Zany Zanzibar

I'm now in Zanzibar, Tanzania, which is amazing. Formerly a commercial hub for slave trading to the middle east and India, this place is a very interesting intersection between the Arab and African worlds. It also feels like it is in a time warp; the buildings, churches, mosques, doors, gates and the airport immigration system seem like their hundreds of years old. Beautiful tourquise beaches, white washed stone buildings, and small, narrow footpaths, as well as lots of Europeans (virtually no Americans or Japanese) fill the scenary.

After a few hours of walking around Stone Town (the old part of Zanzibar), i rented a dirt bike and headed up to a popular beach called Nungwi. The one-hour drive ended up taking close to 3 hours, as my two assumptions that a.) roads would be marked and b.) police interference would be non-existence, both proved incorrect. I ended up going up and down the same roads, zig zagging around various back country roads and was stopped multiple times by police officers interested to see my driving permit (i.e. wanting bribes). Eventually, i broke the classic "male code of honor" and asked for directions from various pedestrians which produced more confusion than anything else. One fellow confidently said "Turn left along this road" as he gestured his hands to the right. Another fellow said, "Just turn right at the police station", omitting the fact that the police station that he was referring to was about 60 kilometers away (and after 3 or 4 other police stations en route). Fortunately, the ride was fantastic, kids along the road weren't phased by the yellow shirted foreigner and waved multiple times as I paraded by them again and again, and the police were friendly, jovial and eventually even accomodating when i showed them my fancy brand new Zanzibar driving permit. Moreover, once i reached Nungwi, the beach was so beautiful that i ended up just staying the night there, despite having a hostel room and my luggage back in Stone Town. Fortunately, with plenty of experience of traveling without luggage (not to mention pants with a working zipper) under my belt, i felt pretty comfortable with that decision.

I had a fun beach BBQ last night during which time i befriended a local Zanzibarian (uh, not sure if that's the right way to describe someone from Zanzibar, but i think it should be) fellow who saved me, the solo American traveler, from unsuccessful mingling with the predominantly European crowd that seemed shockingly opposed to yellow t-shirts. Several beers later, with thanks to my friend "Ozy", i could claim significant improvements in my Swahili language capabilities and could temporarily carry on a full conversation in Swahili (assuming the conversation was limited to: Person 1: "Where you coming from?", Person 2: Nodding and pointing direction towards point of origin).

I also squeezed in a day of diving, which frankly, was not quite as amazing as the phrase "Diving in Zanzibar" may suggest. But what is amazing is "Spice Coffee" next to a plate of Coconut Toast and a Mango Shake. Mmmm. And Pocket Wookie agrees.

I also began re-reading my all-time favorite book "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" which i picked up at the "give and take library" at the hostel that i stayed at in Johannesburg. The alternatives that were available there included the "1985 Listing of South African Airways Routes" and several romance novel in other languages, so i felt pretty happy with my find, which, in a Zen-like way, seems to fit very well with my current life.

Tomorrow i head up to northern Tanzania and will begin either a safari in Ngorongoro or begin hiking Mt. Kilimanjaro. As I think that the internet connection atop the mountain may be spotty and as my Blackberry apparently doesn't speak Swahili, my next blog will likely be severals days away...

Finally, for all of you thinking, "My God, my life is pretty much perfect, but i just wish I could make comments on Jonas' blog site", fear no more. i changed settings on this blog page so that it is easy to make comments (even if you're not a "blogger" user).

Nelson Mandela vs. Pauly Shore

I'm now in a guest house near the airport in Johannesburg, or "Jo'burg", as it's affectionately called around here. Rightly or wrongly, Jo'burg has a bad reputation, though, for primarily serving as a transit point for tourists due to a combination of limited tourist activities and one of the world's highest crime rates. As with Cape Town, one cannot help but notice the way barb wire and razor wire fencing ubiqitiously covers walls, driveways, flower beds, etc. Interestingly, the main tourist attraction seems to be visiting Soweto, "an infamous ghetto of 3.5 million people". Although I can see how it sounds interesting and althuogh i am usually pretty receptive to taking on some fun travel risks, it is perhaps somewhat telling that this is the primary tourist "attraction". And although the Lonely Planet encourages tourists to give "Jo'burg" a chance (further making the not-to-convincing case that "if all of these precautions are taken, most tourists are not victims of violent crime"), I think i will instead head out tomorrow morning for the white sand beaches of Zanzibar (in Tanzania). Besides, it's been almost a full week in South Africa and my restless feet yearn to step down in another country...

