Going bush...

Once Cape Town's journey came to a close, and I was suitably done with adventuring, I toddled off to places unknown (no, really -- the booking company told me on the morning of departure that I wasn't going to the place I'd booked at, rather at some other place 8 hours to the north-east, near the Kruger). Since I hadn't planned on going to any malaria regions, I was a little apprehensive, but some complimentary malaria tablets were shoved into my hand, my luggage squeezed into a car, and away we went.

The drive was uneventful for the first half as we traversed the upper veldt -- it's dry and flat and very much featureless -- so I slept for most of it, waking periodically as we were told to drink! Drink! Drink! They're big on drinking (water, that is) in South Africa. This, as I was to discover later, was not without good reason. At any rate, we soon reached the lower veldt, and that's where everything started too look pretty amazing.

It was all looking really green and lush, mountains sprouting up here and there, and great rocky cliffs lining the road. Ahead, a massive grey cloud hung over the Drakensberg Mountains, lit up every few seconds by forks of lightning that crackled through it. The other side of that, I was told, was my destination. Awesome.

The rest of the drive was beautiful -- a vastly different view of Africa than I'd seen in Cape Town and my brief overnight stay in Johannesburg. From green mountains to rocky gullies, where tree roots took hold of the outside of the rock and climbed for their lives skyward, to deep flat dry valleys, spotted with bush huts and where the roads were lined with children making their long, long, long way home from school. As we drew closer to the camp we passed block after block of private game reserves, and at one point, and a shout of "BABOONS!" we slowed to let this group of bare-backsided creatures gambol across the road, frowning suspiciously at as as we passed. Then, "GIRAFFES!" off to the left! Three of them inside the fence of the game reserve, picking at the high leaves of the acacia trees and eyeing us curiously. I felt like I'd really gotten into -- or at least closer to -- what Africa really was.

As the light faded and we dodged the odd rainfall, we made it to the camp, deep in the centre of a reserve, passing kudu and the ever-present impala (not the car), all the way up to the gates, outside of which stood a great grey rhino...I was to see more of him later.

Inside the gates I was met by the centre's "student" liaison, and a couple of bush pigs, Mona and Lisa, who quickly took a liking to my luggage. Apparently they're quite partial to it, as a whole, and so I trundled, first at a trot, then as my pursuers kicked it up a notch, into a full-blown run (which in hindsight was probably the dumbest thing I could have done), down the dusty path with my incredibly unsuitable wheelie-bag, to the safety of the cottages. On the way I passed three cheetahs (in cages) and a hyena (also, and thank heaven, caged), and some odd little guinea-pigs-gone feral that I would later identify as dassies. In my room there were four teeny baby rabbits and a couple of baby squirrels (of which I'll also speak later). It wasn't all going to keep being so amazing, but for now I'll leave it so.

The sun dipped over the mountains and twilight descended.

Getting serious

You can't go to Africa and not see it. It's not an attraction, rather an inevitability, and it's there, no matter how hard you try to ignore it. For us it was right next door, even in front of us, while we went to work. I'm talking about poverty.

There were suggestions floating around the house of a township tour, which to me sounded initially insensitive. It seemed wrong to go to the homes of poor people as though it was tourism. The thing I decided in the end, though, was that to get an idea of Africa as a whole, you've got to encounter its scars. Look at District 6, which used to be an interracial area full of blacks, coloureds, whites, Malay, etc. Until apartheid (still only 14 years ago!) meant that the area was evacuated of any people of colour and declared a white-only living space.

We knew that walking to work each day we would brush against the Site 5 township -- now called Masiphumelele ("we will succeed, in Xhosa) -- 30-40% of its 50,000 inhabitants were living with HIV, and all on top of each other.

