Namibia Pt 2: T.I.N.

Alright, so I left off last time with a cliffhanger to end all cliffhangers. What would happen to our little VW Polo? Would Marta find a job? How did Captain Barbossa come back from the dead? Unfortunately I’m only able to answer the first of those questions – I don’t think anyone really knows how Captain Barbossa figured that one out.

We left that gas station and immediately began our journey through unpaved, gravel roads into the deepest heart of Namibia. Our trek took us through wild game reserves, across barren plains, up mountains, and into what Matt described as, “What hell would look like if it were found on earth”. Navigating this wilderness was difficult for us outsiders. The roads seemed at times to seamlessly blend into the landscape. It was a long journey. It was a hard journey. Surely this is what Frodo and Sam must have gone through on their quest through Mordor. The only thing to do was to roll the windows down and turn Dragon Force on full blast as we tore through the gates of Hades to our eventual destination: the hot springs of Ai Ais.

As we pulled up to the gates of the fabled city we were asked to register our car with security. It turned out this blip on the map was not a small town but a resort, also the only evidence of civilization for hundreds of kilometers. Instead of staying in the posh R1300 rooms we opted to take our chances and camp outside underneath the Namibian sky. We had packed blankets and were both experienced campers (read: Eagle Scout nerds) so this was no problem. As we were setting up our site a cacophony of voices began to rise in the distance. 60 kids from a high school in Windhoek (capital of Namibia) had hiked 85k from Fish River Gorge to Ai Ais, taking 5 days. I can only imagine the violent chaos that would erupt within the PTA meeting if this type of trip were proposed in the American school system. But no, this is Africa. These kids were tough as nails. Their chaperones, though, were even tougher.

Our night kicked off at the outdoor resort bar – the only tavern within 200 kilometers. I can’t begin to explain the circus of characters this bar (and we) attracted. We began by talking with a death-metal guitarist construction worker who helped build Ai Ais. He was the easily the most normal of everyone we met: the eye of the hurricane. Pulling out my guitar we started jamming. The actual stereo at the bar was broken so, between the two of us, the guitar took court. A raucous sing-a-long of Hotel California attracted the travel-weary (an inebriated) parent chaperones of the school kids. A car screeched to a halt at the foot of the stairs and up walked a 300 pound New Zealander who oozed testosterone out of every pore: the owner of the construction company. Our party had reached the point of overflow. We had had enough of this bar. It was time to head to the hot springs. By now all the younger hikers had gone to bed so we had the whole of the springs to ourselves. Stories and laughter ensured and the party continued well into the night.

The next morning we woke and began mentally preparing for the eight hour drive back to the relative normalcy of the Garden Center apartments in Cape Town. On my way out I happened to pass by the bar. It was as if no one from the previous night had strayed from their earlier positions. The chaperones were all sitting down enjoying their morning beer and cigarettes (breakfast of champions), the construction workers were performing maintenance on the outdoor furniture, and the manly New Zealander was stringing together a torrent of cusses I didn’t know was possible. Another day in Namibia.

On the way home my thoughts continually drifted to the countryside surrounding me. Throughout the whole trip I had asked myself how people could live here. What would they do for fun? What is life like for the average Namibian? Do they have the same hopes, dreams, fears, ambitions, as I do? Although I am always weary of drawing rash generalizations, spending that evening with those parents and construction workers brought me face to face with some of those answers. They’re just like me, and the exact opposite. That’s not a contradiction. That’s African.

Namibia Pt 1: The Land God Made in Anger

I haven’t blogged in a while and honestly didn’t know how I would go about writing this post. This past weekend Matt and I drove up to Namibia on a spontaneous journey to the second most sparsely populated country in the world (only beaten by Mongolia).

While we had talked about the trip, I don’t think either Matt or I were confident it would actually happen. Instead of “planning” and “thinking about it” we pulled a line from the Nike handbook and “just did it”. On Saturday morning we hit the road like we were breaking out of from jail. We just wanted to get as far along as possible with only a vague idea of what lay ahead of us.

