have an accent similar to New Zealanders in that they say “fush” for fish and “sucks” for six.

We woke up to a stunning sunny day in the 70’s. We drove out to ride the cable car up Table Mountain and enjoyed the neighborhoods along the way. Cape Town seems to be a charming city sprawled at the base of the mountain and hugging the bays. It’s a miniature Sydney, Australia or a huge Queenstown, New Zealand. In any case, it’s a piece of Eden. Living here is cheaper than Australia. In South Africa we might live like multi-millionaires. David had a T-bone steak dinner tonight for $US 4.80. Unfortunately, its affluent white population who doesn’t trust the economy of the country is abandoning Cape Town and are afraid that the violence that has taken hold in the Johannesburg area will intensify here.

We’ve been on many cable cars but never one like this. It’s a huge round pod that holds about forty people standing. As the car goes up or down the mountain, the floor rotates while the glass walls stay in place. That affords everyone a 360-degree view. The mountain is rather steep and we watched in amazement as we sailed past rock climbers. We had breakfast at the top and realized that the coffee bar menu was intelligible. In the country that had overthrown apartheid, there was no such thing as a long black or a short white coffee. We were back in the land of espresso and cappuccino.

We returned to where we’d parked and were happy to see that Bonnie and Clyde had protected our car while we were gone. It’s common here for people to offer to watch your car and belongings for a “donation.” Evidently they perform a needed service and the names of our protectors gave it a unique twist.

We wanted to go to Robben Island where Nelson Mandela had been incarcerated so we drove on down to the ferry. It’s not hard driving here since the traffic proceeds in an orderly fashion and the rules of the road seem to be obeyed and enforced. The ferry dock is in a bustling area of the waterfront centered around an old clock tower and lined with shops and eateries. I got a rush when we came out of the parking lot into a new, modern shopping mall that was spotless. The inventory was clean and the shopkeepers didn’t ambush me. I told David I intended to move in for the day. My statement was prophetic since we had over an hour wait for the ferry and then decided to have dinner at the waterfront when we returned.

I didn’t know if the water here was safe to drink, so I asked people who looked like tourists about their experience. They said they had no problems with the water or with eating fresh uncooked fruits and vegetables. I’m looking forward to my first sandwich with lettuce and tomato in a long time. I’ll also revel in being able to rinse my toothbrush under the tap instead of sloshing it in a glass of mineral water.

Another Prison

We’re once more able to gaze out over the Atlantic Ocean. It’s the wrong side of it, but we’re closer than ever to the U.S. A sign indicated we’re equidistant from Miami, Florida and Sydney, Australia. Robben Island is seven miles off the coast of Cape Town. It ‘s had a long history as a way station for passing ships, a slave trading depot, a leper colony (5100 are buried there), a WWII battery, and a prison. In 1960 the criminal population was increased by the addition of political prisoners. The ANC and PAC civil rights movement had begun and wouldn’t quit until apartheid was dead. Prisoners were put to hard labor in quarries until 1971. Those not working in the quarries were put to work breaking up the rocks into little pieces. In Kenya we saw people along the roads doing that voluntarily just to earn a living. The rules of apartheid weren’t surprisingly applied within the prison walls until 1979. Food and clothing was apportioned by perceived “race” with the lighter “coloreds” getting more than the blacks. No whites were interned on Robben Island. Eventually Mandela was permitted to run a school there and many of the prisoners were ready to take a seat in the new government when they were freed. The last prisoner left in 1996. In its heyday, the island had 450 prison staff and 2000 prisoners living there. Now the 250 staff of the site and cultural center lives and works there. There have been three escape attempts with the only successful one being in 1600.

In the scheme of things prisons are awful places even if they have a million dollar view of Cape Town. We’ve seen our share over the last nine months. Certainly the Hanoi Hilton was worse than this. The conditions and maltreatment of the prisoners in Port Arthur and Sarah Island in Tasmania was more abysmal. No view could make up for the abuse and degradation that took place on Robben Island and the political prisoners fought a worthwhile fight. A lot of the impact of that battle was tarnished for me by the knowledge that today Nelson Mandela has taken the stance of sympathizing with the Palestinians and labeling Israel as promulgating their own form of apartheid. Even though Mandela has come up on my side of several issues and has been instrumental in promoting social action for AIDS treatment in Africa (a great number of people here wear the red ribbons), his anti-Israel position certainly taints my feelings about him.

