Table mountain is the defining landmark of Cape Town. The mountain is best seen coming into the harbor by boat, but I didn't bring my camera when I visited Robben Island.
What an incredible city! When you talk to historically inclined Afrikaners the first thing they will tell
you is that Jan van Riebeeck landed in Cape Town in 1652, and built a castle there. He married a black woman, and it
looks as if they have created a lot of offspring here. There is a rather large community of so called 'coloreds' that
speak Afrikaans, and have Dutch ancestry. Cape Town is squeezed in between Table Mountain and the ocean.
Table mountain is the defining landmark of Cape Town. The mountain is best seen coming into the harbor by boat, but I didn't
bring my camera when I visited Robben Island.
This island was used as a political prison where Nelson Mandela (among others) was held for 18 out of his 27 years in prison. The ferry to Robben Island departs from Nelson Mandela Gateway, where a small exposition shows the horrors of the apartheid regime. It is quite the humbling experience to visit the exposition and the island - I wonder how the African people can still be this friendly towards white people when you consider the way they have been treated by them.
There are a few different ways you can get up Table Mountain. One way is to go to Kirstenbosch, the botanical gardens.
The gardens are very pretty, and there are a few good hiking trails around the area. One will lead up to the mountain, and
all are exceedingly pretty. I however chose the easy way up:
The cable
car, so I still had the energy to hike around on top of the mountain. The view is great if you have a clear day.
Downtown Cape Town! I met Tanya here again who once again showed me
around her beautiful country.
Here we are on our way to Cape Point.
The road down to the point is carefully protected from falling stones after a few people got killed. The point is now a
national park, and no building is allowed.
These are the coordinates of almost the southernmost part of the African continent.
Quite pretty:
I flew from Cape Town to Durban, where I rented a car and drove to St Lucia. Unfortunately this is it for my pictures. The following pictures have been made by either Tanya or Brian; thanks to both. The one crime you get a lot in Africa is petty theft. In this case there was a black kid that hung around the Bloo House in St Lucia who, when I arrived there again, was still there. The night after I hung out with him for a bit -during which time he figured out which tent was mine- he stole the camera out of my tent, but left his hat. So there was no doubt that it was Vusi. Well, live and learn. Too bad though, because I rented a car and went to visit the game parks. HluHluwe / Umfolozi gamepark is very close to St. Lucia, and indeed spectacular. I saw giraffes here for the first time, and you would have seen them too if it weren't for the fact that... Driving through these gameparks is a bit like driving through Jurrasic Park - there are a lot of very large animals that just walk in or near the roads. They can't really smell us above the stench of petrol and exhaust gasses, so you are relatively safe in your vehicle. One apparently accepted practice is to open your window and sit in the window opening of your car. After another night on the beach at Cape Vidal I drove North to Kruger Park. I reached the gate after dark; the gate had just closed, but the guard at the gate called a ranger to escort me to the campground. That first night I stayed at Berg and Dal, where I woke up to two baby elephants that, under supervision of an older cousin, took their mudbaths right outside the fence around the campground. After about ten minutes a huge bull showed up, accompanied by a smaller one, who also applied their sun block. My first elephant sighting was the best - and even then I knew that it wouldn't get any better than that. Nevertheless, I decided to move to a different campground the next day. I packed my tent, and set it back up in Skukuza, about three hours North. (The speed limit is 60 km/h on the tarred roads, and 40 km/h on the dirt roads.) After I set up my tent I drove to the eastern part of the park, where the edge of the old continental shelf is after which Mozambique starts, situated on what used to be the ocean floor. Anyway, when I got to the mountainous part in the East I realized that I was once again not going to make it back to camp before dark. Inexperienced dumb tourist that I am, I did not think too much of it until it actually got dark, when the first thing that happened was that a little elephant ran across the road. I understood at once the danger of driving after dark: You can't see whether a huge mama follows the little one, so you can't react in time to get out the way. Then a huge rhino came out of nowhere and angled for my little Ford Icon. I gunned it, right past another herd of elephants. At this point my adrenaline was really peaking; I realized that I did something really stupid and didn't deserve to live through it. I obviously and luckily did, but not before I encountered yet another herd of elephants standing near the side of the road. When I finally got to the gate the guard was quite upset with me for not getting inside the gate before dark. I was however so miserable that he let me in without charging me the fine that is normally levied against this kind of stupidity. Phew! I saw enough elephants in one hour to last me awhile! Onwards from Skukuza the following days; Kruger Park is quite expensive - 100 rand parkfee per day, and 120 rand for camping - so I decided to leave the park that day, but not before I saw a troop of cars parked. After you drive around in gameparks for awhile you don't want to stop for 'just' another impala or zebra, so this bunch of cars forecasted something really good. Sure enough, there was a very fat and happy leopard laying in a big tree. After I got my binoculars out he got up and turned around to position himself just for my viewing pleasure. He had obviously just eaten as his stomach was seriously swollen, and he was ready for a nap. He yawned a few times, and tried to settle down, but there were all these people staring at him, and since the noise and stench of these vehicles was not very conducive to a good nap, he got up once more and left. Leopards are apparently a lot bigger than the cheetah, the fastest cat on this planet, who are even rarer than the leopard.