Our tour was regrettably voyeuristic for the most part -- us in the van trying not to look as though we were taking photos, but unable to resist it when we saw the children. They were beautiful, standing in front of the most appalling conditions, but as soon as they caught your eye they would break out into a wide-mouthed, white-toothed smile, and it was impossible not to smile and wave back, and open the window to chat to them and show them the photos you just took. The acrid smell of roasting sheeps heads and corn would drift over the road, and tin shebeens would almost shake with the amount of people inside. Of course, just as you began to relax a little too much, there was a shout from our driver, who rolled up his window and put his foot down hard on the accellerator -- we all looked to the left to see the flash of a machete as it was weilded in a knife fight further up a side-street. That's the kind of thing that reminds you you're in a totally different world.

To counter that experience, however, we were shuffled along and out of the van (thank heavens) to listen to street performers and dance with the children along the side of a road. It's the cheerfulness and the love that shoots up in little pockets in those townships that make you really stare. The fact that love can survive or even flourish amongst those conditions, and the sense of community that means all these people would band together to help one another.

My perspectives on life were being shifted significantly.

Horses, horses, horses, horses...

In every new country I visit, it doesn't take long for me to start hankering to see its surroundings via horseback. And so not too far into my stay in Cape Town I found one place that did rides along the beach at sunset; after a quick scout to get fellow adventurers to come along, I was in!

The horses looked really well cared for, which is always a lovely sign. Occasionally they can look like they've been run too much on too little food, but these were lovely creatures. Mine was called Habana, and had, like the others, an eastern saddle. Thank heavens. Nothing more uncomfortable than a stock saddle, or (ironically enough) an endurance saddle. Or maybe I've just had my rear molded into an eastern fit.

Anyway. Off we went, starting along the roads towards the beach. There were about 10 of us, and only one guide, which was a little unsettling, especially given that the two people I'd gone with hadn't ridden before and were a little nervous. I hung around the back with my friends to keep an eye on them. Then two boys went by on skateboards, and a woman up the front who had professed to be a rider lost control of her horse, which backed into the one behind it, which in turn backed into one of my friend's horse, who (quite naturally) freaked out. I'll say this, though. Given how scared she was and how new to riding, it was the most graceful fall I've ever seen. She hung on until the last possible moment and then just sort of stepped off, not even stumbling over.

Then (and I'm a little ashamed to admit I'm proud of this) I swung into action...

(SWAGGER!)

...and went after her horse, which had bolted into a nearby driveway, shooed it back towards the others, then rode back to the girl and jumped off to give her a big hug for being so brave (she really was, especially that given how scared she was, and once she'd calmed down she jumped right back on the horse!). Meanwhile, completely negating any selfless acts of compassion, I. Felt. Awesome. WOO! The truth is I've just always wanted to rely on my horsey skills in a crisis, and I've always been able to act pretty calmly when things go wrong on horses, but this was a particularly Indiana Jones moment.

Ok, the sad part is the girl who fell soon decided she didn't want to keep going, so I felt pretty bad about getting her to come, and kept an even closer eye on the other girl as we made our way through the brush down to the beach.

It. Was. Gorgeous. The sunset was cold (blues and yellows) but beautiful, just sinking into the sea and lighting all the waves with a bright glow as they crashed into the beach. Wow. And while I tried to convince my horse to canter (it was very reluctant to do so, and kept running in circles instead. SIGH. One of these days I'm going to find a horse riding place that actually does what it says it does, which is offer canters along the beach), the mountains rising up around us, the sun sinking into the sea, it was marvellous. I finally got Habana to shed her inhibitions and go for it, and we had a lovely canter away from everyone else for a bit before I coerced her to the back of the line to walk with my friend there. (Should point out that it's not me in the picture, but I did take it.)

It wasn't the most satisfying ride I've ever been on, but it was pretty spectacular, scenery-wise, and plus there were all my Indiana moments. Pretty freakin' awesome way to spend an evening.

