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...