Swakopmund, Namibia

My most recent trip, (likely my last until the end of the semester due to the amount of work that I am finally being forced to complete before the end of the semester) was to Swakopmund, Namibia. This means that while in Africa I have managed to see both the Atlantic and the Indian Oceans and can easily say that the Atlantic was pretty lame. The very first thing I noticed upon getting into Swakopmund and finding the nearest stretch of beach was that it was almost identical to the Oregon Coast. For those who have never been to the Oregon Coast (or perhaps Washington or Northern California coasts, I’m a bit biased) it wasn’t the easter Break vacation to the beach that I was envisioning. I definitely could have replaced my swimming trunks and t-shirts for a sweatshirt and a wool cap. The water was far too cold to swim in except if you lost a bet, sitting on the shore required sweatshirts or light jackets (neither of which I had, which is why I know they were required), the town itself was small and quiet with plenty of tourists, and 20 minutes inland it was too hot to move. Really, the biggest difference is that everybody spoke Afrikaans and that finding a place to eat lunch was almost impossible since the restaurants didn’t open until 5PM. This last part generally meant that we woke up late, snacked on something from a grocery store that was open, and then fasted until exactly 5PM when we would rush to a restaurant (usually a pizza place because it was cheap, delicious, filling, and the waitress was kinda cute) to eat a day’s worth of food in an hour. This would of course ruin our dinners so we would generally nap for a bit and then eat something lighter around 10, when restaurants started to close. 4 of the 5 of our group were wholeheartedly accepting of this lifestyle and schedule. 1 was less so. It caused a few problems. But like any good group of 5 college aged guys, we just ignored the issue for the most part and had a good time in spite of it. At least I had a good time.

While in Namibia, I spent the majority of my time outside of Walvis Bay (about an hour south of where we were staying) playing around on something called Dune 7. This dune is one of the largest dunes that people have access to, the other giant dunes being in conservation areas and as such are off limits for climbing or playing on. My version of playing on the dune involved hiking to the top and throwing myself down it headfirst on a waxed piece of masonite board. In all fairness, the board did have a string in the front to hold on to so I wasn’t totally at the mercy of the dune. All I can say is that it was awesome. It was also exhausting because for every 30 second ride down the dune, we would be forced to climb back up for about 10 or 15 minutes. And the only way we found to stop was by crashing, sometimes pretty badly. We’re pretty sure one of my friends dislocated a couple fingers and I’m very surprised I didn’t break something on my last trip down. The dune that we were on had a very steep side by a parking/picnic area and a much more gently sloping side. We did all our rides down the gentle side because it was easier to climb back up and significantly less terrifying looking. After breaking a chunk of my board off (I think with my chest…) we decided we should head back to the car. We also decided the best way down the steep side of the dune was by sliding down it. I think the heat was starting to get to us at this point because it was clearly not a smart idea. Needless to say, our last trip down the dune didn’t end nearly as well as we had hoped. My friend went first, made it halfway down, slipped off, and buried his face in the sand. According to him, his head was literally in the ground. I have no way of knowing for sure, though, since as soon as I made sure he was still moving, I jumped on my board and headed down. I quickly realized that I was in the same track as he had been in. This realization came at about the same time that I broke the rope off my board and was left just sitting on my board hoping I wouldn’t fall off. After spinning around once and managing to stay on, I looked down hill (down dune?) and realized that I was headed straight for my friend who had just managed to extract himself from the sand. We made eye contact, both realized I was going straight at him and he leapt out of the way just before I got to where he had been trying to extract his board from the sand. I also tried to jump out of the way, which only led to me heading face first into the sand. Considering this was our only means of braking, it wasn’t that unintelligent of an idea. My immediate thought, in fact, was along the lines of “okay at least I’m stopping.” This was quickly followed, however, by “ay, I’m not stopping.” By the time I finally slowed enough to grab onto the sand and stop I looked back and saw that I had flown, tumbled, and slid about 30 feet from where my board was stopped. After making sure I was still in one piece, I climbed back up to my board and tried to slide the rest of the way down. I immediately crashed (probably because I only had about 1/3 of a board left) and decided it would be a good time to walk down the hill and find some place flat for a while.

