old ladies go south.
Just after writing nine pages about one bible story in two hours (i.e. my first final), I met the girls in the Bosch (Rondebosch…yeah we’re cool) to pick up our car and head on a mini road trip with the ladies.
We picked up our car- an old school Mercedes Benz, quite classy, and paid close to nothing for it (this is why I love Africa). We head to Liesbeeck to pick up our stuff and when I put my bag in the trunk, the key was stuck and would not budge. So back to the car rental place to see what the deal is, they sent us to the locksmith, the locksmith broke the key in the trunk and did not have the machinery to copy the right key, so back to Rondebosch to another lock smith, who also did not have the correct key. So I just went back to Liesbeeck to get some more things and my bag is still in the trunk to this day, we’ll see how that one pans out…
I was the driver, yes, someone did trust me to drive on the left side of the road in the right side of the car…and we made it there and back (don’t worry mom, I wore a seatbelt). Re-acquainted with the N2, we head to the most southern town of the continent of Africa, Cape Agulhas.
Through rolling hills and farmlands we drove, and ended at the quaint town of Agulhas, in one of the best backpackers I have seen, recommended us by the owners of a backpacker in Addo. There were bright oranges, greens, pinks and yellows covering the walls, with a hammock outside and a court yard with a pool, bar and picnic area, with messages written in sharpies all over the walls from intoxicated past guests. Our beds were heaven, with goose down comforters and fluffy pillows.
We walked down the road with a town that reminded me of Cape Cod in Massachusetts to the beach, and walked along the beach into the boardwalk, sat on the beach and went to a seafood restaurant, in which we were the only guests and drank wine and watched the sunset.
The next day, we were supposed to lay on the beach, but alas, this is Africa, and the weather is most unpredictable, and of course it was raining. But we sure did not let this rain on our parade gee golly gosh.
We drove to the truly southern most tip of Africa (not to be confused with the Cape of Good Hope, which is the most south west tip). We stood where the Atlantic and Indian oceans meet, they did not look any different from each other, but for some reason I felt like they should. We went to the lighthouse, and saw a shipwreck, which was still sticking straight out of the water years after it sank. It was creepy, and with the clouds and rain over it, it looked very horror-story-esque.
We explored some of the surrounding towns, which had many stores that were full of the most bazaar and random trinkets, souvenirs, books, clothes, you name any random object, and it was probably in one of these colourful, quirky stores. Quite odd, I must say; I love weird things.
The whole trip felt like four old retired ladies going on vaca. All we needed were some fannie packs and spandex. I hope to do this kind of trip every weekend with the girls when I am 70, because it was one great little outing.
rafting to namibia
This past week at University of Cape Town was “study week,” a week allotted to all students after classes end to study for finals. Naturally, we figured we would get a lot more studying done rafting and camping on the Orange River, the river that divides South Africa from Namibia.
At 5:30am on Saturday, Pine, the owner of the guide company picked us up in his “bucky.” Taylor and I sat in the enclosed trunk of the car, don’t worry there were windows. It resembled a cell, den, whatever twist one might want to put on this hot, sweaty space that we rode in for eight hours both ways.
In between naps, every time I awoke on the ride was a different scenery. From wine country, to farm areas, the colours started getting more and more scarce, desert-mountains appeared slowly, and people became more and more scarce.
We arrived at the base camp to explore the orange river, sit in the sun and swim for hours before a camp fire and delicious braai. After the first night of sleeping under the breathtaking African stars, we were headed on our rafting trip down the river.
Our two leaders, John and Mark securely attached everything to the rafts, and we were off, paddling right and left down the river.
The landscape around the Orange River is so fascinating. Every different scene looks like the cover of National Geographic. The river is clear, mostly calm, with fish jumping and so many different types of birds that our leaders pointed out along the way. In the river, different rock formations with heart-shaped holes and waves imprinted in them. Next to the river, is green, lush vegetation, from tall reeds, to trees to flowers. But just beyond the green is brown, rocky desert mountains. You can almost see the lines when it changes from water, to green, to brown.
The second two days of the trip, I paddled in the back, the back paddler is the person who steers, lots of man power. I am so ripped now, gosh. I succeeded in this situation for the most part. Once, I drove Laura and I into some thorny trees, and managed to get stuck over a couple of rocks. Never fell out though, and gosh my muscles are ripped.
