As with almost every other things in my life, I'm running behind on this blog. At this point, it's a good .... two years behind the actual date of activity? Maybe three years in some instances. I'd like to tell you the reason I'm running behind is because I have such an active social schedule that I hardly ever find time where I can sit down and write, but the truth is likely closer to me playing video games for hours on end in my underwear or taking unnecessary naps for the entire weekend. Whatever the reason - I'm behind schedule.
My original intent with this post was to document the, at the time, newly introduced American Airlines (AA) business class service as featured on their Boeing 777-300ER. It was brand spankin' new, fresh from the factory and full of all the glitz and glamour that surrounded the "new American" advertising campaign that was taking the aviation community by storm. The seat looked phenomenal in promotional photos - definitely a step up from the ugly, middle-seated, angled-lie flat step sister that was flying the skies on AA's quickly aging Boeing 777-200s.
The beauty of South Africa cannot be denied. With a rugged coastline speckled with mossy stones, endless stretches of highway that seem like driving through a kaleidoscope of wildflowers, and of course the notoriously expansive bush lands where countless groups of foreigners hop into topless jeeps and caravan out to gaze in wonder at the landscapes and wildlife before them.
But like many beautiful places, the timeline of history hasn't been the best mirror. While South Africa has always been beautiful, it hasn't always been a beautiful place to call home for many of its residents. The history of apartheid is well-known the world over and its effects still resonate through South African society today despite its demise more than two decades ago. A look at any modern society will show you the formal removal of a system of discrimination and oppression isn't the same as eradicating racism from society. Formal structures are but a small part of the mechanism of oppression, and we've yet to truly see a society which as reached a point of racial harmony - there's always someone whom the "haves" need to keep as "have nots", even if keeping them there isn't an official or even conscious decision.
When I came to Cape Town I wanted to take in and enjoy what is considered one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Nestled along the Atlantic coastline and stretching upward into nearby Table Mountain, it does indeed provide a visually stunning backdrop upon which the city is placed. I did not want that beauty to mask the history of this land though, so I made it a point to seek out and plan visits to sites within the city that tell the story of the struggle for freedom and equality that the people waged and still wage to this day. Sadly just about my entire trip was washed out due to torrential rains that covered the city for days on end. As luck would have it the rain finally ceased on the very last day I had in Cape Town, and this was the day I had a ticket on the ferry to the notorious Robben Island - the sliver of land out in the middle of the ocean just off the shores of Cape Town that held famous South African activists Nelson Mandela and Robert Sobukwe as political prisoners of the apartheid government for years and years.
After setting myself up for what was essentially camping (glamping, really, but still there's limited electricity, internet, and hot water at all times folks) for the entirety of my stay in Zambia, when it came to planning the second half of my trip southern African trip in Cape Town I was definitely looking for something at the higher end of the luxury scale. Somewhere that had limitless wifi, endless hot water, and electricity flowing out its ass for days on end.
Cape Town is the kind of city that offers tons of options for luxury travelers but only one of them was offering all of the things I wanted at a price point that I could swallow - the Westin Cape Town. Priced at about $167 USD per night, it was outside of the budget I typically set for myself when it comes to nightly accommodations while traveling, but I made a bit of an exception for myself due to the previously mentioned glamping excursion that was an amazing experience but left me wanting the easy of a five star hotel for a bit. So exception made, hotel booked, and ready to luxuriate at the Westin.
Your hand reaches up with a napkin and you dab the thick white cotton across your face, mopping up tomato sauce and the slightest glistening afterglow of olive oil from your sated, happy lips. Around the table the gesture is mirrored by your friends as they wrap up their meals. As you push your plate away the server approaches your table with a smile and says those magic words - "Can I offer anyone dessert?" An extended menu, a polite acceptance. Your eyes dart across the list of delectable delights and suddenly there it is - the perfect combination of all the things you love in the culinary world. Sugar, spice, everything nice. Internally you hem and haw because you think it's a bit much to indulge, but eventually you slap that menu close, hand it over to the server with confidence and say, "I'll take one of the .....". Because gosh darn it, you've got to treat yourself.
And why, dear reader, do you do that? Maybe you're celebrating, or maybe you had a rough week, or maybe you think a little indulgence is good for your soul. Whatever your reason might be, the root of these ideas boils down to one major inherent truth - life is short, so you better enjoy what it has to offer while you can.