All in all, the Namibia trip was incredible, mostly because it allowed me to get out of Botswana, and into an entirely different landscape. Heading to Namibia you go through the Kalahari Desert (more like a savannah with small shrubs and trees and grasses), a small mountain range, the Kalahari again, the Namib Desert (a real, flat desert with sand and everything!), a ton of huge sand dunes, and then the beach. We headed north one afternoon into an area that was incredibly depressing due to a lack of anything in it. The place was empty. The most exciting thing we saw, apart from the occaisional fisherman’s shacks along the water, was a pile of salt. The salt amazed us so much that we actually all stopped, took pictures of the salt, and even tasted a little bit to be sure that it was in fact salt. The area was flat, brown, has rocks sometimes but usually not, and there’s a bunch of fog. I have never seen an area that more fully encapsulates the word ‘desolate.’ To add to the sense of nothingness in the area, we had no radio, everyone has silent, and there was no other noise except for the wind coming through the windows. This is all broken up when out of nowhere you pull up to a seal reserve with a fancy lodge (about $150 per night for single room) next to it. None of us could understand why anyone would pay that much money to stay in someplace so out of the way but there were a few guests there drinking in a glass porch. We looked around for a few minutes, met the lodge owner who tried to get us into the seal reserve (it had closed 10 minutes before we got there) and then headed back to our hostel to eat and rest for the marathon trip back to Gabs the next morning.

Johburg

The weekend following my trip to Victoria Falls, ACM arranged and treated the program group to a trip to Johannesburg, specifically Soweto. Soweto (which stands for SOuth WEstern TOwnship) was the largest township of Johburg during Apartheid and is still predominately black with a large number of relatively poor neighborhoods. The township system of Apartheid created entire cities for non-white Africans to live in, restricting their movement and allowing the government to keep surveillance on them. Soweto is famous as the site of some of the largest protests against the Apartheid government, is home of both Nelson Mandela and Archbishop Desmond Tutu and, perhaps most importantly, is the last known whereabouts of my Birkenstocks. There is a short story behind my most recent loss that I would like to share: The hostel we were staying at is in a neighborhood called Orlando West, a reasonably safe, more middleclassish area of Soweto and there was a reasonably large park across the street that was frequented by a ton of young children from around the area. We had an hour to kill after getting into the hostel so most of us walked across the street and were immediately gang tackled by hordes of small children screaming in what I think was Zulu. Some of the smaller members of our group were quickly overwhelmed by the onslaught and succumbed to the hairbraiding and picture taking demanded of the children. Rather than surrender, I chose to fight and the only appropriate strategy, in my opinion at least, was to pick up as many of the children as possible and spin around a bunch in the hopes that this show of strength and power would intimidate them into running away. Suffice it to say it failed miserably. Instead, this was the worst thing I could have done in the situation and I quickly had a group of 5 or 6 boys trying to climb up my shoulders. They continued to attack even after it was clear that I had no more arms (I had 2 kids on one side and 1 held on my shoulder) and continued to try jumping onto my back or arms to bring me down. At some point in the middle of this lively chaos, I kicked my shoes off so I wouldn’t trip while spinning. As it started to get dark, I walked back inside the hostel to grab a bottle of water and take a quick breather. When I walked back outside, my Birks were gone. Since I hadn’t thought to bring any other shoes with me (too much of an optimist) this put me in a rough position for the rest of the weekend. Fortunately, dinner that night was done at the hostel so I didn’t need to worry about shoes. The problem was that we were taking a bike tour of Soweto the next morning. Long story short, I didn’t manage to wake up early enough to adventure to find a cheap pair of flip flops in the morning, the tour guides didn’t have a problem with me being barefoot as long as I was okay, and I was enjoying the freedom of not wearing shoes so I decided to go ahead with the tour barefoot. It really does sound a lot worse than it actually was. My feet got used to the pedals pretty quick, we were never actually biking for more than about 10 or 15 minutes at a time and most of the places we stopped were clean and safe to stand at. The only problematic area was stopping near some of the traditional hostels that mine workers would live in. The roads here were a combination of dirt and mud and so when we stopped and walked through a part of this area I was more focused on the ground in front of me and avoiding broken glass or questionable looking areas than actually listening to the guides. I was a bit surprised that I didn’t get more odd looks from people, but it does make sense that there are still many people who simply don’t have shoes in some of the neighborhoods we were biking through and so the only thing that would make it out of place would be that I was white and without shoes. Fortunately, being in a large group of mostly older white people, on bikes, with silly looking helmets drew enough attention that I don’t think anyone else noticed that I wasn’t wearing shoes.

