'From Inglewood to a Single Hood in Botswana'

Since my last update I have visited three amazing new countries. I'm sitting in the Namibian town of Swapkopmund, where the desolate Kalahari collides with the cold and powerful Atlantic. Just outside the town are some of the imposing sand dunes that make this country famous, and its coastline is as rugged as its name, the Skeleton Coast, would imply - it acquired this moniker thanks to its ruthless treatment of passing vessels rounding the cape over the centuries.
I was about to complete the 'adrenalin trifecta' today by skydiving in this very scenic place, but unfortunately heavy winds did not allow us to proceed and we are grounded till tomorrow morning. Namibia is a land of jaw dropping scenery and imposing landscapes, and merits a blog post of its own in the near future. Stay tuned also for an update on my skydive...

I joined an organized tour (called an 'overland tour' as we use a specially designed truck/bus) at the end of April after saying bye to my new friends in Durban. My last night before departing was spent in Johannesburg. From the very begining of my trip, even before I left Canada, people had been telling me to avoid Jo'burg if at all possible, that it was an ugly city well worth steering clear of due to its atrocious crime rate. In fact, the first story I heard upon arrival was from a Swedish traveller who had gone to the top of the famous Hillbrow Tower in downtown Jozi. As he exited the tower he was grabbed by four guys while a fifth took everything out of his pockets, they then beat him up and ran away...in broad daylight on a business workday! Many similar horror stories had been recited by travellers and South Africans alike along my route, so I was undoubtedly wary from the getgo.

Contrary to everything I heard, I had a fantastic time. I met up with two friends who were born and raised in Jo'burg (we met randomly in Cape Town back in early April) and they were great guides to their city. Omphile and Lebo are young professionals my age, who grew up predominantly in the post-apartheid age and have thus had many freedoms not available to their parents and families. It was very interesting to see South Africa through their eyes, they inundated me with information and anecdotes on daily life in Jo'burg, providing incredible insight. Our discussions took place primarily in a popular hangout for young people of all colours that once served as a white-only lawn bowling club. From there we ventured around Jo'burg by car, even going deep into the city center despite it being well past sunset (an act I had been warned was unthinkable). We stopped at a shebeen (illegal township bar) in the CBD (Central Business District - infamous for being prime location of all crime) that was run by one of Omphile's good friends. Then we drove through the very posh and very heavily gated, razor-wired, and electric-fenced suburbs of the rich which sat just next door. All without incident. In fact, we didn't even need to engage too often in the favorite South African passtime of running red lights for fear of car jackers (not joking). Through it all I continued to struggle at how such an arrangement - juxtaposition of rich and poor - took place, and started to see why these two optimistic young South Africans felt their city was misrepresented, the great melting pot of cultures was in fact quite secure considering what a powderkeg of a setup it posesses. By no means would I recommend such a trip to an unaccompanied traveller, even in a vehicle. It served to put things into perspective for me, though, and I am very grateful for the opportunity to see it through the eyes of locals. Jozi most definitely merits warnings and precautions, but dismissing it as a one-dimensional entity would be foolish.

Instead of the heartless, bloodthirsty monster that it is often made out to be, I was fortunate enough to see the good side of Johannesburg. In visiting both the beautiful and ugly portions of this throbbing metropolis I began to see what Omphile and Lebo were talking about when they described Jo'burg as the real modern South Africa: it is the rare place where the various cultures and ethnicities don't just meet but actually commingle and interact, depending deeply on each other to function and survive. So much of this fascinating country still exists in a state of clandestine apartheid, due to the remnants of the xenophobic past. It is no secret that in most parts of the country, people prefer to stick to their own kin and are untrusting of other races. In Jozi they collide - sometimes violently - in a pulsating melee of culture, energy and emotion. Personally, I cannot fault the negatives of this city. It is the very embodiment of the duality I tried to describe in my previous post. It is the prototype for contemporary South Africa and for all its faults, if only the upsides are properly harnessed it could become a model for cities around the world that strive to nurture cultural melting pots, even if it never ranks among the most scenic or inviting.

The next morning myself and seven fellow travellers from Liverpool, Holland, Australia, New Zealand, and Canada boarded the tour bus/truck and departed bright and early towards the wilds of South Africa. Our first stop was a private game reserve just outside the world famous Kruger National Park. Here we were greeted with a very pleasant surprise: a complimentary upgrade from the confines of the campsite (and, as I would soon find out, tents that smelled like my hockey bag) to private A/C rooms. It was the first time I had had a room to myself since arriving in Africa, and I can't tell you how exciting it was to not have to listen to drunkards stumbling into a shared room at all hours of the night (to be fair, I was often culpable in this act) or lonely couples going at it in the bunk under me. I slept quite fitfully both nights.