We drove 6 hours up the N7 to the border town of Noordoewer. After filling out a few forms and slipping the customs official R180 (for the car registration) we were allowed safe passage into the heart of the country. I don’t know if I can adequately convey the desolation. There were times when we drove an hour and half without seeing any sign of civilization besides the road lying in front of us. Cars would wave at each other simply for a chance at human interaction. With absolutely no light pollution the stars at night were some of the clearest and most visible I’ve ever seen. We would pull over to the side of the road (not that it mattered) just to experience the natural beauty of this part of the world.

That first night we drove two hours in to Keetmanshoop. We asked the gas station attendants where we could find lodging and they pointed us in the direction of an old German fort. The gate was closed, but after a few honks a security guard came running down the street towards us. After a brief conversation he ran to wake up the lady in charge of registration because it was so late. It was 8pm.

The next morning we visited the Quivertree Forest and Giant’s Playground (both ridiculous names, it felt like we were in Lord of the Rings or something). Quivertree Forest was not so much a forest but a field with some quivertrees growing. Giant’s playground was not so much a playground but a field with some balanced rocks in it. Coincidence or just Africa?

After exhausting the thrills of the above two attractions we headed West to the coast. An hour into the drive we saw a sign for wild horses, quickly followed by actual wild horses. We pulled over and approached the feral equines as closely as was comfortable. No one is really sure how these wild horses came to be in Namibia, although rumor has it they came off of some shipwreck. I was surprised by how close they allowed us to come; I guess they didn’t think we posed much of a threat. Continuing on our journey the tufts of grass and rocks gave way to sand dunes and cacti. We had made it to the Namib Desert. After pulling over to the side of the road I couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was. It was so quiet my ears actually hurt. A local later told us “This place is so quiet, even the deaf can feel it”.

To combat the uncomfortable silence we started exploring and climbing on the dunes. Noticing shiny stones we would pick some up, examine them, and throw them deep into the dunes. After a while a car approached and started to honk at us. At the time we couldn’t explain this behavior. Later on, as we drove into the coastal town of Luderitz we saw a sign for Namdeb (Namdeb = half Namibian government, half DeBeers) urging people to stay on the road. We had been trespassing on a restricted diamond area*. Perhaps my favorite part of this experience was seeing a sign that read, “Diamond theft hurts us all. Don’t do it”.

At Luderitz we checked into a backpackers (hostel) drove to the beach. The scene was unreal. The desert literally emptied right into the Atlantic. A desert is the extreme absence of water (specifically precipitation) and an ocean is, well, all water. That these two things could exist simultaneously was baffling. While we struggled with this contradiction, the locals didn’t seem to mind.

The next morning we drove to the ghost town of Kolmanskop and learned all about the diamond industry. Unfortunately we had to wait around for an hour and a half for the tour to start; apparently, despite being directly north of South Africa Namibia is in a different time zone…although I’m quite impressed it took us three days to figure this out.

Our next destination was Ai Ais – located approximately farthest from everywhere else in the world. Nearing the freeway we noticed a young woman about our age sitting on the side of the road. Hitchhiking is standard practice in this part of the world and the sight of her with her bags was nothing out of the ordinary. With a wave of Jack Kerouac-inspired adrenaline we pulled over and asked where she was going. It turns out she was heading to the only other city this road went to. We told her there was room in the back. Unfortunately not much exciting happened after that. She was very quiet and mostly just slept. What we did learn from her revealed a jumbled description of a troubled life. Although it’s one of my pet peeves when travelers attribute broad generalizations to a group of people based off a few select interactions with locals, it’s hard not to find some truth common to other Namibians in her situation. Her name was Marta; she was traveling home to live with her family; her father died; her uncle worked in the diamond mines; she failed out of matric (high school); and she didn’t have a job (Matt later admitted he was about to ask her how she made money but thought better of it. Good call, Matt; sometimes less is more). After dropping her off at a gas station, we hit the road again for what was to be the greatest test our little Polo had ever seen.