Spice of Life backpackers in Komatiport is the last backpacker before the border of Mozambique, and about the last thing
before the border period; you can walk across the border from there. I met Marco and Janalee in Spice of Life; a Dutch
couple that runs Buffalo Bush Lodge in Marloth Park. The Komati river forms the southern border of Kruger Park, so here
the park is unfenced. Marloth Park lies on the other side of the river, and is effectively an inhabited portion of the park.
Marco has built an overlook over the river where you can camp - it is quite a spectacular sight. At this point though I was
dying to go to Mozambique as I had about ten days left before my scheduled flight out of Africa. I had to turn my beloved
blue Icon back in in Nelspruit, and waited for the bus to Mozambique. InterCape! My first public
transport. The bus was a few hours late - but luckily there were a few other travelers - I first met Noel and Jen here. The border crossing was rather uneventful, but we got to Maputo after dark. Not a
great situation, but I had made reservations with Maputo backpackers, who sure enough were there to pick us up. I didn't
know it then, but the hot shower at the backpacker would be the last hot shower for me for about a month. Maputo appeared
really dirty to me, broken up pavements, trash everywhere, but very safe. I had been infected by the general paranoia of how dangerous black Africans are, to
never walk around after dark, to expect to get raped or killed, or at least wounded in some gunfight - so imagine my
surprise when the manager at the backpackers told me that it would be no problem to walk from Mundo's - a restaurant on
the Eastern side of the city to the African bar, a live music club on the West side. I decided to try it, and found it very
comfortable. There were many women and girls walking alone, and no-one seemed particularly bothered. Mozambique has
been at war for a very long time; after they kicked out the Portuguese in the mid 70s a civil war broke out between Frelimo
and Renamo. Renamo was sponsored by South Africa and America who tried to destabilize the fledgling nation to maintain their
presence and their claim on the abundant mineral riches of the country. This war raged on until 1992, at which point
Mozambique was one of the poorest countries in the world. 
This picture made by Brian perfectly depicts the country scape of Mozambique. The pavement (and buildings) is quite often damaged by mortars or other large caliber ammunition. The scars are everywhere, including people with only one eye, or one leg, or hacked off fingers, but Mozambicans now appear very happy that the war is over. No one
is allowed to carry weapons (there are many roadblocks that check for them) and the general atmosphere is one of relief.
Roads in Mozambique are so bad that driving at night is not advisable, so busses leave at 5 o'clock in the morning to utilize
all available daylight. That means that you have to stand in line at 4 o'clock, and as I found out, not even then are you
assured of a ticket. I happened to be the first person in line who was told that the bus was full. Luckily there are many
transport options in Mozambique. Stand around looking forlorn will attract locals who want to know 'where you goin?' and will
then take you by your hand and bring you to another bus or taxi. You usually pay for this, but sometimes they do it just
because they want to help you. In this case it cost a bit of money as we had to drive to a different bus station. Noel and
Jen happened to be in line behind me, so we all got in the car and split the cost. Noel even bargained a bit with the driver
to get an even lower fare, and off we went. The new bus looked even worse than the old one. All vehicles in Mozambique look
quite old and are held together by duct tape and prayer. 
