Victoria Falls - Video Spectacular

AfricanVideos 2 - final round

Well, I got the Africa videos and pictures all uploaded and put where they should be. So yay for that. It only took hours, as I watched Hero, and Apocolypto... I had no real plans for today anyway, so it let me kick back. Cambodia tomorrow. Gonna hit up a net cafe to print out that ticket, and then visit my noodle lady for some good eats. Here's another browser crashing batch of youtube vids for you:


DAY 14

flight 1


flight 2


flight 3


truck


animal


DAY 15

boat


boat


macorro





DAY 16

giraffe


wildebeast


sunset


mocoro ride

DAY 17

lion eating cow 1


lion eating cow 2

DAY 18

13 elephants


























DAY 19
buffalo


elephants


new years fire



SOWETO



Once I upload the VicFalls special, and the bangkok videos I'll be all caught up. Success!

Leaving Africa (Or: Why Cricket is a Stupid Sport)

Whoever the hell thinks baseball is boring, needs to bloody well watch cricket. Seriously now. When Raphael went on and on about the need to understand what crumpet was before you knew what cricket was, I thought he was just giving Casey Jones a hard time – but having watched part of a game on TV today, I can say in all honesty that this is the stupidest, most ridiculous sport, of all times.

Now – I say I watched part of a game on TV today, not the full game, and you may think that I didn't give it my all – but understand this, you can only ever watch part of a game in one day. We'll get to that.

Cricket is baseball where people just bunt. They bunt all day. That's it, bunt here, bunt there – but when you bunt you don't have to run. Nope you can just decide that you don't think you bunted far enough, so you stand still. And then you get to bunt again! And if you do think that you made a good bunt you get to run in a straight line back and forth with your buddy until you think, no – we'll stop now, and bunt some more.

And when you've bunted too long the game takes a break so as the players may enjoy their tea, and have a nice light lunch. Oh yes, lunch breaks are built into the rules of this game, my friends. And then after lunch you bunt some more. At about this point you'll have tallied up 254 runs, or points, or whatever they are called. Then for some unknown reason (depending on the rules – because there are multiple rules for this game, nothing can be easy here – you have too many outs, too many overs (i don't know), or you just decide to pass) the other team starts up, and it's their turn to bunt. But the day is growing late by this point, so the game is called. Not to worry, it will start up again tomorrow.

Oh yes – Cricket is played over five days. This is a game that would make competitive Risk: The Game of Global Domination playing seem interesting an lively. When any game ends at the end of the day with 239 to 5, but that means nothing because it will swing right back the next day – well what type of people have patience for it?

And what if you get out on day 1 – do you bother to suit up for the next four days? Or do you just buy some Mad Libs to entertain yourself and your teammates with? Because they sure as hell aren't having fun – only two men on the offense at a time, and this can last hours. Hours.

So next time someone tells me baseball is boring – well just be bloody glad it ends after three hours.

And that was my final experience of Africa. What a way to end it.

From that travesty I headed to the airport, and boarded my flight for Dubai. I watched GI JOE on board, and something else too – equally good, and yes GI JOE was mind numbingly good people. I don't know what was expected, because it delivered just what I had wanted it to. Marvelous.

And then X hours later, I was in Dubai, and another chapter had closed on my tour. Africa is all behind me now.

African Carnivore

Lets talk about food – because that's all today was about. Food. I did absolutely nothing all day. This is true. I woke up, had breakfast – toast bread with this weird jam jelly spread that tastes like i don't know what – but it's red and delicious – and cereal with milk that lasts 6 months before going off (i don't know...) and then that was it. I bunkered down for the day.

I watched tv, I read my book, I watched more TV. Dennis the Menace? What a terrible cartoon. You think it was terrible, but you don't really appreciate how terrible it is until you're in Joburg watching it, cause any other activity has a 50% chance of leaving you dead.

Well it does in my mind anyway, 'cause my mind is a hell of a place.

Fact: Joburg has the highest concentration of awesome street art. And no, I still can't take pictures of it. I just see it as I drive, quickly, past. That's really the best way to enjoy it – right? No... curses.

I've been told my outlook is a refreshing one. Everything is an adventure. Even walking to the street. Who knows what danger lurks around what corners? Here's the thing – I've wandered around, on my own, through lion preserves. I mean, it was by accident, but still, and yet I won't go down the street to buy juice from the corner store.

I miss juice. Honest and true. Remember all that juice I drank in Europe? I want juice back now. In mass quantities.

Anyway, then seven o'clock pm came around and food became the factor again.

Colin came and grabbed me so as we could head out to dinner. This is a good guy. He lives a good thirty minutes from my hostel, and the restaurant is an hour from there – this is at the very least three hours of driving for him so he could take me out to dinner. I owe a lot of people a lot of stuff if they ever come visit me back home. But then that's what travelling is like, isn't it? You realize that there are really fantastic people in this world. Even in terrifying places like Joburg. Seriously – walked around a lion park, but not down the street to get milk.

So we drive into the middle of nowhere, where I'm reminded that I'm safe, once more, and then told to lock the doors – seriously people, why does that always, without fail, follow the “you're safe” line? And the fact that the needle was running near empty of the fuelometer? That was filling me with confidence. Luckily we couldn't get lost as Homer Simpson's voice was guiding us all the way – constantly interrupting my impromptu learning about the South African parliamentary system, which I found quite enlightening. I never care to learn about a country until I'm there, and then I'll be enthralled to hear anything about it. My guide was quite learned on the subject too. If I was asked the same about Canada I would have froze and redirected the question to something about Battlestar Gallactica. Why not?

