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Sarah and I have had made some incredibly rewarding side trips to mesmerizing Zambia and relaxing Mozambique.  We’ve thoroughly explored Victoria Falls, swimming on the very edge of the falls and rafting through the violent churn of the Zambezi at its base.  I’ve watched the sky light up in brilliant hues while surfing glassy clean 8” breaks off the coast of Tofo at sunrise.

But our travel hasn’t been always been picture perfect.  In the past few weeks in particular, the fates seem intent on making me pay my dues for the incredible memories I’ve made thus far.

Strike One
One of my top priorities while in South Africa was spending a lot of time surfing.  The water’s relatively warm and on most days the break is easily twice the size of the best that the Atlantic has to offer.  Since I was only going to be in Durban for a little over two months, I went out as often as I could, regardless of the conditions.

One particular day, the water was incredibly choppy and I was the only guy on the beach.  I had been noticing that these peculiar jellyfish washed up on the shore from time to time, but this day the entire beach front was littered with them.  Hailing from Virginia Beach, I’m no stranger to jellyfish and figured I could deal with a couple of minor stings.

After being in the water, I felt a searing pain that was traveling from my calf up my thigh.  I reflexively reached down to brush away the jellyfish, only to come away with deep blue tentacles wrapped around my fingers.  Needless to say, they burned to the touch.  Still, I expected the pain would quickly fade and vowed to stay in the water.

Though my calf and hand continued to throb, I was enjoying the surf enough that I simply suppressed the pain.  After a particular violent wipe out, I came up staggering - it felt as though a horse had kicked the inside of my thigh.  I thought perhaps I’d been nailed by my board while thrashing around underwater, but as a numbness began creeping up my leg into my lower back, I started taking a closer look at those jellyfish drying on the sand.

I managed to drive myself home and do some quick searching online.  It turned out I had been stung by a Portuguese Man o’ War. I employed a number of different home remedies, and after 8 hours the pain and nausea would eventually fade.  I was a lot more selective about when I went surfing after that encounter.

Strike Two
The local transport in Zambia is quite an experience.  I counted a dozen seats in the van-style shared taxis, but I’ve been inside them with as many as 26 passengers crammed inside.  People are literally half hanging outside the vehicle and the driver will inevitably stop and pick up more.

At any given time of the day, the local taxi station will have thirty or more of these taxis milling around in a crowded dirt lot.  As you might imagine, its utter chaos.  After one particular trip to Victoria Falls, I was standing outside one of these vans, waiting for Sarah to exit after me when another car outside of the field of my vision backed into me.

It wasn’t moving particularly fast.  But the bumper just so happened to be level with my knee, and when the two met, it wasn’t the car that gave way.  Unfortunately, the angle of impact was such that my knee gave way sideways.  Did I mention that this was the knee that I had reconstructive ACL surgery on?

After a lot of ice and rest, I’m pretty sure I escaped without any lasting damage.  I’ve since done plenty of running, surfing and general physical activity without any problems.  But part of me will always wonder.

Strike Three
Driving back from Bulungula, the vehicle in front of us suddenly and very dramatically veered off the highway.  I immediately pulled the Beast over so we could offer whatever assistance we could.  The highway was at the top of a small rise, and the crumpled car had left a clear trail of torn earth in its wake.

There was at least one body that lie unmoving in the grass a meter or two from the smoking wreckage.  A woman was hysterically unleashing bone-chilling screams while struggling to open the mangled passenger-side door.  I noticed there was still a man trapped inside.  One good look at the door was enough to know he wouldn’t be able to exit from that side.  I tried the driver’s side, and found it opened easily enough.  The man within moved as though in a dream, so I ended up physically helping him out of the vehicle and sitting him down in an area free of shattered glass.

At this point, I had three realizations hit me in quick succession.  1) I had this man’s blood all over my hands.  2) I had a couple of small cuts on my left hand that I had received from thorny bushes while hiking at Bulungula.  3) At 40%, Kwazulu Natal has the highest rate of HIV infection in all of South Africa.

Later, I would learn that there’s less than a 0.3% chance that I contracted HIV.  Yet the remainder of the drive home will remain one of the most harrowing evenings of my life.

Wedged between gently rolling hills, a calm meandering river and a stunning slice of rugged Eastern Cape coastline, Bulungula is easily one of the three most heart-wrenchingly beautiful places I’ve been to on this trip. Yet its the extraordinary degree of consideration given to its development that places this charming backpacker’s lodge head and shoulders beyond anything else in South Africa.

Environmental
The kitchen and common rooms of Bulungula are lit in the evening by an array of candles and a few solar-powered lights. The drinking water provided is simply cached rain water and other facilities consist of composting toilets and innovative kerosene heated showers. The staff has committed to planting enough trees each year to ensure that the entire operation is carbon neutral.

I must admit I rather enjoyed toasting my lunch in the solar cooker out front.

Cultural
It’s clear that Bulungula was built with the intention of being an integral part of the local village, rather than separate or adjacent. The rondavels are all constructed using traditional techniques with thatched straw roofs, mud brick walls and beaten mud floors. The village remains only accessible by an hour’s hike from the nearest dirt road, effectively filtering out the typical tourist dross and ensuring that the number of travelers passing through is low enough to have a minimal impact on day-to-day local life.

Ethical
Best of all, any profit generated from the lodge goes directly into the hands of contributing villagers. The backpackers is 40% owned by the Bulungula village, and the proceeds for the excellent tours are kept by the guides themselves. Locals with an entrepreneurial spirit are welcome to participate, offering travelers a variety of goods such as solar-baked Xhosa bread and cookies.

The result of all this is unique opportunity to experience South Africa at its finest. Every traveler who passes through this region inevitably develops an emotional barrier to fend off the constant barrage of touts, beggars and destitute children screaming for sweets.

Bulungula is a refreshing change of pace where travelers interact with the Xhosas on even terms and can move freely through the village knowing that they’re truly welcome.  Its impossible to spend a few days in this small slice of paradise, and not have those barriers rapidly melt away.