*If you’re reading this and happen to be an employee of either the Namibian government or DeBeers, consider this my formal apology…and you should probably invest in better signage, or a fence.

JAWS

Life to do list: swim with Great White Sharks – check. On Saturday Matt, Dag, and I drove two hours past Hermanus (famous for whale watching) to the town of Gansbaai to go face-to-face with the ocean’s deadliest predator. At Shark Diving Unlimited we were met with a light breakfast, a short safety talk, and a waiver signing our lives away. We then boated a short distance to Seal Island, which hosts a fur seal population of approximately 75,000 (75,000 tasty reasons why the sharks are so active in this area). The island looks dark in the distance, but up close you can see that it’s that densely packed with seals.

Once we were anchored and snug in our wetsuits it was time to attract the sharks. Since it’s illegal to use mammal products for chumming, the water soon turned murky as fish parts were dumped into the ocean. It was only a few minutes later that the first sharks were drawn to the scent of fish-blood soup. Much to the chagrin of my fellow passengers I couldn’t help but hum the Jaws theme song. We lowered ourselves into a small steel cage - the only protection from the hungry predators we were intruding upon. We were told not to try to touch the sharks. I thought this piece of instruction was somewhat unnecessary, but who knows, there might be someone just crazy enough to gamble away a limb or two. It wouldn’t have been hard either. The gaps in the cage were easily large enough for a hand or foot to get through.

Armed with a fish head fastened to the end of a rope, our guide (I never caught his name, Ahab perhaps?) perched himself on the side of the boat and started baiting the sharks. They would slowly approach the food and then with lighting speed chomp down on the bait. The guide, in return, would yank on the rope and wrestle the fish head out of the shark’s clenched jaws. This man might have one the craziest jobs I’ve ever seen. He literally had to balance unattached on top of a rocking boat and taunt the most dangerous fish in the ocean.

Since we didn’t have any diving equipment we held ourselves above water until the guide yelled “DOWN”, at which point we took a deep breath and dunked underwater to view the sharks. Although I’m sure I was safe, that did nothing to stop the flow of adrenaline as sharks rocked and rattled the cage. Luckily they didn’t take too much interest in us, although I could hear plenty of underwater screams as the sharks bumped into us during their struggle with our guide. We had some excellent views of these underwater beasts. At one point there were three all fighting for the same fish head. Their sizes ranged from 3 to 5 meters. 5 meters is a MASSIVE animal up close. Luckily he wasn’t too close.

I Predict a Riot

The townships around Cape Town are not suburbs like in other cities. They are lingering remnants of forced, racial segregation where the Apartheid government relocated non-whites to undesirable parts of the city. Working in these townships can be a sobering experience. It can jar you from you comfortable reality and bring you face-to-face with extreme poverty and inequality. You really get a feel for how those at the bottom of the pyramid live. Sometimes though, those at the bottom get envious of those at the top, especially in a country with some of the highest rates of inequality in the world.

Yesterday Luke and I had to drive to the township of Khayelitsha to do some work for a Holiday Camp that Grassroot Soccer is running. As soon as we had gotten off the freeway we were greeted by port-a-potties barricading the road, cows meandering about, a crowd of people shouting, and there were definitely some things set on fire. We had driven into a good ol’ fashioned township riot. It was about the time we were off-roading around the barricade of waste that we remembered every bit advice we were given had said not to travel around the townships by ourselves. All it would take would be one rock thrown at our car to entice a mob reaction against these foreign intruders. Noticing that the rioters were in the process of dragging more port-a-potties into the road, I made a mental note to get directions for an alternate way back.

