When I was actively competing in geography competitions (yes, I was an extremely nerdy child), Lesotho stuck out to me because it was one of the few countries in the world that is completely surrounded by another. I always wondered why countries such as Lesotho or the Vatican chose to remain independent. This past weekend I finally had the chance to visit Lesotho during my weekend trip to the Drakensberg mountains.
As a prize from my charity swim the day before, I won a free horseback ride with Khotse Horse Trails. At 8:30am I promptly set off for a morning adventure with Emmanuel as my guide atop Midnight, the laziest pony in all of creation. Midnight was so slow and recalcitrant that Emmanuel actually gave me a stick to use as encouragement (NB: I used to ride horses as a child and a light tap with a crop or stick does not hurt the horse, it serves as a reminder to stay on task). Two others were supposed to be on my ride, but they did not show up, so I was happy to have a private session. Emmanuel picked up right away on the fact that I actually knew how to ride, so we cantered off over the brown fields of the berg, with spectacular Monk's Cowl above us. We rode all the way over to the dam where I swam the day before and back. The trail took us through some forested areas, over hills and down dales. I hadn't ridden a horse in a long time, so it was a great experience for me, despite my slow Lesotho pony.
I got back a little stiff, but exhilarated from the early morning exercise. We hopped in the car and headed out of the berg and towards Clarens. Clarens is an artist's town located in a spectacular sandstone butte landscape that reminded me of Arizona. En route, we drove through Golden Gate National Park, which features some of the best red sandstone formations in the area. With the brown fields of the dry season surrounding the cliffs, I felt as though I were in the American West. We drove through around lunch time, but at sunrise or sunset the rocks take on a gorgeous red color. Some of the formations reminded me of an awning overhang, showcasing the sedimentary nature of the rocks. It was altogether unexpected to find it in the middle of Africa to be sure.
Clarens was busy and full of families on Sunday excursions. We stopped at the Purple Onion to get some gourmet foodie stuff (and a decent coffee) and bought some oranges from a vendor who brought them all the way from Brits (up the road from my parent's house in Joburg). They were sweet and juicy.
After enjoying the atmosphere in Clarens, we headed towards Fouriesburg and Lesotho. The nearest border crossing is Calendonspoort and it takes about 40 minutes to reach there from Clarens. Unlike the Swazi and Mozambique border crossings, Calendonspoort is sleepy and quiet. You don't need to show your car registration papers and the Lesotho road tax is only ZAR20. As soon as we crossed the border, we saw plenty of young boys tending flocks in the fields as well as people walking wearing the traditional conical Basotho hat and colorful capes. Lesothans have round, thatched roofed huts like the Zulu, and most villages have both a modern square house with an accompanying round hut next door. We didn't have much time in Lesotho so we decided to drive a ways towards AfriSki, the ski area in the mountains, just to see some of the scenery. It turned out to be a spectacular drive! The mountains are rugged and jagged-shaped. Most fields are terraced, and I suspect in the wet season they would be lush and green. People waved to us as we drove by, and the roads were two lanes, but well paved. Overall I wish we had more time to experience the country, especially since we almost made it to the ski area!
The drive back to Joburg lasted about five hours. We were able to listen to the Germany vs. England World Cup match on the radio, so we only heard about the now infamous "Blunder of Bloemfontein" missed goal call. All in all it was a great weekend, and I suppose if I had the chance I would swim in the dam again.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Drakensberg Dam Charity Swim
My father swims with a Masters' swimming club based in Joburg called Wahoo Masters. They participate in outdoor open-water swims around the country and provide some social outlets for the "old folks" so to speak. My dad heard about a charity swim taking place at the Drakensberg Peak Resort in the Central Drakensberg. The course was either 100m or 25m in a dam (aka pond) on the resort property, proceeds would benefit the local SPCA. My father and I had visited this part of the Drakensberg before and found the scenery spectacular, so we decided to return to show my mom around and because we could check out Lesotho as well.
The drive from Johannesburg to the Drakensberg is somewhat boring at the beginning, as you head southeast on N3 through Orange Free State, which is rolling farmland (and brown this time of year). Once you leave N3 at Harrismith, however, things get much more interesting. You pass Sterkfontein Dam, the largest dam in South Africa. It reminded me of Lake Mead since it is surrounded by rocky cliffs and has deep blue water. Just past the dam you pass from Free State into KwaZulu-Natal province. The border is marked by a spectacular and somewhat hairy descent from the highveldt into a rocky valley. You can see the large peaks of the Drakensberg rising in the distance as you wind you way down the escarpment. I had to really pay attention when driving not just because the road is winding, but because a troupe of baboons live in the area and love to sit in the middle!
We got to the resort just before the race began and met up with the rest of the Wahoos participating. The dam was picturesquely located in a valley at the foot of Monk's Cowl mountain. The resort was somewhat "rustic", but there was a fun spirit in the air and lots of people had brought their dogs. Luckily for us the weather was unseasonably warm and sunny, around 24C. The water was about 10C, but the warm temps gave us hope that we would survive! We found out the 25m course was supposed to be for kids only, so we decided to brave the 100m event.
When I put my hand in the water, it didn't seem that cold, so I just jumped in. Well. It was bloody freezing! I started swimming from the shore where we started towards the boma in the middle of the pond that served as the finish line. The water burned and stung my skin. It was too cold to put my face in, so I swam with my head out of the water. About halfway through I felt like I was having an asthma attack. My breath was wheezing and my arms stopped working. I seriously considered asking for evac from the rescue kayak, but decided that would be pretty wimpy so I kept going. Once, when I was much younger, I fell through the ice at Lake George. I managed to pull myself out immediately, so it wasn't that scary or cold, I just remember being soggy and freaking my mother out completely. Well, now I know a little bit what it feels like to drown in icy water because it was sort of like this swim.
When we stumbled out of the water we made a beeline for a big bonfire that was throwing off all kinds of lovely heat. Everyone was a little clumsy, red and blotchy from the cold. We all talked about how that was the worst idea ever! The good news is that we raised a lot of money for the local SPCA and donated several hundred kilos of animal food to them.
The event also had some prize drawings that ranged from free waffles at the Waffle Hut in Winterton to a free weekend at a local resort. Lucky me, I won a free one hour horseback ride at a nearby stable! I arranged to cash in the next day. My dad was quite jealous as they had a lot of donated prizes, but he didn't win anything.
All swimmers got free gluhwein, hot soup and a roll so we snarfed the snacks and lay around in the sun with the whippets that one lady brought. They seemed a bit mystified at our insanity to go in the water. After a while, I punted around the pond on a raft with two of the kids who also participated from the Wahoos. We used a bamboo pole and had a fine time. I felt like Huckeberry Finn and Tom Sawyer with my jeans rolled up an our raft. We saw some fish in the water, including a large one about 16" long. The kids were quite funny, always insisting that they knew exactly how to punt, even though we mostly spun around in circles. We tried to land on the island in the middle of the pond, but it was covered in sharp grass so we hopped back on the raft. "South Africa isn't for wimps," said one of the kids.
We watched South Korea lose to Uruguay in our rustic cabin, which was disappointing but somewhat inevitable. For dinner the swim team had a huge braai. I contributed some beef mince patties, which I had mixed with my super-secret ingredient, Mrs. H.S. Balls chutney. We also had boerwars sausage, shish-ka-bobs, some really good potato salad and one of the Tracys made more gluhwein. Since the temperature dropped considerably after the sun went down, the warm drink was definitely welcome.
