Tales of Wanderlust

Madrid, May 31, 2011

2011-05-31T22:45:00.000-04:00

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

“Football Flop”

Meetings

Dinner at Estado Puro

Drunk, drunk, drunk

Madrid, May 30, 2011

2011-05-30T22:43:00.000-04:00

Monday, May 30, 2011

Slept in until noon (WTF?)

Reina Sofia – history of Dali and Picasso, Le Geurnica

Botanical Garden

Run through Park

Dinner at El Mollette

Stylish Walk

Walk (on heels) from Palace to hotel

Madrid, May 29, 2011

2011-05-29T22:38:00.000-04:00

May 29, 2011

Jet lag got the best of me. I slept in, went downstairs for breakfast, and then went back to the room to nap. Then I rallied

Museo del Prado

First stop was the Museo del Prado, Spain's main art museum with the world's best collection of (obviously) Spanish art. Of course I couldn't take pictures of any of it, but it was amazing.

Museo del Prado

Parque del Retiro

Since it was such a beautiful day, and since the Paseo del Prado in right there, I took a long walk around and through the Parque del Retiro.

Fountain on the Paseo del Prado

Apollo Statue - Paseo del Prado

Plaza de la Cibeles

Palacio de Comunicaciones

Galeria de Cristal

Plaza de la Independencia

Parque del Buen Retiro

Plaza de Nicaragua

Monumento a Alfonso XIII

Palacio de Velazquez

Palacio de Cristal

Restoration

Parque del Buen Retiro

La Roselada

Parque del Buen Retiro

Singer

Random Ruminations About Spain

After a day of wandering around Madrid, I've had a number of observations that are completely unimportant to anyone but me:

I'm definitely allergic to Spanish cigarettes. I sneeze every time I'm around someone smoking, which is often in this city.
Fashion: all the women here are wearing harem pants and colored jeans. I suppose this is something we have to look forward to in the US soon.
The "Don’t Walk" street signals are not kidding. As soon as they stop blinking, the light changes and the cars take off. I'm now going to follow the Spaniards when it comes to crossing the streets.
The FIFA bribery scandal is all over the news here, and I wonder if it's making this much noise over the in US. Probably not.
BBC World News has the exact same theme song as they did ten years ago, and the tune brings back a lot of memories of our round-the-world trip. Specifically, of the morning I waited in an Arusha campsite for Jon to sleep off his 30th-birthday hangover. I watched the BBC for hours.

Tapas at Lateral

At the recommendation of the Westin Concierge, I walked to the Plaza Santa Ana for a trendy dinner at Lateral. Though I had to wait 45 minutes for it a table, it was completely worth it. I sat outside, enjoyed the people watching, and ate delicious food.

Plaza Santa Ana

Motorcycles at Plaza Santa Ana

Wine and Oil Lamp

Lateral

Plaza Santa Ana

Architecture

The Westin Palace

Madrid, May 28, 2011

2011-05-28T21:31:00.000-04:00

Sat, May 28

This was a true exploration day. The weather was warm and sunny, so I walked all around the city and absorbed the culture.

Plaza de la Puerta del Sol

I was particularly intrigued by the Plaza de la Puerta del Sol, where hundreds of protestors had pitched their tents and tarps to speak out against the country's financial crisis. Spain has a proud history of revolutions and revolutionaries, and this Plaza is often the site of protests. It was a city of tarps, tents, placards, speeches, and sweat. And it was fascinating to stroll around.

My hotel - the Westin Palace

Congreso de Los Diputados

Plaza de la Puerto del Sol

Plaza Mayor

Then I was off to the famous Plaza Mayor. Sadly, there was a temporary white store in the middle of it - something about stamps - so my picturesque dreams were unfortunately blocked. But the Plaza was still lively with characters. A few American fraternity boys had set up an inflatable pool and filled a garbage can with cold beer. They seemed to be doing all right picking up girls, which I'm sure was their primary purpose.

Have beer and pool, will travel

An odd parade appeared as well. I never did figure out who they were or what they stood for, but they marched through the plaza and then put on an interesting show. What prompts people to do such a thing? Especially if there's no clear reason? It might have something to do with the Barcelona/Manchester United game.

I tried to have lunch at the the Botin Restaurant - Madrid's oldest bar - but it was closed. Instead I had a late lunch at a random corner café and watched the peolple go by.

Calle de la Cava Baja

I had a little walk along the Calle de la Cava Baja, which was originally the line where the walls of the Christian City. Today it's a street of wonderful tapas restaurants (a fact I wish I'd read before I'd sat down at the above restaurant).

Iglesia de San Andres

The setting sun gave a lovely light at the Iglesia de San Andres. The corner bar was buzzing with people watching the Barcelona v Manchester United game. Then I went to the San Francisco el Grande Basilica, which contains paintings by Zurbaran and Goya, but the wedding in the church made it difficult to explore.

Plaza De San Andres

Iglesia de San Andres

Shadow of San Andres

Adorable old couple walking the plaza

Drunken Footballer Fans

Iglesia de San Andres

San Francisco el Grande Basilica

Madrid

Plaza de Oriente

Folk Arts Band at Plaza de Oriente

Plaza de Oriente

Museo del Jamon

On my way back to the hotel I stopped at the Museo del Jamon - a chain of wonderful ham and cheese and beer - for a snack and managed to get by ordering in my rudimentary Spanish. There were two nice gentlemen next to me who tried to strike up a conversation, but my rudimentary Spanish didn't get us very far so we just cheered with our beers and carried on.

Cervesa!

Jamon y Queso

Sunset Over Madrid

Night Out on The Town

I had a reservation at Cardamomo, a local Flamenco spot. I got all dolled up, snagged a seat in the front row, and enjoyed a fantastic performance of flamenco. It was really spectacular. I didn't use a flash, so the pics are purple and fuzzy.

Afterwards I had wine at the jazz club Cafe Central.

Jazz Musicians

Chandelier in the Westin Palace

Domed rooftop of Westin Palace bar

7.4: Going Home

2006-07-04T11:41:00.000-04:00

I woke at 4AM this morning and decided to stay awake, listening to the sounds of Africa and staring at the stars beyond the Mashatu tree that loomed above our campsite. The kitchen noises began an hour later, soon to be accompanied by the sounds of people showering and getting their luggage together. I'm just not ready for this adventure to be over. It's almost scarey how much I wish I could stay. If someone walked up to me and said, "Heidi I have a job for you in Johannesburg" I'd say YES in a heartbeat. A heartbeat.

The drive to Johannesburg was long, but also lovely since I rode in Nic’s truck with Lesley and Mark in the back. We managed to get some nature on our way out of Mashatu, when two giraffe appeared conveniently to say good-bye.

A few hours later we stopped for lunch at a roadside burger joint for cheeseburgers and milkshakes. (“It’s tradition.” Said Nic) We also stopped at a curio store so Lesley could get a native African mask. The places we’ve stayed had no shops for buying trinkets or gifts, which means that my family is going to be neglected in the curio department. But I think they’ll survive.

All the vehicles met at the Jo’burg airport so we could collect our scuba gear from luggage storage. That’s a daunting subject. I’m sure my gear stinks to high heaven since the wet suit and neoprene were hardly dry when I packed up five days ago. And there’s little in this world that smells worse than salty scuba gear left to mildew.

I checked all my gross gear and filthy backpack with its equally filthy laundry into Lufthansa airlines – which means I don’t have to deal with it for another thirty-some-odd hours when I arrive in NYC.

Since I had three hours to spare, and since everyone else had already gone through security to their respective gates, I talked Nic and Davey into keeping me company at the bar where we ordered beers and talked and laughed. Phil and Ruta – two other travelers from NY – joined us and helped prolong my wonderful holiday with stories and additional rounds of drinks.

I ended up rushing to my gate at the last minute, full of Heineken, good-bye hugs and kisses, and a feeling of contentment that I haven’t had in years.

7.3: The World According to Mountain Bikes

2006-07-03T11:16:00.000-04:00

I woke this morning to a bright light flashing in my eyes. My first thought was, “Why is someone wearing their head torch after sunrise?” When the light flashed again, I realized what was going on. Davey had located my camera and was happily snapping away as we slept. He was particularly cheeky this morning, taunting Evvy and me with a secret stash of biscuits and making us giggle so hard that our eyes teared from the effort of trying to be silent so the rest of the camp stayed asleep.

Davey's pic of me, alseep

Evvy had to leave this morning for LA and I was so sad to lose her smiling face and sharp humor. We’ve become joined at the hip over the last few weeks and our banter has reached a level of a well-timed comedy act. We use the same phrases and voice inflections – most of them derivations of “François-isms”. I’ll miss her, but we’re already talking about Indonesia next year so plans are afoot for another adventure soon.

With the loss of Evvy, a few other travelers, and a few injured bikers, the groups were small enough that we biked as one large group today. It was a bit awkward at first since there tends to be a cluster of oddly-spaced bikers at awkward moments – like down steep hills or in an out of gulleys. But we eventually figured it out.

A group photo at a huge Baobab Tree

Aside from each other, we had had to be attentive to the terrain which was especially rocky and at times quite steep. There were also tire-puncturing elephant thorns and – as we discovered the hard way – tiny but painful thorns in seemingly innocent bushes. Amy was terribly scraped by a bush whose African name I can’t recall, but it translates to “Wait a Moment” since, when you come into contact with it, you have to wait a moment to de-thorn yourself.

