Happy Holidays from sunny South Africa

It’s been a very long while since I’ve written anything about my continuing adventures, but, as I’ve mentioned before, things don’t seem quite so interesting once you are living a scheduled life again.

Things have been going great for me here in South Africa. I was “promoted” to Projects Assistant at my internship with Fair Trade in Tourism South Africa (FTTSA) and have taken on more responsibility working with several community based tourism projects. It definitely feels more rewarding to actually get to meet the people and see the places that you are working with to help stimulate sustainable development using tourism. It combines elements of all my interests—responsible tourism, responsible development, and responsible engagement with local communities!

I got to go on my first business trip as well! FTTSA Executive Director Jennifer Seif and I took a trip to Mthatha for meetings with two Local Coordinators and government tourism officials for the projects I am assisting on as well as a visit to the community of Qunu to discuss a potential tourism development project.

Qunu is where Nelson Mandela was born and where he now as a vacation home. A museum has been created as well on a hill overlooking the community. The interesting thing is, that the community of Qunu has had lots of folks, especially government, come through to offer them training or empty promises of developing tourism in the region. So far no real delivery, and the Qunu residents haven’t substantially benefitted from any of the tourism development in the area. Most tourists drive through, stop to take a photo in front of Mandela’s house and maybe visit the museum. They don’t even bother to actually stay in the any of the traditional guesthouses, take a tour of the township or meet any locals. Perhaps it’s not everyone’s idea of a holiday—to actually experience the culture of the place they are visiting.

It’s strange to start to learn about and care about politics in a country that I was determined to leave behind me a few months ago. It’s addicting here; the more I get to know this country and the people, the more I am simultaneously frustrated, heart broken, and hopeful. What a strange mix of emotions!

I’m happy to be here now, though, for the holidays. It will be nice to spend it with Aunt Linda, Uncle Allan, Tisha, Tucker.

[Illegal] Alien

It has been a long while since I've written at all, but that is what happens when you get sucked into the void of "real" life. I guess if you consider "real" to mean a scheduled routine that only varies slightly week to week. Not that it is bad for everyone, I just felt happier and more myself while I was travelling (go figure, who wouldn't feel refreshed doing exactly what you want, when you want to with no one to really answer to and no job lurking over your head to return to!).

Chioma is the little girl that Tisha, my cousin Tucker's teacher, is adopting from here in South Africa. She is adorable, and clearly I can't help myself from tickling the shit out of her!

I think if it weren't for my family here I would be gone. No, I know that. I've started an unpaid internship at an organization called Fair Trade in Tourism South Africa (http://www.fairtourismsa.org.za/) that has helped to fill the void of endless hours spent lounging by the pool, and the work has definitely helped remind me there are still people in this country that care about how their actions affect others and the environment and have hope for a better future for South Africa.

I've also been trying to help out with a few other organizations that my aunt has done work with in order to try to keep good spirits. Both groups focus on providing educational and leadership opportunities to disadvantaged South African students (http://www.themadbunch.org.za/; http://www.thedouglasfoundation.org/). Plus I get to bond with my aunty over some of the work--Sweet!

Yes, I was scared of the baby lions at the Lion Park. The little one named Isis was being fussy that day and decided to stretch, growl and turn her back towards me and face the corner in an act of defiance.

This work is in contrast to some of the other "colorful" characters (to put it lightly) that I have encountered here who have expressed disdain for anyone who is different from them, and I don't just mean the old white Afrikaaners! It is confusing and frustrating to be in an environment where you are constantly confronted with race and class politics. Sure you have to navigate your way through society carefully in the US, but it is not nearly as aggressive as here. It just makes me think back to the anti-racist work some of my friends were involved in back in the states and how critical they could be--what would they make of the situation here? It would take a lifetime to try to unravel and understand South African and why the folks in the cities here can be so nasty towards one another.

On a perhaps less philosophical note, I am officially an illegal alien and have been since September 24th of last month. Funny to say that publicly on the Internet--should I worry about being arrested?

The Lion Park also had an area where you can feed the giraffes. Their tongues are long, black, rough and nasty...

Actually, it is all the result of some egregious inconsistencies in the Department of Home Affairs, responsible for immigration/visas, etc., here in South Africa. I have turned in all the unnecessary documents required of me--including an x-ray of my chest, medical exam, R3000 ($300USD) deposit, a receipt saying that I sent for a background check from the FBI, and copies from all my bank accounts--and should be okay by next week. The official advice from the supervisor of Temporary Residence Permits was to "not get caught" by immigration officials. Yikes!

That all being said, my plan is to stay in South Africa through the New Year doing odd work to try to earn some extra money and complete a couple of volunteer jobs and my internship. I definitely don't have the money to continue to travel right now and still make it home...

...As you can tell from the classic disgusted look on my face!

I have taken a few trips, though. I tried to hit Swaziland for a nice weekend with my aunt and to renew my South African tourist visa, only to be told that they no longer issue three month visas at that border and the most he could give me was one week in order to report to the Department of Home Affairs. Oops!

Swaziland was great, though! Lots of rocky hills and green mountains. We only stayed one night at a B&B that overlooked a valley with a river and small dam. Very peaceful and beautiful. It was fun with just the two of us bumping around.


I also hit Durban to see the Currie Cup semi-final match and for some beach-time. The game was incredible, not because of the actual action (I get the basic premise that meatball shaped men with short, tight shorts wrestle around after the ball and try to score like American football), but because of our ability to still climb down the steepest set of stadium stairs every despite the amazing amount of beer imbibed. It was an incredible feat that included several pints of watery beer that tastes like Bud, some pre-game boerworst, and an Australian guy that haggled my girl friend about US politics. Simply amazing!

The star of the show at the Lion Park. Seeing so many lions lazing around was not quite as impressive as on National Geographic--they were fed meat off the back of a truck, which kind of seems to defeat the purpose of existence for such a predator.

The beach was not too shabby as well, and I came back BROWN. Well, more of a red-brown. Our last two nights north of Durban staying at a B&B near the beach were certainly interesting (I met a whole slew of "colorful" folks!), but I'll save the stories for some other time!

I've definitely been partying it up here as well--am still in the process of making the Pretoria circuit of bars and clubs. Not so good for the liver.

I'll try to post more about the small side trips I've been doing lately, as they are still interesting and exotic stories.

A Huntin' We Will Go

Two weekends ago I headed up to Jakalsfontein a wild game farm in Limpopo, South Africa with a whole band of folks from the US Embassy, some US Marines and a few South Africans. Our mission for the weekend: kill African Bambis.

Well, I suppose our goal for the weekend was more along the lines of have fun sitting around a fire and drinking whilst recounting the hunts from earlier in the day.

Now, I am not ordinarily a hunter in any capacity (especially considering that the topic of hunting will likely alienate many of my friends back home!). Call me an old school-Jack London-DIY kinda girl, but I don't think having only held a live gun and pulled the trigger once (with the exception of the time I held the machine gun in the Congo--can't seem to dig up those photos still!) makes me a qualified hunter. A true hunter appreciates what nature offers, takes responsibility for what she takes from nature, and above all, should be present for the whole process. In other words, don't just shoot animals willy nilly and run off for more slaughter while the farm staff load your animal on the truck, take it back to camp, and skin and clean the carcass. I'm clearly no where near the stage of helping clean the carcass or tracking an animal for hours, so I was merely a spectator for the weekend and spectated some disturbing behaviours. Most of our crew was alright, though, and genuinely hunted with the best intentions.

Amelia, Uncle James, Chris, and me after Chris shot a beautiful male impala and immediately retired from African hunting afterwards.

Randall, me, fully loaded and Mindy. Funny how I've gone from bikinis and flip-flops to fatigues and rifles on this trip!