One of the other Tracys had brought her four whippet dogs along, all of which were attired in purple fleece jackets. Tracy made a nest on the porch for the dogs with pillows and blankets and they spent the evening happily snuggled together like sausages.
Eventually it was time for USA vs. Ghana. Most of the team were supporting Ghana, as they are the last African team left in the tournament. Apparently they were fated to carry the hopes of the continent as they outplayed the US and won in extra time. We went to bed somewhat disappointed that the US team's World Cup run was over, even though they performed very well and made the second round.
The drive from Johannesburg to the Drakensberg is somewhat boring at the beginning, as you head southeast on N3 through Orange Free State, which is rolling farmland (and brown this time of year). Once you leave N3 at Harrismith, however, things get much more interesting. You pass Sterkfontein Dam, the largest dam in South Africa. It reminded me of Lake Mead since it is surrounded by rocky cliffs and has deep blue water. Just past the dam you pass from Free State into KwaZulu-Natal province. The border is marked by a spectacular and somewhat hairy descent from the highveldt into a rocky valley. You can see the large peaks of the Drakensberg rising in the distance as you wind you way down the escarpment. I had to really pay attention when driving not just because the road is winding, but because a troupe of baboons live in the area and love to sit in the middle!
We got to the resort just before the race began and met up with the rest of the Wahoos participating. The dam was picturesquely located in a valley at the foot of Monk's Cowl mountain. The resort was somewhat "rustic", but there was a fun spirit in the air and lots of people had brought their dogs. Luckily for us the weather was unseasonably warm and sunny, around 24C. The water was about 10C, but the warm temps gave us hope that we would survive! We found out the 25m course was supposed to be for kids only, so we decided to brave the 100m event.
When I put my hand in the water, it didn't seem that cold, so I just jumped in. Well. It was bloody freezing! I started swimming from the shore where we started towards the boma in the middle of the pond that served as the finish line. The water burned and stung my skin. It was too cold to put my face in, so I swam with my head out of the water. About halfway through I felt like I was having an asthma attack. My breath was wheezing and my arms stopped working. I seriously considered asking for evac from the rescue kayak, but decided that would be pretty wimpy so I kept going. Once, when I was much younger, I fell through the ice at Lake George. I managed to pull myself out immediately, so it wasn't that scary or cold, I just remember being soggy and freaking my mother out completely. Well, now I know a little bit what it feels like to drown in icy water because it was sort of like this swim.
When we stumbled out of the water we made a beeline for a big bonfire that was throwing off all kinds of lovely heat. Everyone was a little clumsy, red and blotchy from the cold. We all talked about how that was the worst idea ever! The good news is that we raised a lot of money for the local SPCA and donated several hundred kilos of animal food to them.
The event also had some prize drawings that ranged from free waffles at the Waffle Hut in Winterton to a free weekend at a local resort. Lucky me, I won a free one hour horseback ride at a nearby stable! I arranged to cash in the next day. My dad was quite jealous as they had a lot of donated prizes, but he didn't win anything.
All swimmers got free gluhwein, hot soup and a roll so we snarfed the snacks and lay around in the sun with the whippets that one lady brought. They seemed a bit mystified at our insanity to go in the water. After a while, I punted around the pond on a raft with two of the kids who also participated from the Wahoos. We used a bamboo pole and had a fine time. I felt like Huckeberry Finn and Tom Sawyer with my jeans rolled up an our raft. We saw some fish in the water, including a large one about 16" long. The kids were quite funny, always insisting that they knew exactly how to punt, even though we mostly spun around in circles. We tried to land on the island in the middle of the pond, but it was covered in sharp grass so we hopped back on the raft. "South Africa isn't for wimps," said one of the kids.
We watched South Korea lose to Uruguay in our rustic cabin, which was disappointing but somewhat inevitable. For dinner the swim team had a huge braai. I contributed some beef mince patties, which I had mixed with my super-secret ingredient, Mrs. H.S. Balls chutney. We also had boerwars sausage, shish-ka-bobs, some really good potato salad and one of the Tracys made more gluhwein. Since the temperature dropped considerably after the sun went down, the warm drink was definitely welcome.
One of the other Tracys had brought her four whippet dogs along, all of which were attired in purple fleece jackets. Tracy made a nest on the porch for the dogs with pillows and blankets and they spent the evening happily snuggled together like sausages.
Eventually it was time for USA vs. Ghana. Most of the team were supporting Ghana, as they are the last African team left in the tournament. Apparently they were fated to carry the hopes of the continent as they outplayed the US and won in extra time. We went to bed somewhat disappointed that the US team's World Cup run was over, even though they performed very well and made the second round.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Goals by Ginger #4: USA vs. Algeria Game Report
Team USA's dramatic injury time win over Algeria was exhilarating and fun! Check out my game report over at Posts By Panos.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Goals by Ginger #3: USA vs. Slovenia Game Report
I have completed my third "Goals by Ginger" feature over at Posts by Panos detailing team USA's exciting come from behind tie (and what should have been a win) against Slovenia. Check it out!
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Collective History at the Apartheid Museum
June 16th is a holiday in South Africa, Youth Day, so I had the day off from work. I decided to go to the Apartheid Museum as I had not yet been and I wanted to make sure I visited before going back to the US. A visit to the Apartheid Museum is not enjoyable or fun, but is a must-see for anyone visiting South Africa as it presents the struggles experienced by South Africans from early history of the African continent up to the elections in 1994.
I did not know this when I planned my visit, but Youth Day is celebrated to remember the victims of the Soweto Uprising that took place on June 16, 1976, when students joined a peaceful protest march in Soweto to Orlando Stadium. The South African Defense Force ended up firing on the crowd and 13 year old Hector Peterson was killed. He now has a memorial in his honor in Soweto, and the image of a bleeding Hector being carried by a fellow protester, with his sister sobbing next to them is one of the long-standing symbols of the anti-apartheid movement.
The entrance to the museum is prefaced by large columns that display the central tenets of the new South African constitution: democracy, reconciliation, diversity, responsibility, respect and freedom. Then, the actual entrance is split into two categories. Each visitor is randomly assigned an entrance card that leads you to either a "Whites" or "Non-Whites" door. Each door leads to different introductory displays with varying information, however each corridor is viewable through spaces in the exhibit, thus furthering the feelings of division and separation. After this section, the actual museum is accessed via an uphill walkway that features life-sized photographs of modern South Africans superimposed onto mirrors. In order to look at the faces of the subjects, each visitor will also see their image reflected back. This area emphasizes the personal reflection and introspection that will take place over the course of the visit.
The museum is built on a raised area in Johannesburg that is the remnant of a gold mine tailing. This historical location underscores the history of Johannesburg as a mining town. When gold was first discovered in the area, the prospectors who flocked to the area were of all races and lived communally. However, as large mining companies moved in and received concessions, they forced out white workers and hired unskilled black workers. Meanwhile, both Dutch and British governments feared the racially diverse communities that were springing up and began to specifically enact legislation that specifically prevented racial mixing and intermarriage. While there is not one specific root of the apartheid policy, this introductory exhibit implies that this was one major cause.
