The Bitter of the Sweet - Part 1

Ending a relationship always hurts. Sitting here in the Cape Town airport, looking out towards the city side mountains as I await my flight to Jo-Burg, the feeling inside of me is no different. Over the past 6 months, I have put my heart and soul into exploring this city, harnessing my hyper-active personality to propel me on an adventure of discovering the beauty and excitement as well as the contradictions and pain that permeate Cape Town. Cape Town is a city of extreme dichotomy, showcasing the best and worst that the world has to offer. The glory of Table-Mountain, the pristine coast-line scattered with excellent surf and scuba sites, the incredibly friendly people, the vibrant music scene, and the rich, diverse sense of culture are all part of the picture that makes Cape Town one of the most desired destinations in the world. Yet, the desperate beggers, the discouraged unemployed, the living conditions in the townships, and the front page photo of a newly born baby that was half burned to death and then abandoned in the trash yard are all part of the horrific realities that exist just around the corner. Cape Town is a city of pleasure and pain, smiles and tears, perhaps just like the rest of the world, but here, there is no escaping either side of life, as the full experience of the joys and sorrows of the human condition is thrown in your face whether you like it or not.

For half a year, I tried to immerse myself in this city: understand it, live it, become part of it. And as I sit here about to board my departure flight, I feel nothing short of love for Cape Town. The passion, the struggle, the charisma, the humor, the smile- that warm, South African smile, that stands proud and strong in the face of the greatest challenges. Looking back on my time here, I can’t help but chuckle at all the ridiculous things that I’ve done. In an e-mail to my mom a few days ago, I told her I’ve been running around like a mad dog for the past week. The truth is, I’ve been running around like a mad dog since January, and been loving it the whole way through. This last week been pretty emotional for me, with every sunny day, not knowing if it would be my last chance to see Table Mountain in its full glory for a long time. Heading up to UCT campus the past few days, I kept on bumping into more friends than I even remembered having. Seeing Robyn from Sax Appeal, Luke from the parade, and other blokes I just completely forgot about, I felt truly touched by the connections I’ve had to so many great people. Maya, Michael, Elise, The Township Debate League family, and so many more. Sure, we’ll all stay in touch and I’ll be back in Cape Town some day, perhaps even settle down with a family and live vicariously through my kids as they run around like mad dogs. But never again will I be in this city in the same way- a 22 year old exchange student, young, minimal responsibilities, and a world of opportunity and adventure at my fingertips. Nor do I have the desire to hold on and relive these experiences the same way all over again. Each phase of life has its own perks to offer, and without a doubt, I’m extremely stoked to come home, see my parents, have my mom’s chicken soup, hang out with stroudel and friends back home, and head into senior year in Atlanta, working my butt off to chase a few of my dreams. But at least while I’m still here, the sweetness that Cape Town has been to me makes saying goodbye all the harder. Just like ending a relationship, when you have to say goodbye to a beautiful girl, even if you know it’s what you got to do, it’s still hard to let her go. An expert in pulling on opposite emotions, Cape Town’s got me feeling polarized once again; sweetness all over for everything that was and the feeling of wonder of what will be, and sadness for the past being just that. It’s the bitter of the sweet. But for now, let me indulge in nostalgia for the last time, and share with ya’ll my last two months, which has been the most saturated adventure period of my entire life.

