Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Final Thoughts

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds
-Edward Abbey


I've been told that I "completely suck" at summations, so in an effort to appease certain individuals I thought I'd have a quick afterward from my travels.

I consider this whole experience a personal success. It looked absolutely nothing as I had originally envisioned given that I skipped travel to Sudan after it became clear a visa would not be soon forthcoming for me, I was denied entry into Djibouti (and nearly locked up by an over-zealous border guard in the process), didn't go the DRC, and never made it to the Tanzanian Spice Islands. On the other hand, I made an unplanned foray into the lower Middle East, took an extra month in Somaliland trekking off the grid, and spent a number of days and weeks slogging my way from Central Africa to South Africa in what retrospectively I can describe as a dash I'll never be able to match in terms of pure ridiculousness.

The most surreal experience in my months of travel, and absolutely the most unexpected, was the Christmas Eve that I spent in Bethlehem. I went from nearly skipping the entire night after my wallet was stolen to being in the inexplicable position of attending an Anglican mass in a Greek Orthodox chapel in the Church of Nativity . . . eventually high-fiving Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas. When that was done I wandered with two friends into the Grotto, the small room below the Church in which Jesus was born. Here I somehow was lucky enough to attend the actual midnight mass held that night with a small cadre of Italians.

If that one day in Bethlehem was unforgettable, there were plenty of other rabbit holes throughout the rest of my trip to remind me where I was. I'll never forget getting forcibly escorted to a Borena village near the Ethiopia/ Kenya border after accidentally wandering into a group of well-armed herders in what I later learned was prime cattle raiding territory. Meeting the Obama family in Kenya and having an in-depth conversation with one of Barack's cousins about electoral strategy was rather memorable as well. The feelings of revulsion and horror in Rwanda were more than enough to make me wish I had never been there, but they were unique in their blend and when they sank home were strong enough to ensure I would never forget them. Being briefly detained by their border agents under suspicion of smuggling was, while not amusing at the time, a funny memory to look back on. My dislike of Cairo is also something else if only because it's entertaining me for to say that I dislike any city, much less one as fabled as Cairo, as that. And the mere fact that I eventually got used to stumbling upon burnt-out tanks from the civil war during my Somaliland trek is enough now to make me laugh out loud.

As far as Somaliland goes, the trek there has to rank among my very favorite experiences of my life. That it was so unique, and never before traveled by an outsider in that capacity, makes me extremely pleased to have made the full length. That aside, however, the trek was a wonderful experience that makes me prouder than any other physical feat. In the twenty days of desert walking I lost a total of nineteen pounds; easily the most effective diet I can imagine. It was a beautifully varied experience that took me to regions of the country I never would have otherwise guessed at and has really encouraged me to soon return. I may be back as soon as soon as this winter. If not, I will almost definitely be back after the next election.

I've met some fantastic travelers on this trip. Some of those that I've met from North America, Europe, and Australia could be among my very best friends if we lived in closer proximity to each other. Their stories are fantastic, their plans are inspirational, and their drive to map out in their minds every inch of the world would impress everyone. They hardly think of it in that way, however; to them travel is an art which they have perfected. It's perfectly natural to wander the planet.

That we can spend time together for only a few brief days before parting ways is disheartening. These are tremendous people who will go on to do amazing things in life and I wish I could be there for when they do. Katie the Wisconsinite I met in Egypt, and two more Americans Jaci and Mitch who I met in Jordan. All three of you were fantastic travels partners who I hope to see again in America. The whole slew of Canadians I met in Israel, not to mention a fantastic American, Derek, without whom my Bethlehem experience would never have been. John, the Australian guy who had been traveling for three years that I got to know in Addis Ababa is a hell of a traveler. There was Ben, an American I met in Ethiopia; he's the one who put me in touch with the Somaliland businessman Abdulkaer Elmi, without whom my trek never would have been possible. Steve and his wife Gill, the British pair living on the Somaliland coast and opening up a dive shop, are a couple whose blase acceptence of their own pioneering spirit and adventure inspires me to constantly reach further in my own travels. Aviv and Gad, the two Israelis I stumbled upon at the ridiculous Ethiopia/Kenya border. Michele, from France, who I met on near the DR Congo border in Rwanda. Wesley, a Cape Townian who I traveled with from the top of Zambia all the way to Cape Town and who showed me a terrific time once I reached there. Miki, the Australian, who I spent time with on the Wild Coast in my closing days of the trip and whose travel philosophy comes alarmingly close to mine. And Leslie and Mary, a pair of Irish women I kicked it with in Port Elizabeth.