Toby

Natural and Other Dangers

May 2, 2002-Too Close For Comfort
(photos:Jackson & me at border,
Guard, AK-47, & me,
Hippo family)

The birds woke us this morning. It was a good thing since the alarm didn’t. We’re a thin piece of canvas away from nature and it’s apparent from the sounds. I would have preferred something more substantial last night between the outside world and us. Another chorus of birds was lulling David to sleep after lunch when one raucous renegade sounded off in a different key. We started laughing and that was the end of his nap for a while. We came back after dinner to find a large and mean looking spider on our front flap. One benefit of living in a tent is we can never lose the key. All we have is a zip lock.

Before we left this morning, I told the people at the reception desk where we were headed and when we’d be back. I also took bread and jam from breakfast this morning. If we were going to get stuck I wanted to be ready. Truth be told, I also crammed some toilet paper into my fanny pack. I had little to worry about since several vans headed in the same direction as we did and Jackson managed not to drown us in any of the pond size puddles we navigated nor did he get mired in the mud. I’m happy to report that the Hong Kong brothers didn’t get stuck either. I spotted my first animal all on my own today. I thought it was a fox, but it turned out to be a jackal. They travel in pairs and sure enough the mate showed up. It was not that great a sighting but it was my first solo. We also saw hartebeest and a pair of male lions as we headed towards the border of Tanzania and the Serengeti Plain.

Border Crossings

It took us 2 ½ hours over you-know-what kind of roads to get to the border marker between Kenya and Tanzania and two hours to get back. Jackson drove in a circle around the marker and we got out to take photos. The Serengeti is empty now. In June it will be overrun by millions of wildebeest. They’ll migrate from Tanzania into Kenya and in October, they’ll return to Tanzania. Our destination was the place along the Mara River where they cross. It’s a known habitat for hippos. We were met at the river by a heavily armed (AK-47) guard in camouflage gear and wearing military issue boots. He was to be our guide on the walking tour in search of hippos and crocodiles. It was the first time we’d been permitted to step outside the van when it was not in the compound and I was a bit nervous. The guard’s artillery calmed me a little, but I did wonder how long it had been since he’d practiced. I literally followed in his footsteps as we made our way through mud and tall grass. We were now in the lions’ playground and walking through snake grass. I was reassured that lions sleep during the day, but I had no such confidence in the daytime habits of snakes.

The crocodiles didn’t intrigue me, but we were very lucky in our hippo search. They’re usually in the water during the day and hard to see. We found several families on shore and one enormous year old baby settling down for a nap. Papa was standing (swimming) guard duty in the river during siesta time. Evidently, they’re monogamous. There were 15-20 hippos in one place as well as several other groups along the way. We spotted several sets of ears bobbing in and out of the water and it was obvious when one of the adults either submerged or surfaced. There was a giant sucking sound and a loud snort. I can’t exactly say that the hippos were romping or frolicking since they’re so cumbersome those words do not apply. They did look as if they were “making fun,” as Jackson would say and seemed very tranquil.

All we seem to do is sleep, eat, and ride in a van. It was good to get out and stretch our legs. When we returned to the van, the pop-top was closed. There’d been hostile baboons in the area. We’ve learned to take it all in stride.

Last Chance

When we came back from our afternoon drive I decided to take a shower. I had plenty of hot water but not enough cold. I did an original little dance as I hopped in and out of the water trying to rinse and not get burned. Neither one of us showered last night. It’s been cool and I’ve been chilled in the tent. I also dread staying in the bathroom longer than I have to. Last night I slept in David’s socks and my bathrobe. Tonight I asked for another blanket. At least in this place we have one bed so I can get some body heat. The rule in the lodges seemed to be twin beds.

Our last game drive was extremely rewarding. I think I’m becoming inured to the violence out there. It’s similar to what the critics of TV violence claim. When exposed to it enough you get used to it. We came upon two cheetahs eating an impala they’d killed. They were sharing nicely and every once in a while they shifted the carcass. At one point a long leg bone and hoof was sticking up. I’m sure the impala was a relative of the nearby herd. The cheetahs were in tall grass and would pop up from time to time to check the crowd. Maybe they were counting the house to see if their performance was a success. At one point there were twenty vans surrounding them. That didn’t include those vans that had come and gone already. These elegant cats are distinguishable from leopards by a black teardrop shape under their eyes. We couldn’t get too close, as there are rules about where the vans can go, but the binoculars brought them into our laps.