So where did we go for dinner? A little place called Carnivores. What makes it so special you might ask? Well it's a fixed prince menu, so you just sit down – and then the onslaught that is your potentially never ending feast begins. All I could think of was how much Tsangerang would absolutely love to be here. And it pained me that I will never get to share in the thrill of eating here with him. So this next part, it's dedicated to you Monsieur Tsangerang:

You sit down at the table, and then drop this giant turning table of sauces – cranberry, garlic, apple, chili, and it goes on and on. Then on the second level are the salads. Greek, coleslaw, corn and pineapple (which you think is distressing – and i thought so too – but it works, it really works,) and of course there are more.

Then a man comes and throws a whole load of bread on the table, you saw it in half, and think that it's a trick, a trick to fill you up, but the homemade butter is too much of a draw, and you devour it. And it is good! And then they bring out the soup, and you still have no idea what's going on, because people are just bringing you food but it's cream of spinach, and since you like both those things you dig into it. Then the soup disappears, and the magic hit parade that is carnivores begins. And you'd cry – you'd literally shed tears of joy – if you had any idea what was next to follow.

A South African flag is placed atop your salad/sauce wheel. This will become important later on. But worry not of it yet, for now is the time of the feast.

You see, for the next – however long you want – men with giant spits of meat will come to your table, and shave it off with knives that could easily slit your throat, and find themselves just in range and position to do such a deed, but fear not – for these spit handlers are professionals. You hope. And first they bring you beef, would you like some? Of course.

Then before you can eat that, the next man is on you with kudu sausages, followed by pork ribs, then some sort of antelope you've never heard of hits the plate. You eat as fast as you can, but new men with new meats keep coming. Eland is devoured, some chicken, crocodile – which is a trap, because in the time it takes to debone it, your plate will be filled high by other exotic treats, and lamb, and it just goes on and on. And every day is different.

Every day they have different games. Sometimes zebra, sometimes springbok. Who knows what treats await you? It's an all you can eat buffet without the pesky need of having to walk and fill your plate yourself. Because who needs that hassle? And it's good. It's all good. And you keep eating, and you keep eating, and after hours you find yourself full. You're not sure how you got this way, and it shames you to admit it, but you can eat no more. And here is where you'll cry once more, but not out of joy, but out of painful sorrow.

When you have had enough – or all that you can stuff inside yourself without causing you bowels to rupture – you need to surrender. You need to submit. You need to take the South African flag from its proud position and cast it down on the table before you. And then the plates will all be cleared, and you can select a dessert from their extensive menu.

But there is no pleasure in this desert. There is no sense of accomplishment. Only a sense of hallowed failure. And you know, you understand, that there is no way to win. There will never be a way to win. Each time you go, you will have to submit. No congratulatory sparkler awaits your valiant effort. Only flag lowering defeat.

And though you had a lovely meal, and a lovely time, with lovely people – you just can't help feeling as you've lost a little bit of yourself, devoured by the god awful carnivore.

Soweto: I Have No Idea What I'm Thinking

Well, my second day in Joburg. And how was it? Not all that bad, I must say. Though I slept a lot. I slept a huge bloody lot today - but I woke up at a good time, and saw the day, so that's what counts, yeah? Up at nine in the morning, I met someone who claimed to be my guide for Soweto and the Apartheid museum.

So first off, what is the Apartheid museum? No - we don't need explanation on that, do we? Just go watch Lethal Weapon 2, or something like that. It should clear one or two things up. And then, what is Soweto? It's the South Western Township. Have you seen district 9? You know the slums and shanty towns there? Well that is what part of Soweto looks like. It's not all like that anymore. Nelson Mandela set to work creating proper homes for all those who qualified. Although qualifying wasn't the easiest thing and so some of the shanty towns still exist. Couple that with the fact that homes take time to build, and once given this home some people have chosen to rent it out, to make money, while living in a little shack off the main building - well, Soweto has issues.

And that's to be expected when you shove a great number of your population into one area. Still - after only sixteen years South Africa doesn't look like it's doing all that bad. Sure it's awkward when you see all the cleaning staff as black Africans who don't really talk all that much, while the business owners are white Africans. But they don't have to carry around passbooks declaring themselves a specific colour. And if you look into the history of these various colours, you may find yourself painfully scratching your head. And your colour - it wasn't set in stone. You could fight it. Blacks became Asian, Asians became coloured, coloured became white. No blacks ever became white, or whites black.

There's a lot of history in this town. And trying to explain it all, with my limited knowledge would just be a painful process. So I can only really state what I've seen. And remember, seeing isn't always believing. I have my lens, you have yours, and everything gets muddled up somewhere in between.

The day started as my guide drove me over to the Apartheid museum. At this point I wasn't entirely sure that he was my guide, and slightly scared that he was my future murder. These are the thoughts that come to you when you find yourself in the middle of downtown Joburg early in the morning. "Look around," he said, "you'll see no white people here."

He went on the explain the odds of getting mugged here weren't all that bad. "50% chance of safety if you're white." Hurray! But with a guide, "90% chance! But lock your door."



Contrary to what I was told yesterday, most car thefts are from a lot, not from hijacking. So once more, I feel secure in my belief that no even the Joburgers really know what's what here. And that's great and fine. And with my 90% chance of safety I was feeling pretty good. Except for the fact that I wasn't really sure this guy was a guide. We pointed to a badge that he wore, with the South African flag in the background. This was supposed to have assured me of everything there was to know about him, and his profession. Here's the thing, I could have made one of those badges in about three minutes with seventy nine cents worth of supplies from any local craft store. Well maybe not a local craft store here - but one back home.