It's always a pity to leave people like those, but on leaving it is always a comfort to hear the phrase that backpackers so often throw out as a parting; "Maybe we'll cross paths again." Until then, my friends, keep well.

To everyone who kept up on my blog - thank you so much. It felt great knowing that even a few people back in the USA knew what I was up to and were interested enough to follow my path. If I can ever help you with any trip you're taking to the turf I covered in Africa, feel free to toss me an email or phone call and I'll do as best I can.

That being said, Cheers to Minnesota. it's great being back and seeing so many friends and relatives that I've gone without for half a year. The nomadic lifestyle is fun and one that I look forward to again, but Minnesota is always deep in my heart. Culture shock is a non-existent phenomenon to me as long as I have such terrific people to come back to.

South Africa

Why, when I had cumulatively spent less than six months of my life in South Africa, was it so often the landscape of my dreams?
-Adam Hochschild, A Mirror at Midnight


Entering South Africa was a lot like coming home. Almost from the moment of entry my mind-set changed to one of relaxtion and familiarity; I felt as if I was finally back in a setting I recognized and could calm down in.

That being said, I can say even before I type this post that it'll be the most boring and poorly-written of those I have tossed up here. That's because I'm writing it back in Minnesota and my traveling-and-thinking-in-an-Africa-frame-of-mind has worn off. Furthermore, my four weeks in South Africa were a wind-down from the previous half year. For the first time, I actually felt as though I were on a vacation as opposed to actually traveling. So anyway, this is the first post I've had to force myself to write; consequently, it'll definitely suck.

There was so much to remember and so much to consume even in the liquor and food categories that I was nearly overwhelmed. Black Label beer, Harriers whiskey, Chenin Blanc and Pinotage wine, and Paarl "wine" were my liquor of choice last time and the tastes had changed not at all in the interlude since I had left. I ate bowl after bowl of pojtie, a South African stew made over an open fire in a large cast iron pot. Once again I got to eat Khosa bread, throw chutney on my steaks, and eat cheap, well-made Indian food. There was fast food that I actually enjoyed, especially the chicken joints and the burger/steak franchise called, simply, Steers.

Speaking of meat, the best part of South Africa's food are their braais, or their version of a barbecue. I have to explain that nine of ten times back in America when people say they're going to have a barbecue, they mean a wimpy, stupid barbecue with maybe some dry hamburgers and some hot dogs. To this day I fail to understand why people spends hundreds, even thousands, of dollars on a grill that they barely know how to cook food on. South Africa has it down - their braais are simple affairs with none of the pretentiousness that American grills carry. More often than not they're stone bases with a simple grill thrown on top, easy as that. But they're usually at least twice the size of American grills and are fully stocked with numerous kinds of meat. This is possible because meat is about half the price in South Africa as the USA so they might toss on mutton, ribs, steak, chicken, boervors (the incredibly tasty version of an American sausage), game meat, or any other variety of grillables. A braai in South Africa really is an experience of its own, and it was fantastic to be back for them once again.

Traveling south from the Tanzanian/Zambian border, I got into a conversation with the only non-black on the bus, a colored guy named Wesley from Cape Town. He solved any dilemma I may of had with travel plans by insisting I accompany him to Cape Town and spend some time at his place while he showed me around. This was an incredibly kind gesture given that he had just spent six weeks away up in Burundi, but I was more than happy to not worry about my lodging. So without even thinking about it, my next destination was chosen for me. Not only was a huge weight lifted off my shoulders by finally reaching the coast once again after so many months, but it was great to hang with Wesley and his incredibly kind family. They insisted I stay with them in the suburbs and made it a point to show me the South African good life. My days were filled with braais, potjie, wine, visits to his girlfriend's vineyard, solid beer, and general relaxation.

