I arrived in Johannesburg on June 11, 2002, ready for my second African journey. I had been dreaming of Africa ever since 1996 when I had visited East and Central Africa on safari and to trek the majestic Mountain Gorillas in the Democratic Republic of Congo (then Zaïre). I had fallen in love with the continent, the most ethnically diverse, and, arguably the most challenging travelling destination on earth.

As everyone is at the start of a journey, I was anxious, happy, but most of all excited about what lay ahead. From the airport in Johannesburg I went straight to what I thought was the centre of the city (the area around Park Station)ⁱ in order to find a bus that would take me North. Of course, there was nothing on offer leaving that day in a luxury coach and so I had to settle for a “combi”. This is the kind of transport I was expecting to find throughout most of Africa, but even the police stopped me in Park Station to advise me that this was not a safe way to travel and was best avoided. I did not want to wait around Jo’burg for another few days until the first coach left, and so I opted to disregard their advice. I have travelled in combi-style transportation throughout the world and while it is not particularly safe given that only one seat (the front one on the left) ever has a seatbelt, I am quite used to it. I proceeded to the combi stop, waited for the combi to Bulawayo, Zimbabwe to fill up, and was on my way. The hardest part of that journey was trying not to fall asleep after having just flown in the previous night from the U.K. I desperately wanted to sit in the front seat given the extra leg room and seatbelt, but the driver (who had actually just driven the 884 km down from Bulawayo that morning) was trying to keep from falling asleep and claimed having me in the front seat asleep would make him too tired. Luckily, There was another Zimbabwean girl in the middle who talked to the driver on the long ride, thereby allowing me some reprieve.

We crossed the border around 22:00, but there was still another 4 hours to Bulawayo. This part of the trip turned out to be quite enjoyable. In that region (Southeastern Zimbabwe on the Limpopo), we saw both giraffes and lions who were more active because it was night time. When we arrived in Bulawayo, I finally collapsed in to bed at about 3:00.

The next day I was ready to go on to my final Northern destination – Victoria Falls. Only that was no easy task. The guide book implied that there was a lot of transportation available for tourists between the two cities, but it turned out that most of this had evaporated due to a virtual collapse of the tourism industry in Zimbabwe under the Mugabe regime and its reclamation programme for white-held farms and general political scare tactics. Previously many South Africans had made Zimbabwe their holiday destination, but while I was there, I saw only a handful. I checked out several suggestions from the hotel staff and tourist bureau including the one coach line still running, a private guide with jeep,and renting my own car, but all of these turned out to be infrequent or prohibitively expensive. I then realised that I had made a grave error in bringing only a small amount of foreign currency with me. Given that I had seen atms on the Cirrus network throughout South Africa and been told Zimbabwe was the same, I thought I would have no problems making withdrawals. However, what I did not realise was that while the atms were all over in Zimbabwe, the country had been experiencing rapid inflation under the Mugabe regime and the government had implemented a strict control mechanism which meant that Zimbabwean dollars sold at the banks and major financial institutions were being sold at a tenth of their worth on the street. I quickly realised I was in trouble. Nonetheless, I carried on with the money I had.

I eventually found another combi stop just outside of town from which I could get another minibus to take me the 6 hours up to Victoria Falls. After waiting once again for that combi to fill (which took until about 16:00), I was on my way. The combi plied the paved route all the way through the beautiful Hwange region which is famous for its national park, arguably Zimbabwe’s best. We finally arrived in Vic. Falls and once again I collapsed into bed at the Savanna Lodge. I was so excited to see the Falls which I could hear roaring in the distance about 5 km away.

I got up at 6 am in order to walk down to the Falls. Victoria Falls are actually located in both Zimbabwe and Zambia, with the more famous and slightly larger side being in Zimbabwe. However, I thought I would visit the Zambian side first as I usually like to do things in reverse. On the way to the border crossing I was walking along the path through the National Park lands which surround the Falls when I noticed a large male elephant in the vegetation eating. I proceeded to walk closer in order to get a better photo, only to be warned by some local women who said “Madam! There is an elephant right over there!” Intent on my photograph, I told them I would be fine. As I got closer, the elephant seemed undisturbed, until suddenly, when I took one too many steps, he let out a deafening cry and chased me all the way back to the road! I was on the run for about half a kilometre with my camera flying around on its strap. It was quite frightening, but also an exhilarating experience. I learned that elephants like to maintain their personal space, and did not mess with them any more.

I crossed the border and made it to the Zambian side of the Falls. I was glad I had gone as I was the only tourist there. I had the entire park and all of the hiking trails to myself. The views of the Falls (which are also known as Mosi-ou-Tunya locally) were absolutely awesome. The Falls, which are 1.7 km wide, drop between 90 and 107m into the Zambezi Gorge, with an average of 550,000 cubic metres of water going over the edge each minute. However, during the spring, when I visited, the amount of water plummeting over the Falls reaches ten times that amount. This was apparent from the fact that the hiking trails along the Zimbabwean side of the Falls, from which tourists are meant to take photos, were completely shrouded in mist and rain, resulting in a complete drenching for those making the trek. From the end of the trail on the Zimbabwean side, once I was completely soaked through, I had a good look at the bungi site on the bridge over the Zambezi Gorge. I had considered partaking in a bungi jump there but was still not sure. From that vantage point, the 110 metre drop did not seem too far down so I thought I would give it a try.

I went back into the town and booked the jump at an extreme sports shop. I was then shocked to find an Indian vegetarian restaurant and decided to have a quick veggie burger before heading to the bridge. That turned out to be quite a mistake. After hailing a taxi to take me back there (the driver of which ended up being a huge source of support throughout the jumping experience…), I was signed up, weighed and ready to be tied to the bungi. The feeling was one I will not soon forget: excitement and enthusiasm to start, followed by shock and doubt as to the decision while being hooked upⁱⁱ, followed by sheer terror and wanting to turn back at the precipice. I will never forget the few seconds I waited while the African staff explained the process and then shouted “Five, Four, Three, Two, One – BUNGI!”.

I did not move a muscle and did not think I would ever be able to let go and jump into oblivion. But on the second try I quite gingerly closed my eyes, took a deep breath and allowed myself to fall (i.e. I did not jump) off the side of the bridge. The next few moments I can describe only as sheer hell. I do not, generally, like the feeling of free-fall and never have as I find my stomach hurts and I do not enjoy the fear element at all. I do not know how long it took to fall 110 metres but it felt like forever. I was told to put my arms out to the sides, although I was not told why. This apparently slows down the fall, but I found during the free-fall I was so scared I could not really remember what the instructors had said anyway. Once the bungi finally yanked me back up, I found the experience to be quite enjoyable. But the upward flying, which is the most pleasant feeling, was tainted by the knowledge that another free-fall awaited.

I bounced around a whole bunch of times that way, enjoyment, hatred, enjoyment, hatred, until finally I was just spinning around as I dangled, feeling completely sick, with the veggie burger now at the top of my throat. I just closed my eyes and waited for the harnessed man to come and rescue me. I did enjoy the view once I realised that putting my arms out would slow the spinning, but because I obviously did not have my glasses on, and I had forgotten to put in my contacts that morning in preparation for the jump, what I saw of the gorge is literally, and figuratively, a bit of a blur. Though I have to say, being suspended upside down in a canyon with no noise, other than the rapids below and no people around was quite an awesome and overwhelming experience. Once I was taken to the top I was dizzy and nauseous, but the nightmare was not over as the bungi staff who unhooked me then proceed to lead me out through the maze of metal beams and girders which made up the undercarriage of the bridge. I could barely see from being so dizzy and found it hard to step over the steel ridges and through the holes. Somehow I made it out to the edge and went to the chill-out room on solid ground at the side of the gorge. There I watched the video of my jump and waited for the veggie burger to move back down into my stomach. Although I had not planned on buying the video, I ended up forking over the $45 US as the events portrayed were just so completely hilarious.

The fee is not that bad actually. The jump is $90 US which includes a personal cameraman who shoots just with the jumper’s own camera. If one buys the video for $45, one also receives a second jump free (which I opted not to take – quel surprise), so, in total, one can do two jumps for $135 US. I was happy to be whisked back to town by my faithful cab driver, John, who had been yelling out words of encouragement the entire time…On the way back, we came upon a herd of elephants looking for some fun in town at the Shell station where they were eating an entire bed of tulips. I managed to stand up and see straight by holding on to the edge of the car and took a photo of them.

The next day I made my way to the town of Masvingo in South central Zimbabwe in order to explore the Great Zimbabwe National Monument. From Masvingo I “rented” another cab driver and cab to take me the 25 kilometres to the Monument. Fortunately in Zimbabwe, cab drivers are happy to drive you around and wait for no extra charge, as long as the time is reasonable. I estimated I would need at least an hour at the Monument, but in the end, it turned out that this was not nearly enough.

