All kidding aside, surmounting an ostrich who has other plans is no mean feat. they may be incredibly stupid, but they know what they don't like, and that includes having homo sapiens on their backs. first, ostriches do not provide the same level of comfort as most other modes of transport, such as the 4x4. Instead of the nice wide soft seat in the 4x4, the ostrich offers a bony, narrow "saddle" area. In the case of the ostrich, I seriously underestimated its ability to accelerate. While I similarly underestimated the power behind the throttle of the 4x4, I never sensed its desire to throw me from the vehicle. rather, I felt firmly astride a very grounded machine with a low center of gravity and which had many fewer feathers. I was tossed almost immediately by the ostrich. he quite literally zoomed out from under me. I had no chance. with the 4x4 I couldn't fall off except with great effort on my part even as we flew up deeply rutted hills and down steep embankments occasionally pocked with hubcap high water hazards.
When riding an ostrich, one must grab hold of its wings and lean back, almost like water skiing. with the 4x4, you grab the much more user friendly handle bars around which one can easily wrap one's fingers without wondering if you're choking the bejesus out of it as was the case with the understandably stressed ostrich. with the 4x4, you gently hit the throttle and easily control your rate of speed. In contrast, the ostrich simply can't wait to get you off his back.
but, in the end, there's no denying that the 4x4 just doesn't have those long eyelashes so prominently visible on the ostrich. it's tough not to like these critters even if they do want to kill you.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
The Jump
Thirteen years ago, when we were in New Zealand, we permitted a 13 year old, jesse, to bungy jump. It was his driving ambition (to the extent someone of that age can have such a thing) and we, caught up in the moment, the so-called adults (lily and me), permitted this insanity. I recall that after our return, people whose judgment we normally trusted looked at us agog and muttered that Family Services or the ASPCA or someone in authority should know about this.
We flash forward now to 2009. alex is 22, hoping to see 23. In front of us looms the allegedly highest bungy jump on earth. this would put it at about 216 meters, or roughly the same as jumping off a 65 story building. It's located in Bloukrans along the southern coast of south africa. let me tell you, it is one thing to contemplate a jump like this, and quite another to stare into the maw of the endless descent that awaits you. yet, here we are and alex's bravado is now tinged with a trace of "oh, my god. what was I thinking?" charlie, alex's traveling buddy, who joins in on the mayhem, appears to be preternaturally calm, but admits to an elevated pulse rate.
lily and I join the two masochists as sane holdout witnesses. the jumping off point is the underside of a bridge that spans a deep-cut gorge. It is the largest bridge in south africa. to get to the jump, one must first traverse a walkway that inconveniently has only a widely spaced metal grate for a floor, so that with each passing step, if you look down, you see the increasing depths, both literal and figurative, alex and charlie are about to jump into. I unconsciously find myself holding on too much to the mesh "walls" of the walkway.
as the time arrives, alex and charlie are bound up with harnesses, braces, ropes and pads. the similarities to an execution are too numerous to ignore. with their legs bound together, they must literally hop to the precipice where they await the mercifully short countdown. alex, unconsciously grasps the sleeve of a staff member who instantly orders him in no uncertain terms to let go. alex holds his arms wide and, in his best effort to replicate a swan dive, he steps off into the nothingness. my stomach flip flops.
we watch a live video feed of his descent and hold our breath as he recoils several times with skyward bounces each time the bungy cord is fully stretched. I am aware that I am breathing again. when he is back on the bridge, his grin could not be wider. you know, the kind of grin one can only have when you feel you have cheated death.
later that day, I am introduced to a wonderful Cuban rum. I conclude that the two events are not entirely unrelated.