Lesotho

Scuba Diving in Cape Town

Vanessa, my awesome dive-master who parties so hard that I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in a morning without a recovery red-bull, invited (for a small fee of course) my friends Ian, Jon, and me to go scuba diving at a ship wreck off the coast near Cape Town. Completely into packing in as much activity as possible before we leave, the three of us signed up immediately. We took a mini-bus to Hout Bay, a suburb just outside Cape Town, where we met Vanessa and Steve, aka Scuba Steve, who was to be the captain of our boat. Especially in winter, the Atlantic ocean waters by captain are very cold, and we needed 7 mm wetsuits, hoodies, booties, and gloves to keep us semi-warm. After finding the right sizing and suiting up, we hopped onto Scuba Steve’s boat and headed out to sea. Immediately after leaving Hout Bay Harbour, we hooked a right and found ourselves in the shadow of a giant rock cliff, with the sun’s rays sneaking through the irregularities at the top. Boating on further, we came upon a titanic ship thrown against the coast, having crashed a few decades earlier in a night storm. The ship was of colossal proportions, having its own helicopter landing on the back, which had been hijacked by a colony of birds who were startled by our boat and flew off, covering us with a storm of feathers as they breezed by over our heads. In big letters on the back of the boat was written the word “American”, and all the Americans on the boat fittingly decided to take a picture with this in the background. We could only hope that the sunken American ship is not a sign of what is to come to the US empire. Boating further on, we finally reached our dive site and prepared to launch. Perhaps one of the coolest parts of diving off a boat is the initial launch, where you sit with your legs, facing into the boat, oxygen on and in your mouth, and the captain of the ship does a countdown of 3-2-1-Go! Holding your mask with one hand and pushing off the side of the boat with the other, everyone does a back flip into the water at the same time so no one will land on each other when entering- just like the Navy Seals. Diving down we explored the entire length of a huge sunken ship and saw quite a few cool things. Carpets still in full color, giant cylinder steamers toppled over, and the raised steering deck were all part of the tour. Monster lobsters were plenty along the way, which I enthusiastically pointed out to Ian every time I spotted one. For some reason, he wasn’t as impressed.

After the dive, we explored some of the waters some more, and by chance, we were lucky enough to spot a sunfish. For those of you that don’t know what a sunfish is, google images it right now. This creature looks like it belongs on another planet. While the top half of the fish resembles a normal giant fish body, the lower half looks completely different, with a rugged and bumpy shape that resembles a small astroid more than anything else. The fish’s face looks like the spitting image of one of those beasts from the film “Aliens”, and it was incredible seeing the sunfish surface as it prepared to gobble up its huge meal of a single blue sail jelly fish, which basically looks like a small blue air bubble that blows across the surface of the ocean with the wind. The sunfish was quite shy, and immediately after it sucked in the blue sail jelly fish with its disgustingly beautiful lips, it descended back to the dark depths of the water, to a place where its hideous yet incredible appearance is less noticed.

Staying with Horwitz Family

With my rent ending in early June, I knew I needed to find a good place to stay for my remaining time in Cape Town. As usual, my super-mom came to the rescue, giving me the phone number of a Capetonian Jewish educator named Jos Horwitz whom she met at a conference earlier in the year. I already went to their house in Passover and really digged the vibe, so I decided to give it a shot and ask if I could stay over. Jos quickly responded affirmative, and my fate was sealed: I would be the 5th Horwitz boy for the months of June and July.

Having grown up with two brothers myself, the four-brothers scene at the Horwitz was an atmosphere that I could easily adjust to. Video games, sports, and casual fighting were all part of the vibe that I have known so well since my early years. The youngest Horwitz is Daniel, who at age of 14, is already quite mature as well as a determined rugby player. In one game he got hit extremely hard in the face, which led to bruised cheeks and perhaps even a broken nose. Yet, despite the pain, Daniel went on to finish the game, scoring a try and earning the title of man of the match. The second youngest is Ross, 18. In his final year of high school, Ross is level-headed and easy going. Just as athletically determined as Daniel, Ross competes in the Swim from Robben Island to Cape Town challenge every year, which he claims is as much of a mental challenge as physical due to the resilience needed to withstand the freezing waters of Cape Town. Wetsuits are not allowed- the challenge must be completed in a speedo. (Did someone say Lionel Lyon?). Brett, a second year UCT student, is an avid gym goer, insistent on constantly defining and refining his body. Further, Brett is a well connected man in the Cape Town party scene, as he always carries a small golden VIP card that allows him to cut lines and get into clubs for free. Just a few nights ago, he got me into one of Cape Town’s most popular clubs for free without even being there- all he had to do was make a call in advance to get me on the list. The eldest child is Dean, 22, who is a hilarious, witty UCT graduate, working for real estate as well as a social networking website called studentology, which he uses to his advantage to get into places for free. From facebook to foursquare, Dean is connected to a whole world of online networking. He is also a proud follower of Justin Bieber’s twitter page and together we have discovered that Bieber has 3.5 million followers while one of the best basketball players of our time, Lebron James, only has .5 million. You know there’s something wrong with the world when a young pop singer who has only recently been potty trained is more popular than one of the most dominant athletes in NBA history. The mother of the house, Jos, works for the Herziliyah school system, and was very active in the struggle against apartheid throughout her childhood and into the turmoil 90s. Just before I left, she was telling me stories of when her life was at risk, like the time that she was driving into the townships and there was a mob marching towards her car. In order to get away safely, she had to pull away in reverse at over 100 km per hour. This was the day before American Amy Biel was killed in the same area. The father, Steve, is an extremely nice man, who showed me pictures of his days fighting for the South African army against the Cuban forces in Angola. He told me how they were all brainwashed into thinking that the Cubans, Angolans, and any other communists were nothing short of terrorists. He’s also a big fan of a good braai. (BBQ in SA).
Overall, I had an incredible time staying at the Horwitz family. They were extremely accommodating, buying kosher meat especially for me and welcoming me home no matter what hour of the night I ended up strolling in. I enjoyed getting to know each of the brothers on an individual basis, playing catch with Daniel, chatting it up with Ross, partying on the inside scene with Brett, and visiting all sorts of places while cracking jokes with Dean. It definitely got me nostalgic for my own brotherhood back home.