The Great Zimbabwe National Monument, which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is the greatest medieval city in sub-Saharan Africa. It was built from the 11th to 13th centuries and became the heart of Rozwi culture as the religious and temporal capital for an empire which stretched across Zimbabwe, to Botswana, South Africa and Mozambique. For years, European settlers and explorers tried to attribute its source to any group other than the local African population as they were loathe to admit that the indigenous peoples could ever have achieved such an amazing feat of construction and engineering. But even though the city was built entirely by Africans, others played a large role in its development as trading was prolific in the region. Arab and Swahili traders brought beads and textiles from the Middle East, and ceramics and glassware from Asia.

The city went into decline in the 15th century and was almost deserted by the time the Portuguese arrived in the 16th century. It had most likely become a victim of its own success. With an unsustainable human and bovine population, the pressure exerted on local resources became too great, and emigration was the result.

When I arrived, I went first to the Imba Huru, or Great Enclosure, which is the largest of the towering “stone houses” or “dzimbahwe” from which the country takes its name. The Great Enclosure is believed to have served as the royal compound and measures 255m in circumference, with mortarless 11m-high walls which are 5m thick. Inside the Great Enclosure lies the mysterious Conical Tower which measures 10m in height and appears to have been used for ceremonial purposes.

Next I made my way through the narrow stone passageways which allowed the ancient residents of the city to move between its various buildings without being noticed from the outside. I climbed all the way to the top of Nharirire Ya Mambo, or the Hill Complex, which contains the stone citadel including in its architecture the massive boulders around which it was built. From here, one can enjoy a breathtaking view of Lake Mutirikwe, the largest lake completely in Zimbabwe and look down on all the remains of the ancient city, built completely without mortar, by carefully balancing over one million stones.

From the Monument I made my way back to Masvingo and on to the Mozambique border crossing near Mutare. Enroute the bus stopped at a market in Nyika. I always enjoy buying local fruits and vegetables from the children and adults who come to the window hocking their wares. I find it so enjoyable to buy something I have never seen before and bite into it, not having any idea what I am eating (as long as it’s clearly not meat). Here they had corn, oranges and some sort of flash-heated cockroach for sale. I had been talking with the man in the next seat for quite a while by that point and he ordered a newspaper roll of the cockroaches. He couldn’t understand why I did not want to have some. I just told him that insects are not really my thingⁱⁱⁱ.

Upon crossing into Mozambique, I really noticed a difference between the two countries. While Zimbabwe has its problems now with white farm reclamation and political strife, its infrastructure is second only to South Africa’s in level of development in Africa. For Mozambique, unfortunately the difference between the two is immediately obvious. Mozambique suffered 17 years of a “civil” war in which its social and communications infrastructure was completely destroyed^iv. After lengthy negotiations in 1990, a ceasefire was finally arranged and a formal peace agreement was successfully implemented and overseen by the United Nations in 1992. But the damage that the conflict, and particularly the Frelimo government’s extreme Marxist policies caused, are still visible. During the war many of the skilled people of the country, especially those living in rural areas, were rounded up and shot, leaving teachers and medical workers still in short supply.

I was extremely lucky to meet up with a Scottish missionary at the border who had been living and working in the area with his family for three years. His brand new turquoise Land Rover really stood out among the old cars and horse carts which served the transportation needs of most of the locals. The missionary’s name was Stuart and he offered me a ride to Chimoio, the first main town about 70 kilometres into Mozambique, and where he lived and worked. I learned a lot from Stuart on the drive, especially about the work his Pentecostal mission had been doing in the area. I learned about the harshness of life in the countryside in the wake of the civil war, including the lack of clean water, schools and basic amenities like electricity and heating. I also learned about the lot of women in the area whom Stuart’s mission tries to help. They suffer at the hands of often violent husbands in polygamous marriages where they are usually the flavour of the week until they are no longer able to have any more children, (the sign of virility in the community being the number of children a man can father by as many women as possible). I was happy to stay at the mission’s central building in Chimoio, along with three Mozambiquan women (each with one baby) who had walked three days to attend an Evangelical seminar. Unfortunately, because I don’t speak Portuguese, I was not able to communicate with the women, but I did manage to attend an English class being taught at the mission. I was happy to help the teacher of the class, a local member of the church who had spent time in South Africa and learned some English. I was touched by the way the local teenagers in the class spent their evenings squished around a table made from bumpy planks and cinder blocks learning how to construct sentences by copying them from a piece of blackboard by candlelight. In fact the two most enduring features which I took from my time in Chimoio were the way the city operated efficiently at night under almost complete darkness (save for a string of street lights down its main road) and the smell of wood smoke coming from every home around. While that distinct smell of wood and dung smoke has always made me think of Africa, I found the city of Chimoio permanently imprinted the smell in my mind.

The following morning I boarded a bus headed for Maputo, the country’s capital, 1134 km to the south. I had thought of stopping off at the coastal city of Inhambane, but when I realised that the direct bus was the only one of its kind driving up and down the country, I thought it easier to stay on it all the way through to Maputo. My ultimate destination was the dive town of Ponta d’Ouro at the Southern end of the country, near the South African border. I boarded the bus in Chimoio at 10am for the estimated 12 hour journey to Maputo. The bus originates in Tete each day at 5am, making it to Chimoio by 10. Unfortunately we were late in leaving, then had a flat tire which took some 2 hours to fix. Finally we reached the Sofala section of the road, an area which had been hit by the severe flooding of the Limpopo river in February 2000. This section of road was still mostly washed away, leaving a dirt track full of potholes. It took the bus seemingly endless hours to slowly navigate this part of the country. With a drunken, chicken-eating buffoon sitting next to me (and throwing the chicken bones into the aisle of the bus), these hours did not exactly fly by. Finally though, at about 21:00 we pulled over at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, somewhere between Inhambane and Xai-Xai, about 5 hours from Maputo. When the bus pulled over I assumed this would be for our typical 15 minute bathroom break. Instead, the driver seemed to disappear and after about 30 minutes everyone in the bus started to lay down and stretch out in the aisle. I searched around for anyone who spoke English and who could tell me what was going on. As it turned out, the bus had pulled over because it was not safe to arrive in Maputo after dark, and thus the driver had decided to sit at the side of the road until 5am. Needless to say, I was not pleased with the news. I asked if there was a hotel nearby, but realised after looking outside at the bar and single hut next to which we were parked, that this was a stupid question. Predictably, the chicken-eating drunk was in the bar, so I had a little more room and I curled up and tried to sleep. The night was not a great one, but we arrived safely in Maputo at about 10 the next morning, which, given the reputation the city has, means stopping was probably the right thing to do.

From Maputo I opted to find a ride directly to Ponta d’Ouro. I crossed Maputo Bay by ferry and made it to the town of Catembe on the southern bank. I sat there waiting for some form of transport heading the 100 kilometres south to Ponta. Finally a pickup truck arrived and I was able to ride in the back with a family who was also headed that direction. The driver proceeded to stop at just about every home on the way picking up sandwiches, cokes, and other items for the truck. Finally, we were on the open road, which I knew was primarily dirt and we rocked back and forth through the potholes and then grassy hills for the next 5 or 6 hours^v. Suddenly, after we passed a sign stating that Zitundo, only one kilometre from Ponta, was up ahead, we pulled into a man’s homestead. The group of passengers, which had been added to in the town of Salamanga a few hours before began to chatter away in Portuguese and I had no idea what was going on. One of the men who spoke English told me that the driver could not take me to Ponta because he needed a four-wheel drive to handle the sand road which led there. When I asked him in half Spanish/half English why he had told me he could go to Ponta in the first place, he told me there are actually two meanings to Ponta for the local people. There is Ponta the rich South African dive resort town (to which I was headed) and Ponta the border crossing. It turned out that of the group, only me and one of the Mozambiquan guys wanted the scuba Ponta, so we were on our own. I asked him if he would take me to the border so I could find another ride with some South Africans coming up from there. He refused and explained that he was not actually going to the official South African border, but to an illegal forest crossing so the people in the truck could run across to a new life, and he did not want a white person in the truck heading towards the forest crossing. I gave up and started to negotiate with the homestead man who seemed to have been selected to take me on to the scuba Ponta. He said he had a four-wheel drive and could take me the four kilometres for 250,000 Metacais or about $12 U.S. which seemed a high price considering the whole trip from Maputo had cost about $2 U.S. (Normally, I would not have cared but as mentioned earlier, I had very little changeable currency since the problems in Zimbabwe and I did not want to be stranded without any cash). Still, as I had no choice, I agreed to pay for the Mozambiquan guy and we set off. It was lucky that we brought him along as the truck, which was in such bad shape you could see the road below through the gear box and had to watch that your feet did not go through the holes in the floor, got stuck in the sand several times and I certainly wasn’t strong enough to push it free! We finally arrived in beautiful Ponta, chock-a-block with South Africans on their long weekend holiday, and I was happy to find that I could get more money on my credit cards (civilisation at last!). I booked all of my diving for the next day and crashed for the night at the Scuba Adventure Centre.