We flash forward now to 2009. alex is 22, hoping to see 23. In front of us looms the allegedly highest bungy jump on earth. this would put it at about 216 meters, or roughly the same as jumping off a 65 story building. It's located in Bloukrans along the southern coast of south africa. let me tell you, it is one thing to contemplate a jump like this, and quite another to stare into the maw of the endless descent that awaits you. yet, here we are and alex's bravado is now tinged with a trace of "oh, my god. what was I thinking?" charlie, alex's traveling buddy, who joins in on the mayhem, appears to be preternaturally calm, but admits to an elevated pulse rate.
lily and I join the two masochists as sane holdout witnesses. the jumping off point is the underside of a bridge that spans a deep-cut gorge. It is the largest bridge in south africa. to get to the jump, one must first traverse a walkway that inconveniently has only a widely spaced metal grate for a floor, so that with each passing step, if you look down, you see the increasing depths, both literal and figurative, alex and charlie are about to jump into. I unconsciously find myself holding on too much to the mesh "walls" of the walkway.
as the time arrives, alex and charlie are bound up with harnesses, braces, ropes and pads. the similarities to an execution are too numerous to ignore. with their legs bound together, they must literally hop to the precipice where they await the mercifully short countdown. alex, unconsciously grasps the sleeve of a staff member who instantly orders him in no uncertain terms to let go. alex holds his arms wide and, in his best effort to replicate a swan dive, he steps off into the nothingness. my stomach flip flops.
we watch a live video feed of his descent and hold our breath as he recoils several times with skyward bounces each time the bungy cord is fully stretched. I am aware that I am breathing again. when he is back on the bridge, his grin could not be wider. you know, the kind of grin one can only have when you feel you have cheated death.
later that day, I am introduced to a wonderful Cuban rum. I conclude that the two events are not entirely unrelated.
End Points
I do not believe myself to be an obsessive person, but I do own up to one obsession: end points of land. those spots beyond which you cannot step on terra firma and which constitute the most western or southern point, etc. of a land mass. there's an allure in it for me -- the ability to say at that moment no man is further south, east, north or west of me. it's a bit silly, I know, and most definitely self-congratulatory, but I persist. Key West was one of these; Cabo de la Roca in Portugal another (western most point in europe). and, this trip has delightfully provided two. the first was a few days ago on the trip down to the Cape of Good Hope at the bottom of the peninsula stretching south from Capetown. Its spectacular setting of craggy mountains and crashing waves only enhanced the fact that you could stand on a spot and claim in that moment that no man could stand more southwest than you and still be on the African continent.
A few minutes ago, we had a similar experience at Cape Agulhas. It is here that you can stand on the absolute southernmost point of the African continent, and also where you can figuratively have one foot in the Atlantic Ocean and one on the Indian Ocean. perfection.
Next, I want to straddle the equator, but that's for another time.
A few minutes ago, we had a similar experience at Cape Agulhas. It is here that you can stand on the absolute southernmost point of the African continent, and also where you can figuratively have one foot in the Atlantic Ocean and one on the Indian Ocean. perfection.
Next, I want to straddle the equator, but that's for another time.
How to Greet a Cheetah
It's somewhat more elaborate than you might think. first, our "handlers" at the cheetah sanctuary we visited outside Stellenbosch advised us not to approach these beasts from the front. apparently, they consider this way too threatening, so this is a good thing to know. second, you should stroke them only with a flat hand, and, for God's sake, stay away from the groin area. third, do not reach for their heads. I don't know what the problem is with that, but I considered it sage advice nevertheless. fourth, stay in a crouched position with one knee on the ground so you can jump back fairly quickly should the big guy get a sudden hunger pang.
It appears that while sitting next to a grown cheetah is really quite safe, they can get "boisterous" (their term, not mine). And, you don't want a boisterous cheetah whose claws are maybe 18 inches from your jugular, if you get my drift. In this case, it was Hemingway, a 4 year old male. Hemingway seemed calm enough, but when there's no fence between you and a cheetah, your imagination can become very vivid, if you know what I mean. we learned that cheetahs sleep about 22 hours per day -- the consummate 4 legged couch potato -- but when they want to hunt (which, oddly, is solely a day-time activity for them), they earn their title as fastest animal on the planet.