The most adrenaline provoking moment was when Taylor and I went through a rapid called “entry exam.” We hit a rock from the side and were stuck. All of the sudden water filled our boat completely, almost taking all the supplies out and through the rapid. We were told to sit still if we hit a rock, because otherwise we would flip the boat, fall out, and potentially get stuck under a rock, which would clearly not be a good plan. John came and tied the boat to a rock on the side so we managed to get some of the water out and step out of the boat. We were saved with our hearts pumping. We walked up the side of the river with the boat so we could ride through the rapid without hitting a rock.
We also went through rapids in what were called “nappy runs.” A nappy run is when we put our life vests over our legs, to look like a nappy (diaper), and ride down a rapid sans boat in “cocktail position,” feet up, hands out, head up. It took us a while to get out into the water for fear of hitting a rock and drowning, but once we pushed ourselves, it was completely worth it. We also did a cliff jump into the water, which was also quite a thrill.
At night, the boys cooked delicious meals for us over the fire, we told awful ghost stories, drank boxed wine, peed in the woods, and slept under the stars. We came back with many layers of dirt, almost dreaded hair, sunburns and bug bites, all the best parts of coming back from a camping trip, gotta feel accomplished am I right?
plummet.
I did not tell my mother that I went skydiving until after the fact so she would know that I lived through it. We arrived at the airfield of Skydive Kwazulu Natal to meet Marc, who explained exactly what we had to do, every instruction he gave me was erased immediately by fear, which was probably not the best situation. After instructions and strapping on my harness, I sat in my tandem partner’s lap on the tiny plane. We made our way up past the clouds into the sky, looking for the best place to jump. We were warned that we might not even be able to jump because there were too many clouds in the sky, and that it might be dangerous. I trusted the stranger whose lap I was sitting in when he said the spot we picked was safe to jump out of thousands upon thousands of feet in the air. Marc opened the door, and Laura and Marc flew out of the plane and my partner was securely strapped on and practically just pushed me out the door.
The forty second free fall felt like a half a second. He gave me a thumbs up during it to put my arms out and fly. My eyes were open, I could not be afraid, because honestly, if I were to die up there, there was nothing I could do about it then so I just enjoyed the elation of falling from the sky.
The parachute unexpectedly came out and I was all of the sudden floating above a layer of clouds. Until we passed it, all I could see was the sky and a blanket of clouds. I have always wanted to jump out of planes to see what it would be like to touch a cloud, and what it would feel like to fly above them and I finally had my chance. It was the most surreal experience to be one amongst the clouds. We floated through the layer of clouds, and I put my hands out to touch them. No, they do not feel like marshmallows like the rumour goes. After we passed the layer of clouds, my tandem partner said “hmm, where is the airfield,” which was a little bit disconcerting but I trusted this stranger to get me down safely, and we did with the parachute behind us. I landed on the ground without an injury or even with my legs shaking. I could still barely believe that I just jumped out of a plane. The image floating above the clouds is forever imprinted in my mind.
“And for just a moment I had reached the point of ecstasy I had always wanted to reach, which was the complete step across chronological time into timeless shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move one, with a phantom dogging its own heels, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the angels dove off and flew into the holy void of uncreated emptiness, the potent and inconceivable radiances shining in bright Mind Essence, innumerable lotus-lands falling open in the magic mothswarm of heaven.” On the Road- Jack Kerouac
mountains and stars.
We assumed that the drive to the Drakensberg Mountain range would be a two and a half to three hour drive on a paved road. The paved road ended about after an hour and we were on dirt from then on. I have never seen South Africa until our drive that day. We drove through a large Zulu village at about two o’clock, just in time for the children to be released from school. We passed many round, thatched roofed houses with brightly coloured doors. Children started lining the roads stopping as we drove by to wave frantically and sometimes chase after the car. They seemed ecstatic to see us, the foreign crazies in the tiny blue car listening to Stevie Wonder and Marvin Gaye blasting from our car speakers.
The village ended after a few miles, and we became one with the dirt road and many, many cows. At one point, we were sure that we were lost, because we could not see any more thatched roofs or buildings for what seemed like miles and miles, so we created our own rest stop among cows and mountains. It turns out that we were headed in the right direction and we continued to roll our hardy VW in the dirt and finally arrived at our quaint cabin at the bottom of the most stunning mountain range that has ever hit my eyes.
