On Sunday, I climbed Kgale Hill! Some might know this hill from the Ladies No. 1 Detective Agency--I am told that Precious Ramotswe's offices are at the base of this hill--but I have not read any of these books, so that fact could be completely inaccurate. I do know that the hill has a large and healthy baboon population that is rumored to steal things from hikers. While we saw the baboons, they did not get greedy. There is also a quarry at the base of the hill, and luckily we were not hiking on an explosion day.
Climbing the hill requires some ability to scramble up and down rocks. The trail is not an easy dirt path to the top. I'm not sure how one of my Swedish friends in Gabs "ran" up this hill as part of a triathlon, but I suppose it's possible, though you stand a good chance of spraining your ankle. I admire a man we saw "exercising" on the hill who told us he regularly runs up the hill twice a day, four days a week. I'm assuming he did not have the following for a leisurely Sunday lunch at Sanita's Tea Garden, prior to climbing: a bagel with butternut squash, aubergine and pesto; a red tea milkshake, and cheesecake for dessert. I did. Regret? Only a little--I am going to try making the milkshake when I get back to New Jersey and find my superb blender waiting for me in storage.
Despite the heavy lunch, Lauren and Ian and I made it to the top of the highest point in Gaborone, and were rewarded with a view of downtown Gabs, the surrounding countryside, and the lake formed by the dammed Limpopo River. And we didn't drop our camera over the edge, like the tourists before us did. Check out the view!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Chicken, chicken everywhere, and only peri-peri to drink
The Extra Hot Challenge was one I resigned myself to facing after my first day in Botswana. I’d never been to Nando’s before (though my roommate tells me they exist in Canada, and they are ubiquitous across Botswana and the region), but I got the immediate impression this restaurant was what Southern African food was all about: chicken. We’re not talking your standard roasted bird here—we are talking spicy. Peri-peri chilies, baby…they will make your mouth feel like it’s on fire.
I wasn’t ready to take the ultimate plunge and try the “Extra Hot” on Day 1 in country, but felt braver than my lunch companions (who meekly ordered “lemon herb” and “mild” chicken on their dishes). So I settled for the chicken strips on rice that was only rated “Hot”. By the end of the meal, my sinuses were cleared, and my stomach was feeling a little burn, but I made it through the experience relatively unscathed. I do love a good spicy sauce--before I left Botswana, I vowed to try the “Extra Hot”.
Peri-peri chicken is certainly not the only flavor of friendly fowl Botswana has to offer. They do love their chicken here. McDonalds doesn’t exist in Botswana, but KFC sure does. Apart from Nando’s several other fast food locales offer up chicken dishes: Chicken Licken; Bimbo’s (the name has kept me away from this one); the Hungry Lion (I did not know lions like chicken, but suppose it’s plausible). You can have chicken fried, baked, in a meat pie, on a salad…at the risk of sounding like Bubba in Forrest Gump on a chicken tear, let me just say, if you’re a vegetarian here, your options are slim, because the only big entrée option besides chicken is beef, or some part of the cow (oxtail), courtesy of Botswana’s many cattle ranches. Following my incident with a cow in northern Botswana, I’ve sworn off beef for awhile.
Last night, our friend, Kenneth, joined my roommate and I in paying an overdue visit to Nando’s. On the drive over, I spotted a combi with the phrase “More Fire” on the rear window—foreshadowing? I think so. I’m not in Bots too much longer, so figured this was my chance. Grilled Chicken Strips on Spicy Rice, please—Extra Hot Peri-Peri. And add a pineapple ring (I thought this might allay some of the pain) and a grapetiser (100% grape juice—so good!). As I waited for my dinner of flames, Kenneth asked me how the “hot” peri peri had tasted when I’d had that. My only response on offer was: “hot”…I suppose I knew what to expect from what was coming.
The dish came out, and I paused for a moment to mentally prepare myself before tucking in. The chicken was so spicy, I could smell the burn that was coming. I put some mild peri-peri sauce on the side. I thought it might neutralize the extra hot, but my roommate thought I was crazy—why would I add more spice? I took a bite. It took a second to sink in, but then—yup, definitely extra hot. After a few bites, I could feel my face heating up. I rationed my grapetiser and pineapple slices to the best of my ability, but to be honest, I’m feeling the burning sensation in my mouth and stomach all over again just writing about it. With a few minutes of steady progress though, I realized victory was in sight. I only had a few bites left on my plate, and I wasn’t dying yet. I definitely needed to blow my nose though. And my lips were roasting—lesson learned: don’t put on lip balm after eating spicy food. Yet, I survived relatively unscathed, minus the slight feeling of fire in my stomach following dinner. Here it is 15 hours later, and Montezuma’s Revenge hasn’t kicked in…yet. Next time I may have to up the ante and eat only a half chicken, with no neutralizers.
I wasn’t ready to take the ultimate plunge and try the “Extra Hot” on Day 1 in country, but felt braver than my lunch companions (who meekly ordered “lemon herb” and “mild” chicken on their dishes). So I settled for the chicken strips on rice that was only rated “Hot”. By the end of the meal, my sinuses were cleared, and my stomach was feeling a little burn, but I made it through the experience relatively unscathed. I do love a good spicy sauce--before I left Botswana, I vowed to try the “Extra Hot”.
Peri-peri chicken is certainly not the only flavor of friendly fowl Botswana has to offer. They do love their chicken here. McDonalds doesn’t exist in Botswana, but KFC sure does. Apart from Nando’s several other fast food locales offer up chicken dishes: Chicken Licken; Bimbo’s (the name has kept me away from this one); the Hungry Lion (I did not know lions like chicken, but suppose it’s plausible). You can have chicken fried, baked, in a meat pie, on a salad…at the risk of sounding like Bubba in Forrest Gump on a chicken tear, let me just say, if you’re a vegetarian here, your options are slim, because the only big entrée option besides chicken is beef, or some part of the cow (oxtail), courtesy of Botswana’s many cattle ranches. Following my incident with a cow in northern Botswana, I’ve sworn off beef for awhile.
Last night, our friend, Kenneth, joined my roommate and I in paying an overdue visit to Nando’s. On the drive over, I spotted a combi with the phrase “More Fire” on the rear window—foreshadowing? I think so. I’m not in Bots too much longer, so figured this was my chance. Grilled Chicken Strips on Spicy Rice, please—Extra Hot Peri-Peri. And add a pineapple ring (I thought this might allay some of the pain) and a grapetiser (100% grape juice—so good!). As I waited for my dinner of flames, Kenneth asked me how the “hot” peri peri had tasted when I’d had that. My only response on offer was: “hot”…I suppose I knew what to expect from what was coming.
The dish came out, and I paused for a moment to mentally prepare myself before tucking in. The chicken was so spicy, I could smell the burn that was coming. I put some mild peri-peri sauce on the side. I thought it might neutralize the extra hot, but my roommate thought I was crazy—why would I add more spice? I took a bite. It took a second to sink in, but then—yup, definitely extra hot. After a few bites, I could feel my face heating up. I rationed my grapetiser and pineapple slices to the best of my ability, but to be honest, I’m feeling the burning sensation in my mouth and stomach all over again just writing about it. With a few minutes of steady progress though, I realized victory was in sight. I only had a few bites left on my plate, and I wasn’t dying yet. I definitely needed to blow my nose though. And my lips were roasting—lesson learned: don’t put on lip balm after eating spicy food. Yet, I survived relatively unscathed, minus the slight feeling of fire in my stomach following dinner. Here it is 15 hours later, and Montezuma’s Revenge hasn’t kicked in…yet. Next time I may have to up the ante and eat only a half chicken, with no neutralizers.
The Kids are Alright
Saturday saw the completion of another successful workshop here at the UN. This time, we brought the children of UN employees, ages 5-18, into the office, and had an interactive discussion on HIV and AIDS. I have to be honest--I was impressed that over 60 kids not only woke up before 8 am on a Saturday and gave up part of their weekend to be there (in Southern Africa, school is in session in July--it's winter), but they were incredibly energetic and enthusiastic, given the early hour.
Obviously, you don't teach 5-year-olds the same things you teach 18-year-olds when it comes to HIV, so we divided the kids up into 4 age groups. I had the pleasure of facilitating twelve teenagers, ages 13-15. After introductions, we kicked things off playing a game, where they categorized different actions by the level of risk the action represented for contracting HIV. This game set off a whole slew of questions, and the session turned into something that was half a discussion on HIV, and half a sex education class...which was fine, I just never imagined myself describing aspects of the birds and the bees to a group of teenagers. Questions throughout the day ranged, and we generally let the kids answer each other, if they could, and merely served to correct wrong information:
Q: What is the difference between HIV and AIDS?
A: HIV is a virus that attacks your immune system, which makes you more susceptible to other diseases after a period of time. The diseases that attack your body when you have HIV are collectively referred to as AIDS
Q: How do I know what condom size I should use?
A: Well, standard will probably do it, but I guess you could do some trial runs on your own.
Q: What exactly is an orgasm?
A: Um...
Regarding the first question, I'm continually surprised here by how much HIV/AIDS is in the public eye, but how little useful information is circulated about it. Billboards asking "Who's in Your Sexual Network?" are the recent government ad campaign, but seem to suggest having multiple partners are acceptable, rather than describe the increased risk for contracting HIV that accompanies them. (I recently found out these were part of a "teaser" ad campaign, but the government ran out of money before funding the punchline). My group told me at the end of the day that it would be great to have these kinds of discussions and educational sessions at school--to which my co-facilitator and I gave each other shocked looks. Teachers are supposed to teach about HIV in school here, but obviously don't create the time.
After the condom demonstration (I've never seen so many people volunteering to try out putting a condom on a model--or have such trouble actually opening condoms) and a snack break, the group broke up into two groups to create some kind of project about the risks of HIV. One group put on a hilarious drama about how HIV can spread. It opened with the doctor giving HIV-positive test results to a patient ("I think you'll want to sit down for this", the doctor said to the seated man), upon which, the infected man declared: "I'm not going down alone!" He then proceeded to get drunk and find a prostitute (who later infects two men in a threesome), and later went home to his wife (who later finds out she is infected). Every time someone was "sleeping" with someone else, they went outside, and shut the door. One kid's role was simply to bang the door and make appropriate noises. These kids must watch a lot of TV.
The other group created a couple of posters, one illustrating the pressure girls their age may face to have a "sugar daddy" or older man, who gives them money or cell phones in exchange for sex. The other posters expressed the kinds of excuses people may use for not protecting themselves from HIV. After the two presentations, the group had a very mature discussion (with no intervention from us) about the risks they and their classmates face. I was wildly impressed by how open and interested these teenagers were in discussing their health and well being.
After a lunch of Debonair's pizza, all the age groups reconvened with parents to take a quiz on HIV knowledge. We offered prizes to families receiving high scores, and watched the younger age groups present their poster projects. All in all, a successful day!
Obviously, you don't teach 5-year-olds the same things you teach 18-year-olds when it comes to HIV, so we divided the kids up into 4 age groups. I had the pleasure of facilitating twelve teenagers, ages 13-15. After introductions, we kicked things off playing a game, where they categorized different actions by the level of risk the action represented for contracting HIV. This game set off a whole slew of questions, and the session turned into something that was half a discussion on HIV, and half a sex education class...which was fine, I just never imagined myself describing aspects of the birds and the bees to a group of teenagers. Questions throughout the day ranged, and we generally let the kids answer each other, if they could, and merely served to correct wrong information:
Q: What is the difference between HIV and AIDS?
A: HIV is a virus that attacks your immune system, which makes you more susceptible to other diseases after a period of time. The diseases that attack your body when you have HIV are collectively referred to as AIDS
Q: How do I know what condom size I should use?
A: Well, standard will probably do it, but I guess you could do some trial runs on your own.
Q: What exactly is an orgasm?
A: Um...
Regarding the first question, I'm continually surprised here by how much HIV/AIDS is in the public eye, but how little useful information is circulated about it. Billboards asking "Who's in Your Sexual Network?" are the recent government ad campaign, but seem to suggest having multiple partners are acceptable, rather than describe the increased risk for contracting HIV that accompanies them. (I recently found out these were part of a "teaser" ad campaign, but the government ran out of money before funding the punchline). My group told me at the end of the day that it would be great to have these kinds of discussions and educational sessions at school--to which my co-facilitator and I gave each other shocked looks. Teachers are supposed to teach about HIV in school here, but obviously don't create the time.