So as we got on the highway, I still had that "maybe I'll die," kind of feeling. Remember that lens I was talking about? That's the one.

I was alone on this tour. It wouldn't have been so bad if there were other people, but there were not. And that made me question why there were not. Still, it was too late now. The die had been cast. And I was in the car. Hey, why were we slowing down? What was going on. Was there an accident? A tractor trailer had pulled off on the grass, trying to hop the median, and gotten stuck. And other mini buses were turning around and driving the wrong way on the highway. What was happening?

"It's a police roadblock," I was told. "They set up these roadblocks, check cars, and see if there are any problems. I have only one problem. I own the government money, you know, for tickets."

My guide was a charming guy, and his voice was very - I don't know, encapsulating? His voice was one that set you at ease, and so you wanted him to win - to somehow get through this checkpoint without being caught. And yet at the same point, I'd be more assured of my safety were we stopped and he was checked out.

We began to run the gauntlet. We made it passed thirty pulled over cars, only two officers left to pass and we were free. Bang. We were pulled over. They began to chat in Afrikaans. At one moment the office looked over at me, and asked me how I was doing, I told him fine - just dandy. Lovely. Then more Afrikaans.

As we drove away, my guide explained. "This was a nice officer. Good guy. He said, do you owe anything? And I said yes. But then he sees my license. Very important. Not my drivers license, this," he held up a card, beaming. So much pride. "My official guide license. Two years in school to get this, lots of money, but now I can be a guide. I can show my country to the world. The police are told to be good to us when we are with a client. And you behaved well, he like you, and so he says that this is where I can go to pay my tickets. I know where I can go to pay. I just don't have money. But he was a nice man."

He then went on to explain how important licensed guides would be next year for the World Cup. In fact when we were out today he took a meeting and was offered a job with a big company running World Cup tours. "I want to show my children a new fence around our house, a new gate, and say - this - THIS - was my world cup." So much passion, so much energy. This was a man who cared for his job, his country, and his family.

This is something you don't see in North America. This is something that would probably make you seem crazy in North America. And that's too bad. But over here, it was fantastic.

To the Apartheid museum. I spent three hours inside, learning the history, the turmoil, and hardships of South African history. And when I think back now, I can't really recall what I learned. But I have a good base knowledge of South African history now - and I knew nothing of it prior to entering this museum, so clearly a lot stuck with me.

I also know about Nelson Mandela and his wacky dance, as well. He was a well known name to me before, but now I have some base knowledge on him as well.

And after watching the police beatings and attacks on the South Africans in the 1980s, well District Nine becomes all that more relevant.

After the museum we drove through Soweto, and I saw the range of houses from very poor, to quite well off. "These houses, you think the money is clean, but no - very dirty. Dirty money got them here." And you're not sure. You wan't to believe that's not the case - but...

It's a strange place, with strange things. And it's a world beyond. And you know that if you got out of the car, and wandered some streets, it could become a most troublesome occurrence. You know that because you are white, and they are black, odds of talking with one another, or getting to know one another is not very likely. And then you remember it has only been sixteen years since these people were physically kept apart from people not of their race. And - it's South Africa. It's just too much to take in.

I've been told that the South African blacks face the same issues as our North American natives. But - this doesn't seem quite right to me. Not at all. Within sixteen years the South Africans have done a lot with their land, have started to integrate, and have started to educate, and move up within their society - something that would have been impossible, quite literally, two decades past. And then you look at the North American natives, and you wonder - well, you wonder.

A lot has happened in so short an amount of time. You wonder what other changes you'll see over the next five.

I saw Soccer City on the drive back. So that's lovely too.

I fell asleep at 9pm, sleeping 12 hours. Ridiculous.

And that, is that.

Exploring Joburg - kinda sorta

Here's the thing - there's another post that goes before this post, but that post is on my laptop, and I can't use my laptop, because South Africa has the most messed up plug socket the world has ever seen. It's true. You know those ten in one travel adapters you have? Well throw them the eff out, because you're in South Africa now, and they're here to play. And you know what - don't try to use them in Namibia either, because they were owned by South Africa, and I bet that little tiny country that exists as an island withing South Africa (a modern day cold-war Berlin) probably uses them too. They're giant, they have three circles, and no one knows what to do with them.

You all know the trick (oh I'm sure you do) about how if you have a European dual plug plug thing, but all the outlets are those annoying British monsters with the three rectangular pegs, well - sure - you can make those fit together. Who hasn't tried forcing the round peg through the square hole after all? Once you realize that they're basically the same thing, except for the mysterious third piece it all starts to come together, after all. That third piece just flips a switch that opens the socket up. So if it hasn't already been broken, when you are putting your round pegs through the square hole, all you need to do is jam a pen, or a spoon, or something - preferably note metal, though I've seen it done without ill effect, into the third hole and bingo bango you're up and running. Now you're playing with power - Nintendo power.

But there is no luck here. Because the South African plugs hate you. Which really means the pre-world war two Brits hate you. But enough of that. Suffice to say, you're getting this post now because I can't post the other. So just deal with it. I'll throw the other one up out of order, and you'll just think, well isn't that lovely. You don't care. You just got three weeks all at once. I just wrote three weeks all at once. This blog is in a big cluster of a problem right now. Time to just call death blossom on the whole thing. But no - I want to have memories. It still terrifies me, how long it will take to get the photos in. Facebooking the pictures is taking long enough.