In the morning I was up at 6 to start my day of diving. First, I went on a swim with wild Bottlenose Dolphins in the beautifully warm and welcoming Indian Ocean along a stretch of coastline aptly named the Dolphin Coast. The white sand beaches form Mozambique’s stunning coastline all the way North to the country’s border with Tanzania. We quickly spotted a pod of about 20 dolphins following a ridge of waves up the shore. We got in the water and tried to attract their attention.

While they seemed interested at first, and swam toward us, they would not come closer than about 20 feet as they had a young baby with them who was only about a week old. Even though I have done a dive with semi-wild dolphins in the Bahamas, after seeing these beautiful creatures in the Indian Ocean, I vowed to keep trying until I got the chance to interact with them in their world (and I will keep trying!). Next I went on my reef dives out to the best dive sites of Ponta d’Ouro including Checkers, Bass City and the Crèche. The Crèche was my favourite, with the greatest number of brightly coloured fish, and many babies. We saw Coachmen, Emperor Angelfish, Zebra Fish and Elf Fish just to name a few. And the greatest highlight was a Bluespotted Ribbontail covered in gorgeous fluorescent blue dots who was the most beautiful ray I have ever seen^vi.

After the diving, I was fortunate enough to catch a ride to the border and then beyond with my dive buddy Jeff who hailed from Johannesburg. We became great friends along the way to Pongola where he dropped me off to spend the night before continuing my journey. There we made plans to meet up again when I had a day in Jo-burg on my way home.

From Pongola, I hailed another combi to Durban, a journey which can be done in just over two hours, but which took almost four in the combi because the driver refused to use the N2 highway and pay its tolls. Finally, he dropped me in the centre of Durban, within view of the hotel at which I wanted stay and told me to call a cab. This made me really angry as I had no phone book or information on where I actually was. Luckily, such behaviour is not characteristic of combi transportation which usually offers door-to-door service, thereby making arriving after dark, for example, much safer. However, I managed to get to the Royal Hotel and was very excited as this was where I had arranged to pick up my rental car (no more combis!) I made all of the arrangements for the morning and settled in to my room at the glorious Royal Hotel. Due to the devaluation of the Rand, I was able to afford such luxurious 5-star accommodation which cost only $50 U.S. per night including breakfast served on the 22nd floor of the hotel overlooking Natal Bay and the Indian Ocean. After all I had been through in Zimbabwe and Mozambique I soaked up the amenities of Durban including the Workshop mall with its internet café, the beachfront promenade and piers, and of course the cable tv in the hotel. The next morning I picked up my rental car and was on my way!

I first drove up through the Valley of 1,000 Hills, along the R103, just off the N3 in the Kwa-Zulu Natal. Also known as the Umgeni, the valley is a beautiful area which runs from the ocean at Durban to just east of Pietermaritzburg. The rolling hills combine many old Cape Dutch homes with traditional Zulu villages to make for a unique meeting of cultures and styles.

From the Valley, I backtracked up the N2 to Saint Lucia Wetland Park, a UNESCO world heritage site, at which I had wanted to stop on my previous combi journey, but could not because the site lay 25 kilometres off the main road. The Park is comprised of lakes, islands and an estuary encompassing forests, grasslands, scrub-covered dunes, endless white sand beaches and coral reefs. Famous for its birds which include flamingos and pelicans, the estuary is also inhabited by Nile crocodiles, hippo, waterbuck and warthog. Although a heavy downpour set in the moment I arrived, I found the Park’s diversity of ecosystems (primarily the fresh and salt water mouth of the estuary at the Indian Ocean), and wildlife to be incredibly beautiful.

In the morning, as the weather was not clearing due to a tropical rain cloud that had parked itself over the coast of the Kwa-Zulu Natal, I decided to keep going and drove up to Swaziland, another region I had wanted to visit but had missed due to a lack of transportation from Pongola a few days earlier. Swaziland has always fascinated me because it is one of the few remaining monarchies in Africa, and the smallest country in the Southern hemisphere. The country has been independent since 1968, when it was established as a constitutional democracy under King Sobhuza II. In 1973, the King suspended the constitution on the grounds that it did not accord with Swazi culture. Four years later a new constitution was established which vested all power in the King, or Ngwenyama, the lion). King Sobhuza II died in 1982 and Mswatu III ascended to the throne. Sobhuza was the longest reigning monarch. The area I visited was the Sitilo region of the South, where I very much enjoyed the laidback atmosphere, red earth mounds and reed huts. I would like to return someday to explore more impressive areas such as the Lebombo Mountains (which I saw from Mozambique) and the Mlawula and Mbuluzi Nature Reserves.

From Swaziland, I continued, back through Pongola to the Battle Route in the KwaZulu-Natal which encompasses the towns of Vryheid, Dundee and Ladysmith. The area contains all of the most famous battle sites of the Ango-Boer War (1899-1902) and of the Boer-Zulu conflict of the 1830s. Most significant of these are the site of the 118-day siege of the town of Ladysmith during the Anglo-Boer War, and the site of the Battle of Blood River during the Boer-Zulu conflicts of the 19th century, which is marked by a full-scale re-creation of the 64-wagon circle (or laager) cast in bronze. The site marks the place where the Boers “triumphed” over the Zulus on December 16, 1838, and where, after a three-hour battle, the local river ran red with blood. This was, however, the blood of 3,000 Zulus, and not that of the Boers who sustained only slight injuries. As the battle signalled that the group’s expansion efforts must have divine approval, the Boers celebrated this day as the Day of the Vow until 1994, when it was replaced with the Day of Reconciliation by the ANC government.

After the battle route, I finished the day in the breath-taking Drakensberg Mountains at Underberg. I noticed a severe drop in temperature from where I had been so far. In Underberg, I stayed at the Underberg Hotel which was an old converted farmhouse, built in the 1830s. In the room I could see my breath and had to use my sleeping bag on top of all the bedding provided by the hotel. Thank god I had remembered to bring mittens also!

Drakensberg Park, which also known as uKhahlamba, is also a UNESCO World Heritage site. In Zulu, uKhahlamba means “barrier of spears”, which aptly describes the jagged peaks of the Drakensberg Mountains. The park boasts features like the Amphitheatre which is a 4 km long, 1000 metre high crescent of basalt rock, Cathedral Peak, and Thukela Falls which plunge 948 m down sheer cliffs.

In the morning, I decided to take a nice leisurely day trip through Drakensberg Park and then the mountainous ancient kingdom of Lesotho (named after the Basotho people). The country, which is one of the poorest in the world, is an intriguing one. It is surrounded completely by South Africa, yet has managed to maintain its borders since they were forged under the reign of Moshoeshoe the Great between 1820 and 1870. To enter Lesotho, I opted, in my little Opel Corsa, to drive up Quacha’s Nek Pass as, unlike for the more famous Sani Pass, a four-wheel drive vehicle is not required. The drive, which offered spectacular views of the Drakensberg and the southern ranges of Lesotho, was extremely hard-going. None of the roads were paved and many of them were under continuing maintenance including bridge repairs, rock containment and re-surfacing efforts. My route through Lesotho, which covered approximately 120 km took almost 8 hours to drive. The highlights were, however, well-worth the trip. These included the views of the 2,356 metre-high Mount Moorosi and following the winding mountain road all along the Quthing River valley, where one wrong move could send the car plummeting over the edge and down into the valley. (As the roads were not particularly well-marked, this river valley was one of the only indicants that I was still on the right route.) The other highlight of my time in Lesotho, was visiting with the Basotho people. The Basotho culture, which is completely unique, revolves around tribal mountain life based on herding. Distinctive features of Basotho dress include a conical hat with an oddly-shaped adornment on top known as the Mokorotlo or Molianyeoe and an elaborately patterned blanket wrapped around the body to protect against the cold mountain air. While I enjoyed my time in the mountains of Lesotho, I was happy to come to Tele Bridge at the South African border that afternoon. I continued my journey on the welcoming flat, paved roads, and made my way over to Graaff-Reinet in the Eastern Cape, arriving just before nightfall^vii.

Graaff-Reinet, which was established in 1786, is the fourth oldest town in South Africa, and has more national monuments than any other town in the country. Nicknamed the “Gem of the Karoo”, it is also the only town in the world to be completely surrounded by a nature reserve. Upon arrival, I went straight to the world-famous Drostdy Hotel, which dates to 1806. The hotel was once the home of the Landdrost (Magistrate) and is situated in the historical core of the town of Graff-Reinet. It is a beautifully restored building which contains rare antiques, period prints and art from the Oude Meester collection, together with lush gardens. All of the hotel’s rooms are located in the historic Stretch’s Court at the rear of the hotel, and have been converted from old cottages which once housed recently freed slaves from the surrounding area. My room had been converted in style, with a gorgeous oak canopy bed, antique wooden dresser and china wash basin and pitcher, (and full cable tv).