That said, my experience in South Africa has been fantastic. Cape Town is a haven for backpackers, with a conveniently concentrated backpacker area around "Long Street" which includes the ubiqitiuos internet cafes, youth hostels, restaurants and bars and late-night humus and kebab spots. It was easy to meet people from all over the world in Cape Town, people who share an underlying commonality -- possession of a Lonely Planet guidebook. I met two other Americans (Eric and Angela), amazingly, who were also originally from the Portland area.

I kept quite busy while in Cape Town; i dove with Great White Sharks, did wine tours and tastings, mountain biked around the Cape of Good Hope and went to the top of "Table Mountain" overlooking Cape Town. However, these events were more focused on "fun" and did not really feel like they provided me with a good cultural or educational South African experience. So, I considered two options to quench my thirst for this cultural education...

The first option was to visit Robben Island, the place in which Nelson Mandela and other political prisoners were held during years of apartied... However, i ended up opting for a second, more intriguing, option, the "Pauly Shore - Live" stand-up comedy event. In case you were wondering, no, the purpose and timing of my visit to Cape Town was not actually driven to see Pauly Shore, the briefly popular, annoying and now generally forgotten comedian. Eric, Angela and I were at first surprised and then gradually intrigued by the hundreds of posters all of town advertising the big event. The intrigue could not be bottled up and we eventually went to see the show, which, given the cultural importance of Pauly Shore, was naturally at Cape Town's Opera House. If nothing else, the event apeased my previously non-existent curiousity of Pauly Shore's well-being and his connection to South Africa (uh, none, as it turns out). I have to admit though, that Mr. Shore's stand-up gig, with its generous portions of profanity and frequent references to "retards", probably loses the "cultural importance award" to the story of Nelson Mandela's historical struggles and imprisonment probably.

So, although excited to now move on and see East Africa (Zanzibar, Kilimanjaro, Seregeti, Uganda Mountain Gorillas to come!), I feel like my experiences here, which are basically limited to Cape Town, may be incomplete in terms of a good representation of South Africa and may warrant a need to return in the future (despite having the Pauly Shore event under my belt).

Adrenaline, Caffeine and Blackberry Addiction

Having just passed through 3 countries in the last three days, I'm beginning to realize that the pace of my traveling is, uh, perhaps a little on the speedy side. I zipped through Brazil and am now, after day 1 in Cape Town, South Africa, am already beginning to plan for Kenya, Tanzania, Rwanda and Uganda. Oh, and i just realized that i am also contemplating a quick stop in Cairo before Europe... In talking to fellow travelers, i'm gradually realizing that most people spend enough time in one place so that it is worthwhile to set their watches to local time and so that taxi fare expenses to and from the airports do not exceed all other spending combined (yes, this actually has happened to me).

That said, i wouldn't have it any other way, and continue to be amazed by people who make such comments such as "We're only staying for a short time in South Africa. 6 weeks just isn't enough to see this place!". Upon hearing this particular statement, I nodded solemnly, as if in agreement, when in actuality i was simply realizing that my six days in South Africa represent one of the longest stays in one country during my entire trip...

But my trip is confirming that it is possible to have amazing experiences and great times in these short and intense bursts, characterized by super-sized helpings of adrenaline and caffeine. For example, in the 18 hours i was in Brazil (which careful readers will note was less time than the hours that I ending up spending in Washington Dulles airport recently), i joined new Brazilian friends (Marcelo and Diogo) watch Brazil hammer Argentina to win the major soccer tournament, the Copa de America (which despite the temptation to confuse, is most definitely NOT "the America's Cup", the rather misleading and American-centric name for a major sailing event for which millions of patriotic, screaming Brazilian in bright yellow soccer jerseys basically don't give a s%&#.). My new friends introduced me to a great Brazilian beer and Brazilian food, and despite all US State Department warnings, gave me a chance to actually walk the downtown, nighttime streets of Sao Paulo (instead of the perhaps overly conservative State Department recommendations: "to avoid crime in Sao Paulo, consider barricading yourself in your hotel room (best to bring your own American made reinforced steel locks), limiting your diet to mini-bar offerings and praying for your safety and that of our American troops in harms way"). My Brazilian friends and i even had time to engage in intense political dialogue (although, obviously, the 18 hours were inadequate to fully cover the problems and hypocrisies surrounding our current president, Dick Cheney).

Finally, my time in Brazil was enough to further improve my understanding of Brazil's rich and varied culture, namely that their mobile phones operate on a GSM network and that my International Edition Blackberry works there just fine. Not one to turn down the opportunity to fully engage with a local culture, i spent several hours at a cafe curled around my blackberry. Ahhhhhh, how i missed you my sweet, sweet friend.