David and I both made our own separate sightings of hyenas on the hunt. We tried to follow his, and were roaring along until we hit a really sloshy area. We began to slip and slide and ended up doing a 360 and heading back to find another route. We let that one go and found another cluster of vans gathered around a pride of lions. These were different ones than we’d seen yesterday. There were two females, a male, and six cubs of about two months old. The cubs were the epitome of cute. They were full of life and squirmed around making bath time hard for their mom. The dad just lolled around on his back and stretched until one of the cubs decided to play pounce with his nose. It was the picture of iconic happy family at rest.

The grass is lush and green and all the animals are walking around with full bellies. There are gorgeous scenes everywhere we turn and the light paints fantastical shadows as it plays along the hills. The animals are all photogenic and there’s every opportunity to catch them in magnificent poses. Then we realized that our camera is terminally ill. We bought it eight months ago in Australia and the motor seems to be dying. The zoom only reluctantly zooms and we’re managing to pull it out manually. We’ll check at the duty free shops when we leave, but I have a feeling there are no deals there. We’ll also look in Cape Town, but I think we can limp along with this one. We only have ten days to go.
May 3, 2002-Mud Run

The Hong Kong brothers did get stuck in the mud briefly yesterday afternoon. I don’t know what’s with their driver. They’ll leave half our earlier for the airport than we this morning so we can help them if they need it. We all watched at dinner as the mystery of the silverware once again occurred. The waiters come to the tables from time to time and rearrange the flatware. They remove some and move some into new positions on the table. I have not figured it out. I think they take away that which they suspect will not be used. This bothers me, because they remove it very carefully and only touch the handles. I suspect that it’s not washed before it’s re-set. Last night David had all his flatware taken away while he was eating dessert. Mine was just shifted to another position. Go figure.

We enjoyed some Amarula after dinner. It’s made from an African plant and tastes like Bailey’s Irish Crème. We were waiting in the bar by the fireplace for the Masi Warrior Dance Show. The dancers burst in wearing full regalia and marched through to an open lawn where the show took place. The dancing consisted of walking in a line or a circle using a strutting step that alternated with a skip and a lope with the neck thrust forward as a bird would. When they stopped, they began to do their famous leaps. They took turns showing their skill one at a time sort of like break dancing. Some of the guests were invited to join in. Frankly, I wasn’t impressed with the height of the jumps. Michael Jordan has done better. The chants were low guttural atonal sounds interspersed with “yips.” I’m not disparaging them when I say “yips” since that’s what was actually said. There was no explanation of the performance, but I overheard one of the workers telling a guest there were three dances: one for a wedding, one for circumcision, and one for dying. It was all very authentic I’m sure, but it was done with a lack of enthusiasm. The performers were only too happy to put n their fifteen minutes and run.

We will head for the airport this morning and confront our nemesis, the unsurfaced roads of Kenyan parks. Jackson sounded bitter when he said they collect $27/person as an entry fee and he has no idea where the money goes. It certainly isn’t used to grade the roads. The brochures for these kinds of safaris always warn away people who have back or neck problems but they don’t and cannot capture the extent or severity of the conditions. I’m amazed that neither one of us got a muscle pull or strain. We figured we’ve spent thirty-seven taxing and rigorous hours traveling from place to place in the van. That doesn’t include the twenty-two hours we spent on game drives. The reward of seeing the game is phenomenal but individuals have to weigh it against the effort.

I’m glad we came, but I’m ready to be someplace where things aren’t damp all the time. I’m also over the condescending, obsequious, fawning, and servile behavior of the workers here. I’m ready for some casual, familiar, and perfunctory American service.

Toby

Coming Soon

May 1, 2002-Rescues
(Sarova (Mara) Lion Hill Lodge,
Hyena,
Lioness and cubs)

Happy May Day. Here it’s their Labor Day left over from when they were allied with the Soviet Union. May has such a magical sound to me. It’s our homecoming.

We recognized some of the people at dinner last night. There are two brothers from Hong Kong who are on the same program we are. They said they’d be at our next stop too. The table next to us had an African couple with two young children. The mother sang nursery rhymes and church hymns to keep them amused. Behind us was an Indian family with an infant who had the most hair of any baby I’ve ever seen. He was really adorable. It has been an international group all along.