The museum continues by highlighting many aspects of apartheid, from its supporters to its victims, to acts of violence and non-violence and eventually, its resolution. Most of the exhibits are upsetting in that they showcase a violent and prejudiced world that existed in our lifetimes. For someone who grew up in the United States, living in the world of apartheid seems incredibly remote and hard to grasp. Even having the proper capacity to process such an experience is difficult and I am still having problems expressing how the museum made me feel. The museum also allows for visitors to share their stories of oppression and protest which contributes to the emphasis on a shared experience. The museum ends with a peaceful garden to encourage reflection and introspection. It was the perfect place to end an upsetting, moving and eventually emotional experience.
Thankfully in the sun it was warm, so I sat in the garden for a while and read while waiting for my parents to pick me up. I appreciated the time to myself. South African has come a long way and I am thankful to be here now and that they were able to host the World Cup this year to show the world just how far they have come.
I did not know this when I planned my visit, but Youth Day is celebrated to remember the victims of the Soweto Uprising that took place on June 16, 1976, when students joined a peaceful protest march in Soweto to Orlando Stadium. The South African Defense Force ended up firing on the crowd and 13 year old Hector Peterson was killed. He now has a memorial in his honor in Soweto, and the image of a bleeding Hector being carried by a fellow protester, with his sister sobbing next to them is one of the long-standing symbols of the anti-apartheid movement.
The entrance to the museum is prefaced by large columns that display the central tenets of the new South African constitution: democracy, reconciliation, diversity, responsibility, respect and freedom. Then, the actual entrance is split into two categories. Each visitor is randomly assigned an entrance card that leads you to either a "Whites" or "Non-Whites" door. Each door leads to different introductory displays with varying information, however each corridor is viewable through spaces in the exhibit, thus furthering the feelings of division and separation. After this section, the actual museum is accessed via an uphill walkway that features life-sized photographs of modern South Africans superimposed onto mirrors. In order to look at the faces of the subjects, each visitor will also see their image reflected back. This area emphasizes the personal reflection and introspection that will take place over the course of the visit.
The museum is built on a raised area in Johannesburg that is the remnant of a gold mine tailing. This historical location underscores the history of Johannesburg as a mining town. When gold was first discovered in the area, the prospectors who flocked to the area were of all races and lived communally. However, as large mining companies moved in and received concessions, they forced out white workers and hired unskilled black workers. Meanwhile, both Dutch and British governments feared the racially diverse communities that were springing up and began to specifically enact legislation that specifically prevented racial mixing and intermarriage. While there is not one specific root of the apartheid policy, this introductory exhibit implies that this was one major cause.
The museum continues by highlighting many aspects of apartheid, from its supporters to its victims, to acts of violence and non-violence and eventually, its resolution. Most of the exhibits are upsetting in that they showcase a violent and prejudiced world that existed in our lifetimes. For someone who grew up in the United States, living in the world of apartheid seems incredibly remote and hard to grasp. Even having the proper capacity to process such an experience is difficult and I am still having problems expressing how the museum made me feel. The museum also allows for visitors to share their stories of oppression and protest which contributes to the emphasis on a shared experience. The museum ends with a peaceful garden to encourage reflection and introspection. It was the perfect place to end an upsetting, moving and eventually emotional experience.
Thankfully in the sun it was warm, so I sat in the garden for a while and read while waiting for my parents to pick me up. I appreciated the time to myself. South African has come a long way and I am thankful to be here now and that they were able to host the World Cup this year to show the world just how far they have come.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Guest Blogging
Given my current location in South Africa, I've been asked to guest blog for two of my friends, Panos and Phil. Panos is heading up the excellent Posts by Panos blog, utilizing his soccer expertise and his penchant for intelligent discussion. Phil is including World Cup coverage on the Schadenfreude Chronicles with his characteristic wit and humor. You can check out my "Goals by Ginger" and live reports from the field on both blogs.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Swazi Secrets
On our last day in Swaziland, Norman stayed in the house to prepare a big braai. We tried to get him to let us stay and help but Faith assured us that Norman would do best on his own and suggested that she take us around to see some of the sights in Swaziland.
We got into a different SUV than the Rexton with Faith and Naomi and headed out to House on Fire, a local performance space and restaurant. House on Fire hosts a big music festival every year that is world renowned (we just missed it by two weeks!) and also features a great shop called Gone Rural that features some of the beautiful crafts and products for which Swaziland is famous. My mom went totally nuts over the beautiful basketry, weaving and tinkery available and I picked up some bottles of marula oil which have miracle skin restorative properties. Faith told me that she used marula oil on her skin during all four of her pregnancies and has no stretch marks! That was enough of a recommendation for me. The marula oil in Swaziland is manufactured by Swazi Secrets, a company that is dedicated to sustainable harvesting and local organic co-ops so I was happy to purchase their product.
We wandered around the House on Fire performance space, which is sculpted in a very vibrant and whimsical manner by a local artist and enjoyed the warm sunshine and clear air. We had a wonderful view of the mountains which was a nice change from the haze of Johannesburg.
We then went to the Swazi Candle factory, which was packed with families visiting for the large mountain bike race that was held on Saturday. I didn't know what a Swazi candle was before visiting, but as soon as I walked in to the factory store I knew I had seen them before. You know those psychedelically swirled candles that are in every head shop and hippie house? They glow when you light them and are probably much more fascinating when accompanied by illegal inhalation? Well, they were invented in Swaziland and (of course) eventually stolen and mass produced by the Chinese. The factory store had candles in every shape imaginable, including African animals, as well as delicious smelling soaps. My dad was quite taken with some chocolate soap so my mom got it for him so he would stop exclaiming, "Wow, this smells just like chocolate!" The factory also has a worker who will mold the warm wax into any shape you want and it was fascinating to see him start with a random blob and make it into a pretty rose (per Naomi's request).
We got some delicious scones for breakfast at Linda's cafe and then drove around for more sightseeing. Naomi regaled us with a hilarious anecdote about her old riding instructor who always served beans for lunch, thus resulting in her unfortunate farts during trotting lessons. I found this to be an opportune time to engage in a little cross-cultural sharing, so I recited one of my favorite Bart Simpson poems:
Beans, beans, the musical fruit
The more you eat the more you toot
The more you toot, the better you feel
So beans, beans, for every meal!
It was well-received, as I'm sure you can imagine.
WE ended up back at the house just in time for Norman's extravagant feast. He had prepared several kinds of barbecued meats (the ribs were to die for) as well as potkjie, which is a sort of lamb cabbage stew cooked in a Dutch oven, fabulous cabbage (boiled in broth, the secret to tasty cabbage), the sweetest carrots I've ever had and saffron rice. We ate entirely too much and loved every minute of it. Naomi also introduced me to cream soda that came in a violence fluorescent green color--it tasted the same as cream soda in the US but looked like Midori liquor.
After the fabulous lunch we somehow rolled ourselves into the car and departed for the drive back to South Africa, after thanking our hosts profusely. We had an incredible time and definitely experienced many things that we wouldn't have if we had visited ourselves.
The border crossing was as expected--leaving Swazi was friendly and easy, getting through South African customs was a pain in the butt. We had a classic case of lots of people cutting the line, which made it longer for people who were following the rules. Eventually we gave up and just cut the line and no one seemed to care!