A deep sand pit in a riverbed

Naturally most everyone wants to be in the front near Paul since he’s the one who spots the wildlife - and what fun is a safari if you don't see any animals? But the clusters were a bit dangerous through the rocky terrain. Since each person traveled at different speeds we’d usually end up getting off the bikes and walking up or down difficult hills, so I positioned myself at the back of the group where distance gave me room to play.

Discovering My Inner Mountain Biker

Today was a glorious, wonderful, incredible day. I felt like a long-time mountain biker, taking on challenging hills and sandpits with a crazy enthusiasm I didn’t know I had. Nic told me that the best way to get through tough terrain is to take your weight off the handlebars and use your back wheel for balance - a concept I put to the test and discovered it worked quite well. Davy, Matt and I alternated our biking sequences, sticking to the less congested back of the pack and lauding each others’ biking prowess with cheers such as “Nice balance!” or “Great recovery!”

There was a point on the ride where I sped ahead of Matt and Davey but was far behind the rest of the group, and I found myself in the middle of Botswana with no one in sight for a quarter mile in any direction. It was a lovely moment of silence and serenity. I stopped to listen to the nothingness around me, taking in the culture and the solitude of the moment.

African Silence

For the entire day, the foremost thought in my head was, “I need at least one more day of this.” It’s too soon to leave. I’m just now getting a groove, and the thought of going back to a cubicle makes me want to cringe. I need more time to grow tired of the life and the people. But I’m not there yet.

My Botswana Story

The entire group reconvened at the top of a long, gradual hill so Paul could brief us for the next half-mile. “It’s very steep.” He said in his South African lilt. “Mind your speed. Stay off your front brakes. And leave plenty of space between you and the bike before you.” Davey, Matt and I sat at the top until the bulk of the group was a safe distance ahead.

Then we flew.

There were some hair-raising sections where large rocks popped up or where wheels got stuck, but I recovered well and sped down the hill with a huge grin and a light heart. I was flying around a curve when I saw one of our bikers checking his wheel.

“You okay?” I called out.

“Just got a flat.” He replied

I nodded and glanced at him as I passed. Slowed a bit.

Caught my wheel in sand.

Skidded.

Slid.

Swerved.

Then I was airborne – flying through the African breeze for a few split seconds before landing solidly on my stomach on the African ground, wondering how the hell I got there. Oof. Nothing was broken – just banged up and scraped. And proudly so. By the time I arrived to meet the group, word had already spread of my acrobatics

“Heidi!” Davey’s face was concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Are you kidding? I’m great! Look!” I held up my arm and pointed to the long scrape on my forearm. “Botswana! Can we do that hill again?”

War Wounds (so proud!)

I’ve discovered something new about myself. I was a bruised, scraped up, filthy mess with dirt in places I didn’t even know existed. And I was brilliantly happy. So it seems I love speed… adrenaline… extreme activities. This realization considerably changes all future vacation plans since I doubt I’ll ever again be content just sitting on a beach when I know I could be doing something crazy.

Our Last Sundowner

Our last campsite was in elephant country, so we were in an enclosed area but still in open air. And this final site had – get this – RUNNING WATER. Oooohhh. Luxury. I indulged in a long steamy shower where I washed all the pieces of Botswana out of my body. My injuries run the entire length of my right leg and up to my stomach, and these war wounds make me smile each time I look at them.

The crew arranged coolers of drinks for a sundowner on a rocky outcropping, where we climbed up boulders for a stunning vantage over the valley. We sat on the rocks, sipped our beers, and enjoyed our last African sunset.

Heidi and Davey

Nic and Davey

Sunset

Dinner was a traditional braai – barbequed chicken, lamp chops, and sausage, and maize with tomato sauce. This time it was enjoyed around a campfire, where we shared stories of the last two weeks and looked at the stars. I finally learned how to read the Southern Cross. Paul got down in the dirt to show me, drawing a diagram to demonstrate the line and angles and how they connect to the horizon. It's a bit complicated (or perhaps convoluted) and difficult to remember. Nic asked me later to explain it and I did all right until I needed to determine which direction we were facing. Still a bit of a gray area there. I suppose it's a good thing I don't often find myself in the middle of Africa without a compass. Or a Paul.

Most of us fought bedtime since going to sleep meant the trip was over, but little by little people drifted away from the fire and into their cots. Soon there was only a small handful of us remaining listening to sounds of jackals and hyenas. Paul can imitate most of the birds and animals we’ve heard and mimics a spotted owl hoot to perfection. He pointed out that most of the sounds we heard tonight were warning cries, indicating that predators were prowling. When I finally succumbed to sleep, the low rumble of lion could be heard in the distance.

7.2: Biking Safari

2006-07-02T11:03:00.000-04:00

We campers rallied around 7AM – but it’s difficult to do otherwise when the rest of the wild world wakes with the sun. In the cot next to me, Matt muffled beneath layers of his sleeping bag, “Someone tell all those birds to be quiet.”

Matt's Wake Up Call

I felt much better this morning than yesterday, though terribly dehydrated from the loss of nutrients. So I pampered myself with a quick bush shower, which was surprisingly refreshing. Also liberating, as getting naked and bathing under a tree definitely opens the mind.

The Wildlife

We set out in our separate groups and began to bike through the bush. A few of us have peasant feathers in our helmets; gifts from Davey who has an ever-attentive eye for these details.

Soon into our ride Paul called our attention to a jackal who ran away from us in order to distract our attention from her den – a surprisingly small hole in the ground. We stood around the hole, looking and in joking that the jackal was probably off the trees saying, “Dammit! Why didn’t that work?”

Later we stopped our bikes to watch a stork far to our right. It took a few minutes, but soon Israel (our guide in the rear of the group) discovered that the action was really off to our left, where a herd of nine elephants emerged from the treeline and slowly made its way in our direction. Backing our bikes out of their path, we watched them pass. This vantage point from the ground gives us a distinct feeling of vulnerability, which is always good for the human ego. Times like this remind me how very fragile and small we are in this world.

Me and the elephants

A few moments after the herd had passed, two other elephants appeared, rushing down the path after the rest of the herd. One of them trumpeted the entire way; ears flaring and trunk raised, as if to say, “Hey!!! Wait the $#**(@# for me!!”

I’ve learned a new word: anthropomorphism, which is the concept of giving animals human characteristics. I’ve done it multiple times already, and I’m quite all right with that. It makes for a fun bicycle safari.

The bad part of today’s story is that I was absolutely shattered from dehydration. Completely wiped out. I couldn’t catch my breath after the simplest of hills, a thin sheen of cold sweat covered my skin, and my head spun from light-headedness. I may not be a world-class athlete, but I’ve trained for enough marathons to know when my body isn’t running the way it should – and today mine was definitely fighting. After two hours of bounding around Mashatu I told Paul that I needed to stop. (which – ugh! - I hated) He radioed ahead to Sparks – one of the crew who was trailing the team with a truck full of spare tires – to come collect me. I was horribly cranky that I had to quit, but my body wasn’t recovering as quickly as it should and I’d only get worse if I didn’t spend a few hours properly hydrating.

Both biking groups (and me and Sparks in the spare tire truck) met under a large Mashatu tree for coffee and snacks. The sun was high in the sky and the air had become extremely hot. This is this dry season in Africa, so Mashatu is covered with dry brush and red sand. There were only a few more hours that were suitable for biking before we’d need to take a late lunch and siesta.

Sparks and I followed behind the Pan Aqua group, ready to replace the occasional punctured tire or supply new water bottles. I spent the time consuming multiple liters of water and peppering Sparks with questions about himself, the game reserve, and the animals we saw from the truck. It was like having my own personal game drive. The animals are less inclined to rush away from a vehicle, since they can’t differentiate between the automobile and the people, so we got a closer view of the wildlife – like impala, zebras, and elephants.

A herd of impala

Lunch By the River

Our late lunch and long siesta took place under huge Mashatu tree by a lovely dry riverbed. We had a spontaneous nature walk along the edge of “the river”, led by Davey and his endless knowledge of plants, birds, and rocks. He showed us a cactus tree shaped like a candelabra that has juice inside that's slightly toxic and can irritate the skin. But it can actually be practical too – if put into a small pool of fish, the juice will poison the fish and they’ll rise to the surface, ready to eat without any harm to the fishermen.

Davey’s so smart. That’s why we love him so much. Plus, he makes us laugh and gives us treats – and that’s always a plus. Evvy and I have decided to keep him.

Davey - communing with nature

Back on the Bike Again

After four hours of consuming water, my body was finally (finally!) showing signs of hydration. It took three and a half liters of water to get there, but I’d never been so happy to pee in my life. (too much information for you but – hey – these are the things we focus on when biking through the bush) It meant I was ready to go for the afternoon bike ride and I was thrilled. The last thing I wanted was to come all the way to Botswana and miss out on the mountain biking.

We started up a hill past a nearby giraffe and an elephant with flapping ears, and we hadn’t gone more than a few hundred feet when Davey scored a wicked flat tire with multiple punctures. Install of calling Sparks to replace the tire, Paul and Israel opted to fix the punctures on the spot. This took a while, but was endlessly amusing and allowed us time for pictures, bird watching, and the observation of a cheeky baboon in the distance.