From the private reserve we took a night time game drive which was easily one of the highlights of the trip so far. Being outside the boundary of the national park, we were allowed to get very close to the animals, at many points being within a few inches of herds of cape buffalo and even lion. By night's end we had spotted the entire big 5 except for the rhino.

**Note: the "Big 5" are Africa's most prized hunting trophies, being the most difficult animals to kill with a spear. They are the lion, leopard, elephant, buffalo and rhino.

It was incredible to be so close with all of these creatures in the wild, getting to use more senses than just sight and sound. This was exemplified to me when we tracked hyena; documentaries often comment on their unpleasant smell, but due to its uniqueness it is not possible to describe. Though unenjoyable, the act of smelling them gave me a more complete understanding of hyenas. To witness the natural world in action is astounding. it is impossible to get a true sense of the surroundings, the scope or the scale of the wilderness and how all of these magnificent creatures move within it through any media, you simply have to exprience it for yourself.

The rest of this first part of the trip was mostly just driving through Botswana to get to Livingstone, Zambia and the wonderous Mosi-Oa-Tunya (also called 'Victoria Falls'). The weather was not exactly ideal for camping, as the last of the rainy season downpours persisted in making it quite uncomfortable to set up and dismantle our tents and cooking supplies. Since there were so few of us we did have the luxury of our own tents, which was appreciated, though we had no luck in finding ones that did not leak despite having over 24 to choose from. The best campsite we visited was undoubtedly one called Elephant Sands, where we pitched our tents just ten meters from a watering hole in an unfenced area. Though this made nighttime toilet visits a little hair raising (especially when you could hear a male lion roaring in the distance all night) it paid great dividends on the morning we were leaving. As we broke camp and sipped hot tea to warm up our damp selves, there was quite a commotion stirring around the camp. Even the locals who worked there were visibly excited, which portended the special and very rare nature of the event we were about to witness. We scrambled to find our cameras and rushed to the watering hole to see an entire pack of wild dogs congregating for a morning drink. It was an incredible sight, as our driver said "this is the first and last time you will ever see these animals in the wild" - when a guy who grew up in rural Zimbabwe and has spent his life tracking animals says such a thing, you are hard pressed to not revel in your good fortune, which made the sighting all the more memorable.

Crossing into Zambia provided the delays and challenges one associates with road travel in the 'third world'. The border is demarcated by the scenic Chobe river, which has to be forded using rickety barges that scarecely look capable of handling the 250m crossing unburdened, let alone carrying several fully loaded trucks and many weary passengers. Fog inhibited a crossing for much of the morning, so I broke out my frisbee and we taught the local truck drivers how to huck. They proved quick studies and pretty soon there was some solid action taking place, with everyone trying their best to circumvent the massive puddles of mud and drainage ditches. I was coaxed into launching a deep throw that I somehow thought I could land in a safe spot, but which ended up being a little too high for the recipient and landed right in the middle of said ditch. Not wanting to risk dirtying any of my precious few articles of clothing, I gave the frisbee up as permanently lost, only to see that the truckers somehow managed to navigate the bog using an improvised frisbee fishing rod and retrieve the disk. They ran down the road in mock theft, but soon the game resumed. This interaction was one of those simple, but sometimes rare, pleasures that reminds any traveller how, no matter where you are in the world, there are good people around who are all striving for very similar goals, even if circumstances vary. In this case it happened to be an easily remedied cure for boredom.

After the fog had cleared, we made it across without a problem, though you could almost hear the crocs on the banks licking their lips in anticipation of an error by the captain. Once in Livingstone we bid farewell to three of our tour members and met up with the onward group, which consisted of 15 travellers who were making their way from Nairobi to Cape Town and two aussie couples who had arrived in Livingstone to join us. With the three Afrikaner guides, we totalled 23, which meant no more reclining over a set of four seats for the remainder of the trip.