I was surprised by my reaction to it all. Surprisingly I was only startled by the gunshots and not by the aftermath (again, with the exception of the few times I had the misfortune to be with ungrateful "gunslingers," as I like to call the bastards). There is something very beautiful in the process, even just to watch. To see someone have to deliberate about whether or not to take a life, whether they want to be responsible for that life, to see the exchange between those heartfelt hunters and nature, and to be present in the complete dismantling of the animals body is far less gruesome than one would think.

Amelia, Me, Mindy and Randall enjoying our lunch of sliced bread and mechanically processed hot dogs.

I have to say the farm characters were a treat as well. Uncle James was our connection to the farm, and he, a self-professed "legend," was the Afrikaaner hunter to the mark. He even came complete with khaki short-shorts, a big Santa Claus beard and buckets of stories of the hundreds of elephants he's had to kill. Between Uncle James, winks from the farm owner and Marine drinking games, the trip was overall very entertaining and educational!

Uncle Suki the farm manager, Uncle James our guide, and the winky farm owner.

The whole gang minus my Uncle Allan who took the photo.

Somewhere in the past few weeks I've also made the subconcious decision to stay in South Africa for an extended period of time until I can get back on my feet. I started taking a TEFL certification course so I can find a job teaching English here, and am doing odd house/dog-sitting jobs (not as bad as you think: weekend naked party for one, anyone?) for folks from the Embassy. I'll be sure to update on anything interesting!

Slloooooowwwwiinnnggg Dooowwwwnnnn....

Time seems to pass quickly for me whether I am traveling or doing absolutely nothing, which is my current M.O. I've been in Pretoria now for nearly three weeks and have really failed to accomplish anything, including finding a way to get a job so I can continue to travel.

For some reason I was under the impression that South Africa would be much like my other destinations so far: you could just walk into a place, ask for a job, they'd tell you to start that evening and POOF!, you're employed. Here you must arrange a work visa, and to do so, a company must go through far too many hoops to prove that you, the flaming American, are the only qualified person for the job over any other South African candidates. And with an unemployment rate around 50%, that makes sense! I wouldn't want to take a job from a South African anyways, especially since I have other options (including going home and/or begging relatives for some dough!).

So, I am currently exploring some other alternatives. I have the go-ahead to stay for as long as I want with my aunt, and am considering staying here to take a holistic healing course (think massage, shiatsu, reiki, acupressure, etc.) whilst trying to find some under-the-table work. There is also the possibility of some volunteer work in either Plettenburg Bay, South Africa or Mozambique.

But first, I have a health issue to attend to. I wish I could say that traveling is always peaches n' cream; that there are no low points, no points of depression or worry. This is definitely not the case, and I'm sure most long-term travelers have at least one big scare on their trips. Mine just happens to be a little outpatient procedure that will cost me about $1000 (about a third of the money I have left!).

I've debated whether or not to post anything about my current affairs, but it's been so long since I've written anything, that I thought it would be important to tell why. Plus I want to share so that I don't have to bear the weight alone (quite selfish of me, I know!).

For over a year now I've had [fellas, you might want to stop now, unless you are man enough to sympathize with a problem only women worry about] abnormal PAP smears--what a gross phrase! In the past few months, things have gotten a little worse, and I have some abnormal cells that are at high risk of eventually developing into cervical cancer. BUT, they won't ever do so, because I found an awesome lady-doctor (what a nightmare, to have to worry about finding a competent lady-doctor abroad) who has assured me all this is nothing to panic about and she will take care of me for, really, about a fraction of what this would cost me in the states.

To be honest, when my lady-doctor first discussed this all with me, I was more worried that my remaining funds--barely enough to get back to the states--would be all dried up and my grand adventure would be over. My heart sunk to think that this was how it would end; in defeat rather than with a bang. My Aunt Linda is the best, though, and has reassured me over and over again not to worry, I always have a place to stay with her and between all the good family and folks back in the States, I should never worry about being stranded and broke. I think that she means she'll bail me out in case of emergency...

For now, I am still laying very low and behaving quite normal. We'll see how long that will last!

Back in Pretoria

Cape Town felt a lot like Seattle. And I felt fairly uncomfortable there.

It was sunny and cold most of the time, so other than for a quick look, there was little sense in heading to the beaches. The city is sort of nestled between the coast and mountains and very picturesque (no wonder it rivals Rio de Janeiro for the world's most beautiful city).

Most of my time was spent lounging about Backpackers on Castle, a hostel partially owned by some friends that is right off the trendy Long Street, or walking around the city aimlessly. Long Street is the Capital Hill (for you Seattleites) of Cape Town--every one is dressed like a hipster, there are tons of bars, clubs and hippy cafes and even used book shops and vintage clothing stores. I went a little mad in the bookshops and spent an entire day searching for some good reads to pass the time.

It was nice to be on my own again. There were no awkward, "what do you want to do now?" or "which way should we go?" It was only me. So when I got to a turn, there was no one to consult, I just went. I would walk for hours to get to some silly lighthouse way out on the tip of Cape Town only realize I didn't care at all about the lighthouse and just wanted a quiet place to read.

I wasn't a complete loner, though. There were only a few people staying at the backpackers, so it felt more like we were all living in a flat together than staying at a hostel. I would veg out on the couch with Elma or be cooking with Natsumi. One day, Stefanie, a traveling German worker, and her Zamiban boyfriend Thomas invited me to drive out to the Cape of Good Hope with them. We got a very late start as we had been out drinking the night before and had some Absinthe (uhmmmm...it is STRONG, and it makes you go crazy; no wonder it is illegal in the States!) so were hurting something fierce in the morning. I woke up still drunk, stumbled to KFC (yes, there are KFCs, McDonalds, and any other sort of greasy, nasty, heart clogging fast food joints you could want here in SA) and returned to pass out on the couch. Not so glamorous...

Needless to say, we left the hostel around 2:30 pm and proceeded to get lost for the next hour before finally getting back on track and heading to the Cape. It was already getting dark by the time we arrived at 5:30 and the park was closed. Oops. At least I can say I drove to the Cape and saw the park gates. That counts for something, right?

My last day in Cape Town it started to rain, a good sign it was time to leave. I arrived back into Joburg and was met by my Aunt Linda and Uncle Allan at the airport to return "home." Indeed, Pretoria does feel a lot like home--it is familiar and I can completely be a slob at my Aunt's house. Suddenly I don't have to worry about which hostel to stay at or how to cook dinner for one. I can sleep in late, stay in pajamas all day and watch t.v.

I'm not a complete slug; I did hit the American Embassy 4th of July party. It didn't feel at all patriotic, but my old housemate from Seattle, John Clemo, was there. He's a Peace Corps volunteer somewhere up north and has been here for several months now. I haven't seem him since Seattle, so it was such a treat to get to talk to someone who knows me. No silly small chat to break the ice!

I now will take care of some serious matters here, though. Such as why my student loan forbearance application didn't go through, how to renew my travel insurance, why I have been sick for the past month, and hitting the spa with my auntie. It's strange to have to think about these "real world" items right now after having put them off for so long (using the excuse of poor internet connection and lack of access to a telephone).

The Big Break-Up with the TWBR Crew

So, since my last post the guys of the World by Road team and I have split. We met a guy at the hostel here in Windhoek who is starting an amazing organization called Promote Africa (http://www.promoteafrica.org) that promotes local African artists, musicians, writers, etc. as well as provided micro-finance loans and grants. We interviewed Ben and afterwards attended the series of free hip-hop concerts around Windhoek in celebration of World Music Day. The guys broke the news that they wanted to part ways early in the day, so I was determined to celebrate/rage that night, and some new found friends helped make it happen!