Thorny Tire Puncture

Heidi and Evvy - bikers extraordinaire

Biking through Africa is a lesson in endurance, coordination, and multi-tasking. The terrain varies from large red rocks and cragged surfaces, to solid dirt, to deep pits of sand, and each element requires strategy and concentration about speed, wheel angle, and gear adjustment. With all the deep concentration of the ground, I completely forgot to look up and spot wildlife. If it weren’t for Paul and Israel pointing out animals and plants, I’d probably miss most of the game reserve. It took me a little while to get my mountain biking legs in order, but as soon as I successfully navigated my first gully, I crested the hill with a big grin and announced to Evvy, Davey, and Matt, “She’s back!”

Sundowner

We biked for a few hours, dodging thorny bushes and sand pits until the sun began to get lower in the sky. Up a final hill was the crew’s choice spot for a gorgeous sundowner. The other half of our group was already there, sitting on the edge of a hill overlooking a giraffe that drank peacefully from a small watering hole. I can’t find a word to best describe the beauty and serenity of the moment. “Poetic”, maybe? “Potent”? Either way, it was lovely.

As the sunset and the light shifted, Davey, Evvy, Matt and I scrambled to the other side of the hill in prime position to photograph the stunning sunset and to experience poetry of a different kind. We quietly snapped our photos and compared notes on the various camera angles and exposure times. The sky changed from blue to gray to pink to a bright orange. And in this peaceful, lovely moment, Davey – looking wistfully into the distance – said, “So. I just pulled a tick from my groin.”

Without missing a beat, Evvy replied, “Let’s look for more.”

The Diet Coke I’d been sipping came out my nose.

Davey, Matty, and Evvy at Sunset

Another Night Under The Stars

After sunset we biked through dusk to get to the campsite before dark. Our site is – again – at the base of an impressive Mashatu tree. I was filthy with dust and grime from the bush, so the bucket shower had definite appeal. Especially when we saw that tonight’s shower had no enclosures. I stood beneath a steady stream of warm water, completely naked, and showered under the African stars.

Dinner was a delicious beef stew, which I consumed with a great deal of enthusiasm before crawling into bed. We’d moved our cots to sit beneath the starts rather than beneath the tree, and Davey came over with his bird book to show me the various parrots and starlings I’d seen during the day. While he was sitting there, a large thingy flew into his lap and - of course - he made friends with it. Because that's what Davey does.

Davey's crawly thingy

Tonight was our turn for “guard duty”. Each person stays awake for one hour to make sure no wild animals wander into our campsite and absconds with one of our campers or – even worse – one of our bikes. Really, though, there’s not much need for this since animals usually avoid the firelight, so guard duty is truly a reason to spend an hour quietly listening to the sounds of the nightlife: hyenas, owls, etc. My shift was on the earlier side – 11:30-12:30 – so Israel roused me from a deep sleep when his shift was over. I spent the hour sitting by the crackling fire, writing in my journal and hoping to hear a lion or two. But all I heard was the snores from my fellow camper/bikers.

7.1: Road Trippin'

2006-07-01T10:48:00.000-04:00

Road Trip to Botswana

The long drive to Botswana kicked off this morning, and somehow Evvy, Matt and I scored a spot in Davey’s truck. The good part was a more intimate setting than the minivan, but Davey had a few logistical errands to run and our positions in Davey’s truck meant we had to run those errands with him. First was a stop in Pretoria to get a truck hitch installed on the pick-up, so the four of us passed the time in a nearby café with hot chocolate. Next, we had to swing by a mall to locate pretty African-like soaps for all the guests. This involved Davey speed-walking me through the corridors of the mall from one shop to another until we found what we needed.

Mashatu Game Reserve was a five-hour drive from Jo’burg, and I had a terrible headache that shut me down for a few hours. I slept for much of the drive while Evvy, Davey, and Matty shared stories.

At one point a Southern Yellow-billed Hornbill (Zazu in “The Lion King”) flew out of the brush, right across our path, and landed smack against the windshield of the truck. This was traumatizing on a number of levels: First, the poor thing made a terrible crunch when it hit the glass and it certainly didn’t survive. And secondly, Davey – who is a wealth of knowledge about birds, rocks, and plants - told us how the hornbill nests. Essentially, the mother seals herself into a tree, where she uses all her feathers to create a nest, lays the eggs, and then nurses the babies through adolescence. During this time the family is completely dependent on the father to bring them food and nourishment. So we’ve potentially left a widow and orphans stuck in a tree somewhere, and have named ourselves “Team Zazu” in honor of our bird-hunting prowess.

Safari/Bike Ride

Mashatu Game Reserve is just at the border of South Africa and Botswana. It’s privately owned and run by a small group of rangers/hosts who accompany all guests across the land. We crossed into the reserve, over a small river, and into a small camp for snacks, relaxation, and a sunset bike ride.

My headache had become so bad that I actually got sick in the bathroom, but I was completely opposed to missing out on the afternoon’s activities since we’ll be biking through the resort and tonight was bike trip #1. We took some time to change into our biking gear and to get our equipment adjusted and situated. Despite feeling terribly ill, I was excited to get out and bike through Africa. How often does someone get the opportunity to see animals from the seat of a bike? We split into two groups: Pan Aqua (minus me), and smaller group of me, Davey, Matty, Evvy, Mark, Lesley, Skip and Susan. We followed our guide Paul who – if his muscle build can be used as any indication – clearly biked through the bush on a regular basis. He packed a rifle across his back and a few rounds of additional ammo around his waist. I wondered how quickly he could engage the gun if needed, but I figure all I have to do is out-bike the slowest biker, right?

Biking AND packing heat... now that's talent

The roads were deeply rutted but also very sandy, which - along with the setting sun - made for difficult navigation. As the roads got darker, we realized that none of us had brought our torches so the large rocks and thorny bushes turned into blind obstacles. But fun obstacles.

A Sunset Cruise

I got ill once again during the bike ride and can now consider myself “one with the bush” who rallied until the very end. I made it all the way through, though we required the assistance of a vehicle to light the road for the last mile.

Our lovely campsite was located beneath a large Mashatu tree in a large clearing. The staff had dug us two “bush toilets”, which are holes in the ground complete with their own toilet paper and matches to appropriately dispose of the toilet paper. There was also a bucket shower that the staff would – on request – fill with hot water for a long, steamy shower. No one seemed particularly inclined toward the shower since we were all cold (and a little bush-shy) so it went relatively unused. Tomorrow, though, I'm thinking they'll be a mad rush on the showers after a day of dusty biking.

Dinner was marinated pork with veggies and rice. I was feeling better after drinking some fruit juice, but stuck with the rice and a piece of bread out of deference for my still-queasy tummy. We entertained ourselves with stories, jokes, and a rain spider Davey found and brought to us.

My new little friend - a rain spider

We slept in cots beneath the stars of the Botswana sky, bundled into our subzero sleeping bags and pillows. Nic gave me a beanie (that’s South African for “knit cap”) since “the majority of your heat will escape from your head” - which sounds perfectly logical.

Evvy and I closed out the day with our traditional nighttime-laughing-ourselves-silly before drifting off into oblivion.

6.30: Travel Day

2006-06-30T10:49:00.000-04:00

Departure day. Multiple shuttles left throughout the morning to make the four-hour trip Durban and our subsequent flights into Johannesburg.

Crash - staging a sunrise fly-by for the photograghers

Somehow – and I’ve no idea what transportation Gods blessed me for this small miracle – I lucked out and secured a spot in Nic’s pickup truck rather than the smallish minibus the rest of the group would travel in. John and Amy, two divers from New York, sat in the back and John – a retired journalist – joked about our auspicious transportation, “I’ve learned through the years that you should always travel with the Generals. They always have the most comfortable mode of transportation.”

Amen to that.

Once the seventeen divers-turned-safariers arrived at the hotel in Jo’burg, we met for dinner The Butcher Shop Bar and Grill. The restaurant was a cavernous establishment with meandering rooms and walls covered in wine bottles. A butcher counter was available for those diners who wanted to select their own cuts for dinner. On the counter was a selection of biltong – dried beef – of various game and flavors. My favorite was the chili beef, though the ostrich was tasty too. For dinner, Evvy and I split a sirloin and a baked potato, though quite by accident since the kitchen had forgotten to make E’s steak. Luckily we’d ordered the exact same meal and neither of us were particularly starving. John ordered an appetizer of sardines which he shared with me and I was quite surprised to find it so delicious. Ironic (or perhaps fitting), considering we'd just spent the last week swimming with them.

The mood of the group was surprisingly cranky tonight - a factor of the early morning wakeup, the long drive to Durban, the flight to Jo'burg, and a few logistical complications. It will be nice to get to Botswana where we can bike off some of this excess energy.

6.29: Last Day

2006-06-29T10:34:00.000-04:00

Our last day of the Sardine Run. Tomorrow we leave for a few days of safari in Botswana, which will be lovely but not the same as this last wonderful week. Sad on so many levels – not the least of which was because the sun was out and the sea was calm. Within a half hour of launching we’d found a little bait ball and snorkeled as the gannets and dolphins leaped around us. The visibility was poor and we were feeling lucky, so we decided to hunt for bigger and better activity.

No luck. We crisscrossed the ocean and found nothing. At one point, all the SEAL boats congregated together in the spot of the last bait ball, and we tossed jokes about the lack of activity.

