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An Update on us

So you’ve been seeing these random pictures we’ve been putting on the site without much extra content to go with them. Great. But we’ve been chugging along on our trip this whole while, its just we find it very hard to get long enough and good enough internet to really share the experience with all of you. Don’t worry, we’ve got lots of posts in progress and plan to upload them when we can, but until then, you’ll just have to be patient.

So let’s bring you all up to speed on us. You may have noticed that in our last few posts we were in Etosha National Park in Northern Namibia. Physically, we’re pretty much across Africa from that now. From Cape Town, we headed north through Namibia, through Etosha, dipped down into the Okavango Delta, crossed back into Namibia to head across the Caprivi Strip. We then soaked ourselves and flew over Victoria Falls before driving the length of Botswana back to Johannesburg and the arduous task of giving up our car and catching a bus to Maputo, Mozambique, where we currently are. The lack of freedom these days is very noticable.

We’ve got great posts on all of these places (and pictures too!) that we’ll upload as we can. They may be out of order, but now that you know the official route you can piece it together yourselves. And cross your fingers for some good internet soon along the way!

Where to from here you ask? Excellent question. We’ve been wondering the same thing too for a little while now. As always seems to be the case in Africa, our brilliant plans laid out by our guidebook have failed miserably and we are in the process of piecing together buses to get up to Malawi, then north into Tanzania, across to Dar Es Salaam and then north to meet my parents in Kampala at the beginning of June. We’ll see if we make it.

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Giraffe Porn

If you look closely, you’ll understand the title. We witnessed a whole lot of foreplay going on between these two giraffes. It amounted to rubbing necks, ramming heads into butts, and walking in a lot of circles. As far as the actual action goes, well, we didn’t see anything. A few times it seemed as if they were trying but couldn’t quite figure it out. And as the sun was setting, we couldn’t wait around forever but had to race on to camp to make it before the gates closed. Maybe in the end that’s all they were waiting for…a little privacy.

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Etosha’s Watering Holes

Etosha is Namibia’s premier game park. Stretching along the edge of the enormous Etosha pan, a salt flat that occasionally fills with water after the rains, Etosha is spectacularly beautiful, with views seeming to stretch forever across broad plains. Morning and evening light are spectacular (though not long lasting because in open space like that the sun is up quickly and down just as fast). But the real highlight of Etosha is its camps. No, the sites aren’t as nice as those at Kruger (though plenty fine), and the amenities aren’t nearly as extensive as those at South African parks (though prices are certainly higher), but it’s all made up for by the watering holes situated at each camp.

The campsite watering holes are situated on the edge of the camps and are partially ringed by seating areas, from where campsite visitors can safely view the wildlife that gathers there. And with Etosha not having too many watering holes, those that do exist are usually pretty frequented. Best of all, however, is the fact that the waterholes are floodlit at night, meaning that campers get the rare opportunity to view nocturnal wildlife and their activities.

We had our greatest success on our first night at the watering hole at Okaukuejo, which we also found to be the nicest site. (When we get rich, we’re definitely going back and splurging on one of the chalets with private balconies overlooking the watering hole!). Settling in at the hole after dinner, we first spotted two rhinos hanging out on the edge of the light. We also saw a number of jackals, running all around the hole and yapping like crazy, as well as many owls and other large birds.

But the coolest sighting was that of a lioness hanging out at the hole and going down for a drink every now and then.

At one point, while she was resting under a bush, a lone zebra ventured down to the hole.

This peaked the lioness’s interest and she began to stalk toward the vulnerable zebra. But before she could get close enough to launch an attack, the zebra caught wind of her and quickly scuttled off, the lioness not following. It was pretty exciting to witness even though there wasn’t a kill.

Not too long after that the lioness retreated from the hole. It seems she went just out of sight, to an area where the rest of her pride was located as we could for the rest of the night hear them roaring, usually in response to the annoying barking of the jackals. We checked back a few more times hoping they would come out from their hiding spots to visit the hole again, but our luck wasn’t ever again as great as it was at first. But really, we can’t complain. I’d say that all in all we’re pretty darn lucky.

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Boulder Beach Penguins

Though most people associate penguins with Antarctica and other cold, icy landscapes, our experiences with penguins have been in places that are not only not snowy but are, in fact, downright hot. Most recently we visited the penguins of Boulder Beach, South Africa, just down the peninsula from Cape Town. On this beach, thousands of African penguins, also known as jackass penguins for their characteristic braying sound, live. we were fortunate enough to visit during their molting and breeding season, which meant that the majority of the penguins were up on land rather than hunting for food out at sea. With boardwalks that lead right through their habitat and with a few of the penguins venturing out of protected territory and right onto the bathing beaches, we were able to get an up close look at penguin life.