Windhoek is quite small, but still has a good nightlife for the most part. Ben, April, Laurie, Robby, Fu (all Americans), and I headed out to the last big free show with Namibian hip-hop star "The Dogg" and then hit El Cubano (most of us made it). It was a good night out, although there were definitely some snafus: Ben was mugged by a guy with a knife while April and I snuck into the club. Hmm...not quite the safest of nights, I guess. But we still had fun, and I made some new traveling friends.

The following day I started making plans with Robby, Laurie and Fu to rent a car and head to the 300m/1000ft sand dunes in the Namib National Park in southern Namibia. I had to rent the car, since I was the only one with a driver's license, but all the cars were manual transmission (which I have no clue how to drive!). So I had to slowly and awkwardly make it out of the parking lot and around the corner before Robby could take over for the 400km drive to the park through mountains and down dirt roads.

The drive was beautiful, and we only almost died once when Robby hit a soft patch of gravel and spun out. We arrived at the park just as it was closing and had to pay the park entrance fee of $80N/person. The card machine was down, so we didn't pay the $900N for camping and were told to return the next day.

We woke up at the crack of dawn and sped to Dune 45 for a sunrise photo and breakfast. Then we drove to the end of the park, hiked 5km to the base of Crazy dune, then started our ascent up the 1000ft dune in the heat of the day. Not the best of ideas since it was about 33C/90F degrees outside and dry!!! On the hike back in we had hoped one of the many trucks driving past would stop to pick us up, but we had to hike most of the way before an Afrikaans guy from Swapkupmund returned to pick us up. Thank God! We were all dehydrated and sore! We hit another unmarked dune for sunset then headed back to camp. It gets to be about 7C in the desert at night, and I broke out into hives it was so cold (yes, I am allergic to the cold!).

We managed to sneak into Sesrium canyon the next morning for a quick look-see and then leave the park without paying at all for the two nights camping or the second day's park pass. Oops! Guess we stuck it to the man?!

Just said bye to my new friends yesterday then grabbed a bus to Cape Town, where I am now. Am still bus-lagged from the 20+ hour bus ride, and will write more about CT as soon as I explore.

Angola to Namibia in Less than a Week?! Que rapido!

We blazed through Angola in only five days, and my head is still spinning. Angola is not what I expected. At all. It is absolutely beautiful in every possible way: gorgeous landscape, wonderful people and the promise of a up-and-coming tourist destination. As compared to Gabon and the Congos, Angola is much drier and cooler. It reminded me a lot of Eastern Washington at times, and the sparse dispertion of people across Angolan meant that often I'd forget I was halfway around the world in Africa still. Many towns are still dusty and have a ghost town feel to them, though. As if normal town life was suspended once buildings started getting shelled. And indeed, every town we went through had skeleton structures and building façades covered in bullet holes. One of the best was “Hotel Tourstico” in Quibala that basically consisted of the front of the hotel and a sign—the entire back of the building was bombed out.

It was good to be out of francophone Africa as well, and to get to speak Portuguese again. Lubango, in the South of Angola, looked and felt a little like Brasil and even had a giant statue of Cristo Rei overlooking the city from the adjacent mountains, Rio de Janeiro style. We camped most of the way through Angola, though, as accomodation is still VERY expensive, and stayed one night in Catholic Mission in Dondo for free.

Angola seems like the kind of place in which a true traveler could get lost. Because it has slightly a bad rap from the long civil war that only ended in 2002, and since it is quite difficult and tedious to get a visa for the country, let alone get to the country from outside Africa, it is not teeming with travelers. Yet. But it is so beautiful, friendly and unique, that I could definitely see myself getting stuck here for a while. It’s a good thing we didn’t visit the costal town of Benguela, the “cultural capital” of Angola with plenty of beach capoeira, or I might have had the guys leave me there!

The five short days in Angola were quickly over, though, and we continued south into Namibia to the town of Tsumeb, just outside Etosha National Park. I was completely shell shocked to be suddenly in English-speaking Africa. We were on paved road with no surprise potholes or deviations, only the occasional cattle crossing. And there were modern gas stations with snacks, fast food restaurants and fast internet. Angola had some of these luxuries, but in Namibia it is the norm.

We’ve now stayed three nights at the Mousebird Hostel here in Namibia that is quite like every good hostel—clean beds, well stocked kitchen, bar—and feels like heaven after the bare accomodations we’ve gotten used to.

Yesterday we headed to Etosha national park to have our African safari experience. The park was teeming with giraffes, zebras, springbok, gemsbock, ostriches, wildebeest, elephants, warthogs and even a herd of kudo. No predatory animals though. Although we almost got taken out by an angry elephant. The guys are yahoos, and in order to get “good shots” hopped out of the car to take photos of animals or even tried to have someone ride on top of one of the trucks filming (which we got in trouble for). Mark drove right up to a herd of elephants crossing the road, and while I quietly pleaded with him to just stop the f*ing car and take a photo rather than continue to inch closer while hanging out the window, one of the elephants got upset. We were only about 20 feet away, and the elephant turned towards us, raised his trunk and huffed. It stayed in that position until the herd had all crossed into the bush and then continued to turn around every few feet as they retreated. I was not to happy. Sure it’s great to get so close to the animals, but not that close. It’s disrespectful to the park, other visitors and the animals to be so reckless, and the fact that the elephant felt threatened obviously means we were too close!!

The park was still great, though, and I was sad we only had half a day to explore. I know I’m going to have to try to see some of the parks in South Africa now (especially since we didn’t get to see any lions, cheetahs, hyenas, etc.). We’re headed to Windhoek later today and then will continue south to see some of the giant red sand dunes in the south of Namibia before finally hitting South Africa, the Garden Route and Cape Town. My time with the guys is starting to run short, though, as I have a flight back to Pretoria from Cape Town on July 3rd (so I can be back to celebrate Independence Day with my Aunt!), so we might be parting ways sooner than later. Perhaps a good thing for me; three months traveling with these guys is plenty!

Nous Sommes Libres!

We finally made it out of Congo-Brazzaville!


On Thursday we said goodbye to our lovely South African friends after Annalisa gave us all chakra cleansings and massages, which, strange as it sounds, made everything seem right and resolved. My chakras that were closed exactly matched all the confusing thoughts and insecurities that somehow crept into my travels these past two months. The treatment left me totally at ease and revitalised to resume our trip.

We also had to part ways with Olivier and Catherine, the owners of the Hippocampe restaurant and hotel. They were so kind and supportive of us that I actually felt sad leaving Brazzaville; it had almost started to feel homey after making so many new friends at the hotel and from the US Embassy.

And strangely enough we also had to say goodbye to a wormy little puppy that our local friend, Destin, had impulsively bought off the street and thrown in my lap. He was in sore shape--worms in his belly, fleas, maggots coming out of his back leg and barely old enough to be away from his mom. But we were able to get a vet to come see him who agreed to take the dog, but not before I got a little attached.

So, with all of us in good moods, heavy hearts and nervous we approached the Brazzaville-Kinshasa crossing again. This time everything went smoothly with the help of DRC consular who called ahead to immigration officials and ensured us a safe passage. It only took two hours to clear immigration and customs was no big deal--they didn't even search the cars nor hassle us about "disinfectant spray" for the cars.

We gleefully headed into hectic Kinshasa with our new host, Bob, and English expat who's been in the Congo for about 15 years. He was quick to get us beers and potato chips (which were quite the luxury--it is wicked expensive for the nastiest stalest generic chips, and here he was offering us bbq potato chips and DORITOS!!) and offer to take us out to his favorite pizza place and bar. The restaurant, O Poeta, and bar, Greg's Place, were 99% white people. It was so weird to hear so many American, British, Belgian and French accents. Kinshasa has a hug diplomatic and UN presence. Something like 20,000 UN employed folks alone who, trust me, know how to revel in the delights of Kinshasa nightlife. We hit club Ibiza and afterwards VIP where I met folks from Boise, Idaho and Vancouver, B.C. I was so excited to talk about the good ol' Northwest, especially when the UN flight attendant from Vancouver said, "You're from Seattle?! I love Seattle! My favorite clubs are Neighbors and R Place. And have you ever been to Manray?"