It's with this in mind that I often find myself exploring the nooks and crannies of the world on my own. I'm a solo traveler for the most part, and often times it's not exactly a choice I'm consciously making. When it comes to travel, particularly travel outside of the United States and the very limited areas of the globe most Americans feel "safe" within, the honest truth is that most of the people in my life just aren't interested in the adventure of it all. Sure they'll go to an all-inclusive resort in Cancun or maybe spend a week exploring Paris, but if I suggest a two week jaunt through the mountains of Central Asia or visiting the jungles of West Africa suddenly everyone's shuffling their feet and busy that weekend.
And I understand why.
I happen to find the thought of wandering through little seen mountain passes and trekking through African markets exhilarating. As my friends are so keen to say lately - these things are giving me life. But for almost everyone else I know? They've already got food poisoning just thinking about it. The Senegals and the Kyrgyzstans of the world aren't for everyone, but they are for me - so I'm often handing over my passport to an immigration official and finding transport to my lodging without anyone watching my six.
I'm happy doing it for the most part, because deep down inside I know that if I waited around for someone else to go with me I'd be waiting forever. And truthfully, the sad thing is that most people do end up waiting forever. We limit our experiences in life so often due to imaginary barriers we set up to give ourselves reasons to avoid doing what makes us uncomfortable or afraid, and traveling alone definitely falls into this category for many people. I don't want to be that person who wishes he did more with his life when my time is up. So here I am, traveling with friends and family when I can but never skipping an opportunity to see something amazing because I would have to go on my own.
After years of experience I have to say that traveling solo really isn't as scary, as difficult, or as lonely as people might imagine it would be. It's actually quite the opposite if you come at it with the right mindset! Sure, I sometimes have to take selfies when I want a picture of myself and sometimes you miss having someone to turn to and say, "Holy shit, do you see this amazing thing in front of us right now?", but these things hardly make the experience undesirable.
On the contrary, there's quite a few aspects of solo travel that I really love, so let me go over a few of them to hopefully encourage you to stop waiting for everyone else to help you make dreams come true.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
Why the best of times? Because I was standing in the open air lobby of a hostel in the middle of Zambia as a gaggle of handsome British men lightly snored on the floor in nothing but their briefs while I awaited my ride to Botswana. On the other hand, it was only 6:00AM and I was still ridiculously groggy from having woken up much earlier to shower, grab a quick breakfast, and then take the hour long drive into Livingstone proper from my bush lodge.
The Lord giveth, and he taketh, right?
So there I was - sweat gently trickling down my back as the early morning sun began to peak its head out from beyond the horizon. The blue cotton of my v-neck t-shirt started to grasp the small of my back as the heat bubble between my body and my backpack began to broil. My ride seemed to be running late so I spent my time trying to tell which, if any, of the various folks wandering around the grounds of the hostel were joining me on my trip to the Zambian/Botswanan border. Normally someone meandering about with no apparent agenda would be a sign that they too were waiting for something, but the transient clientele of a hostel means many of the normal social mores and rules you bring to the table go right out the window.
I didn't have to wonder very long as the telltale sounds of a well-worn African vehicle appeared beyond the walls of the hostel. As it pulled into view the door flew open and a little man dressed in all khaki hopped out and bellowed, "Botswana! Namibia!" followed by the sounds of people grabbing bags and kicking gravel as they stumbled toward the van.
We quickly loaded into the van and were rumbling back into the city before most of us had even sat down. The van was about half full, about 10 people in total along with the driver and the man in khaki. We cruised down the main strip in Livingstone before cutting to the side and stopping at another hostel where we picked up another 6 people before rocketing off toward the border.
The man in khaki had been silent save for the times he had jumped out of the car to gather folks up, but once we were making our way down a fairly empty highway he turned to the back of the van with a smile and spoke.
"We are headed to the border now. Depending on traffic, it will be another hour or two. Some of you are going for just one day, others are staying in Botswana. Once we get to the border I will split you into your groups. The crossing will be on a ferry boat, as the river separates Botswana and Namibia from Zambia. For now, please relax and enjoy the ride."
I nestled a little further down into my seat and decided to gazed out the window for the remainder of the trip. I wasn't sure if it was the early morning we all were suffering through or if I had managed to be placed on the most socially awkward van full of people this side of the Sahara, but the only thing bigger than the amount of beauty outside my window was the giant wall of silence being built by every other passenger on that van.
When I booked my first trip to Africa on a relatively inexpensive ticket to Johannesburg, I knew that I didn't actually want to spend my time there. That isn't to say there aren't worthwhile things to eat, do, and see in Joburg - on the contrary, it seems like quite a lively and vibrant city from what I've heard. I simply knew that for this particular trip I was looking for something a little different. I ended up booking a trip up to Livingstone in Zambia were I did quite a bit of exploring and even crossed the border into Botswana for a bit. I was happy with the time I had set aside for exploring the natural wonders in southern Africa, yet I still felt like getting myself a little taste of city life. When it comes to cities in Africa, very few have a reputation for being as beautiful and vibrant of a city as Cape Town!