My first stop in the town was Reinet House, which is a beautiful Cape Dutch manor constructed as the Dutch Reformed Church Parsonage between 1806 and 1812. In the back garden, the vine at Reinet House, one of the oldest in the world, was planted in 1870 and still bears fruit. I also visited the Victorian Pharmacy, which is a beautifully preserved pharmacy dating to the 1880s stocking modern pharmaceutical products in all of the original display cases of the pharmacy.

I then made my way out into the Karoo Nature Reserve, and the Valley of Desolation. The awe-inspiring rock formations and views across the semi-desert Plains of Camdeboo were unforgettable. The wildlife in the Reserve was also abundant. They include one of the rarest animals in the world, the Mountain Zebra, antelope, Caracal (a type of Lynx), and as I found out, Vervet Monkeys. A large pack of Vervets got on the roof and windshield of my car. The only thing I had to feed them were Vector Bars, which they seemed to enjoy. I was happy to share my high-energy nutritional supplements with the Monkeys, as any animal living the harsh environment of the Karoo could surely use them.

From Graaff-Reinet, I followed the Mohair Route through the Winterhoekberge to Port Elizabeth on the South Coast. I was due to meet up with a friend there called Daphne who is the principal of Pearson High School in Port Elizabeth. I stayed with her for two nights and one whole day and we had a wonderful time. We dined at the posh Aviemore Restaurant in the centre of town, shopped at the brand new Settlers’ Park complex which combines cultivated and natural gardens with a boardwalk, shops and a lake, attended a church service at Holy Trinity Anglican Church, and then went to hear the Eastern Cape Philharmonic Orchestra play Songs of Praise. In spending time with Daphne, I was exposed to the real South Africa, as seen through the eyes of those who live in it. I learned all about the impact of the enormous political and economic changes which have occurred over the last ten years, the perceptions of the more mature generation of white South Africans who have now abandoned apartheid after having it for so many years, and got a feel for day-to-day life in the country. It was a wonderful experience and made such a lovely break from hotels and travelling in the middle of the trip.

I left Port Elizabeth eager to explore the Garden Route I had heard so much about. My first stop was in Storms River Mouth, a huge gorge leading inland from the Indian Ocean, surrounded by lush forest and lagoons. Storms River Mouth is actually situated in Tsitsikamma National Park, which includes South Africa’s first marine reserve and is at the Eastern end of the Garden Route. Tsitsikamma offers spectacular views of Storm’s River Mouth, hiking routes and snorkelling and also boasts the highest bungi jump in the world off Bloukrans River Bridge which is 216 metres high (with about 160m of bungi, compared with the one I did of 110m). Given my experiences in the Zambezi Gorge, I decided against an even higher bungi jump; I just enjoyed the coast and views of the Mouth and then moved on along the Garden Route.

My next stop Westward on the 80-kilometre long Route, was Plettenberg Bay which primarily offers trendy holiday beach accommodation along the hills rising above the Indian Ocean. While I had a lovely wander along the town’s sandy beaches and inquired about the kayaking with dolphins offered just off-shore (which was not operating much at that time of year due to inclement weather), I did not stop long in the town.

I did stop in the next main town – Knysna, which is set among the idyllic scenery of mountains and lakes is guarded by two sandstone cliffs called the Heads. At Knysna, the water of the Indian Ocean is funnelled through a narrow channel between the Heads to form the small inland sea and then the beautiful Knysna Lagoon. I trekked all the way out to the end of the Eastern Head, before looking around the centre of Knysna and then visiting the nearby picturesque English-style village of Belvidere. The highlight of this village is the quaint Norman-style Belvidere Church which contains items associated with George Rex, who, as folklore has it, was the illegitimate son of George III of England and Hannah Lightfoot, the daughter of a shoemaker. Behind Knysna and Belvidere are the massive forests, around the logging of which, the towns grew up. These contain the characteristic streams, narrow roads, stinkwood and yellowwood trees which have made the area famous.

After Knysna, I drove along the Route through the breath-taking slopes of Wilderness National Park. This stretch has lush mountain hinterland on the North side of the road, with a gorgeous seemingly limitless white sand beach on the

Indian Ocean to the South. The area actually reminded me of the posh Malibu area just north of Los Angeles, California, albeit minus the multi-million dollar palaces on the ocean. (In fact one of the most beautiful features of the Garden Route was the complete lack of over-development which is characteristic of coastal areas in many other parts of the world).

Finally, after 80 kilometres of the Garden Route, I arrived at its Western end, and the site of my cage dive with the Great White Sharks – Mossel Bay. The town was named in 1601 by the Dutch navigator Paulus van Caerden, who could find only mussels there when he anchored in search of food. The town lies halfway between Port Elizabeth and Cape Town, and its proximity to the point at which the currents of the Indian and Atlantic Oceans meet makes it one of the best places in the world to go cage diving with Great White Sharks. The town was also the site of the first contact between native Southern Africans and Europeans in 1488. This occurred when Portuguese explorer Bartholomeu Dias landed here and encountered the Khoi-San people on the rocky slopes above the present day site of Mossel Bay. The first trading between Europeans and Southern Africans also happened here in 1497 when Vasco da Gama anchored and traded with a local Khoi tribe. The St. Blaize Lighthouse, set on Dias Point, above the town, has been a beacon for navigators since its erection in 1864 and is one of only two human-operated lighthouses on the South African coast today. Dias Point also houses the ancient Khoi-San Cave which contains artefacts dating back 80,000 years, and offers visitors an open-air museum to Khoi culture. Some of the smaller caves in the area are also believed to have been inhabited by a unique “Mossel Bay” culture dating back only 20,000 years. The Point also offers spectacular views of the ocean’s waves crashing against the rocky shoreline. I climbed the Point and watched the sun set and moon rise over the water. I found this spot to be my favourite along the entire Garden Route.

The next morning I awoke at the Valhalla Guesthouse, a gorgeously refurbished old stone farmhouse in which the rooms started at just 110 Rand per night, including breakfast. I took my breakfast on the veranda overlooking the bay and prepared for the day of cage diving ahead. We set off from the harbour at 9:00am and were anchored at the dive site by about 10:00. We lowered the cage and then the boat staff began preparing the bait which would attract the Great Whites. The bait was comprised of fish and the livers of other species of shark consumed by the Great Whites. Apparently, creating a blend of ocean products which will attract the sharks is very difficult and the blend must be carefully adjusted throughout the year to appeal to the seasonal eating habits of the sharks. The mixture is brought on board the boat frozen and is then thawed over the water to create a cloud of blood and bodily fluids around the boat. It can take all day to attract the Great Whites (and sometimes they don’t come at all), however, we managed to attract a gorgeous teenaged male within about 30 minutes. Even the arrival of the Great White was awe-inspiring and rather chilling. With his dorsal fin just barely coming above the surface of the water, the shark appeared as a greyish cloud hovering through the water. Most of the time the cloud slowly circled the boat and was easy to track with the eye, only to disappear suddenly to lower depths, and then re-appear seconds later. This hunting tactic is, arguably, the single largest factor contributing to the fear humans have of Great Whites. The shark stalks silently, unpredictably and masterfully with little warning of its presence until it is ready to attack, and when it does, it does so from below. However, as I was watched this stunning animal glide through the water and felt the tingle of fear in my body, I knew that what I was feeling was primarily inspired by the media, particularly the movie Jaws. I could even hear the ominous music of the film echoing in my ears.

But there was little time to dwell on these feelings. It was time to get in the cage. I donned my wetsuit as quickly as possible. I have always found that putting on a tight, sticky wetsuit is an exhausting task, but this time it was even more challenging, given that any misstep might lead to falling overboard, into the realm of the shark. I held on as best I could while getting changed. And then it was time to get in the cage, interestingly I was not scared at all. The adrenalin was pumping and I knew because the shark might leave at any moment, I had to be quick to get a good view. The air tanks were kept on board the boat with the cage lowering the diver only about 10-15 feet below the surface. This was necessary, it turned out, because of the strong ocean currents which knocked the cage all about as the diver held on to one bar which was placed at chest level along the front of the cage. As I jumped in and started to lower myself into the bottom of the cage the other diver (a policeman from Enniskillen in Northern Ireland) pulled on me to try to help me position myself in the cage. Unfortunately, he tugged at my weight belt and it started to come off! Without it, I had visions of shooting up to the surface and possibly over the edge of the cage and into the open water. I struggled to re-clip it while also trying to hold onto the bar in the cage and make sure an arm did not go out the photo slot (which was about a half-foot high and ran all the way around the cage). It was rough-going with the cage thrashing all around. Somehow I managed to get the belt done up and could now concentrate on trying to hold on and not let any of my appendages escape from the cage. Luckily, while I was fiddling around with my weight belt, the shark was taking a break, but at the time, I had no way of knowing this. My mandate was to hold on and stay positioned in the cage while it thrashed around. I just stood there, waiting in the murky water. Visibility was about 5-10 feet and that fact definitely added to the excitement by creating an environment where I did not know when the shark would appear as it was impossible to see him or her coming from a distance. The shark baiter on the boat baited the shark again and again while I, and then the other divers, were in the cage^viii.