World Cup

Cape Town – see World Cup Post.



Durban
Next stop was Durban to attend the Spain V Switzerland match. I fell asleep on the first leg of the 20 hour trip and when I woke up, I looked out the windows and all I could see was white. We were caught in a snowstorm. While this might not be unusual for the New England folk reading this back home, a proper roadside snowstorm is a rare occurrence in South Africa. The snow was actually sticking to the ground, yet impressively, the bus kept up its speed, plowing through the powder at over 80 km per hour. Staying at a woman’s house via connections through my buddy Elise, aka tinker-bell, I joined a huge group of travelling students, which included Americans, Norwegians, and a few Brazilians. The night before the Spain game, we headed out to the bar with the Brazilians to watch the Brazil match. Their energy was unbelievable. Way before the game even started they were already singing, and once the score finished in their favor, their moods remained in cloud nine for the rest of the night. Before the Spain game the next day, the entire group decided to paint the Spanish flag on their face and although I was 100% committed to supporting my home country, I decided to join in on the face paint festivities just for kicks. Walking towards the game, we could see the giant arch of the grand Moses Madiba stadium from a distance, which has been compared to the Sydney Opera House and the Eifel tower in its architecture beauty. The game was a bit of a disappointment, as top ranked Spain failed to score a single goal. Yet watching the Swiss fans go nuts over their upset victory was nevertheless an interesting site. In the end the Swiss victory was to my advantage, as a Swiss couple who were staying at the same place as me were happy to offer me a ride to the bus station the next morning. Had their team lost, who knows if they would have still felt inclined to provide the free transport.

Jo-Burg

During the course of my week long stint in Jo-Burg, I stayed at two different people’s homes. First up was the Tucker family, home of none other than Ashley Tucker from the Township Debate League at UCT. I met Ashley on of the first weeks of the semester, and already then was she eager to extend an invitation for me to stay her place in Jo-Burg during my world cup tour. Picking me up from the airport with her mom, she was in her usual peppy and upbeat mood and I could tell it was going to be a great time crashing at her pad. Walking into the house, the floors were spotless, the air was fresh, and the books in the library were labeled and organized according to various categories. I had many interesting conversations with her mom, who works as a gardening journalist yet somehow finds herself involved in ensuring that the entire Jo-Burg region won’t have a water shortage in the next decade. Her sister Chelsea was just as engaging, eager to learn and curious to ask about a range of topics including life in the States and middle east politics. One night we partied it up big time at her house, her mom joining in on the festivities through offering us an endless supply of apple cake. The night of stories and laughs ended with some jubilant dancing to the mixed music by a DJ called Norwegian Recycling whom you should all check out as soon you finish reading this. My favorite song is by far “How six songs collide.” And of course, hanging out with Ashley was as good as ever, as she is always upbeat and enthusiastic in every interaction she has. She also happens to be an extremely beautiful girl, which definitely doesn’t hurt. (She’s got a boyfriend though, so unfortunately, we had to keep things platonic). On my last day hanging out with her, we checked out this place called the Monte Casino, which is a giant casino built in an indoor venue that is designed to look like an Italian town.

