Sorry, this is a cop-out

I don't have much time, so I have to recap the last 8 days in the worst way possible: By cutting and pasting an e-mail. The following is an e-mail I sent to my family, which encapsulates the highlights of that last week. I will be more detailed at a later time, if anyone besides me cares. Hey guys!!! So far so good. Africa is incredible and I have seen some rather amazing things. I have also eaten everything from Oryx to Ostrich, and they are soooo good. I thought I was going to lose weight in Africa when in act I am gaining. Oops. I am going to attempt to call you guys today because I am not sure when I will get to call again. The phone situation is a little difficult, and we finally found some Internet after seven days of travel. Just to recap: Day one: We met up at our hotel and had a meeting. Then we all went out for a drink, then went to bed. Day two: We were up early, and I actually called you guys. We drove for a while and it rained the whole time. We stayed at a nice little hostel in the middle of nowhere and played monopoly for like four hours. Day three: It was an early morning, but we moved to the north of South Africa and into Namibia. We stayed at a campground near the border, along the Orange River. It was a beautiful place to camp. It was also my first time in a tent overnight. COLD...but fun. We had an incredible steak and sausage dinner. I have to say, the tour guide/cook makes too much food, and it's damn good + sitting through long drives + rest-stop snacks = me getting fatter. Day four: We woke up early to watch the sunrise over the mountains and then we jumped in the river and had a swim. It was so much fun going down the rapids. Made for some nice bruises. We packed up and moved further north to Fish River Canyon, which could be compared to the Grand Canyon. It's huge, and old, and we watched the sunset there. Then more cold camping. Yay. Day five: We had a loooooong drive where everyone almost killed each other. It was like a 10 hour drive to a place called Soussuvlei, where we finally entered the Nambi desert. At night, it was so dark in the middle of nowhere that we could see the milky way, the black hole, alpha centauri, and venus, among other things. It was the most impressive amount of stars I have ever seen. Like a thin blanket over my head staring at the sun. Day six: We woke up at the butt-crack of dawn to climb dune 45, one of the highest sand dunes in the desert. It was bitterly cold and the air was thin. We made it, and the view was intense. I have pictures, don't worry. Wow!!! We then went into the dunes with a bushman to learn about bushman life. It was incredible. I think I have overcome my fear of bugs by now. Then, we packed up and moved onto Solitaire. There, all we did was tan next to the pool and eat a lot of buttery apple pie. Day seven: We left really again (when I say early, I mean we're waking up at 4am...yes, early). We made it to Swakopmund, where we are now. We arrived at a booking agent who showed us a video of all the things we could do here. I chose quad-driving through the sand dunes and...SKYDIVING!!! Yes, I will be doing that in a few hours time, but I'll get back to that. We are staying in these funny houses that look like roofs. I have pictures. There are six of us per house, but it has been so much fun--like a cabin. We went on the quads and I have a new-found love for riding quads through sand. So much fun, and we saw some incredible landscapes. The desert here is insanely beautiful--especially because it borders the ocean. We all went out for dinner, where we ate too much and then called it a night, knowing we could finally sleep in. Day eight: Sleeping in didn't really work out. We have all been conditioned to be up early, so we were all up before 8am. Everyone went in their own directions to do different activities. My buddies and I went out for our free breakfast, and then shopped around a bit before stumbling into this Internet cafe. Thank Jehovah!!! It's 11:15am here, and we're jumping at 4pm. Almost time!!! If I do splat into the ground, I leave all of my earthly belongings to Sammy (our dog), and my stuff in Korea goes to my hubby, Dong Wook. I love and miss you all so much!!! So many amazing things have occurred over the last 8 days, I wish I could get into it now, but I have to pick up my washing from the cleaners, take a shower, and get ready to jump out of a plane over a vast desert. Also, I had Oryx for dinner and man does it make you wanna poo. The good thing is it's good poo, not travel poo. I wish everyone, wherever you are in the world, well--and I miss you my friends, FAMILY, and my BABE!!! Praise Jehovah for this blessed life and incredible world!!!