You know when you wait for ten minutes while they're all processed, just to have it crash when it gets to the upload part, and they haven't saved the processed ones anyway, so when you reupload, it has to do it all again, and you just hope it works the next time? Yeah - that's the best. And don't even get me started on how when you upload not all of them are really "there."

Ai ya.

But that's quite enough of the intro. Time to get onto the meat of this post. I'm in Joburg. And don't call it J-Burg cause then people will laugh at you, and you shall cry. You must.

I landed well enough, after writing about a tenth of the story I wanted to - apparently it took two hours? Wheels up to wheels down. Will I finish it? Who knows now. I hope so. So there I was in the airport, once more getting through customs without a hitch. African customs are the best customs. Listen up America, you need to just chill - all your bombs happen ON the planes, not once people have got off them, yeah? And you stop the ones up there too. Just because I have a beard doesn't mean I hate freedom. I love freedom. U.S.A. U.S.A. U.S.A. Please let me in in March. 'kay?

So my hostel said it would pick me up - and that's a good service here. I just had to call them. Right - how do I do that? I have no phone. And no idea how to use pay phones. You may remember the problems this caused in Copenhagen. You probably don't. Go through the archives. I have no time for hyperlinking. Though I keep wishing I did.

But the two lovely Winnipeg girls who thought I was insane (more on that in the mysteriously passed over post that lives on the laptop) told me that I could just have tourist information call for me. Let me tell you, tourist information was not happy with my request - but they called anyway. And then thirty minutes later a white van with a sign that said "Diamond Diggers" showed up. I got in. Now, if you know that this hostel picks up, it's easy to - say - make such a sign and troll for people getting into the country. I tried my best not to focus on this. The sign was laminated after all. That was a nice touch creating less fear.

So there I was wondering if I had just got into a car with someone who was about to kill, and or, rob me. I asked questions about the hostel, and about tours offered, and other such things. Apparently they're all booked out for the world cup already. After ten minutes of this talk I was pretty sure he wasn't a murderer. Why entertain my inane questions for so long? It started to rain. A huge pool formed at the end of an onramp. Three cars could not get on the highway. I was told they'd need to wait an hour, otherwise they'd run it, and stall. That was fun. I was less terrified.

Then we turned into a barb wired alley, with no one around, and I though, self - you're going to die. And that made me unhappy, as I'm sure you'll understand. But no, it was just the car park, and there was the hostel. All was well. I paid for my room, paid the twenty rand a day for breakfast (so as I can have something with my Malaria pills.) and then I handed off all my clothes, and fifty rand. In theory I will have them returned clean, and dry. We shall see. But it was getting sketchy here, so I had no choice. Washing is no problem, but if the rain keeps up - well that would be unfortunate. I am too scared to check the forecast. They lie, at any rate.

I did some internetting - how I've missed free net access - tried to solve a virus problem (still fighting the one I got from Chef's laptop... I feel like I should alert her, but until I know how to fix it, and care enough to look into it - i'm busy - I shouldn't worry her. Besides, without net access she won't be able to clean it anyway. It's all good. It just affects people who key into her system anyway. P.S. Everyone should learn how to turn off Window's stupid AUTORUN stuff. It's the devil. And if you find a USB key on the ground? Don't plug it into your system. Not before you've tested it somewhere that you don't really feel all the concerned about.)

On the internet, I hooked up with a buddy that I met in Iceland all those months ago, who lives here. He said he'd be over in a bit. And he was. And now my plan of not leaving the relatively safe compound was set aflame.

Within moments I was being driven through the streets of Joburg. "Remember how you said you were terrified of downtown Johannesburg?" he questioned. Did I ever! "Well this is it." Hurray!

But he tried to put me at ease, claiming that it wasn't nearly as bad as people made it out to be, "wait - you locked your door though, right? Lock your door!" and so I locked my door. Safe, indeed. I was told that while cars had become more and more difficult to steal, it was still relatively easy to hijack one when the key was in, and the vehicle was running. But, you understand, the city is safe.

And then we passed his old apartment, "no electric fence?" I commented. "You know," he said, "I lived there two years and never noticed." This was not a person all that worried about security, although when we got to his new place and required one electronic opener for a gate, and another for a door, and more keys for the metal bars to the house, I suddenly realized that not being too worried about security was completely, and utterly, relative. Life is different here. "Once the bars are on your windows, the security is free, so why not?"

Inside he apologized for the messy state of his place. It looked about as clean as my apartment ever was, at the best of times. And then we attempted to make hot chocolate. This failed due to the microwave breaking at the most inopportune of times, the dial snapping off. Hot chocolate was made on the stove. It was enjoyed with a bottle of Castle, stout. If you ever see this beer, get it. I'd have regular castle, but not the stout until now. It very literally tastes like no other beer I'd ever had. It's creamy. Look - I'm not saying it was good, but it was unusual, and that is reason enough to try it.

His sexologist roommate came home, demanding the answer to the question of "who are you?" I meekly replied, then returned the question, "I live here." Answer enough. While I was only a fraction less terrified of her, as I was of past guide Raymond, all seemed well when we started talking about LARPing. Don't know what LARPing is? That's for the best. Pat yourself on the back. Don't look into it. It's not worth it. It will only end in tears.

I had a lovely night there, and was offered to crash over, but it would require putting people out to drive me home in the morning, and I wanted to do the tour of the South West Township tomorrow - which I would definitely miss if I trusted myself to wake up at a normal hour. That, and there was a slight thrill in driving through downtown Joburg at midnight. All of these things combined into leaving early, and not having a few more castles.