Casting a shadow on the boulders for which the beach is named.


A little self admiration.


Contemplating life.


Venturing outside the bounds…and wondering how the heck to get back in.


Hoping that there is safety in numbers.

But sometimes losing the battle to the gulls.

Penguin father settling in to keep the eggs warm immediately after his partner laid them.

Sharing nest space with the kiddos.

Strutting their stuff on the white sands.

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A Tale of Two Vendors

As Namibia is a country full of indescribable landscapes, it would be pointless to try to describe them. So we have lots of wonderful pictures of what we experienced, but the internet tubes in this part of Africa are not wide enough to fit them through. So for now, you’ll have to live with a few story posts and we’ll put some pictures up when we’re able.

We were walking down a street toward our hotel in Swakopmund when we passed two men leaning against a building. One of them sprang out to greet us and announced he was Victor, chatting us up with the usual “where are you from?” and “what is your name?” that usually gets us thinking “what do you want?” The scent of alcohol we caught as he approached us didn’t help our confidence at all that this was going to be a productive interaction. He proceeded to pull out of his jacket pocket a few carved palm nut keychains, the kind we’d seen in every curio shop in the country for 20-40 Namibian dollars ($2-4). Now these weren’t particularly inspiring carvings, but they were fine, and Victor discussed at length with us the carving process and how it takes him three days of work for each one. A large part of his sales pitch was how indestructible they were, as he kept violently banging them on the pavement. To his credit, they didn’t not break or even scratch. He kept handing me keychains until I had three, at which point I, mildly amused, asked how much he would want for one. He replied, “no, you take all three.” Not knowing what I would do with three carved palm nut keychains, let alone one, I insisted. But the price negotiation phase was arduous. First, he asked how old I was. At my response, he said, “ok, I am your elder, I am 39.” To us Westerners, this may seem insignificant, but in Africa a younger person is expected to respect the elder, and this was his not very subtle way of making that point. He leaned down and began to write in the sand, another technique of African negotiation. He started with a three, and I thought he would ask for his age in dollars ($4), which I probably would’ve done for the sheer story of it all. And then he added a zero, and I thought, 30 dollars, ok, even better. And then he proceeded to add a final zero and look up at me with a smile on his face. At which point I laughed. I don’t think it was the most “respectful” response I could’ve had, but I think it was the most appropriate. To my “no” he replied, “at least give me 100.” Laughing again, I proceeded to try to hand back his keychains but he backed off. Out of options, I placed them on the pavement and walked off. Victor got a little greedy.

Later on that same day, we walked down to the impromptu street market near to the beach. There were vendors there for Africa (a phrase South Africans use to mean there’s a lot of something) and we perused the many wood carvings, stones and paintings on display. We inquired about prices from a few and were shocked – people were asking 500 dollars ($50) for the same masks we saw in South Africa for 50 rand ($5) or less. Seems a lot of them had a little Victor in them. Discouraged, we went to leave when we passed by a vendor who opened up with “I saw you guys heading down the other side and was waiting for you to turn back.” Sure, a cheesy opener, but at least different than the “please support me, buy something” we’ve gotten accustomed to hearing, so we took a peek. He had a wide selection of colorful wood block like oil prints, some on white paper, some on a dirty brown fibrous paper we could place, so we asked. It so happens it was elephant dung paper. He talked at length about how he does the carvings and the prints how he was from Zimbabwe but learned this technique in Botswana. He talked about how he offered to teach art classes in the local schools but only the poorest school was interested (fortunately, some art supplies had been donated). As Swakopmund is a very “resorty” feeling town with few blacks in the center, we talked at length about the townships and darker side of the city and region. All the while, we sifted through his pictures trying to decide which we liked, and as often happens, finding it impossible to make an actual decision. After a while of this, he said “you are married right, I will give you one as a gift.” Now whether this was good salesmanship or a genuine offer may be debated, but it was quite nice of him, and we soon settled on getting three prints, negotiating a discount but refusing the free one. And we both walked away from the transaction happy.

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Robben Island Experience

Some people compare Robben Island to Alcatraz, but I think that’s a very unfair comparison. Sure they’re both notorious island prisons, but the people sent to the two prisons were very different. Those sent to Alcatraz had, in most cases, committed some rather heinous crimes. Those sent to Robben Island, had, in most cases, only committed the crime of wanting an end to apartheid and equality for blacks. I expected that a visit to Robben Island would be much more similar to a visit to something like a concentration camp than a visit to Alcatraz. What I mean is not that I expected to find something physically similar to a concentration camp with its death chambers and such, but I expected the emotional punch to be somewhat the same.