The next place I stayed at was quite a different experience, but still just as interesting and fun. One of my last weeks in Cape Town I met a girl named Kate who told me I could stay at her mom’s house in Jo-Burg if need be. Not wanting to overstay my welcome at the Tucker’s, I thought it would be good to split my time in Jo-Burg between the two places and immediately accepted the invitation. I could tell that Kate’s mom, Pat, would be extremely hospitable before I even walked through the door, as she sent me all sorts of e-mails regarding what my standards of kashrut were, wanting to buy the appropriate meat in advance. Ashley gave me a ride towards her house, but we had trouble finding the place and had to give her a call to get more specific directions. After clearing up some confusion, we were put back on the right track and I assured Pat that we knew where we were going and that I could take care of it from there. She didn’t seem convinced, and from practically a half kilometer from her house down the road, I could see her waving her arms up and down, just to make sure we wouldn’t miss the spot. It was a classic case of Jewish mother-syndrome. Symptoms include over-worrying, a desire to control as much of a situation as possible, and an overall sense that the world will fall apart unless you hold it together by your own two hands. But ultimately, all these symptoms are rooted in a genuine feeling of love and care, and that is what Pat showed me the entire time I stayed at her house. A journalist that has met and even bumped heads with the likes of Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu, Pat has a powerhouse brain with the ability to recall names, dates, and events from a wide range of histories and cultures. She is also extremely hysterical, her daughter branding her as “The Female Woody Allen.” Like Woody Allen, her humor is very Jewishly paranoid, and I tried to convince her several times to give stand up comedy a swing. One of the highlights of staying at her house was certainly her two dogs, one of whom was quite old and the other a young pup. The young pup would often entertain himself by humping the old dog as he lay still trying to sleep, while the veteran exhibited some of the strangest dog behaviors I have ever seen, in performing this crawling motion back and forth on the ground in an effort to scratch his stomach. It is very hard to describe exactly what I’m talking about, but this dog would go on doing this scratching motion for 5 minutes straight a time, which would get me cracking up the whole way through.

Acacia Overland Tour

Eager to explore as much of Africa as possible before my return flight home, I signed up for a 24 day Overland Tour through a company called Acacia that would take me from Jo-Burg through Botswana, Zambia, Namibia, and back to Cape Town. The idea of the overland tour is quite simple and smart. Essentially, we drive to all sorts of destinations around Africa on a huge truck that can conquer any road, setting up tents and cooking dinner at campsites along the way. Equipped to seat up to 24 people, including a locker for each person’s stuff, as well as cooking, camping, and eating gear, the overland truck is quite big. The tour is managed by a driver and a tour guide, but much of the day to day upkeep is attended to by the participants, such as cleaning, cooking, washing dishes, and packing the truck. Because the participants are expected to help out with the day to day chores of the group and almost all the nights are slept in tents, the trip is reasonably priced, about as much as it would cost to travel around Africa on one’s own. Also, it’s a great way to make good friends with people from all over the world. Being stuck on a truck together for three weeks leaves little choice for otherwise. I signed up for the trip completely on my own, not even knowing whether there would be a single other young person on it. Not that I have anything against old people, but I was praying that I wouldn’t be stuck on a truck with a bunch of senior citizens for 24 days.

To my luck, I discovered that old people don’t like camping and young people do. In fact, in order to sign up for the camping overland trip, you have to be between the ages of 18 and 35. This ensures that there will be a certain dynamic on the group that won’t be broken by a young teenager that is too eager to impress or an old man that just can’t keep up with the crowd. There actually was a 43 year old man on the trip named Chris, and although I’m not sure how he got through with that rule, it didn’t really matter, because this guy was as youthful as a lion cub at heart. We actually ended up becoming really good friends- more on this later.