After the condom demonstration (I've never seen so many people volunteering to try out putting a condom on a model--or have such trouble actually opening condoms) and a snack break, the group broke up into two groups to create some kind of project about the risks of HIV. One group put on a hilarious drama about how HIV can spread. It opened with the doctor giving HIV-positive test results to a patient ("I think you'll want to sit down for this", the doctor said to the seated man), upon which, the infected man declared: "I'm not going down alone!" He then proceeded to get drunk and find a prostitute (who later infects two men in a threesome), and later went home to his wife (who later finds out she is infected). Every time someone was "sleeping" with someone else, they went outside, and shut the door. One kid's role was simply to bang the door and make appropriate noises. These kids must watch a lot of TV.
The other group created a couple of posters, one illustrating the pressure girls their age may face to have a "sugar daddy" or older man, who gives them money or cell phones in exchange for sex. The other posters expressed the kinds of excuses people may use for not protecting themselves from HIV. After the two presentations, the group had a very mature discussion (with no intervention from us) about the risks they and their classmates face. I was wildly impressed by how open and interested these teenagers were in discussing their health and well being.
After a lunch of Debonair's pizza, all the age groups reconvened with parents to take a quiz on HIV knowledge. We offered prizes to families receiving high scores, and watched the younger age groups present their poster projects. All in all, a successful day!
Friday, July 24, 2009
Zim! Zam! Vic! Nam! Bots! Maun! Cow-a-bungeeeeee!
I have just returned from an action-packed, 3000+ km journey to four countries in five days. There were good times, there were bad times, and everything in between. We went on an amazing river cruise in Chobe National Park; visited Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe and Zambia (I bungee jumped!); traveled through Namibia's Caprivi Strip; saw San (Bushman) paintings at Tsodilo Hills; hit a cow (that wasn't fun); and took a mokoro trip in Maun before caravaning with friends back to Gaborone. Grab a cup of rooibus tea with honey and settle in, because reading this post might take awhile. Don't let the title fool you--abbreviations may be popular here, but this is the unabridged version of my wildest summer weekend yet:
Day -1: Gear Up!
I met the Peace Corps Botswana director for lunch. She served in PC Togo in the 60s with a PCV I served with (during her second tour) in Morocco. She was the first person I'd told about our itinerary that didn't doubt our ability to pull off the intensive schedule. We had a great time talking about our Peace Corps service, and life in Botswana.
After lunch, I took a tour of the PC office, which is conveniently located next to Game City Mall. At Game City, I bought the requisite sleeping bag for weekend camping, and a headlamp as a little splurge/possible necessity. I misplaced the headlamp at the end of the trip, and was so distraught for a few days I considered buying a new one. I loved that headlamp--it made reading in the dark so easy. But my friend had accidentally stuck it in her bag and taken it back to Mozambique with her--so I will recover it next month. Luckily, I did not have to buy a tent, because a friend of ours in Gabs happens to have one that is the perfect size for three people! I went to Riverwalk Mall to pick it up from him. Yes, this was the shopping tour of Gaborone.
Day 0: The Night Road to Francistown
Dimpho arrived early in his taxi to take me to the airport. I thought I covered everything at the Budget Rental Office--I asked for a letter of authority to cross international borders in the rental car into Namibia. I asked if I could drive the car into Zimbabwe (I was told "No, there are no rules there."). But I forgot to get a thorough explanation of the insurance policy--perhaps because there is no insurance policy, just a damage waiver. This will be important later.
The work day was fairly busy. I had read a draft report the UN had commissioned, and had to go to a meeting where the researchers presented their findings and took comments on the report. I had a LOT of comments. This report is perhaps the worst professional piece of writing I've ever seen. I wasn't commenting on the document--I was rewriting it. Logic and organization were completely absent. I said this all in much politer terms at the meeting, but since sending them my track changes, I have the sense that they were slightly offended by all the red markings and don't want to make substantial changes. This is sad because if they don't make changes, the report will be unsuitable for publication.
While I was at the meeting from Nofunville, Caitlin arrived in Gaborone from Mozambique! She was at the office when I returned, ready to join Lauren and I on the adventure weekend of a lifetime. I hadn't seen C since Xmas 2006 in Morocco, and this trip would be slightly crazier given all we were cramming into 5 days. Only one thing left to do-- hit the road!
Traffic sucked. It took an hour to get out of Gabs. As if we needed more proof that Gaborone is a small town, one of our friends called us while we were crawling along, saying he had seen us pass him in traffic. Eventually we managed to reach a decent speed, and had an entirely uneventful drive to Francistown. Our hotel does bear mentioning though. First, the name cracks me up: The Diggers Inn. The lobby featured multiple pictures of Victoria Falls, which made us quite excited for the trip ahead of us. Oddly enough, there was no door on the bathroom in our family room. There was a full kitchen though, which featured complimentary tea and coffee (we fully exploited this early the following morning). I "dug in" for the night, curled up on the bottom bunk bed.
Day 1: Elephants Crossing
5:30 am came all too early, but if you want to catch the elephants on safari, you've got to get up with the sun. We wanted to make the noon game drive. We made good time to Nata. But when we took the Kasane turn-off, the potholes began. These were not your average little bumps in the road--they were as big as our car! For some time, it was easier to drive on the side of the road in the sand than to brave the "paved surface". This was not the last time this trip I would wish I had a 4WD. At least there was interesting scenery--we saw an elephant on the side of the road, as well as some giraffes. I sort of felt like I was in the middle of a psychedelic Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour song.
We got to Thebe River Camping in Kasane just before noon. Sadly, the game drive had been canceled, but we were able to reserve a spot on the afternoon river cruise, and had time to pitch our tent and find lunch in the meantime. It took us all of 10 minutes to see downtown Kasane, but we enjoyed a mini pizza from the local bakery, bought foodstuffs at the grocery store, and checked out a giant baobab tree on the drive back to the campsite.
The afternoon river cruise was definitely one of the major highlights of the entire trip. The banks of the Chobe River are completely full of elephants and hippos as the sun goes down--it is absolutely stunning. We also got to see a rare occurrence for this time of year--elephants crossing the river. They all congregate in a group, as if discussing whether they should cross the river. Then they all follow the leader out into the water in a line, and as they get deeper in the water, they use their trunks as natural snorkels. While I was not aware of it, elephants are quite exceptional swimmers. The pictures can tell it better than I can:
On the ride back to the lodge, we discussed our plan for visiting Victoria Falls the next day with the friends of an Australian we had befriended on the cruise. Let this be a warning: beware a doubting Aussie with a superiority complex. This guy arranged safari excursions, but was a complete Negative Nancy when it came to encouraging our lofty goals:
Me: We don't want to pay the lodge the transfer fee of $80 per person. So I guess we're going to leave our car at the border and hitch.
Aussie: No, you'll have to catch the ferry into Zambia. You can't hitch from the Zimbabwe border.
Me: Hmm, well we're planning to see the falls from both the Zimbabwe and Zambia sides.
Aussie: "You'll NEVER be able to do that. You won't have time.
Me: And we want to bungee jump.
Aussie: But you haven't reserved it. Well, you can't just walk up and do it.
Back at the campsite, we ate vegetable sandwiches in the car, then hit up the campground bar for a couple beers to end a fantastic day. We asked our Aussie friend if he happened to have a plug adapter so Caitlin and Lauren could charge their electronics. Since he had no idea where he was going, we ended up taking a tour of the entire campground before he found his campsite...only to find the plug would not work with an Australian plug adapter. He suggested bending the metal on our plugs to make it work. Luckily, as with his friend's Victoria Falls advice, we didn't listen to him.
Day 2: The Smoke that Thunders, the Screams from Bungee Jumpers that Reverberate off Canyon Walls
We awoke Saturday with hope and anticipation sparkling in our eyes--today we were going to see a natural wonder of the world, visit two new countries, and go bungee jumping! But first, we had to figure out how to get there. While trying to find the Zimbabwe border post, we ended up at the Kazungula ferry crossing into Zambia. After consulting our Lonely Planet (and our instincts), we were not about to take any of the Australian's advice, so we turned around to give finding Zimbabwe another go. We pulled over at a truck stop to ask a woman for directions and realized as we were rolling down the window that the most likely reason a woman would be walking away from a truck stop one kilometer from a border crossing (where trucks usually wait several days clearing customs) is that she is a prostitute. But, prostitute or not, she gave good directions--Excuse me, which way to Zimbabwe? Oh, it's a right turn, I see. Thank you.
At the border, we asked the Botswana guards if it was alright to leave our car for the day. They gave us quizzical looks and told us: "At your own risk. But why are you scared to take it to Zimbabwe?" Because--there are no rules there. So after paying a $35 visa fee (at least I wasn't Canadian like Lauren--$75!), we walked into Zim, and were delighted to find exactly what we had wanted to see when crossing the border: a big sign reading "Welcome to Zimbabwe". Damn straight.
The doubting Aussie was proved immediately wrong, as there were three taxis to choose from for a ride into Vic Falls. The cost was only $25 total for an hour-long ride, and it included so much--green tinted windows, an elephant sighting on the otherwise deserted road, wondering if the gas tank was really riding on empty the whole time or if the gas gauge was broken (my guess: the former), and listening to the weirdest Zambian radio station ever. On the news: a dog has eaten its third dead baby (it was digging them up in cemeteries). In a public service announcement, read by a man in a scary voice, with haunted organ music playing in the background: "BEWARE of wolves in sheep's clothing! Individuals have been posing as representatives of this radio station. If in doubt, call this number. BEWARE of wolves in sheep's clothing!"
We arrived safely in Victoria Falls, and were dropped off the street directly across from the park entrance. Piece of cake--take that, Australian man. The park is set up perfectly, because you start across from the western end of the falls near a nice little statue of David Livingstone (the first white guy to see this natural beauty) where lots of monkeys hang out, and gradually work your way a kilometer or so down the Zambezi to where you have the best view of the main falls (which are giant!). It is impossible to actually capture the entire falls in one picture or description, because they are so indescribably massive. However, the name for the falls in the local language is Mosi-oa-Tunya, which means "The Smoke that Thunders". This is absolutely accurate--later on in the day, while staring at the falls from Zambia (where you are directly across from the main falls, getting soaked by the mist from the falls), the water pouring over the cliff face sounded like a roaring thunderclap. Viewing the falls, you feel like you are in a great thunderstorm...only the sun is shining, creating rainbows over the water, and the sky is bright blue.
We finished exploring the Zimbabwe side before noon, but in awe of this natural wonder, we decided to enjoy the falls from a different vantage point--bungee jumping! Zim and Zam are divided by the continuation of the Zambezi River after the falls, so the border runs directly down the center of a bridge spanning the canyon. On this bridge, there is a platform that is 140 meters above the river, serving as a bungee jumping platform, where you can get your adrenaline rush for a mere $105. Yes, please. We had been told by someone at the bar the night previous that the company took cards, so we hadn't taken exorbitant amounts of cash, but on this particular day, the machine wasn't working. Lauren is afraid of heights, so a 111-meter jump didn't appeal to her too much. But Caitlin and I went on an excursion into Zambia to find an ATM machine, since no such thing exists in Zimbabwe, the country of the highest inflationary rates in history--5,000,000,000 Zim dollars will buy you a bag of maize meal, though no one actually uses the currency, and instead they sell it to tourists as a souvenir.
After going through Zam customs, we walked five minutes down the road to the hotel that was supposed to have an ATM machine. But since it was Saturday, the Barclay's was unfortunately closed, and for some reason, this meant their ATM was turned off as well. We were not giving up so easily. We hitched a free ride into Livingstone, 10 kilometers down the road, to find an operating money machine. The drive takes you along the banks of the Zambezi before it plummets over the falls--but you can see the mist of the falls from the road. It also took us through some nice road construction, but we made it to a mall on the edge of town, and were relieved to become proud owners of tens of thousands of Zambian kwacha. After an ice cream cone and a soda, we went to try and exchange our kwacha into something that would be valid somewhere other than Zambia. Caitlin gave the man at the bureau d'exchange her money, and he counted out $130 in five Andrew Jacksons and three Alexander Hamiltons. However, this exchange bureau oddly gives worse exchange rates for smaller denominations of US bills ($1, $5, $10), so Caitlin asked that he give her a $20 in place of the two tens.
He apologized: "I'm sorry, but I don't have any more $20 bills".
"That's not my fault," Caitlin said. "Can't you give me the better exchange rate?"
The answer was no, so she didn't exchange $30 worth of kwacha.
"But what about me?" I asked, "if you don't have any more large bills?"
"I don't have any more dollars," he said.
I tried again. "Ok, how about rand?"
"I don't have any rand."
"Euros?" No.
"Pounds?" No.
"Pula?" No.
"What do you have?"
Kwacha.
"Forget it."