I'll bet you didn't know that the hair where a cheetah's black spots are of a different consistency than the rest of its coat, giving the black spots a slightly raised appearance to better camouflage them. yeah, it was new to me too.
It appears that while sitting next to a grown cheetah is really quite safe, they can get "boisterous" (their term, not mine). And, you don't want a boisterous cheetah whose claws are maybe 18 inches from your jugular, if you get my drift. In this case, it was Hemingway, a 4 year old male. Hemingway seemed calm enough, but when there's no fence between you and a cheetah, your imagination can become very vivid, if you know what I mean. we learned that cheetahs sleep about 22 hours per day -- the consummate 4 legged couch potato -- but when they want to hunt (which, oddly, is solely a day-time activity for them), they earn their title as fastest animal on the planet.
I'll bet you didn't know that the hair where a cheetah's black spots are of a different consistency than the rest of its coat, giving the black spots a slightly raised appearance to better camouflage them. yeah, it was new to me too.
So it Begins With the Animals
we were headed south to the Cape of Good Hope. you know -- the point of land immortalized by Vasco de Gama a half millennium ago. the peninsula leading down to the Cape is now park land. mile after mile of breathtaking emptiness. not barrenness, mind you. just endless miles of dramatic land and seascapes with absolutely no hint that humans walk the earth. fabulous.
apparently, alot of animals think so too since they pop up like "whack-a-moles" when you least expect them. on today's program, we had the pleasure of meeting up with baboons, penguins, ostriches, and dassies (more on these latter creatures later). First, the baboons. they are fearless. we came upon them first on the open road -- and I mean literally on the road -- where they nonchalantly occupied the center of the roadway causing something of a traffic back-up. I'm not thinking "cute" or "adorable" when in their presence. these guys are big, let me tell you. and, as the phrase goes, if looks could kill, these guys would be doing jail time. their laser-like stare would cause the most hardened mafia hit man to blink. people, such as myself, would get within a couple of feet of them, and we might as well have been invisible. they just didn't care. the signs in the area promised that baboons were dangerous and so we discretely ceded them the right of way until they would let us pass.
then came the penguins. not your regal emperor bird found in antartica, but the south african penguin. much smaller, but again, almost fearless. we came upon them on a path to the beach and allowed us to come within inches of them. I touched one and found how surprised I was at how feathery they are. like birds. (oh, right. they are birds.) what was more amazing, however, was a scene in which penguins and people shared a beach together. I'm talking sunbathers and their kids, with people playing paddleball. the penguins, while not exactly dodging beach blankets, would literally swim around splashing kids and scolding parents as if they were some sort of fixture, like a tree. amazing.
In a somewhat more secluded spot, we watched one penguin come up from taking a dip in the water to where his or her spouse was sitting on a couple of babies. while I couldn't be entirely sure of this, it appeared that the squawking going on between them was in the manner of one saying to the other, "where the hell have you been? I've been sitting on these guys for hours while you're out joyriding!" male and female penguins are very hard to distinguish -- at least for me they are -- so, it was hard to know who was griping at who. as if it matters.
a final word about dassies. I had never heard of these creatures before, but have been told they are genetically linked to elephants. this comes as a bit of a surprise to me since dassies look like small groundhogs and weigh about two tons less than their alleged partners-in-evolution, the elephant. additionally, the dassie's ears are tiny while we all know the elephant's ear to be the size of a small station wagon. with some skepticism, I cross examine a park person about this, and she assures me the organic structure and skeletal design of the two creatures are very similar. to my ear, this is like saying that I am biologically linked to a redwood tree. I'm not getting it.