I managed to see quite a bit of shark’s open mouth, with its ten rows of razor-sharp teeth and white and pink gums. The feeling of being in the cage with this awesome creature swimming all around and appearing suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, was nothing like what I thought it would be. I assumed my feelings would be fear, excitement and perhaps panic. But instead I felt completely safe in the cage, and more in awe of this enormous and remarkable creature. I felt a great deal of respect for the shark, and as a human, felt sort of put in my place lower in the food chain by his very presence. It was certainly a humbling experience. I thought it would be frightening in the cage, but instead I found it more frightening on the deck of the boat, because up there it seemed one false step as the boat bobbed up and down and side to side, would mean falling into the surrounding waters and real danger; whereas, in the cage I felt safe already in the water, but protected.

We spent about 8 hours all together getting to the dive site, baiting the shark, caging the divers, and then sailing back to port. We arrived back in Mossel Bay after dark. Salty and exhausted, I drove on to Swellendam to spend the night.

The following morning I was up at 6 again and on my way down to Cape Agulhas. This Cape is the southernmost tip of Africa and the place where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans meet physiologically. The Cape, which means “needle” in Portuguese was named by explorers for its distinctive needles of rock, and for the fact that the needle of the compass shows no deviation between true north and magnetic north at this point. Also known as L’Agulhas, the point is famous for its prolific fishing grounds and for its lighthouse, the second oldest working lighthouse in South Africa. The lighthouse was built in 1849 to resemble the Egyptian Pharos-style lighthouse at Alexandria. I spent about 30 minutes at the point looking out to the tumultuous oceans and comparing this place to the southernmost tip of the South American continent (near Fuerte Bulnes in southern Chile) which I visited in 2000. I found that two things were the same: the noise of the roaring ocean and of the roaring winds. However, the tip of the South American continent was quite a bit different because it was surrounded by islands, including Tierra del Fuego directly to the South. Thus in South America I did not have the same feeling of being overwhelmed by the vastness of the Southern Ocean with Antartica thousands of kilometres away, as I did at Cape Agulhas.

From Cape Agulhas, I drove directly westward to the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Point, while making only brief stops in Gansbaai, Hermanus, and Simon’s Town, along the way. I had no idea what to expect of Cape Point as I drove down to it in the middle of a thunderstorm (which apparently is the daily weather in that locale during the winter, due to the weather systems of the Atlantic at making their way around the continent), but needless to say I was extremely impressed. Not only was it a place of immense natural beauty, but it had been skilfully developed to the point of being accessible to tourists, without destroying it or altering it significantly.

In order to get to Cape Point and the Cape of Good Hope, one must drive through Cape Peninsula National Park. The National Park protects the flora of the Cape Peninsula which is actually the smallest, but richest of the world’s six floral kingdoms. With diverse habitats ranging from rocky mountain tops, to beaches and the open sea, the Cape Peninsula is home to over 250 species of birds. There is also a wealth of small animals such as lizards, snakes, tortoises and insects and some herds of Zebra, Eland and other antelope. Cape Point at the southern end of the peninsula also offers excellent viewing of the Southern Right Whale, Humpback and Bryde’s Whale (primarily between June and November).

As the southwestern-most point of the African continent, historically Cape Point formed a natural barrier to ships wanting to round the southern tip of Africa. As mentioned above, while the geographical and physical boundary between the Atlantic and Indian Oceans is the Cape Agulhas meridian, Cape Point is where the cold Benguela current begins to meet the warm Mozambique current. These currents, in combination with the rocky point sticking right out into the ocean(s) makes for extremely rough conditions. Throughout history, rounding the Cape was a challenge to ships attempting to journey from Europe to the Far East. So many ships were wrecked trying to make the passage that the Cape was renamed the Cape of Good Hope in an attempt to quell sailors’ fears of making the trip. The lighthouse at Cape Point has long been one of the world’s greatest shipping beacons, marking the route from the Atlantic into the Indian Ocean, or vice versa. The first European documented to have rounded the Cape was Portuguese sailor Bartholomeu Dias, in 1487, but many shipwrecks are still visible around the Cape, indicating that many after him failed. I took the funicular railway all the way to the top of Cape Point and held myself up against the wind to enjoy the spectacular views of the oceans and of False Bay to the East. With chaotic ocean waves crashing again the rocky cliffs as far as the eye could see, and howling winds piercing the ears, I found being atop Cape Point (again with only a handful of other visitors) was akin to being at the end of the earth. Its rugged beauty and isolation made it one of my favourite spots visited on the whole trip.

From Cape Point, I made my way North to Cape Town. I found the journey, which is only about 50 km to be fascinating. From Cape Point, the environment up the Western side of the Cape becomes gradually less inhospitable, and the towns more prolific and densely populated, until suddenly one passes Camps Bay to find a city of over a million people quietly nestled in the plains under the enormous and trapezoidal Table Mountain. No other city in the world compares to Cape Town, in all its beauty, uniqueness and splendour. As one of the most geographically isolated of the world’s cities it is dominated by the thousand metre-high spectacular sheer cliffs of Table Mountain, and the rock formations of Lion’s Head and Signal Hill. It is also surrounded by mountain walks, vineyards and spectacular beaches.

The first stop I made in Cape Town was a visit to Groot Constantia Winery which is the oldest vineyard in the Cape and one of the most majestic. Built by Simon van der Stel in 1692, the winery achieved prominence in the 18th century when its wines became highly acclaimed and began to be exported around the world. In the fin-de-siècle, the winery was auctioned off, and bought by the Cape Government to be used as an experimental wine farm. The winery is now operated by the Groot Constantia Trust. The main farm buildings are all built in superb Cape Dutch Architecture and can be toured for 8 Rand (about $1 Canadian). With the tour comes unlimited tastings on a tasting card, or else the visitor who does not tour or buy the card can taste up to three wines for no cost at all.

That evening, I explored the newly refurbished Victoria and Alfred Waterfront, including the main shopping area of Victoria Wharf. I shopped to my heart’s content in the first mall I had visited since Durban. The following morning I was up bright and early to be on the first cable car up to the top of Table Mountain. Even though the usual clouds (known as the Tablecloth) had already formed over the Mountain, I decided to go up anyway. The cloth comes and goes over the Mountain throughout the day and so it is very difficult to ensure that when one is it at the top, the view will be clear. I thought it best to take my chances rather than wait around all day. In any event, I was not disappointed. It took about 20 minutes to get from bottom to top and the trip was certainly unforgettable. While the cable car was a high-tech bubble which zipped the 500-odd metres to the summit in record time, from inside it still seemed that the massive steel cable was but a small wind-tossed wire, upon which everyone’s life depended during the trip up to the top. However, during the ascent I hardly worried about this with the phenomenal views of the city below. The skyscrapers looked like small blocks, the massive harbour and wharf looked like a small inlet, and the Atlantic Ocean, glistening in the sunshine, stretched as far as the eye could see. While Table Mountain offers climbing, abseiling, mountain biking and hiking, I was content simply to enjoy the views and walks on the flat summit. The clouds came and went and thus I got some excellent views from the top, with more of the Western side like Lion’s Head, Signal Hill and Camp’s Bay. After descending below the Tablecloth I was able to enjoy the panorama of the entire town one last time while the cable car returned us all safely to the ground.

From Table Mountain I drove up to the top of Signal Hill for an Eastern-looking view of the city with Table Mountain in the background. This was actually my favourite view of the landscape as I felt it was the one which truly captured the enormity and true distinctiveness of the setting.

After Signal Hill, I drove back down to the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront to book my tour of Robben Island at the Nelson Mandela gateway. The tours depart almost hourly and the whole experience takes about 3-4 hours. The boat ride to Robben Island took about an hour and was extremely rough-going at times since the Atlantic had kicked up a small rainstorm. Still, it was definitely worth the journey. We arrived at the same entrance dock to Robben Island Prison, where lepers, political exiles, and finally members of the ANC, including Nelson Mandela, had arrived over the last 300 years. Before touring the Prison itself, we were taken on a bus tour of the Island by a guide who was Xhosa (a tribal group in the southeast of South Africa). The guide first took a poll of the various nationalities on the bus and then we were taken through the small community of the island’s inhabitants living where the prison guards and officials used to live until the prison was finally closed in 1994. The bus then took us to the southeastern corner of the island where prisoners, including Nelson Mandela, were made to collect seaweed for export in the icy water throughout the year^ix. Here everyone was able to get off the bus at one of only two vantage points, which present the whole of the spectacular city and its surrounding environment. While the wind and sea mist were quite cold, the view was breath-taking. Next we visited the famous Limestone Quarry in which the prisoners of Robben Island quarried as part of their sentences of hard labour. Nelson Mandela quarried here for 15 years of the 18 years he spent imprisoned on Robben Island^x. While the prisoners working here were supervised to varying degrees depending on the political agenda of the government and prison authorities at the time, the prisoners always managed to communicate with each other in some way. They did this to keep their minds supple, to find out about the current political climate in South Africa (as new prisoners continually joined their ranks), and in an attempt to win members of the more radical and violent PAC party over to the more peaceful ANC party. Thus, this site was a hotbed of political thought, debate and education throughout the 1960s, 70s and 80s^xi, and the debates which took place here, indirectly contributed much to the new South Africa, as led by the ANC, with Nelson Mandela as its leader.