Livingstone is the home to the thundering beast of a natural wonder of the world, Mosi-Oa-Tunya. More a force than a sight, the Falls are awe inspiring. The water level of the mighty Zambezi was at its highest in over 50 years - which, to my great disappointment meant white water rafting was a no-go, this was on my list of top five things to do in Africa but I suppose will have to wait till my next visit. This also meant viewing the falls was not possible save for in small 10m increments (not that much when talking about a face that stretches 1.7km). However, this proved to be a good thing: instead of simply witnessing one of the miracles of the natural world, we got to feel it. We were pounded by the incredibly dense mist, breathed the cool vapor, and were simply intimidated by the incredible sound made by the falls. Yet another African delight that must be experienced to truly be understood and appreciated (I will post pics as soon as possible). I had the misfortune of feeling the floor of a solid steel bridge on the back of my head as well; the viewing bridge was a slippery death trap, as we crossed I commented on the liklihood of one of us taking a spill and sure enough it was me. Despite a massive goose egg and minor headache I was able to right myself and scramble off completely drenched. My ego, on the other hand, took a real beating.

The other highlight of Livingstone was the gorge swing. This activity was quite similar to the bungee jump I did in South Africa, I will be posting video of it in place of a written description. It was not as scary as the bungee but was still a great rush! I managed to do it three times, the hike out of the gorge was quite taxing in the oppressive heat and prevented further jumps. But I'm quite sure I got the full effect of the 3.5 second freefall in to the 75m chasm.

Zambia is a country blessed with some of the friendliest people I've ever met, though many are perpetually hawking their wares, everyone seems genuinely interested in hearing about you and why (other than the falls) you chose to visit their country. I'm sure the nation has much more to offer than just the falls and surrounding area, and I would love to investigate such possibilities in the future.

Like any traveller, despite my best efforts I arrived in Africa with certain preconceived notions about how the experience would be. These ideas of the look and feel of a vast continent were derived from a lifetime of indirect viewing, be it through various media or word of mouth. Because of this accumulated respresentation, along my travels I found myself always looking out at a particular scene and thinking "this doesn't look very African" or "now this looks like Africa" but then catching myself and wondering what could possibly make me an authority on what is and isn't an inherent trait of a given country or city, let alone an entire continent. Indeed, every region and every country has had a very unique vibe about it. Though some aspects can be classified in a vague amalgamation of our western view of 'Africa', the vast majority are unique unto themselves.

One evening we took a sunset cruise on the Chobe river. It started off like most other game drives, with animal spottings and beautiful scenery. But as the sun slipped away over an ecosystem eager to bound to nocturnal life, I was shaken with what I saw before me. It was one of those moments that snaps you out of revelry, and all of a sudden you feel more awake, more alert, as though not just witnessing but actually feeling, tasting, and breathing in the scene in front of you. The sky was stained shades of striking red and majestic purple, the scattered and ragged clouds reflecting the colours on their flat undersides further accentuating the incredible sight. On the opposite side of the boat the full moon was brightly visible above the silhoutted jungle foliage. We passed pods of hippos as they grazed for their evening meal on the shallow banks, and came face to face with a massive bull elephant as he quenched his thirst from a taxingly hot day before resuming his foraging. As I sipped my ice cold beer and stood agape at the sheer beauty of the sunset and the setting, a thought occured to me that for the first time seemed appropriate: this was indeed Africa.

Apologies to my many loyal readers for the huge delay in posting my first entry from Africa. My time in South Africa is slowly winding down and has been very eye opening as well as a blast.

Below is an account of the last four-plus weeks. It is the fruit of the better part of five hours of typing and editing that has probably increased my risk of carpel-tunnel, but was needed so as not to fall too far behind. I promise to post more regularly in the future, but for the mean time hopefully you don't fall asleep while going through this mini novel I've compiled:

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I landed in Cape Town on a Friday afternoon, facing head-on perhaps the most daunting of challenges any solo traveler faces; arriving in a foreign place not knowing a single soul. You have to go from zero to sixty in terms of social interaction, or risk feeling very alone in the world. Ironically the first person I met in South Africa was a Calgarian. Although very nice, I quickly and politely excused myself from her company. After all, I didn't come to Africa to hang out with my esteemed peers from back home. The drive in to town was quite surprising. After arriving from the controlled chaos, confusion, and crowds of Delhi, Cape Town looked very much like North America. This country is indeed very westernized, although one need not look too far to see obvious distinctions, such as sprawling townships filled with dilapidated shanties sitting side by side with ostentatious mansions. The famous Table Mountain was obscured by clouds that were squeezing out the last of a light drizzle, the shuttle driver assuring us the day's rain was an anomaly and things would soon clear up. Within ten minutes of checking in to my hostel I was walking down one of Cape Town's main bar and restaurant drags, Long Street, with an American Peace Corps worker who was, along with a larger group of his peers, a refugee from work in Madagascar due to the recent political instability in that country. I couldn't help but feel like I was on Africa's version of the Khao San Road, as the only locals seemed to be the ones working in the eateries/bars or peddling drugs. But I reassured myself that there would be plenty of time to seek out haunts frequented by Capetonians in the days to come and, along with Brian and some of his friends, settled in to my first Castle lager on a beautiful Victorian patio overlooking the City Bowl. As the rain subsided and the skies began to clear, a huge rainbow swept across the sky, accentuating the magnificent and now visible Table Mountain. I laughed and commented on how fitting the scene was for my arrival in the 'Rainbow Nation'. Too bad I didn't have my camera to capture it - it was sitting in the safe back at the hostel, since I wouldn't be heading back till after dark and thus it was not safe to carry it around...

I had originally intended to spend about a week in Cape Town, and so proceeded to vigorously run through all of the major tourist draws, of which there are many in the stunning Cape Peninsula. The view from the top of Table Mountain was simply astounding, I climbed with some of the Peace Corps friends and we were extremely fortunate to have done it on an ultra clear day with not a cloud in the sky. Unfortunately, the downside to this perfect viewing weather was that it almost killed me on the hike to the top. I consider myself to be of average to above average physical ability, remaining quite active year-round back home, including long hikes in the Canadian Rockies. No word of a lie, the two hour climb to the top of Table Mountain was the hardest hike I have ever undertaken. Without the luxury of switchbacks, it's dead straight up the towering monolith under the blazing sun and with no shade to offer respite. The grueling trek was well worth it though, even pictures do not do the place justice, it is truly a must-see that you should experience for yourself.

A few days later I rented a car the size of a shoe box with my two winemaker friends (university trained in the art) from Spain and Italy to visit the tip of the Cape Peninsula. This included Cape Point (where the great upwelling from the meeting of the Indian and Atlantic Oceans occurs - see the "Planet Earth" series for more details) and the Cape of Good Hope (the most south-westerly tip of Africa). The sheer power of Cape Point was amazing. Facing nothing but water all the way to Antarctica we were incessantly pounded by gale-force winds as we took in the sight. The waters roiled and waves crashed with such force against the sliver of land that encompassed the peninsula upon which the light house sat that it seemed the frail structure would topple any second. Meanwhile, menacing storm clouds rolled across vast swaths of ocean far in the distance. The accumulation of these ominous scenes made for a very humbling experience.

From Cape Point we made the short drive to Good Hope where we watched the sun set alongside a pair of wild ostriches that were probably quite unaware of what a beautiful spot they had chosen to forage. With massive waves forming perfect barrels before slamming into the jagged rocks below a slowly appearing moon and a fast retreating sun, we turned north towards the city and rolled up the windows to ward off any stray baboons who eyed us up for food as we drove slowly by.

One day we ventured out to wine country, Stellenbosch, just outside Cape Town and paid a visit to a few wineries before meeting up with some more winemaker friends for a braai (Afrikaans for barbeque) at the winery where they were completing a harvest. We passed the evening indulging in some fantastic wines, playing a game of guessing the variety, year, region etc. of individual wines with the bottles concealed inside socks to prevent cheating. I can tell you I actually got one right! (this may or may not have had to do with the fact that I repeated the same answer for every bottle we sampled). Learning from people who actually know a thing or two about wines was very valuable, it was an added bonus to a pleasant evening in the Hottentot hills. We took the opportunity to get some much needed sleep, conserving our energy for the weekend.

We geared up for a last hurrah as the guys would soon be on their way back to Europe. Two of us purchased tickets to the Cape Town International Jazz Festival well in advance, which was good thinking (at the time) as the shows sold out very quickly. I was very excited to see one of my favorite artists, Mos Def, in his first performance in Africa. The remaining members of our party had failed to acquire tickets before they sold out, but as with any major event we banked on the fact that scalping would be possible and made our way to the show. Sure enough, everyone got in, in fact, the scalpees procured their entry for 1/3rd of the ticket price! It was pretty mind boggling, I'm pretty sure that nowhere else in the world would someone sell for less than the asking price on the day of a sold out event. We staked out a great spot in the open air venue and waited patiently as Mos kept on getting "delayed". The crowd rained choruses of boos on the MC when she would come out to explain again and again that the main attraction was tied up. Finally, Mos appeared and began a show that proved to be pretty weird - well, at least the parts I got to see.