Eating Pumba

Day 8 (Continued) When I left off yesterday I was going to meet friends for dinner. I headed back to the hostel and showered and relaxed a bit before meeting the gals (Lily, and Charlotte) at the hostel bar. There we picked up a couple of newbies; an Armenian chick from Long Beach who's been living in Ghana, and a nineteen-year-old Londoner who, oddly enough, is going on the same overland tour as myself. We had a drink and waited for our buddy Dave to return from shark-diving. In the mean time, we all shared a springbok--half peppermint schnapps, half Bailey's. The restaurant was called Arnold's. They specialized in game meat. Man, oh, man am I glad I eat meat. We started with some camembert and brie chicken salad's, and followed that with the heaviest, most tasty meat EVER!!! I, being the hungry and gluttonous person that I am, ordered the sampler platter, which included steamed veggies, couscous, ostrich steak, crocodile fillet, braised warthog ribs, and mushroom gembok (a type of antelope). These had to be some of the yummiest meats I have ever tasted. Good job predators!!! The gembok was a lot like beef steak, but the ostrich was more like a cross between fillet mignon and prime rib. The warthog ribs were amazing. That is one ugly animal that goes perfectly with barbecue sauce. The crocodile was served in a gooseberry sauce, and it was amazing. It tasted a lot like chicken. All in all, the meal was perfection. Our waiter was a skinny, hipster with hug glasses. I loved him. He was so funny. He humored us a lot, so it made for a fun evening. He also had the biggest pepper crusher I have ever encountered, so I hope someone will send me a picture of it. It seriously looked like a didgeridoo. The two bottles of free wine we were given for spending so much money was an added bonus (when in fact between six of us, we spent about $80 on a gourmet dinner!!!) After dinner we reserved a table at the local hotspot called Cubana, a Cuban bar/restaurant. The decor was beautiful, and opulent. They had hookahs for smoking, which we took advantage of. The best part was that there were flat screens on every wall looping episodes of Fashion TV and coverage of this years Cannes Film Festival. Non-stop fashion!!! Basically, paradise. We started with cocktails. I had 'El Maniaco' (grenadine, pineapple puree, and champagne). We followed that with complimentary shooters called 'Lollypops,' made with banana liquor and triple sec. After that we all made a pact to attempt the most horrible drink imaginable. This drink sounded interesting in theory, but it basically made us spit fire! We had an 'Absinthminded,' containing Yagermeister, Tequila, and Absinthe. Let's just say we all saw the green fairy. We spent the remainder of the evening chatting with a Dutch fellow and his friend, and Ana and I had an interesting conversation about the film industry (she worked for Focus Features' publicity dept). Around 1am, it was time to head to bed. We all headed back to the hostel where we found few people awake. Many of us said our goodbye's, mainly to Dave because he was off to Nairobi to begin a three-month law stint. I may see him in July. After all of this, to bed...so comfortable, and anticipating morning packing, followed by a 90-minute massage. Day 9 (Tuesday, May 20, 2008) Waking was easier than expected. Everyone seemed to rise at the same time, so making noise was not a problem. It took me about an hour to pack because I have sever obsessive compuslive disorder and must do things a certain way. One person in the room called me very organized, and another called me sick. You decide. After packing, I met Charlotte for a quick breakfast of toast and tea. From there it was off to my massage. The room was serene and quite pristine. New age music annoys me, but I dealt with it. The masseuse was a sweet, young blonde woman. She was very gentle and basically put me to sleep. For all I know, she waited until I began to snore and then waited the rest of the 90-minutes out. Either way, a nice, long, relaxing massage for $60 is not bad. From there, I walked down the road, back to the Geek Internet Cafe where I have been for nearly three hours now attempting to upload pictures to the crap that is myspace, and flickr. The good thing is that by today, you--yes, you, can finally see some of the things I have been writing about. I hope the photos find anyone who cares to check them out well. I have to go officially check out from the hostel and head to the meeting point: the Tulip Inn. Having spent a week here in Cape Town, I am beginning to feel akin to it. I find it difficult to leave now that my body, and mindset have become attune to lifestyle and ease of each day. Mainly, I'll miss the Backpackers. This hostel was truly a home away from home. The fact that I could shower next to a spider AND a moth means that mentally...I am more sound than when I left home. May it remain with me through the wild.