Anyways, after a series of funny events that I won't mention to save a friend some embarrasment, we decided it was best to leave Kinshasa the next night and head to Chutes d' Zongo, one of the ONLY tourist attractions listed for the DRC, upon recommendation of Bob. The waterfalls ended up being beatiful and relaxing. You can hike around to the opposite side of the canyon and bathe in the mist of the powerful falls and there are plenty of scenic lookouts. We camped the night and met some other folks from the US embassy camping for the weekend as well as a group of Dutch folks taking a break from their jobs at Heineken. We ended up sharing some beers with the Dutchies(of course locally brewed, compliments of Heineken), after which they offered to let us stay at their guesthouse in Matadi.

Things couldn't be going better for us now. We are being put up graciously in the Heineken guesthouse, each with our own rooms, a cook and a refrigerator full of Primus an Mutzig beers and Coke. This morning we went to the Angolan consulate to apply for our visas and were told to return tomorrow morning first thing to get them, no problem. Plus Matadi is a beatiful city. It's all hills and winding roads with the Congo river passing right through. So, for the first time in two months, things are truly going our way!

Hopefully my next post will be from somewhere in Angola or, perhaps even better, Namibia or South Africa. My plan now is to be back in Pretoria by July 4th for the embassy Independence Day celebrations and to see my friend John Clemo, my former housemate and now a Peace Corps volunteer in South Africa, at the festivities. I'll post some good photos of my new friend Denis, the chief of police on the Brazzaville-Kinshasa ferry who for some reason let us take photos with him on board (major security no-no) and the falls as soon as I get a chance.

Kicked out of Kinshasa! We'll Never Escape the Congo!

After being told that the Angolan Consular had returned from a weekend trip to Luanda last Tuesday, the boys and I thought we could finally get a requisite letter saying it was possible to get our Angolan visas in Matadi, DRC. We need this letter, we were told, to prove to immigration officers in Kinshasa that we have a valid means of exiting the country.

Our luck continued to go awry, though, as we were told that Angolan consular services here in Brazzaville are closed. Indefinitely.

Feeling much too confident in our abilities to talk our way out of situations and our influential contacts we had on the beach in Kinshasa (including the chief of immigration police, an English businessman and a local guy), we decided to risk the crossing to Kinshasa last Thursday. Big Mistake. Big. Huge!

The road leading up to the port is bordered by dozens of folks with disabilities being carted up and down in three-wheeled hand bikes and on the backs of their friends and family. After paying 16,000 CFA (around $40US) just to get into the port, we had to convince an immigration officer to stamp us out of the country despite not having the letter from the Angolan Embassy. He reluctantly did so, warning us that tourists are turned back all the time and we were taking a big risk. After clearing customs and buying our tickets (25,000CFA per car, about $60US), we were ready.

Congo ferry crossings are hectic! People are just scurrying everywhere. Some were carrying sacks of flour up to 150kg/about 300lbs on their heads and shoulders (which is quite strange, to see skinny young black guys speckled white with flour and carrying twice my weight on their backs). Others peddled bottled yaourt (homemade yogurt), cheap sodas with neon labels, Congolese beer, peanuts and cigarettes. And a good portion of the passengers were the same folks on three-wheeled hand carts and piggy-backed that we saw on the drive into the port. Enter into this a handful of gruff port police who seem to enjoy whipping the passengers with braided rope for any reason, and you have the Brazzaville-Kinshasa ferry crossing. You’re forbidden to take any photos of government buildings, institutions, operations, and so I have no photos of the crazy crossing (although we were able to get one subpar photo by sweet-talking an officer with a cigarette).

At the beach, things looked like they would go well. Our immigration police contact met us on the ferry and took our paperwork to be processed. Mark went inside to talk to the immigration officers while Steve and I chatted with curious folks in the parking lot. Then things took a sudden turn for the worse. The immigration official talking to Mark left the room and then came back saying we must leave immediately. He chased Mark out to the parking lot as Mark tried to call our British contact to see if he could help us. But the immigration official quickly had the police on us and told us we could not make any calls. They pulled out their batons and lunged at us as they shouted “GO NOW! LEAVE!”

All the sudden we were back on the boats with voided DRC visas and our passports in the hands of the port police until we returned to Brazzaville. The crossing back to Brazzaville was even more intense than the first. There was twice the whippings, twice the shouting, twice the fights and even an arrest made (of course after the guy was slammed into the side of our car first). We arrived back in Brazzaville to the tsk tsk of the immigration officers and plenty of “what happened?”

Shaken up and dirty we decided to see if there was anything the US embassy could do for us. If nothing else, it was an opportunity to find a sympathetic ear. But we ended up meeting the US Consul who has been helping us using her contacts at the DRC embassy here in Brazzaville and in Kinshasa. Plus we tapped into a little community of US expats working at the embassy who showed us a great little oasis of a place to stay that even has wifi called the Hippocampe. They’ve also taken us out for a crazy night on town, which wasn’t really much different than in Pointe Noire—dark, seedy little overpriced joints that don’t charge white folks to enter and have plenty of “working” girls. It was fun, though, and quite a good change from the stress of being stuck.

We also met a South African couple traveling South to North through Africa that have been great company and provided us loads of contacts along the cape (http://www.rootsinafrica.co.za). Their LandRover has broken down twice already—first in Matadi and now again. They spent $2000 already for the towing from where it broke down (funny enough they broke down in the same spot that we spent the night in the ninja camp, although their experience was less than nice or entertaining) and repairs that was completely squandered by the mechanic, who also managed to escape with glasses, tools and who knows what else from their car. Now they have a new mechanic who again will charge them somewhere around $1000. Every dollar spent on rip-off mechanics is less travel time. Shame, but this is Central Africa and there are no alternatives other than to give up. And there is no way that will happen for the South Africans or us!

On this coming Thursday we will try the crossing again, this time with letters from the US embassy as well as the DRC consular from Brazzaville himself. Hopefully everything will work out better this time for us. We had to purchase a new DRC visa, new boat tickets as well as pay for our expenses here in Brazzaville, so I’m not sure I can afford another failed crossing!

Ninjas in the Jungle

The past week and a half have been a bit wild. After exhausting all our options in Pointe Noire and having to part ways with Steve S., we decided to head to Brazzaville to try our luck crossing the ferry there into Kinshasa and then head to Matadi on the DRC/Angola border to get our Angolan visas. The guys heard from a dutch couple just ahead of us on this north to south route that the Brazzaville-Kinshasa-Matadi way worked out, so we were encouraged by the good news and optimistic leaving Pointe Noire.

That was before 48 hours of nearly impassible roads and hours spent traversing the most potholed, muddy, wreck-your-car roads I`ve ever encountered. At one point we were forced to hire ninja rebel guides to show us a backcountry detour route around a semitruck that was fender deep in muck and blocking the main road. The route took us far into the bush and then dumped us in the middle of a ninja village a few hundred meters from the main road. Of course nothing could be that easy, and we found ourselves stuck in a ninja dug-out trench meant to make the passing `easier`. By the time we were unstuck it was dark and we were missing an expensive flashlight, flipflops and a cell phone. Help in the bush is definitely not free...

Stuck in the mud! This is actually a nice patch of the road compared to what was up ahead.

Semi truck stuck up to his headlights in the middle of N1.