Once at the Holiday Camp I asked Xolani and Gcina (in charge of the camp) about the riots. Xolani said they were most likely because of housing. Apparently, every so often the people in the townships will get so fed up with their deplorable living conditions they will riot and demand better houses. He didn’t understand why they always overturn port-a-potties in their own neighborhood. He suggested, instead of making their own neighborhood smell, they should drag the toilets to city hall and then overturn them. That would be more persuasive. Personally, I believe there have got to be better ways to protest than by destroying the little infrastructure you have. What would you use if you had to use the bathroom?

It seems the people in Khayalitsha agreed with me. Two hours later when we drove back all the port-a-potties were back to where they were, although there was still plenty of trash in the road and smoldering embers now lined the street. No sign of the cows.

On the radio today there was news of further road closures in Khayelitsha due to continued rioting.

Opposable Thumbs for the Win

Yesterday we decided to spend the day going to Cape Point/Cape of Good Hope. While the Cape itself consisted of picturesque landscapes and coastlines (along with a wee bit of historical intrigue), the real adventure took place on the journey there, just outside the park. Rolling in our newly-rented A-class Benz (we had to trade in the Hyundai), Mike, Will, Tara, and I busily bantered on about the usual nothing when we spotted a line of cars stopped in the middle of the road. Not knowing what to expect we pulled up and saw, camped out in the middle of the street, a baboon rummaging through a backpack. Our curiosity tickled, we pulled over and joined the crowd of onlookers viewing the spectacle. To my right I noticed a mama baboon nursing a small baby, on my left two baboons playfully chasing and slapping each other. We had found ourselves in the middle of a pack of monkeys.

Inquiring into why the baboon had taken such interest in the backpack, a fellow American told me they had pulled over because they saw baboons on the side of the road and wanted to get a better look. As they were distracted by an “adorable” baby, a crafty older one opened the door of their van and climbed into the passenger seat. After rummaging around a bit he found the backpack, climbed outside, and set up camp in the middle of the highway. There he proceeded to tear apart this poor kid’s bag in search of food. Textbooks, papers, and headphones laid sprawled around this solitary monkey.

Just as he began to tear into an orange, I heard an audible, “Uh oh!” from behind me. Will had spotted a large baboon sprawled out on our windshield. I immediately checked to make sure the doors were locked. Thank God they were. Unfortunately, just as Will was taking pictures of our new monkey friend, he realized the back right window was open. At that moment, Mr. Baboon must have noticed too, because he crawled along the side of the car and slipped right in. By this time, many onlookers had grown bored with the backpack scandal and our car was now the focus of attention.

Once inside our rented Mercedes Benz, the baboon needed no instruction. He proceeded to rip through the interior in search of something to consume. He must have tried to open the door because the alarm system was set off (only to aggravate him more). Eventually someone opened up the passenger door which allowed him to climb out. Unfortunately, another monkey saw this trick and immediately replicated it (one point for evolution). This time the door was left open and more monkeys started climbing inside. At one point there must have been four baboons scrambling around inside the car. Luckily for us we didn’t have much food, only a sandwich and some empty Coke cans. That being the case, they still didn’t seem all that interested in suppressing the level of damage to the car. Overcoming my fear of a rabies-induced premature flight home I threw open the trunk and quickly backed away. There was now nothing left to do. The ball was in their court, er, car. After what seemed like minutes, one by one, each monkey crawled out and went on its way. As soon as they were a safe distance away we ran to the car, locked ourselves inside (windows up), and drove away.

The damage is as follows (luckily we have full insurance on the car…sorry Avis):

1. Dirt/hair/monkey feces all over the upholstery
2. Claw marks on the ceiling/back of the seats
3. Sandwich eaten
4. Coke cans/cookie wrappers disappeared
5. Will’s anti-diarrhea medicine: child-proof container ripped open, only two pills remained. I don’t know what’s worse, that somewhere there’s a recently-fed constipated monkey out in the wild or that Will now only has two pills to last the rest of the trip.
6. Paw-marks all over the windshield
7. Right side-view mirror dangling (from when the first one climbed across to the open window)

That’s basically the end of the monkey disaster. We saw a few more wild baboons throughout the day but refused to pull over. We learned our lesson.