We hitched a ride back to the border--for free! Not realizing how much time had elapsed since we left Lauren at the bungee jumping spot, we decided to check out the Zambian park. While Zimbabwe offers sweeping views of Victoria Falls, Zambia gets you right next to the falls--you get absolutely soaked as you walk across this narrow little footbridge above a very long drop to the water below. For the first time, I was glad I had brought my raincoat to Africa. We didn't have time to make the hike down to the Boiling Pot, at the foot of the falls, but we did check out the river right before it plunges over the drop. There is no fence to keep people from dipping their feet in the river here and risk being swept away to certain death...just a sign advising "No Swimming." Oh, the developing world and complete disregard for safety. Realizing it was almost 4:30, and knowing that bungee jumping ended at 5, we rushed back to the bridge (but not without first feeding the baboons at the border post), almost forgetting to go get our passport stamped--this is without a doubt, the most lax international border I have ever crossed.
Our hopes were almost dashed once we reached the bungee jumping cashier--"We close at 4:30; they've told me no more sign-ups today." We had to run down to the bridge to beg the bungee operator--if we couldn't jump, what would I spend all my kwacha on? We'd had to go all the way into Livingstone, for crying out loud. We are persuasive...he decided to let us jump! We ran back to pay, got weighed (they are kind enough to write your weight on your arm in marker for the harness strappers to check, and just so you can publicize it to the whole world.), then ran down to the bridge to get fitted for harnesses. We had to get ready so quickly, we almost didn't have time to be scared. But even though Caitlin wanted to go second, she somehow ended up going first, so I had a little more time to get nervous about the idea. The man on the platform wrapped my legs in towels before wrapping the strap around them and latching me on. Even though he promised that your feet don't fall out, the fact that I was going barefoot (to avoid losing my flip flops) made me skeptical...I kept my feet perpendicular to my legs the whole jump. I was greatly relieved they also attach the bungee to your body harness.
In case you get last-second butterflies, you still jump--the man tells you to put your arms up, counts down from five, then pushes you off the platform as he yells "Bungee!" I was jumping anyway as he went to push me--I wasn't going to have spent $105 not to actually jump. But I definitely screamed.
You fall for a long time. A 111-meter jump (the third-highest in the world), and objects fall at 9.8 meters a second. More than 11 seconds of free fall seems like an eternity. You don't think you're going to stop, and you are just plummeting headfirst into a canyon, watching the riverbed getting closer, figuring this is the end. Then you bounce back. The first bounce is the worst--whiplash. Then the bounces get less extreme, and you are just bobbing there, with the blood rushing to your head, yelling things to yourself that no one can hear--like, "Why did I just do this? Holy @#%*)#You fall for a long time. A 111-meter jump (the third-highest in the world), and objects fall at 9.8 meters a second. More than 11 seconds of free fall seems like an eternity. You don't think you're going to stop, and you are just plummeting headfirst into a canyon, watching the riverbed getting closer, figuring this is the end. Then you bounce back. The first bounce is the worst--whiplash. Then the bounces get less extreme, and you are just bobbing there, with the blood rushing to your head, yelling things to yourself that no one can hear--like, "Why did I just do this? Holy @#%*)#$&*!" You feel very very alone, but (oddly) very serene at the same time--after all, you are looking at the sun reflecting off the canyon walls, and seeing and hearing the water cascading beautifully over the cliffs in the distance. It is awesome.
amp;*!" You feel very very alone, but (oddly) very serene at the same time--after all, you are looking at the sun reflecting off the canyon walls, and seeing and hearing the water cascading beautifully over the cliffs in the distance. It is awesome.
Then you start to see the man being lowered down to get you in your peripheral vision, and eventually, you grab onto him, and he carries you back up to the base of the bridge, telling you to stop shaking (I'm sorry, my body is slightly in shock--I can't), and you try to crack some jokes (So, you must like heights, huh?). There is a very elaborate walk to get from below the bridge back to the top of the bridge--ladders, and walkways (you are attached by a carabeener the whole time), and bending over so you don't bump your head on the bridge supports--and then it's over. Would I bungee jump again? Probably not. But I'm sure glad I did it that once.
By this time, it was almost 5:30, and we knew that it would (a) be getting dark soon, and (b) the Zim border closes at 8. Time to head out. We bought some souvenirs (intent to provide a little stimulus to the local economy--it's obvious very few people visit the Zimbabwe side of the falls anymore) while arguing with a cab driver on a fare to the border. He kept changing his mind about the price, and how far he'd take us, but in the end he agreed to take us to the border for $25. We started driving, and he said how he hates it when people lie to tourists. Well, he lied. Three kilometers later, he dropped us at the hitching spot, and wanted money for it. We told him we weren't paying him anything, but eventually, we paid him $5 just to get him to leave. Then we waited under a tree by the side of the road with a policeman, a woman with her baby, and another guy waiting for a ride to the border. It was getting dark, and we were getting worried we might have to spend the night in Zimbabwe. None of the cars passing us were going to the border. After ten minutes, a car passed going into town, and said he would be back. When he returned, he let the three of us get into the back seat while he went to drop off one more guy in town and refuel. I think that--very kindly--he didn't want us to be waiting in the dark, and I don't think he could bring the policeman along while he was putting black market fuel in his car.
So how do you get petrol in Zimbabwe? You pull up outside a house (you need to know which house), honk the horn, and yell for fuel. When they're out, you have to drive to a random truck parked on the side of the road a few blocks away, ask the foreigners in your car for a $10 advance on the $30 they agreed to pay you (offered gladly--we had to get back to Botswana!), and funnel some gas into your car. Then you go back to pick up the policeman, the woman with baby, and the other guy and pile them into your little sedan. This was not a Moroccan Mercedes taxi, but we squeezed seven people and a baby in, none the less. It wasn't overly comfortable, but the baby was cute and fun to play with for the first ten minutes of the drive, and we made it to the border just in time. And our car was still there, hurray!
We enjoyed a well-deserved dinner at the campground restaurant and bar. After a day like that--defying Australians, gravity, and common sense--we all needed a beer. We had a long drive ahead of us the next day, but a local in the bar gave us directions to Namibia, and told us we would enjoy the drive. Almost true.
Day 3: And then, we hit a cow (of the bovine, not elephant, variety).
Sunday morning, we got in the game drive we had missed on Friday afternoon. It was fine, but not nearly as cool as the river cruise. Northern Botswana is COLD at 5:45 in the morning, but luckily we were sitting behind some veterinary sciences students in the truck, who were highly astute at spotting wildlife (they'd just come off of a stint at a symposium at Kruger in South Africa, where they'd stuck their hands down the throats of sedated lions, among other crazy adventures). With their help, we spotted more elephants, zebras, warthogs, monkeys, mongoose, squirrels, giraffes, plenty of deer (impala, springbok, duiker), a hyena, and a jackal, but were very disappointed not to see a single lion--especially when everyone back in Gabs asked us if we'd seen one, as if it should have been standard.
Considering the many miles we had to drive to Maun, we broke camp immediately when we got back from the game drive, and headed out. You drive on a road cutting through Chobe Park for part of the drive to Namibia, and we saw almost as much game (at much closer quarters) on the road as we had seen on the game drive--elephants, zebras, deer...should have passed on the early morning. Eventually, we reached the beautiful border post with Namibia, which overlooks the Chobe River and is full of baobab trees--time to see yet another country! Namibia's Caprivi Strip is a long, straight stretch of road, nestled in between Angola and Botswana, and the road is much busier than anything I've come across in Botswana. Little villages line the roadside, people are out and about, and it feels slightly more "authentic" African than its more-developed neighbor. We turned west at Katima Mulillo (though looking at a map now, I'm not sure why we actually drove that far north), and stopped in another town along the way for a bathroom break and to explore a craft shop and observe a town meeting (which involved a lot of dancing). I had to pay for my purchases in rand because I obviously had no Namibian money. I was about a dollar short in rand, but the lady wouldn't give me a discount...what a joke. We fed malnourished-looking Namibian children some apples we had in the car.
The road in Namibia was far superior to the road to Kasane, and in between populated areas, we cruuuuuised and made great time. We probably also didn't conserve gas that well, so when the gas light started blinking on the 20 km of dirt road leading up to the Botswana border, we got a little worried. But our gas lasted across the border and into Shakawe, where we had to wait a half hour at the one existing pump to get a fill-up. We were behind a guy who spent over 1,000 pula ($150) on gas (he was filling up two tanks), so it took awhile.
Perhaps too cocky, we decided we would fit one more thing into the day before booking it to Maun, so we went to check out San (Bushman) paintings at the Tsodilo Hills. The road was not sealed, and though suitable for a 2WD, the car got very very dirty. We picked up a hitchhiker at the turnoff who worked in the museum at the Hills, and told us about the history of the area. The paintings we were going to see were between 2,000 and 3,000 years old. Since it was a Botswana holiday, he told us just to open the gate to the park ourselves and drive in to look at the hills. This we did, but when we parked the car at the campsite to go look around for a few minutes (it would be getting dark soon, and we wanted to be back to the main road before sunset), a man wanted to register us and have us pay for a tour. We tried explaining that we only had 15 minutes to walk around, but he went to go get the registration book--in the meantime, we went to where we could see a distant view of the paintings, and called it good. We "registered," then left, seeing a beautiful sunset over the red hills as we drove away.
We pulled back out onto the main road at 6:30 pm, just as dusk was falling. We figured we could get to Maun in a few hours, and get a good night's sleep before our canoe trip the next day.
And then we hit a cow. My brights were on, I was going a conservative 110 km/hr in the little Toyota Yaris. We rounded a curve, and there we saw them. Botswana's export pride and joy--Cows. In the middle of the road. On both sides of the road. Everywhere. I slammed on my brakes. It wouldn't be enough. One cow was moving across the road, opening a small slice of road I could try to aim for. I swerved right toward the window of opportunity, avoiding a head-on collision. The front passenger side headlight was not so lucky. Neither was the cow's rear end. The car clipped the brown cow; it flew through the air. I don't know if it died. I kept driving until I found a safe place to examine the damage. We called the rental company, and they said they could switch the car in Maun for us. So we kept driving in the dark--for 350 km at a slow 80 km/hour, with one headlight (I kept thinking of that song by the Wallflowers). We were out of food until we reached a gas station two hours later. Even then, I wasn't that hungry. We almost hit two more cows on the way. Elephants were also on the side of the road, so I guess I am glad we did not hit them. And that I am alive. We also saw several nocturnal animals in the late hours (little mice, chinchillas, fox-type things), though I could have cared less. We made it into the campsite after midnight, after a tortuous search for the Okavango River Lodge using one of the worst Lonely Planet maps ever.
I hope I am not going to spend half my summer living allowance paying the collision damage waiver (never use Budget Rentals!). Please note the tufts of cow hair and streaks of blood on the bumper in the pictures...the friendly dog at the gas station liked the bumper too:
Day 4: Mokoro a Go-Go
In the morning, we tried to switch the rental car before our all-day mokoro (canoe) trip in the Okavango Delta. We failed to actually do this, however, because we had not yet gotten a police report, so Tuuso at Budget said to wait until tomorrow. We also failed to find food to take for lunch, since none of the grocery stores were open, and had to buy some basic food from the gas station. While waiting for a call from Tuuso at the airport, however, we found a cafe that was opening soon, and they were kind enough to sell us some muffins and juice for breakfast. Then we got back to the campsite, and realized they had a restaurant. So we ate some granola and had one of the best French press cups of coffee I've ever had.
At 8, we hopped on a speed boat for a short ride down the river to the village of Boro, launching point for the mokoro. Our polers stopped briefly in Boro to pick up some supplies, so we got to check out the village before heading out on our mokoro adventure. Mokoro are narrow dug-out trees, with hay spread along the bottom to sit on. Two people sit in the mokoro, and the poler stands at the back to steer the boat down the reedy channels of the delta. The whole experience is very peaceful and calm--someone else is doing all the work--except for the bugs that are everywhere. They are not mosquitos, so they don't bite, but until you apply liberal amounts of bug spray, they cover your clothes, the food bag, and everything else. Caitlin and I both thought that being in a mokoro made us wish we were rowing.
After a few hours, we docked on an island, and went on a bushwalk with our guide, Eman. We were not allowed to stray very far from Eman ("You are not in Gaborone, ladies," he reminded us). Again, we were not lucky enough to see a lion, and saw what had become standard for the trip: elephants, zebra, warthogs, and wildebeest. It took a long time to find any of this though, and because we weren't having much luck seeing animals, Eman decided to explain in great detail about animal dung and termite mounds (both of which were plentiful on the walk). Did you know, for instance, that termites build mounds thicker on the eastern side to allow proper ventilation and protection from the heat of the sun? I bet you didn't.