The chief of the ninjas was nice enough to tell the guys to quit hasseling us for money and let us stay the night in front of his house before continuing on to Brazzaville the next day. We picked up a Moroccan hitchhiker as well as a guide from the chief for the rest of the trip to Brazzaville. The extra hands ended up being some of the best luck we`ve had in the last week as the road from Mindouli, the town just before the ninja village, to Kinkala, the next major town 40 kms away, was horrific and literally impassable in parts. We had to take another detour route--this time the road was much more picturesque and followed the contours of grass-covered rolling mountains. The detour was meant to take only three minutes according to the locals we asked, but ended up taking well over an hour and required us to reconstruct a bridge using thick trees and six inch wide steel tresses.

Deep breath Dad: Welcome to Ninja checkpoint number one on the N1 main road to Brazzaville! The guys were actually quite friendly.

After three grueling days, we finally made it to Brazzaville and were excited to be on the right track and making progress. All we had to do was get a letter from the Angolan Embassy saying we were headed to Matadi to get our visas in order to be admitted into Kinshasa, DRC. HAH! As if we were so lucky!

Ordinarily you just photocopy your passport and the information for the cars and you can get the letter for free the next day. It just so happens that the day we were to recieve the letter, the power had gone out so the consular was unable to write the letter. To make matters even better, he left that same afternoon to work for some other department in another town and will only be back in Brazzaville this coming Tuesday. There is no one else who can write the letter, so we are stuck. Again. And this time without the great expat community to help us out. Brazzaville seems to have more stuff to do and see, but is still wickedly expensive--the most basic of accomodations still costs $30US a night!

Right now I am feeling extremely frustrated and tired of being in the Congo. We have been in the Congo now for five weeks and it is getting old fast. This `jaunt` has been eye-opening, though, and I am starting to understand more and more how complicated life is in this part of the world. As we are in limbo, my updates are still going to be sparse. I have some unreal photos of and with the ninja rebels that turned out great and aill probably give my dad a heart attack that I`ll post as soon as the internet is fast enough (don`t worry, though, I am of course being safe). I am still trying to work out my response to everything we`ve been through. I find myself becoming less and less compassionate, which isn`t necessarily a bad thing for what we have to go through to get in and out of places around here. I`ll write more later...

Six Month Reflection

We are still waiting for our Angolan visas here in Pointe Noire and are lucky enough to have some new wonderful Canadian hosts, Heather and Dan. Our current setup includes satellite TV, wireless internet, good nutritious meals, comfortable clean beds, and excellent company. Tough life, this traveling business is!

Having been in limbo for the past three weeks, there's been plenty of time to meditate on my travels thus far. I've had hours to reminisce; to remember where I've been and what a crazy journey it has been to get to where I am now. I am in the middle of the Congo! Never would I have thought this journey would include an overland trip through Central Africa!

It's curious to think about how I've changed as well. When I first started this trip, I was so sure of myself, so sure of what I was searching for. But then everything changed. My first stop, Utila, Honduras, ended up shaping my entire approach towards my travels.

Finishing my dive master program four and-a-half months ago in Utila, Honduras.

I don't have to conquer places. I was having a blast in Utila, so there was no need to leave. The day I decided this--that it was OK to stay longer and let my itinerary flow naturally--I felt a weight had been removed from my shoulders. This is my trip, and, selfish as it may sound, I will do it my way.

My original goal of hunting for new music and dances was too confining. If I narrowed my travels to this theme, I would have missed out on so many other experiences. For example, in Brasil, the home of capoeira, samba, axé, forró, etc., I could have spent my time in samba school learning how to dance in a class. Instead, I found myself samba-ing in the streets of Salvador during Carnaval, trekking in the mountains of Lençois with my new friends Kellie and Diogenes, exploring Rio with my friend Leandro, lounging on the beaches of Buzios with Santiago, and learning Portuguese with my adopted family in Uberlândia. Not to say dance class wouldn’t have been an experience in its own, but I am glad I’m able to let myself flow and be open to new places.

I’ve been reading the blogs from the other Bonderman fellows as well as some true-life adventure books lately (Into the Wild, Off the Rails in Phnom Penh, Blood River). At times I wonder if I am doing this right. All the photos, blog entries and books tell tales of new friends, changing perspectives of world views, crazy exciting adventures, pushing boundaries. And they seem to do so with such enthusiasm and sophisticated contemplation. Do others get that impression from my writing? Are my adventures as dynamic and interesting? Why are there so few popular stories of women adventurers? What are my limitations as a solo woman traveler?

I suppose none of that really matters. I tend to go a little existential-crazy when I have too much time on my hands. I’m here. I’m doing what I’ve always dreamt of doing: seeing the world. And I’m doing it my own way.

Jungle Rot of the Brain

In my last entry, we were optimistically hoping that to have our Angolan visas and be on our way. We are still waiting! And my mind is turning into mush!

This process has turned into a near disaster--there are no other cost and time effective solutions to getting through to Namibia. The guys have even looked into shipping the cars to Namibia to bypass the whole Angola nightmare altogether, but it would take 50 days to get from Pointe Noire, Congo to Walvis Bay, Namibia. 50 days!! We could probably have biked to Southern Africa faster than this all is taking (and indeed, our Argentinian friend who is bicycling around the world will most likely beat us to South Africa!).

Other than the frustration of having to wait in the same expensive city for so long, the delay in the guys' schedule means that most likely they won't be driving through Botswana, Zambia and the like. Rather, we will be racing to get Steve Shoppman to Cape Town on time to catch his May 26th flight back to the states (his sister is getting married, so this is definitely a priority!). I was hoping to get tour much of South Africa with them, but perhaps now I'll have to just stick to my original plans to do so after we part ways.

To complicate matters even more, we were recently informed that due to some oil company distribution blunder, there will be no unleaded gas in Pointe Noire for the next 15 days. What!? We had seen huge line-ups at petrol stations around town, but just figured it was some sort of tax-break day or prices were going to jump; not that there wouldn't be any fuel in town for two weeks! Two of the guys are creating emergency plans to get out of here if things don't start coming together in our favor. If we don't have some sort of good news from the Angolan consulate in the next few days, they plan to store the cars here in the Congo somewhere, fly back to the states for a good month-and-a-half to work on getting more sponsors (i.e. funds) and will return to resume the journey to Cape Town. In the event of this last-resort plan, that more and more seems like the prudent thing for the fellas to do, I will be stranded in Pointe Noire. Their suggestions were to camp out and wait for them to return so I can finish the trip with them, try to get a job here to earn some bucks in the interim time, or just abandon the trip altogether and fly back to SA at an exorbitant price...Not very good options for me!

Fishing camp outside Pointe Noire.

Mark and Charles fishing on the coast outside of Pointe Noire.

On a different note, though, there are worse places to get stuck for the time being. The Pointe Noire expat community here has been so good to us. Patrick and Sabine, the owners of Le Pyramide Bar where we were camping gave us t-shirts and wished us all the love and peace of Jah on our future journey (one of the most flattering blessings from a Rasta-man!). We reunited with the telecommunication guys with a night of whiskey and rubbery bbq chicken and have been staying with them again. Another friend named Chris took us out for a $300 meal at the best restaurant in Pointe Noire and then drinks at a swanky pool bar. The boys have also racked up some sponsorships from a commercial diving outfit as well as a Toyota dealer, just because the owners like the concept of the trip.

So while this jaunt in mid-western Africa is slowly becoming a nightmare of the paper-pushing sort, there are still good memories and experiences that I'll take from Pointe Noire. This adventure has just further confirmed my academic understanding of this part of the world--problems of corruption and bureaucratic inefficiency are complicated to fix, and most people here just learn to live despite these encumbrances. People are most definitely disappointed in the governing system, and expressive about their concerns, but continue to go about their lives the best they can. This is perhaps a bad thing* at times, but also has proved important in my understanding of the Congo.

Hopefully my next blog will have news of our departure from Pointe Noire!