The bike tour was incredible because it allowed us to see a good chunk of the neighborhood we were in without feeling like we were so totally separated from it like what happens on a car or bus tour. We biked by both Nelson Mandela and Archibishop Tutu’s houses along with the Hector Peterson Memorial, a rather intense spot memorializing a student uprising in Soweto in which high school age students attempted to march peacefully to the police station in protest of a new policy requiring all classes to be taught in Afrikaans but were broken up when police opened fire on the march. Hector Peterson was one of the first students shot (he was only 12) and a photo of him being carried away quickly came to represent the uprising. Being at the memorial, listening to people tell that story was crazy. It also proved very relevant when we visited the Apartheid museum the next day and had a bit of a background knowledge, albeit on a very small section of the anti-apartheid movement.

The last day we were there was made up entirely of museums. As I definitely would not have been able to get into a museum without shoes on, I sucked it up and borrowed a pair of lime green shower sandals from a girl on the trip. I think we were both surprised they fit and they certainly looked ridiculous, but it was easier to do that than to walk around until I found a store to buy a pair at. Anyway, the group went first to the Origins center at Vitzsomethingsomething University (everyone just called it Vitz so I have no idea what the longer name is but I saw it on a sign there once) where we took a 3ish hour guided tour around the museum learning about the origins of people, specifically the San who have been living in and around Southern Africa since the dinosaurs cleared out and let people happen. It was quite informative but a bit dry and about halfway through people started feeling pretty sick, which put a bit of a damper on what may have otherwise been fascinating material. By the end of the museum, there were 4 people (myself included) who weren’t 100% but we decided to push on to the Apartheid museum anyway since chances are none of us will have an opportunity to wander through it again anytime soon. Whether because of feeling sick or because I no longer even pretend to have a sense of direction, I managed to get lost several times walking through the museum. It was actually quite nice because it let me see everything the museum had to offer, several times. There is no good way to explain what the museum was like, but coming into it knowing very little about the Apartheid era in South Africa I managed to come out being pretty well informed, at least about the general ideas. Like our experience at the Origins Center, as this museum wore on more and more people began to feel sick. Clearly the injustice of Apartheid was affecting people in a very physical way. Or it was food poisoning from the water. Either way, it was a bit of a rough way to end the trip but everyone managed to survive. Barely. We did stop almost 10 times on the drive home for people to be sick on the side of the road.

Vic Falls

So I’m a bit behind on these blog updates. The last several weekends have been packed with trips and in between I’ve been doing my best to rest, recover, and get some schoolwork done (emphasis on the resting and recovering). I’ll do my best to recap my recent life events without rambling too much, which shouldn’t be too hard since enough time has passed that I only remember the really exciting or interesting stuff.

First off, Zambia! Being in Southern Africa, I couldn’t miss an opportunity to take a trip to Victoria Falls, listed as one of the Natural Wonders of the World (or World Heritage Sites or something equally impressive sounding) and, more importantly, one of the most spectacular things that I have ever seen. Well, at least I sort of saw it. Realistically when I visited the park on the Zambia side (which is opposite the falls, in contrast to the Zim side which is where the falls actually fall) the water in the river was high enough that for the majority of the time that we tried to view the Falls there was a cloud of mist that obscured them. Thankfully we managed to get the occasional glimpse of part of the Falls through the mist, but even then it was impossible to appreciate the full size of them, only the sheer volume of water that is in the Zambezi River.