We stopped to get gas and for a bathroom break right as it got dark at a rest area off the N4 but when we got back into the car my mom realized that my dad's backpack (which we had foolishly left in the back seat) was gone! We looked around and didn't see anyone with it so we decided to just keep driving. The thieves somehow got into our locked car and stole the bag, but left everything in the trunk. We know we had the bag with us at the border because it had the car's registration papers inside. It was a total mystery and kind of put a damper on the trip. The thieves got a really ghetto digital camera, my dad's Speedo and goggles, my dad's sun hat (totally unfashionable) and our registration papers which are useless as they have my dad's photo on it and I doubt that the thieves are elderly men with a gray mustache and a giant noggin (so they probably won't get use out of the hat, either). My dad ended up having to go to the police station to make an affidavit of the loss, and then to the local South African equivalent of the DMV (known as the Licensing Department) but that was taken care of later in the week without too much difficulty. My dad did report, however, that the employees at the Licensing Department were just as surly as their American DMV counterparts and that the system was typically bureaucratic and slow moving. Additionally, he tried to get a photo from a guy who had set up shop on the lawn outside the licensing department with an umbrella, digital camera and printer, but the printer was broken so he had to go elsewhere. A "This is Africa" classic!!
We got into a different SUV than the Rexton with Faith and Naomi and headed out to House on Fire, a local performance space and restaurant. House on Fire hosts a big music festival every year that is world renowned (we just missed it by two weeks!) and also features a great shop called Gone Rural that features some of the beautiful crafts and products for which Swaziland is famous. My mom went totally nuts over the beautiful basketry, weaving and tinkery available and I picked up some bottles of marula oil which have miracle skin restorative properties. Faith told me that she used marula oil on her skin during all four of her pregnancies and has no stretch marks! That was enough of a recommendation for me. The marula oil in Swaziland is manufactured by Swazi Secrets, a company that is dedicated to sustainable harvesting and local organic co-ops so I was happy to purchase their product.
We wandered around the House on Fire performance space, which is sculpted in a very vibrant and whimsical manner by a local artist and enjoyed the warm sunshine and clear air. We had a wonderful view of the mountains which was a nice change from the haze of Johannesburg.
We then went to the Swazi Candle factory, which was packed with families visiting for the large mountain bike race that was held on Saturday. I didn't know what a Swazi candle was before visiting, but as soon as I walked in to the factory store I knew I had seen them before. You know those psychedelically swirled candles that are in every head shop and hippie house? They glow when you light them and are probably much more fascinating when accompanied by illegal inhalation? Well, they were invented in Swaziland and (of course) eventually stolen and mass produced by the Chinese. The factory store had candles in every shape imaginable, including African animals, as well as delicious smelling soaps. My dad was quite taken with some chocolate soap so my mom got it for him so he would stop exclaiming, "Wow, this smells just like chocolate!" The factory also has a worker who will mold the warm wax into any shape you want and it was fascinating to see him start with a random blob and make it into a pretty rose (per Naomi's request).
We got some delicious scones for breakfast at Linda's cafe and then drove around for more sightseeing. Naomi regaled us with a hilarious anecdote about her old riding instructor who always served beans for lunch, thus resulting in her unfortunate farts during trotting lessons. I found this to be an opportune time to engage in a little cross-cultural sharing, so I recited one of my favorite Bart Simpson poems:
Beans, beans, the musical fruit
The more you eat the more you toot
The more you toot, the better you feel
So beans, beans, for every meal!
It was well-received, as I'm sure you can imagine.
WE ended up back at the house just in time for Norman's extravagant feast. He had prepared several kinds of barbecued meats (the ribs were to die for) as well as potkjie, which is a sort of lamb cabbage stew cooked in a Dutch oven, fabulous cabbage (boiled in broth, the secret to tasty cabbage), the sweetest carrots I've ever had and saffron rice. We ate entirely too much and loved every minute of it. Naomi also introduced me to cream soda that came in a violence fluorescent green color--it tasted the same as cream soda in the US but looked like Midori liquor.
After the fabulous lunch we somehow rolled ourselves into the car and departed for the drive back to South Africa, after thanking our hosts profusely. We had an incredible time and definitely experienced many things that we wouldn't have if we had visited ourselves.
The border crossing was as expected--leaving Swazi was friendly and easy, getting through South African customs was a pain in the butt. We had a classic case of lots of people cutting the line, which made it longer for people who were following the rules. Eventually we gave up and just cut the line and no one seemed to care!
We stopped to get gas and for a bathroom break right as it got dark at a rest area off the N4 but when we got back into the car my mom realized that my dad's backpack (which we had foolishly left in the back seat) was gone! We looked around and didn't see anyone with it so we decided to just keep driving. The thieves somehow got into our locked car and stole the bag, but left everything in the trunk. We know we had the bag with us at the border because it had the car's registration papers inside. It was a total mystery and kind of put a damper on the trip. The thieves got a really ghetto digital camera, my dad's Speedo and goggles, my dad's sun hat (totally unfashionable) and our registration papers which are useless as they have my dad's photo on it and I doubt that the thieves are elderly men with a gray mustache and a giant noggin (so they probably won't get use out of the hat, either). My dad ended up having to go to the police station to make an affidavit of the loss, and then to the local South African equivalent of the DMV (known as the Licensing Department) but that was taken care of later in the week without too much difficulty. My dad did report, however, that the employees at the Licensing Department were just as surly as their American DMV counterparts and that the system was typically bureaucratic and slow moving. Additionally, he tried to get a photo from a guy who had set up shop on the lawn outside the licensing department with an umbrella, digital camera and printer, but the printer was broken so he had to go elsewhere. A "This is Africa" classic!!
Monday, June 7, 2010
The Mozambican Ferry Shuffle
As promised (or threatened?) by Norman, our day trip to Mozambique began promptly at 7am. All 6 of us piled into their Ssang Yong Rexton, a Korean SUV with a Mercedes-built engine. This car has a 100 liter diesel gas tank, so we were able to drive all the way to Maputo and back on one tank. We were joined by Norman and Faith's youngest daughter, Naomi, who is twelve years old. Her older sister Johanna stayed behind as she had to work at the pharmacy.
We drove through Ezulwini and then through Manzini, the industrial capital (such as it is) of Swaziland and then headed out further east towards the border. We passed an enormous sugar cane plantation with cane in various stages of readiness for harvest. When the cane is cut, it is first burned to get rid of the extra vegetation that is not needed for the processing portion. When the cane fires are lit, apparently all manner of creepy crawlies come dashing out of the plants, including many snakes such as the deadly black mamba! We could smell the sugar cane plant long before we could see it--the stench reminded me of the International Paper mill in Ft. Henry, NY. It stunk!
We reached the Swazi border with Mozambique after about an hour of driving and duly had our passports stamped for exit with no problem. However, we ran into a spot of trouble at the gate that officially let us out of Swaziland and into the Mozambique side of the border station. The Swazi guard didn't want to let us out because Norman only had the title of the Ssang Yong car, and not the registration. Norman argued in Swazi very agilely with the guard but he seemed adamant. I was quite stressed, as I definitely wanted to get to Mozambique, and it was so close! Finally the guard let us through, claiming that my father with his gray hair was too old to be kept waiting. Faith later explained that Swazis revere the elderly. I'm quite sure my dad was none too pleased to be counted among the elderly, but at least we got across the border!
The Mozambique side was considerably less organized than the Swazi side. Illegal money changers swarmed our car trying to get us to exchange for the Mozambique currency, the metical, but their rates were too low for our taste (4.2 to 1 SA rand). There were also hawkers advertising Mozambican car insurance. Norman bought some from a guy he knew as he explained that South African insurance companies often took a long time to process your claim, and you might have to spend the night in Mozambican jail, whereas if you got a local insurance company to handle it, your claim would be processed much quicker. I guess it is very much like driving your car into Mexico!