Chunky Monkey

Day 7 (Sunday, May 18, 2008) Sunday is the day of rest, is it not? Most chose to roll out of bed late, but seeing as I'd gone to bed dreadfully early the evening prior, I was up by 5am--watching episodes of the Aussie sitcom 'Kath & Kim' on my iPod. When I finally managed to get up, I realized I had not plans and was instantly feeling antsy. I headed for breakfast and there met an American girl named Lily, and another American named Dave (from Escondido!!!), and a British girl named Charlotte. I had re-booked my ticket to head to Robben Island, the detention center I'd missed the day before, but didn't feel up to the journey. So, over toast and eggs, the four of us decided to go seek out Monkey Jungle--a sanctuary where little monkey's crawl all over you. Upon leaving the hostel we realized that the streets of Cape Town on a sunday redefine dead. Not a car, a person, or a peep. It was an interesting way to view the bustling city center. We stopped into the market for some munchies, then jumped on the Blue line tour bus to make it out to our first stop--the Botanical Gardens. The air was sweet, and clean in the gardens, almost as if the intense burst of oxygen was making us high. We walked around a bit, took photos, and basked in the bright sun. The trees were perfect for climbing, but it was prohibited. Shame. From here, were headed for the Bird Paradise/Monkey Jungle. In this small sanctuary were rescued birds, monkeys, and other animals of all different species. We were inches away from huge eagles the size of Rotweiller's, as well as an injured buzzard who loved to show off it's one working wing. Finally, we made it to the monkey enclosure and right away, they were scurrying around quickly. We weren't sure what the trick was, but some people were covered in these small, orange and brown primates. All of a sudden, I felt a slight tug and there was a monkey on my back, attempting to steal my scarf. He nibbled on it, tearing the threads, but I didn't mind it--there was a monkey climbing on me!!! After this it was pandemonium. They were stealing sweets from peoples purses, wrappers from our pockets, even receipts from our hands. These gorgeous creatures were so playful, and had so much personality. We were there for nearly forty minutes just allowing them to nibble our hair, and pull on the zippers to our bags. Tricky little buggers...but they were indeed precious. After leaving the park, we waited forty minutes for the next bus and played a few too many games of twenty questions. Along the bus route back, we stopped at a fisherman's wharf and had some of the best and cheapest fish & chips I've ever had. We walked along the boardwalk and found a local man and his pet sea lion, Happy. We took photos, fed him fish, and he loved it when we pet and hugged him. He reminded me of my old pal Oreo; my Labrador retriever from when I was younger. We boarded the bus again and by now we were exhausted. After about an hour of a windy, but incredibly scenic drive of the Cape Town coast, we made it back to the hostel. Each of us went out own way to relax or freshen up, and made plans to meet up for a trip to the cinema later. We walked to the nearby cinema, the Labia (yes, you read it correctly), and watched Todd Hayne's terribly pretentious film 'I'm Not There.' Three words, "I'm not interested." It was so self-absorbed and referential, that basically you need a Bob Dylan discography to even understand the title. Back at the hostel, I met up with my good pal Inez from Spain, as it was her last night. We shared a drink, a chat, and then off to bed--with plans for a 9am breakfast. What followed were an undisturbed eight hours of blissful sleep. Day 8 (Monday, May 19, 2008) Waking to no pressure is the best feeling in the world. The showers were mostly taken, but I found one with a lovely spider waiting for me. I quickly washed it down the water spout, and went about my business of cleansing. Post-shower, I got dressed and met Inez and Daniel from Peru for breakfast. It was nice to speak Spanish for an entire chunk of time, seeing as how that is a rarity for me these days. Great practice, and culturally fulfilling to me as a Latino. Here, Daniel showed us his pictures of shark diving, which looked incredible. I wish I'd done it, but unfortunately my stomach could not handle the rough waters of the Cape. Maybe next time. Inez and I said good-bye to Daniel, as he checked out, and I aided Inez in carrying her bags out to the reception area, as she's to move into one of the townships with a family for three weeks. She is with Doctor's Without Borders, and what she is doing seems incredible. After some debate, Lily and I decided to spend the day walking around and hoping to make it to the beach. We walked down Long