The bush walk was so long, we didn't have time for lunch on the island, so we made our avocado sandwiches on the boat instead. At the end of the day, back at the boat dock, we ran into our friend Julia who was up in Maun on work with Tebelopele (the HIV testing center she is interning with in Gabs), and had taken an overnight mokoro trip with some Peace Corps Volunteers. She was also staying at the Okavango River Lodge, so after the speed boat ride back to the lodge, and a nice hot shower, we all met for dinner at the lodge's restaurant...butternut soup, since I was boycotting beef. Her co-worker, Sokwe, joined us, and since he is from Maun, and speaks Setswana, he agreed to help us out with filing the police report. Sokwe is brutally honest, and this time was no exception: "Julia, your car is ugly," he told me when he saw the very dirty, very damaged Toyota.
We filed our report with the police, and then went back to the lodge for a bottle of South African red. While we were drinking, we chatted up the two bartenders, and then turned in for one last night in the little yellow tent.
Day 5: Caravan to the Tax Collector Tree
The drive back to Gabs was actually fun, because we caravaned with Julia and Sokwe half-way. First we had to visit the police to pick up the report, and trade in the car, but once we were on our way, the trip was enjoyable. We had to stop at a foot and mouth control checkpoint (dip your shoes in the disinfectant and drive through a puddle of it), at which Sokwe told me: "Let's drive faster now so you won't have to drive too far in the dark." I jokingly told him that was fine, so long as he payed my speeding tickets (one of the policemen at the station had warned us to watch for speed traps on this Botswana holiday). Later, I would realize I jinxed myself.
We stopped off in the little town of Mopipi to check out a pan and take some pictures. We had just passed a sign for the "Mopipi Tax Collector Tree," and curious what exactly this meant, we decided to explore since we were in the area. It turns out, this tree is where the tax collector used to sit when he came from Orapa to collect. Now the tree is used as a leather curing facility. Awesome.
We kept driving until Julia and Sokwe reached their destination just outside Orapa. We pulled over into a lay-by to return the music we had traded for the drive. They left, and I pulled out to continue our journey. 200 meters down the road, a cop pulled me over to the side of the road. He told me that 180 meters back, I had been going 74 km/hr in a 60 km/hr zone (this is about 8 miles an hour over the speed limit). I don't even know how it's possible to get going that fast in 20 meters, and told him as much--I'm certain he had the radar trained on someone else, or it was broken. He wrote me a ticket anyway for 380 pula ($60). I said "You have got to be f$^# kiddin' me." He said I was insulting the government of Botswana. I said I had no money with me at the moment. He said I would have to pay it within 14 days in Gaborone, or they would come knocking at my door. He wrote my information down incorrectly, and I am not going to be in Gaborone during the last week of my internship. I am not paying. I am going to become an international outlaw.
The jinxing continued--Sokwe had asked us before we parted ways if we wanted to refuel there, but we said we would wait until Serowe--we should have listened to Sokwe, because the gas light was blinking the last 60 km into Serowe. At one point, we turned into a little roadside convenience store advertising "GAS HERE", but then we realized they meant the gas canisters you use for your stove--in Botswana, gas is petrol. We made it anyway.
We got back to Gabs quite hungry, and hit up Riverwalk for a pasta dinner. We were absolutely exhausted (driving 3000 kilometers in five days will do that to you), and we managed to run into half the people we know in Gabs at the restaurant. We talked with a couple of them for awhile, then dropped them off on our way home. It had been quite the weekend--and we had to go to work at 7:30 the next morning. But the trip had been incredible, and worth every minute. Except for the cow--I could have done without that.
Day -1: Gear Up!
I met the Peace Corps Botswana director for lunch. She served in PC Togo in the 60s with a PCV I served with (during her second tour) in Morocco. She was the first person I'd told about our itinerary that didn't doubt our ability to pull off the intensive schedule. We had a great time talking about our Peace Corps service, and life in Botswana.
After lunch, I took a tour of the PC office, which is conveniently located next to Game City Mall. At Game City, I bought the requisite sleeping bag for weekend camping, and a headlamp as a little splurge/possible necessity. I misplaced the headlamp at the end of the trip, and was so distraught for a few days I considered buying a new one. I loved that headlamp--it made reading in the dark so easy. But my friend had accidentally stuck it in her bag and taken it back to Mozambique with her--so I will recover it next month. Luckily, I did not have to buy a tent, because a friend of ours in Gabs happens to have one that is the perfect size for three people! I went to Riverwalk Mall to pick it up from him. Yes, this was the shopping tour of Gaborone.
Day 0: The Night Road to Francistown
Dimpho arrived early in his taxi to take me to the airport. I thought I covered everything at the Budget Rental Office--I asked for a letter of authority to cross international borders in the rental car into Namibia. I asked if I could drive the car into Zimbabwe (I was told "No, there are no rules there."). But I forgot to get a thorough explanation of the insurance policy--perhaps because there is no insurance policy, just a damage waiver. This will be important later.
The work day was fairly busy. I had read a draft report the UN had commissioned, and had to go to a meeting where the researchers presented their findings and took comments on the report. I had a LOT of comments. This report is perhaps the worst professional piece of writing I've ever seen. I wasn't commenting on the document--I was rewriting it. Logic and organization were completely absent. I said this all in much politer terms at the meeting, but since sending them my track changes, I have the sense that they were slightly offended by all the red markings and don't want to make substantial changes. This is sad because if they don't make changes, the report will be unsuitable for publication.
While I was at the meeting from Nofunville, Caitlin arrived in Gaborone from Mozambique! She was at the office when I returned, ready to join Lauren and I on the adventure weekend of a lifetime. I hadn't seen C since Xmas 2006 in Morocco, and this trip would be slightly crazier given all we were cramming into 5 days. Only one thing left to do-- hit the road!
Traffic sucked. It took an hour to get out of Gabs. As if we needed more proof that Gaborone is a small town, one of our friends called us while we were crawling along, saying he had seen us pass him in traffic. Eventually we managed to reach a decent speed, and had an entirely uneventful drive to Francistown. Our hotel does bear mentioning though. First, the name cracks me up: The Diggers Inn. The lobby featured multiple pictures of Victoria Falls, which made us quite excited for the trip ahead of us. Oddly enough, there was no door on the bathroom in our family room. There was a full kitchen though, which featured complimentary tea and coffee (we fully exploited this early the following morning). I "dug in" for the night, curled up on the bottom bunk bed.
Day 1: Elephants Crossing
5:30 am came all too early, but if you want to catch the elephants on safari, you've got to get up with the sun. We wanted to make the noon game drive. We made good time to Nata. But when we took the Kasane turn-off, the potholes began. These were not your average little bumps in the road--they were as big as our car! For some time, it was easier to drive on the side of the road in the sand than to brave the "paved surface". This was not the last time this trip I would wish I had a 4WD. At least there was interesting scenery--we saw an elephant on the side of the road, as well as some giraffes. I sort of felt like I was in the middle of a psychedelic Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour song.
We got to Thebe River Camping in Kasane just before noon. Sadly, the game drive had been canceled, but we were able to reserve a spot on the afternoon river cruise, and had time to pitch our tent and find lunch in the meantime. It took us all of 10 minutes to see downtown Kasane, but we enjoyed a mini pizza from the local bakery, bought foodstuffs at the grocery store, and checked out a giant baobab tree on the drive back to the campsite.
The afternoon river cruise was definitely one of the major highlights of the entire trip. The banks of the Chobe River are completely full of elephants and hippos as the sun goes down--it is absolutely stunning. We also got to see a rare occurrence for this time of year--elephants crossing the river. They all congregate in a group, as if discussing whether they should cross the river. Then they all follow the leader out into the water in a line, and as they get deeper in the water, they use their trunks as natural snorkels. While I was not aware of it, elephants are quite exceptional swimmers. The pictures can tell it better than I can:
On the ride back to the lodge, we discussed our plan for visiting Victoria Falls the next day with the friends of an Australian we had befriended on the cruise. Let this be a warning: beware a doubting Aussie with a superiority complex. This guy arranged safari excursions, but was a complete Negative Nancy when it came to encouraging our lofty goals:
Me: We don't want to pay the lodge the transfer fee of $80 per person. So I guess we're going to leave our car at the border and hitch.
Aussie: No, you'll have to catch the ferry into Zambia. You can't hitch from the Zimbabwe border.
Me: Hmm, well we're planning to see the falls from both the Zimbabwe and Zambia sides.
Aussie: "You'll NEVER be able to do that. You won't have time.
Me: And we want to bungee jump.
Aussie: But you haven't reserved it. Well, you can't just walk up and do it.
Back at the campsite, we ate vegetable sandwiches in the car, then hit up the campground bar for a couple beers to end a fantastic day. We asked our Aussie friend if he happened to have a plug adapter so Caitlin and Lauren could charge their electronics. Since he had no idea where he was going, we ended up taking a tour of the entire campground before he found his campsite...only to find the plug would not work with an Australian plug adapter. He suggested bending the metal on our plugs to make it work. Luckily, as with his friend's Victoria Falls advice, we didn't listen to him.
Day 2: The Smoke that Thunders, the Screams from Bungee Jumpers that Reverberate off Canyon Walls
We awoke Saturday with hope and anticipation sparkling in our eyes--today we were going to see a natural wonder of the world, visit two new countries, and go bungee jumping! But first, we had to figure out how to get there. While trying to find the Zimbabwe border post, we ended up at the Kazungula ferry crossing into Zambia. After consulting our Lonely Planet (and our instincts), we were not about to take any of the Australian's advice, so we turned around to give finding Zimbabwe another go. We pulled over at a truck stop to ask a woman for directions and realized as we were rolling down the window that the most likely reason a woman would be walking away from a truck stop one kilometer from a border crossing (where trucks usually wait several days clearing customs) is that she is a prostitute. But, prostitute or not, she gave good directions--Excuse me, which way to Zimbabwe? Oh, it's a right turn, I see. Thank you.
At the border, we asked the Botswana guards if it was alright to leave our car for the day. They gave us quizzical looks and told us: "At your own risk. But why are you scared to take it to Zimbabwe?" Because--there are no rules there. So after paying a $35 visa fee (at least I wasn't Canadian like Lauren--$75!), we walked into Zim, and were delighted to find exactly what we had wanted to see when crossing the border: a big sign reading "Welcome to Zimbabwe". Damn straight.
The doubting Aussie was proved immediately wrong, as there were three taxis to choose from for a ride into Vic Falls. The cost was only $25 total for an hour-long ride, and it included so much--green tinted windows, an elephant sighting on the otherwise deserted road, wondering if the gas tank was really riding on empty the whole time or if the gas gauge was broken (my guess: the former), and listening to the weirdest Zambian radio station ever. On the news: a dog has eaten its third dead baby (it was digging them up in cemeteries). In a public service announcement, read by a man in a scary voice, with haunted organ music playing in the background: "BEWARE of wolves in sheep's clothing! Individuals have been posing as representatives of this radio station. If in doubt, call this number. BEWARE of wolves in sheep's clothing!"
We arrived safely in Victoria Falls, and were dropped off the street directly across from the park entrance. Piece of cake--take that, Australian man. The park is set up perfectly, because you start across from the western end of the falls near a nice little statue of David Livingstone (the first white guy to see this natural beauty) where lots of monkeys hang out, and gradually work your way a kilometer or so down the Zambezi to where you have the best view of the main falls (which are giant!). It is impossible to actually capture the entire falls in one picture or description, because they are so indescribably massive. However, the name for the falls in the local language is Mosi-oa-Tunya, which means "The Smoke that Thunders". This is absolutely accurate--later on in the day, while staring at the falls from Zambia (where you are directly across from the main falls, getting soaked by the mist from the falls), the water pouring over the cliff face sounded like a roaring thunderclap. Viewing the falls, you feel like you are in a great thunderstorm...only the sun is shining, creating rainbows over the water, and the sky is bright blue.
We finished exploring the Zimbabwe side before noon, but in awe of this natural wonder, we decided to enjoy the falls from a different vantage point--bungee jumping! Zim and Zam are divided by the continuation of the Zambezi River after the falls, so the border runs directly down the center of a bridge spanning the canyon. On this bridge, there is a platform that is 140 meters above the river, serving as a bungee jumping platform, where you can get your adrenaline rush for a mere $105. Yes, please. We had been told by someone at the bar the night previous that the company took cards, so we hadn't taken exorbitant amounts of cash, but on this particular day, the machine wasn't working. Lauren is afraid of heights, so a 111-meter jump didn't appeal to her too much. But Caitlin and I went on an excursion into Zambia to find an ATM machine, since no such thing exists in Zimbabwe, the country of the highest inflationary rates in history--5,000,000,000 Zim dollars will buy you a bag of maize meal, though no one actually uses the currency, and instead they sell it to tourists as a souvenir.