We all had to fill out embarkation forms, even Faith and Naomi who were traveling on Swazi passports, and our US passports were taken away so they could check to see if we were on Interpol and to issue the visas. They were very cheap at this crossing, only 130 Rand. Had we gone to the embassy in Pretoria we would have paid over $100, as they base the cost of the visa on what it would cost for a Mozambican to go to the US. What a deal! After waiting about 10 minutes, the guard came back with our passports newly stickered and stamped. We piled back into the car and headed out into Mozambique!
We took the road down towards Maputo and the coast that used to be called the "Hell Run" during the days of the civil war. Armed brigands would hide by the road and attack cars with RPG weapons. Norman said that sometimes he would hear that friends had gone to Mozambique for the day and just wouldn't come back as they had been killed. Cars would travel through this corridor in a caravan with armed escorts. It was mostly deserted and peaceful so it was hard to imagine such things happening. Norman also mentioned that once he was driving on this road and his bodyguard at the time pulled over to pee and stepped on a land mine. The explosion resulted in a leg amputation. Much of Mozambique is still peppered with mines and travelers must take caution when venturing off roads.
The drive to Maputo was very interesting. The land flattened out and we headed down towards the Indian Ocean. We saw a lot of flourishing business but also signs of the old Communist regime--statues of stars, hammers and sickles, ugly utilitarian buildings and even some bombed out buildings left over from the war. We also stopped for breakfast at a hotel near the border where I had some truly delicious coffee and a sort of cheese egg sandwich on a fluffy bread.
When we got to Maputo the early start caught up with me; I napped while we got stuck in a traffic jam. I missed our trip through the southern part of Maputo and awoke when we reached the ferry dock for Catembe Island. The ferry dock was an utter madhouse, as you can imagine. Our car was swarmed with vendors offering shoes, jewelry, clothing, watches, wallets, belts, CDs and DVDs. I smartly negotiated for a nifty pair of flip flop sandals with the Mozambican flag on the footbed as I had only brought my sneakers. Faith bought three counterfeit Bafana Bafana jerseys for her family and Norman insisted on a Timex watch that we were pretty sure had been stolen.
We waited in the ferry queue for about 30 minutes for the ferry to arrive, it seemed to take much longer loading on the other side than it did crossing the channel from the island. This would prove to be prophetic. I have traveled on car ferries before, but they are the kind where you drive into the cargo area and then the upper decks are passenger areas, such as the Jadrolina ferries that depart from Split to other Croatian Islands. Well, in Mozambique you get probably a 4th or 5th hand ferry that has been through the wars, literally, where 14 vehicles are crammed like the world's most busy parking lot along with as many passengers that could squeeze on while the ferry operators are performing their remarkable conducting dance to get all the cars fit onto the deck. We were amazed that so many cars could fit in so small a space! At last, a huge cement truck lumbered into the center space and we were off. The ferry tilted somewhat precipitously when the truck drove on, but I tried not to think about what would happen if we were to sink. Luckily, the channel between Maputo and Catembe is relatively narrow, and I promised my mom that I would help her swim to shore if it was necessary.
We climbed up to the deck next to the bridge for a nice breeze and a good view of the madness below. In order to access the top deck, we had to climb up into the passenger area and go through a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only." The "authorized personnel" in the bridge didn't bat an eyelash when I climbed up in there, so I just went out the side door and enjoyed the fresh air. We got a great view of some traditional fishing dhows, with their bright paint and colorful sails, as well as the smaller water taxis that ferry pedestrians who don't care to wait for the car ferry to fiddle about with loading and maneuvering.
When we got to Catembe the unloading process was slightly less chaotic, although the passengers just streamed off the ferry with little regard for the cars so we moved at a snail's pace. The island seemed very untouched by the modern world, with small bungalows, sandy roads and tons of fruit trees everywhere. We drove around enjoying the view and tried to get to the opposite side of the island, but missed the turn off, so we ended up at Hotel Marina on the beach to get a late lunch. The hotel had a gorgeous view of the Maputo skyline (which is nice as it is on a peninsula) so we sat on the veranda enjoying a drink and the sunshine.
I climbed down to the beach, which had a fine sand and clean water. There were plenty of neat shells to poke through and even some ghost crabs scuttling about. Except for an old fisherman mending an enormous net and a young boy herding goats, I was the only one on the beach. A dhow looked to be making land just in front of me, and I wanted to see what they had caught, but then the wind changed so they had to make for another area of the beach to land. I went back up to the veranda of the restaurant just as much large order of buttery, lemony, spicy prawns arrived. Bliss! The restaurant also had some funny stray cats who hung around obviously expecting the scraps from our seafood feast. Eventually they were rewarded with some snapper from Naomi and some fish skin from me.
We got back in the car to try to make the 6pm ferry back to Maputo and we did make it, although there was quite a bit of excitement with the loading as there were several light trucks gumming up the works as well as a bakkie overloaded with furniture and a trailer. Eventually we made it across and were back in downtown Maputo just as the sun set. Norman gave us a great tour of the city, showing us Embassy Row, the fancier houses, the fish market, the coastal road, the Costa del Sol hotel and even a stop at a patisserie where we got some snacks for the long drive home.
We made the border with Swaziland around 10pm and had to rouse Naomi from the nest she had made in the far back seat of the Rexton. We all trooped into the border station where we had to fill out the exact same embarkation card we had in the morning. On the way out I found someone's Mozambican passport on the ground. Alas, I did not resemble the person at all (named Ignacio something or other) so I gave it to the man in the border station. He seemed peeved that I had potentially created extra work for him.
The Swazi side was of course much friendlier and they joked that we were guest of the king. I must give them credit, they noted that my father had driven in with a car registered in South Africa and why did we not have it with us now? Norman explained that he had driven us and that the car was still in the house in Ezulwini. We paid our 50 rand road tax and headed back into the night.
The road was foggy as it was so late and we had gone back up into the mountains. It was noticeably cooler as well. We passed the checkpoint for hoof and mouth disease where a soldier is supposed to check your car for illegal bush meat, but due to a recent incident where a disgruntled citizen put laxatives in the meat, which was then grilled and eaten by the inspectors who then had quite a bad night of it, the inspection has become much more cursory.
We made it back to the house quite late, around 11:30, and all tumbled into bed exhausted after a long day. I made sure to grab a quick bite in the main house, however, as Johanna had made a delicious creamy broccoli bake and some fabulous, spicy fried chicken. I'm normally not a big night eater, but the chicken smelled so good and I wanted to make sure I got some of it before it disappeared!
We drove through Ezulwini and then through Manzini, the industrial capital (such as it is) of Swaziland and then headed out further east towards the border. We passed an enormous sugar cane plantation with cane in various stages of readiness for harvest. When the cane is cut, it is first burned to get rid of the extra vegetation that is not needed for the processing portion. When the cane fires are lit, apparently all manner of creepy crawlies come dashing out of the plants, including many snakes such as the deadly black mamba! We could smell the sugar cane plant long before we could see it--the stench reminded me of the International Paper mill in Ft. Henry, NY. It stunk!