Street, the most popular and hip area of Cape Town--also sort of the red-light district. We shopped a bit, and headed to the waterfront. At the waterfront, we were again bombarded with a beautifully constructed mall, chock-full of tourists delights. Not my type of place, but worth seeing. We had a beautiful lunch there, spending only under twenty dollars then walked along the coast--watching the rough waves slam against the walls of the walk-way. One woman was almost severely drenched...but unluckily for me, I didn't get to see it happen. After a while our feet grew far too tired to walk any further. We decided to hop a cab back to Long Street, and now I am here, and the Geek Internet Cafe typing this here blog. Tonight, we're off to sample some game; warthog ribs, springbok meat, and eland steak. Yum. Tomorrow is technically day one of my overland trip, where I will change to our meeting hotel. After tomorrow, I may be unreachable for a while. We shall see. But before any of that, I have a 90-minute massage scheduled for tomorrow morning. After this first week, I don't really need it, but I will treat myself anyway. After all, I have the next month and a half to sleep in the bush, and Rhinos don't have the gentle touch of a masseur.

Dirt, Poor, Strong, Heart

Day 6 (Saturday, May 17, 2008) Another early morning, another early shower--luckily nice and hot. I had some breakfast in the hostel cafe and awaited my tour guide to come and fetch me for my day amongst the townships (aka ghettos). When he arrived, we waited for another guy who hadn't yet woken up and was causing us to fall behind schedule. Finally, Mjongo (my main man for the day) made the decision to leave the guy behind and just he and I would go. It sounded like a great idea, and an interesting way to be directly immersed. Mjongo is of a tribe not native to South Africa, so he speaks several tongues. He asked where I was from, and when I said San Diego he was delighted. Turns out that he has a sponsor who is a professor at the University of San Diego who put him through university. A truly small world, and already we were connected. We first stopped at the Apartheid museum, which was both enraging and thought-provoking. The set-up was quite artistic, leaning itself more as a menagerie, or collage than a typical museum. There I learned about the Dutch government riping the non-white races from their homes in several suburbs of South Africa, and moving them to areas called 'townships.' What once were flourishing communities were bulldozed and never developed--left only as a political statement of power. The non-white races consisted of blacks, coloreds (mixed), and the Indian's or Malay's. The most famous area is called District 6. This place is now a land covered in rubble, over-grown grass, and memories. The only building still standing are houses of worship. Even today, life is difficult for the different tribes of South Africa. Mjongo must lie about his heritage in order to work the position he works. His working name is Jon. In the apartheid years, when people attempted to do this, the 'pencil test' was administered. A pencil was stuck into their hair and they were told to shake their head. If the pencil fell out, then they were of mixed race and it was okay. If the pencil stuck, then they were black and they were reprimanded. Another version of this test involved briskly, or forcefully pulling the pencil from the hair. If it came out easily, all was okay. If the pencil took with it a chunk of hair, or skin and the subject screamed in their native tongue (not Afrikaans, the native South African language), then again--they were reprimanded. At the museum we managed to pick-up another couple of tourists--a young an very attractive couple (he from Brazil, she from Australia). We continued onto the townships, where I wasn't too sure what I'd encounter. It was shocking. I am not sure I could think of a word to truly encapsulate the vision, the feel, or the idea of what was being presented before my eyes. Shanty houses covered miles, and miles of land. Homes made of anything; from old concert posters, to ads, to newspapers and cardboard, to gum and rope. My heart sank so deep inside me that I didn't have the strength to fish it back out. There were people everywhere--dirty, filthy dirty, with eyes older than their years. Clothing on their bodies looked more like peeling paper on an alley wall than a means of beautification or survival. And of course, we were being stared at far more intently than we were staring at them. Part of me felt intrusive--as if they were game, and I was on safari trying to capture a prize-winning shot for National Geographic. But those feelings soon melted away once I realized that in this dusty den of destitution there were smiles