As in any other big concert, people were crammed in like sardines and constantly jostling for a better spot or better view. One usually thinks nothing of this, it's part of the experience of live music. And so, my dead sober self figured the people behind me were just getting really in to the music when they pushed up against me, pinning me to the people in front. All of a sudden a guy was standing with his chest perpendicular to me, so I turned to face him, making eye contact but immediately turning back to face the show, diverting my eyes as is polite. But a split second after that I thought to myself "that's weird, why is he facing me and not the show" and felt a light tug on my shorts. I plunged my hand in to my right front pocket to find that my wallet was gone, simultaneously turning towards the direction of the suspicious guy who was now running away through the crowd. I pushed out of the tangle of people, only to have the dude's accomplice overtly push me right back in and walk the other way. I did my best to give chase to the pickpocket but to no avail, so I sought security and police.

What happened next was quite eye-opening. The fact that I had been the victim of petty theft was not too worrying, that can happen anywhere in the world and as a traveler you tend to be especially vulnerable in South Africa. The reaction (or blatant lack thereof) of the supposed 'good guys' was utterly appalling. I spoke to three event security people and six police officers, all of whom were more concerned with passing me off to someone else than actually listening to what I had to say. My favorite conversation was with a uniformed police officer, it went as follows:

Me: "I've just had my wallet stolen, but I saw the guys and can give you an exact description"

Officer: "Ok"

Me: "He was 5'10", thick build, had a beard and short dread locks, a red t-shirt and was wearing a brown cap"

Officer: "I see...what colour were his pants?"

Me: "I don't know, I only saw his upper body"

Officer: "Oh, well in that case I can't help you. I need to know the colour of his pants."

Me: "..."

I managed to track down my friends, only to find that one of them had had been hit as well. Through some miracle we were able to find a security guy on shift who actually gave a shit about his responsibilities. He called over two police constables and they sent people to watch the exits for guys matching the descriptions. We ended up seeing the guys, and pointed them out to the officers, who pulled the two aside. They chatted for a while, without searching them, then came to talk to me. The officer asked me to follow him, and before I knew it I was face to face with the guys. I was shocked. I'm not a law enforcement expert but I believe it's rule #1 not to put the accused face to face with the accuser, hence the use of one-way glass and the lineup. I promptly turned and walked away back towards my friends who watched in bewilderment as the officers let the guys go, claiming they didnt have any more forms to fill out the paper work required or to provide me with documentation of the event to show my credit card company in the event of a run on my stolen card (I had canceled the card via phone by this point, but always better safe than sorry). The officers then briskly departed, in different directions, so that we couldn't find or talk to them anymore.

We begrudgingly headed back to Long Street having missed the entire concert, only to find the majority of bars full or closed. After much searching we finally came across an establishment that was able to let us in, but as though to affirm that this was indeed not our night, a random drunk girl stumbled by me and proceeded to vomit all over my friend Enrico, whose last night it was in South Africa and who had also lost his wallet to pickpockets...We couldn't believe our terrible luck, and decided that we needed to just get back to our hostel. As we fought our way through the drunken masses on the street, I walked around a group of people and ran into none other than my friend with the red t-shirt, small dread locks and brown hat, standing right in front of me (in hindsight I guess I should have taken a look at the colour of his pants). The fucker was wasted - no doubt thanks to my money - and not looking too pleasant, so we quickly jumped into a nearby cab and got the hell out of there. Needless to say I was a tad paranoid for the remainder of my stay whenever I found myself on Long Street.
Thanks, South African police.

With a heavy heart I tore myself away from the Mother City on the 14th day after my arrival in Africa, having scarcely had a chance to collect my thoughts following the whirlwind of activities I did, sights I had seen, and partying I partook in. I made my way to Wilderness, a small village on the Indian Ocean coast with ample natural beauty on offer in the surrounding ancient growth forests and canyons. However I chose to recuperate on the 27km beach, getting some sun, sleep and testing my daring against the most ridiculously powerful rips I have ever encountered. Being an open ocean beach, the danger of currents is very real as they can easily drag you far out to sea in a matter of seconds - hence I only ventured waist deep before retiring to the hostel for one of their amazing wood-fired oven pizzas. It was at this point that I had meant to put together a blog post, but the internet was the speed of dial-up circa 1992.