One day he took me to the Cape of Good Hope, a location that is somewhat desperately billed as the "southwestern-most point in Africa." If that's a lame claim to fame, people are much more anxious to go here than the true southern point of Africa and the one that nobody has actually heard of, Cape Agulhas. This is for two reasons. Reason one is that Cape Agulhas is just a flat, rocky stretch of land that is far enough away from Cape Town to be unworthy of a photo. The cliffs of Good Hope are perfect photo ops. The second reason is that the Cape of Good Hope has always been thought of by the world as the southern-most point, starting from when Bartolomeu Dias became the first European, and possible the first person ever, to round the Cape in 1488. Because of a geographical glitch in the shoreline he mistook it for the bottom of the continent. This mistake continued onwards for many decades and centuries into the future and led eventually to the current state of confusion over what the true bottom actually is. (Whether the possible Phoenician expedition around 600 B.C. and the expedition of Zheng He in the early Ming dynasty around 1421 made the same mistake coming from the east is unknown, but I think it's important to at least note that both of these may have pre-empted Dias.)

Despite what I view as its inauthenticity and tourist-driven feel, I enjoy Good Hope. The monuments erected by ships and expeditions over the centuries and the pounding surf of the Atlantic Ocean are pleasant to check out and the whole area has one of those inexplicable feels where you don't even care about the other tourists and you're just overcome by the history and the beauty of it all. Agulhas, on the other hand, is far less interesting.

When my time in the Cape Town area felt about over I split and made it to Port Elizabeth, my home base for my study abroad. While P.E. is little more than an industrial sea port, I have a tremendous love for the city. As luck would have it the St. Ben's/Saint John's study abroad group was staying in the very flats I was in three years ago and I happened to be friends with a few of them through previous political happenings. Though they were swamped with homework at the end of their semester they were cool enough to drink with me and even made my week by spending a solid hour looking at hilarious C-SPAN clips on TouTube (yes, they were those kind of politicos.) I further looked up some other old friends from the city and spent time reminiscing over Black Label beer. Other than that I was content to take runs along the Indian ocean, cook, and begin think about my approaching return home.

With the last couple weeks of Africa in site I made plans to take one last foray into rural Africa by way of the Wild Coast, an isolated stretch of land north of Port Elizabeth in the warm turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean settled by the Xhosa tribe. It is my favorite place in Africa. Having traveled here a number of times before and taken one enchanting trek with a solid group of friends last time, I was aware this would be the perfect end to my time in Africa.

I didn't feel up for a trek this so I chose a lodge called Bulungula for my home base. This lodge is located as far off the beaten path as any others on the South African coast and has developed a cult following amongst backpackers since it opened in 2004. It's about twelve hours from the closest major cities and completely off the grid, meaning there is no incoming electricity, water, heat, or air conditioning. But there have come up with an ingenious fuel-powered shower that gives off seven minutes of hot water and installed solar panels for a minimal amount of electricity. With nothing to else to keep me busy I was free to walk along the coast, enjoy the glorious food that the lodge had to offer, and relaxed the hell out of myself on the beaches. It's impossible to say enough about these beaches. They are vast stretches of very fine sand that are interrupted only by an incoming river every kilometer or so, shallow enough to easily cross. Some times an incoming hill may block your path and you're forced to scramble over a few rocks, but otherwise you have a straight run at the ocean shared nobody else. I often say that if they existed in the United States they would be swamped with tens of the thousands of people, but here only the cows are present to keep you company.

A favorite aspect of the lodge to me is the clientele it attracts. While it is only a small stretch to call the place paradise, only the off-track backpackers and great personalities tend to show up at the lodge. Age and country of origin are surprisingly difficult to generalize, but extremely rare is the complaint about lack of amenities. After only a couple days there an Australian backpacker, Miki, showed up and was such a ball of fun that I ended up forgoing my original leave date just because we hit it off so well. Not only was she a traveler whose shear years on the road are among the most intense of anyone I have ever met, but we also had a strikingly similar travel philosophy and sense of humor. Soon after she came the two of us got another joiner who was, oddly enough, a member of the South African Parliament. The three of us and the others took up a lot of my remaining time comparing travel stories, giving backpacking advice, and generally acting like backpackers tend to act. I loved it.

Unfortunately, the end happened to arrive. Genuinely regretting that I had to take my leave of both Bulungula and Africa, I traveled back to Port Elizabeth to pick up some remaining things. From here I bussed to Johannesburg for my flights back to the USA.