GoBackpacking

The bus ride to Storms River, a small village within the Tsitsikamma National Park, lead us over the Bloukrans Bridge that is home to the world’s highest bungy jump (from a bridge, 216 meters).  We zipped over it, so I was only able to get a quick glimpse of the gorge – not enough to fully appreciate the height.  Still crediting myself with two Canyon Swings (from 107 meters) in Queenstown last December, I had already decided to pass on the bungy jump. 

Within Storms River, the views are dominated by Tsitsikamma Mountain, which I’d guess to be around 1,000 meters high.  I settled into the fairly empty Tube ‘n Axe backpackers and booked a horseback riding trip in the forest for the following day.  The bungy jump was the dominant activity of the area, so I heard several fresh accounts, reinforcing my decision not to face a ridiculously scary experience again just for the fun of it.

My horses name was Gracie.  She took good care of me, following the lead horse (Bullet) ridden by the guide, Morpheus.  The owner of all the horses was riding Rambo right behind us.  It took an hour for me to feel some sense of comfort as I hadn’t ridden in 20 years.  We did some trotting which is a real ball-buster of an experience as you bounce up and down.  When I was younger, I remember the one time I got up to canter, and how it felt smoother (and certainly faster) than trotting.  Horseback riding is a popular activity all along the South African coast, so I made a mental note to try it on the beach where even beginners can get up to a gallop. 

After the ride, I hired a mountain bike for the short trip to an 800-year old Yellowwood Tree (the national tree of South Africa).  Sure enough, it was a big tree.  Not too exciting.  Before I returned the bike, I stopped at a B&B for a selection of local cheeses and a hot stone massage.  I had to make up for the nightmarish experience the last time I tried one in Luang Prabang, Laos.  The day was wrapped up with a one and a half hour sunset Baz bus ride to a world-renowned surfing mecca, Jeffrey’s Bay.

Share This

The night after my stay with Brother Paul, I was in nearby Plettenberg Bay.  Upon arrival in the early evening, the sky was grey and overcast, and the main street of this popular resort town was empty.  After a quick walk around, I settled into a nice pasta dinner at Europa, a block from my backpackers (hostel).  When I only expect to spend one day or night in a location, I don’t tend to invest much energy in meeting new people.  I went to sleep early, hoping for better weather to make my stay worthwhile.

In the morning, I awoke to partly cloudy skies with enough sunshine to showcase the natural beauty of the coastline.  Checkout was at 10am, though the bus wouldn’t arrive until 6pm, so I had the day to spend in town.  I started with a walk past idyllic B&B’s to a scenic viewpoint.  There were a few surfers out, and more on the way, all donning full body wetsuits to stay warm. 

The town was bustling with people and cars.  I spent the rest of my time  wandering around, eating two lunches out of boredom.  The downside of the Baz bus is that if you want to see a place firsthand, even or just an hour or two, you have to commit to a full night’s stay. 

Share This

Now that I know I can get a refund minus $100 for my impromptu British Airways purchase upon arrival in South Africa, or change the dates for $50, I need to quickly decide how much time to spend in the region (can you believe I’ve already been here almost a month?). 

If I were at the start of my RTW trip, I would be booking a long overland tour from Vic Falls to Nairobi but with less money in the bank, I want to be more conservative. 

Here are the options I’m giving myself….please help me decide!

 Loading …

________________________

PS - due to internet bandwith limitations (or should I say price structures by ISP’s), I am at a standstill for uploading photographs.  Please let me know if you want me to continue posting daily without pictures, or post less frequently (every 2-3 days) with a picture or two (I’ll sneak them up)!

Share This

Brother Paul did me a huge favor when he agreed to host me for the night. Sister Carrie, an older, white Australian woman who has lived in South Africa for 27 years, runs the Bed & Breakfast in the community. Brother Paul had worked as a tour guide with Orin in the past, and opened his home up so I could learn a little bit about the Rastafarian way of life (beyond the fact that they smoke a lot of marijuana and love Bob Marley).

Brother Paul collected me at Island Vibe. In the car was Malcolm, our driver, and Jonathan. Paul was up front about the costs, and told me I’d need to bring my own food. The overall cost would be a little higher than had I stayed at the B&B ($20) but it was still low in my book. Along the way, we stopped at a convenience store and I picked up a few supplies.

And then we were off to the community, which was situated within a township on the ridge overlooking Knysna and the harbor. As we turned off the main highway (N2) and into the township, I suddenly felt very white. A few people smiled and waved at the others in the car, and I’m sure they were noticing me in tow as well. We pulled up to the dead end off which Paul’s home was situated, and said goodbye to the others. The Rasta community has about 25 families, and 120 some people, though there are others living in the surrounding township.