Following a quick two nights in Wilderness I was on the road again. Easter weekend is a major holiday in South Africa as it marks the end of their summer. I managed to snag a bed in the world famous Jeffery's Bay, home of one of the best surf breaks on the planet, Super Tubes. Along with a massive throng of vacationers I arrived to the usually laid-back town and proceeded to party like it was 1999 and surf up a storm. The hostel, Island Vibe, was pretty bare bones but did boast a prime location, on top of a dune with 270 degree beach views and ten steps from some very consistent breaks (though not Super Tubes - I didn't want to show up everybody right away, you know). I met up with an Aussie who is moving to Banff for the next ski season and after running the pool table for a few nights we decided to venture to nearby Port Elizabeth for a day to catch the cricket match between Australia and South Africa. It was a pivotal game in a smaller stadium and was thus sold out, so our plans were by no means guaranteed to pan out. But, emboldened by the ease of acquiring entry to the Jazz Fest back in Cape Town, and trusting in travel karma, we decided to chance it and headed out, catching a mini-bus taxi to PE, dropping our bags off at a hostel and booking it to the stadium. There, despite Bayden's incessant anxiety about getting screwed over, we soon procured tickets for a mere CAN$3 higher than the CAN$20 list price and found ourselves lounging in the warm sun with a cold beer and some world class cricket unfolding in front of us. It was a perfect day, immaculate weather, exciting play, ample refreshments (which were cheaper inside the stadium than they are outside - go figure) and a colourful and festive atmosphere. Despite a decisive victory for South Africa even Bayden concurred the day as a whole was an excellent outcome, and we headed to the hostel to wash up and hit the town. I woke up at 5 the next morning, due only to the alarm I had set for the bus - we made it as far as our dorm room before collapsing at 7pm the night before, the sun and beer having taken their toll.

It was back to J-bay for some more surf, sand and shopping (at the insanely low priced Billabong factory outlet), the latter of which I barely partook in, so as to save myself the hassle of carting extra stuff around for the next three and a half months. I did, however, get my hands on a dirt cheap Quicksilver 4:3 wetsuit which will hopefully make it home with me so I can venture to the shores of Tofino in the near future.

Back at Island Vibe I met up with some people who had a car and were heading back towards Cape Town, which, coincidentally, was the direction of the Bloukrans bridge; site of the world's highest bridge bungee jump (the only bungees higher than this are out of helicopters and for pros only). I convinced Jasmine and Tom to drive me a little out of their way to the jump site, from where I'd make my own way back, assuring them that I wouldn't pressure them about doing the jump themselves. Bayden took off back to Australia, and the three of us crammed in to another shoe box car for the two hour trip to the bridge. I spent the duration of this trip harassing, guilting, and peer pressuring them in to jumping.

Upon arrival we got our first glimpse of the bridge from afar, and I broke into a steady cold sweat at the prospect of what I had enlisted myself for. We nervously watched a few terrified people literally be pushed off the bridge by the crew and discussed our options. Were it not for the sudden appearance of a massive tour bus full of eager jumpers, we may have had too much time to vacillate on our decision and ultimately chicken out. Luckily, the idea of a painful wait watching 45 more people plummet 216m propelled us in to signing up and paying for the jump. Before we knew what was going on (and had a chance to run back to the car and get out of there) we were weighed, harnessed and walking along the underside of the massive engineering marvel that spans a very imposing gorge to the jumpsite. To put our minds at ease the guides were giving us all kinds of numbers and facts: length of the bridge, how it was constructed, its special features, how the bungee system worked etc. normally my nerdy self would be very interested in these details, but my body was numb and my mind occupied with just three digits: 2-1-6.

I don't know how to put in to words how high that is when your toes are over the edge of solid ground and nothing but jungle, rocks and a stream await you far, far below. The jump itself is mostly a blur, there is simply too much adrenalin pumping through your body to mitigate the terror that your body does not function as normal. I, like all first time jumpers, can remember snapshots of the plunge and subsequent bouncing, but primarily the memory is of emotions. Emotions I never knew existed, emotions that are so new and unique that I don't think you can experience them but for certain very specific situations. The fear was a whole new level, so primal, such an intense sensation, it was as tough my instincts were screaming directly to my brain a mantra of self-preservation. I felt like I was in some sort of state of shock, and I began operating on auto pilot. As they were tying me up and the reality of what I was about to do started setting in (accompanied by an ever tightening knot in my stomach) the jump master gave me a great pep talk. He just said "pretend you're on a diving board at a pool. Just jump".