An American couple told us of an adventure they had that I’m just as happy we missed. Their guide took them on a seldom-traveled road in hope of getting closer to the flamingos and they got stuck in the mud for twelve hours. They thought the guide was going to have a heart attack trying to push the van, but it was totally mired. He would have walked for help, but they were next to a herd of Cape buffalo and he wouldn’t chance it. His mobile phone kept showing “no network” until he finally reached his wife in Nairobi. She called his office in Nairobi and they tried the lodge, but there was no service. They reached the park office and the rescue began. By this time it was after 7 PM and the stranded tourists were planning on spending the night. They had no food but did have plenty of water. Hakuna Mattata (no worries). The rescue van arrived and pulled them out of the mud only to have its battery die. The rescuees became the rescuers and gave the dead battery a jump. The only question I had was about bathroom needs. She said that she slid the door of the van open and hung over the edge while the guide was on the other side of the van. There was an explanation for the lack of cell phone service. Evidently Safaricom, a main provider, had given several dollars worth of free airtime away and people using it jammed the networks.

That brings me to our ride to the Serova Masi Tent Camp today. I watched in fascination as our driver played the game of gamble and pass. Since there are no center lines on the roads it’s the driver’s option as to when to pass. He hangs his head out of the window, sidles over to the other side of the road and gives it a go. I had a birds eye view since I was sitting right behind him. Prosperity was over quickly as we began our approach to the Mara on dirt roads. All the bouncing is a real test of bladder control. It had rained last night and the dirt turned to mud. The lodge owners don’t seem to care if visitors arrive alive since there’s no attempt to groom the dirt. In the rain it turns to slime and the ruts turn into traps. We slithered and slipped our way along as if driving on ice. At times we were at a precarious slant and I found myself leaning to the other side hoping to help maintain the balance. The one thing I knew was that we would not flood our exhaust system. The exhaust pipe runs up the side of the driver’s door of the cab and extends beyond the roof. I wondered if they throw the van away after it finishes one tour of these parks, but Jackson says that they last two years. The Hong Kong brothers got stuck going to the camp and on their game drive. They had to be towed out both times. Fortunately there were other vans around. I think they need a new driver.

We had a lot of time (five hours) to watch the scenery. We were deep in Masi territory and there were many herds of cattle and goats and many kraals. A kraal (corral) is a protective enclosure made of branches. Masi build their dung houses inside the kraals and the livestock is herded inside at night. It’s like a fort.

Current Events

I read a book and we both read the National, the major (perhaps only) English newspaper of Kenya. There were several interesting articles. One was about a demonstration by a radical sect threatening to forcibly circumcise all the women in two tribes between the ages of 15-65 if they didn’t do it voluntarily within the next three months. Female circumcision (clitorectomy) is outlawed now but is still practiced in a minority culture. Another article told about the “iweto.” She’s a wifes wife. If a barren woman so chooses, she may select another woman to provide children who will bear her family name. The iweto is married to the wife of the husband and does her bidding. It was made clear in the article that she wasn’t married to the man. If she already has children, they take the name of the barren woman. If the barren woman wants the iweto to have children with her husband, then that is done. The point is that the barren wife is shamed not to have produced children who will carry her name. In many cases, the wife is older when she chooses an iweto and the younger woman ends up as nursemaid for the husband and his wife. An interesting sidelight was that try as we might, the single article we found in the paper about the U.S. was the basketball game between Sacramento and Utah.

Campy

Our lodging tonight is called a Tent Camp. David keeps walking around and muttering incredulously that we’re gong to sleep in a tent. The camp is an attempt to replicate conditions that game hunters had in the days when they shot guns instead of film. The tent has a roof and cement floor. We can stand up in the middle. The flaps zip shut and the screen sides have pull-up canvas to keep out rain and cold. We’re provided with a candle and flashlight because the generator is turned off from 4-6 PM (we’ll be on games drives then) and from midnight-4 AM. I’m sitting at a desk in the tent and am plugged into electricity so it’s not that primitive. We do have indoor plumbing with a zip door. It seems as clean as some of the other places we’ve stayed. It is however missing netting around the bed. We may have to spray with OFF when we go to sleep. Last night I got tangled up in the netting and got the giggles. I think I woke our neighbors.

This camp offers extras, as did the lodges. When guests have pre-paid for three meals/day, I think that it’s a rip-off to charge for things like a box lunch to take on a drive if you don’t want to come back for lunch.