From the quarry, the tour guide took us back to the prison itself and bid us farewell before handing us over to our prison guide. He made a point of thanking each and every one of us for the pressure our Western nations had put on the government of South Africa to end its regime of apartheid. This speech was extremely moving as it begun to crystallise for me the source of the warmth I had felt from South Africans throughout my trip. Not only did black South Africans make it clear that they appreciated the efforts of the international community in ending apartheid, but everyone seemed thrilled to be able to welcome foreigners to their country after so many years when none would come due to the violence of the ANC and PAC, inflicted in an attempt to bring equality to the country. However, the most shocking and moving parts of the tour were yet to come.

Touring the Prison was an unforgettable experience. I have always had an interest in touring historic and modern prisons and even took a course in penology during law school which offered a trip to tour four of Canada’s most notorious prisons. However, Robben Island is the only prison I have ever visited which was used to house primarily political prisoners, the vast majority of whom, arguably, had committed no crimes. As are all of the prison tour guides, our guide was an ex-political prisoner who had been a member of the PAC, a leftist dissident and had been raised partly in Cuba and the former Soviet Union, before returning to South Africa to join the efforts against the Nationalist government. He had been arrested in Angola, tried summarily and imprisoned for over 15 years on charges of crossing the country’s border with forged documents, acting against the government and importing arms into the country. He admitted that these charges were true and was extremely candid in all of his answers to questions about his past. Amazingly, he was also completely without bitterness, and explained that the purpose of having ex-inmates as prison tour guides was to keep the history of the prison alive and to promote reconciliation and not revenge. We toured the prison workyard where, as Mandela describes in Long Walk to Freedom, prisoners worked at menial labour such as crushing rocks, or sewing when international delegations such as the Red Cross visited^xii. We also visited the cell block in which Nelson Mandela and the other prisoners who were considered to be “politically dangerous”, or, in other words, likely to influence the other prisoners, were housed.

We saw the cell, approximately 10×6 feet, in which Mandela was imprisoned for 18 years of his 27-year imprisonment (i.e., the portion he completed on Robben Island). In here he slept on a thin mat on the cement floor the entire time, with less food and fewer privileges than the “coloured” prisoners, and with only two highly censored letters, and one visit from a family member per year^xiii. We also toured the common block, in which the non-politically dangerous prisoners, including our tour guide, were housed. In a room the size of a small gymnasium, over 1,200 prisoners slept on the floor end to end, without room to move about. They shared one washing facility and had absolutely no privacy.

Again, our guide thanked all of us visitors for the pressure our countries had put on the South African government to bring about change. I was completely moved by the sincere gratitude and warmth of the ex-prisoners and guides at the Prison. I was amazed by their approach to educating the visitors from a completely unbiased and tolerant viewpoint and found their commitment to a future of reconciliation and forgiveness to be truly uplifting.

From Cape Town, I made my way North toward Namibia, through the Cedarberg area, the Northern Cape and the Namaqua region. The first night I stayed at Citrusdal at the Southern end of the rugged valleys and peaks of the Cedarberg wilderness area. The area extends northward for 100 km, as far as Vanryhnsdorp. While the area offers excellent hiking, and even winelands to visit, I did not stop very long. I had only a few days to cover the thousands of kilometres up to Northern Namibia and I had a lot of other attractions to visit along the way. I drove quite directly to Namaqualand, stopping only in the town of Springbok, after which South Africa’s famous rugby team is named^xiv. Apparently, the highlight of a trip to Namaqualand is viewing the wildflowers which are at their pinnacle between mid-August and mid-September. However, as I was too early, I simply viewed the area around the Orange River valley which is the gateway to Richtersveld National Park and Namibia. The drive through the region was spectacular as the rugged plateaux and coastal plains of Namaqualand gave way to the desolate mountains surrounding the Orange River. The area was dry, isolated and rugged, but it did not even begin to prepare me for what was across the border in Namibia. When I entered Namibia, the first thing I noticed was the marked lack of anyone or anything around. All of the tourists (and their were not many) making their way up through the Northern Cape seemed to disappear and I suddenly felt completely alone on the roads of Southern Namibia. I wondered what I had gotten myself into. While I knew that the distances between major towns in Namibia was great, I did not realise that the country itself is one of the most sparsely populated in Africa.

However, it is this fact which has made Namibia one of the hottest unspoilt destination for eco-travellers. The country can be divided into three topographical regions, including: the Namib Desert which stretches the length of the 1,600 km Atlantic Coast in a narrow strip of gravel flats and sand dunes; the inland escarpment which climbs from the coast to the central plateau at 2000m and the interior region in which the plateau descends to the Kalahari Desert. With the exception of the capital city of Windhoek, and the coastal towns of Swakopmund and Walvis Bay, the central and Southern regions of the country are virtually devoid of residents.

I decided to continue on my planned route to visit Fish River Canyon. This meant driving around several hundred kilometres of long, bumpy and rutted gravel roads. I did not see a single car on my way to or from the Canyon, and I realised that as I was in too remote an area to get a signal on my cell phone, and in the desert, that I was really in a potentially dangerous situation. I decided that after the canyon, I would try to stick to more major roads. When I finally reached the canyon, I was glad I had made the trek. When I got out of the car, the first thing I noticed was the complete and utter silence of the surroundings and the colossal size of the canyon at Hell’s Corner. As the second largest canyon in the world, and the only canyon in Africa, Fish River Canyon measures 161 kilometres in length, 27 kilometres in width, 550 metres in depth. The Canyon joins the Orange River about 70 kilometres to the south and has been gouging out the Southern Namibian landscape for thousands of years. After spending about an hour enjoying the peacefulness and splendour of the canyon, I made the 200 km drive up to Keetmanshoop.

From Keetmanshoop, I decided to drive the 856 km to Swakopmund in one go. I made a few brief stops along the way, taking a look at the extinct Brukkaros volcano, the Hardap reserve, and the mountains around Karibib. The drive through most of central Namibia takes one through flat scrubland, until the main B2 highway meets Namib-Naukluft Park. This park, which is one of the world’s largest, was formed in 1978 when the Namib Desert Park was merged with the Naukluft Mountain Zebra Park and Diamond Area 1 in the south. It takes in some 23,000 square kilometres of desert and semi-desert, including the Namib desert between the Kuiseb and Swakop Rivers and the Naukluft – a high dune field at Sossusvlei. The landscape of the Park, which joins Skeleton Coast National park in the North, is like no other in the world. The entire area is comprised of dunes of varying sizes located all along, and inland from, the Atlantic coast. They are composed of colourful quartz in hues of orange, red and violet. Unlike the dunes of the Kalahari, the Namib Dunes are dynamic, and support a unique ecosystem due to plant matter which is carried inland by wind, and water which is carried by fog. When I arrived in Swakopmund, I first took a drive up towards Skeleton Coast National Park, a park named for the treacherous terrain of its coastline. The coast has long been a graveyard for unwary ships and their crews; if sailors from shipwrecks managed to get ashore, survival was impossible in the inhospitable landscape.

After this trek, I drove South to Walvis Bay, a small port town about 30 km south of Swakopmund. Interestingly, under the UN-sanctioned South African occupation of Namibia which followed World War II, this town was made part of the Cape Province (some 1,500 km to the south) due to its status as the only decent port in thousands of miles along the coasts of Nambia and Angola. After Namibia gained independence in 1990, the South Africans held on to Walvis Bay until finally, in 1994, Walvis Bay was turned over. On the high dunes outside the town I saw two lovely newlyweds having their wedding photos taken atop the dunes and thought there could not be a more spectacular place in the world for wedding photos. I pulled over beside a red dune which was about 100 feet tall and right next to the Atlantic. I climbed it and watched the sun set in the West.