We reached the Swazi border with Mozambique after about an hour of driving and duly had our passports stamped for exit with no problem. However, we ran into a spot of trouble at the gate that officially let us out of Swaziland and into the Mozambique side of the border station. The Swazi guard didn't want to let us out because Norman only had the title of the Ssang Yong car, and not the registration. Norman argued in Swazi very agilely with the guard but he seemed adamant. I was quite stressed, as I definitely wanted to get to Mozambique, and it was so close! Finally the guard let us through, claiming that my father with his gray hair was too old to be kept waiting. Faith later explained that Swazis revere the elderly. I'm quite sure my dad was none too pleased to be counted among the elderly, but at least we got across the border!
The Mozambique side was considerably less organized than the Swazi side. Illegal money changers swarmed our car trying to get us to exchange for the Mozambique currency, the metical, but their rates were too low for our taste (4.2 to 1 SA rand). There were also hawkers advertising Mozambican car insurance. Norman bought some from a guy he knew as he explained that South African insurance companies often took a long time to process your claim, and you might have to spend the night in Mozambican jail, whereas if you got a local insurance company to handle it, your claim would be processed much quicker. I guess it is very much like driving your car into Mexico!
We all had to fill out embarkation forms, even Faith and Naomi who were traveling on Swazi passports, and our US passports were taken away so they could check to see if we were on Interpol and to issue the visas. They were very cheap at this crossing, only 130 Rand. Had we gone to the embassy in Pretoria we would have paid over $100, as they base the cost of the visa on what it would cost for a Mozambican to go to the US. What a deal! After waiting about 10 minutes, the guard came back with our passports newly stickered and stamped. We piled back into the car and headed out into Mozambique!
We took the road down towards Maputo and the coast that used to be called the "Hell Run" during the days of the civil war. Armed brigands would hide by the road and attack cars with RPG weapons. Norman said that sometimes he would hear that friends had gone to Mozambique for the day and just wouldn't come back as they had been killed. Cars would travel through this corridor in a caravan with armed escorts. It was mostly deserted and peaceful so it was hard to imagine such things happening. Norman also mentioned that once he was driving on this road and his bodyguard at the time pulled over to pee and stepped on a land mine. The explosion resulted in a leg amputation. Much of Mozambique is still peppered with mines and travelers must take caution when venturing off roads.
The drive to Maputo was very interesting. The land flattened out and we headed down towards the Indian Ocean. We saw a lot of flourishing business but also signs of the old Communist regime--statues of stars, hammers and sickles, ugly utilitarian buildings and even some bombed out buildings left over from the war. We also stopped for breakfast at a hotel near the border where I had some truly delicious coffee and a sort of cheese egg sandwich on a fluffy bread.
When we got to Maputo the early start caught up with me; I napped while we got stuck in a traffic jam. I missed our trip through the southern part of Maputo and awoke when we reached the ferry dock for Catembe Island. The ferry dock was an utter madhouse, as you can imagine. Our car was swarmed with vendors offering shoes, jewelry, clothing, watches, wallets, belts, CDs and DVDs. I smartly negotiated for a nifty pair of flip flop sandals with the Mozambican flag on the footbed as I had only brought my sneakers. Faith bought three counterfeit Bafana Bafana jerseys for her family and Norman insisted on a Timex watch that we were pretty sure had been stolen.
We waited in the ferry queue for about 30 minutes for the ferry to arrive, it seemed to take much longer loading on the other side than it did crossing the channel from the island. This would prove to be prophetic. I have traveled on car ferries before, but they are the kind where you drive into the cargo area and then the upper decks are passenger areas, such as the Jadrolina ferries that depart from Split to other Croatian Islands. Well, in Mozambique you get probably a 4th or 5th hand ferry that has been through the wars, literally, where 14 vehicles are crammed like the world's most busy parking lot along with as many passengers that could squeeze on while the ferry operators are performing their remarkable conducting dance to get all the cars fit onto the deck. We were amazed that so many cars could fit in so small a space! At last, a huge cement truck lumbered into the center space and we were off. The ferry tilted somewhat precipitously when the truck drove on, but I tried not to think about what would happen if we were to sink. Luckily, the channel between Maputo and Catembe is relatively narrow, and I promised my mom that I would help her swim to shore if it was necessary.
We climbed up to the deck next to the bridge for a nice breeze and a good view of the madness below. In order to access the top deck, we had to climb up into the passenger area and go through a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only." The "authorized personnel" in the bridge didn't bat an eyelash when I climbed up in there, so I just went out the side door and enjoyed the fresh air. We got a great view of some traditional fishing dhows, with their bright paint and colorful sails, as well as the smaller water taxis that ferry pedestrians who don't care to wait for the car ferry to fiddle about with loading and maneuvering.
When we got to Catembe the unloading process was slightly less chaotic, although the passengers just streamed off the ferry with little regard for the cars so we moved at a snail's pace. The island seemed very untouched by the modern world, with small bungalows, sandy roads and tons of fruit trees everywhere. We drove around enjoying the view and tried to get to the opposite side of the island, but missed the turn off, so we ended up at Hotel Marina on the beach to get a late lunch. The hotel had a gorgeous view of the Maputo skyline (which is nice as it is on a peninsula) so we sat on the veranda enjoying a drink and the sunshine.
I climbed down to the beach, which had a fine sand and clean water. There were plenty of neat shells to poke through and even some ghost crabs scuttling about. Except for an old fisherman mending an enormous net and a young boy herding goats, I was the only one on the beach. A dhow looked to be making land just in front of me, and I wanted to see what they had caught, but then the wind changed so they had to make for another area of the beach to land. I went back up to the veranda of the restaurant just as much large order of buttery, lemony, spicy prawns arrived. Bliss! The restaurant also had some funny stray cats who hung around obviously expecting the scraps from our seafood feast. Eventually they were rewarded with some snapper from Naomi and some fish skin from me.
We got back in the car to try to make the 6pm ferry back to Maputo and we did make it, although there was quite a bit of excitement with the loading as there were several light trucks gumming up the works as well as a bakkie overloaded with furniture and a trailer. Eventually we made it across and were back in downtown Maputo just as the sun set. Norman gave us a great tour of the city, showing us Embassy Row, the fancier houses, the fish market, the coastal road, the Costa del Sol hotel and even a stop at a patisserie where we got some snacks for the long drive home.
We made the border with Swaziland around 10pm and had to rouse Naomi from the nest she had made in the far back seat of the Rexton. We all trooped into the border station where we had to fill out the exact same embarkation card we had in the morning. On the way out I found someone's Mozambican passport on the ground. Alas, I did not resemble the person at all (named Ignacio something or other) so I gave it to the man in the border station. He seemed peeved that I had potentially created extra work for him.
The Swazi side was of course much friendlier and they joked that we were guest of the king. I must give them credit, they noted that my father had driven in with a car registered in South Africa and why did we not have it with us now? Norman explained that he had driven us and that the car was still in the house in Ezulwini. We paid our 50 rand road tax and headed back into the night.
The road was foggy as it was so late and we had gone back up into the mountains. It was noticeably cooler as well. We passed the checkpoint for hoof and mouth disease where a soldier is supposed to check your car for illegal bush meat, but due to a recent incident where a disgruntled citizen put laxatives in the meat, which was then grilled and eaten by the inspectors who then had quite a bad night of it, the inspection has become much more cursory.
We made it back to the house quite late, around 11:30, and all tumbled into bed exhausted after a long day. I made sure to grab a quick bite in the main house, however, as Johanna had made a delicious creamy broccoli bake and some fabulous, spicy fried chicken. I'm normally not a big night eater, but the chicken smelled so good and I wanted to make sure I got some of it before it disappeared!