Arrival in South Africa has been a practical dream come true. Not only does my crackberry addiction continue to get well fed here, but my cravings for adrenaline and caffeine are well cared for. Today, full day of mountain biking around the Cape of Good Hope and close encounters with ostriches, baboons and penguins. Tomorrow diving with Great White sharks. And then next day probably going to go to the biggest bungee jump in the world (7 seconds of pure free fall...) Having taken overnight flights, checking out the hopping night scene here and getting up at the crack of dawn everyday, my sleep deficit continues to accumulate and is unaided by the potent adrenaline, caffeine and blackberry three-some. So, i'm doing well here in South Africa. The downside you ask? Alas, i miss my two Argentinian steaks a day...

Odd Crew Eating in Buenos Aires

While feasting on my daily red meat at a local "parilla" (restaurant focused on meat) that was recommended by the Lonely Planet the other day, i was greatly amused by the scene there.

As it was not a prime eating time, there were only two other tables occupied in this vast and ornately decorated eating hall (e.g. large murals of cattle and cowboy "gauchos" out of the range). Aside from me (shamelessly knocking back a bottle of red in the mid-afternoon while flipping through my Lonely Planet, the equivalent of carrying a flashing neon sign with the words "Tourist Located Here"), the other patrons were clearly tourists as well. Seemingly trying to fit right into this "gaucho" mood, a heavy 50-something year old American sat with a large cowboy hat, a huge cowboy-style moustache and a 20-something Argentina woman at his side. Next to them, sat a tiny Asian woman, alone with her plate of 3 thick steaks, each of which appeared larger than her head. The conversation of all three tables was pretty much limited to low grunts and pointing to items on the menu. Oh, and i think i asked for "ketchup", lest the already disdainful waiter had any doubts about my tourist status. As I was attempting to get photographic evidence of the comical scene, the waiters, even after the Asian woman finished all three of her huge steaks, seemed generally unimpressed.

Tomorrow i will fly to Brazil, but just for a day before heading onto Cape Town, South Africa...

By the way, i have uploaded more pictures to my www.flickr.com account, including "Adventures of Pocket Wookie". (Pocket Wookie, who is escorting me on my travels, is the buddy of my brother in law, Dave Stone.) Check them out!

Fashion Misfit and Mullet Miracle in Argentina

Well, my luggage finally arrived and met up with me in the beautiful, fashionable city of Buenos Aires. Having not fully appreciated the fact that July is winter in Argentina and that the people here care a great deal about fashion, i quickly found that the majority of the contents of my long-awaited luggage (i.e. shorts, t-shirts, red Crocs, etc) were not particularly helpful here and that my stream of bad-luck related to clothing requirements was still not over...

Fashion deficiencies aside, I was all ready to break out my shorts and favorite, clean t-shirts (i mean, its latin America afterall. How cold can it be?), when... i was suprised to find that it was snowing in Buenos Aires. Yes, SNOWING. It snowed in Buenos Aires for the first time in over 100 years on the day after i arrived, resulting in joyful partying in the streets, but forcing me to stick to my all too familiar clothing ensemble of faded blue Yankees cap, Peruvian wool hat and gloves, my blue sweater (now at Day 14), polartec fleece, US military cargo pants and Eagle Creek backpack. Although lacking high-fashion items, my luggage did include my trusty (but alas, not-so-fashionable) red North Face jacket and a replacement pair of cargo pants (in camo color scheme well suited for desert combat, but alas, well-below Buenos Aires fashion standards), importantly, with a functional zipper.

With these marginal clothing reinforcements, I have been attempting, albeit unsuccessfully, to fit in with local Buenos Aires folks (who, incidentally, are not involved in any form of desert combat). Logically, I have tried to make up for my fashion short-comings by consuming obscene quantities of excellent and reasonably priced Argentinian red meat and red wine (current count: 6 steaks and 6 bottles of red since arrival 4 days ago). I make regular pit-stops at "Parillas" (restaurants so dedicated to the consumption of meat products that they list blood sausage and pork sausage, and little else, as "salads"). Shockingly, this strategy of excessive consumption of Argentinian beef and wine to win the favor of the local populace has not been successful, but has had some upside (e.g. excessive consumption of Argentinian beef and wine). Moreover, i dont plan to drop this bold and logical American strategy quite yet, and, in the footsteps of our steadfast leader Mr. Bush, I plan to re-double efforts with a "surge strategy" and see if i can sneak in additional steaks for breakfast (naturally, while wearing camoflague pants)...