And I did.

Too early, in fact. They count you down from five, but I was already in the air at three. I couldn't wait any longer, I couldn't let the surreal quality of the act of standing prostrate on the edge of a giant precipice secured by nothing but a rope around my ankles fade away - if it did I would most certainly have curled up in to the fetal position and cried like a baby in order to get out of jumping. So I did it. I propelled myself through the air and before i knew it I was screaming the loudest scream I have ever uttered, disoriented as to my position in the huge sky and overcome by the most intense sense of euphoria I have ever felt. The wait at the bottom for the guy to come winch you back up was the only uncomfortable part of the whole exercise, it felt like my feet were slipping out of the harness and my head exploding from the rush of blood. But as soon as I was back at the top I was ecstatic, I've never been that pumped before. I have a DVD of the whole thing, and watching it made me realize I indeed do not have a clear recollection of the entire experience. I guess that means I'll have to go back and do it again.

Once all three of us had taken the plunge - Jasmine the most ebullient and Tom the most calm (but crumpling in to a flying fetal position at take off) we sat for ages over beers discussing the jump, none of us sure of what to say about it, all of us certain it was one of the single greatest things we had ever done.

I headed back to J-bay for one more day to catch waves on some new breaks, and met up with other friends. Then I ventured for two uneventful days to a very beautiful beach resort at Chintsa, followed by two very exciting days at Coffee Bay, where I went on a stunning hike and floundered in the imposing surf.

Next was Bulungula. What a place. Simply beautiful. I heard about this untouched gem from my cousin Diya, who had visited a year prior while studying in South Africa. It took almost all day to get there, in mini buses and over the worst 'roads' I have ever seen but the sight of the tiny village was jaw dropping. Bulangula sits in a truly majestic setting, perched atop rolling hills which plunge in to the foaming ocean. The next day were the national elections, so I walked with some South African voters to the polling station, 1.5 hours away, and enjoyed the very insightful information they provided me about their government, the election, apartheid and contemporary culture in their country. It was also inspiring to meet all the villagers who walked from far and wide to reach the one polling station in this remote area of the Wild Coast. This particular election saw a 90% voter turnout, proof of how precious the citizens here consider the right to democracy, and poignant contrast to the apathy we display in North America. Following a glass of traditional beer (called 'beeah') we made the trip back, stopping frequently to snap pictures that simply could not encapsulate the incredible scenery. I went for a horse ride around the countryside, which unveiled more stunning scenery, but I had the misfortune of choosing the laziest horse on earth - though I can't blame it as it looked like it might keel over at any second probably due to malnourishment. Ironically he looked healthier than the other horses and one mule that were offered.

Promising I would return one day in the future, and hoping that it would remain as unspoiled, I left Bulungula for Durban. 15 hours later I was enjoying a drink with a Dutch friend to live music at a jazz bar in South Africa's third largest city (and home to the largest population of Indians outside India). I found it interesting that South Africans, even in Durban, were taken by surprise when they found out I am of Indian origin, but it makes sense now that I have glimpsed the Indian culture here. It is definitely unique as compared to that of India, evidence of the divergence from traditions that is surely inevitable after so many generations removed from their land of origin. I pondered how Indian culture in Canada would look in a hundred years or so.

I spent the rest of the weekend watching an IPL cricket match and meeting interesting new people. Tomorrow I leave for Johannesburg, into the belly of the beast, apparently. With its atrocious violent crime record and reputation as an ugly urban jungle it's no surprise I have been told by almost everyone to avoid it, but I will be there for one day to see the apartheid museum. The morning after I meet up with a tour group and depart for 25 days of safari in Kruger, Botswana and Namibia, stopping off at Victoria Falls along the way and finishing off in Cape Town at the end of May. I am really sad to say bye to independent travel for now, especially as I feel I've just hit my groove, but I'm sure the tour will be great in its own way and I'll be back on the road solo again in no time.