*For example: A friend of ours relayed a story about a French woman who was working in a bank here in Pointe Noire. Something like $40,000US disappeared from a client's account, and for some reason she was blamed and thrown into prison. She ended up staying there for three weeks while the French Consul and others pushed for her release or the details of why she was being held (the police couldn't provide this latter detail, or refused to...) As a result, she has been in the hospital for the past three days after losing about 22lbs, coming down with malaria and other maladies. But while she was in prison, she had very few friends visitor her at all, and instead, rumors started spreading. Our friend was distraught by the situation and couldn't believe that other French expats didn't support the accused, especially considering they knew her and are well aware of how corrupt things can be here.

Supposedly there is some sort of organized network of crime in the bank both here in Pointe Noire and in Brazzaville, and the bank manager, and whomever else involved, just needed a scapegoat and blamed the poor French woman. The bank has apologized to her, but just think of everything she's been through!

Stuck in Pointe Noire

We have been stuck here in Pointe Noire for ten days now and counting. The process of attaining an Angolan visa is way trickier than we had anticipated, and even when (if) we get the visas there is no telling whether or not it will work out at the Cabinda border. There seems to be a disconnect between Angolan immigration law and what the Angola Consulate here is willing to do for us. Unfortunately, the process to obtain our visas has required a local influential contact and a lot of charming and pressuring. Supposedly we will have visas by tomorrow so that we can get back on track on the journey back towards South Africa. Supposedly.

The house we were staying in at first had to bounce us since it is a corporate house, so we ended up meeting a guy who runs a bar on the beach here in Pointe Noire who was happy to let us camp out for free. So, we are living at a bar for the time being. This has helped ease the pain: every morning we wake up to the ocean, a nice breeze, and have access to beers all day long to wash down our troubles. The folks running the bar are also great people and really love the idea behind the trip.

Everyone here in Pointe Noire has been exceptionally nice to us, in fact, and we've been invited for several bbq's around town. Most of our meals thus far have included dehydrated veggies, fried chicken and avocado sandwiches, so the good home cooked meals, wine, and desserts (as well as offers to let us shower and do laundry) has been more than appreciated.

We also happened to meet an Argentinian at the Angola Consulate who has been cycling around the world for about three years now. He's been all through the Americas, Europe and West Africa, and is now stuck in Pointe Noire as well as he figures out a way to get to Kinshasa, DRC to bike south to Lumbubashi, DRC--about 1500 kms. He is crazy. But his trip is incredible. He has a blog in spanish: http://www.africanbici.blogspot.com/

For now, I am slowing going crazy as we wait for the visas. Long hot days spent lazing about near the sea is surprisingly driving me mad--I want some excitement and change! By tomorrow we should hopefully know whether or not things are going to work out.

When it Rains in the Congo, Try to Avoid Driving

'Nuff said.

We stayed two nights camping in Cap Estérias, outside Libreville, with a guy who called himself Jack Daniels. Each night consisted of many a tall cold beer produced from somewhere in the bush, some sort of tasty avec type meal, and JD showing some true African style hospitality. JD’s place is about five minutes from the beach where a handful of French expats and diplomats loaf about at two exorbitantly overpriced restaurants. He’s building bungalows to rent out to travelers, and since the road to the area is undergoing a massive pavement project (currently it is all mud and potholes), by the time his place is finished he should have a good stream of people coming through.

After some hassle from the Republic of Congo Consulate, we got our visas sorted for the Congo and the Democratic Republic of Congo* and hit the road South. We slept one sweaty uncomfortable night in the trucks and had to pass numerous check points before getting to the Congo where, again, we ran into several checkpoints and had about three “official” entry passes stamped into our passports (everyone wants to make their mark!).

Passing through the Congo is beautiful, though a bit tragic. The road winds and rolls through grassy fields and naked mountains where lush jungle ought to be before bouncing into the remaining dense jungle in the mountains between Dolisie and Pointe Noire. Our first night we camped in a Makonga village about 100km from the Gabonese border. We pulled up and said, “So the road ahead is pretty rough and it is getting dark…” and a guy who looked a little like Ice Cube said, “Well then, stay here for the night!” We drank palm wine, smoked cigarettes and shared some of our dinner with our new friends who, for the most part, just stood curiously watching us and tentatively asking questions in French about what we were up to.

The next morning we left early to head towards the DRC border. We were stopped, fortunately, at a checkpoint at the Dolisie/Pointe Noire crossroads and discovered that we had punctured a tire and it was quickly going to be flat. A truck pulled up with a white passenger who said a brief “Hello” and introduced himself before ducking into a store to purchase some Cokes. Andre ended up being the first in a series of South African telecommunication saviors we’ve encountered here in the Congo. He passed us on to his associate, Derrick, who immediately began “organizing” for us. We camped out in the company warehouse, showered in his hotel room, and were directed to head to Pointe Noire where we would be met by Kristo who would show us to the ex-Minister of Defense’s mansion, the company hang-out, before Junel tried to help us sort out Cabinda and Angola visas.

Getting to Pointe Noire was a bit more of a challenge than expected, though. The road passes through dense steaming jungle in the mountains and appears to mainly be used by huge logging trucks. We passed convoys of Chinese trucks carrying road building equipment—apparently China will be building nice tarred roads in the Congo in exchange for access to timber and oil. Hmm.

We ended up slip sliding our way to Pointe Noire in about eight and a half hours (its only about 175km, which should take about half that time). It started to downpour less than halfway into our journey, and the road turned into buttery mud that proved to be quite treacherous. There was a point, when Steve Shoppman and I were sliding almost out of control down a steep hill with a huge drop off on one side that I thought how crazy this adventure is. We survived, though, and only once had to carefully maneuver one of the trucks out of a sticky situation. In Pointe Noire we met up with Kristo and were taken to the marble mansion, complete with wifi, satellite TV and a pool.

That is where we are now—trying to figure out where we can go from here. Cabinda/Angola is going to be a challenge to get to. Our visit to the consulate today was completely unsuccessful, with the guard at the gate refusing to even let us in since it was “prohibited” to get a tourist visa for overland travel in Angola. We’ll see.

*(if you are confused about the difference, the Republic of Congo, also known as Congo-Brazaville, is an ex-French whereas the DRC, formerly known as Zaire, was a Belgian colony and has one of the bloodiest and heartbreaking histories I’ve heard yet in Africa. For more information check out the descriptions of the DRC in Tim Butcher’s book Blood River: A Journey to Africa’s Broken Heart)

And we're off...almost

I am still in Libreville waiting on a visa to the DRC, and my internet time is about to go out, so this will have to be quick!

So far everything has been good. Well, other than being stopped by police for "traffic checks" and waiting forever for visas. But overall, I get along with the boys--Mark, Steve and Steve--and Gabon is nice and chilled out.

We're leaving today for the Congo, and no telling how sketchy the internet will be on the way, so expect short, if any, posts for the next month or so.

And I'm off...

This past Sunday I heard from a group that is driving around the world that I could join them. I had read a post on couchsurfer.com about their trip and after looking through their website, I though I would casually see if they didn't mind if I joined them. I never expected the answer to be yes!

So, on Monday I impulsively bought a ticket to Libreville, Gabon, and ran to the Embassy of Gabon to sort out my visa. I'll be leaving tomorrow (Friday) to meet up with them, and will spend the next 6-7 weeks driving through Western and Southern Africa back towards South Africa. This promises to be a very rough and challenging road for me (figuratively and literally), but I am looking forward to the test.

Here is a link to their website will all the details about their project, including posts and videos from the guys: http://theworldbyroad.com/

Some photos from Kliptown Creche

Here are some photos from our visit to the preschool in Soweto.

Heading back from shopping for food.
Watching the preschool students perform for the visiting group.
Playing the drums for the performers as the one and two year olds look on.
The best use of a stroller I've seen so far!

Black, White and Shades of Grey

South Africa is not simple. The persistance and tension of race issues has complicated my stay here and made navigating cultural cues nearly impossible. Everything is entangled in misperceptions, life experiences and history. I don't know how to even begin to describe my time here.