Mid-Ocean Zodiac Convention (not a bird to be seen)

The most exciting part of the day was a staged PR moment when SEAL 1 and SEAL 2 positioned themselves next to one another and sped through the waves while Crash and a videographer flew above us for footage.

A Crash Fly-By

Walkie Talkie Humor

The walkie-talkie conversations between the skippers and Crash gives us endless amusement during the lulls. Last night in the bar I taught some of the skippers and crew the overused phrase “talk to the hand” which, despite the international distribution of Jerry Springer Shows, had somehow not translated to this part of the world. We had a good laugh and moved on, and I thought nothing of it until today on the boat when we heard an hilarious exchange between Kevin and Crash:

Kevin: “Crash. Crash. SEAL 5. Come in.”

Crash: “Crash here. Go ahead SEAL 5.”

Kevin: “Are you near that low-flying plane up there?”

Crash: “I am. It’s just up ahead.”

Kevin: “Do they spot any activity?”

Crash: “Don’t know. Their communication link isn’t up.”

Kevin: “Can you knock on their window and ask?”

Crash: “Talk to the hand, SEAL 5.”

Then later, Kevin radioed çois to ask about bird activity, and çois replied that we had no gannets.

Kevin: “I disagree, SEAL 2. I believe you do have gannets.”

çois: “No. No gannets.”

Kevin: “You have Giggling Gannets. What kind of activity are they up to?”

It took us a split second to realize he was talking about me and Evvy who were, ironically enough, laughing at that precise moment about Evvy’s helpful identification of a “metal gannet” (aka the low-flying airplane).

Deep Oceanic Thoughts

In mid-afternoon çois took us beyond the Continental Shelf toward some bird activity and we suddenly found ourselves in ten-foot swells that looked less than inviting. Though I – from my perch in the crow’s nest – was enthralled by the dark blue color of the waves, çois made me get down before he navigated us to calmer waters.

Our final African boat landing was at 1PM this afternoon. Part of me was ready to get in to the warmth and the dryness, but a bigger part wanted to stay out on the water forever. çois reckoned that I’ve missed my calling; he says that I “get the ocean” and he thinks my love of it is wasted in Manhattan. He might be right.

An African Boat Landing (with the added bonus of a Crash Fly-By and a Dodge-the- Paramedic)

Skip (one of the guests) asked me today if I would come back next year. My gut instinct was to say, “Yes! Of course!” but after thinking on this I know that next year would be completely different. It’s not the whales and the dolphins or the sharks that have made this trip so special. It’s the people. The time. The place. And my willingness to be open to all of this. Next year might detract from the spirit of this last special week, so next year I’ll choose another adventure.

South African Braai

The lodge held a braai for us – a traditional African barbeque of lamb, chicken, and sausage, and we used the time to exchange contact information and – of course – run up our tabs at the bar. Evvy and I were ridiculously picture happy since we knew this would be the last we’d see our beloved dive crew. Each person on the staff brought his or her element to this amazing week. Neville is a plethora of reef knowledge and a warm, patient heart. Kevin’s wicked sharp sense of humor is perfectly balanced by Chris’ class and maturity. Ulrich – one of South Africa’s few PADI Course Directors – is a solid, old soul who sits back and observes with a wise eye. çois and Andy are our pranksters; full of blue jokes and double entendres that bite with wit. Ant is a rock of strength and knowledge who instills confidence in each person around him. Andy and Renall and golden-hearted and kind-eyed. Brad is sweet with his quiet ways. Davey is warmth and affection rolled into one, and his friendship is one I know I’ll have for years. And Nic is our charismatic salesman, working the room with his humor, his confidence, and his deep, engaging voice.

The celebration lasted well into the night, during which time many of our fellow guests were overserved in both enthusiasm and the occasional shot glass. It’s going to be a long, tough ride to Durban tomorrow.

Evvy and Heidi

The pranksters: Andy, Evvy, and çois

Crash and Heidi

Ant and Evvy

6.28: Boat Jokes

2006-06-28T10:21:00.000-04:00

Bait Ball Watch

I teased çois and asked if SEAL 2 was painted with sardine repellant, since our morning and afternoon was spent bouncing around the Indian Ocean in search of the elusive bait ball. We find small, mobile ones that get us excited with bird activity but are often gone by the time we get ourselves into the water. No worries, but we are all hoping to find the massive bait balls featured in National Geographic specials and professional photographs. This is nature, though, and rarely predictable. Today was overcast and windy though significantly less windy than yesterday’s bone-jarring day. A storm system will move through today, messing what is already less than ideal conditions.

çois radioed up to Crash, asking if he could spot any signs of concentrated activity.

“There are some shoals out there.” Replied Crash.

“But do they have any blue rings?” çois asked

“Nah. No rings.”

çois says the blue ring is a sign of bait ball activity; caused by the bubbles of diving gannets, jumping dolphins, and carousing sharks. “You’ll see,” he said. “You’ll see what the blue ring looks like.”

"I’m starting to think I really won’t.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “We’ll get you one. There’s still time.”

Only a day, but a lot can probably happen in those twenty-four hours

Marine Life

We jumped into a few different bird frenzies, one of which was a small bait ball of about fifty tiny sardines. We hovered above it, watching as the gannets dove down and the dolphins zipped through, scattering the sardines like the parting of the Red Sea. I love listening to the dolphins click at each other underwater – they’re so playful and mischievous. Above water, we’ve often found ourselves in the middle of a pod of dolphins 1000-2000 strong, which Crash says is an incredible thing to see from the air. The dolphins surf the crests of the waves and jump across the bow of the boat, sometimes three or four of them in unison. All to entertain themselves.

Birds to lead us to the bait ball

During one of our snorkels today I jumped into the water and found myself nose-to-nose with an impressive bull shark. I exclaimed through my snorkel and backed away, which is when I discovered that we’d dropped into a pod of them. As we floated they’d approach, curious, then leave to find tastier options. There were copper shark and bull shark of various shapes and sizes, as well as an interesting but unidentifiable shark with two diagonal stripes on the shank but we couldn’t locate it in the shark book. Shark identification is like bird watching, and we often converse with the other dinner guests about which species we can cross off our individual lists. Bird watching, with the added twist of potentially becoming their lunch.

Humpback Wave

Boat Humor

Later this afternoon we pulled alongside Kevin’s boat while we all watched two large humpbacks roll through the water. From my perch on the crow’s nest I could hear music coming from Kevin's boat.

“çois!” I exclaimed.

“What?”

“How come SEAL 5 gets a radio?”

“What? Why?”

“You won’t even entertain us with stories, and they get a radio? That’s so wrong.”

Kevin called out, “This is the Rock ‘n Roll boat. SEAL 2 isn’t Rock N Roll.”

A short while later we heard music over the walkie-talkie. Kevin had put the radio up to the microphone and was playing music for us, so çois took the walkie-talkie and spun it around his head.

“Surround sound.” He quipped.

There have been times on this trip that my stomach aches from laughter.

Surround Sound, çois-style

The storm moved in and the water activity had minimalized, so we landed on the beach around 2:30 – chilled to the bone from riding around the cold wind. After a hot shower and lunch, I took my journal to the loungey area near the fireplace and promptly fell asleep beneath a thick wool blanket. The other night someone remarked – as we huddled around the fireplace – that our sundowners become more like “après skis” every day. The chill makes us forget we’re in Africa.

Evening Activities

Before dinner was a slideshow where the photographers showed the pictures they’d taken over the last few weeks. It’s amazing to see how people view the world through a lens. They’ve had access to the same action I have, but they managed to capture the beauty, magic, and grace of the marine life in gorgeous stills. Hopefully I’ll get copies of these shots soon.

A man named John Castello came into the bar (Nic calls him “The Major of Port St John’s”) with his newly published book Mkambati and the Wild Coast. It’s a coffee table book of pictures and information about the local area and the Sardine Run. I’m not particularly fond of coffee table books because – hello – no coffee table. But these pictures capture the beauty of my week here. I bought it and had it autographed and will find it a place of honor somewhere in my tiny apartment.

My evening ended as they all have at Mboyti: in the bar. çois challenged me to a game of beer pong, which we modified for my glass of red wine and his rum and coke. Since neither of us is particularly adept at ping-pong, the only person who had to drink was me – and that was because I’d accidentally bounced the ball into my own wine glass.

The lights went out because of a fierce thunderstorm passing through the area, so the view from our seaside window was filled with long stretches of lightning and clouds. Evvy and I navigated our messy room with our torches, then climbed into bed and laughed about the antics of the evening until we were snorting with giggles. “Our neighbors are going to kill us.” She said, but that didn’t stop us from laughing and talking well into the night.

The next morning Kevin, our neighbor next door, joked over breakfast, “It’s not often I hear two beautiful women giggling in bed. I almost came over to ask if I could join the fun.”

6.27: Whitecaps

2006-06-27T10:16:00.000-04:00

A Sardine Run Day! The winds were horribly strong, but the staff was determined to get the boats out and we – the guests – didn’t care if we saw a single bait ball. We just wanted to be on the water.

çois, as always, navigated the boat into prime launch positioning and navigated the breakers with sublime skill before turning us north to find action. No luck. We turned southward. Still no luck. The weather forecast called for afternoon winds of 65 knots – gale force – so the day was certain to be cut short due to poor conditions. We found birds diving south of Mboyti and, though the visibility was too poor to see anything, this is where a majority of the SEAL boats congregated.