After going through Zam customs, we walked five minutes down the road to the hotel that was supposed to have an ATM machine. But since it was Saturday, the Barclay's was unfortunately closed, and for some reason, this meant their ATM was turned off as well. We were not giving up so easily. We hitched a free ride into Livingstone, 10 kilometers down the road, to find an operating money machine. The drive takes you along the banks of the Zambezi before it plummets over the falls--but you can see the mist of the falls from the road. It also took us through some nice road construction, but we made it to a mall on the edge of town, and were relieved to become proud owners of tens of thousands of Zambian kwacha. After an ice cream cone and a soda, we went to try and exchange our kwacha into something that would be valid somewhere other than Zambia. Caitlin gave the man at the bureau d'exchange her money, and he counted out $130 in five Andrew Jacksons and three Alexander Hamiltons. However, this exchange bureau oddly gives worse exchange rates for smaller denominations of US bills ($1, $5, $10), so Caitlin asked that he give her a $20 in place of the two tens.
He apologized: "I'm sorry, but I don't have any more $20 bills".
"That's not my fault," Caitlin said. "Can't you give me the better exchange rate?"
The answer was no, so she didn't exchange $30 worth of kwacha.
"But what about me?" I asked, "if you don't have any more large bills?"
"I don't have any more dollars," he said.
I tried again. "Ok, how about rand?"
"I don't have any rand."
"Euros?" No.
"Pounds?" No.
"Pula?" No.
"What do you have?"
Kwacha.
"Forget it."
We hitched a ride back to the border--for free! Not realizing how much time had elapsed since we left Lauren at the bungee jumping spot, we decided to check out the Zambian park. While Zimbabwe offers sweeping views of Victoria Falls, Zambia gets you right next to the falls--you get absolutely soaked as you walk across this narrow little footbridge above a very long drop to the water below. For the first time, I was glad I had brought my raincoat to Africa. We didn't have time to make the hike down to the Boiling Pot, at the foot of the falls, but we did check out the river right before it plunges over the drop. There is no fence to keep people from dipping their feet in the river here and risk being swept away to certain death...just a sign advising "No Swimming." Oh, the developing world and complete disregard for safety. Realizing it was almost 4:30, and knowing that bungee jumping ended at 5, we rushed back to the bridge (but not without first feeding the baboons at the border post), almost forgetting to go get our passport stamped--this is without a doubt, the most lax international border I have ever crossed.
Our hopes were almost dashed once we reached the bungee jumping cashier--"We close at 4:30; they've told me no more sign-ups today." We had to run down to the bridge to beg the bungee operator--if we couldn't jump, what would I spend all my kwacha on? We'd had to go all the way into Livingstone, for crying out loud. We are persuasive...he decided to let us jump! We ran back to pay, got weighed (they are kind enough to write your weight on your arm in marker for the harness strappers to check, and just so you can publicize it to the whole world.), then ran down to the bridge to get fitted for harnesses. We had to get ready so quickly, we almost didn't have time to be scared. But even though Caitlin wanted to go second, she somehow ended up going first, so I had a little more time to get nervous about the idea. The man on the platform wrapped my legs in towels before wrapping the strap around them and latching me on. Even though he promised that your feet don't fall out, the fact that I was going barefoot (to avoid losing my flip flops) made me skeptical...I kept my feet perpendicular to my legs the whole jump. I was greatly relieved they also attach the bungee to your body harness.
In case you get last-second butterflies, you still jump--the man tells you to put your arms up, counts down from five, then pushes you off the platform as he yells "Bungee!" I was jumping anyway as he went to push me--I wasn't going to have spent $105 not to actually jump. But I definitely screamed.
You fall for a long time. A 111-meter jump (the third-highest in the world), and objects fall at 9.8 meters a second. More than 11 seconds of free fall seems like an eternity. You don't think you're going to stop, and you are just plummeting headfirst into a canyon, watching the riverbed getting closer, figuring this is the end. Then you bounce back. The first bounce is the worst--whiplash. Then the bounces get less extreme, and you are just bobbing there, with the blood rushing to your head, yelling things to yourself that no one can hear--like, "Why did I just do this? Holy @#%*)#You fall for a long time. A 111-meter jump (the third-highest in the world), and objects fall at 9.8 meters a second. More than 11 seconds of free fall seems like an eternity. You don't think you're going to stop, and you are just plummeting headfirst into a canyon, watching the riverbed getting closer, figuring this is the end. Then you bounce back. The first bounce is the worst--whiplash. Then the bounces get less extreme, and you are just bobbing there, with the blood rushing to your head, yelling things to yourself that no one can hear--like, "Why did I just do this? Holy @#%*)#$&*!" You feel very very alone, but (oddly) very serene at the same time--after all, you are looking at the sun reflecting off the canyon walls, and seeing and hearing the water cascading beautifully over the cliffs in the distance. It is awesome.
amp;*!" You feel very very alone, but (oddly) very serene at the same time--after all, you are looking at the sun reflecting off the canyon walls, and seeing and hearing the water cascading beautifully over the cliffs in the distance. It is awesome.
Then you start to see the man being lowered down to get you in your peripheral vision, and eventually, you grab onto him, and he carries you back up to the base of the bridge, telling you to stop shaking (I'm sorry, my body is slightly in shock--I can't), and you try to crack some jokes (So, you must like heights, huh?). There is a very elaborate walk to get from below the bridge back to the top of the bridge--ladders, and walkways (you are attached by a carabeener the whole time), and bending over so you don't bump your head on the bridge supports--and then it's over. Would I bungee jump again? Probably not. But I'm sure glad I did it that once.
By this time, it was almost 5:30, and we knew that it would (a) be getting dark soon, and (b) the Zim border closes at 8. Time to head out. We bought some souvenirs (intent to provide a little stimulus to the local economy--it's obvious very few people visit the Zimbabwe side of the falls anymore) while arguing with a cab driver on a fare to the border. He kept changing his mind about the price, and how far he'd take us, but in the end he agreed to take us to the border for $25. We started driving, and he said how he hates it when people lie to tourists. Well, he lied. Three kilometers later, he dropped us at the hitching spot, and wanted money for it. We told him we weren't paying him anything, but eventually, we paid him $5 just to get him to leave. Then we waited under a tree by the side of the road with a policeman, a woman with her baby, and another guy waiting for a ride to the border. It was getting dark, and we were getting worried we might have to spend the night in Zimbabwe. None of the cars passing us were going to the border. After ten minutes, a car passed going into town, and said he would be back. When he returned, he let the three of us get into the back seat while he went to drop off one more guy in town and refuel. I think that--very kindly--he didn't want us to be waiting in the dark, and I don't think he could bring the policeman along while he was putting black market fuel in his car.
So how do you get petrol in Zimbabwe? You pull up outside a house (you need to know which house), honk the horn, and yell for fuel. When they're out, you have to drive to a random truck parked on the side of the road a few blocks away, ask the foreigners in your car for a $10 advance on the $30 they agreed to pay you (offered gladly--we had to get back to Botswana!), and funnel some gas into your car. Then you go back to pick up the policeman, the woman with baby, and the other guy and pile them into your little sedan. This was not a Moroccan Mercedes taxi, but we squeezed seven people and a baby in, none the less. It wasn't overly comfortable, but the baby was cute and fun to play with for the first ten minutes of the drive, and we made it to the border just in time. And our car was still there, hurray!
We enjoyed a well-deserved dinner at the campground restaurant and bar. After a day like that--defying Australians, gravity, and common sense--we all needed a beer. We had a long drive ahead of us the next day, but a local in the bar gave us directions to Namibia, and told us we would enjoy the drive. Almost true.
Day 3: And then, we hit a cow (of the bovine, not elephant, variety).
Sunday morning, we got in the game drive we had missed on Friday afternoon. It was fine, but not nearly as cool as the river cruise. Northern Botswana is COLD at 5:45 in the morning, but luckily we were sitting behind some veterinary sciences students in the truck, who were highly astute at spotting wildlife (they'd just come off of a stint at a symposium at Kruger in South Africa, where they'd stuck their hands down the throats of sedated lions, among other crazy adventures). With their help, we spotted more elephants, zebras, warthogs, monkeys, mongoose, squirrels, giraffes, plenty of deer (impala, springbok, duiker), a hyena, and a jackal, but were very disappointed not to see a single lion--especially when everyone back in Gabs asked us if we'd seen one, as if it should have been standard.
Considering the many miles we had to drive to Maun, we broke camp immediately when we got back from the game drive, and headed out. You drive on a road cutting through Chobe Park for part of the drive to Namibia, and we saw almost as much game (at much closer quarters) on the road as we had seen on the game drive--elephants, zebras, deer...should have passed on the early morning. Eventually, we reached the beautiful border post with Namibia, which overlooks the Chobe River and is full of baobab trees--time to see yet another country! Namibia's Caprivi Strip is a long, straight stretch of road, nestled in between Angola and Botswana, and the road is much busier than anything I've come across in Botswana. Little villages line the roadside, people are out and about, and it feels slightly more "authentic" African than its more-developed neighbor. We turned west at Katima Mulillo (though looking at a map now, I'm not sure why we actually drove that far north), and stopped in another town along the way for a bathroom break and to explore a craft shop and observe a town meeting (which involved a lot of dancing). I had to pay for my purchases in rand because I obviously had no Namibian money. I was about a dollar short in rand, but the lady wouldn't give me a discount...what a joke. We fed malnourished-looking Namibian children some apples we had in the car.
The road in Namibia was far superior to the road to Kasane, and in between populated areas, we cruuuuuised and made great time. We probably also didn't conserve gas that well, so when the gas light started blinking on the 20 km of dirt road leading up to the Botswana border, we got a little worried. But our gas lasted across the border and into Shakawe, where we had to wait a half hour at the one existing pump to get a fill-up. We were behind a guy who spent over 1,000 pula ($150) on gas (he was filling up two tanks), so it took awhile.
Perhaps too cocky, we decided we would fit one more thing into the day before booking it to Maun, so we went to check out San (Bushman) paintings at the Tsodilo Hills. The road was not sealed, and though suitable for a 2WD, the car got very very dirty. We picked up a hitchhiker at the turnoff who worked in the museum at the Hills, and told us about the history of the area. The paintings we were going to see were between 2,000 and 3,000 years old. Since it was a Botswana holiday, he told us just to open the gate to the park ourselves and drive in to look at the hills. This we did, but when we parked the car at the campsite to go look around for a few minutes (it would be getting dark soon, and we wanted to be back to the main road before sunset), a man wanted to register us and have us pay for a tour. We tried explaining that we only had 15 minutes to walk around, but he went to go get the registration book--in the meantime, we went to where we could see a distant view of the paintings, and called it good. We "registered," then left, seeing a beautiful sunset over the red hills as we drove away.
We pulled back out onto the main road at 6:30 pm, just as dusk was falling. We figured we could get to Maun in a few hours, and get a good night's sleep before our canoe trip the next day.
And then we hit a cow. My brights were on, I was going a conservative 110 km/hr in the little Toyota Yaris. We rounded a curve, and there we saw them. Botswana's export pride and joy--Cows. In the middle of the road. On both sides of the road. Everywhere. I slammed on my brakes. It wouldn't be enough. One cow was moving across the road, opening a small slice of road I could try to aim for. I swerved right toward the window of opportunity, avoiding a head-on collision. The front passenger side headlight was not so lucky. Neither was the cow's rear end. The car clipped the brown cow; it flew through the air. I don't know if it died. I kept driving until I found a safe place to examine the damage. We called the rental company, and they said they could switch the car in Maun for us. So we kept driving in the dark--for 350 km at a slow 80 km/hour, with one headlight (I kept thinking of that song by the Wallflowers). We were out of food until we reached a gas station two hours later. Even then, I wasn't that hungry. We almost hit two more cows on the way. Elephants were also on the side of the road, so I guess I am glad we did not hit them. And that I am alive. We also saw several nocturnal animals in the late hours (little mice, chinchillas, fox-type things), though I could have cared less. We made it into the campsite after midnight, after a tortuous search for the Okavango River Lodge using one of the worst Lonely Planet maps ever.
I hope I am not going to spend half my summer living allowance paying the collision damage waiver (never use Budget Rentals!). Please note the tufts of cow hair and streaks of blood on the bumper in the pictures...the friendly dog at the gas station liked the bumper too:
Day 4: Mokoro a Go-Go
In the morning, we tried to switch the rental car before our all-day mokoro (canoe) trip in the Okavango Delta. We failed to actually do this, however, because we had not yet gotten a police report, so Tuuso at Budget said to wait until tomorrow. We also failed to find food to take for lunch, since none of the grocery stores were open, and had to buy some basic food from the gas station. While waiting for a call from Tuuso at the airport, however, we found a cafe that was opening soon, and they were kind enough to sell us some muffins and juice for breakfast. Then we got back to the campsite, and realized they had a restaurant. So we ate some granola and had one of the best French press cups of coffee I've ever had.
