We ended up spending the majority of our trip in three places: Mdumbi, South Africa; Maun, Botswana; and Tofo, Mozambique. All sorts of tiny stops and starts in little places in between. The actual list o' towns traveled to or through, for your amusement and mine, went like this in this order:
Johannesburg (South Africa) - Umtata - Coffee Bay - Mdumbi - Umtata - Port Elizabeth - Johannesburg - Gabarone (Botswana) - Maun - Nata - Francistown - Bulawayo (Zimbabwe) - Mutare - Machipanda (Mozambique) - Chimoio - Beira - near Vilanculos - Maxixe - Inhambane - Tofo - Inhambane - Johannesburg (South Africa).
Fido, Your Leash Is Too Long
Lady on the Water
Coming in From the Cold
Our trip was populated by some damn good dogs. The backpackers in southern Africa, and in South Africa in particular, all seem to come with a collection of super mellow, lovable dogs that don't really belong to anyone and definitely belong to you. We liked to name them even when they already had a name. Some favorites were: Rabbit, a silky shaggy collie-ish thing who followed us along the first beach we walked across on our hike up the coast from Coffee Bay to Mdumbi and then bailed; Melba, whose real name was Wendy, who kicked it with us a bunch during our 4-5 days in Mdumbi and was just generally game for a pat, a tossed stick, whatever; another unnamed shaggy sheepdog at Mdumbi who we affectionately referred to as "the old codger" or "that sweet old dog" because he hobbled around with a wizened look in his eyes and generally acted like he was around 150 years old, until we found out from Anna that he was "maybe four or five" and then we shunned the faker; a briefly encountered scrappy little pup who splashed through the water and boarded our mokoro (dugout canoe) in Maun, then tried to walk down 1-inch-diameter pole like it was a gangplank and subsequently fell in the delta; Killer, a lunatic mottled generic doggy dog who bounded up to us during a hike south of Tofo and immediately threw herself belly up in front of us for a tummy rub, and who then stuck with us for a few hours and whipped herself up into a frenzy circling Morgan on the beach; and finally Ghandi, a GIGANTIC great dane that was definitely more cow than dog, who loped through the streets of Tofo like a friendly bovine force of fury and jousted with strangers if they were up for it. Right now, Morgan is still in South Africa, enjoying the attentions of a 7-month-old lab puppy called Chai. As soon as it looks like I will be in one place for 4+years, I am getting a dog. Until then I will dogsit your dog if it is even mildly cool. I am particularly partial to dogs that are small enough to pick up if need be but too big to fit in even the biggest of purses. Collies welcome. Chihuahuas need not apply.
Lady on the Water
On the second afternoon of our Botswana trip, rather than navigating us to an island so we could get out of the mokoro and walk around, Steve took us on a watery search for hippos. We poled into a little part of the delta we hadn't seen before, and after a few minutes we started hearing the explosive snorts and sighs that we realized were hippos doing their hippo thing. Morgan was superkeen to see a hippo and kneeled in the back of the boat, scanning our immediate environs like a hawk. The snorts and sighs and splashes got louder, until finally, a few yards away from us through the reeds, a hippo! Just the top of his head was out of water, so we could see his eyes and comically small ears, flapping at us as hippo ears do. Classic. I kept being reminded of the jungle cruise at Disneyland, except that when I looked around I realized that no corny jokes were wafting from the nonexistent PA system and that the hippo I was staring at was not animatronic but was very, very real and capable of consuming me. We poled around to the other side of the lily-filled pool that the hippo was lounging in, and sat to watch. There were four of them in all, and they kept poking the tops of their heads out of water, snorting as loudly as cannon fire, and then slowly sinking out of view again. It reminded me of a slow-motion game of Whack-A-Mole, and I feel that I must apologize to hippos in general for constantly comparing them to unreal game experiences. They're just so weird! Maybe my brain was having trouble accepting that me and these real-life creatures were hanging out in the same pool at the same time.
When evening settled in, Steve poled us away from the hippos into another bit of delta, where we sat in the mokoro and watched the sunset. This post-hippo sunset was one of the highlights of a much-highlighted trip for me. The peace that descends on the delta as the sun is going down is total and infectious. It seems at first like everything is silent, but then you realize that this is the most beautifully lively silence you've ever come across - bell frogs hollering at each other with their beautiful tinkling call, birds wrapping up their thoughts for the day, the occasional hippo snort ripping through it all but somehow not disturbing the peace, but adding to it. And me and Morgan, in the middle of it. As we watched the sun get swallowed by the delta, playing in my head and adding to the serenity was
Lady on the water
Make me rich, make me poor
Lay your flowers at my door...