"Seen any action?"

We snorkeled for all of two minutes, quickly realizing that there’s nothing to see when you can’t see a damn thing in poor visibility. But we still had a number of compelling moments, like the 6-7 sharks feeding off a small bait ball near the surface; their fins and tails slapping the water as they fought over lunch.

Sharks Feeding (lower right hand corner)

Another compelling moment was when a baby hammerhead skimmed just beneath the waves by our boat. We called it “gannet food”.

Later a massive bird surfed the wind over SEAL 2, floating almost perfectly still three feet above our heads.

A French film crew is here, hovering above the action in a helicopter. Apparently they’re capturing footage for an IMAX film. That should be thrilling if it’s ever released, but I hear they've been filming for the past three years so I'm not expecting to see it anytime soon.

Finally, there was Davey in SEAL 1, who begged us to throw him an extra sandwich since their cooler came out one meal short. Lots of razzing involved because it’s Davey and we love to torture him.

SEAL 1 (with Davey)

Whitecaps and Self-Reflection

After a few hours on the water it was apparent that the action wasn’t getting better and the weather was getting much worse. All the SEAL boats turned north toward Mboyti for the long trip home. The wind had kicked the waves into large swells and whitecaps and – despite çois expertly navigating the rollers – the ride into the wind was bone-jarring, spine-crushing, teeth-rattling, and soaking wet. Waves crashed over the sides and drenched us, occasionally with enough force to push me out of my perch on the starboard side. After a particularly rough wave crash I turned to Ulrich and yelled over the wind with a smile, “If it weren’t for these foot straps, I wouldn’t be in this boat right now!” And I loved every minute of it. I lost count of the number of times our boat caught air, but each time we did I laughed out loud.

As we bounced past the hills of the Wild Coast I realized that I feel different. Alive. Vibrant. Happy. It occurred to me that I haven’t felt this alive in years. Three years, four months, and ten days, to be precise. I’ve been caught somewhere between existing and breathing – but this is what truly living is like. I’d completely forgotten, and the constant, unfettered joy that’s emerged is something I haven’t felt in years. There’s no weight or pressure. Just delight.

Yesterday Ant made an observation, looking at me through the rearview mirror of his Land Rover, “Even when you’re not smiling,” he said, “You’re still smiling.” I guess I am, but I can’t help it. I’m just so damned thrilled to be here. I don’t want to leave.

Magwa Falls

After a quick lunch, the group went to Magwa Falls for Sundowner. Magwa is a beautiful, multi-tiered water structure on the edge of a 300-foot gorge. I scampered about the ridge, capturing whatever pictures I could in the fading light. Nic showed me that – if I took off my shoes – I could walk safely across the rocks to the very edge of the falls and look down. It seemed like almost the edge of the earth and further romanticized Africa for me. I’m a goner, I think. This country has sucked me in.

My toes - close to the edge of the falls

6.26: Muddy Adventures

2006-06-26T10:05:00.000-04:00

Landlocked again today. We all convened on the beach in our wetsuits – ready to launch – while the staff conferred. But the waves were too large and the breakers too close to shore, which meant no room for the boats to gain ground. A shame because, aside from the wind, the weather was lovely and we were all wanting to be wet today. But it was not to be.

Muddy Adventure – Take One

Later Evvy and I sat by the fire, bored, reading our books when çois came to tell us the group plans for the day: lunch, then a group walk to see a Zulu Medicine Man. He said, “Antony and I have to go pull a truck out of the mud, but we’ll be back soon.”

“Okay.” We replied, and went back to our books.

He returned one minute later. “Listen, this truck thing might be a bit of an adventure. Do you…”

We were out of our seats before he’d even finished his sentence. Of course we wanted to! Anything to get out and do something for the day. Within minutes we were tucked into the back seat of Antony’s Land Rover. Me between Andy and Evvy, çois riding shotgun, and Ant driving. Rob Thomas blasted from the speakers as we four-wheeled our way down muddy, almost impassible African roads. Antony – it turns out – is a professional Land Rover driver who trains other drivers how to four-wheel. Lucky for us, since some of the roads were two feet thick with mud. I'd have gotten us stuck before we even left the lodge.

Along the way we arrived at a one-lane bridge that crossed over a small river. Ant veered right, rolling down the hill and through the rocky riverbed. “African truck wash.” he said dryly, his eyes crinkling in the rearview mirror.

We drove to the cell tower where the truck – which belongs to one of the local microlight pilots – was stuck deep in the mud. We parked on a hill overlooking the dirty debacle, and the boys hemmed and hawed and tossed all sorts of boy-like phrases back and forth before determining this was no use without the keys to the truck and, since the driver was in his microlight, we’d have to find another way to amuse ourselves. Disappointing, since Evvy and I had our cameras at the ready and a small group of locals had convened to watch the truck-removal antics.

Stuck Truck

Instead we took pictures of the Wild Coast view, teased çois, bemoaned the three massive bait balls we could see from the shore, and then Ant decided to give the truck a try. We stayed up on the hill and watched as he expertly drove his Land Rover down some tricky hills – one of which was easily a 45 degree angle. When he reached the stuck truck, he attached his winch and pulled but the thick mud had formed a tight seal around the tires so moving wasn’t an option without additional leverage. We tabled the pull for later and climbed into the truck for our drive back to Mboyti.

Our four-wheeling trip concluded on a hill overlooking the ocean and Mboyti with a round of “Black Label” beers that çois procured from a tin shack. This shack (or maybe it was a shanty) seemed to act as a sort of drive-by-convenience store that sold surprisingly cold beers. Drinks in hand, we sat in the afternoon soon and told offensive jokes that had us rolling with hilarity.

Muddy Adventure – Take Two

Back at the lodge we passed the time with a late lunch and chatting with some of the other Sardine Runners until the boys had collected all they needed for the next truck-saving attempt. After a few hours Ant and çois appeared with the missing microlight pilot and gave us the “let’s go” nod. We stopped to load up some wooden fence posts as leverage before heading to the scene of the crime. This time Ant didn’t stop on the road above, but continued down the steep incline – at 45 degrees – without even missing a beat. As the truck tilted at precarious angles and on uneven surfaces, Evvy and I traded a look that clearly said, “holy shit!” Our fingers clenched around various grips in the truck.

Ant, who hadn’t batted an eyelash at being slanted over to the right with barely a two-wheel balance, chuckled at us through the rearview mirror. “This is the most quiet you two have been all day.”

My attempt at capturing Ant's driving skills

Of course we arrived safe and sound, and I wanted to do it all over again.

The truck de-sticking involved three trucks, four men, three women, five cameras, and a slew of locals who emerged from their huts for the afternoon’s entertainment. The boys positioned some boards in the mud and placed a car jack on top to leverage the truck upwards so the tires cleared the mud and there was room for the fence posts to be place underneath. Once this was done, Ant reattached the winch and pulled the pickup free.

Jacking up the Truck

Free At Last

We “supervisors” climbed in the Land Rover and we began our path back up the 45-degree hill to return to the road.

Because we now had three dirty trucks there was a bit of a backup at the African Truck Wash which, incidentally, also doubled as a foot wash for our boys who were covered in thick gobs of mud.

African Truck Wash

Ant, çois, Evvy and I celebrated our successful truck de-sticking with a Sundowner next to the tin shack/shanty/convenience store. Another round of Black Label beer bottles were ordered and we sat on the hill in the setting sun, watching the bait balls in the ocean and wishing we’d been on the water, but entertaining each other with jokes of terribly poor taste.

What Ails You?

There’s a stomach bug picking off the guests one by one over the past few days. Discussions at dinner involve naming everyone who’s been afflicted and still down for the count, and those who have yet to be socked with it.

As çois says, “It’s gone all pear-shaped.” Which I now add to my vocabulary to mean, “it’s all sorts of wacked.”

6.25: African Walkabout

2006-06-25T09:59:00.000-04:00

Evvy’s alarm was possessed last night. She’d set it for 5:45 but it went off at 2:45. Then – again – at 5:15. And finally at 5:45. So we were more than ready to get up for our early 7AM boat launch.

The Best Laid Plans

Unfortunately our grand plans of sunrise bait balls were thwarted by a cold front with 30-knot winds. çois said we could wait in the lounge and we’d re-assess an hour later but we opted to stay on the shore to observe the massive baptism the locals were doing in the surf. The women sang to the beat of the drum while the priest led his flock into the crashing waves, anointing them one by one.

Baptism on the Beach

In the end our boat trip was cancelled so the crew and guests were all stranded – unwilling landlubbers for the day. Renall – the acupuncturist/masseuse on staff – gave me an hour-long massage during which she cured my lower back of all its horseback riding woes.

During lunch there was an impromptu photo show by the photographers of the group. Eric Cheng runs and edits the well-known website WetPixel, and he brought a group of his photographer friends to take photos of the Sardine Run activity. He has an impressive portfolio of stock photos with shots of tiny marine life I couldn’t find on a good day of diving. Much less shoot through a macro lens. The artistry was amazing.

Rainy Walk

I napped a bit after lunch and then joined Davey – one of our DMs – Matt, Cliff, and Gary on a hike through the local village and among steep hills. It poured on and off, but we hardly cared. The scenery was stunning, and when else will we have the opportunity to hike oceanside hills in Africa?