In the morning it was an early start to get to Dune 7 for boarding before it got too hot. It was certainly not an easy slog up the dune which was about 40 stories high, but the view of the surrounding desert and the Atlantic Ocean, with Swakopmund only a speck on the horizon, was breath-taking. As I have some snowboarding experience I thought I did not too badly at the “stand-up” boarding down the dune (even if it did take me 30 minutes or so to climb up, and only about 2 minutes to get down). The sand was extremely soft and the experience of tumbling through it on a fall was actually enjoyable as it was still cool in the early morning. However, at about 10, we switched over to “lie-down” boarding. This is where the boarder takes a sheet of masonite which is quite stiff, places it at the top of the dune, lies down face first and plummets down the side of the dune. The warning at the top is not to let go of the edge of the masonite, which must be held up in the shape of a toboggan so that it does not catch the sand, thereby spraying a cloud of it into the boarder’s face. Also, one must not to put one’s elbows down accidentally as they could be burned by the sand. I started my first slide down the side of the dune alright, carefully concentrating on holding the front of the masonite in the upright position, until the point when I reached about 50 miles an hour and lost my concentration. I let the masonite board down for a split second and the next thing I knew I had a huge sand spray going into my face for the remaining 2-3 minutes of the descent down the dune! Because the speeds reached were so high, it was very hard to stop or slow down and thus I continued up the sides of other dunes and then down again.

While I was not a happy camper when I finally came to a stop, after I spit the majority of sand out of my mouth, picked some out of my eyes and nose, I was ready to try again – determined to conquer the lie-down experience and get the full feel of hurdling down the dune at 60 miles an hour. When I once again reached the top I was offered the 80 mile an hour descent route but thought I should first master the slower route. This time I managed to hold on and travelled about one mile in the space of the ride. While I found the speed exhilarating, I much preferred the control and skill of the stand-up boarding, and switched back to that for the remainder of the day^xv.

From Swakopmund I travelled Northeast to Namibia’s most famous attraction, Etosha National Park. I was glad to make it to my hotel just outside the Park the night before, as after dark, and even in daylight, I noticed that as I got nearer to Etosha, the wildlife came out in force on the road. I tried to drive at a reasonable speed, but one can only go so slow. I found it exhausting constantly being on the lookout for wildlife. On the final stretch I had a Kudu (a type of antelope), a Springhare (a cross between a rabbit and a squirrel) and an entire family of Caracals only inches from the front axle of my car as it screeched to a halt. I happily collapsed into bed that night, after washing as much of the sand from the morning off my body as possible.

Etosha National Park, which means “great white place of dry water” in the local language, covers 23,175 sq km and protects 114 mammal, 340 bird, 16 reptile and amphibian and 1 fish species. The huge Etosha Pan itself measures 4,731 sq km and is made up entirely of white and greenish coloured salt. The Pan is mostly dry except in the rainy season (February) when parts of it flood, attracting flamingoes in the millions. The animals who call the park home are just about every species a safari-goer could want to see. They include: elephant, giraffe, zebra, lion, springbok, kudu, eland, wildebeest, warthog, gemsbok, steenbok, and both black and white rhino. I entered the Park through the Okaukuejo Gate when it opened at sunrise. I drove the width of the eastern half of the park from Okaukuejo to Namutoni and stopped at all of the biggest artificial and natural watering holes. At the first watering hole, Nebrownii, I saw elephants, giraffes, springbok, kudu and many birds. On the main track from Nebrownii along to Halali, the park was absolutely packed with zebra, wildebeest, eland, kudu, steenbok, gemsbok and springbok. Movement along the road was quite slow but I did not mind at all. Being on safari is perhaps the most relaxing and pleasurable thing there is to do. Many travellers who do it are obsessed with seeing the member animals of the so-called “Big 5″ (buffalo, elephant, leopard, lion and rhino). But this designation is rather insulting considering its members are merely the most difficult animals for humans to hunt, and it bears no relation to the role these animals play in the ecosystem. While it would have been nice to see rhino in the park (the only member of the group I have not seen), I was content with the animals I saw.

I stopped and had moments of being surrounded by elephants, giraffes and zebra and as with any time I spend with wild animals, I loved it. From Halali, I drove five kilometres out into the Etosha Pan (driving all the way across the Pan itself is not permitted). I sat for a moment and took in the nearly 5,000 square kilometres of salt pan around me. The wind was strong, the sun was bright and the isolation of the pan was extraordinary. After the Pan, I stopped at the Kalkheuwel, Tsumcor and Andoni watering holes. At Andoni I saw the most adorable family of warthogs, with a Mum, a Dad and five babies running between them. I didn’t want to leave the park, but I wanted to make it to Tsandi, where I would be visiting my friend from home, that evening. I departed, glad to have seen Etosha, but sad that I could not have spent more time there.

That evening, just after dark, I arrived in Tsandi, in Northern Namibia. For the finale of my trip, I had decided I had to pay a visit to a friend of mine from Canada who was, and still is, teaching in Northern Namibia. I have known Sara McGinty since I was a toddler as we grew up together attending the same church – St. John’s Anglican, in Whitby, Ontario. When she told me she was going to Namibia to teach math at a rural school, I was a frankly a little envious, but also extremely proud of what she was doing. Sara went to Namibia with Volunteer Services Overseas, a organisation which is British in origin, but which now accepts volunteers from all over the world. Rather than sending Westerners to areas of the developing world where local people could do the same job, the organisation sends only a limited number of volunteers to regions which have put in specific requests for persons with those skills, once they have been unable to find them locally. Sara teaches math and English at Mwaala High School in Tsandi. The school has about 500 students drawn from all over the surrounding region and I was very impressed with its facilities, Namibian staff and students. The morning after I arrived, I went with Sara to attend her classes. All of the students were so excited to meet me as Sara had told them I would be visiting, and visitors to that area are rather a novelty. They all wanted to greet me and talk to me and were so polite and attentive when I introduced myself and talked about what I did in Canada. I was touched by their determination and drive to learn, despite the fact that they had, by Western standards, few supplies, many hardships (such as being expected to devote all spare time to doing hard, laborious work on the family farm) and slim chances of completing post-secondary education in a country with only one university. The highlights for me visiting the school were many.

On the first day Sara told me that she was going to have one of her English classes sing for me. She had just discovered one day, out of the blue, that they could sing as a group, despite the fact that they do not practise together as a choir. With one girl, Olivia, as the lead singer, the rest of the group all knew where to come in, and did in beautiful harmony. They sang and danced for me in the school courtyard for about 30 minutes and were so joyful, their songs resonating in a mixture of Oshindanga and English. I was completely touched and felt like a celebrity just for having visited. Everywhere I went, people knew my name and waved hello. Later that day, Sara asked if I would like to do a question and answer discussion with another English class and I agreed. It turned out to be more of a lesson on what I do in Canada – patent and trade-mark law. The kids were fascinated by the concepts of trade-mark law especially as they had all been exposed to international trade-marks like COCA-COLA. One girl asked me what she had to do to become an intellectual property lawyer either in Namibia, or in Canada. I told her of the schooling that was involved and she replied that she would try very hard to reach that goal. Again I wondered whether she would make it, given that only about 7-10 people qualify as lawyers each year in the entire country.

All of the students at Mwaala High School were so lovely to me on my visit. To people in the West, their lives would seem so difficult and arduous, and yet they seem to have retained an innocence, hopefulness and genuineness, that many seem to have lost in the West, especially among the youth. In fact, the students I met in Tsandi, embodied what I have found the most of in Africa – optimism and warmth, two qualities which no one in the West thinks about when they think of Africa. It is perhaps this fact which makes Africa so endearing – the real African people are so vastly different from how they are portrayed in the Western media.

