I haven't been playing close attention to my state of mind since we pulled out of town, and our lives, exactly seven months ago today. But I have a general idea what it's been. I recon about a third of the time I'm feeling exactly the same as I would at home: preoccupied with the many things that need to get done in the run of a day; looking forward to a fun or exciting event in the not too distant future; mildly worried about things over which I have little or no control; relaxed at the end of the day when the kids are fed, watered and asleep; incredulous at how much attention the Globe and Mail pays to the Oscars and Rob Ford. After all, as we keep telling people me meet on the road, we are not on holiday. We are just living life in a bunch of different places. About another third of the time (probably less but ballpark) I spend questioning my sanity for embarking on a trip like this. Mostly it's when I'm trying to get my kid to understand rounding decimals to the nearest hundredth, but also when I'm packing my suitcase for the seventh time in as many days, worrying about food poisoning in a questionable restaurant, or trying to get asleep in a strange bed wondering what sound, exactly, does a cockroach make, and was that the sound I just heard? These are the moments when I'm subconsciously calculating how many days until we're home and where in the universe we will be when we finally run out of money and have to limp home and stay in the Brennan's basement until our house is vacated. There's usually not much to write about in the first category and I usually don't feel creative in the second.
The remaining third I spend trying to remind myself that we are in the middle of a once in a life time family experience that I hope we'll all look back on fondly for years and years. Remind myself that despite the fact that independent travel can be a proper pain in the arse and I'll have to work for five years longer than I otherwise would have to pay for it all, we are actually spending great amounts of time together as a family to do and talk about things that we'd never be able to back in our normal day to day. Rainy days are exquisite because they give us no choice but to hang out in the guest house together and play games, read and sip tea or just chat. It's weird that some of the most relaxing family time we've shared is about as far away from our home base as you can get, surrounded by strange and incredible cultures and scenery.
For the most part, this balance has maintained itself in all our destinations. India was mostly the middle category (save our time with David and Amy.). So far, South Africa has been mostly the last category. At least three times a day I mentally remind myself "dude, you're in Africa! This is so cool!" If you look at a map of the continent, we are currently making our way in a westerly direction along the flat part at the very bottom between Port Elizabeth and Cape Town. This is commonly referred to as the Garden Route but actually encompasses more than this stunning bit of coastal real estate. Since leaving Jo'burg and Kruger, it's been easy to forget that we are, in fact, in Africa. First, we haven't seen one thing here that would likely eat us if we got out of our car. Secondly, the unique savannah of Kruger and urban jungle of Jo'burg and Soweto have been replaced with a coastal paradise reminiscent of the Baja Peninsula, Costa Rica and southern Ontario all rolled into one. This part of Africa is cosmopolitan, hip and happening. It's the rare type of place you could keep coming back to again and again, as many of the travelers we have met seem to do.
As mentioned in an earlier post, the exchange rate makes RSA a very affordable place to visit. It is by no means "cheap" however. The roads are excellent, the people warm and welcoming, the food and wine world class, the scenery and wildlife incredible and the accommodations cool and international. It's the latter, particularly the Guest House, that is on my mind as I search for something to write about tonight.
I have a developing theory that the amount of fun you have in a hotel is inversely related to the price you pay for it. There are reasonable bounds, of course, but it's a working theory. The Right Spot used to be a pretty cheap place to stay in Yellowknife, but I don't think I would be blogging home about the good times I shared with other guests there (which I never did btw!). Similarly, I've paid outrageous sums for hotels in Vegas that gave me immediate return on investment before I made it to the elevator. Anyway, I think you get my point.
We are converts to the guest house or, colloquially, the "back packer joint." I think this might have something to do with not having travelled the world as a starving student and making up for time. We are usually, but not always, the oldest guests in these places. They vary greatly in quality and character but usually share a number of common features. Most import, for me, is a reasonably clean and well stocked kitchen with adequate pots and pans, sharp knives, basic spices, oils and condiments on hand. A corkscrew and rice cooker, where they exist, are cherries on the cake. A common area with deep comfy couches, board games, a self serve honour bar, book exchange and out of tune guitar is also fairly standard. I love walking into these places and waiting for the inevitable conversation starter from the only guest who is not nursing a hangover, "where are you from?" More than any guide book, travel agent or web site, taking part or listening in on the conversations of other travelers is the best way to plan a trip. We have met countless interesting people just hanging around these places and picked up many amazing, and free, travel tips. That's why it's good not to plan too much in advance. Guest houses usually have a pet or two, usually a dog and a few cats but sometimes a bird or a lizard. The kids spend hours playing with these creatures and always leave insisting that THIS is the type of dog we're going to get when we get home. Right now we're trying to figure out if there's such thing as a Lab, Border Collie, Jack Russell cross that purrs like a cat. Just about every spot we've landed in has a tattered hammock or swing seat to chill in, a computer or two fitted out with Skype gear, bikes or beach toys to borrow and one staff member whose character and helpfulness defines the place. At the Nothando Guest House in Plettenburg, "Elvis" was our man. Within hours of arriving he knew exactly when we needed a G and T from the bar, what type of music we were in the mood for (AC/DC or Edith Piaff) the best places to eat in the village and the short cuts to the beach. After four days in "Plett," we were sad to say good-bye to Elvis. Happily there seems to be an Elvis everywhere we go.