Some of the roads were flooded.

I heard more tales of local crime before I left, and decided that I wasn't quite sure what Joburg was like. I also realized that the locals don't seem to have a clue either. They either play up their city's crime, and then wander around at night, or talk about how safe it is - and refuse to leave their homes. Walking the city was compared to wading through a pool with crocodiles. Well, actually alligators was the metaphor used, but it wasn't local enough... though alligators are less dangerous, so perhaps I'm screwing everything up by changing it. So forget that. Walking through the city centre was compared to walking through a pool of alligators. Sure it could be fine, but - you know - why bother. Apparently things were a lot safer fifteen years ago. This is not an un-awkward realization.

Another fun fact, Joburg has one of the worst laws I've ever heard of. If you stay in a building for three days without someone kicking you out, you have legal squatters rights. You can not be evicted unless someone finds you another place to live.

You can go into an abandoned building and three days later it is yours. This makes sense. I don't mind this part of the squatters law. But let me explain where it gets sketchy, shall I? If I move into your house, when you're on vacation, and spend three nights there - guess what? I live there now, legally. There's nothing you can do. Sure you still own the place, but you have no legal way to kick me out. Now if I'm understanding this correctly, if I spent the three nights at my buddies house, while I was in town, I would legally become a tenant. He could not force me to move. The law could not force me to move.

Maybe there's something about me needing to be South African? I'm not sure. But that's the law as it was explained to me. Really people - really? How could this not be a terrible idea?

And facebook - why do you hate me? Just let me upload my pictures!

So Joburg - I don't know what I think of it, and I don't know that I will in three days. This city is just too different. And you can't explore it. And - it is what it is. To truly understand it, I assume you must be a local - born and raised. And even then you'll probably just known enough to know it's beyond comprehension.

Last year they lit someone on fire for being foreign. But it's a safe city. You did remember to lock your doors right?

African Updates: Videos Batch 1

I've begun to add images and videos to my Africa entries - however, since many people will not want to flip back, I'll also post the videos here - in one giant "web browser crashing" monstrosity. Cross your fingers and hope for the best.

DAY 1
windy cape


penguines







DAY 2
landscape


day 2 chat

DAY 3
driving


day two chat


Nambian Sunset

DAY 4
humdingers robby


mia


mia long


hamish


zebra

DAY 5
driving


landscape


chat


DAY 6
chat

DAY 7
chat

DAY 8
chat at seals


seals


pups


seals


desert elephant


fire songs 1


fire songs 2

DAY 9
zebra


elephants


lion


night 1


night 2

DAY 10
field


field 2


chat


giraffe

DAY 11
lion


lizard


warthog


truck

DAY 12
on the truck song

DAY 13
XHIQUE 1


Xhique 2


chat


night dance 1


night dance 2

A Final Day in Zambia

Sweet god, I've done it! I've caught up to now-now. When will then be now? SOON!

It's four o'clock and I've been typing since seven this morning. I think all the other people think I'm crazy. They must. I guess I am. Nine hours to get these entries typed up, and I still need to throw them on the web. I took a break at 11 to shower, eat, and then toss a few of them up. But now I still need to get these final ones up.

That's what today has been. I haven't had time to think of the tour kids who are now so far away, nor have I had time to think of, well anything really. I've just been reading my journal, shifting through memories, and thinking of just how fast time passes when you've enjoyed yourself. Three weeks gone in a blink.

Tomorrow I'll fly to JoBurg, and a few days later, I'll be off to Bangkok. And then another chapter in my travels will begin. I'll have three weeks in South East Asia. They'll probably feel much slower than the three that just passed, where every day was packed and full.

You know – I thought that I would hate travelling on a tour, but I don't. I didn't. Not at all. It was a great time, one of the best times, and I loved pretty much every second of it. It's even better than hosteling, provided that you end up with a group of people who get along, and we did.

All the future tours will have a lot to live up to. And I'm both excited and worried for them. Excited because, this one was great – worried because, what if I end up on the party bus? Party bus... ugh.

I felt guilt spending all day inside, but after my experience in Livingston, I thought that going outside would, perhaps, not be such a good idea anyway. Then the rain came, and for one hour it poured hard. My only break has been watching a few episodes of Spider-Man TAS that I grabbed back in Dresden. They've been working out quite nicely.

I should also note that I had to clear a virus off my SD card that I got when I stuck it in Chef's computer. It copied EXEs everywhere and created an autorun to spread the problem. I'll have to look more into it when I have the chance, were I not running linux, it could have been disastrous.

Well, now it's time to post these final entries, maybe take a swim if it looks good, and then read in the big pile of pillows. Finally – I can relax.

Victoria Falls (or - 125 dollars for 2 hours in Zimbabwe)

I woke up early in the morning, downed a cup of hot chocolate, and waited for the others to rise from their graves. (Rise from your grave!) This took far longer for some than for others. Many heads were aching as they woke between 9 and 11. I was up at six, but felt guilty about getting up as Hamish had just gone to sleep an hour and a half ago. At Seven thirty I could wait no longer though.

Around the cooling embers, I wrote Mia a thank you letter for being a great chef, and tour guide, adding pictures here and there to compliment the words. To be honest, it was the greatest letter I'd ever written. Once completed I stashed it away safely to give to her tomorrow, just before we all parted ways.

Raymond told us how the three jerks in striped shirts from last night returned at three in the morning. Raymond heard them, and saw them looking as if they were going to toss chairs on the fire. Hard to say what happened next, but one of them was lying sprawled on the ground about six feet from where he had previously been standing. The other two grabbed him, ran to their truck, and took off into the night.