I visited the Apartheid Museum, like any good tourist, my first week here and was overwhelmed by the multimedia presentation of the rise and fall of Apartheid. The display was both inspiring and daunting. It touched on some of the intricacies of race relations here in South Africa--the distinction of Afrikaaners from other white people, the fraction of the black community into racial groups, the lack of acknowledgement of mixed race and Asian persons, and how all of these distinctions were toyed with under colonial rule. It is with this foundation that I was introduced to modern day Johannesburg and Pretoria.


Pretoria is relatively quite and staunchy, with persistant racial segregation (it used to serve as the seat of power for the Apartheid Regime, so plenty of old school Afrikaaners). I have literally encountered persons who refused to speak English to me and just went on in Afrikaans as if I was expected to know it. Luckily, I met some young folks here through couchsurfing.com who have made my time here in Pretoria feel much more vibrant. Coincidentally, there were two folks from Seattle who were couchsurfing with one of the girls in the group--small world!


I also went to Jo'burg for two days to visit another friend I made through couchsurfing.com (quite possibly the best resource I have ever stumbled across for travelers). Hendi ended up working for South African Broadcasting Corporation, although he had just quit, so most of his friends were in the music (i.e. hip hop artists, promoters, etc.), tv and film industries. Our first day was spent carting around a local emcee name Ben Sharpa and an artist from New York name Wordsworth. For dinner we met up with the whole crew of promoters, djs, artists (including the winner of the Emcee Africa competition), etc, and afterwards at the bars, folks would just buy the whole group rounds of drinks. We ended up getting fairly drunk. Ok, not fairly, REALLY drunk! That's when the trouble started. Somehow two very intoxicated girls started arguing with one of the guys and I saw how explosive racial tensions can be.

My time in Jo'burg was still fabulous, though, and I was introduced to youth subculture that I wouldn't otherwise have been aware of (who knew that hip hop, urban street artists and film could be such important vehicles for youths' voices).

Today we visited Kliptown Preschool in Soweto, one of the townships of Jo'burg. Pam, the woman who runs the show gave us a little tour of the community there, explaining what life in a shantytown is really like. I, being the over-thinking hyper-critical analyst that I am, felt quite awkward guaking at people's lives. There was a group of students from San Diego State University on an alternative spring break that came with us, and many of them were snapping photos of the kids and the shacks as if it were Disney Land. Again, I am clearly too critical!

One of the highlights of the trip was the performance put on by the children, ranging in age from one ot five. Each age group gave a short performance of songs and dances sung mostly in Zulu. The cutest part was to see the little three-year-old girls shaking their booties or the boys chopping the air and stamping their feet. Later on during the day, some folks broke out the drums and a few older kids performed some dances. The sounds of the drums made my heart go "ba-bump," and I realized I was having one of those "ahah" happy moments where I realize why life, despite all the crap, is still great.

I'm hoping to meet up with a friend who is doing Peace Corps here in South Africa before hitting up Kruger National Park and then taking of on some proper travels. Ngeyavalilisa!

Tchau Brasil, Hello South Africa

I just arrived in South Africa yesterday (Easter Sunday, although I didn't realize it was a holiday weekend until I was told that the airport had no flights from Uberlândia to Saõ Paulo and there were only limited buses due to the holiday weekend...eek!). My three day journey to get here included a ten hour bus ride to Saõ Paulo, a 14 hour wait in Guarulhos airport, a ten hour flight to Washington, D.C. followed by a 45 minute puddle jump to New York, another 8 hour layover followed by a 17 hour plane ride to Johannesburg. Did I mention that Johannesburg is only 8 hours away from Saõ Paulo? I took the scenic route!

It feels as though I am starting a whole new journey now. I was starting to feel comfortable in Brasil--I was learning Portuguese quickly, making good friends, and starting to get into the Brasilian state of mind--perpetually happy and laaaaiiiiiidback! I was bound to leave eventually...already I was itching to head to Argentina (which, mind you I never did! I couldn't pull myself away from Uberlândia and my adopted family!), but so long as I was in South America, it seemed so familiar and easy. There was only a long bus ride or two and I could be back to any number of places I now consider home. Crossing an ocean was the best push to get me to keep going and get back in the "where to next?" mode.

But I've been feeling a bit more lost lately. Instead of growing outwardly and being spontaneous and outgoing as usual, I've grown inward and felt fairly shy. I have to admit, I would even blush when people would speak to me in Uberlândia. I have no clue why! It wasn't as if I were actually embarassed! I think I just got nervous that they were speaking to me in Portuguese and I was expected to respond in kind. Perhaps it was also a touch of self consciousness about being the only gringa around. I am still confused about my travels so far and have been desperately trying to put everything together and make some beautiful profound prose about the person I am now or the way the world has revealed itself to me. Alas, I am speechless! And worse, I am almost truly speechless--I've nearly lost my command over the English language and continue to think in Spanish-Portuguese.

I am staying at my Aunt Linda's house in Pretoria now for a little regrouping and planning before hitting the road again. She is spoiling me, as usual, and I am going to shamelessly enjoy every second of it, including the endless supply of sweets and wine and the cable access. Hopefully I'll have some more fotos to post from Brasil soon (they are still coming in!), and I'll write as soon as I have some interesting stories from South Africa. Tchau!

some fotos as promised long ago...

At my own private cachoeira in Ublerlândia
Gabriel, Wendel and me putting our shoes back on after a quick dip
Eder, Flaviane and eu at the lake place
Rafael and me on the dock
A vaca on the family fazenda

Okay, for some reason it won´t let me post photos...I´ll fix it later.

I´m drunk on Uberlândia

I was wrong about Uberlândia. While the city isn´t all that interesting and quite like any city with a small center of highrises surounded by shopping malls and suburbs, the countryside is intoxicating.

I´m posting some pictures with this post since I have some now for the first time (Sidenote: For the first time on my trip I´ve really wished I had a camera here in Uberlândia. I had an itch to have one in Buzios to try to capture what it was like to hike through the jungle to a beautiful slice of pristine white beach. Here, though, I´ve realized how convenient it would be to just have my own camera to capture all the memories of people and places instead of having to beg the friends I make along the way to send them. So, while other Bonderman travelers are pushing themselves to not go to touristy places or travel on tight budgets, I am challenging myself to not take photos. Hmmm..)

I tried to take a few photos on the way into my friends´ family farm, but none that I took could capture the romance of the setting. The farm reminded me a lot of being a kid again--making forts in haystacks, the magic of untouched forests, the musky smell of horses and manure, chickens pecking away--but seemed even richer than any childhood memories I have. Here in Brasil, a farm means long sunburnt red roads cutting through perfect green hills that both roll and steeply tumble into fields of corn and cow pastures. The soil here is heavy and wet, so that everything has a slightly ripe smell as if it were being digested.

The family farm that we visited had a very magical feeling about it. Abacate (avocado), laranja (orange), goiaba (guava) and coffee plants grew wildly all over. The afternoon sun hung low and created curious shadows. The only thing that reminded me I was, indeed, on my friends´ family farm and not in a movie were the two GIANT pitbulls, named Bruce and Sadan, who tore through the place chasing tires and flinging slobber.

The trip to the family farm is only part of the reason I can´t seem to tear myself away from this normal place. The friends I am staying with have taken me to the lake to jet ski and play in the sun and to a private farm with a series of cachoeiras (waterfalls) on the property that they allow folks to visit. We basically played in our own waterfalls all day.

I suppose you get the picture, and if not, I´ve included a few along with this post. I am still trying to figure out how I can convince myself to leave this place, especially since I now have friends in Buenos Aires who are hoping I come. My last chance to make it to Buenos Aires is today, though, so I´ll keep you posted on my whereabouts!