We topped the crest of one of the hills with a burst of sunlight backed by an oncoming rainstorm. The result was two brilliant rainbows, perfectly parallel to one another and fully stretched from one end of their arc to the other. Another moment of sentimentality and poetry. I lay on the wet ground (my jeans were already soaked – what’s another mud puddle?) to try to capture the entire rainbow in my camera lens but I couldn’t without a wide angle. Instead I lay on my back, looking at the beautiful colors and being introspective. Rainbows do that to you.

Me and the rainbow

We walked back along the beach and found the Mboyti River slightly uncrossable without submerging ourselves in deep water, though Gary plunged through. Davy, Matty, Cliff and I took the longer route through the hills and another sudden downpour. We were absolutely soaked when we arrived at the lodge, and that hot shower never felt so comforting.

6.24: Bait Balls

2006-06-24T09:53:00.000-04:00

Our Own Bait Ball

The dive mission of the day was to find ourselves the dream bait ball. There had been one offshore early this morning but it was long before we’d launched.

I sat for a bit in the crow’s nest – the “lookout chair” – where the goal is to scan the horizon for bird activity. Swooping and diving birds is always an excellent sign of a bait ball of sardines. There were dense collections of birds flying about, but rarely were they concentrated enough to signify a bait ball. When a bait ball appears, the birds (usually Gannets) dive into the water with unbelievable speed and agility, and the ocean shows moments of utter chaos as birds dive, dolphins swim, and sharks swarm.

Gannets diving into a baitball

We add to the chaos by jumping in and snorkeling about, trying to stick as close together as possible so a shark doesn’t mistake us for an overly-large fishy lunch. Once we found a smaller bait ball beneath us – perhaps 5x5 – that swam in all directions before finally disappearing after twenty minutes. çois says the baitballs can be so big that we can sometimes dive with them for hours. That's a dream for a group of divers who have yet to see any significant diving. Each time we spot a potential bait ball, we throw on our snorkel gear and hop into the water. After ten minutes of snorkeling our little bait balls will swim away and we climb back into SEAL 2 where we look for the next sighting. Today was a lot of in-and-out of the water – but all was worthwhile.

On one of our entries we landed almost directly on top of a Bryde’s Whale which surprised all of us, but probably the whale most. It was chaotic hilarity, since we all simultaneously exclaimed through our snorkels, the whale freaked and quickly sped away, and çois was up on the surface panicking about it taking out his boat. “Look out for the boat, Big Girl!”

“That’s Why They Call It The Wild Coast”

When activity on the north side quieted down, we boated forty-five minutes south because there was talk of action there. This trip is certainly not for the faint-hearted. As çois flies our little zodiac through the rough ocean at full speed, we catch waves and smack roughly on the other side of the water. And if you’re not holding on through the foot straps or the hand grips then you’ll certainly fly out of the boat. But this is exactly what we all came for – the exhilaration, the speed, the adrenaline, and the constant feeling of beauty.

On our speedy flight south we passed two massive humpback whales which çois slowed to see. We stayed to watch for a few minutes and “ewwed “ each time they broke the surface, but soon we were antsy to go. “This is what it’s like, Chaps!” çois joked, “You’ve got stuff here, you’ve got stuff down south, and you have to figure out what you want.”

“South!” We said. Because who cares about two silly humpbacks when you have millions of fish waiting for you? Three days of this and we’re already jaded.

Three Humbpack Whales

Horseback Riding

We were the last boat to land today around 2:30. At 3:30 I went horseback riding on the beach with the Pan Aqua group. We traveled North along the coastline crossing three sandy beaches and two rocky hillsides that offered plummeting views of waves crashing against rocks. I’ve never been on horseback before and I did pretty well for a first-timer. I felt comfortable enough that, by the end, I’d urged my horse into a little canter (or was it a trot?) along the beach in the setting sun. The foremost thought in my head was, “I’m in Africa. Riding on a horse. On the beach.” It was like something out of a romance novel.

Jokes of Poor Taste

Dinner was a long, noisy affair with Evelyn (now “Evvy”), çois, and Andy – the staff paramedic. Andy specializes in jokes that reach far beyond the realm of tasteful company and into a world of blue, sophomoric, curl-your-toes humor. Evvy and I could barely speak we were laughing so hard. He told us his “joke of the week”, which involves a facial expression and something he does with his hands and can’t possibly be described through simple grammar, but it’s enough to say that my stomach hurt from laughter. I have no retention for jokes and am enthralled by people who can reel them off the top of their heads, weaving them into conversation with natural ease.

Our Night of Jokes moved into the bar for an extended Sundowner, though the sun had long since gone down.

6.23: Humpback Whales

2006-06-23T09:36:00.000-04:00

I swam with humpback whales today.

I’ve never seen one in the wild, and they are abundant along the Wild Coast this time of year. We spotted the first from the zodiac and rode along its side watching as it arched powerfully through the water, its huge back and fins emerging for a deep breath of air. Hundreds of dolphins leaped about it and played through our wake as we circled and took pictures. François quickly positioned SEAL 2 in the general area of the humpback’s path, telling us to put on our snorkel gear and to quietly slip into the water. Evelyn, Ulrich and I floated together on the surface and then – through the blue – emerged this massive, beautiful whale. Ten feet from us. It looked at us with a large eye before diving deep, deep, deep where it could dive in peace.

Evelyn took this amazing picture seconds before it dove. This is how close we were.

Moments of poetry. If I had the words, I’d put them into stanzas and verses. Suffice it to say that these are memories that will live forever.

An hour later we found three humpbacks and François dropped us in again. The visibility was rough underwater, but this didn’t dissipate the heart-stopping moment when the three large whales passed beneath us and gracefully disappeared in the blue. I doubt I’ll ever have an experience like this in my entire life. This trip has already paid for itself tenfold.

Once today, we were surrounded by thousands of dolphins that surfed the waves and leaped in groups of three or four at a time.

To end our four-hour excursion, we trailed a pod of five humpbacks as they crested the waves and spouted their monstrous breaths. François likes to get up close to them, egging on their actions with his South African humor, “Come on, Big Girl!” Or… “What’s the plan here, Chaps? You going to breathe? Where you going?” The regulations in South Africa normally prevent this close proximity, but those rules are relaxed for Sardine Runners. I suppose that once the industry gains momentum and popularity the regulations will be enforced again. For now I’ll take full advantage of my two snorkel trips with the whales as well as the dozens of pictures I took while we coasted next to the beauties.

Whale Wave

Microlight Flight with Crash

The pilot of our microlight plane is named Crash – a testament to the South African dive staff’s sharp sense of humor since his name is really Kai, but it’s much more fun to call him "Crash". So we do. Since the sun was out and I was having such a lovely day, I asked François to radio Crash so I could take my microlight ride today. Moments later, Crash landed on the beach together we took a brilliant twenty-minute flight above the Wild Coast.

Takeoff of Microlight with Crash

The Wild Coast of South Africa

It made me remember the last microlight flight I took over Victoria Falls in 2001, when I was too tense to do more than hold on. With Crash, though, I had my camera out and snapped multiple pictures of the gorgeous coastline. Before we landed Crash did a few roller coaster air tricks and spiraled the microlight down to the beach for a smooth landing.

Sundowner

We had “Sundowner” (South Africa’s version of “après ski”) at nearby Frasier Falls. The staff packed two coolers full of beverages and we wandered around various paths, snapping pictures of the fading light. They say that “Africa gets in your blood”, and I’d forgotten how true that is. I find myself romanticized by this place and the people here. The stars alone make it worthwhile. One of the two buses left early, but a small group of us elected to stay and drink wine in the tall grass while John Cougar Mellencamp played from Nic’s truck. We located the Southern Cross but had no idea how to interpret the southern direction from its corners. Someone else pointed toward the Milky Way and noticed that the stars are so bright here that we can actually see molecular clouds where the stars are blacked out. Amazing.

After two hours in the African winter night, my toes were frigid and my attempt at warmth-through-wine-consumption wasn’t working as successfully as I’d hoped. Nic put me into his truck and turned on the floor heater. “For your foot fingers.” He joked. When it was time to leave, he climbed into the driver’s side and Ulrich and Brad (one of the DMs) got into the back, and we four-wheeled our way back to Mobyti to the sounds of Johnny Cash, John Cougar, and my uncontrollable laughter. I can’t recall the last time I’ve laughed so freely and joyfully.

At dinner Evelyn and I amused ourselves with François (henceforth to be called “çois”), who had consumed a ridiculous amount of brandy after docking the boat. He sat at the head of table between Brad and Chris – two of the newest DMs whom çois refers to as “The Puppies” - and made us laugh with hysterical jokes and phrases. This trip is already full of tidbits I need to write down – most of which will mean nothing to anyone but me, Evelyn, and whoever was there at the time, but I’m noting them here for my own enjoyment:

Foot Fingers – because why should they be called just “toes”?
Candy Jammies – the ridiculously pink tank pj set I bought in Durban when my luggage was lost. No one but Evelyn will ever see them since they’re borderline obscene, and she has dubbed them “the candy jammies”
Pancake Sleeping – Evelyn’s phrase for the flopping back and forth in bed when we can’t sleep
Why NOT? – çois’s question for… well… just about everything
Hobos – Afrikan for “lots and lots”

My night finished with Neville, a 49-year old skipper from northern South Africa who has a wife and a nine-year old daughter named Jamie. He has a sharp wit but a very warm heart and a deep, complex voice. He runs a dive shop in Sidwana Bay up north, where he teaches “Reef Teach” classes to educate people about life underwater, but he came down for the Sardine Run because it’s good money and because “Nic runs a good operation”. I have to agree. I’m already in love with this whole experience.