to be had, and a place to be offered in one's home even when there was no room to let. We first stopped into a 'shebeen,' a kind of pub where beer is home-made and the locals drink together in the dimly lit room. The premises were not what one would expect. We were basically in a shack, completed constructed of old, moldy cardboard, where a woman nyrsed a child and the floors were either dirt or old wood. We sat on small stools and met those that were also there to share in the drink. The beer was foamy-white, and in a medium-sized silver bucket. We were coached to pick it up and take a large swig. And so we did. The taste was much like a cider, with a bit of a tangy kick on the tail-end. I rather liked it. We shared a short conversation, took a few photos, and then we were off. From there, we walked the streets and met children in clothing made at some point of the eighties or early nineties, and they wanted to pose with us, hug us, and climb all over us. I wanted to scoop them all up and bring them away with me. Their sweet faces assured us of one thing--beyond all of this waste, and abandonment, they still understood the basics of happiness. We visited a persons apartment, about the size of a studio back home, where there were four beads. In each bed lived a family. Each family contained four to eight people. The smell was polluting, dense, and pungent. How do they not go mad? From here we went to a witch doctor, where he told us about different cures for ailments utilizing local flora, and fauna. It was dark, and smelled of jerky in the tin room. Dead, dry animal parts hung everywhere. Two women sat together in the dark nursing children, and the doctor stood behind a metal fence with only a single candle illuminating his face. We could barely see him, but his voice was like age old tobacco. Fortunately for us, we also visited a community of women who worked weaving, and doing bead-work to raise money for their families. Most or all of these families are afflicted with the HIV virus or AIDS. They were warm, beautiful women, and their artistry was incredible. I met one woman and took a photo with her. Her simple request was that I mail her a copy. That promise I will keep. We were fortunate enough to visit the home of our guide. We met his one-year old son who was just having his birthday. His grandmother bathed his chubby body in a bucket just as we arrived. He was beautiful. This land, poor and sad, was beautiful. At the end of the day, Mjongo drove us back to what we'd consider civilization and we thanked him for opening our eyes. I collected his information and hope to send him a gift upon my return home. From town, I was to take a ferry to the detention island where Nelson Mandela was held for twenty-some odd years, but the swell was far too dangerous so my boat was canceled. I spent the remainder of my day purchasing inexpensive t-shirts, and some last few odds and ends I'd need before leaving the city in two days time. I returned to the hostel then, after purchasing a wrap for dinner, and went to bed early (around 8pm). I slept through to the next morning. In my dreams, I saw the townships and just watched...spectated, and did nothing. And in reality, I did the same.

My Super-Hero Wears A Cape

It's been nearly a week now since I left the States that are supposedly "United," and already I have more stories nesting in my kookie little brain than I could possibly do justice to here, on this blog, in this boring internet cafe. I guess I will be boring and organized and take the writing by numbers route. So here goes: Day 1 (Monday, May 12, 2008) The day was hectic and my mind was aflutter in it's own buzzy way. I had so much shit to do, and pack, and think about that I can't clearly remember the day. What I do recall is my father waking me and refusing to allow me to take the train from San Diego to LAX because, "that's what poor people do." I love the way he puts things, because that is totally not what he means. What "poor" actually means is people without family to drive them--loners. Anyhow, I packed all of my travel gear, and we were off to Los Angeles rather early. We arrived to El Segundo and one of my dad's colleagues pointed us in the direction of a nice Chinese food restaurant, seeing as how I wanted to grease up before the flight. The food did prove to be excellent, and the decor of the establishment couldn't have been more perfectly...pastel. It was at this dinner that I had an incredible conversation with my folks about ourselves, our family as a whole, my siblings, the economy, the ecology, my life and the trajectory it's taken, and other such matters of importance. I have always felt loved by my parents, and do at every second of every day...but it was at that table that I felt respected, and