In travel there are a lot of choices to be made - which airline to fly, which hostel to stay at, what sites to see. This was one of the few situations where there was clearly no contest - I was going to Cape Town, it has been a dream of mine to visit this city on the African coast for as long as I can remember. No question about it. Case closed.
As I had already figured out my flights from Johannesburg (JNB) to Zambia and back, I now needed to figure out how to get from JNB to Cape Town (CPT). Five airlines operate the route - two full service carriers (British Airways affiliate Comair, South African Airways) and three low cost carriers (Kulula, Safair, and Mango). While looking for airfare I was surprised to see that South African Airways (SA) was offering the lowest price out of all five carriers and had a schedule that worked really well for me. I could arrive from Livingstone on Comair and connect about three and a half hours later onward to Cape Town. Enough padding for a potential delay but not long enough that hanging around an airport would become soul-suckingly boring. I forked over the $80 USD and soon enough I had a ticket in my inbox and was officially headed to CPT!
SA's domestic flights leave from Terminal B at JNB, which meant when I arrived from Livingstone at Terminal A I needed to grab my luggage and march it over to the other terminal to get a boarding pass and check my luggage through to CPT. It goes without question that SA is the biggest, baddest kid on the block at just about any South African airport, so it was a bit of a mine field trying to figure out where I should queue up to get all of the above taken care of in an orderly manner. Check-in desks are listed on electronic boards throughout the terminal, and perhaps it was just a quirk during my trip through, but the flights did not seem to be listed in any type of rational order. Not alphabetically, not by departure time - just randomly thrown on to the board like a Jackson Pollock painting.
Eventually I deciphered the code and found the check-in desks appropriate for my flight. Much like my British Airways operated by Comair flight up to Livingstone, the check-in staff were pretty disinterested in providing anything but the minimal level of service to get my bag tagged and boarding pass in hand. With SA essentially operating a shuttle service between JNB and CPT, I can't say I blame them for being a bit bored with the repetition of it all, though it wouldn't kill them to smile a bit. Getting through security was a breeze and before long I was staking out a spot at my departure gate which was almost at the end of the terminal.
Outside of the terminal windows I could see a light drizzle falling from the sky, and apparently that light drizzle was just the front line of a string of storms coming in from CPT. My flight posted a one hour delay, which elicited a round of groans from passengers. After about 40 minutes we were notified that our flight was now boarding, though no one at our gate had opened the door to the jet bridge or started announcing a boarding order. Everyone stood around for a minute just shaking their heads in confusion before one of the staff members got back on the PA and told us that our flight was now boarding .... from the gate three doors down.
Cue the mad dash of people scrambling to pick up their bags and run down the hallway to get onto the plane.
Having checked my bigger luggage I managed to be one of the first people to arrive at the correct gate and on to the plane.
"Welcome to the David Livingstone Hotel, sir. May I offer you a drink?"
I looked over to see a wide smile spread across the face of a man standing behind the lacquered wood top of a circular bar. Like many bartenders the world over, he seemed to be occupying his time by absentmindedly cleaning glasses and scanning the room for opportunities to strike up a conversation. I had wandered into his web out a sheer boredom - the river boat I was going to board made its home at the David Livingstone and I had made the unfortunate mistake of arriving almost an hour early in a country I would soon learn didn't take promptness quite as seriously as I did. As a staunch non-drinker, I had wandered the hotel grounds popping my head into various tour offices, intricate wooden lobbies with vaulted thatched roofs, and fancy bathrooms (you know it's nice when they have a stack of real cloth towels, right?) before deciding that the bar was the only corner I'd left unexplored.
"Hello. I'm sorry, but I don't drink."
The words felt treasonous in my mouth. What more awful words can one utter to a bartender?
"Ah. Everyone drinks, sir. But whether we prefer alcohol in those drinks is another matter entirely!"
Another wide smile. Like so many Zambians I met during my trip, he easily found his stride in that tricky middle ground between helping you and teasing you. It's a service style that sits well with me - there's nothing I love more than someone who can make you laugh while keeping you on your toes.
He picked up a small menu from the bar top and offered it to me with a wink.
"Our menu, sir. If you turn to the back you can find quite a few beverages that offer satisfaction but no sin."