apparently, alot of animals think so too since they pop up like "whack-a-moles" when you least expect them. on today's program, we had the pleasure of meeting up with baboons, penguins, ostriches, and dassies (more on these latter creatures later). First, the baboons. they are fearless. we came upon them first on the open road -- and I mean literally on the road -- where they nonchalantly occupied the center of the roadway causing something of a traffic back-up. I'm not thinking "cute" or "adorable" when in their presence. these guys are big, let me tell you. and, as the phrase goes, if looks could kill, these guys would be doing jail time. their laser-like stare would cause the most hardened mafia hit man to blink. people, such as myself, would get within a couple of feet of them, and we might as well have been invisible. they just didn't care. the signs in the area promised that baboons were dangerous and so we discretely ceded them the right of way until they would let us pass.
then came the penguins. not your regal emperor bird found in antartica, but the south african penguin. much smaller, but again, almost fearless. we came upon them on a path to the beach and allowed us to come within inches of them. I touched one and found how surprised I was at how feathery they are. like birds. (oh, right. they are birds.) what was more amazing, however, was a scene in which penguins and people shared a beach together. I'm talking sunbathers and their kids, with people playing paddleball. the penguins, while not exactly dodging beach blankets, would literally swim around splashing kids and scolding parents as if they were some sort of fixture, like a tree. amazing.
In a somewhat more secluded spot, we watched one penguin come up from taking a dip in the water to where his or her spouse was sitting on a couple of babies. while I couldn't be entirely sure of this, it appeared that the squawking going on between them was in the manner of one saying to the other, "where the hell have you been? I've been sitting on these guys for hours while you're out joyriding!" male and female penguins are very hard to distinguish -- at least for me they are -- so, it was hard to know who was griping at who. as if it matters.
a final word about dassies. I had never heard of these creatures before, but have been told they are genetically linked to elephants. this comes as a bit of a surprise to me since dassies look like small groundhogs and weigh about two tons less than their alleged partners-in-evolution, the elephant. additionally, the dassie's ears are tiny while we all know the elephant's ear to be the size of a small station wagon. with some skepticism, I cross examine a park person about this, and she assures me the organic structure and skeletal design of the two creatures are very similar. to my ear, this is like saying that I am biologically linked to a redwood tree. I'm not getting it.
Driving on the Left....
is serious business. what a challenge to your senses. everything is so thoroughly counterintuitive. steering wheel on the right, turn signal and lights on the right side of the wheel, manual shift on the left! clockwise moving traffic circles! you must supress every driving instinct you have because the alternative is not good, my friend. So - to repeat the mantra my friend, marcus, left me with, "left is right and right is wrong." I know he meant to be helpful with this, but given the split seconds in which some driving decisions must be made, I've reduced this most essential guidance to "left!!" Can't wait to get out of Capetown to make this mental and physical effort simpler. my advice: do not multi-task while attempting this fretful activity. this means no music, talking, maybe even no gum chewing. and, never, I repeat, never do this when jet lagged. I am at red alert all the time.
(yes, it does get better. but, that's much later.)
(yes, it does get better. but, that's much later.)
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Capetown
As Alex said to me, Capetown is one of those few places on the planet that exceeds already unrealistically high expectations. What a vibrant mix this place is! It is, first, beautiful; a jewel of a city nestled into the protective shadow of Table Mountain, an enormous, awe-inspiring colossus of a stone formation that provides a backdrop from almost any sight line in the city. Capetown is chic; it is tropical; it is cosmopolitan; it is diverse, and, at least for our visit, offers air that is crisp and fresh while still managing to bask in almost 90 degree temperatures. As is true for many of the world's great cities, Capetown's diverse population is not so much a source of tension as it is a promoter of energy. Its mix of muslims, whites, blacks and Indians has produced for us in our short stay thus far a visual and cultural vitality that you just don't see every day.