Sunday, June 6, 2010
A Drive to Swaziland
My dad has made friends with a South African/Swazi couple named Norman and Faith. Norman used to be CEO of a guarantee fund who was one of USAID's local partners for my dad's project, and he and my dad got to be friendly. Norman was always inviting our family to visit their home in Swaziland, so we were lucky enough to be able to go this weekend now that I was in Africa as well.
Swaziland is a small kingdom, one of the world's few remaining absolute monarchies, located on the eastern edge of South Africa and bordering Mozambique. The kingdom is a small part of the ancestral Swazi land holdings, which used to reach through Mpumalanga province and part of Kwa-Zulu Natal as well. Even Maputo and the surrounding area used to be part of Swaziland. Now King Mswate III rules and famously has 14 wives, the youngest of which was 17 when they wed and the wedding took place during a 5 year sex ban for younger people in the country, in an attempt to lower the shockingly high AIDS infection rate.
I had a meeting in Sandton on Friday morning, so we left around 9:30am, and of course got stuck in morning traffic heading to Pretoria (after getting stuck in hideous traffic getting to Sandton, which resulted in me and my boss being late for our meeting). Once we got on the N1 towards eMahelene (can't they just say EAST??) traffic thinned out and we were treated to a long drive of rolling wheat fields and power lines. Yup, that's Gauteng province. Eventually we passed into Mpumalanga (my favorite province name!) and left the highway for two lane local roads. The last 50k or so before crossing the border into Swazi takes you through an enormous tree farm with acres and acres of pine trees and sawmills. It's pretty country, despite the uniform lines of trees marching across the horizon.
The South Africa-Swazi border is a pain in the ass to cross, mainly because the South African side of the border station is a pathetically crappy and depressing low-ceilinged corridor with not enough windows open. The line goes down the hall, out the door and into the road. Commercial truckers are mixed in with regular passenger cars and there is only one customs window open for SARS declarations, hence the long line. We had to declare our car and show the registration number as well as any electronics we brought in. I didn't feel like looking up the serial numbers of our cameras so I just made them up. Yeah, I'm a scofflaw!
Then, once your vehicles and electronics are declared, you then must shove into the masses at the immigration windows. The woman who handled our passports simply could not find my parents' long-term residency permits in their passports and had to call over her supervisor, who of course found them immediately. I guess she was confused by the Slovak and Croatian long-term residency permits which were also in their passports, as well as the multiple passport pages extensions. Once we cleared South African customs, we then had to get back in the car and drive across the no-mans land to clear Swazi customs, which were much simpler. The Swazi border station is a bright and airy room with friendly employees and only a 50 rand road tax, which seems fair. There is no visa fee to enter Swaziland and we all had our passports stamped with no issues.
We were pleased to note that the Swazi road system was excellent, with a large, divided multi-lane highway as well as well-maintained local two-lane roads. My only grump is that people tend to drive extremely slowly, 60km even in 120km sections. Even the minibus taxis drive slowly! After playing Gran Turismo: Johannesburg edition for so long, it was refreshing.
Central South Africa, including Johannesburg, is located on a high plateau. Swaziland is where that plateau begins to head down to the sea, although the country is decorated with many picturesque mountain ranges. Our hosts' house is in a down called Ezulwini, which means heaven. It is an apt name, as it is located in a mountain valley with two impressive mountain ranges on either side. They have a clear view of Execution Rock, which is where the old king used to push offenders off, including political activists who wished to do away with the monarchy!
Our drive took us six hours, so we were quite tired when we arrived. After a chance to nap and freshen up, Faith and Norman took us to their friend's Portuguese/Mozambiquan restaurant for dinner. We had a fabulous meal of prawns, fish, chicken, livers, pork sausage and spicy, spicy curries. We met the proprietress, Auntie Nan, a dynamic, hilarious woman who was wearing a very glamorous caftan sewn by King Mswate III's tailor himself and her enormous and quiet husband, Justin. Her restaurant was hopping with locals who all stopped by our table to say hello as well as plenty of out of towners who were in Swazi for the big mountain bike race to be held on Saturday. Faith and Norman call Swaziland "Smallville" because everyone knows everyone else with the population under 1 million citizens.
After our long dinner, fueled by much sangria consumption, we rolled off to bed with the warning that the day trip to Mozambique would start at 7am and we had to be ready and well rested!
Swaziland is a small kingdom, one of the world's few remaining absolute monarchies, located on the eastern edge of South Africa and bordering Mozambique. The kingdom is a small part of the ancestral Swazi land holdings, which used to reach through Mpumalanga province and part of Kwa-Zulu Natal as well. Even Maputo and the surrounding area used to be part of Swaziland. Now King Mswate III rules and famously has 14 wives, the youngest of which was 17 when they wed and the wedding took place during a 5 year sex ban for younger people in the country, in an attempt to lower the shockingly high AIDS infection rate.
I had a meeting in Sandton on Friday morning, so we left around 9:30am, and of course got stuck in morning traffic heading to Pretoria (after getting stuck in hideous traffic getting to Sandton, which resulted in me and my boss being late for our meeting). Once we got on the N1 towards eMahelene (can't they just say EAST??) traffic thinned out and we were treated to a long drive of rolling wheat fields and power lines. Yup, that's Gauteng province. Eventually we passed into Mpumalanga (my favorite province name!) and left the highway for two lane local roads. The last 50k or so before crossing the border into Swazi takes you through an enormous tree farm with acres and acres of pine trees and sawmills. It's pretty country, despite the uniform lines of trees marching across the horizon.
The South Africa-Swazi border is a pain in the ass to cross, mainly because the South African side of the border station is a pathetically crappy and depressing low-ceilinged corridor with not enough windows open. The line goes down the hall, out the door and into the road. Commercial truckers are mixed in with regular passenger cars and there is only one customs window open for SARS declarations, hence the long line. We had to declare our car and show the registration number as well as any electronics we brought in. I didn't feel like looking up the serial numbers of our cameras so I just made them up. Yeah, I'm a scofflaw!
Then, once your vehicles and electronics are declared, you then must shove into the masses at the immigration windows. The woman who handled our passports simply could not find my parents' long-term residency permits in their passports and had to call over her supervisor, who of course found them immediately. I guess she was confused by the Slovak and Croatian long-term residency permits which were also in their passports, as well as the multiple passport pages extensions. Once we cleared South African customs, we then had to get back in the car and drive across the no-mans land to clear Swazi customs, which were much simpler. The Swazi border station is a bright and airy room with friendly employees and only a 50 rand road tax, which seems fair. There is no visa fee to enter Swaziland and we all had our passports stamped with no issues.
We were pleased to note that the Swazi road system was excellent, with a large, divided multi-lane highway as well as well-maintained local two-lane roads. My only grump is that people tend to drive extremely slowly, 60km even in 120km sections. Even the minibus taxis drive slowly! After playing Gran Turismo: Johannesburg edition for so long, it was refreshing.
Central South Africa, including Johannesburg, is located on a high plateau. Swaziland is where that plateau begins to head down to the sea, although the country is decorated with many picturesque mountain ranges. Our hosts' house is in a down called Ezulwini, which means heaven. It is an apt name, as it is located in a mountain valley with two impressive mountain ranges on either side. They have a clear view of Execution Rock, which is where the old king used to push offenders off, including political activists who wished to do away with the monarchy!