As we make our way leisurely to Cape Town, we are dividing our time between beach laziness and hiking. Sometimes the two combine as in the Robberg Nature Reserve near Plett. One of the best hikes we've done, this three hour trek started off skirting sheer cliffs where fur seals grunted and snorted at us from far below and wondrous rock formations told the physical history of the place. Suddenly, a sandy gap appears in the peninsula that juts out into the Indian Ocean and we are descending steeply towards a spit of sand on the other side that only exists at low tide and provides an hour or two of access to a little island further out. The girls race, skip and roll up and down the hot, steep sand banks as we head towards the beach where hundreds of tiny, bright blue-shelled snails carve an intricate web of tracks in the temporary sand. Tiny lizards scurry under the walking paths on the island and we get a close up view of the power of the Indian Ocean as it runs into Africa with nothing between it and Australia. The kids run circles around us as we walk back towards the mainland along a mile-long stretch of noisy beach. As we climb the steep bank back up to the trail, we pass in front of massive caves that are closed to the public. They were once inhabited by fishermen over 4,000 years ago and are active archeological sites. Humbling to behold. We are tired when we finally make it back to the parking lot but exhilarated by being so close to nature's power and beauty.
Yesterday we followed a well-marked and easy path one and a half hours into a series of lovely waterfalls cascading over rocky cliffs. It was late in the afternoon and by the time we arrived most everyone had left. We weren't sure where exactly to swim or how warm it really was. We started off in a calm pool downstream from the falls and slowly swam and climbed over rocks to meet the pool where the cascade poured into from the next pool, about 30 feet above. The current was strong but Mira and I managed to get right along side the powerful fall and slightly behind it. It was pretty cool. I felt like I was 14 years old as we made our way through and over the rocks and pools back to Deb and Shannon in the surprisingly warm water. Deb managed to get some pictures of the three of us in the cascade pool but the camera battery died before we "went in." That's ok, some things are better remembered in the mind's eye than through the camera's.
We spent this morning in a tree park just outside the village of Wildernis. The girls had a blast putting on climbing harnesses and scrabbling, tightroping, swinging and ziplining from treetop to treetop for two hours with a young african guide while we sipped Americanos safely on ground in the adjacent cafe. Where was this awesome stuff when I was a kid? We used to climb through rusted out and abandoned rail cars in junkyards for fun. After a quick lunch we headed to the other side of the village for a fun horseback ride in forest. This was a way busier day than we ever plan but there is so much to do in every place we stop that's it's hard to justify down time, to say nothing of schoolwork or music.
Tomorrow we head to a place called Oudtshorn that is famous for, of all things, ostrich farming and riding. A week ago I finally found an email address for Catherine Pigott from Yellowknife who is also traveling for a year with her daughter Ruby who is a year ahead of Mira at school. I knew that Catherine and Ruby were going to be spending some time in Africa, but I didn't know when or where. Coincidence # 1: They are in South Africa. "Oh really," I responded, it's a big country, "where?" Coincidence #2: "We're on our way to Cape Town. We are in Knysna today and moving to Oudtshorn tomorrow. "That's crazy," I respond, "we are in Wildernis right now just half an hour west of Knysna and we are heading to Oudtshorn tomorrow as well. Can you believe that?" "AMAZING," responds Catherine, "we are staying at the Karoo Soul backpackers. We'll email you when we arrive and make a plan to meet up." I called Deb over to tell her and asked "what's the name of the place you booked for us in the ostrich place a few weeks back? Coincidence #3: "I think it's called Karoo Soul," she says.
Unbelievable. Spooky, almost.
We're keeping it as a surprise for Mira. I almost wish we hadn't made contact with them so we could all share shocked looks, just like that time Patricia Chaychuk happened into our cabana in Winnipeg almost six months ago. It's a small small world as the old, tired, but true saying goes.
Goodnight from the bottom of the "Dark Continent."