6.22: The Sardine Run

2006-06-22T09:29:00.000-04:00

Evelyn and I woke at 6:30 (oy – jetlag!) for breakfast and our dive briefing. Nic – the owner of SEAL Expeditions – introduced the staff, talked about the procedures, and split us into boat groups. Evelyn and I are in “SEAL 2” with part of the Pan Aqua group, a man named Jim from Portland, and our skipper François and Dive Master Ulrich. We got our gear together, suited up in our wetsuits (a woman named Lesley has kindly loaned me one of her bathing suits to wear under mine since I've no clothes), and headed down to the beach where the staff was preparing the launch.

African Shore Launch

Our boats are large Zodiacs that fit 8-10 divers, and the launch involves a series of tricky maneuvers on the part of the skipper. The boat is loaded from the shore, we jump in, and François navigates the 5-6 foot breakers until he finds a safe entry into the blue. It’s an exhilarating experience that’s compounded by the intensity of an oncoming storm. The waves were rough and SEAL 2 caught air at least twice before landing beyond the breakers. We were the first boat out, and I’d learn later that the divers on the shore watched our progress with great interest, likening it to something “very National Geographic”.

François in SEAL2 on the shore

SEAL 2 flew into the rough waves, spraying us with cold salt water and soaking us through our full wetsuits. Remember that this is winter in South Africa and, while “winter” here is a mild 50-70 degrees, it’s damn cold on the water. I found myself wishing for my thick windbreaker that I’d smartly packed somewhere inside my missing backpack. Hopefully miracles still happen.

François found a spot on the ocean that was a little less rough than the rest (read: 4’ swells rather than 6-10’ swells). We took the time to suit up in our scuba gear for a brief dive and weight check to ensure we’re properly weighted when the time comes that we spot a mass of sardines.

This is where I should describe what diving the Sardine Run is like. We cruise the ocean in our zodiac, fully suited in wetsuits, scuba gear at the ready, and try to spot a shoal of sardines. There’s a microlight pilot who cruises the shoreline for the same purpose and radios back any activity (also known as “bait balls”) he sees so we can zip over and watch. If and when we find sardine activity, we must be prepared to jump in quickly before it moves away. This is, after all, nature. There are no guarantees that we’ll see anything and – if we do – it’s likely to happen fast. Evelyn says they’ve mostly snorkeled since the sardines move quickly away before they’ve put on their scuba gear. Doesn’t matter to me. I just want to see some sharks and whales. But there were no bait balls today, and the weather was cold, cloudy, and windy so we called it an early day and headed back to the lodge for a late lunch.

African Shore Landing

The beach landing is the reverse of the launch, and meant that François “surfed” the zodiac back into the beach. Before we landed, he joked that “the boat is equipped with ABS breaks, so don’t worry when it gets bumpy”. A true statement – we sped full speed to the sand and skidded to a stop just beyond the shoreline. Quite smooth.

Mbyoti River Area

I took an extended nap in the afternoon and wrote in my journal before helping myself to a glass of red wine at the bar and socializing with the rest of the guests. They are from various places and all walks of life, and this is precisely why I love diving… so many interesting people to meet. I learned over dinner that Skip and Susan used to race cars. He had a Lotus (!) that they once got up to 150 mph in a road race in Nevada. Did I mention earlier that I feel provincial? Now I need to add “race obscenely expensive sportscars” to the things I should do before I die.

Oh, my luggage arrived! All is right with the world.

6.19-6.21: Travel to Africa

2006-06-21T09:20:00.000-04:00

"You're Doing What?"

Last year I picked up a flyer at my dive shop Pan Aqua Dive Center that summarized a trip they were planning to South Africa for the Sardine Run. For a few weeks every year, millions of sardines travel north through the ocean off South Africa’s coast. This event in and of itself is hardly worth a 25-hour flight, but the predators that hunt the sardines are a sight to behold. Sharks, whales, dolphins and birds arrive by the thousands to feed off large shoals of sardines, creating an experience unlike anything else in the world. When I first heard about this I thought, “Well. That’s just crazy.” My friends weren’t interested, and my “Places to See List” didn’t include another trip to Africa right away. But for whatever reason, I posted the flyer for the Sardine Run on the wall of my cubicle at work and soon after I’d promised myself I’d go. Life is too short to turn down these experiences. Deposits were made, airplane tickets purchased, new gear procured, and I was off for another adventure.

The Trip

The trip to Africa was a rather long and arduous one, which began with a delay at JFK that required us to sit on the runway for two hours while rain traveled through the area. I spent the time slightly anxiety-ridden that I’d miss my 2.5 hour window in Amsterdam to catch my flight to Johannesburg. The next flight wouldn’t leave until 24 hours later, robbing me of a crucial sardine run day. But we took off in just enough time for me to bolt through Amsterdam Airport and to board the 10-hour flight to Jo’burg. I’m a terrible airplane sleeper, so I was bleary-eyed and exhausted when I met my roommate, Bernadette, with whom I’d spend the night in the Johannesburg Southern Sun.

One Bag Short

The next morning we boarded a lovely hour-long flight into Durban, where I’d locate my scuba bag but not my luggage. I had my backpack in Jo’burg so I knew it was still in the country. And while this ordinarily wasn’t a serious problem, the situation was slightly complicated as we were liaising with our tour group for a four hour drive to the Wild Coast. So I had no clothes. No toiletries. No bathing suits. No medication. No sunscreen. I stopped by the airport drugstore to purchase the essentials and a few spare shirts and underwear. I also decided to let the first tour bus leave in favor of waiting at the airport for a few more hours for the next group and – hopefully – my luggage. Now I know… I know… my proximity to the airport has no correlation to the delivery of my backpack, but I felt the need to be even just a little in control. As it turn out, this was a smart choice since the last bus was significantly less full and the ride much more comfortable. I had no clothes, but I did have a seat all to myself.

On the bus we had a plethora of interesting people to keep me entertained and distracted from the lack of belongings:

Dave – our guide and Dive Master

Matt – a photographer from Atlanta

Skip and Sue – a couple of doctors from Las Vegas

Kevin – an entrepreneur from Jupiter, Florida

Lesley and Mark – a couple from Melbourne, Florida

Ken – a retired photographer

Extreme Vacations

We are all with SEAL Expeditions – the organization that organized this Sardine Run excursion. I’ve always thought of myself as adventurous spirit and a well-traveled soul, but the people on this trip make me feel almost provincial. Ken has been to dive sites teeming with tiger sharks. Skip and Sue have worked on scuba research vessels. Kevin has traveled to countries I can’t even pronounce. My trip around the world is practically “predictable” compared to these people. And – as a result – my “Places to See List” is going to grow exponentially. Apparently I need to win the lottery.

We arrived at the Mboyti River Lodge (pronounced Mm-boy-kee) shortly after 7:30. It’s a lovely resorty area with a collection of cabins and facilities located just on the edge of the Indian Ocean. SEAL Expeditions has essentially taken over the place since there are thirty-two of us in total, seventeen of whom are from Pan Aqua Dive Center. So the dinner table was full of scuba stories, shark sightings, and exotic memories.

My roommate, Evelyn, is from LA and – like everyone else here – an adventure seeker and avid scuba diver. She’s an anesthesiologist who takes three months off every year to visit places like Antarctica and Kokos Island. She’s absolutely hysterical, and has been here for two weeks already so she knows the dive staff very well. This is already turning out to be a fun trip, despite the luggage debacle.

Red House Reunion

2006-05-07T12:04:00.000-04:00

My third year of college, I lived in a big red house with 14 girls, 9 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms (yeah, you read that correctly), 1 rat, and – depending on who you speak with – one slightly quirky ghost. I didn’t know these girls well when we moved in that summer, but within a few months they taught me what having true friends was like... true friends love you for your quirks and craziness, as well as for your strengths. And we actually relish (and perhaps feed off of) each others’ quirks and craziness.

Because of our big red house we were known as “The Red House Girls”. Everything was branded: our parties, our language, our ridiculous jokes. It carried over to our last year, when we moved into a swankier place which we dubbed “The Taj”. But we were still and always will be the Red House Girls, because no matter how much time has passed (fourteen years – gah!), or how many Red House Husbands are married in (eight), or how many Petite Reds are born (seven, with three more on the way), I know I can always pick up the phone and call a Red House Girl to catch up

We get together at least once a year for a Red House Reunion, where we giggle about times gone by or laugh at the most recent antics that never seem to diminish in style or panache regardless of our *ahem* maturity. It’s true our conversations have evolved from when we used to talk about the boys we’ve met. Now we talk about the Petite Reds, career development, and retirement plans. But the underlying fun is still the same.

Red House Reunion 2006 - Montreal

This year we decided to dust off our passports and meet up in Montreal, Canada. Alicia’s husband’s family is from Montreal so she’s been quite often, which is how she ended up being Julie The Red House Cruise Director for the weekend. What a packed weekend it was, too. I've written up the weekend for the Red House Girls, so here’s more than you ever cared to know about my girls, our various nicknames, and the wacky scrapes we get ourselves into.