The Amerikaaner

Yesterday night we threw arguably the largest and most epic 3^rd of July Party ever experienced by the Garden Center Apartments. While most patriotic Americans choose the 4^th to celebrate our breaking of ties with Britain, we thought it fitting to celebrate on the 3^rd to commemorate the greatest All-Nighter in history. That’s right, Thomas Jefferson hopped up on Red Bull and Cheetos to cram out the Declaration of Independence in time for the 4^th of July deadline. As we found out, hiring kegs in South Africa is quite the ordeal and (from the crowd of locals drawn to our gathering) most likely doesn’t happen all that often. I am reminded of Ron Burgundy’s conversation with his buddies Champ and Brick after the famous news-anchor battle of San Diego, “Boy, that escalated quickly…I mean, that really got out of hand fast.” Not much photographic evidence remains of the night, which may or may not be a good thing. Email me if you want stories.

Vacation Pt. 2: If All Your Friends Jumped off a Bridge...

After a successful visit to Kwandwe, where we saw three of the big five (historically the most dangerous big-game animals to hunt: lion, leopard, elephant, rhino, and buffalo) we piled into the cars to continue on with our trip. Along the way to our next destination, the Tsala Treetops lodge, lies the world’s tallest commercial bungee jump. Unfortunately, the 216 meter jump off of Bloukrans Bridge was closed that evening (for some obscure technical difficulty) so we made plans to return the following day.

The unfortunate part about Tsala Treetops was not that the accommodations weren’t top notch (they were) it was that we arrived too late to actually enjoy them. In total we probably stayed less than 15 hours at this luxury, elevated hotel. I spent most of those 15 hours recuperating from our action-packed game drives and mentally preparing to hurl myself off of the highest single span arch bridge in the world.

Of the eight Notre Dame students brave enough to travel to South Africa for the summer, only two others (Dag and Luke) were crazy enough to entrust our lives to an elastic cord, some concrete, and a dose of crafty engineering (Suvrat, who had decided against jumping, was official MVP of the day as he was our designated photographer). As an example of the level of staff professionalism, during the registration process some names were mixed up and I had to explain that I was actually the 75k Collin, not the 60k Amber. As we made our way along the catwalk to the jump-off point I couldn’t help but glance at the gaping void beneath me and think this was the craziest/stupidest idea of my life. However, once we got out there the music was blasting, people were dancing, and it was almost difficult to contemplate the impending plunge. All you could do was enjoy it.

Luke jumped. I was joking with a group of Canadians. Dag jumped. I watched him swan-dive from the TV screen broadcasting the jumps. A piece of elastic was wrapped around my legs. I was staring down into a whole lot of nature. I jumped. 216 meters below the Bloukrans River roared. For a brief moment I knew I had been right; this was the stupidest idea I’ve ever had. But nothing I could do would change the fact that I had just jumped off a bridge and there was no turning back. All I could do was enjoy the ride.

After the jump we decompressed at the on-site bar by enjoying a well-deserved lunch and watching the other jumpers launch off the bridge. I was reminded of lemmings jumping off cliffs in droves. After the excitement had died down enough to get back on the road, we drove back along the Garden Route to our final destination, Knysna.

That night was the finals for the Confederation Cup: USA v Brazil. The final was played in Johannesburg. If we would have known the United States was playing, we would have changed around our trip for a stop in Jo-burg. The fact that we made it this far was exciting enough. We watched the game at a local Knysnan pub. After every US goal the whole bar (led by us) erupted in a chorus of “Yes We Can!” Unfortunately we lost to Brazil 3 – 2. Hopefully the international community will take US soccer more seriously now.