Oh by the way, that cat has ringworm

I've been directed to the cattery to begin my 2 weeks' volunteering in Cape Town, and while I have been known to sneeze around cats, it's becoming clear that I'm much more allergic than I previously thought. Nevertheless, when shut up in a room with a bunch of teeny kittens loose on the floor, I did what anyone would have done, and picked them up and went "A-woo-woo-woodgy-woo". Unfortunately for me, funtime was over when someone came in and said, as a sort of afterthought, "Oh by the way, those cats have ringworm". Awesome.

After being sprayed down with all manner of anti-ringworm sprays, and after exhibiting some alarming symptoms of allergies, including hives, I was taken away from the kittens (including my favourite, electro-kitty, who looked as though it had taken its curiosity one step too close to a power socket) and shunted over to the dog side of town.

Much better. No sneezing...mild requirement to fend off over-friendly dogs, but there you go. There were a number of large dogs who were allowed free rein over the premises, including Skippy, who had distemper when young, and as a result was "a few sandwiches short of a picnic". Quite adorable, with an odd, straight-legged walk, but a generally happy disposition and eagerness to be paid attention to.

Another favourite was Eddie, a Rhodesian Ridgeback who was smitten with one of the clinic workers, to the extent that if you needed to find this particular person, all you had to do was look where Eddie was pointing. Eddie was gorgeous, and friendly, and in the morning would jump up to put his paws on my shoulders and breathe in my face. He was also well-behaved enough to be the only "house dog" allowed in the clinic itself (otherwise he would sit outside and wait for his friend to come out).

Meanwhile I spent a while outside in the kennels, feeding and watering and generally trying to get in and out of each enclosure with all my limbs in tact, and without letting any of the (amazingly strong) dogs out. Never thought I'd stand a chance against a massive German Shepherd, but I grabbed the scruff of its neck and heaved, and somehow we ended up with me outside and it inside. Phew!

One of my favourite sections was the "hospital" which housed a few of the dogs who were sick, but not so much that they needed constant supervision. The best part about this was taking them for their walks -- in particular I remember a teeny, tiny, wriggly little brown thing, called Archie, who was so eager and friendly that it was hard not to scoop him up every time I visited. Of course he did pose a problem when it was time for me to leave. Big heavy gate, tiny, slippery dog... There were two black labrador pups there, one of whom was suffering from mange, and very timid. Had to carry that one to the park and try to encourage it to walk. It did, but only when my back was turned, and in the opposite direction. The other pup was gorgeous. Bright and friendly -- all he wanted was to play, and who was I to resist?

The other place I hung out was in the clinic. Poked my head in there at the start of my stint, and got hooked on chatting to all the poor sick puppies housed there. I also got to look in on some surgeries -- many sterilisations, a cat tail amputation (Paris, pictured, who bit her own tail off to the extent that the vet had to dock it completely) and a dog whose ears had to be cut off. It wasn't always pleasant, and in some cases it was really sad, like when the dog showed up whose owner had chopped off its front leg with a machete. Or the cat that had to be put down due to feline AIDS. But sometimes there were success stories. Like the teeny little Siberian Husky pup, who came in very sick, and wasn't eating. After a blood transfusion (with a massive bull terrier cross) it perked right up, much to the chagrin of everyone in the clinic. Ever heard a husky pup howl? It's sort of a cross between a cat, a lamb and a baby, all of which sound as though they're being skinned alive. So it fell to me to take the little bundle out of its cage at these times and cuddle it -- it would look up with its little wibbly eyes and fall completely silent -- entirely happy for someone just to love it. And I fell in love in about two seconds.

A woodgy-woodgy-woo.

9,000 feet and falling

So there I am, 9,000 feet above Cape Town, wondering, as I suppose many in my position do, why the hell I'm doing this.

I mean, really. When was it ever my idea of entertainment to jump out of a tiny plane and plummet towards earth? Turns out, it started just last week, when fellow volunteer J said "want to go skydiving?" and like a fool, I said "yes".