By the time everyone had got up, twelve of us headed to Victoria falls to see what all the fuss was about. Three taxis were ordered. One of them had to change drivers mid route, as a check point was coming up, and he wasn't quite as licensed as he was legally required to be.

At the falls, we watched as the water cascaded down over cliff faces, and from unmentionable heights. Mark-o-pedia, who had grown up in Zimbabwe told us that the falls would have been too dry last week, and will be too wet next week. Once again, we arrived at just the right time. We all assume this is chef's luck once more with us.

We walked the paths, looking at the falls from every angle, taking a new picture with every outcropping.

I will tell you one thing – they certainly leave safety up to your own device here. Paths go precariously close to the cliff, and no one is stopped by any fence. One little stumble and you'd be thrown over the edge into the Zambezi. Good for you.

At the end of one path some guys jumped out of the bush, and offered to take our group to the bungee jump point. We just needed to follow them over barbed wire fences, and through illegal boarder crossings. Sounds like a great idea, yeah?

Another “guide” (which the signs said we were not to entertain – no dancing or juggling please) offered to take us to the devils pool. Where you can swim, and it looks like you're about to fall over the edge. We declined. A week ago someone was swept over the edge, and killed. It was a legal tour guide, who rushed in to save his foolish client. The client was spared, but...

After a few hours here, we left – taking pictures of a masturbating monkey – and talked about heading over to the Zimbabwe side.

We were told it was much better there, but what we saw was spectacular. How could it possibly be better? Still – would we ever be this close again? So off we went, to make use of our dual entry visas. $30.00 more than the single entry. We grabbed our exit stamps (I now have a passport stamp on my birthday, Christmas day, and new years eve, and new years day.) and headed off into no mans land.

It's always strange being between countries. Still – if there was ever a nowhere to be stuck, this would be it. On a beautiful bridge, with a perfect view of the falls between. From here you could also watch people jump from bungees. Hey, that jumper looks a lot like – it is – run! It was Danny coming back up onto the bridge. And Danny, it has been said, will kill us all!

The trek to Zimbabwe was a rather long one, but after all – we were walking to a different country, so it was expected. There, at the check point, we had to pay for our new visa. I got my thirty dollars out, and... Seventy five dollars?! Stupid Canadians! Canada is 75, UK is 50, Angola for some reason is 100, and everyone else 30. Ugh. But, again, we'd come so far. No turning back now. There was only forward to go.

And so, crossing into a new country we headed to Victoria Falls, where we entered and hoped that this would be 125 dollars better than the Zambian side.

And honestly – I have no regrets about the money spent. For those that know me – this might sound odd. No regrets whatsoever. The Zimbabwe side of the falls really, and truly, is worth the 125 dollars. And you have not experienced the falls until you've experienced them from this side. I'm glad I saw the Zambian side first, because seeing it after would just have been painfully disappointing.

The first thing you do is head down the steps, marked 73, but it must be less than that, to Devil's Cataract. There you get wet from the blowing waters, and peer out at the most beautiful view of any waterfall you'd ever seen. But that is only the beginning. You'll soon find yourself following the path past the Dr. Livingston (I presume) statue, towards the main falls.

Each outcropping here shows you more and more of the splendor. And you'll feel yourself get a little misty. Warning: Put your passports, wallets, and cameras away in something nice, dry, and water tight. You have been warned.

As you pass under tropical trees, you'll swear it's raining. Trees grow here that exist nowhere else in the country, for it is just here that tropical conditions exist. You'll feel as if you're caught in a rainstorm, growing ever fiercer while you're under the canopy of foliage. And yet, when you're under the sky there is nothing. Take the next outcropping to see the falls. Within a handful of seconds you will be severely soaked. From completely dry, to looking as if you'd jumped in a pool with all your clothes on – in only three or four seconds. This is the power of the falls, and this is what you will face – screaming into the winds causing the water to fall not only from above, but from below, the left, the right, front and back. Now you are experiencing Victoria Falls, and now you understand what it is all about.

The second vantage point has even stronger waters, enough for some people to shower under, if they were so inclined. And the views keep improving. I've seen Niagara falls many times, but they are nothing. Nothing. They are built up, and industrialized. The only sign of modern life here are the three cell phone towers, and you'd only be able to tell those existed if you were aware that those three palm trees off in the distance were in fact cell towers, not just more plants growing atop the cliffs.

Next, you'll have cleared the splash zone, and the 38 degree weather will start to dry you instantly. You'll be presented with a sheer cliff. I did the only thing that was reasonable to do. I lay down on my belly, and stuck my face over the edge. It was an experience to behold. I tried to convince the others with me to join (Helen, Mitchel, Courtney, Bridget, Hamish, and Amy) but there were no takers.

Sitting on a rock we took more pictures, tossed things over the falls, and in one case almost saw Mitchel topple over, as he went to look at his dirt clump strike the water below.

On the way back out Hamish lay down with me to see into the gorge below. He stayed only a few moments, before he had to leave. Mitchel joined. I found this position to be the most relaxing I'd been in since the tour began. While others found it either exciting or distressing. So zoned out was I, that when Hamish showed me a picture later, a man had laid down beside us to look as well, without our even noticing.

With your head over the cliff, arms out, and body slightly off balance you could feel as if you were flying. The water was kicked up from below, cooling and refreshing your face, while off to the left bigger bubbles of water joined together, and danced on the winds. It was a beautiful perfect moment. I can only assume that all of Zimbabwe is as beautiful as this.