Who can resist a sales pitch like that? As I reached over and took the menu from him, my eyes were drawn to the little silver name tag that was attached to the breast of this blue sweater.
It read Lovemore.
In my head I thought, "Wow, what an interesting name." I felt the urge to ask him about it but decided I should focus on picking one of the aforementioned drinks and perhaps make an inquiry if he continued to be so friendly. I settled on the orange and vanilla milkshake, which prompted Lovemore to congratulated me on selected a real winner. He stepped away, still with his ever present smile, to prepare my drink. Other than what appeared to be a young French couple at a table off in a corner, I was the only customer in Lovemore's realm.
Soon enough he saddled back up to the bar and delicately placed a rather elaborate tall glass in front of me, complete with paper umbrella and speared cubes of fresh fruit.
"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" I offered.
Another smile. "Well I suppose that depends on what you wish to ask, sir."
As the home of the spectacular Victoria Falls, the residents of Livingstone obviously has a strong connection to the waters of the Zambezi River. It provides nourishment for their bodies and draws in thousands of visitors to pump tourist dollars into their economy. It's the geographic backbone of this part of Africa and I was really looking for another opportunity to experience some time it on top of my previous wander through the national park where Victoria Falls is located.
When I mentioned my desire to the owners of the lodge I was staying at, they told me about a variety of cruises that operators offered on the river. Day cruises up and down the river, half-day safaris, close encounters with the very edge of the falls. While all of that was pretty interesting to me, the one that really caught my attention was the offer of a sunset cruise - a casual cruise down the Zambezi prior to sunset to catch a glimpse of some wildlife and then a slow return to the dock while the sunset.
Watching the sun drop below the horizon while drifting along an amazing river with Victoria Falls cascading in the distance sounded like a great way to spend an evening. I was slightly terrified by the prospect of falling off the boat and directly into a pack of hippos, but still ... where do I sign up?!
Staying out at Taita's remote location on the Batoka gorge without phone or internet service, it wasn't exactly easy to price shop options. The price the lodge owner quoted for a trip with a company they worked with was about 310 Zambian kwacha, which roughly converted to about $40 USD at the time. Being a bit of a captive and not really too put off by the price, I decided to book it and "Go with God."
No reason to stress myself out over something when I don't have the tools available to fix it, right?
If you ever happen to find yourself in Zambia, chances are you're there to see the world famous Victoria Falls. Named a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1989, it is considered the largest falls in the world despite being neither the widest nor tallest. Straddling the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe, it is nearly twice as tall and well over twice as wide as the famous Niagara Falls along the Canadian/US border that many Americans are familiar with. The falls are a wonder to behold and it was definitely one of the highlights of my first trip to Africa.
You can access the falls from either the Zambian or the Zimbabwean side, though nowadays most folks seem to prefer the Zambian side due to some of the instability in Zimbabwe. I debated which country I would use as my entrance point to the falls for quite awhile. Despite the issues in Zimbabwe the reason I ended up in Zambia was that the cost of flying into the Victoria Falls airport was much higher than the cost of taxes and fees when using airline miles to redeem a free ticket to Livingstone.
As I mentioned in a previous post, I was staying at the Taita Falcon Lodge and as an incentive to lure me into booking, they offered a free ride to and from the park as well as a ticket in. Who can say no to that?
After a grueling 32 hour slog that took me from my home in Chicago to London, down the entire continent into Johannesburg, and finally ended with me walking out of the Livingstone airport after the short hop from Joburg with a smile raised toward the blazing Zambian sun .... yes, I was finally fecking there!
Our flight was the only one arriving at that time of day, so once I had finished with my entrance formalities, exiting the secured area and heading out into the parking lot took me less than a minute. I had been notified by the owners of the lodge I'd booked with that I'd be met at the airport and provided with a transfer to the facility. As I blinked my eyes in the suddenly much to luminous world around me it dawned on me that I'd never really bothered to ask what or whom to keep my eyes open for.
It was soon apparent to me that further information wasn't necessary. A hulking, burly beast of a man stood talking to a group of airport employees and drivers. His hands darted through the air as he gesticulated wildly in the midst of telling what appeared to be a rip roaring good story, and it ended as he and his captive audience erupted in riotous laughter at the conclusion of said story. It was then that he locked eyes with me and smiled, shouting out "Yes, yes you must be David then?"
His name was Faan and he was one of the owners of the Taita Falcon Lodge - my home for the remainder of my stay in Zambia. He scooped up my bag in one of his giant mitts, tossed it in the back of the truck he'd been propped up against, and we shot out of the airport into downtown Livingstone.