Re-runs

We’ve now seen the Big Five: elephants, rhinos, leopards, Cape buffalo, and lions. We will go out two more times to see what we’ve seen. The interesting part is that their behavior is always different. That’s the luck of the draw. We always go with high expectations but are prepared for nothing. Tonight we hit a bonanza. We never tire of watching elephants. There was a tiny (for an elephant) one nestled among three aunties. All of a sudden it took off running towards a large female with its little trunk flapping uncontrollably. It looked like the baby might trip over it he was that uncoordinated. When he got to the female and started to nurse, we realized it was his mother.

We saw topis, which we hadn’t seen before. They’re related to gazelles and have distinctive black shoulders and legs. At one point David asked Jackson to stop. He was pointing to a rock by the roadside when the rock wiggled its ears. It was a spotted hyena fast asleep. Much to my delight, we got a good description of how hyenas don’t kill their prey before they eat it. They eviscerate it.

We saw some warthogs and Jackson told us a legend about them. The warthog used to be the most beautiful animal in Africa and loved to gaze at his reflection at the watering hole. He wouldn’t let any animals drink until he had his fill of admiring himself. One day the lioness had enough and chased him. The warthog ran into a porcupine burrow and got needles in his face. That’s why warthogs faces look swollen and why warthogs always enter a burrow backwards even if they’re being chased.

How many vans of tourists will be attracted to a pride of lions with three rambunctious cubs? Today it was fifteen. We all gathered around to watch the mamas roll in the dirt and the cubs romp, play leapfrog, and climb over a fallen tree limb. The females finally got down to the evening’s business and started to organize the hunt as they headed off to work. Their black tipped tails act like flags for the others in the pride to follow through the long grass. One of the cubs turned to face our van and was slowly walking towards us. I was making all kinds of noise about how cute he was when it occurred to me that lions leap. He didn’t and we started to roll on down the road towards another pride.

It’s dark now and we’re zipped into our tent. All the flaps were put up for us when they turned the beds down for the night. It’s very still except for the chirping of crickets and whatever else is chirping out there. We just heard what sounded like large animal and I wonder who it is and where it is. It’s night and something will be killed. Night equals death here. Every night as we drive back to our safe haven at sunset and pass the prey calmly grazing I begin to feel sad. There will be less tomorrow.

Toby

Killing Fields

April 30, 2002-Survey Says
(photos:White rhino,
Pink carpet,
Lake Nakuru Lodge)

Our morning began as we filled out yet another survey of satisfaction. We rated the service excellent with special kudos to Stephen, the headwaiter. He really went out of his way to be helpful and even offered to sneak us in to a Maasi show after the special bush dinner. Our meals were included in our package and we didn’t feel like paying an additional $35/person for a BBQ in the woods and a show. We never did go. We fell asleep as the music began. To show that we were discriminating, we rated the tea (yes, they have separate questions about tea and coffee) as fair. Kenyan tea isn’t known to be particularly good and they lived up to the reputation. We’re now only drinking herbal tea.

Our drive out of the park told the end of the drama whose beginning we saw last night. Someone did die. We don’t know who, but a hyena was on the clean-up committee. They do hunt on their own, but are also the garbage collectors of the wild. Jackson said they even eat the bones. He went into detail in his description of their feces and said that it comes out green, but turns to white when it dries because of the bone they eat. I wondered why we didn’t see any skeletons around. So that’s the circle of life. On the TV show South Park, they talked about the circle of poop. That’s what it comes down to.

I’ve seen kills on TV and certainly have read about them. They’re always described in glib terms about the “food chain,” “survival of the fittest,” and “natural selection.” I’ve now seen for myself and have learned from descriptions of the way it really is that nature is unkind, cruel, painful, and deals a slow and excruciating death. But some do have to die so that some can live. It’s been in fairly recent times that humans became concerned with making death pain free for those creatures we eat. It’s too bad that we’re not that concerned for other humans.

There was some comic relief in our departure as we watched a hippo on his way back to the water after a night of grazing. Jackson was careful not to position us between the blob of blubber on four legs and the water since they get testy if diverted from their mission. We dodged giraffe, wildebeest, and zebras in the road and salespeople tapping on our van windows when we stopped for security checks. The men, women, and children surrounded us, called enticing “come-ons” like, “ I sell you cheap, no money,” and tried to get a response from us. We’ve learned to stare straight ahead no matter what they say. They always ask questions about where we’re from as an opener, but if we would so much as answer one question there’s no getting rid of them.