When evening settled in, Steve poled us away from the hippos into another bit of delta, where we sat in the mokoro and watched the sunset. This post-hippo sunset was one of the highlights of a much-highlighted trip for me. The peace that descends on the delta as the sun is going down is total and infectious. It seems at first like everything is silent, but then you realize that this is the most beautifully lively silence you've ever come across - bell frogs hollering at each other with their beautiful tinkling call, birds wrapping up their thoughts for the day, the occasional hippo snort ripping through it all but somehow not disturbing the peace, but adding to it. And me and Morgan, in the middle of it. As we watched the sun get swallowed by the delta, playing in my head and adding to the serenity was
Lady on the water
Make me rich, make me poor
Lay your flowers at my door...
Wasp in the Lotus
During some downtime at camp on our little island in the Okavango, we were sitting near the water reading our books. I felt something tickling my leg under my jeans which turned out to be a big, ugly, squishy spider. Not gargantuan, but definitely big enough to merit an expletive if you saw it crawling on the wall in your house. I immediately felt hostile towards this invasive spider, so we nudged/shoved it with sticks and leaves until it was about a yard in front of us, where we could keep an eye on it. It sat in the crook of an elephant's footprint, thinking about what it had done.
Less than a minute later, we witnessed what was surely one of the most heinous takedowns that the Okavango had ever been home to. A wasp, about a centimeter in length and of an iridescent dark blue color, landed on the back of the spider. The spider's body was about as long as the wasp itself, but then he had legs to back himself up, so we put our bets on the spider. An epic struggle ensued, with the spider thrashing around trying to free itself from the wasp and the wasp raising its stinger ever higher as the thrashing continued, waiting for the moment to strike. And strike he did, plunging his stinger deep into the spider's squish with a sickening finality that brought Morgan close to losing his lunch. The spider squirmed and writhed for a while more, but his movements steadily slowed as the wasp removed his stinger and withdrew a few inches to survey his handiwork. Once the spider was completely paralyzed, but not quite presumed dead, the dastardly wasp came back and proceeded to deftly remove all eight of the spider's legs. Then he took off, leaving body and legs in a foul heap, no doubt to go report his conquest to all his asshole wasp friends. When we revisited the site later, the legs remained in their mangled pile, but the body was nowhere to be found. Never before have I rooted for or mourned a spider, but I did both that day.
Less than a minute later, we witnessed what was surely one of the most heinous takedowns that the Okavango had ever been home to. A wasp, about a centimeter in length and of an iridescent dark blue color, landed on the back of the spider. The spider's body was about as long as the wasp itself, but then he had legs to back himself up, so we put our bets on the spider. An epic struggle ensued, with the spider thrashing around trying to free itself from the wasp and the wasp raising its stinger ever higher as the thrashing continued, waiting for the moment to strike. And strike he did, plunging his stinger deep into the spider's squish with a sickening finality that brought Morgan close to losing his lunch. The spider squirmed and writhed for a while more, but his movements steadily slowed as the wasp removed his stinger and withdrew a few inches to survey his handiwork. Once the spider was completely paralyzed, but not quite presumed dead, the dastardly wasp came back and proceeded to deftly remove all eight of the spider's legs. Then he took off, leaving body and legs in a foul heap, no doubt to go report his conquest to all his asshole wasp friends. When we revisited the site later, the legs remained in their mangled pile, but the body was nowhere to be found. Never before have I rooted for or mourned a spider, but I did both that day.
Coming in From the Cold
Our original plan, sketched ever so vaguely in the weeks and months leading up to this trip, was to spend something like a week each in South Africa, Botswana, and Namibia before I had to head home. However, Morgan flew over Namibia on his way in, and said that it "looked cold". South Africa was pretty cold, and at night even Botswana was cold, and after two weeks of traveling we decided that warm sounded like a better idea, so we switched it up and headed over to Mozambique and the Indian Ocean it hugs.
Basically everything about Tofo was totally delightful. Our days were: Get up just after the super earlybird sun, swim, make a breakfast of fried eggs and honey toast with Ricoffee (coffee plus chicory! get some), swim again, lay in the sun reading, swim, make a lunch of huge veggie sandwiches and fruit, take care of any "business" that needed attending to that day (emails, international phone calls, surf board inquiries), swim, lay around reading some more, swim, get dinner at a restaurant on the beach, have a beer and some chocolate while looking at the nighttime ocean, and go to bed. Occasionally there was a hike or a surfing lesson (from Morgan to me, of course) thrown in there. This pace of life was pretty ideal, and here in Rwanda for the last week as I drift off to sleep I am usually thinking about Tofo. Is there anything better than being hot and going in the ocean to cool down? Or being sandy and going in the ocean to wash off? I love that the ocean is the natural balm to its surroundings. I love that it's there and that we are allowed to play around in it. I love staring at it, I love smelling it, I love hearing it. I love being right on the edge of the map. I love being warm, especially after being cold.