It is, right? There are no problems in this country at all. No dictators destroying farm lands.

Back through No Man's Land we crossed, and caught a taxi back to the Waterfront. There we ordered dinner, and after an hour of waiting it was delivered. People went off to their group meetings while I headed for a swim in the pool with Niki. Hamish, after, his meeting and joined us as well. We splashed, we talked, and we found strange things at the bottom. Hamish left, Mitchel joined. And then the night came to an end.

After a shower, and drying off, I sat by the fire. One by one everyone went to bed early. This was our last night, but we had all made our peace the night before. For the last time, I crawled into the tent, and passed on to the land of Nod.

Happy New Years

New Years Eve was upon me. And I woke up early. Very very early, for I was one of the nine people who had decided to go on the optional early morning game drive. For only thirty dollar, how could I resist (my money has been whiling away from all these optional things – but hey, when's the next time I'll be back?)

We took a nine person vehicle out to Chobe National park (the same park we cruised through yesterday) and looked out for all the various animals. Mia (Mya) was a bird watcher, and while I didn't care about birds before, her excitement was hard to resist. Her knowledge and passion led to our whole truck caring about the lavender bellied whatever, and the red beaked whosit.

In the park we watched impala, the new springbok, and saw all number of hippos. They're even lazier than lions. The one we saw yawning at the hippo pool was apparently quite a treat.

As we moved through the park our driver heard a noise off in the bush, and we took off after it. Eventually eight other vehicle converged on our location. What was it? What could have brought everything together like this?

Wild dogs. There was a pack of them hunting Impala. The kill took place in the depth of the the trees, but we could hear the noises, and watched as they proudly came back across the road, past our truck, afterwards.

Apparently these were very rare animals to see, and even Raymond was impressed when we told him that we saw them. I'm glad I was told this, otherwise I'd still be wondering what the big deal was with seeing what appeared to be no more than a pack of German Shepards.

As we were making our final run, we came across the animal that I can confidently say now filled up my sighting of the Big 5. The Buffalo. Once more, I saw them. No longer were they little black dots from a plane, but rather animals that could fill my camera frame, only a dozen meters from me. This was the picture I needed to complete the set. The game drive had totally and completely paid off.

As we were leaving a herd of elephants crossed the road and drank from the lake in front of us. Yes, yes, no more elephants... but they were so close. The six month old baby couldn't use its tusk to drink. It drank with its mouth. That was a sight to behold.

Elephants – maybe they're still alright?

Back at camp our tents had been packed up, and we set out for the Botswana / Zambia boarder. This was said to be the worst boarder we'd have to cross. We were warned it could take anywhere from 2 hours to 6 hours to cross. Everything was taken over the river on a ferry, and problems were well known to occur here at this check point.

Chef said that she had crossed once in an hour – but she had been chased. It had not been good. No more was spoken about this story. We never learned the details. Chef was a good talker, and it was quite mysterious that she let this one peter out.

We crossed in under an hour. Once more our luck was upon us. Again Raymond commented on how lucky our tour had proved to be.

We gave one last “BOTSWANA!” before having to change over to “Zam-BE-Ahhhh!”

And then it dawned on us all that this would be our final trip in the truck, the “blue devil”, the “humdinger”, the “yellow submarine”, to “bus” - whatever you wanted to call it. Just don't let Raymond hear you call it a bus.

We just made one stop – a break in Livingstone to buy groceries and change money. This was not an easy task. It was a sketchy city, and all the money changers said they had no local currency and could not help me. Outside men working the black market exchange were more than willing to exchange my cash for a better rate. Which would have been all fine and well, had it not been illegal – and ending up in African Jail is not on my to do list.

I later found out that the way to exchange was to hold up rand, or some other currency first, and then toss down the American when they'd already agreed to exchange. Sketchy.

What I don't understand is why black market traders are willing to trade for higher than official places? How do they then get rid of it for an even greater profit? Best not to concern myself with these things. Now, I discovered, I was in “real Africa” (should one say such a thing.)

Soon enough we ended up at the Zambezi Waterfront Campground, and set up our tent. This was the last time Hamish and I would set up tent together. Things were coming to an end, and everyone could feel it. After a quick internetting, we headed up to the activity centre to watch a video of all the different things that we could do from this base.

Chef and Courtney both noticed a change in me. I was quieter. Removed. Chef asked if I was alright. I said I was, but clearly I was feeling the divide as everyone raced to sign up for things that would happen once I had already left the tour. Rafting, Helicopter rides, and Elephant rides were all on the docket. I would never hear how some of these went, for I would no longer be part of the group by this point.

But I shook it off. It was New Years Eve. there would be time to be mopey later. Now, it was time to party.

Half the group went off for 250USD helicopter tours of Vic Falls. I stayed behind. My finances were not doing as well as some of the others.

Just before they left, Eric and Mia had the great idea of collecting orders for a beer run. This seemed a good idea, but having a list of orders from twenty four people (all except for Dieter, whom we couldn't find) proved to be quite the cluster [expletive]. Still, with orders placed, we rang for a taxi.

This was another African Experience. As I hopped in the taxi, I wondered just how safe we were. The front windshield was shattered and spider-webbed. The door could only be opened by reaching through the window, and opening it from the outside. And as we left in our unmarked car, a car clearly marked a taxi was entering. Were we all about to be sold into slavery, or worse?

But all was well. We ended up at the Spar, and the driver said he'd wait for us. When booking a taxi, you tell them a return time, and they'll kick around. You are not charged for the wait. It's an interesting system, and one that works quite well.