I don't think I've ever come across a country of such great complexity as South Africa. There is a constant duality in every facet of history, contemporary life, and culture here. This was clearly exemplified in a seemingly mundane moment during my first week in Cape Town. It came to me following my first ever surf session. I sat in the back of a classic 70's VW van piloted by a stereotypical bleach-blonde, sun baked, slang talking surfer dude (our instructor)and filled with protruding surf boards, sandy wetsuits, a handsome Rhodesian Ridgeback (aptly named 'Wax') who jealously guarded his prized window seat, and two exhausted first-time surfers newly infected with the addiction of wave riding. As the pounding surf of False Bay gave way to the plush suburbs and gated communities of Newlands on our drive back to downtown, the news on the radio suddenly grabbed my attention. The story being recited detailed how a convicted murder who was being transported from one jail to another had smuggled a brick on to the armoured van, placed it in a burlap sack, and proceeded to use the makeshift weapon, when the doors of the van were opened, to kill two police officers and maim several others before being subdued. I was dumbfounded by the sheer violence of the grisly attack. And yet the anchor spoke with a tone that indicated a frequency in such events. I couldn't understand how such actions were possible, and how a populace could be nonchalant when discussing these problems - even though it is universally deplored here, it feels sometimes like everyone treats crime as a problem that is inevitable.

But it also dawned on me that, perhaps, in order to continue to grow as a nation, in order to survive the growing pains of a much tortured nation newly unshackled from the bonds of legalized racism and plunged into a role of leadership for so many of its continental neighbors, South Africa and it's people must endure such gruesome afflictions. Perhaps it isn't denial, but a necessary set of blinders they must wear for fear of getting so overwhelmed by the problem in its entirety that they become incapacitated to act in the interim. Racism is a whole other beast, not entirely unto itself, as the two major domestic issues currently facing this country, the AIDS epidemic and crime, draw roots from the apartheid era and its ramifications. Yet even with these massively daunting challenges, there appears to be great hope for the future here. You can see it in people's eyes when they discuss the 2010 world cup, or speak with great pride about how many visitors marvel at the natural beauty of their land. South Africa's emergence depends on a lot of factors, but it has all the tools to reach great heights, and citizens who are hell bent on getting it there.

It's the craziness of this place that has kept me enraptured for the last four weeks, not thinking about writing blog posts, attempting still to get my bearings and perhaps gain some insight in to this brave attempt at racial harmony, spellbound at the audacity this young country shows in trudging through the mire of crime, an AIDS epidemic and increasing worry about it's political stability. I have scarcely had a chance to take a breath; from the pulse pounding pace of the incredible Cape Peninsula to the pristine waves of J-bay to the rugged beauty of the Transkei and the astounding Wild Coast, South Africa is a land blessed with almost too much beauty and excitement. While we as travelers wander its boundaries to discover these gems, we can't help but pause and applaud its resiliant people and their impressive accomplishments.

**quite rushed at the moment, will post more thoughts/reflections on race relations in South Africa as I proceed on the trip, my mind is brimming with them...

Redux

Approximately three years ago I graduated from university and - with a 60 liter backpack and three of my closest friends in tow - set out for my first taste of independent travel. I landed first on familiar shores, re-acclimatizing to the craziness of Asian life in India, and then departing for a couple of months to explore the milk run that is the South East Asian tourist route - chronicling my misadventures on this very blog. Coming back to the real world and starting a career proved to be a rude awakening, though it was rewarding in its own way. However, my feet itched insatiably over the years, longing to hit the road again. This year I follow in my own proverbial footsteps.

After two and half years of working as an engineer in Calgary, Canada, I requested and received a leave of absence (in other words, a variable length vacation without pay) from my company. I’ve spent the first six weeks of my LOA here in Delhi, enjoying the company of my family and reconnecting with India. I had originally budgeted for a shorter sojourn here, as the excitement of exploring new places loomed. However, as it has always seemed to do, India has drawn me in with it’s alluring and undeniable power. Most of my time has been spent in the disorienting, bafflingly chaotic capital, Delhi. I ventured to the Himalayan foothills for some much needed fresh air and quiet, visiting the famous hill station Mussoorie where I sipped chai and warmed my feet by the fireplace following long days of hiking. I also attended a traditional Punjabi wedding in Chandigarh and partook in the festival of Holi. As always India has been eye-opening and fantastic. But the time has come: the documents are in order (I think), the bags are packed, the iPod is loaded up and my mind is exploding with emotions and anticipation.

And so, one day after my 24th birthday I will land on a continent I’ve never visited, in a hemisphere I have yet to breach. A place that evokes dozens of stereotypical images to the average North American (many probably not very positive) who may never even get to set foot there, will come into focus in my immediate reality. It still doesn’t feel real to me, doesn’t feel like I’m actually departing on this trip I’ve been planning on for years.

I’ve got a lot of ground to cover.

Africa, here I come.