The next day we visited a wild-cat park where big cats (cheetahs, leopards, etc.) are rehabilitated and eventually released into the wild. We also visited an elephant sanctuary and got to walk hand-in-trunk with elephants. I also learned why we couldn’t find any elephants on our safari. They can sense vibrations up to 2 kilometers away and probably just hid when they heard us coming. Anyway, after we ha checked off the last two remaining animals of the big five it was time for the inevitable return to Cape Town. Our vacation was over and we had to get back to work in the morning. We got back to the flats around 10pm and I immediately passed out, fully dressed, on my bed.

Vacation Pt. 1: Ferrari Safari

No trip to South Africa would be complete without seeing wildlife. Following in the footsteps of the brave tourists that have gone before us, our group decided to take a long weekend and go on safari. Armed with a newly-bought safari hat and safari shirt (think Steve Irwin…too soon?) we loaded into the cars at 6am on Thursday morning and drove the 10 hours along the garden route (absolutely beautiful coastal drive) to Kwandwe Game Reserve (in between Port Elizabeth and East London). If you were thinking leisurely game drives along the sun-scorched African outdoors you’d be in for a surprise. It was freezing; the South African winter had finally arrived.

No worries however. What was lost through the weather was made up for through the accommodations. Through a slight scheduling mix-up the first night we were upgraded to a five-star Relais & Châteaux all-inclusive lodge in the middle of the reserve. This place was incredible. Easily one of the nicest places I’ve ever stayed in. Although, I will admit, during the planning stage of this trip I originally pushed for a more grounded safari. Preferably one with tents and…well…not five star accommodations. I guess the idea of staying in such a posh and uppity place seemed superficial to me (somehow I doubt the native bushmen had similar accommodations when they were living off the land). My reasoning was I could stay at five-star resorts when I get old, but I’m young and can afford to rough it a bit. Regardless, after asking the mathematics gods to help us figure out what type of trip would be most economical, it turned out the grass-roots-down-to-earth safari was just as expensive as the celebrity excursion. This was due to the added expense of having to buy air fare for a flight to Kruger (if we wanted to sleep in tents in the bush). I’m not going to say I was necessarily outvoted in the matter, but at the end of the day I saw the merit of the other option and was incredibly happy with the decision to go to Kwandwe.

Instead of narrating all our game drives I’m only going to focus on a few highlights of what we saw.

Day 1

It was late when we started our first game drive and didn’t end up seeing much. We did, however, get used to driving around in a large open-air Land Rover in the rain.

Day 2

1. Two cheetahs (brothers) on a hunting expedition

2. A giraffe blocking the road

3. A herd of buffalo (maybe 40 – 50) making their way to a watering hole.

4. LIONS! One male with two females were lounging around in the grass after a large meal. These guys were so close it was scary. It felt like a mix between Lion King and Jurassic Park. The whole time I was running through all the escape scenarios in my head in case one of those guys realized how tasty Collins can be. Luckily they had already eaten and were more content to hang out and chill like Mufasa (as opposed to wild Raptors).

5. A springbok staggering away after munching on some Euphorbia plants (the guide told us these plants produce hallucinations and feelings of euphoria for Springboks, but are deadly to humans)

6. Other animals (warthogs, zebras, porcupines, lots of animals that looked like antelopes, and wildebeests)

Day 3

1. More LIONS! This time the male from yesterday was out on his own looking for some ladies. We found him right outside our guide’s house, at which point our guide launched into a story about how he was attacked by an aggressive lion about a year earlier. We followed Aslan/Mufasa for a while until he met up with a different pride of females. Apparently they were jealous he was spending so much time with the girls we saw yesterday because they roughed him up a bit before climbing high into the hills, where our Land Rover couldn’t follow.

2. A mom and baby white rhino devouring a field of grass. These were some of the largest beasts I’ve ever seen. I would have liked to see some black rhino, but apparently they are much rarer and much more aggressive.

3. We never saw any elephants. We searched high and low but apparently the world’s largest land mammal is also excellent and hide-and-seek.