As with so many of my experiences in Africa, there are too many good things to list them all, so I’ll just give you the highlights from my overland trip.

Kruger
First stop was a campsite just outside Kruger. A newly renovated spot, I was fascinated by the actual layout and structures in the campsite. A stylistic highlight was how the toilet paper rolls in the bathroom were held up on the round part of the handle of a shovel that was nailed to the wall. We woke up early the next morning to get a jump start on our game drive into Kruger park. Lucky for us, on our first day out there we managed to spot the entire big five, which are the five most dangerous animals to hunt for in Africa. The big five are elephant, lion, rhino, buffalo, and leopard. Surprisingly, Buffalo is the most dangerous as they are frequent to charge, and leopards are the rarest one to see. Early on in the morning our safari driver got a call on his radio regarding a leopard spotting and we immediately zoomed over to the spot to check it out. It was clear that word had spread quick, as there was practically already a traffic jam by the leopard spot. Yet we managed to sneak in well enough to spot two leopard cubs, even rarer, playing in the sand by some bushes. I was mystified. We had to drive on to avoid blocking traffic, but we heard that the mother came out later and walked towards a tree in which laid her kill: a Kudu hanging in the branches. After killing its prey, the leopard carries the corpse up into the trees to keep the meat away from other predators. Throughout the rest of the day, we saw the remainder of the big five with other animals as well, such as the giraffe. Even when we weren’t spotting animals, driving around Kruger was a pure pleasure, as the scenery and landscape was breathtaking and unique in its own right.

Botswana

Chobe National Park
The difference between Botswana and South Africa? A whole lot of hippos. Immediately after crossing into Botswana and on our way to a borderside campsite, we passed by a little pond surrounded by a chicken-wire fence beside a gas station. Why the fence? To create the illusion of safety for pedestrians from the inhabitant of the puddle: a giant wild hippo, that spends the hot hours of the day cooling off in the water. For those of you that don’t know, the hippo, more aggressive than the lion, is one of the most dangerous beasts in the animal kingdom. Their palate consists of strictly grass and other vegetarian matter, but when it comes to their murderous inclinations, the hippo will attack and chomp anything deemed a threat. With Jaws that can open a full 180 degrees and clamp down in a flash, teeth that curve and extend over a full foot each, you’d be lucky if the hippo only snapped you in half. The fat cow-like body, short stubby legs, and general slow, casual walk is quite deceiving, like a Ford pick-up truck thrown into 4th, the hippo can instantly shift gears, charging forward like a freight train at full-steam speeds. A hippo charging would break through that chicken-wire fence so fast, it wouldn’t have even noticed it was there. Get in between a male and its water, a female and its baby, and you’ll instantly be deemed a threat. Once this is determined, there is no escape. Being quite neurotic and defensive, hippos are inclined to attack at the slightest provocation. Of course, the greater the danger, the more enthralling the lure, and the next day when passing by the same gas station, a group of us ran towards the pond, daring each other to see who could get closer to the hippo. At first, the hippo seemed undisturbed by our presence, its body full submerged underwater, the top of the head peeking above the surface, eyes darting back and forth to keep watch on our distance. My good ol’ tent-mate Collin of England insisted on testing the limits and kept on walking towards the hippo, hoping to snap an up-close facial photo. The girls yelled “Collin, don’t!”, the boys murmured “Bru, come on,” but Collin’s legs couldn’t hear the words, and he continued marching forward, eager to get closer to the face of danger. He took one step too many and it was instantly clear that the hippo’s patience was broken, as the mammoth creature all of a sudden began to ascend upwards and out of the water, the size of its cannonball body revealed, its head turning directly towards Collin. This was too much even for the naive bravery of a 22 year old boy, and after the Hippo made his first move, Collin made a quick, decisive response: RUN! Collin behind, the girls in the lead, and me somewhere in between, the whole group scrambled to the truck, mad in laughter, half in fear, and half in pure excitement for what just transpired.