At 8, we hopped on a speed boat for a short ride down the river to the village of Boro, launching point for the mokoro. Our polers stopped briefly in Boro to pick up some supplies, so we got to check out the village before heading out on our mokoro adventure. Mokoro are narrow dug-out trees, with hay spread along the bottom to sit on. Two people sit in the mokoro, and the poler stands at the back to steer the boat down the reedy channels of the delta. The whole experience is very peaceful and calm--someone else is doing all the work--except for the bugs that are everywhere. They are not mosquitos, so they don't bite, but until you apply liberal amounts of bug spray, they cover your clothes, the food bag, and everything else. Caitlin and I both thought that being in a mokoro made us wish we were rowing.
After a few hours, we docked on an island, and went on a bushwalk with our guide, Eman. We were not allowed to stray very far from Eman ("You are not in Gaborone, ladies," he reminded us). Again, we were not lucky enough to see a lion, and saw what had become standard for the trip: elephants, zebra, warthogs, and wildebeest. It took a long time to find any of this though, and because we weren't having much luck seeing animals, Eman decided to explain in great detail about animal dung and termite mounds (both of which were plentiful on the walk). Did you know, for instance, that termites build mounds thicker on the eastern side to allow proper ventilation and protection from the heat of the sun? I bet you didn't.
The bush walk was so long, we didn't have time for lunch on the island, so we made our avocado sandwiches on the boat instead. At the end of the day, back at the boat dock, we ran into our friend Julia who was up in Maun on work with Tebelopele (the HIV testing center she is interning with in Gabs), and had taken an overnight mokoro trip with some Peace Corps Volunteers. She was also staying at the Okavango River Lodge, so after the speed boat ride back to the lodge, and a nice hot shower, we all met for dinner at the lodge's restaurant...butternut soup, since I was boycotting beef. Her co-worker, Sokwe, joined us, and since he is from Maun, and speaks Setswana, he agreed to help us out with filing the police report. Sokwe is brutally honest, and this time was no exception: "Julia, your car is ugly," he told me when he saw the very dirty, very damaged Toyota.
We filed our report with the police, and then went back to the lodge for a bottle of South African red. While we were drinking, we chatted up the two bartenders, and then turned in for one last night in the little yellow tent.
Day 5: Caravan to the Tax Collector Tree
The drive back to Gabs was actually fun, because we caravaned with Julia and Sokwe half-way. First we had to visit the police to pick up the report, and trade in the car, but once we were on our way, the trip was enjoyable. We had to stop at a foot and mouth control checkpoint (dip your shoes in the disinfectant and drive through a puddle of it), at which Sokwe told me: "Let's drive faster now so you won't have to drive too far in the dark." I jokingly told him that was fine, so long as he payed my speeding tickets (one of the policemen at the station had warned us to watch for speed traps on this Botswana holiday). Later, I would realize I jinxed myself.
We stopped off in the little town of Mopipi to check out a pan and take some pictures. We had just passed a sign for the "Mopipi Tax Collector Tree," and curious what exactly this meant, we decided to explore since we were in the area. It turns out, this tree is where the tax collector used to sit when he came from Orapa to collect. Now the tree is used as a leather curing facility. Awesome.
We kept driving until Julia and Sokwe reached their destination just outside Orapa. We pulled over into a lay-by to return the music we had traded for the drive. They left, and I pulled out to continue our journey. 200 meters down the road, a cop pulled me over to the side of the road. He told me that 180 meters back, I had been going 74 km/hr in a 60 km/hr zone (this is about 8 miles an hour over the speed limit). I don't even know how it's possible to get going that fast in 20 meters, and told him as much--I'm certain he had the radar trained on someone else, or it was broken. He wrote me a ticket anyway for 380 pula ($60). I said "You have got to be f$^# kiddin' me." He said I was insulting the government of Botswana. I said I had no money with me at the moment. He said I would have to pay it within 14 days in Gaborone, or they would come knocking at my door. He wrote my information down incorrectly, and I am not going to be in Gaborone during the last week of my internship. I am not paying. I am going to become an international outlaw.
The jinxing continued--Sokwe had asked us before we parted ways if we wanted to refuel there, but we said we would wait until Serowe--we should have listened to Sokwe, because the gas light was blinking the last 60 km into Serowe. At one point, we turned into a little roadside convenience store advertising "GAS HERE", but then we realized they meant the gas canisters you use for your stove--in Botswana, gas is petrol. We made it anyway.
We got back to Gabs quite hungry, and hit up Riverwalk for a pasta dinner. We were absolutely exhausted (driving 3000 kilometers in five days will do that to you), and we managed to run into half the people we know in Gabs at the restaurant. We talked with a couple of them for awhile, then dropped them off on our way home. It had been quite the weekend--and we had to go to work at 7:30 the next morning. But the trip had been incredible, and worth every minute. Except for the cow--I could have done without that.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Writing on the Windows (or: Pimp My Combi)
If you leave Botswana, and haven't taken a ride in a combi, you are missing out. These 16-passenger vans (sometimes they hold more than 16) are true tributes to Bastwana ingenuity. For example: How does the van driver close the sliding door when his first passenger climbs in the back seat and leaves the door ajar? Answer: The door is attached to a string on a ceiling-anchored pulley system, and the driver can pull the door shut as he starts to move out into traffic. No time lost there.
Of course, combis stop just about anywhere there is a passenger ready to get on or off, and not just at designated stops, so they actually do take their sweet time getting where you want to go. And sometimes they don't actually follow their designated route, or the driver doesn't listen when you mention where you're going when you get on, so you end up on the outskirts of Gaborone, an hour late for a lunch meeting and surrounded by cows.
But frustrations aside, what I like most about combis are the random, completely pointless sayings that drivers paste on their windows. In other countries I've lived or traveled in, the window is often reserved for a religious saying. I've seen "Mashallah" (May God protect) in Turkey, "Bismillah" (In the name of God), or Allahu Akbar (God is great) in Morocco, and in Ghana, God-decorated tro-tro vans are plentiful--my favorite one said Dr. Jesus. But in Botswana, I don't think it matters what you say on your windows, as long as it comes in funky and colorful bold letters. Here are some of my favorite examples...and commentary.
Big Fred
--why do I suddenly have a yen for cinnamon-flavored gum?
Pashasha
(3 Missed Calls)
--Pashasha must be a popular guy
City Lady
--the combi equivalent of naming your boat for a lost love?
Survival of the Fittest
--look out for this guy's driving skills
Juice
--100%, with tropical fruit, and it's sooooo good here!
The Undertaker
--not fitting when you are transporting 16 people and the HIV rates are 17%, my friend
Frisco
--California Dreamin', on such a winter's day
Up the Reds (The Money Machine/One Million Cash)
--With that hot tip, I'm betting on Cincinnati next time
Nagga
--not sure this one would fly as politically correct in the U.S., even if it is spelled incorrectly
Chico Boyz
--in da hood.
Hot Mesh
--yes, you are. And you have a lisp.
Spice
--if this said "Spicecake", it would be my favorite--Lauren Brown, Michael Bennett and Aaron Grant, you know what I mean.
Are News
--Batswana can never get their grammar correct. It should be "is news" (like, "this is news to me") or even "am news"--I am news!--but not "are news". C'mon guys, the verb "to be"...get it right
And a random parking lot sign:
Paraplegic Parking Only
--What if you're quadriplegic...or only handicapped?
Of course, combis stop just about anywhere there is a passenger ready to get on or off, and not just at designated stops, so they actually do take their sweet time getting where you want to go. And sometimes they don't actually follow their designated route, or the driver doesn't listen when you mention where you're going when you get on, so you end up on the outskirts of Gaborone, an hour late for a lunch meeting and surrounded by cows.
But frustrations aside, what I like most about combis are the random, completely pointless sayings that drivers paste on their windows. In other countries I've lived or traveled in, the window is often reserved for a religious saying. I've seen "Mashallah" (May God protect) in Turkey, "Bismillah" (In the name of God), or Allahu Akbar (God is great) in Morocco, and in Ghana, God-decorated tro-tro vans are plentiful--my favorite one said Dr. Jesus. But in Botswana, I don't think it matters what you say on your windows, as long as it comes in funky and colorful bold letters. Here are some of my favorite examples...and commentary.
Big Fred
--why do I suddenly have a yen for cinnamon-flavored gum?
Pashasha
(3 Missed Calls)
--Pashasha must be a popular guy
City Lady
--the combi equivalent of naming your boat for a lost love?
Survival of the Fittest
--look out for this guy's driving skills
Juice
--100%, with tropical fruit, and it's sooooo good here!
The Undertaker
--not fitting when you are transporting 16 people and the HIV rates are 17%, my friend
Frisco
--California Dreamin', on such a winter's day
Up the Reds (The Money Machine/One Million Cash)
--With that hot tip, I'm betting on Cincinnati next time
Nagga
--not sure this one would fly as politically correct in the U.S., even if it is spelled incorrectly
Chico Boyz
--in da hood.
Hot Mesh
--yes, you are. And you have a lisp.
Spice
--if this said "Spicecake", it would be my favorite--Lauren Brown, Michael Bennett and Aaron Grant, you know what I mean.
Are News
--Batswana can never get their grammar correct. It should be "is news" (like, "this is news to me") or even "am news"--I am news!--but not "are news". C'mon guys, the verb "to be"...get it right
And a random parking lot sign:
Paraplegic Parking Only
--What if you're quadriplegic...or only handicapped?
Monday, July 13, 2009
It's Another Botswana Village Sunday
Nothing better to do on a lazy Sunday than go for a drive! After a delicious Saturday dinner at the UN Resident Coordinator's house, Ian and Lauren and I spent the second half of the weekend exploring some of the villages around Gaborone. Armed with a map of "The Greater Gaborone Trail," we set out to conquer it all in our little Toyota Yaris T3. We took the road heading south out of town, and just past Kgale Hill, Ian had to slow down to avoid the giant group of baboons hanging out on the side of the road. Luckily, even though Brits like to use their hand brake whenever the car is stationary, this instance was an exception--I'm pretty sure we would have been rear-ended it hadn't been.
Our first official stop was the Mogonye Gorges, but the map did not tell us we needed a 4WD to go the final few kilometers from the village to the gorges. But the theme of the day was "Ask the locals"--Excuse me, are there gorges around here?--and a woman on the side of the road told us we would never make it in our low-clearance car. We tried anyway, but despite our stubborn efforts, we eventually had to turn around. Botswana Roads: 1, Yaris T3: 0.
Just down the road was the tiny village of Manyana...a village where I assume the sun will always come out on the following day. This village hosts a few historic sites. It took us a while to find the first one--Excuse me, are there rock paintings around here?--but our efforts were rewarded with the discovery of a fairly official set-up. The tour guide, Justice, signed us in, and showed us various San (Bushman) rock paintings that are over 2,000 years old! At the same site is Mma Sechele Cave where, in 1852, during a war with the Boers, the pregnant wife of the local chief hid out to avoid the fighting. The cave is named in her honor. We could only look at the outside of the cave because the inside hasn't been properly explored, and probably houses snakes (given the large number of rock rabbit--groundhog--droppings around the mouth of the cave).
Justice then took us to the town's famous tree. Now, this tree is pretty awesome in its own right, with lots of twisted roots and branches. Apparently, David Livingstone thought so too, because he used to preach under the tree, and carved his initials in it. Dr. Historical Graffiti, I presume? The initials have since disappeared, but it's still cool.
By now, it was one o'clock, and we were hungry. We decided to check out the town of Lobatse for lunch. Lobatse is not on the "Greater Gaborone Trail" for a reason--the only thing there is a lot of meat. It is the home of the Botswana Meat Commission, various meat processing plants, and the High Court...draw your own conclusions. Fittingly, we ate at a braai place (Botswana BBQ), consuming some of the local livestock. Hurray for $3 steaks!
On the way back north, we stopped off in Otse to find the famed Cape Vulture Colony--the species is found only in Southern Africa. The dirt road may have been a bit rough on the car, and it again took some asking around to find the right dirt road--Excuse me, are there vultures around here? You know, big birds?--but in the end, mission accomplished. The giant hill has vultures flying all around it--luckily none mistook the Yaris for a piece of dead meat.