After celebratory peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that we made it to Drakensberg, we hiked up a mountain. The hike went through grass, rocks, creeks, forest and at the top, it felt like Nicole, Paolo and I were the only people in the world. From the top of the mountain, we could not a single person, a single building, a single sign of any other human besides each other. It was so odd to believe that we were in the wild city centre of Durban the same day, or that the wild city centre of Durban even existed at all. For those minutes on top of that mountain, we were the only people in the world.
We were about to loose the sun, so it was time to hike back down to where people existed. It became dark as we were close to the bottom, our eyes could barely take us to our Cabin by the end of our hike. The electricity in our cabin and all cabins around us turned off promptly at ten o’clock, and all we had was candle light. There were no lights at all for miles upon miles. We lied in the dry grass outside our cabin, staring without blinking at the sky. I have never seen, and doubt that I will ever see more stars in my life time. The obstruction of human kind did not interfere with anything, it was once again just us and the stars, nothing else existed.
durban.
Durban differs from Cape Town in ways in which I did not expect before my our journey. I did not know exactly what to expect, I just knew that Durban is one of the cities to which everyone from South Africa told me to visit. I knew a city with a beach culture would greet me after the long drive, but Cape Town is also a beach and a city, how different could they be?
The beaches in Durban are much more racially mixed than in Cape Town. My psychology professor’s students conducted a study on post-apartheid Cape Townian beaches, looking at the racial demographics of beaches after they were no longer segregated by law. The beaches in Cape Town are still very separated even after apartheid. While blacks and coloureds are allowed in the previously “only white” beaches, they keep in separate areas from the whites, and the whites are not happy that blacks and coloureds are allowed on “their” beaches. In Durban, the beaches seemed much more racially mixed, and nobody seemed to care about who was on their beaches. While I did not explicitly ask anyone on the beach how they felt about the mixing of racial groups, it seemed that everyone was comfortable with the racial demographic on the beach.
I also never truly realised how “chilled out” Cape Town is until I left it for the week. The city centre of Durban bussling and lively. People walk across the middle of the street with power over the cars; curvy women hold large packages balanced on their heads and two bags in each of their hands with ease. Everyone seems to be involved in some sort of task or on their way to one, unlike Cape Town, where people leisurely walk the streets, and will complete tasks at hand just now, which in translation, means eventually, maybe. At first, one might see Durban as ugly and stressful, but after finding myself lost, looking out the windows in the city centre, Durban became one of the most colourful city and has a distinct, quick-paced and bright, quirky character that I grew to enjoy.
p.s. Durban also has excellent, excellent Indian food, complete with bright pink drinks with umbrellas
on the road…south africa style.
We pushed our tiny, blue VW out of Lieesbeck Gardens because we could not seem to figure out how to put the car in reverse, but we had a system in which Paolo pushed the car and I pulled the emergency break, teamwork from the beginning. We turned onto the N2, which we would drive across the Southern part of South Africa all the way to Durban, on the east coast. At the beginning of the N2, were vendors selling a wide array of items, from slingshots to rubix cubes to world maps. All things one might need while in the car, naturally.
Eight hours later, without using the reverse once because we only stopped for gas once and did not park the car, we arrive back to Island Vibe for the night. We figured that we might need to put the car in reverse eventually so we asked an Israeli man with a bottle of wine in his hand to help us. He sat in the driver’s seat and immediately set the car in reverse. It seemed to put a slight damper on Paolo’s sense of masculinity but I still say he is a fine driver.
The second day of our trip was, to say the least, caused our blood pressure to rise a tad. After driving the familiar Garden Route the previous day, the route became more and more unfamiliar and more and more desolate as each hour passed. It is safe to say that we were the only foreigners for miles and miles. There were many cycles on the side of the road from nothing but Cows, grass and mountains, to a few thatched-roof houses, to many thatched-roof houses, to these eerie little town centres with no houses but many businesses, and the same ones in each that we passed about every hour. They were quite indescribable and bazaar.
At one of these disconcerting towns, the N2 apparently turned, but we turned the wrong way, which we did not figure out for a while. The road we were on looked exactly like the N2, but after about 15 minutes of driving, the road stopped. At the end of it was a pick up truck and there was nothing in front of it, not even a dirt road, just nothing.
After getting lost, it began to grow dark. Not only dark, but rainy and foggy. The fog became so horrible at one point that we could not see farther than about two feet in front of us, and we had to drive at about 15 miles an hour, with scarce other cars.
We finally arrived alive in Durban, we were happy to be out of the car and have all of our limbs and our fierce little car intact. All in all, we saw the real South Africa and truly became one with the N2.