Anyway, a quick overview of the trip: Getting to Livingston, Zambia from Gaborone is ridiculously easy. There’s a bus that departs nightly at 7PM from the bus station and heads straight up to Lusaka, Zambia. Livingston is on the way up there and so the bus makes a stop for people to jump on and off. It’s a bit of a tough bus ride but not something that was unbearable, especially when compared to some of the other trips that I’ve taken on buses around the area. There were 12 students all traveling on the same bus and when we did get to the Zambian border (about 7AM, when it opened) we all decided that rather than waiting for the bus to cross the border on a ferry and pick us up again, it would be quicker and more comfortable to hire taxis to take us into town. Everyone got into groups of 4 and we jumped into 3 taxis and set off on the final 45 minute leg of the trip. Originally, everyone had planned to stay at the same hostel in Livingston so that all 12 of us would be in the same spot. In my taxi we made a unanimous decision that hanging out with a giant group of 12 people didn’t sound like too much fun, so we called an audible and headed off for another hostel. This decision pretty much separated us from the rest of the group for the weekend, except for meeting up a little randomly sometimes.

The real attraction of Vic Falls, apart from how impressive and large the Falls are, is having the opportunity to bungee jump 111 meters from the bridge separating Zambia and Zimbabwe. Obviously if we spent 12 hours on a bus up to Livingston, there was no way we were going to miss this opportunity. The second day that we were there we all decided to go and do all the adrenaline activities, which include the bungee jump, a zipline across the canyon that the Zambezi River forms, and a gorge swing out over the river. I’ll be honest, I was terrified by the thought of doing any of those things, let alone all 3. This is where splitting into the smaller group really helped me out though because all 4 of us decided to jump, which meant that none of us could easily bail out on the plan. They did split our group into 2 when we signed up and I got paired with the other guy who was scared about jumping. It was comforting having someone else to freak out with, but not exactly reassuring when I was already pretty worried about diving head off a bridge. The zipline wasn’t so memorable, it was beautiful and was the only opportunity I had to look down at the river and the area without being in a state of sheer panic, but it was still just a zipline. It was also the first thing I got to do which meant that I got some of my panic out of the way when I realized that the carabineers that they use to attach you to the ropes did in fact support me. I promptly forgot this when I noticed that the only thing holding me to the bungee rope was a pair of carabineers clipped to a cord wrapped around some blankets, which in turn were wrapped around my ankles. After seeing this, I was not in a happy place. The operators don’t give you a whole lot of time to think about the ridiculous situation you’re in though and as soon as everything was tight (according to them, I personally couldn’t feel the cord at all due to the blankets. I think that they try to make it was as terrifying as possible for people like me who are the least bit skeptical about the strength of cords or the tightness of knots) they have you hop to the edge of the platform, tell you to look up, and then loudly count down from 5 and make you jump, or in my case fall forward because I was too scared to actually jump out. I have a pretty sweet picture of me actually jumping that a friend of mine took on his guess-and-shoot camera (the viewing screen was broken so there's no way to tell what you're actually taking a picture of...) but the photo upload thing isn't working out for me right now so I'll try to find a different way to get it up online.

The initial freefall lasts about 3 seconds but feels like much longer. At least I thought it felt like much longer, I was certainly able to fit in a lot of swear words after the initial scream. The first fall is only half the “fun” of bungee jumping though, the other part being lifted back up, a moment of weightlessness at the top, and the getting to fall again. I think that falling more than once is a bit overrated and I don’t think I ever really stopped screaming until I realized that I wasn’t actually going to fall head first into the river, which coincidently was when I was back on the platform.

After the bungee jump you’d think I’d be ready for anything, right? Nope. The last wonderful activity was the gorge swing. For this, they attach you to a rope stretched across the gorge and then tell you to run off the platform. That’s all. Ready, Set, Run forward until there’s nothing under your feet anymore. This is contrary to every message the world has ever given you, namely “don’t run off cliffs.” If you realize the entire situation is absolutely insane and try to stop or slow down at the edge, they push you off. I know this because I tried to slow down as I realized I was quickly running out of solid objects under my feet and got a nice shove forward so that I could enjoy the fall. The biggest difference for me between the bungee jump and the gorge swing was that with the bungee jump you’re intentionally diving headfirst and the fall gets slowed as the rope catches you and starts to stretch out, while with the gorge swing it feels like you’ve been pushed off the edge of a cliff feet first (probably because you have been pushed off a cliff) and then left to freefall all 110ish meters until you start to swing. You don’t get slowed down or anything. One second you’re dropping straight down, the next, swinging outwards. My feelings towards this can be evidenced by the fact that I never let go of the ropes I was attached to. My friend used the opportunity to spread his arms out wide and lay back. I think he’s got some issues with his head.