The final stop was the quaint village of Odi, renowned for its weaving cooperative. In spite of the directional signs, there was still some confusion about where the cooperative was--Excuse me, are there weavers around here?--and when we found the place, it had apparently closed 10 minutes earlier. It probably only opens, however, when tourists show up in their cars and stand around, because after a few minutes enjoying the fresh village air, a woman asked us if we wanted her to find the person with keys to the store. Having seen the steep price tags through the window, we politely declined. It was back to Gabs for us. Excuse me, but are there pictures around here? Oh, yes, of course:
Our first official stop was the Mogonye Gorges, but the map did not tell us we needed a 4WD to go the final few kilometers from the village to the gorges. But the theme of the day was "Ask the locals"--Excuse me, are there gorges around here?--and a woman on the side of the road told us we would never make it in our low-clearance car. We tried anyway, but despite our stubborn efforts, we eventually had to turn around. Botswana Roads: 1, Yaris T3: 0.
Just down the road was the tiny village of Manyana...a village where I assume the sun will always come out on the following day. This village hosts a few historic sites. It took us a while to find the first one--Excuse me, are there rock paintings around here?--but our efforts were rewarded with the discovery of a fairly official set-up. The tour guide, Justice, signed us in, and showed us various San (Bushman) rock paintings that are over 2,000 years old! At the same site is Mma Sechele Cave where, in 1852, during a war with the Boers, the pregnant wife of the local chief hid out to avoid the fighting. The cave is named in her honor. We could only look at the outside of the cave because the inside hasn't been properly explored, and probably houses snakes (given the large number of rock rabbit--groundhog--droppings around the mouth of the cave).
Justice then took us to the town's famous tree. Now, this tree is pretty awesome in its own right, with lots of twisted roots and branches. Apparently, David Livingstone thought so too, because he used to preach under the tree, and carved his initials in it. Dr. Historical Graffiti, I presume? The initials have since disappeared, but it's still cool.
By now, it was one o'clock, and we were hungry. We decided to check out the town of Lobatse for lunch. Lobatse is not on the "Greater Gaborone Trail" for a reason--the only thing there is a lot of meat. It is the home of the Botswana Meat Commission, various meat processing plants, and the High Court...draw your own conclusions. Fittingly, we ate at a braai place (Botswana BBQ), consuming some of the local livestock. Hurray for $3 steaks!
On the way back north, we stopped off in Otse to find the famed Cape Vulture Colony--the species is found only in Southern Africa. The dirt road may have been a bit rough on the car, and it again took some asking around to find the right dirt road--Excuse me, are there vultures around here? You know, big birds?--but in the end, mission accomplished. The giant hill has vultures flying all around it--luckily none mistook the Yaris for a piece of dead meat.
The final stop was the quaint village of Odi, renowned for its weaving cooperative. In spite of the directional signs, there was still some confusion about where the cooperative was--Excuse me, are there weavers around here?--and when we found the place, it had apparently closed 10 minutes earlier. It probably only opens, however, when tourists show up in their cars and stand around, because after a few minutes enjoying the fresh village air, a woman asked us if we wanted her to find the person with keys to the store. Having seen the steep price tags through the window, we politely declined. It was back to Gabs for us. Excuse me, but are there pictures around here? Oh, yes, of course:
Wooden Penis, Rubber Vagina...and Good Governance
Last week was very busy...on Tuesday, I attended a workshop on creating a National Sustainable Development Strategy in Botswana, which was quite impressive. On Friday, I helped put on a UN Staff Orientation on HIV/AIDS. Details below, but first, the pictures of the condom demonstrations!
The goal of last Tuesday's workshop in Phakalane was to start a dialogue on how to create a National Strategy on Sustainable Development (NSSD). The process will probably take a couple of years (and this is just producing, not actually implementing, the strategy), so given the speed with which climate change is happening, addressing this now is a good thing. For example, the US, as you may know, does not have any such strategy in place--and produces significantly more greenhouse gases. For Botswana, learning how to manage their resources more effectively, and finding ways to diversify their economy (particularly in a way that is sustainable) is incredibly important--the country has experienced remarkable economic growth in the past 40 years, but most of this comes from mineral wealth. Since most of the land is desert, little agricultural production occurs--most food is imported from South Africa.
This workshop actually helped me believe some of the rumors about how Botswana is a developmental gem in Africa--the individuals present representing government and civil society were intelligent, full of good ideas, and genuinely concerned with addressing the topic at hand. By the end of the day they had reached a decent consensus on the way forward, wanted to involve more stakeholders into the decision-making process, and had come up with a realistic plan for future action. What was most impressive about this conference, however, was that the Minister of Environment was there ALL DAY. He not only had intelligent comments to make, but was open to criticism and listening to other people's contributions. Botswana may have only 2 million people, so maybe the Minister has more time on his hands than some, but I was still impressed that he took such a vested interest in the project.
Friday was the second of three workshops on HIV/AIDS that I'm organizing during my time here. The last workshop was all about the risks associated with multiple concurrent partnerships (having multiple sexual partners at the same time), and though it went well, I wasn't involved in the presentations--just the organizing. Today, I actually helped run the workshop with two of my co-workers. The workshop was for UN Employees on basic HIV information and HIV in the workplace--an attempt to make sure UN employees are actually educated about what they are supposed to be teaching others, or promoting through the Millennium Development Goals. It was definitely a learning experience--both for us, and the people in attendance.
During the ice-breaker, a game called "High Risk, Low Risk, No Risk", we had to explain (to some shocked faces): (1) the concept of 'blood brothers', (2) mutual masturbation, and (3) oral sex, among other things. The response to the explanation of #3 (and I'm not joking) was: "No one does that."
At the previous HIV/AIDS workshop, there was considerable interest in how HIV affects the gay community. Homosexuality is illegal in Botswana, so it's often not considered a major contributor to the HIV epidemic here, though it probably is to some extent. There was definitely misinformation floating around at the last session: one of the presenters thought different condoms are used for anal sex and referred to homosexuality as something that wouldn't be of concern to anyone present--as if to suggest no one in the room might be gay. To set the politically correct and factual records straight, I gave a brief presentation Friday on what activities can put men who have sex with men (MSM) at risk for HIV. I also included the results of a recent study conducted in Southern Africa cities (including Gaborone) that surveyed MSM about their sexual habits--over half of those surveyed had had sexual relations with both men and women in the past 6 months, a fact which shocked a lot of people--and definitely could contribute to the spread of HIV.
The highlight of the session though was definitely the condom demonstrations--ok, come on, when is using wooden penises and rubber vaginas NOT the highlight of a sex-ed or HIV session? And I had no idea how to use a female condom, so hey, it was informative for me too. But I still can't get over the fact that the rubber vagina is a box shape--reminds me of that SNL song/skit "Dick in a Box"...except I suppose this would be "Vag in a Box". Anyway, my co-worker, Kefi, gave a great presentation, we had volunteers help with the demonstration, and hilarity ensued. Though half of it was in Setswana, it was still funny. Kefi's final point was a good one too--Having open and honest discussions with our partners about sex and HIV may be something we like to assume we all do, but probably don't.
Here's to hoping the workshop changed that for some people.
The goal of last Tuesday's workshop in Phakalane was to start a dialogue on how to create a National Strategy on Sustainable Development (NSSD). The process will probably take a couple of years (and this is just producing, not actually implementing, the strategy), so given the speed with which climate change is happening, addressing this now is a good thing. For example, the US, as you may know, does not have any such strategy in place--and produces significantly more greenhouse gases. For Botswana, learning how to manage their resources more effectively, and finding ways to diversify their economy (particularly in a way that is sustainable) is incredibly important--the country has experienced remarkable economic growth in the past 40 years, but most of this comes from mineral wealth. Since most of the land is desert, little agricultural production occurs--most food is imported from South Africa.
This workshop actually helped me believe some of the rumors about how Botswana is a developmental gem in Africa--the individuals present representing government and civil society were intelligent, full of good ideas, and genuinely concerned with addressing the topic at hand. By the end of the day they had reached a decent consensus on the way forward, wanted to involve more stakeholders into the decision-making process, and had come up with a realistic plan for future action. What was most impressive about this conference, however, was that the Minister of Environment was there ALL DAY. He not only had intelligent comments to make, but was open to criticism and listening to other people's contributions. Botswana may have only 2 million people, so maybe the Minister has more time on his hands than some, but I was still impressed that he took such a vested interest in the project.
Friday was the second of three workshops on HIV/AIDS that I'm organizing during my time here. The last workshop was all about the risks associated with multiple concurrent partnerships (having multiple sexual partners at the same time), and though it went well, I wasn't involved in the presentations--just the organizing. Today, I actually helped run the workshop with two of my co-workers. The workshop was for UN Employees on basic HIV information and HIV in the workplace--an attempt to make sure UN employees are actually educated about what they are supposed to be teaching others, or promoting through the Millennium Development Goals. It was definitely a learning experience--both for us, and the people in attendance.
During the ice-breaker, a game called "High Risk, Low Risk, No Risk", we had to explain (to some shocked faces): (1) the concept of 'blood brothers', (2) mutual masturbation, and (3) oral sex, among other things. The response to the explanation of #3 (and I'm not joking) was: "No one does that."
At the previous HIV/AIDS workshop, there was considerable interest in how HIV affects the gay community. Homosexuality is illegal in Botswana, so it's often not considered a major contributor to the HIV epidemic here, though it probably is to some extent. There was definitely misinformation floating around at the last session: one of the presenters thought different condoms are used for anal sex and referred to homosexuality as something that wouldn't be of concern to anyone present--as if to suggest no one in the room might be gay. To set the politically correct and factual records straight, I gave a brief presentation Friday on what activities can put men who have sex with men (MSM) at risk for HIV. I also included the results of a recent study conducted in Southern Africa cities (including Gaborone) that surveyed MSM about their sexual habits--over half of those surveyed had had sexual relations with both men and women in the past 6 months, a fact which shocked a lot of people--and definitely could contribute to the spread of HIV.
The highlight of the session though was definitely the condom demonstrations--ok, come on, when is using wooden penises and rubber vaginas NOT the highlight of a sex-ed or HIV session? And I had no idea how to use a female condom, so hey, it was informative for me too. But I still can't get over the fact that the rubber vagina is a box shape--reminds me of that SNL song/skit "Dick in a Box"...except I suppose this would be "Vag in a Box". Anyway, my co-worker, Kefi, gave a great presentation, we had volunteers help with the demonstration, and hilarity ensued. Though half of it was in Setswana, it was still funny. Kefi's final point was a good one too--Having open and honest discussions with our partners about sex and HIV may be something we like to assume we all do, but probably don't.
Here's to hoping the workshop changed that for some people.
Burning down the (UN) house
Last Monday afternoon I was writing a very long email in my Princeton account regarding a fellowship. Then all the computers shorted out. Princeton email doesn't save your drafts automatically. FML.
Then the fire alarm went off. We all got up to leave the building, but the card swiper that allows you to open the door to leave the office and go downstairs had also shorted out. Nobody seemed to know where the keys were, so we couldn't leave. One of my co-workers announced: "I've checked all the offices. There is no fire on this floor!" He didn't consider that there might be a fire on another floor. FML.
I considered busting down the door. I pondered the jump from a second-story window, but decided to wait until I smelled smoke. Eventually someone found the key. No one bothered taking attendance at the fire assembly point outside. The fire alarm culprit was an electrical fire on the first floor. We think it was from an overheated projector from a meeting that wrapped up 20 minutes earlier. The fire department came. TGISFHML (Thank Goodness I Still F#%&* Have My Life).
Then the fire alarm went off. We all got up to leave the building, but the card swiper that allows you to open the door to leave the office and go downstairs had also shorted out. Nobody seemed to know where the keys were, so we couldn't leave. One of my co-workers announced: "I've checked all the offices. There is no fire on this floor!" He didn't consider that there might be a fire on another floor. FML.
I considered busting down the door. I pondered the jump from a second-story window, but decided to wait until I smelled smoke. Eventually someone found the key. No one bothered taking attendance at the fire assembly point outside. The fire alarm culprit was an electrical fire on the first floor. We think it was from an overheated projector from a meeting that wrapped up 20 minutes earlier. The fire department came. TGISFHML (Thank Goodness I Still F#%&* Have My Life).
Thursday, July 9, 2009
I got a bone to pick with you...
This afternoon, I was enjoying my lunch break at the local pie shop. I had bought a grape juice and candy bar from the grocery store, and was rounding off the meal with a tasty chili steak pie. Then, a woman walked in to the pie shop, and approached the counter to place an order. While she was standing at the counter, she turned around and placed a picked-clean bone on my table...and smiled at me. As if leaving the remains of your lunch on a stranger's table was the most perfectly normal thing in the world. And I thought, "Sure, I guess that's fine...I mean, I'm not going to move it, so go ahead." TIA.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Zebra Soccer Madness
This weekend, to honor America without being in America, I took part in a few personal traditions.