After the hearty and tempting feast offered to us at breakfast at our B&B (De Tafelberg Guest House), Alex literally appeared at my shoulder as I chatted with our host, Kris. Not having seen Alex for 3 months, and having lived vicariously through his vivid emails of his not-so-safe exploits in South America, he was a sight for sore eyes, now with a nicely developing beard. (To add to his colorful bag of exploits -- like skydiving and trekking for days through glaciers and mountains -- he informed us he had spent his time in South Africa getting dropped into the cold waters off Gainsbaai in cages while ravenous great white sharks banged up against the bars looking for dessert. not my idea of a restful morning, but who am I to argue?) Since he had been in town a few days, Alex served as tour guide as he led us through city neighborhoods and parks. We visited the 6th District Museum, a poignant testimonial to the many who suffered under apartheid and, specifically, the thousands who were forcibly evicted from their downtown homes and forced into townships to make way for urban development. I spoke to the man who established the museum, and marveled at the museum's (and his) upbeat message about hope and perseverance.
With a wonderful lunch under our belts at an outdoor cafe, we discovered the city's open air market, an intricate maze filled with a dizzying array of local art, artifacts, clothing and junk. I particularly loved the awesome tribal masks carved from wood that I wish I had room for in my suitcase. All this came complete, of course, with a laughingly funny array of hawkers who would charm, cajole, plead and arm twist any possible sale -- a negotiator's smorgasbord.
This is a very cool place.
After the hearty and tempting feast offered to us at breakfast at our B&B (De Tafelberg Guest House), Alex literally appeared at my shoulder as I chatted with our host, Kris. Not having seen Alex for 3 months, and having lived vicariously through his vivid emails of his not-so-safe exploits in South America, he was a sight for sore eyes, now with a nicely developing beard. (To add to his colorful bag of exploits -- like skydiving and trekking for days through glaciers and mountains -- he informed us he had spent his time in South Africa getting dropped into the cold waters off Gainsbaai in cages while ravenous great white sharks banged up against the bars looking for dessert. not my idea of a restful morning, but who am I to argue?) Since he had been in town a few days, Alex served as tour guide as he led us through city neighborhoods and parks. We visited the 6th District Museum, a poignant testimonial to the many who suffered under apartheid and, specifically, the thousands who were forcibly evicted from their downtown homes and forced into townships to make way for urban development. I spoke to the man who established the museum, and marveled at the museum's (and his) upbeat message about hope and perseverance.
With a wonderful lunch under our belts at an outdoor cafe, we discovered the city's open air market, an intricate maze filled with a dizzying array of local art, artifacts, clothing and junk. I particularly loved the awesome tribal masks carved from wood that I wish I had room for in my suitcase. All this came complete, of course, with a laughingly funny array of hawkers who would charm, cajole, plead and arm twist any possible sale -- a negotiator's smorgasbord.
This is a very cool place.
An Unending Transit
Those of you who have traveled long distances by air know the weird transformation that takes hold of one's psyche during these encounters. In my case, the current episode is the numbingly long flight from Washington, D.C. to Johannesburg, non stop, which, according to Wikipedia, is the third longest such flight on planet earth. Up here, at 39,000 feet, the notion of day and night evaporates. You sit, watch movies, read, sleep, eat, listen to music, talk. and, repeat and repeat and repeat. In this case, 16 hours' worth of this sedentary dance. (Kudos, by the way, to South African Airways: touch screens with a bevy of movies, TV shows, music options, and games. and, free wine. not bad.) The joy for me came moments ago when it became socially acceptable to open the window shades and below lay Africa. Namibia, to be precise. A vast brownness of the likes I know I've never seen. Africa! Vast stretches of sand dunes, crusty lunarscapes with widely scattered strands of snake-like roads leading absolutely nowhere. No, Toto, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore.
To be honest, notwithstanding the difficulties of such unending transits, they do add something to the experience other than a sore butt. The charm of distance, for one thing, and the palpable feel of the exotic would be diminshed without this "labor." You know you have come a long way to experience something special. And, so it is with me.
To be honest, notwithstanding the difficulties of such unending transits, they do add something to the experience other than a sore butt. The charm of distance, for one thing, and the palpable feel of the exotic would be diminshed without this "labor." You know you have come a long way to experience something special. And, so it is with me.
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