When you travel by bus or minibus (called chappa) you will likely
be covered by a fine layer of soot when you get to your destination. Mozambique has 2700 km of coastline, and one road to
travel up the coast with. The road is quite narrow and has effectively only one lane as everyone has to be able to swerve
around the potholes. Some really can swallow your car, so everybody drives quite slowly. It took about 8 hours to get to
Inhambane (pronounced In-yan-ban) a beautiful colonial town on the coast.
Although Brian did not tell me that this picture was taken in Inhambane, I put money on it that this is the entrance to the main market in Inhambane. The giro sign lets you know that you can buy prepaid phone minutes for your cell phone there. From there we were picked up by the crew from
Fatima's Nest, and brought to Tofo beach, 45 minutes away from Inhambane. Fatima's was probably my favorite spot in
Mozambique. You camp on the beach where you wake up in the morning, eat some fabulous breakfast prepared by Chris, go for a
swim, partake in your favorite mind altering substance, eat lunch, play a game, swim some more - it just doesn't get much better in my book.
Matteus! We have you on camera! Matteus ran Fatimas when I was there - Tray, Jen, Matteus and I had a ball. I can't wait to go back. At Fatima's
nest I bonded with the three female dogs that were running around. All part Sharpei, and one, Sol, was completely infested with
some larva. She also had tapeworm and had just had puppies that all died because they too were infested with this bug.
Finally Chris washed the dog, so she was a bit more representable - but not that much. No one but me really wanted to touch
the animal, so she soon slept by my tent, and went wherever I went. Going to town? She'd come with me. Going for a walk on
the beach? Impossible without my doggie escort. Chris promised to ask Fatima for tapeworm medication. I hope he got it for
her because Sol was a sweet beautiful hound that would do anything for you if you gave her the faintest of care. Ojo and Flo,
the other two bitches, were in better physical shape, and both were very protective of the guests in the backpacker. I had so much fun here that I decided to extend my ticket - I just couldn't bear the idea that I would have to leave so soon. I have Michal to thank for that decision, and I continued my journey North.
In order to meet the road north you have to cross the bay from Inhambane to Maxixe (pronounced mascheesch) with either the
regular 50 ct ferry, or you could opt for the more expensive dhow ride over. I had to take the ferry, as there was only "a
small wind" that day. The ferry was a narrow and long boat with a Yamaha outboard on the back. As is customary in Mozambique
the boat was loaded to the max before we took off. The trip was pleasant and uneventful and we made it to Maxixe without
incident. The bus stop in Maxixe was a little way down a typical dusty orange colored road. The sun was very bright as
Maxixe is near the Tropic of Capricorn so everything was brilliantly colored. Woman with luggage on their heads and kids on
their back wearing very colorful sarongs. The town was just bustling with activity - people selling stuff on the streets and
small shops, the sound, smell and sights of Africa! 
When I got to the bus station it didn't take long before everyone had
figured out where I was going, so when a chappa rolled by with a driver soliciting business for Vilanculos I was practically
carried on board. The chappas - called taxi in South Africa, and commuter in Zimbabwe - are the preferred way of transport
in most cases as they go everywhere and are never full. In South Africa the maximum number of people allowed on board is 16,
but in Tofo beach I once counted 31 people. I had 1/3 of a hand hold, and a little piece where I could put a foot; the rest
of my body was wedged so tight amongst the others that I almost certainly wouldn't fall out of the (by necessity) open
sliding door. Meanwhile I was in the chappa going North. Every time a bus or chappa stops somewhere there are throngs of
people trying to sell you all sorts of stuff, from egg sandwiches to live chickens, from watches to shoes to toothpaste. There
are obligatory stops at every market place and settlement there is along the road, so you can get everything you ever
wanted and more just riding around on the chappa. I remember sitting in that Chappa that day where I was the only white one,
without any idea what anybody was saying as a local African language (Shangaan in that area) was spoken, and no idea where I
was going, feeling really happy and comfortable. The paranoia of South Africa was seriously starting to wear off, and I only
got more comfortable and relaxed as I kept going North.
Vilanculos! You get out near the Mercado Municipal, a colonial era brick structure where the village market is set up. The building has obviously seen better times, and the roof is largely improvised from corrugated steel, plastic, or any other material available that will hopefully keep the rain out. There is calamari and all sorts and sizes of other fish laid out in the open - never on ice - a few different vegetables, clothes, household goods, your regular supermarket stuff and a lot more. Once you get off the bus the local kids will bring you to Baobab Beach. They make a commission on everyone they bring in, but since Africans always share everything they have a system set up as to who gets to bring the Mulango to the backpacker today.