(Side note: the previous night, we watched the USA V Ghana game at a bar at the Botswana campsite. Being the only American there, I proudly waved my flag and stood up to the national anthem, singing along to every word I could remember. I forget a few of the lines, and just muttered random syllables very softly to cover up this shameful fact. Only half a year away from home and I already know the South African national anthem, which is in 5 languages and two keys, better than my own. Sad? Maybe. But the South African national anthem is the most beautiful national song I’ve ever heard, and if you ever want to hear it, feel free to ask for a recitation from me. I know the whole song, word by word. In case you don’t bump into me anytime soon, check it out on you tube. If it doesn’t bring you to tears, then you clearly have a problem with your heart- go eat some cheerios. )

Elephant Water Holes.

The next night we stayed at a place called Elephant Water Holes, which is known for just that; a water hole right by the campsite, where elephants come to drink. Upon pulling into the campsite, we rushed to the hole, which we found surprisingly close to the camp bar. Lo and behold, several elephants were calmly drinking out of the murky water, glancing over towards us every now and then just to make sure we kept our distance. There was actually an in-ground patio made for the very purpose of sitting and watching the elephants, with a sign on the edge stating: “Do Not Pass this line.” Although not as dangerous as the hippo, elephants are still quite lethal. Large and in charge, elephants along with the rest of the big animals out there, are deceivingly fast. After an hour of watching, what looked like a huge oil-truck pulled up to the campsite, right beside the camp pool, which was practically empty. The driver pulled out a hose that was attached to the tank, opening a lever that sent a gush of water streaming into the pool. They were filling up the pool, but for what? It was Botswana and winter time, not a popular time to go for a swim. A few minutes later, it became clear that although the pool was designed for humors, mother nature had a different plan. A big elephant with its kid, ignoring the huge truck and people standing near the pool, pulled right up the edge of the concrete, dipped their trunks into the concrete, and began to slurp away. The way elephants drink is fascinating. With their trunks in the water, they suck up as much water as this giant tube will hold, which can be up to 10 liters. Holding the water in this giant straw, the elephant takes the trunk out of the water, leans the head back and opens its jaws, placing the trunk in the mouth and squirting all the water from the trunk onto its wet tongue and down its throat. After the pool was full, the owner of the campsite said that the driver had to go and that although this would scare the elephants away, seeing my interest in watching the elephants, he told me not to worry, reassuring me that the elephants would come back for more water later. And come back they did. Later that night, walking back towards the bar to catch the second half of the England-Germany game and to check my e-mail, I noticed a huge crowd of people gathered around the pool, gazing, jaws suspended mid-air. Surrounding the concrete lip of the man-made water hole, a herd of about twenty elephants were calmly going for a drink as if it was nobody’s business. This was the truest encounter of man meets nature. Here we were on the cusp of the Botswana wilderness, and these elephants took a crowd of people away from their soccer game, providing us with the opportunity to watch something much more spectacular. The bigger elephants, with their babies at their rear feet, would push their way to the front, making their way to the choice spots near the pool as a sign of their dominance. If a smaller elephant dared to challenge one of the big boys, a quick thrust of the tusk and blow of the trunk would immediately remind everyone who was the boss. Occasionally, the elephants would give a blow in our direction, just to make sure we kept our distance and respected their great power. A giant, 6 ton elephant came trampling towards the hole, scarring one of the standard sized elephants away. The startled elephant came trampling towards the direction of us passive viewers and with the mighty force of its legs, crushed several metal chairs that had been occupied only moments ago. Worried that the next time we wouldn’t be so lucky and that the chairs would be occupied, I asked the man standing next to me, who happened to be the owner of the campsite, what signs we can look for to anticipate a charge. The man described in detail two different ways the elephant can flap its ears. The first was nothing more than a sign for a false charge while the second manner was the predecessor to the real thing. So I asked the man what to do if the elephant indeed gives warning that it’s about to give a real charge. Well, the man said, at the point, running won’t do you any good, it’s already too late. The real danger of being so close to these deadly animals only served to augment the beauty of this night time encounter with nature’s finest.