I know that that so did they. We said our goodbye's at the drop-off point and I continued alone, much as I enjoy doing. Once checked and inside, I bought myself a small box of Godiva chocolates, as it's my flight tradition. It was then that I realized I'd not called my boyfriend. In all the mayhem of packing, and trekking, and conversing with the parentals--I didn't call my "chagi" (sweetheart). A bit worried that I wouldn't get the chance to call him, I scoured the airport Duty-Free shops for calling cards to no avail. Finally, I found a vending machine that unfortunately cost me more than a pair of shoes I bought today in CT. I had eight minutes to say what I could to my babe before who knows when I would get to speak with him. It was a difficult moment made more interesting by the fact that he was with a friend so he couldn't express himself as he normally does. We get pretty cheesy, folks. It was a bit of a disappointment, but the love was there--and that's what matters. On the plane to London, I slept most of the way. I was exhausted from the emotionally hectic day I'd experienced, and I had also taken two valium with a couple of in-flight bottles of white. I did manage, however, to have a lovely chat with a woman sitting next to me from Peru. She'd been living and working as a nanny in Paris for the last fourteen years. She had visited Los Angeles to attend her brothers wedding, whom she hadn't seen in ten years. Man, oh, man...if only I were Marty McFly, I'd turn back time and sit next to every single person on that flight just to listen to their stories. I'm an addict to the lives of others, and there are quite a few people out there, aren't there? -From a journal entry at Heathrow, London- I am currently experiencing one of those moments where I have no idea what to do with myself. I'm sitting here in Heathrow airport in a terminal I have never visited before. It looks new, but it just may be me. Airports are crawling with two things: gorgeous men, and too many tempting things to buy. I mean, do I seriously need a water-proof iPod baggie for six quid? It's a glorified Ziploc bag. There is one thing that I do find constant here, and almost appropriate, however. Most people here look lost. This is a place of transit, and thus there is a constant movement. But attached to this ebb and flow, I can't help but notice that people appear "lost." They may have a ticket, a terminal number, a gate, and even an assigned seat--but we are all in the same, small boat, slowly drifting in a sort of limbo. That is the special air of this port. This is limbo. The time one waits for a flight is a journey in itself. The mind wanders. If you're alone, you wonder why that is such. If you're not alone, you wonder if you ever will be again. Anticipation floods over and the imagination climbs the jungle gym. In the end, what this this stillness, loneliness, or state or purgatory amounts to is this...freedom. Day 2 (Tuesday, May 13, 2008) Traveling far above the air, this day barely even existed at all for me. It was shortened, folded in half, and put into my back pocket. I spent the eleven hour flight with the sweet South African fellow named Rob. He was a tall, stocky, rugby type who has been living in Cork, Ireland for over a year as a scientist. We were 28 days apart in birth. What are the odds. We had loads to talk about, joked, and even managed to have the same affinity for in-flight wine and muscle relaxers. The plane was mostly empty, but we enjoyed each others company. And there, in the quiet darkness of the airbus, we cuddled--not as romantics, or lovers, but as true buddies. It was a great feeling. I miss male, hetero friends ^^ Day 3 (Wednesday, May 14, 2008) Upon landing, Rob was pointing out to me the different parts of Cape Town, which I'd come to discover for myself. From the air I saw great mountains, white beaches, bright-blue water, and shanty towns as far as they eye could tear. We landed. Customs was a breeze. I said bye to Rob, and exchanged some traveler's cheques. I was to be met at the airport by a driver for my hostel, but much as troubles happen in travels, they were a no-show. I went to information so that they could help me contact the hostel when all of sudden, a man resembling a Samoan comes up to me with my name printed in huge letters. He shook my hand and said follow me. With him was a small, sexy, young woman who looked LAtina but she probably wasn't. I trailed behind them, as they carried their own conversation and left me to run behind. The car-ride was awkward, as they refused to speak to anyone else but each other. Keep in mind, I was the only other person in the bus. The sights were incredible. Table Mountain, the coast, and poverty. Finally, biggie spoke: "Where are you from?" I