Basically everything about Tofo was totally delightful. Our days were: Get up just after the super earlybird sun, swim, make a breakfast of fried eggs and honey toast with Ricoffee (coffee plus chicory! get some), swim again, lay in the sun reading, swim, make a lunch of huge veggie sandwiches and fruit, take care of any "business" that needed attending to that day (emails, international phone calls, surf board inquiries), swim, lay around reading some more, swim, get dinner at a restaurant on the beach, have a beer and some chocolate while looking at the nighttime ocean, and go to bed. Occasionally there was a hike or a surfing lesson (from Morgan to me, of course) thrown in there. This pace of life was pretty ideal, and here in Rwanda for the last week as I drift off to sleep I am usually thinking about Tofo. Is there anything better than being hot and going in the ocean to cool down? Or being sandy and going in the ocean to wash off? I love that the ocean is the natural balm to its surroundings. I love that it's there and that we are allowed to play around in it. I love staring at it, I love smelling it, I love hearing it. I love being right on the edge of the map. I love being warm, especially after being cold.
When You're Smiling
As most readers of this blog would know, I took this trip through southern Africa with my boyfriend, Morgan. Despite never having been outside of the Bay Area together before, and not having seen each other for seven solid months, I was pretty unintimidated at the thought of spending nearly a month in his company.
There's something about being crammed into a minibus and watching the sun sink below the horizon as you barrel along a dirt road towards a town that is nothing more than a name to you. You have no idea how close you are to your final destination and even if you do make it there tonight, it'll be very dark when you do, and you have nowhere to sleep, and you have very little money. You are hungry and you are tired. Everyone is looking at you like you are out of your mind just for being there. Alone, I'd probably be fighting back tears at this point. With Morgan though, this just turns into yet another adventure, another "can you believe we're here right now?", a time to laugh at how you got into this minor mess and to look forward to seeing how you will get out of it. We know that even if we have to spend the night huddled in our sleeping bags on the pavement like the vagrants we have become, it's really not a big deal, and instead of moping and turning on each other and then laughing about it years later, we'll just laugh about it right now.
There were tons of high notes in this trip, and of course I loved those. That's the easy part. But what really makes me smile when I think back on this month is that even the low points are great memories thanks to my awesome travel partner. Even when we're enduring the horrifying hell bus through Zimbabwe, even when we're being told that the train we've looked forward to for days and trekked across half of South Africa to reach has been mysteriously canceled and replaced by yet another bus, even when we're asleep on the floor of freezing Park Station because we were dumped there seven hours early, even when we're being hassled by urchins who feel they have claim on our money for some reason, even when we're roused from sleep by a knock on the post near our tent to say that everyone else is waiting and could we be ready for our three-day trip in less than sixty seconds, please?...all of these are good memories, and I would experience them all again, with him.
Plus, give him a glass of wine or two and he will promise to die defending your honor, if need be. How cool is that?
There's something about being crammed into a minibus and watching the sun sink below the horizon as you barrel along a dirt road towards a town that is nothing more than a name to you. You have no idea how close you are to your final destination and even if you do make it there tonight, it'll be very dark when you do, and you have nowhere to sleep, and you have very little money. You are hungry and you are tired. Everyone is looking at you like you are out of your mind just for being there. Alone, I'd probably be fighting back tears at this point. With Morgan though, this just turns into yet another adventure, another "can you believe we're here right now?", a time to laugh at how you got into this minor mess and to look forward to seeing how you will get out of it. We know that even if we have to spend the night huddled in our sleeping bags on the pavement like the vagrants we have become, it's really not a big deal, and instead of moping and turning on each other and then laughing about it years later, we'll just laugh about it right now.
There were tons of high notes in this trip, and of course I loved those. That's the easy part. But what really makes me smile when I think back on this month is that even the low points are great memories thanks to my awesome travel partner. Even when we're enduring the horrifying hell bus through Zimbabwe, even when we're being told that the train we've looked forward to for days and trekked across half of South Africa to reach has been mysteriously canceled and replaced by yet another bus, even when we're asleep on the floor of freezing Park Station because we were dumped there seven hours early, even when we're being hassled by urchins who feel they have claim on our money for some reason, even when we're roused from sleep by a knock on the post near our tent to say that everyone else is waiting and could we be ready for our three-day trip in less than sixty seconds, please?...all of these are good memories, and I would experience them all again, with him.
Plus, give him a glass of wine or two and he will promise to die defending your honor, if need be. How cool is that?