The momentous occassion to write about, though, arrived today. If the snow in July in Buenos Aires wasn´t divine intervention, then today´s episode certainly was... I am in the town of Iguazu, Argentina, near the magnificent Igauzu falls. The majesty of the falls, indeed, is all that it is cracked up to be and perhaps worth the hassle and cost of flying all the way up here (near Brazilian and Paraguay border). The real magic for me, though, came immediately after seeing the falls, when i was lucky to spot one of nature´s true miracles... the largest mullet i have ever seen. I thought Iguazu Falls had unparalleled waves cascading down to earth, but then i saw this guy´s mullete hair. Not only did i get to see this miracle in person, but i was able to capture it on film for eternity.

With this mullet omen as proof, it seems lady luck is certainly smiling on me again. Lots to say about Argentina which will have to wait for the days ahead, as I´m signing off now to go buy a lottery ticket.

Machu Picchu, Purell and Guinea Pig Consumption

Sitting in the Lima airport in Peru, I am about to journey to Buenos Aires. And yes, i am still wearing the same clothes as the last time i wrote a blog (almost a week ago), which, for you careful readers out there, are the same clothes that begun this trip even longer ago. However, please don´t despair, as i am actually in a rather good mood and, now equipped with replacement underwear and socks, am only marginally hygiene-compromised.

Although my luggage is still not in my possession (we are now at day 10 since i last saw it), the future looks promising as the airline just located it in Paraguay. Incidentally, as I have experienced first-hand and have never fully appreciated before, Paraguay is, in fact, not Peru. Therefore, using the powers of logic and a derivative of the substitution property (if A=B and B=C, then A=C), we can conclude that my luggage is, in fact, not in the same country as me. That said, it IS in the same continent and has been physically located, so we are making HUGE progress (e.g. versus being on hold for 20 minutes at $2 per minute before slamming down phone in frustration marked by dramatic verbal obscenities). I was confidently assured by an airline representative who i will never see again that a happy reunion awaits me and my luggage in the next 24 hours, appropriately, in the land of the romantic tango.

More reason for good mood you ask? Well, I just completed a fantastic trek across the Peruvian countryside ending up in the amazing Inca city of Machu Picchu (home of the 3-time Peruvian national championship basketball team, "The Fighting Condors"). I was joined on the trek by three other Americans who even forgave me for the occassional unholstering of my mobile phone and blackberry "just to see if i have a signal".

Using our keen senses and sharp intellects, the four of us came to realize the following important take-aways: 1. ascending mountains at high altitudes is exhausting, 2. descending mountains from high altitudes is exhausting 3. camping on the top of mountains at high altitudes is, believe it or not, COLD and 4. proper bathroom facilities and the magic of Purell anti-septic hand sanitizer gel can be the source of great power, prestige and envy.

I was at first nervous about my clothing situation for the trek given the promises of the bitter cold. But, with some borrowed jackets, a few key purchases (e.g. a bright yellow t-shirt to replace my normal yellow Carleton t-shirt, a handful of safety pins, and, of course, my invaluable and highly revered "stripper" boxer briefs) i was fitted for survival.

In addition to the difficulties of trying to inhale oxygen at 4600 meters while trying to keep up with our guide´s brisk pace, i found the biggest challenge of the trek to be navigating the logistics of using a rather unpleasant outhouse. With already tired leg muscles not well suited for the necessary squatting position, i precariously hovered over my target below me, with one arm trying desperately to find a secure and clean achor hold against the wall while i simultaneously had to fend off the combination of open safety pins attached to my fly and a young local boy amusing himself by banging on the door and trying to enter the outhouse. Upon discovering a neighboring campsite proprietor whose facility included a toilet (albeit without running water), our group soon befriended this man of great local envy.

Although the great mysteries of Machu Picchu impressed us (e.g. who were the people who lived in this majestic place? Why did they disappear so suddenly? And why did they trade their 2nd round draft pick for that slow center with the bad knee?), we were most intrigued by a more practical question, "how many guinea pigs do you have to eat to get full?". Upon taking a lunch break by a local hut that had an about a dozen squeeking and whistling guinea pigs, we were able to calculate an answer... After we noticed a combination of a the large cooking fire, cooking utensils and the gradual fading of guinea pig squeeks, one of my fellow trekkers, a vegetarian named Gisselle, cleverly entered the hut, feigning interest in purchasing a chocolate bar from their next door confectionary stand labeled "kiosk and shopping center". Although quickly escorted out of the hut, Gisselle was able to count a total of 3 remaining guinea pigs and noticed "meat-like" substance on the plates of the 3 people inside. And with that, we come to our final estimate of 3 guinea pigs per person...