said, "I am Mexican-American, from California." He then asked, "Do you have change for a fifty?" I said no, and that was that. No more speaky from biggie. We arrived at my hostel and I was quite pleased with the lay-out. It really is a beautiful little place. Quaint, and safe--very important. I attempted to check-in, but I was too early. It was 10am and check-in was at 3pm. With my time I booked tours for the remainder of the week and then went and jumped on a big, red, double-decker tour bus to ride around the city. Great time, lovely weather. I stopped at Table Mountain, where I waited in the blazing sun for over an hour to ride the cable car to the top. The sights were breath-taking. Even the rock formations, and the foliage atop the mountain were different than anything I'd ever seen. It was smooth, worked over by millions of years of water and strong winds. I head back to the hostel and finally went to my room: "Lion." I immediately passed out. I slept from 5pm to about 9pm, then went and had some dinner in the hostel cafe. There, I met the two people I have spent most of my time with: Inez, a girl from Spain working with Doctors Without Borders; and Ross, a Scottish-lawyer my age who decided to quit his job and travel for a year. After some pizza, a drink, and some conversation, I was back to bed to be up bright and early for my wineland tour the following morning. This was the true Day 1, I'd have to say...and so far, so good. Day 4 (Thursday, May 15, 2008) The shower situation: interesting. Great, clean showers, except for the fact that there was a huge moth in there lathering it up with me. I almost freaked out, but I realized I'd better start getting used to the idea of big bugs with top hats. Yes, it was that big. Once ready, I met these two Aussie girls who were also going on the tour, whom I have forgotten one of their names...but the other was Sally. We met out tour-guide, Bruce, and awesome Kiwi with a great sense of humor. We made the rounds and picked everyone up and luckily enough, everyone was chatting away and we were all chums in no time. There was a girl named Estefania from Uruguay, a couple Brits, a Canadian guy, and my Londoner best-bud for the day, Andria. We visited four different vineyards. The first offered beautiful scenery, including goats, and ostrich--but the wine wasn't my favorite. However, they also had a cheese sampling. Basically, I was in heaven. It was all you could eat, so I mean, come one...it's me. I bought some lovely garlic chevrin and still have some left. Yummy on toast. The next vineyard had some incredible wine. We tasted quite possibly the best Chardonnay I have ever had. Dry, but slightly sweet. Perfect. We also sampled the world-champion Brandy. It was incredible...incredibly strong. We were plastered after that tasting. People were getting silly, and luckily enough we were in great spirits for the gourmet chocolate tasting. We flavored both milk, and dark, but I preferred the Kahlua truffle, and the Chile y Limon truffle. Gastronimically mind-blowing!!! Our third stop was a winery where we had lunch. The views, again, were stunning, and finally the sun came out. I had a burger made of Lambs meat and it was to die for. I have a picture that I'll post soon. Seriously, all burgers should be lamb's meat. This vineyard conentrated more on reds, and they put me to sleep...so the group grew a tad sluggish. Food and sleepy-sirum=night-night. The last vineyard specialized in sparkling wines, or champagnes. We had a blast here, popping corks, and drinking of course. There were three resident dogs that loved us and couldn't get enough cuddles. By this time, the day was coming to a close and everyone was showing signs of fatigue. Besides that, everyone was hammered. We made the brilliant plan to take an hours rest and all meet up at a Cuban restaurant called Mojitos. The Cuban dinner was actually quite tasty, as were the mojitos. Most of the group showed, so it was a nice bundle of us. It was interesting how beggers would come to us as we ate through the veranda. Even a child came and wanted some money. When we offered him sweets, he said they were bad for his teeth. We found a cool African bar soon after this and got down and dirty with the locals. The place was small and covered in red velvet. I drank Safari Dry, a beautiful cider. The dance-floor was wild, and we all got on smashingly with the locals that redefined unhinged-hips. However, I did dance with two African girls in the middle of a dance-floor "circle" and they said I danced like a black girl. Ahem...I know. We called it an early night and were brave enough to walk back to our hostel, five minutes way, when really we should've taken a cab. It gets very, very dangerous after dark. Upon arriving at the hostel, I