The last major trip I did while visiting Sara, was to visit Ruacana Falls just across the border in Angola. I knew there would not be much water coming over the Falls as it was the dry season, though I still thought I would take a look. I had a lovely drive through the Northern Plateau and realised just how different the area was from the South. Most of Namibia’s population lives in that Northern region, and while it was still not as heavily populated as many other African regions I have visited, it did feel a bit more like Africa with stone buildings, grass huts, cattle and goats wandering about. When I reached Ruacana, the landscape changed once again, as the countryside became the Kaokoland, which eventually joins the Skeleton Coast on the Atlantic. This area, which is known as Africa’s last great wilderness is a captivating and primeval collection of desert mountains, sand and indigenous cultures. After visiting the Falls, I crossed back into Namibia, visited Hippo Pools where the water from the Falls ends up, and then drove out into the Kaokoland. I had noticed, even in Ruacana, some people walking around who did not look like everyone else. They wore little clothing, had elaborate headwear or intricately braided hair and the women were painted red. I realised that I had entered the land of the Himba. The Himba, or Ovahimba as they are known in their own language, live solely in the Kaokoland in Northern Namibia and Southern Angola. They are descended from Herero herders who were displaced from the central region of the country by Nama warriors in the 19th century. They are the picture postcard of Nambia, as due to their isolation, their culture has changed little over the past few centuries. The Himba women are the most distinctive as they dress in traditional multi-layered goat skin mini skirts with nothing on the top except for ochre and mud encrusted iron, leather and shell jewellery. They smear the same mixture of ochre, mud and butter over their entire bodies, including their elaborately braided hair. As I was enjoying my drive through the dirt tracks of the Kaokoland, I greeted all of the Himba whom I met, but just as I decided to turn back and head for Ruacana, I met a couple making the long and dusty trek in the same direction. I thought I would really like a photo, but I do not like to photograph foreign peoples, especially tribal ones without first obtaining their permission and then offering something in return. I stopped to ask the couple who was about my age but, not surprisingly, they did not speak English. They seemed to motion that the photo would be alright as they stood there while I got the camera out. I took the photo and then offered them a ride back to Ruacana. They were really pleased. The man opened the door for the lady who I assumed was his wife, only once she got in, she could not figure out how to shut the door. She kept trying to grasp it around the edges and pull it shut, but realised she could not do this without pulling it closed on her hands. The man kept pointing to the handle and explaining it, and finally she pulled the door to, but it was not completely shut so I had to get out and thump it shut for her. Then we were on our way through the Kaokoland back to Ruacana. As we drove along, not being able to talk to one another, I wondered how many other places were there left in the world where one could pick up a passenger who had never before been in a car? That one event has left me in amazement to this day, but also extremely happy that such places do still exist. Maybe globalisation is not 100% complete (thank god!). When I let my hitchhikers out in Ruacana, once again I had to help the lady open and close her door (the husband was too busy collecting up all their bits and pieces including plastic bags full of leather, spears, etc.) and as I drove off toward Tsandi I noticed that the earthy-rancid butter smell that had permeated the car for the duration of the ride had not left. I looked back to the back seat and noticed that the entire side where the woman had sat was coated in red ochre-butter-mud…Back in Tsandi, I scrubbed it off as best I could, but left the heavy duty job to Avis in Windhoek.

Before leaving Sara, our last trip together was to the famous Baobab Tree in the nearby town of Utapi (or Ombalantu, depending on which map one reads) along with another VSO volunteer stationed in that town, Judith. The age of the tree, which is known locally as Omukwa, is not known, but its trunk measures 22m in circumference^xvi. The naturally hollow interior of the tree is now a chapel, but it has also been used to shelter cattle from marauders, and under South African occupation, as a store, a coffee shop, a post office, a storage shed, an interrogation chamber and a nightclub. For me the Baobab has always been synonymous with Africa, and this seemed like a fitting tree to see and enjoy before beginning the long trek back to Windhoek and the flight home the following day (minus a short stop in Johannesburg of course!)

On my way back, I did reunite with my scuba buddy Jeff in Johannesburg and we spent the afternoon at the glorious Sterkfontein Caves, and touring the highlights of Johannesburg itself. At Sterkfontein, we toured all of the main caves, including some of those normally off-limits to tourists if they are in larger groups. Sterkfontein is the site at which the very first adult ape-man was found in 1938 by Dr. Robert Broom. The cave system contains a sequence of deposits with fossils dating from 3.5 million to 1.5 million years ago, a period of time in which the early development of the hominids took place. The caves have also revealed 500 skull, jaw, teeth and skeletal fossils, thousands of animal fossils, 300 fragments of fossilised wood and over 9,000 stone tools. While previously the oldest bones found at the site were those of the 2.7 million year-old Australopithecus africanus called “Ms. Ples”, in 1998 an entire australopithecine dating to 3.2-3.5 million years old was found in an underground cavern just beneath surface excavations. This find was dubbed the most important archaeological discovery of the 1990s.

I have loved all of my trips for different reasons and I am often asked the most difficult question of what is my favourite country, continent or region. While I do not really have an answer, one thing is for sure and that is Africa holds a special place in my heart. All together, I have only spent a few months of my life there, but I feel a deep connection to the continent – whether it be to some distant ancestors, the indescribable beauty of the landscape and the wildlife, or to the warm, captivating and hospitable people. The next trip I would like to make to Africa would be to the Northeast – to the ancient kingdoms of Ethiopia and the dive sites on the Red Sea, but I am not sure when I will make it there. I know when I finally do, however, it will be another exciting, memorable and moving experience.

Endnotes

1. It turns out that due to crime and urban decay, the centre of Johannesburg has shifted and the city has become largely decentralised. [BACK]
2. More than I expected given that I have a rather odd athletic injury to my shin from my field hockey days which reacts to having force applied to my leg with shots of searing pain. While I had not thought of it before, once the safety strap of the bungi was looped and looped around my legs and then tightened, it started to ache, and I wondered if this was really such a good idea… [BACK]
3. I have since become the pen pal of the man on the bus. His name is John Makumire and he is a nurse at the Chivi District Hospital. [BACK]
4. Mozambique’s war, it has been argued, was technically not a civil one because it involved the government Frelimo forces fighting against the Renamo, or National Resistance Movement. This movement, which was sponsored financially and militarily by the governments of South Africa and then Rhodesia, sought to topple the Mozambiquan government because it was sympathetic to African political organisations which were organising in its borders. These included the ZAPU which fought for black majority rule in Zimbabwe and the ANC which fought for the same in South Africa. [BACK]
5. At one point the driver recognised his Aunt by the side of the road when we were driving through a patch of forest. Of course he had to stop and greet her and then he proceeded to buy meat from her. This came out of a backpack which had been sitting on the forest floor for god knows how long. He pulled out a leg of beef covered in black ants. He almost laid it next to me in the back, but then thought better of it and put it in between him and a toddler on the front seat in the cab. [BACK]
6. This is, in fact, the ray featured on the front cover of PADI’s open water dive manual, a creature I thought was mythical and had just been electronically created for the cover of the book to inspire people to dive! [BACK]
7. Unfortunately, my roll of film containing photos from St. Lucia, all the way through to Lesotho was lost somewhere on the remainder of the trip, and thus no photos accompany this segment of the article. [BACK]
8. This means that he or she throws a bag of bait on a line out about 30 feet from the boat and then slowly drags it in, tempting the shark to bite at the bait right in front of the cage, thereby allowing the divers to see the inside of the shark’s gigantic mouth. In the process the shark may bite at other things however, such as the bars sticking out from the cage, the bait line itself or the sides of the boat. The eyesight of a Great White is not particularly good and the animal actually feeds primarily through its sense of smell and electro-magnetic signals. When the shark thinks it might see and smell food in the distance, it must first bite at the food to confirm this, before consuming it. This is why many people escape sharks after first being bitten – because humans are not particularly appealing food for sharks. [BACK]
9. While our guide intimated that the collection of seaweed was a horrible task much loathed by the prisoners, Mandela actually commented in his autobiography Long Walk to Freedom, that this work was a step-up from working in the island’s limestone quarry, as the prisoners could at least see Cape Town and civilisation as they worked, and also could supplement their meagre diets with crayfish and other seafood they were able to catch while collecting the seaweed. [BACK]
10. The prisoners asked for, and were denied, sunglasses to help protect their eyes from the glare of the sun on the white limestone throughout the day. All of the prisoners who finally left the island after having mined the quarry did so with permanent eye damage. In fact, Nelson Mandela had to have several operations after he was freed, in order to lessen the damage to his eyes. [BACK]
11. In the quarry, when there was time, the more senior prisoners who had been schooled under a less stringent regime of apartheid, than those born and schooled later under the Bantu Education Act, also taught the younger prisoners basic skills such as reading and writing. These skills had taken a back seat in black education under the National Party which purposely focussed merely on teaching blacks vocational skills and training. [BACK]
12. The prison guards made the prisoners sew, rather than crush rocks, when they received one of the only international visits ever allowed by the South African government. It was considered much more appropriate to show the world that the prisoners did this type of work rather than their actual hard labour of crushing rocks or mining limestone in the quarry. [BACK]
13. In fact, often these visits were obstructed by the authorities who routinely failed to issue the necessary travel permits, or who told the visitors, upon their arrival, that the prisoner they wished to see was unavailable, even though he was actually sitting in the reception area waiting. This, despite the fact that the visitors had often travelled thousands of miles and saved for months and months to make the trip. [BACK]
14. When I stopped in Springbok I noticed that the inhabitants of the town looked different to any people I had seen so far. As descendants of the San people, many black Springbokians who I saw actually looked similar to Native Americans, with caramel-coloured skin. [BACK]
15. For days afterwards, and several showers and washes later, I was still finding sand in odd places as a result of my lie-down boarding experience! [BACK]
16. In fact, baobabs live for an incredibly long time, often for millennia. Research has shown that they grow rapidly in their first 270 years, then they slow down for the rest of their lives. As a tree with a circumference of 30m could be as old as 4,000 years, I suspect the tree I visited is somewhere close to that. As the trees can actually shrink in times of drought, radiocarbon dating is the only effective way to estimate their ages. The largest tree on record measures over 46m in circumference. [BACK]