On my second day there I walked on the beach when someone asked me if I wanted to come to Paradise with them. There is of course only one correct answer to that question, so off I went on one of the dhows to a little Island 3 hours sail from the beach. The dhows have sails that are made out of whatever is available - a blend of blue tarp, canvas, and cotton. The dhow had a wooden sand box that was used as the fire pit, and we were fed potatoes and vegetables underway. Unfortunately we didn't catch fish on the way so we had a strictly vegetarian diet. Antonio was the captain, Domingo the son of the dhow owner and Neto and Erasmus (pronounced Erashmu) the crew. The Island was indeed paradise and a good time was had by all. I was forbidden by Neto to pay for the trip as he was the one who asked me to come to paradise with them.
Brian got you on camera Neto... Neto then insisted I come and stay with him in his village; a suggestion that I had to follow of course. What a wonderful experience; no better way to learn about African culture that to live it for a bit. There were approximately 20 huts, and probably about 100 people. The huts were round, built out of bamboo with thatch roofs, but there were some square huts built out of center blocks. Brian did a great job with his camera, as these women are making thatch for their houses.
Neto's Dad, his stepmom, his brother, and several other family members all lived in the village. As I obviously had plenty money by African standards I would buy food and fish at the market, Neto would cook it (he is a fabulous cook), and the rest of the family would come over for dinner. We had some very good dinner parties and I will never forget the hospitality that was extended to me in Vilankulo. (There are about ten different spellings of the name of this town.) Then came that fateful day when I looked in my passport and realized that I had overstayed my visa by about 9 days. I started asking around what the consequences of overstaying my visa where, and found out that there was a fine of 10 million meticais (50 bucks) a day. I had to get out of the country as fast as I could. I still didn't want to go South, so I decided to go to either Zimbabwe or Malawi. I took another 4 o'clock bus North and ended up in Chimoio. The farther North you go in Mozambique the fewer resources are available to the people. I saw women get water from puddles, and wash clothes in the river. There isn't any running water in a lot of places. The market in Chimoio is largely outdoors, but there is a big supermarket, and as is the case everywhere there was an internet cafe with good working phones. In a lot of African cities there are phone shops, both in and outdoors, where you buy some time to make a phonecall. It is quite fun to call in the open air, where your telephone sits on a little table. Anyway, during the first night in Chimoio, in the Pink Papaya, I came down with malaria. Luckily for me Steve - who ran the backpacker - took one look at me and told me I had malaria and gave me medication for it. Thanks Steve - you actually saved my life. Atenuate is a very effective medication that cured my malaria in 48 hours. Malaria is a mosquito born disease that introduces a parasite in your body that lives in your red blood cells. When they mature the blood cell bursts, and the parasite runs loose in your blood stream causing very high fever. I don't know how high a fever I had, but it was almost enough to make me hallucinate. It was clear that I had to postpone my travel plans for a couple of days.