1. I went to a Peace Corps party--it had been some time. A group was in town for their mid-service training, and one of the volunteers based in Gaborone was kind enough to invite us to the Fourth of July BBQ at a PCV's house. In true Peace Corps style, there were arts and crafts (patriotic face painting), organized activities (Train Wreck/Musical Chairs), lots of cheap liquor, and a dance party at a local club to wrap up the evening.
2. I went to a soccer match, something I try and do in every country I live in for an extended period of time. On Sunday, Botswana faced off against Iran at the University of Botswana stadium. I am not certain the field was regulation size, but spirits were high and zebra jumpsuits were plentiful (Botswana's national mascot is the zebra). I got to practice my vuvuzela horn, a Southern African soccer staple, and got all kinds of free goodies at the entrance: a Botswana flag, noisemakers, and a program which featured the following inspirational, historically inaccurate, and grammatically incorrect message from the team's executive officer (and I quote):
"Friends in the good spirit of football fraternity, it's once more a great pleasure to have this opportune moment to communicate with you regarding the product that we cherish, nurture and embrace i.e. football.
One great writer Julius Caesar once said 'there is a tight in the affairs of man which taken to the fort leads on to a fortune, omitted its voyages are bound in shallows and miseries.' Football is at the crossroads, we must then decide which way to go, left or right, its our choice.
If we want to remain where we are we will keep left and if we want to make an impact and changes, we need to move right, to move right we need a paradigm shift, we need to think Big and make bold decisions. Thinking big requires resources and we must take a quantum leap to achieve our desired goals.
A self transformation, self motivation and self empowerment exercise needs to prevail in football, together as a team we can bring the desired changes and be proud of our natural team. We need to create an environment that resonates a persona of success, aspiration and a culture of ethnicity of achieving targets and desired goals. We are more than delighted as Botswana Football Association to bring Iran to Botswana. Iran is the powerhouse of the Middle East, Ranked number 52 in the FIFA Coca-Cola World rankings. We are indeed playing a strong footballing of nation. This is the fourth team from outside Africa to play Botswana after New Zealand.
I wish you all a very exciting game and once more welcome Iran National Team to Botswana. I thank everybody who played a part in making this game a success especially player number 12.
Fans! Fans! Supporters!
Zebras ke yone!"
As riveting as that was, perhaps my slideshow may be even more entertaining:
The match ended up tied at 1-1. Apparently I wasn't paying attention during the first two minutes, because I didn't know Iran had scored, and thought Botswana had won when the game was over. I couldn't understand why people weren't more excited.
3. Another thing that seems to happen around this time of year is that someone I know (and sometimes it's me--ex. Pamplona) gets robbed. This time my purse avoided any pilfering. But at a bar on Friday night, I was out with a few friends, watching a local (very good) hip-hop band. Two guys started dancing with my roommate, and a few minutes later, she noticed her open purse and missing wallet. I told her to watch the two guys (one who had been bugging me earlier), and I went to get security. Security came and kicked the crap out of one of the guys (in security's defense, he was really confrontational)--the other one had disappeared after my friends had searched his jacket. The whole thing was a fiasco--the police came, the two guys we were accusing were making up multiple B.S. stories, and of course the wallet wasn't being produced (we were certain they passed it off). My roommate chose not to open a case--we learned later that if she had, and the local chief had found the men guilty, she would have been able to watch them receive a lashing, which is apparently the punishment for petty crimes. I have some qualms about this, but as a Motswana friend explained to us--"why should you put bad guys that do these little things in jail and have to pay to feed them better than the good guys?"
Instead of dealing out more punishment than the swollen lip security had already given one of them, we just went to our friend's house to use the internet and cancel the credit cards. This was mildly amusing as she worked over a poor skype connection to explain her situation to a very confused, very concerned customer service rep:
Lauren: "I'm calling from overseas--Africa"
Bank rep: "You're calling from AFRICA?"
L: "Yes, my bank card's been stolen."
BR: "Your card has been what? Stolen?"
L: "YES! I need to cancel my card"
BR: "You need to what?"
It all got sorted out in the end. In fact, the bar called this morning to say her wallet had been found in the men's bathroom. She went to pick it up, and it kind of smelled like urine. Time to get a new wallet.
1. I went to a Peace Corps party--it had been some time. A group was in town for their mid-service training, and one of the volunteers based in Gaborone was kind enough to invite us to the Fourth of July BBQ at a PCV's house. In true Peace Corps style, there were arts and crafts (patriotic face painting), organized activities (Train Wreck/Musical Chairs), lots of cheap liquor, and a dance party at a local club to wrap up the evening.
2. I went to a soccer match, something I try and do in every country I live in for an extended period of time. On Sunday, Botswana faced off against Iran at the University of Botswana stadium. I am not certain the field was regulation size, but spirits were high and zebra jumpsuits were plentiful (Botswana's national mascot is the zebra). I got to practice my vuvuzela horn, a Southern African soccer staple, and got all kinds of free goodies at the entrance: a Botswana flag, noisemakers, and a program which featured the following inspirational, historically inaccurate, and grammatically incorrect message from the team's executive officer (and I quote):
"Friends in the good spirit of football fraternity, it's once more a great pleasure to have this opportune moment to communicate with you regarding the product that we cherish, nurture and embrace i.e. football.
One great writer Julius Caesar once said 'there is a tight in the affairs of man which taken to the fort leads on to a fortune, omitted its voyages are bound in shallows and miseries.' Football is at the crossroads, we must then decide which way to go, left or right, its our choice.
If we want to remain where we are we will keep left and if we want to make an impact and changes, we need to move right, to move right we need a paradigm shift, we need to think Big and make bold decisions. Thinking big requires resources and we must take a quantum leap to achieve our desired goals.
A self transformation, self motivation and self empowerment exercise needs to prevail in football, together as a team we can bring the desired changes and be proud of our natural team. We need to create an environment that resonates a persona of success, aspiration and a culture of ethnicity of achieving targets and desired goals. We are more than delighted as Botswana Football Association to bring Iran to Botswana. Iran is the powerhouse of the Middle East, Ranked number 52 in the FIFA Coca-Cola World rankings. We are indeed playing a strong footballing of nation. This is the fourth team from outside Africa to play Botswana after New Zealand.
I wish you all a very exciting game and once more welcome Iran National Team to Botswana. I thank everybody who played a part in making this game a success especially player number 12.
Fans! Fans! Supporters!
Zebras ke yone!"
As riveting as that was, perhaps my slideshow may be even more entertaining:
The match ended up tied at 1-1. Apparently I wasn't paying attention during the first two minutes, because I didn't know Iran had scored, and thought Botswana had won when the game was over. I couldn't understand why people weren't more excited.
3. Another thing that seems to happen around this time of year is that someone I know (and sometimes it's me--ex. Pamplona) gets robbed. This time my purse avoided any pilfering. But at a bar on Friday night, I was out with a few friends, watching a local (very good) hip-hop band. Two guys started dancing with my roommate, and a few minutes later, she noticed her open purse and missing wallet. I told her to watch the two guys (one who had been bugging me earlier), and I went to get security. Security came and kicked the crap out of one of the guys (in security's defense, he was really confrontational)--the other one had disappeared after my friends had searched his jacket. The whole thing was a fiasco--the police came, the two guys we were accusing were making up multiple B.S. stories, and of course the wallet wasn't being produced (we were certain they passed it off). My roommate chose not to open a case--we learned later that if she had, and the local chief had found the men guilty, she would have been able to watch them receive a lashing, which is apparently the punishment for petty crimes. I have some qualms about this, but as a Motswana friend explained to us--"why should you put bad guys that do these little things in jail and have to pay to feed them better than the good guys?"
Instead of dealing out more punishment than the swollen lip security had already given one of them, we just went to our friend's house to use the internet and cancel the credit cards. This was mildly amusing as she worked over a poor skype connection to explain her situation to a very confused, very concerned customer service rep:
Lauren: "I'm calling from overseas--Africa"
Bank rep: "You're calling from AFRICA?"
L: "Yes, my bank card's been stolen."
BR: "Your card has been what? Stolen?"
L: "YES! I need to cancel my card"
BR: "You need to what?"
It all got sorted out in the end. In fact, the bar called this morning to say her wallet had been found in the men's bathroom. She went to pick it up, and it kind of smelled like urine. Time to get a new wallet.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Happy Birthday, Mr. President--A Merry Botswana Holiday
Americans aren't the only ones that celebrate Presidents' Day! The difference in Botswana is that they don't move it to a Monday or Friday so you get a three-day weekend. Instead, they just leave it right where July 1st happens to fall--this year, in the middle of the week. This may seem impractical (ok, it kind of is), but it is also very nice to not have to go to work on a Wednesday! Here, President's Day celebrates the birthday of the first president of Botswana, Sir Seretse Khama--go read up on him; he's a pretty interesting guy.
Unfortunately, there really isn't too much celebration that occurs on this holiday (in this way, somewhat similar to the American holiday counterpart). So there are no pictures of massive patriotic displays of national pride to supplement this blog post (I'm hoping for that at the soccer game this Sunday--Botswana vs. Iran!).
So what DID I do on the holiday? Well, I started celebrating early, and went to a Tuesday night Michael Jackson tribute at the Bull & Bush. A giant screen set up outside was playing MJ videos, and inside on the dance floor MJ hits were blasting. I chatted with a random collection of friends that had shown up for the evening, then we had to hit the dance floor for at least a few tracks.
Getting home at 2 am wasn't a big deal--sleeping in on a Wednesday is fantastic! My flatmate and I had lunch with some friends (two American girls) at a local Indian restaurant, then we went out to the Mokolodi Game Reserve for an afternoon game drive. The reserve is situated only a few kilometers from the center of Gaborone, but has a wide variety of animals given its proximity to the city--you can even pet a cheetah! We opted, however, for the less-expensive option of a game drive, which was somewhat comical.
The guide driving the safari vehicle of about 20 people rarely noticed the animals unless someone told him to stop (luckily, the elephants were an exception to this rule). Even once he stopped, he wouldn't pause for very long before barreling on again--I guess if you see animals all the time, you aren't that impressed by them anymore? The road was incredibly bumpy, and poor Lauren, who was on the outside of the vehicle, had some near misses with overgrown shrubbery, acacia thorns, and a tree the guide informed us was poisonous ("don't touch it, then rub your eyes," he said...but what if you run us into it?). We still managed to see some elephants, kudu, eland, impalas, warthogs, hornbills (think Zazu in the Lion King), and some other birds, but I think next time I'd opt for the horseback safari for three dollars more. It would be a smoother ride.
We got a cab back to our apartment, and turned in relatively early...that's the sad thing about middle-of-the-week holidays--you can't stay up late two, or even three nights in a row.
And now for the requisite animal pictures:
There aren't too many that weren't blurry--the driver was going too fast :)
Unfortunately, there really isn't too much celebration that occurs on this holiday (in this way, somewhat similar to the American holiday counterpart). So there are no pictures of massive patriotic displays of national pride to supplement this blog post (I'm hoping for that at the soccer game this Sunday--Botswana vs. Iran!).
So what DID I do on the holiday? Well, I started celebrating early, and went to a Tuesday night Michael Jackson tribute at the Bull & Bush. A giant screen set up outside was playing MJ videos, and inside on the dance floor MJ hits were blasting. I chatted with a random collection of friends that had shown up for the evening, then we had to hit the dance floor for at least a few tracks.
Getting home at 2 am wasn't a big deal--sleeping in on a Wednesday is fantastic! My flatmate and I had lunch with some friends (two American girls) at a local Indian restaurant, then we went out to the Mokolodi Game Reserve for an afternoon game drive. The reserve is situated only a few kilometers from the center of Gaborone, but has a wide variety of animals given its proximity to the city--you can even pet a cheetah! We opted, however, for the less-expensive option of a game drive, which was somewhat comical.
The guide driving the safari vehicle of about 20 people rarely noticed the animals unless someone told him to stop (luckily, the elephants were an exception to this rule). Even once he stopped, he wouldn't pause for very long before barreling on again--I guess if you see animals all the time, you aren't that impressed by them anymore? The road was incredibly bumpy, and poor Lauren, who was on the outside of the vehicle, had some near misses with overgrown shrubbery, acacia thorns, and a tree the guide informed us was poisonous ("don't touch it, then rub your eyes," he said...but what if you run us into it?). We still managed to see some elephants, kudu, eland, impalas, warthogs, hornbills (think Zazu in the Lion King), and some other birds, but I think next time I'd opt for the horseback safari for three dollars more. It would be a smoother ride.
We got a cab back to our apartment, and turned in relatively early...that's the sad thing about middle-of-the-week holidays--you can't stay up late two, or even three nights in a row.
And now for the requisite animal pictures:
There aren't too many that weren't blurry--the driver was going too fast :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