Some of Africa’s most brilliant black leaders gave their best years to Robben Island. When they could have been contributing who knows what to the world, they were locked in cells so small that I am not sure Jeff could stretch out across them or crowded into large rooms like cattle, not men. They had their every word listened to and their every bit of writing censored. They spent their days toiling at a quarry, their work not for any purpose but to break them. They contracted TB from the terrible working conditions, lost eyesight to the dust, and became old before their time. It’s heartbreaking.

But, unfortunately, that doesn’t come across very well on a tour to Robben Island. Instead, it does feel a bit like the tourist trip to Alcatraz. Half the trip is sent on a boat making your way the 12 km out to and then back from the island. Once on shore, you board a bus where you’re driven on a loop around the island, a guide pointing out various features that range from the animals that live on the island, to the church attended by lepers kept on the island before it became the apartheid-era prison, to the school attended by children who currently live on the island, to shipwrecks off the coast of the island, to, oh yeah, the buildings that housed political prisoners.

After the bus tour, your group is joined by a former prisoner, who leads you into one of the prison blocks. This part bears the most emotional weight as the guide tells you about his life and his experience in the prison. But then it’s look here in this cell, where you see nothing but a few bunks and lockers, and then walk quickly past Nelson Mandela’s cell, which contains a few blankets and a chair. That’s it. After that it’s back to the boat and back to Cape Town.

I don’t know what I expected. I don’t want morbidity for the sake of morbidity. I understand and appreciate that former prisoners have declared that they want Robben Island to be, not a monument to the evils inflicted by one man on another, but rather a monument to the power of the human spirit and the triumph of good. Yet, I think that could be accomplished in a much less sterile manner. I want to know about more of the men who were kept on Robben Island. I want to see photos of them. I want to know what they did (or were accused of doing) to end up there, what they did to maintain some level of sanity while held there, and what they are doing now. Who are these people, how did Robben Island shape them, and what have they gone on to do with their lives?

The Nelson Mandela Gateway, for where you board the boat to the island, is a museum containing some of this type of information, but once on the island, it’s seriously lacking. visiting the actual island felt a bit like stepping into a boxing ring, watching a serious punch fly at your face, and then feeling nothing but the wind of it missing by a few inches. It feels almost sacrilegious to say so, but if you’re in Cape Town with limited time, I’d maybe check out the Nelson Mandela Gateway but skip the actual island visit. And if you can find it, take in the recently produced documentary about soccer on Robben Island. We happened across it one day on the TV here, and we both felt like it was, sadly, much more meaningful and interesting than our prison visit.

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The Otter Trail (and Otters!) at Tsitsikamma National Park

Tsitsikamma National Park is known for its famous Otter Trail, perhaps the most popular hiking trail in South Africa. It runs along the jagged coastline for 42 km along the well known Garden Coast. Climbing over boulders walking a split between a roaring surf crashing onto the rocks and 200 foot high cliffs on the other side, it is not an easy five day hike. Unfortunately for us, we did not have five days, nor did we book the trail a year in advance as is usually necessary.

Fortunately, though, there is a four hour day hike that “tastes” of the Otter Trail–the first 3 km–that anyone is allowed to enjoy.The sight that never gets tiring during the whole hike is to watch the waves crash into the rocks. The spray flies in all directions. The sound is intense, especially echoing right off the cliffs behind us. The seafoam in the tidal pools attests to the ferocity of the whole experience.

Our endpoint is a waterfall, although with the drought currently going on in South Africa (we’ve yet to see a river really “running,” they all seem to be dry or sitting still) it was more of a water drip.

And on the way back, the trail lived up to its moniker. It may seem surprising given all the incredible animals Africa has to offer, but I think I may have a new favorite. The African clawless otter. Surprising, huh? We saw one sliding around the rocks, which I was convinced was a seal until we saw the whole family. These live in both fresh and salt water … which I shockingly learned when they swam deftly out into the roaring surf.

I later learned they also have opposable thumbs that they use to catch fish, octopus, shellfish … it seems the eat just about anything they can manage. Fish they eat head first, which I think is what this guy is doing. He came up onto the rocks just 20 feet from me, gave me a look with his prize, and then was swept off by a gigantic wave. Pretty sweet animals.

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My Bay

I’m nothing if not generous, and so it would stand to reason that the beach named after me, Jeffrey’s Bay, has what have often been called the “most perfect waves in the world.”

Everyone’s favorite spot is “supertubes” or “supers” if you’re in the know, and it is jam packed. The beautiful beach disguises a rocky sea floor (the reason for all the great waves … and why its not a “beginners” surf spot). We stopped for a few hours, walked along the beach and took some pictures ourselves, but didn’t dare take on the cold, rough waters ourselves. You know, since we know how to surf and all.