Uberlandia here I come!

I managed to stay one week in Rio de Janeiro and do nothing. No visits to the famous Corcovado, Pao do Azucar nor Santa Teresa. I didn´t even go out to any of the notorious samba clubs in Lapa. I managed to make it to Ipanema beach every day, though. And buy a skimpier bikini. And get very very dark brown. And get a crazy new haircut from an Argentine that makes me look like one of those old school Mobile action figures.

I also ran to the famous stadium, Maracana, with a crazy middle aged Israeli man from my hostel to purchase tickets off a scalper for the Rio Championship Futbol Cup between Flamengo and Botafoga. We didn´t sit with the thousands of fanatics that match (and by fanatics I mean beer-throwing, firework-laden, screaming, stomping FANS!), but the second futbol game I went to between Flamengo (who, by the way, won the Rio Championship) and some other team I definitely sat with the fanatics and it was definitely crazier!

By the time I left Rio, I didn´t mind it so much, but then again I didn´t really do all that much in Rio besides lay on the beach all day and go to futbol games.

After a week, I was ready to move on and headed to Buzios and Arraial do Cabo east of Rio de Janeiro for a little R&R. I managed to meet another Argentine who soundly convinced me I should come visit Buenos Aires for one week and he would make sure I had an authentic, sincere and memorable visit, including true Tango, Churriasco and a list of wines to try...hmmm...sounds like my kind of city. Plus his sister is brilliant and studies social politics at FLAXO with other brilliant minded persons. So I won´t be passing up this opportunity!

After a few days more of baking myself on some of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen and getting fed up with rich Brasilian tourists that flock to Buzios, I decided to head to Uberlandia to visit friends.

Which is where I am at now. I am starting to feel a little harried from all the LONG bus rides and too-quick visits to places. I like taking it slow and getting to know places, especially after you´ve been on a bus for the past 15 hours cramped next to a burly snoring Brasilian. Uberlandia is quite normy--that is normal, non-touristy, on the verge of boring--and a good rest from the travel circuit. I´ll be meeting all the friends and family of my friends before going camping at some nearby water falls for a night. Then, if I can muster the will, I will head to Iguazu Falls on the border between Argentina and Brasil (about 30 hours by bus) before a last hurrah in Buenos Aires. Oumph. I am tired!

Why Rio Sucks

I arrived in Rio de Janeiro yesterday afternoon after a 30 hour long bus ride from up north. I didn´t really plan to come to Rio at all since usually big, touristy, fake cities aren´t really my thing, but I decided to stay another month or so in Brasil and the only way to change my paper ticket to South Africa was to go to an office in Rio.

So, tearfully I had to part ways with my beautiful family--Rosa, Meiu, Raul and Gabi--in Lencois. Kellie and I had been staying in their house, and Rosa was absolutely lovely. She was helping us learn Portuguese and taught us how to make beijus. When she left, she and our other friends in Lencois all asked when we were coming back. I wanted to tell them I wished I never had to leave!

Now, in Rio, it sucks. I arrived and it was raining and the travel agency was closed. I found the first semi-close inexpensive hostel and it was pretty bad and FULL of Israelis (generally this is not a bad thing, but when you are kept awake from loud conversations in Hebrew and are bombarded by huge groups of Israelis traveling after their service in the military, it is ANNOYING!). I did meet a nice Argentine who happened to know a better hostel that I switched to today (also full of Israelis, but it is cheaper and much nicer).

It is beautiful outside today, but I have been wandering around, getting lost, and trying desperately to find the travel agency again. I finally had to take an expensive taxi, only to be told by the travel agent that he a) can only change one half of my ticket (I fly to New York, then South Africa, and he can only help the New York leg) and b) that there is nothing available until after April 9th. He said all of this as if he didn´t really care, which he didn´t, and when I asked for the nearest internet shop so I could call my travel agent in the states, he just said he had no clue and bye. AHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I hate Rio so far, and as soon as I change my ticket, I think I will leave!!

A trekking we will go!

I just got back from a two day trek in the jungles of Chapada Diamantina where I not only climbed waterfalls and hiked to one of the most beautiful places I´ve ever been, but also managed to come back with a sun burn and some nasty blisters.

The trek was amazing! It was Kellie and me, three Dutch guys and our two Brasilian guys, one of which spoke no English. That ended up working in my favor, since he agreed to only speak to me in Portuguese and I understood everything he said with the exception of a few words. My Portugues, at least comprehension, is getting better every day, and I keep managing to make friends with locals who get a kick out of my limited Portuguese and the occasional slang words I spit out.

Our guides were crazy, and smoked pot every time we rested. However, they also cooked the best meals ever and carried most of the equipment from all of us in their own packs. In total we ended up hiking about 18km (I think that is around 11 miles), but much of it was straight up the side of the mountain or hopping from rock to rock up a river. I noticed this trip that I was a lot less squeamish about being dirty, stinky, getting eaten alive by every type of bug other than mosquitos, and drinking red/brown river water. I don´t even jump at cockroaches anymore!

I can´t really describe how beautiful the past two days have been. The jungle is probably a lot less lush than you´d think and the waterfalls twice as incredible. I´m still trying to harass Kellie to put her photos on the web so I can snatch them.

Anyways, Bob Marley and a nice cool drink are calling from the central square. Ciao!

Oh where, oh where has my ficante gone?

Before leaving for Itaparica, Kellie and I went to an internet shop run by a Nigerian and ended up talking to another Nigerian man about Salvador and Brasilian social relationships. He briefly told us about the relationship between Carnaval and other Brasilian festivals with those in Africa and how well Bahia in particular has preserved some of its African culture. He also told us all about ficar, which is basically a sexual relationship with someone with no strings attached--a noncommittal affair of sorts (he related the concept of ficar or ficante through a pretty nasty story including a married woman and death threat!). As such, he explained, Brasilian men seem to ooze passion and spit out 'I love you' without any thought to the meaning of the phrase, and both Brasilian men and women tend to be very possesive and jealous. I wish I had known about ficar sooner. It would have explained all the offers of marriage and tempts to slip in a tongue kiss when I met new Brasilians!

After our talk with our new Nigerian friend, we agreed to meet him at an African bar for some salsa later that night. We ended up dancing all night and leaving the bar at five in the morning! I also was asked by the bar owner to marry him and have his children so he could treat me like a queen. Hmmm.....ficar anyone!?

We slept through our capoeira lesson the next day and immediately left for Itaparica to visit our friend. He was meant to meet us at the bom despacho, and since I was really just coming along to experience some real, non-touristy Brasilian life, Kellie had been trying to coordinate our meeting. We waited for an hour and a half at a restaurant near the bom despacho, or what we thought was the bom despacho before realizing there are two boat launches on the island and we were at the wrong one! Luckily our friend was still waiting for us at the correct bom despacho and we managed to make some new friends at the restaurant.

Itaparica was nice, slow and local. We were maybe the only two gringas in that part of the island, which tended to have more people who were less well off than around the marina part of the island. The whole island also uses a natural spring (bica) as their water source, so water was free but a bit of a hike from where we were staying. It was interesting getting a new feel for what Brasil is like. Many of the people on Itaparica that we met either couldn't or didn't want to leave the island, and our friend showed us (good heartedly, though) the contrast between the rich and poor all over the island (as he and his friends said: 'we are not hick (rich), we poh (poor).'

Now, I am in Lençois, in the Chapada Diamantina, and planning on leaving for a two day trek tomorrow to a waterfall. It is very beautiful here and has an artsy homey feel.

I am starting to have panic attacks about leaving (literally, my chest seizes up and I get a shortness of breath) and keep worrying that I only have about a week left and still haven't even taken a samba class yet. I have a friend in Rio de Janeiro that I wanted to visit, and some more costal towns to stop in, but I have no time! AHHH! I don't want to leave yet!