Our drive took us six hours, so we were quite tired when we arrived. After a chance to nap and freshen up, Faith and Norman took us to their friend's Portuguese/Mozambiquan restaurant for dinner. We had a fabulous meal of prawns, fish, chicken, livers, pork sausage and spicy, spicy curries. We met the proprietress, Auntie Nan, a dynamic, hilarious woman who was wearing a very glamorous caftan sewn by King Mswate III's tailor himself and her enormous and quiet husband, Justin. Her restaurant was hopping with locals who all stopped by our table to say hello as well as plenty of out of towners who were in Swazi for the big mountain bike race to be held on Saturday. Faith and Norman call Swaziland "Smallville" because everyone knows everyone else with the population under 1 million citizens.
After our long dinner, fueled by much sangria consumption, we rolled off to bed with the warning that the day trip to Mozambique would start at 7am and we had to be ready and well rested!
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Africa the Long Way
I flew out of Burlington "International" airport after having a nice brunch with my good friend from forever ago, Jon, who was kind enough to drive me to the airport (and drop off Pete the cat at my aunties' house). I was on Delta through Detroit and then Amsterdam, so it was a little less convenient than flying direct from JFK like the last time.
I got to Detroit around 5pm and went to my gate and found they had another flight leaving for Amsterdam right then. They asked me if I wanted to go, but I told them I'd only go if they could put me in business class. "Sure!" says the guy. Um, YES PLEASE. As you might imagine, business class is wonderful! Lie-flat beds, personal entertainment screen, delicious food and space. I opted not to sleep, since I had napped on the Detroit flight and I didn't want to miss a minute of my luxurious time in the air.
I landed in Amsterdam around 7am local time, so I had about two hours to kill before my flight to Johannesburg. I stopped by the transfer desk and asked if I could get an emergency exit row seat for the flight and they said sure, no problem! So, I got the seat I wanted. I then went into the first class lounge, which was quiet, and just read some books on my new iPad. As a reader I like it, but some people don't. Not my problem.
I found some eyedrops and my favorite Stabilo pens at the shopping area and then went to my gate. Amsterdam-Schipol has this stupid system where you have to go through another security check before you get on the plane, even though you've already gone through airport security to get to the concourse. It means that just before boarding, you have to queue in a long line, go through security again and be stressed.
Before you can even sit down in the gate area, they scan your ticket. When mine scanned, they said, "Oh, your seat has been changed to 31D." I explained that I had asked for Emergency exit row and I wanted to make sure that seat hadn't been taken away from me. I had to wait for the supervisor to check and he was a nasty little man who clearly had woken up on the wrong side of the dyke this morning. He interrogated me as to why I hadn't paid 50 euros for the seat, which made me defensive and stabby. He told me that I didn't have a good enough excuse to get emergency exit row and I asked him if he'd care to measure my inseam to check the length or if he'd like to have an arm wrestling contest to see how strong I was. He told me that he'd seen people who were taller and stronger. What a jerk! I'm sure something very unpleasant, such as a bird pooping on his head, will happen to him soon. Anyway, I got my (free) emergency exit row and swanned onto the plane with as much dignity as yoga pants and a Tyrannosaurus Text shirt will allow.
It has been a long time since I flew KLM and let me tell you, they have really gone downhill. The plane was shabby and worn. My seat had a weird lump on it. The food was crappy and the flight attendants more indifferent than normal. I was very tired so I slept for most of the flight, missing my kosher meal and awaking in time for the snack before landing.
As expected, my bag did not make it on the flight from Amsterdam to Joburg, so I exited customs since I didn't see a bag check desk, but unfortunately it was in a different section of the baggage claim area, so I had to go back inside through the employee entrance (which was rather terrifyingly easy) and then make a claim. They had a printout with my name on it showing that they knew in advance that my bag was on the flight (jerks!) so it was coming on tonight's flight, which meant that I wouldn't get it until Wednesday morning. Awesome. This is Africa!
Anyway, after a rather eventful drive home where the entrance to the N3 north was completely blocked off with no warning, necessitating a short trip on N3 south with an unmarked exit to cross over to the other side, we made it back to Cedar Lakes and I slept for about 12 hours. When I woke up this morning, I had spent about 18 of the past 24 hours asleep.
This weekend we hit Swaziland and Mozambique, can't wait!
I got to Detroit around 5pm and went to my gate and found they had another flight leaving for Amsterdam right then. They asked me if I wanted to go, but I told them I'd only go if they could put me in business class. "Sure!" says the guy. Um, YES PLEASE. As you might imagine, business class is wonderful! Lie-flat beds, personal entertainment screen, delicious food and space. I opted not to sleep, since I had napped on the Detroit flight and I didn't want to miss a minute of my luxurious time in the air.
I landed in Amsterdam around 7am local time, so I had about two hours to kill before my flight to Johannesburg. I stopped by the transfer desk and asked if I could get an emergency exit row seat for the flight and they said sure, no problem! So, I got the seat I wanted. I then went into the first class lounge, which was quiet, and just read some books on my new iPad. As a reader I like it, but some people don't. Not my problem.
I found some eyedrops and my favorite Stabilo pens at the shopping area and then went to my gate. Amsterdam-Schipol has this stupid system where you have to go through another security check before you get on the plane, even though you've already gone through airport security to get to the concourse. It means that just before boarding, you have to queue in a long line, go through security again and be stressed.
Before you can even sit down in the gate area, they scan your ticket. When mine scanned, they said, "Oh, your seat has been changed to 31D." I explained that I had asked for Emergency exit row and I wanted to make sure that seat hadn't been taken away from me. I had to wait for the supervisor to check and he was a nasty little man who clearly had woken up on the wrong side of the dyke this morning. He interrogated me as to why I hadn't paid 50 euros for the seat, which made me defensive and stabby. He told me that I didn't have a good enough excuse to get emergency exit row and I asked him if he'd care to measure my inseam to check the length or if he'd like to have an arm wrestling contest to see how strong I was. He told me that he'd seen people who were taller and stronger. What a jerk! I'm sure something very unpleasant, such as a bird pooping on his head, will happen to him soon. Anyway, I got my (free) emergency exit row and swanned onto the plane with as much dignity as yoga pants and a Tyrannosaurus Text shirt will allow.
It has been a long time since I flew KLM and let me tell you, they have really gone downhill. The plane was shabby and worn. My seat had a weird lump on it. The food was crappy and the flight attendants more indifferent than normal. I was very tired so I slept for most of the flight, missing my kosher meal and awaking in time for the snack before landing.
As expected, my bag did not make it on the flight from Amsterdam to Joburg, so I exited customs since I didn't see a bag check desk, but unfortunately it was in a different section of the baggage claim area, so I had to go back inside through the employee entrance (which was rather terrifyingly easy) and then make a claim. They had a printout with my name on it showing that they knew in advance that my bag was on the flight (jerks!) so it was coming on tonight's flight, which meant that I wouldn't get it until Wednesday morning. Awesome. This is Africa!
Anyway, after a rather eventful drive home where the entrance to the N3 north was completely blocked off with no warning, necessitating a short trip on N3 south with an unmarked exit to cross over to the other side, we made it back to Cedar Lakes and I slept for about 12 hours. When I woke up this morning, I had spent about 18 of the past 24 hours asleep.
This weekend we hit Swaziland and Mozambique, can't wait!
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