In the store we hurried to the back. We cleared out all of their cider, and a good chunk of their beer. Again, we were buying for twenty five people. But I like that the employees just thought that we were a bunch of crazy alcoholics. Over 800 000 was spent (never mind that the exchange rate is 4600:1) it still sounds impressive. I thought we should have pushed for one million.

We saw Dieter walking barefoot home from the store. That's why we couldn't find him earlier. The man is a machine.

Then it was back to camp. Now the fun part began. The part that I undertook, and spent an hour and a half completing – breaking up the bill into individual prices, collecting, money – in all different types of currency, working the exchange rates, and then trying to break bills so that people could receive proper work.

I felt like Raymond – I have no problem wandering in the wild, but give me money to figure out, and I'll sweat.

It was accomplished though, and it all worked out. No missing cash. Everyone had their New Years Eve booze, and we could settle in for a good night.

This was also Chef's last dinner that she'd be cooking for us. It was steak, and Broy Burgers (those grilled cheese things I mentioned days past which she always hated when I mispronounced) salads (there were fresh salads for every meal, and I'll miss that most) and all number of other treats. It was like four meals in one. And dessert was four tubs of ice cream. Delicious.

A bitter sweet moment where we realized that we'd never experience her dinners again.

As the night grew on we played King's Cup. A drinking game. I tried to explain that as a Canadian I needed no games to drink, but who was I to refuse on this night of nights.

Basically it broke down like this, a cup in the middle – surrounded by cards. You pick up a card. If you break the ring of cards you need to drink. When you flip the card, depending on what it is, things happen:

2 – two for you (pick someone to drink two fingers)
3 – three for me (you drink three fingers
4 – four for whores (all girls drink)
5 – five alive (you play a game where two people show zero, five, or ten on their fingers and guess the combined amount. loser drinks.)
6 – six for dicks (guys drink)
7 – counting (you can't say seven, or a multiple of seven when you count in a circle. When that number should come up, say anything, next person continues on normally. i.e 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 23, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 16, 15, 16, 4, 19, 20, 21 oh no! 21 is a multiple! drink!)
8 – eight, pick a mate (whenever you have to drink, so do they.)
9 – nine, bust a rhyme (go around the circle rhyming the word said)
10 – toe master / thumb master (whenever the thing is placed on the drinking surface everyone follows. Last person drinks)
J – add a rule (good rules are, no first names, no 3Ds drink drunk drank, and no curse words)
Q – question master (anyone who answers the question masters questions must drink.)
K – add some of your drink to the cup – last king pulled drinks the cup, game ends
A – waterfall. You can't stop drinking until the person to the right of you stops.

And that was that.

Some strangers from out of our area came to join our game, but ended up talking a lot of crap saying our rules were stupid, and that we should go to the party instead. Eventually they were kicked out and shunned. Jerks.

After three games of Kings Cup (aka ring of fire) we stopped. Some people left for the New Years Eve party. It wasn't the ten dollar cover that kept me away – though without it I probably would have gone – but rather the fact that I didn't want to be there. Not on this final night.

I left the two groups and made my way to a spot on the projector room where I sat, by myself, and could hear the party in one direction, and the mumbled talking of the group in the other. This was where I needed to be. By myself, everything seemed to click and all was right in the world once more. I was no longer worried about leaving the tour, though I knew I'd still be sad to go. But here, sitting as midnight crept closer, I realized that I was best on my own, and at peace with that.

There was an ever present sense of calm that came over me. I headed back to grab my book and embark in some creative writing, which I'd been keeping up along the road, but as I neared the site, I ran into Mia (Chef).



For a few moments we talked about how everything was coming to an end. Though the rest of the group was continuing on to Nairobi, they would be doing so with another guide. Mia and Raymond were taking the tour south back to Capetown.

Over the weeks she too had become attached to us. We were her first tour, in this role, and she hadn't learned how to think of us not as people, but as clients. We talked for a few moments, sharing well wishes, and observations. As a teacher I spent a long time shifting my view of students from “people” to “students.” You can't be responsible for all their problems, or allow yourself to hurt when they do. It's a hard line to walk, and a scary one – because they are people, and you lose a little something when you're not allowed to accept that. Still – you have your job, and your role to play. And they have theirs. You walk amongst them, but you are never one of them. No matter how much you may think you are, or want to be. The divide will always exist.

Our chat ended when the jerks from earlier were talking about breaking into a tent and stealing from it. Mia yelled at them in Afrikaans and they bolted, leaving the tent unmolested. Jerks.

My peace was ended, but I was whole once more, and so I went back to the GAP group, where those from the party had returned for the final countdown.

10... 9... 8... 7... 6... wait, what time do you have? Mine says this – no mine says that... the party cheered. We waited. Screw it – 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3... 2... 1.. HAPPY NEW YEARS! And there was screaming, and hugging, and well wishes more and more. And we came together. Though the tour wouldn't be over for one more day, we all knew that this was the end. This was us making peace. This was us coming together as family. And everything from here – well that was just a little bit extra, wasn't it?

After the countdown people returned to the party, Christoph continued to build his beer bottle tower, over six feet high – with a burning ember on the top (what could possibly go wrong?) and I sat and chatted.

I bartered some beer for the use of a cell phone to call Katherine, but for half an hour, I couldn't get through. For half an hour the network was jammed. There would be no call this night. But I tried. And tried. And tried. I was later told the networks didn't clear until nearly two in the morning.

By this time I was fast asleep, and the zipper on our tent was broken. Hurray.