came upon my friends Inez and Ross and we shared some drinks and conversation into the wee hours of the morning. It was a truly memorable, and filthy, sweaty, black-out drunken time. p.s. I had to be up at 7am the following morning to hike, cycle, and take a boat ride. Day 5 (Friday, May 16, 2008) I stumbled out of the bed and into the shower, literally slipping all over the place. Hung-over didn't even cover it. I was still pissed out my mind. Nonetheless, I was ready to go when my shuttle showed and I met the group, which was smaller and far more tame. We headed to the coastline to board a ferry to head out and view sea lions. It was a great time, except for the fact that the scene could've come out of The Perfect Storm or something, and people were being thrown about, soaked, and I puked half the time. The seals were gorgeous and abundant, and the swam around the boar, happily posing and seemingly waving hello and goodbye. After this, we headed off to view the African penguins. This was a truly magnificent sight. There were so many, and they were nesting. There were fuzzy babies, and parents waddling around with sticks and stones in their beaks. Their swagger carried so much character. I found the whole scene quite amuzing. From here we continued on to the Cape of Good Hope, which is the southern-most tip of the African continent. We didn't drive there, though--we cycled. Yes, that's one way to sober-up, and quickly!!! The traffic was sparse, as we were in a natural reserve, but I did have to dodge the occasional charter bus. The ride was quiet, serene, and heavenly. There were mountains, and grasslands, and bordering it was the incredibly strong coastline--brimming with the thickest kelp I have ever seen. We cycled half-way and then stopped for a quick lunch and chatted away with a Malay couple who traveled from Durban. They recounted us with tales of the dangers of their city, and the many times their lives had been threatened. Astounding. We continued out bike-ride, and the feeling was just insane. I felt alone out there. It felt as if I had rented the park just for myself and God was blessing me. It wasn't long before I could see the tall peak--the end of Africa. Of course, we had loads of Kodak moments and basked in the wonder of climbing to the top of this peak and up to the lighthouse just beyond it. The hike was about an hour, and this too was mostly done alone. All that could be heard was the ocean and it's winds. Looking out across the sea I wondered how close were to Antarctica. It was splendid. A feeling of pure splendor. Here, too, much like Table Mountain, the rocks were different. They were almost prehistoric in their colors and shapes. Reds, purples, oranges--much like we imagine the skin of dinosaurs. Unfortunately, we didn't encounter any baboons on our hike, but we did manage to make it to the top of the lighthouse just as the drizzle began to fall. This was an experience that I could never forget. God is magnificent. On the way back, we did encounter wild ostrich and finally we saw baboons strolling into traffic hoping for some food from the tourists. Those are some big primates!!! The babies were pretty cute, too. Playful. It was then that I fell asleep, exhausted from the day, and finally sober. For dinner, Inez, Ross, and couple others went to a fancy restaurant called the Africa Cafe. It is a tourist trap that actually out-does itself. The decor is beautiful, and bright. There is hand-made artwork everywhere, and the servers wear their customary attire (face-paint and all). The meal is a set menu, not written on paper, but glazed onto a water-pitcher in the shape of a Toucan. The cost was minimal ($30) for the 16 course meal, and the delicious cocktails we had. We started with some African bread, a scrumptious bean soup, followed by potato-based starters from all over the continent (from Falafel type balls, to empanada type cakes). They also brought dips, followed by the mains: basmati rice, lamb, chicken, moussels, and a spicy curry from Egypt. The food was absolutely marvelous. We were stuffed upon leaving the restaurant, and it was well worth it. We returned to the hostel and shared a couple more drinks and finally called it a night. I had to be up the following morning for a tour of the townships (ghettos), and I was truly looking forward to this more than anything. Another wonderful evening of food, and friends. (As I type this, it's Saturday, May 17, 2008--and the day was something I have never experienced before. However, I am exhausted from typing, the sun is going down, and I need to make it to my hostel before I have to shell out for a cab. I am also hungry. Blog more very soon. The rest will blow your minds. Oh, the poverty...but the heart. How they hold onto it is beyond me.)