So before I know it I'm strapped into the world's most unflattering harness, and onto the front of a guy whose name I don't remember (this is my tandem instructor), and we're edging out of the plane door and into the gaping void below...goggles on...harness tight...are you coming out, miss?

I wish I could say I was graceful under pressure, but through no fault of my own, really, as soon as we dropped -- and it was an out and out drop -- my mouth opened and a scream came out. This happened until I was turned onto my stomach, and could no longer intake enough air with which to continue screaming. From here there was nothing to do but open out my arms into the wind, breathe through my nose and try to smile for the video camera guy who was now zooming towards us, apparently with a desire to get a good look at my nostril hairs. One of them yells "We've got a screamer!", which is less than helpful. But once I got all that into line, it was fantastic -- there really was nothing around us but air, nothing above but sky, and nothing below but, well, everything.

After about 15 seconds of free-falling (though it felt like about 10 times that), the chute opened and whooshed us back into the sky and upright, and now it was a lovely floating drift over Cape Town -- Table Mountain to the South, to the East the beautiful sun-lit mountains, and over to the West, the deep blue sea. It was so quiet, so peaceful, and lovely to be floating swiftly through the air, fingertips stretched out into the sky. Closer we drifted to the landing area, where I could make out my friends below, waving. One last roller-coaster whoosh downwards and we were touching down (some of us less gracefully than others) onto the sand, blood pumping and endorphins racing, the general feeling being that I wanted to do that again.

PS - the video footage of this is less than flattering. Ever wanted to see your hair flying, terrified, back from your forehead, your cheeks billowing like two puffy pink sails? No, me neither.

Jetlagging through a work day

Howzit!

So I just woke up, which startled me as I wasn't aware I'd fallen asleep at my desk. This isn't just your usual brand of lazy, though. I've been in Africa for the past 5 weeks, and I'm a little jet-lagged. Where's a fluffy pillow and a big mug of chocolate when I need it?

As for Africa, since I've completely failed to update this blog in the interim (not entirely my fault, as 2.5 of the 5 weeks were spent without the company of computer access), I think I'll space it out over the next few days, in a sort of retrospective blog ("retrospective", here, being a big word that means "late").

Cape Town:

Arrived without too much ado, although it turns out my fitness regime has been pretty ineffectual, this becoming clear as I huffed and puffed my way behind a porter at Johannesburg Airport who grabbed my bags, saying something about getting me to my flight on time, and took off down the stretch at a gallop. At any rate, after tipping him the equivalent of ten taxi-rides, I hopped the plane to Cape Town and was transferred to a house near the beach where I would be staying for the next two days.

This part of Cape Town was populated by beautiful houses, mostly white people, and dogs. Lots of dogs. Went for a walk along the beach and 60% of creatures met were of the canine variety. The house is lovely and restful, and feels comfortingly like a real home (convenient, as it is one). Woke up on the first day to a lovely sunrise over the ocean, unfortunately followed by 30 degree heat. (Heat, in Africa? Who would've thought? Certainly not me, having been informed, so I thought, by the ever-trustworthy weather.co.uk...)

Ok, the "white" thing? It comes up. This is a country for whom apartheid has only been over for 14 years (!), and despite the fact that they've come on a heck of a lot faster than the USA, there's still an awkward sort of divide there.

Went up Table Mountain, which was pretty stunning in terms of views, if a tad over-populated by tourists, and then on one ill-fated and frankly unwise trip to "Seal Island". "Island" is somewhat misleading, as it conjours up a decent land mass, whereas the Island actually consists of a large rock in the ocean. And, and I can't stress this enough, it smells. Bad. If it weren't enough for me to already suffer from a failure to inherit my mother's sea legs, the smell would have tipped me over the edge. As it was, I had both, and it was a miserable trip from start to finish.

The rest of the cape is beautiful, though, and it has a laid-back lazy sort of feeling to it. Africa time, they call it.