Friday, May 5

Alicia ("Nubby") and I were the first to arrive at our hotel on Friday morning, and were delighted to discover that our rooms in the very trendy Hotel Godin were ready for us. Nubby digs this because she "likes to have everything put away when she gets to a new town". Since I had nothing better to do, I put my stuff into drawers while I waited for her.

She showed up with a surprise that she’d arranged for everyone - the clever girl had ordered some adorable t-shirts that read on the front “Viva La Maison Rouge”, and on the back, “Red House 06 Montreal”.

“I know the language is off,” she said, referring to the mixture of Italian and French, “But I liked the international aspect. And “viva” works better with the phrase.” I laughed so hard when I saw them. They were perfect. For years in college we threatened to have baseball caps made with our Red House Symbol on them, but we never got around to it. Now over a decade later it’s finally in print.

We had a number of hours before the rest of the Red Housers arrived and, since it was a beautiful Montreal day, she and I wandered down la Rue St Catherine for window shopping and café au lait. I’ve never been to Montreal, so I was very intrigued to see this lovely part of Quebec. I work with French Canadians often in my job and – I have to be honest – I always assumed their demands to have everything translated into French was simply a reflection of an obstinate culture desperately grasping at a disappearing history. I was wrong (and, in hindsight, terribly close-minded); they really do speak French in Montreal and, though they’re more than willing to speak English when needed, French is their official and primary language. Quebecois is different from Parisian French – which is what I’m used to hearing – so I’ll chalk up my lack of understanding to accent changes. Yeah. That’s the ticket.

Lunch a la Red House

The Red House girls arrived around 12:30 or so, and Alicia had made lunch reservations for us at Café Vasco da Gama which is where we happily reunited. There are seven out of ten of us total for this reunion:

From L to R: Whit (preggo with number 3), Allison (preggo with number 1), Me (not preggo, but looking it in this pic), Elizabeth, Alicia, Jess, and Robin

We had a great time catching up, eating, and drinking (well… those of us not knocked up, that is). At 4:00 we left to get to the Spa St James for our much-anticipated spa treatment where we indulged in facials, massages, and a mud wrap or two. We laughed when we all met in the reception area, because each of us emerged from our treatment rooms with a look of dazed relaxation. I certainly needed a little while to recover from my facial-induced nap. Quality.

Spontaneous Walking Tour

Some of the ladies taxied back to the hotel, but Jess, Elizabeth, Allison and I decided to return via our own mini walking tour, which Allison led from the pages of her Lonely Planet. We started off well – learning about buildings and key historical landmarks. Especially this one which we though very appropriate:

Elizabeth, Allison, and Jess in front of “The Taj“

But of course, we’re Red House girls so nothing ever goes according to plan. Soon we’d taken a wrong turn and abandoned the Lonely Planet walking tour altogether. We found ourselves in a town-hall-like park, standing in front of a majestic building with absolutely no idea what it was.

What the...

This caused quite a bit of razzing for Allison, whose Lonely Planet proved to be very lonely since it couldn’t tell us a damn thing. But then Wig (Elizabeth – I have a difficult time calling her by her real name) made up a story to make us happy… something about Queen Hossenfeffer who travel to Montreal to buy furs, and stayed in the building with an entourage of ladies-in-waiting and potentially a boy two or two. I like Wig’s story better than the one told by a passing tourist, who explained that the building was something-or-other that I can’t remember because Queen Hossenfeffer is ever more entertaining

Dinner

Dinner was at Buonna Notte, a cool restaurant close to our hotel. We met for drinks beforehand and that’s when Nubby gave us another surprise. Our token Red House Boy – Chip (aka “Baguette”) had come from Atlanta to spend the weekend with us. Baguette traveled with us to Miami in 2001 for Nubby’s bachelorette party – so he’s a lovely fixture in our Red House reunions.

Baguette and Nubby

After a few drinks at this trendy restaurant we quickly discovered what a surreal environment we were in. The place turns into a nightclub after 11:30, and since our reservations were at 9:30 we got to watch the scene evolve. This is why it was surreal. The place was full of good-looking, single, STRAIGHT men. Like, every single table was full of them. Ours was one of maybe three tables of women. The rest of the place was bursting with gorgeous testosterone.

Baguette did a little reconnaissance mission and discovered that this place – with its gorgeous, well-dressed, young waitresses – is really an “upscale Hooters”. One of the waitstaff told him that they actually had to try out for the position. Still not sure what that means, but we didn’t exactly wait around to find out. Despite the gorgeous boys, we weren’t there for them - we were there for a RH Reunion. In fact, no one in the group is “single” so after the music cranked up and the club scene got going, we took that as our cue to go. The host was very unhappy to see us leave since there was clearly a shortage of women in the place, but we were determined to leave and made our way past the loooong line of men waiting outside the door. I have to wonder what their formula was. Aside from gorgeous waitresses, how exactly does one lure gobs of successful, good looking men in one place? The mind boggles.

Saturday, May 6

Saturday was cold and rainy, rainy, rainy, but that didn’t stop us from heading out for a tour of Montreal. We stopped first at the Contemporary Art Museum, which unfortunately had only two exhibits open. One of which involved a number of films by Pascal Grandmaison that creepily reminded Allison of “The Ring” so we sped through those rooms pretty quickly. But at least we were dry.

Preparing to leave la Musee

Afterwards we went to the Basilica of Notre Dame which was absolutely lovely. Jess pointed out to me that it was designed after Saint Chapelle in Paris, whose stained glass windows I love.

Allison, Jess, Alicia. And Whit in the basilica – which you unfortunately can’t see in the background

Private Luncheon

By this time we were cold, wet, and ready for lunch. We trudged our way through Old Montreal and landed at Cube Restaurant for a 1PM reservation. Because it’s in a hotel and this was hardly peak season, we had the entire restaurant to ourselves and proceeded to make ourselves right at home on the comfy, dry couches where we ordered drinks and lounged. When lunch was served we moved to the table to eat.

Whit, Chip, Robin, Alicia, Wig, Allison, and Jess

Then we moved back to the couches for a little longer until the rain let up for our Old Montreal Walking Tour. Wig led this one, reading from her guide book while the peanut gallery giggled and poked fun in the background. Everything gave us something to laugh at, like the word “Youville”, which for some reason was absolutely hysterical:

“Youville”? What’s that?

Wig, Robin, Alicia, and Whit walking up a lovely Montreal street

* Red House Portrait *

Whit, Jess, Alicia, Wig, Robin, Heidi, Chip, and Allison in front of... some square

Mount Royal

Part of the group motivated to Mount Royal, which is Montreal’s “central park”, but Chip and Robin wanted to shop, and my roomie Allison and I opted to head back to the hotel. As she and I were stepping into the lobby she said, “Do you think we’re going to regret not going to Mount Royal?” And I said, “I’m kind of already regretting it.” We turned right around and hopped in a taxi. The driver dropped us off at a lovely overlook of the city so we snapped few pictures and turned around to find the driver had already left. *sniff* We couldn’t get another taxi, so we boarded a city bus that took us back into town where we could find a hotel-bound taxi.

Allison a la Mount Royal

Kentucky Derby

Back at the hotel, the girls had congregated in Jess and Whitney’s room to watch the Kentucky Derby. Six of us huddled together on the two beds and arbitrarily chose our horses based on their names and/or stories. Robin looked up from her fashion magazine long enough to say, “I want the one in the pink blanket.” The pink blanket was actually Barbaro, who won the whole damn thing. Too bad she didn’t put money on it. Brother Derek was my pick since he was slated to be the Seabiscuit of 2006, and obviously that strategy worked well for me *snort*. * Note to self: never bet on horse races.*

Derby Fans, sans large floppy hats

Dinner at Rosalie

Rosalie Restaurant is a lovely French bistro that was – much like the night before – populated by stunningly gorgeous waitresses who were actually quite nice. We stopped at the bar for drinks, where a gorgeous bartender with *ahem* impressive assets served us cocktails. Seriously. I couldn’t stop staring at her. They were practically perfect.

Aside from the bartender’s breasts the food was delicious. We over-ordered a seafood appetizer special which was unfortunate because (a) it filled us up and we had no room for dinner, and (b) since it was the “special” we had no idea how much it cost until the bill arrived. We were shocked by the price. Per person, the appetizer was as much as the main course. * Another note to self: next time don’t be shy about asking the price before ordering * Eh. It was still delish.

And while I’m on the subject of restaurants, each place we went for dinner and lunch was *more* than willing to split up the check between the eight of us. They actually offered to do it – as if they do this on a daily basis for all their customers. It was such a lovely thing not to have to worry how to split the bill among X people. They did it for us – and we were so happy what with all the no adding and multiplying. It hurts our pretty heads.

Sunday, May 7

My flight left at 11:50 on Sunday, so we had a little quality Red House time over breakfast at the hotel. I’m always so sad to leave the girls. It feels like, by the time we’ve slid back into our comfortable routines, the weekend is over and we have to go. But there’s always next year.

We’ve made a list of all the places we want to go for future Red House Reunions which I’ve tried to capture:

Kentucky Derby, Louisville KY
Savannah, GA
San Antonio, TX
Austin, TX
Napa, CA (though this will have to include the Red House Husbands since Sam will be jealous)
Mexico (perhaps with the Petite Reds)
Mobile, AL (as soon as Sam and Wig get the beach house built… I’m just sayin…)