Eating Bambi

We made it Nairobi after a 4 1/2 hour drive and what I thought was a joke turned out to be lunch. We were taken to the Carnivore Restaurant. It’s a very famous place in Nairobi known for its selection of game meat. Evidently hunters kill the game with special permits on private reserves. It’s cooked over an open grill and we were offered all we could eat of the lamb, pork, chicken, beef sausage, roast beef, impala, waterbuck, hippo, zebra, crocodile, and elephant. Each meat is brought to the table on a spear. The rules of the meal are that we had to lower a little flag on our table in surrender when we were full. We told them to only bring the lamb, chicken, and beef. Our waiter got curious and asked about our dietary limitations. I just said we only eat animals that chew their cud. He asked if we were Jewish. I guess they get a lot of Israelis here. He seemed pleased that we were following our religious laws. To say that this place was a waste for me is a gross understatement. I had pumpkin soup, bread, potato, and mocha ice cream. We couldn’t even eat the salads since none of the veggies was cooked.

We were thrilled to see that there was an Internet café there, but had a disconcerting experience. When we logged onto AOL using todaho and our password, we got into someone elses mailbox. The screen name was “etbouman.” This happened three times and we could have opened his mail if we wanted to. We changed to a different computer and were able to successfully log into our mailbox. We have no idea what happened, but it does make us wonder about the security of it all.

More Folkways

Jackson spent his time getting us a new spare tire and trying to track down the man who sold him the one that shredded. That gave me some time to catch up on writing to you all, but it meant he didn’t get any lunch. I gave him the rest of the rice cakes with peanut butter that he enjoyed the other day and he was a happy man. I asked him if he was raised in Nairobi or in his tribal area around Mt. Kenya. He said that Mt. Kenya was his home and he liked it better than the city. He began to extricate us from Nairobi and we got to see a good bit of the modern architecture in the downtown area. Although the roads this afternoon were all tarmac, they didn’t relent in continuing what I’ve begun to call our African massage. One of the road signs warned to beware of zebras crossing and another cautioned that the “road meanders ahead.” We would say “curves ahead.”

We meandered our way over luscious hills and into the Rift Valley. It was formed by a now extinct volcano and is the road to Rwanda. We had no intention of going that far, but we passed several International Red Cross road trains headed there. The International Red Cross is the organization that recognizes the Crescent equivalent of the Arab nations but doesn’t recognize Mogen David Adom (the Israeli Star of David equivalent). The American Red Cross has been fighting to get Israeli recognition with no success.

I asked Jackson if there were a lot of missionaries in Kenya now or if Africans were running the churches. He said that mostly Africans are in charge. He then clarified the reason why there are so many churches. We passed three small churches side by side and I couldn’t help but wonder. I thought the missionaries were successful but not that prolific. He said that the Kenyans organize five or so people and go to the mission headquarters in America for funds. What they’re really building is a house, but they put a cross up and call it a church. I guess the missionary movements have deep pockets.

Our guidebook mentions that Africans are very conservative dressers. They don’t like it when tourists look like slobs or wear skimpy clothing. Even though they’re poor and wear second hand clothing, Africans do make an effort to dress well. Their clothing may be mismatched by our fashion standards, but they’re always colorful and well covered. I noticed that some rural women cover their hair in scarves. It’s in the manner of the old Aunt Jemima figure and I always thought that style came from slave days in the U.S. When I think about it, the nature of African dress today must come from the influence of the missionaries. I remember the old National Geographic photos and they surely weren’t covered up in them.

Pink Carpet

Our destination was the Serova Lion Hill Lodge overlooking Lake Nakuru. The lake is a shallow soda lake surrounded by a forest of green barked gum trees. As we cleared the tree line and saw the water it looked as if there were pink smudges on it. The smudges began to resemble a carpet of glistening pink petals that had been strewn about and we knew we were looking at thousands of flamingos. We drew nearer and were able to get out of the van for a closer look. This meant walking through some pretty deep squishy mud. The closer we got, the more the flamingos sounded like a swarm of bees buzzing. They were busily feeding or flying. When they took off, the black undersides of their wings became visible. All they needed was a poodle skirt and they would have been dressed in style for the ‘50s and a guest appearance in Grease.