Crossing into Zambia

To get into Zambia from Botswana, one has to take a ferry across the Chobe river. However, being a far cry from any normal ferry, the border crosser on this body of water takes a long, long time. Due to frequent breakdowns and other mishaps, crossing the river often takes hours, even days. On top of that, due to an extremely inefficient customs system, trucks seeking to bring goods across the border sometimes have to wait up to three weeks before getting on the ferry. I talked to a truck driver asking him what he thought of the long wait, and to him, it was actually a nice break in the otherwise monotonous task of sitting behind the wheel. Our drivers told us that if we were lucky and with the help of their connections, we’d only be at the border for half a day rather than the full session. Being a group of young, restless, and competitively inclined travelers, we proceeded to entertain ourselves with a serious game of “hit the can.” Placing a can about 50 meters away, a group of 5 of us boys chucked small stones towards the can, winning a point for every hit. I consider myself an individual blessed with especially good aim and I all but expected to dominate the game. However, fate played against me, as it happened that one of the Australian boys in our group was a highly experienced Cricket bowler. My shots consistently came close, but I couldn’t keep up with the accuracy of Mr. Australia, and ultimately, my “touch” was no match for the bowler’s natural feel. After a little over an hour, the game got boring, and I also had to go the bathroom: #2. I found a port-a-potty that was simply beyond all functional use, and instantly decided that I would have to take this one out on mother nature. Walking into some bush and tree covered area by the crossing, I found myself a nice spot and unloaded. Coming back, I was told by my travelling friend’s that I should have been more careful. The wooded area that I just came back from was officially part of Zimbabwe and I just illegally crossed the border. I never got a chance to get a Zimbabwe stamp on my passport, but that day, at least I had a chance to explore their natural bathrooms.
Finally, after some bribe-work and playing off several connections, our truck moved to the front of the line. We were about to drive onto the ferry, with only one truck in front of us. To our bad luck, the bumper of the truck in front us got slammed and stuck into the concrete road. Our truck tried to tow it out, to no success. We had to pull away to let a bigger truck in. The bigger truck towed out the smaller truck, the smaller truck drove right back onto the ferry, and of course the bigger truck ended up taking the last spot on the ferry, the spot intended for us. So finally, another 30 minutes later, we got on the ferry and were headed to Zambia. On the ferry ride over, several Mucoroos (small dug out canoes) pulled over to the ferry and men from the ferry began loading all sorts of cargo onto the boats. TVs, blankets, bags of rice were all included in this live scene of smuggling goods tax free across the border.





Mosi Au Tunya- The Smoke That Thunders (Victoria Falls)

The departure point to explore Victoria Falls from Zambia is a small, tourist, crafts filled city called Livingstone, named after the first white guy to “discover” the Falls. The appeal of Livingstone is that it is the hub of a wide array of fun and extreme activities to keep you hyped while you’re not checking out the falls. Our truck pulled into a campsite called the waterfront, which was located on the banks of the Zambezi river, mere kilometers away from the lips of the falls. The water from the falls hits the ground so hard, that even from our campsite we were able to see a mist rising above the river’s horizon from the direction of the falls.

Immediately after arriving at the campsite and being warned not to feed the monkeys (they were everywhere!) and also to stay away from the river edge to avoid being eaten by a crocodile, we were taken into a room where we were given a presentation on how the high energy activities available at our disposal. The list contained what you might expect and more: bunjy jumping, white water rafting, zip lining, and so on. At the end of the list there was a section on cultural tourism in the either, again, with a list of tours that one would expect in Zambia: Zambian art tour, British colonialism tour, etc. At the bottom of this list, the words “Jewish Cultural Tour” stuck out to me as if it was painted in red. Jewish community in Zambia? Being the token Jew of the group, my friends asked for me to elaborate on the Jewish history of this country. Immediately when I had access to internet, I asked my mom about this matter, hoping that her Jewish education skills would find some connection to Judaism and Zambia. Nope. Not wanting to miss out on the other crazy things going on in Zambia, I opted not to go on the $45 Judaism tour of Zambia, and until this day, I am still quite intrigued on what one actually sees on a tour of Judaism in Zambia.