Paul gave me the grand tour of his home, beginning with a walk down through his garden (the home was situated on a hill) which was filled with colorful flowers and various fruit trees. His home was a composite of the old and the new in Knysna township home design. The old half was built from local timber, with a half-wood, half-dirt floor. The new was built from concrete and included a small bathroom (cold water only), bedroom, and kitchen. The roof on the newer section was metal, while the old was tarp-covered wood. He explained his plans to further increase the size of his home so his two children and wife could live there as well. They were living separately in a colored township (note: In South Africa, races are broken apart as white, colored (mixed), and black (African)).

Once I was settled, I tried to relax. Not only was I in someone else’s home, I was in the middle of a township and didn’t know what to expect. Paul’s nephew was visiting as well, so it took some of the pressure off to keep the conversation going. I asked plenty of questions about the Rastafaria, and learned its origins lead back past Bob to an Ethiopian emperor often referred to as the Lion of Zion. It was the image of this Ethiopian who graced Paul’s walls, not Bob Marley, though his influence was undisputed.

Paul cooked lentils for dinner, as he and his nephew were vegetarian. He offered me some, which tasted better than my ham and cheese sandwich I’d brought. I spent some time reading and writing at a table in the garden, which overlooked Paul’s home and offered a great view of township homes on the surrounding hills. Pitbulls seem to be the Rasta pet of choice, as there were many in the neighborhood. Thankfully, Paul’s was just a 3-month pup, still in the playful teething stage. We retired by 9pm, with me taking Paul’s bed while he and his nephew slept in a tent within the wooden section of the house.

I slept well, though the cold morning provided a rude awakening. There was no insulation in the home, and if it felt cold now, it would’ve been downright frosty in the winter. Paul took me on a morning tour of the community. We stepped inside the tabernacle where he described the activities that take place there. He proudly pointed to little marijuana plants sprouting from the ground. As most, if not all, of the Rastas grow weed, I was curious to know what the local police thought. He said they tend to show leniency, and try to ensure the plants aren’t growing too big, or in too clear a view of the surrounding homes (as this could lead to a double standard for how the police handled others growing herb).

Paul was also proud to point out the positive effect the Rasta community had over their neighbors. He said crime was lower within their immediate vicinity, and they had started a daycare program which handled 30 local kids from the township.

Malcolm was nowhere to be found when it was time for me to leave, so we hopped in a share taxi. Sure enough, three ladies joined us to use up the remaining seats. A large mama hopped in the seat to my left, immediately squishing me. “It’s all part of the experience,” Paul joked, as we left the township.

Share This

I could only bite my tongue so long before I broke into a conversation on the Baz bus between two guys at the start of their round-the-world trips, a young German and Thomas (England). I suggested to Thomas that if he’s going to New Zealand, he not miss the South Island. They played rock/paper/scissors at the next stop and because the German guy lost, he decided to stay the night in Wilderness while Thomas and I continued on to Knysna.

We both got off at Island Vibe Backpackers and checked into the dorm. Offering a mere 30 beds, it was considered a small hostel. Loren, one of the staff, gave us a tour which included the kitchen, balcony with a view toward the harbor, tiny pool, bar, TV room, and the dorm. I liked Thomas right off the bat. Maybe because he seemed genuine, or admitted his fear after being ejected a few times from a raft while navigating the mighty Zambezi River (near Victoria Falls). It was one of many stories he had from a recent 6-week overland journey from Nairobi, Kenya to Cape Town.

At any rate, we met a few Irish and Kiwi girls who were also staying at Island Vibe, and after Thomas and I devoured some quality Indian food on the Main Road, we joined them for a few beers at the little hostel bar. I never knew Jenga could be so fun. Unfortunately, Thomas was on a tight schedule, traveling from Cape Town to Jo’Burg in just 7 days, so he left on the bus later the next day.

I was hopeful to find two other people interested in going to the shooting range. From a poster on the wall in the TV room, I made a call and talked to one of the owners. He had an arsenal of 600 weapons including all sorts of machine guns, pistols, and rifles, of which I could choose 8 to fire, at a cost of 1,000 Rand, or about $100. Given the same amount bought far less in Thailand, let alone Australia, I felt compelled to make it happen. It didn’t work out in the end, but he did name drop Dave Mathews, saying they were friends from school in Jo’burg and that when he comes to visit, he takes him to the range. I responded that Dave Mathews didn’t seem like the gun type, and he confirmed he was a wuss, but did it anyways. And then he told me a story about how his wold champion marksman of a partner was just getting out of a 6-week jail term in Egypt because his guns were seized as he traveled to Israel for a two million Rand bodyguarding contract.

There were plenty of other activities in the area to take my mind off the shooting range. I opted for a peaceful guided hike through the local forest. It was lead by a guy named Orin who managed to make an otherwise routine hike around a valley by the coast interesting. I am now adept at identifying the local sage plants!

After the pleasant two hour hike, he drove me up to the Knysna Heads, a pair of opposing cliffs which mark the natural entrance to the harbor. Knysna is a popular vacation destination for South Africans as a result of this unusual coastline geography.

Orin later assisted me in setting up a homestay with Brother Paul, a member of South Africa’s largest Rastafarian community.

Share This