Even though it was getting dark, Jackson was determined to find lions. He’s a wonder and spotted the heads of two males lying in high grass. This park is known as a sanctuary for the few white and black rhinos left in the wild. It seemed as if those of the white variety were all over the place. I was eight feet from a female and her baby and could hear her chew.

It was a long day and we were happy to see the lodge. Our van had gotten so dirty over the last few days that I asked David to take a picture of it. The window next to him is too muddy to see out of. We’ll have to be sure to clean it tomorrow. The lodge is pretty basic, but there’s mosquito netting around the beds that makes me nervous. A man came down to tuck it in securely under the mattress and show us how to get in and make sure there are no gaps. Sleep tight.

Toby

Underwhelmed

April 29, 2002-Jaded
(photos:Mt. Kilimanjaro "peaking" out,
Hippo on the move)

The hunt this morning was BORING. We came up dry as in zilch, nothing, nada. We didn’t even take one photo. The animals were either hiding or had moved out during the night. There were the few scattered wildebeest, gazelles, and zebras, but when Jackson stopped the van to look at birds, I knew it was going to be slow. When we cruised past a grassy area I recognized it from yesterday. It was the place where we’d seen the two female lions and three cubs. How did I recognize those clumps of grass from all the thousands out there, you may ask? Well, the area smells like chicken soup. I don’t know why, but it’s strong and distinctive to me. It may be a combination of grasses and damp earth at that particular place. None of the other vans found anything either. After 1½ hours of staring at grass and scrub, I fell asleep. David said we passed a herd of elephant, but we didn’t stop and he didn’t wake me. We’re getting jaded.

David also said I missed a Maasi running across the plain with his clothes flapping around him. Jackson said he was going to work at the lodge. They know the lions won’t bother them, but they’re afraid of Cape buffalo. We later caught up to the Masai on the road. We’ve been told not to take photos of them without their permission. This only makes sense as common courtesy. They’ll usually charge for a tourist to take a picture. Even if you set the price ahead of time, they try to extort more after the picture has been taken. Jackson said, “They’re young boys and it can be trouble.”

To sum it up, the most interesting critter we saw was in our bathroom this morning. It was a worm-like creature and we flushed it. So much for ecology.

We spent a lazy day after breakfast. We napped until lunch. I got my claws trimmed at the “beauty salon” and David opted not to have a massage. We sat on the porch until it was time for the afternoon game drive and visited with a man from New Jersey who has come as a visitor to Africa three times. His parents were missionaries and he spent his teen years here in the ‘40s. He’s a retired engineer and had aspirations of being a guide for game hunters but didn’t have the eye for it.

Redemption

With renewed enthusiasm we joined the caravan out of the compound and into the park. We’re so used to seeing rocks and thinking they are animals that we almost missed the Cape buffalo at the side of the road. It was his cud chewing that gave him away. I think David could have leaned out of the window and touched him. Jackson spotted three submerged hippos as we happened by a marsh. We watched them submerge and come up for air until it was obvious it was too early for them to amble out of the water. We also saw a very sad sight. A herd of zebra was on the move with a lame one at the rear. It was limping badly and probably wouldn’t last the night. It would become someones dinner and the cycle would go on. Few animals die of old age or natural causes here.

As luck would have it, Mt. Kilimanjaro made a brief appearance. The clouds at the summit moved just enough for us to glimpse the sun glinting on the snow. It was majestic in its brilliance and as imposing as I imagined it would be. At about 19,000 ft., it’s the tallest mountain in Africa.
Whenever there’s a cluster of vans, something exciting is going on. This time it was a pride of lions hunting. There were five females in the lead with two males sauntering along far behind. They walked right past a gnu and several very nervous gazelles, but their eyes and minds were riveted on a herd of Cape buffalo. Evidently gazelles are too small to bother with, as they wouldn’t feed a pride that size. The lions game plan was to stay concealed and circle close enough so they wouldn’t have a long run while exposed. It was getting dark and we were madly passing the binoculars around and giving each other a running commentary. The females occasionally changed positions with the eldest always in front. They seemed to know it would be a long process because one or the other would lay down to rest while the others continued. I can only guess how the night would end for one of the buffalo, but we had to return to the compound. The gates close at 7 PM and open for nothing. We’d have been locked out. It was quite a sight to see all of the vans scurrying to be in by curfew. As we turned for home I realized just how close we were to the lodge. It was less than ½ a mile away. Now I know one of the reasons why those gates get closed at night. We had those lions in our front yard.

Toby