After a three days and a looming fine of $750 I finally got my chance to test the border to Zimbabwe (or Zim.) Sarah and Elmar were driving a landrover to Sarah's parents in Zim. Sarah is the daughter of Urs and Maria. Urs is from Switzerland, and Maria from Zimbabwe. They have lived most their married life in Switserland, but recently bought a farm in Odzi. Joe and Katja were with us as well. It only takes an hour to get to the Zim border, a typical African border crossing where you first have to leave one country, walk half a kilometer or so, and enter the next one. We walked up to the immigration office, where I was the first to give the official my passport. He just took it, stamped it, and gave it back to me. I think that I should apply to the Guinness Book of Records as luckiest woman ever. Most people really do get stopped and made to pay the fine by taking away their passports. But there I was, on my way to Zim, with an unexpected windfall of 13 million meticais in my pocket, still somewhat sick with malaria and an infection in my foot that started to spread disturbingly. After paying 30 dollars to get into Zim (the prices are different for different nationalities; British pay the most at 55 dollars) Elmar and Sarah took us to their families home. Maria and Urs called a doctor for me immediately, brought me to him and helped me get antibiotics at the pharmacy after. I owe Maria and Urs all sorts of thank yous, as they let me stay in their house at a time that I really could not walk. After the antibiotics mostly cured whatever ailed me I went to Mutare, where I stayed at Ann Bruce's backpacker on 99 4th Street. What a fantastic woman! Her parents were British, but she was born in Zim. She lived through the independence war and has such great stories to tell that I recommend that everyone ever going to Mutare stop there. Mutare is a lovely city in itself. Zimbabwe is mostly high plateau, around 1000 meters above sealevel. Mutare lies in a valley at the foothills of the highveld. There is a huge clothing flee market at the edge of town; the market looks like a giant sea of black plastic stall roofs, and as everywhere else T-shirts sporting 50 cent were the most often displayed clothing article. Makes me wonder where that came from? I can only speculate that some giant company printed all these shirts not fit for his local market (after all, 50 cent is a rapper) and proceeded to drop them in Africa. Most countries here suffered immensely under colonialization. Their native culture and government structure was completely destroyed, leaving the people at the hands of the colonizers, and it doesn't appear to be that much different today. It is interesting to see the distinct cultural influences in the different countries. South Africa really was colonized by the Dutch, who left a HUGE thumbprint on the country. They interbred with the local population, so that here seems to be a swath of lighter colored people through South Africa, pretty much following the route of the Voortrekkers up to Mpumalanga. In Mozambique everybody seems to be of mixed origin, with the laid back attitude of Portugal. In Zimbabwe however the British colonizers kept to themselves, resulting in a very black population. It is much easier then to kick out all the white people because there is no common ancestry. If one were to rid Mozambique of everything Portuguese the entire country would be empty. I met Archie in Ann Bruce's backpacker, who asked me if I wanted ride to Victoria Falls. There again was only one right answer to that question, and I shipped out with four Shona kids the next day. We made it to Bulawayo, where we had to stay the night because we were about to run out of petrol, and the entire town of Bulawayo was out of fuel. The next day we continued our journey, and our quest for fuel. At one road side stand we finally looked in the paper for places with available fuel, and found out that we had to go to Dete, some 30 km off the main road. In Dete we stood in the cue for about 4 hours, during which time we perused the small town. There really was very little of anything in the stores; most shelves were empty. Mugabe belongs to the Shona tribe, and so the Ndebele tribe suffers under his rule, as is everyone else not from his tribe. We nonetheless made it to the falls, and I was welcomed with open arms in the Savannah Lodge. The Falls themselves are big, beautiful, and wet. There is a bridge across the Zambezi, where the Zambezi is nothing more than a roiling stream in steep narrow gorge. The bridge leads to Zambia, as the Zambezi forms the natural border between the two countries. The little town is nothing but a tourist trap, so I soon took the night train back to Bulawayo. The train is definitely the way to travel in Africa: women and men are separated in their own coupes, where there are six sleepers for a second class coupe, and four sleepers for a first class coupe. It is quite the African experience; I did not see any white people at all on the way down. Once in Bulawayo I took a taxi to the bus rink, and was put on a commuter all the way to Mutare. Six hundred kilometers may not sound like a long distance, but I suspected that the trip would take all day by commuter. We stopped absolutely everywhere, and in true fashion ran out of petrol 2/3 of the way to Mutare. Everyone was hustled out of the commuter, given back their money, and put on another bus that sort of magically was right there. Magical for me as I speak absolutely no Shona; I was the last one who caught on that we were to switch busses. Boarding the bus, where absolutely everyone was very dark, did invoke that very human tinge of fear when I realized that I was different and therefore vulnerable. That feeling went away as soon as I sat down; in every crowd there are always people that smile at you and make you comfortable. We finally arrived in Mutare, way after dark. This was a slightly unnerving experience as well, as there are no lights, and you can't see who you are talking to; you're talking to eyeballs and teeth. No matter, I was once again taken by the hand and put in a taxi, a taxi with a reliable driver who dropped me back off at Ann's. Couldn't stay away from that place! This is about the end of this tale. I write this from Woods Hole as I am getting ready to fly to Miami to meet the Knorr. I will sail as an SSSG tech (Shipboard Support Service Group) through the Canal and the Galapagos to Chili where I will walk off the boat in October. I did buy a new camera, so hopefully I'll be able to show some cool pix soon.