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In most of the other countries that we’ve been to, it was either relatively easy to tour a city on foot or taxis were suitably cheap.  Unfortunately, South Africa is both sprawling and comparatively expensive and now that we’ve been living here, our transportation standards have changed.  I’m no longer willing to walk the 35 minutes each way to the beach with a 7″ surf board in hand.  Within our first two weeks in this country, we quickly realized that a car would a necessity.

Renting proved to be far too expensive for the 3 months that we wanted the vehicle for, and leasing vehicles is simply unheard of in South Africa.  There were a few dealers that would sell a new vehicle with buyback guarantees, but it required a tremendous up front investment.  The only realistic option, I decided, was to find  a beater of a car that had some resale value so I could recoup most of my costs.

That’s when I met the Beast - 1.7 glorious metric tons of gold and vinyl shrouded German steel.

At the time, purchasing this 1988 Mercedes Benz 200 seemed like a great idea.  There aren’t a lot of cars you can find in the US or South Africa for R12,000 (equal to $1,600 at the time), and it showed less than 200,000 km on the odometer.  Plus, Mercedes is known for making cars that last.  What could possibly go wrong?

The Mechanic
The guy who sold me the vehicle was a mechanic, and claimed he had been maintaining the vehicle for its only owner for the past 20 years.  He was a friend of a friend, so I was inclined to believe him.  He also said he would ensure the vehicle passed inspection or cover any costs associated with getting the vehicle past inspection.

It took him 2 months and plenty of harassing on my end to finally get the Beast in road worthy condition.  When we were finally sitting down to sign the ownership transfer papers, I discover the cars records indicated the car was actually a 1981 vehicle.  Oops.

The Bureaucracy
All foreigners that purchase automobiles in South Africa are required to acquire a Traffic Registration Number with the Motor Licensing Board.  This effectively provides the government with an ID which can link the vehicle to your passport.  Time wasted: 4 hrs

In my first attempt to transfer ownership, the MLB official declared that the Beast’s logbook and papers were outdated.  Therefore I had to go to the police station, have an officer examine the serial number etched in the chassis and verify that the car hadn’t been stolen.  After that, I had to send the verification off to the provincial capital to get a new logbook authorized.  Time wasted: 6 hrs

Two weeks later, I finally got confirmation that a new logbook had been issued and I would be permitted to wait in yet another queue and have the Beast formally be placed under my ownership. Time wasted: 3 hrs

The Economy
By the time the Beast was officially mine, we would only have 2 weeks remaining in South Africa, which meant I had to pretty much sell it immediately.  With the time crunch, I was forced to accept the first offer I got - an unfortunate R8,000.  The kicker is that while the US economy had been sliding, the South African economy had been in a free fall, and the exchange rate had gone from 7.6 (when I first purchased the Beast) to 10.2 Rand to the Dollar.  After the ordeal, I had recovered a meager $784.

I suppose it could have been worse, but I’m having difficulty imagining exactly how.

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.

Inshallah bukra mumkin. If God is willing, [it will happen] tomorrow, maybe.

This is a fairly common phrase within the Arabic business community. Its American counterpart sounds something like “Well, my plate’s pretty full…” or “I’m pretty sure <insert co-worker name> has some spare cycles.” Hearing it pretty much guarantees the expected deliverable will be harangued by endless procrastination. After all, if it was Allah’s will, then it would’ve gotten done, right?

I can’t think of a more appropriate phrase to describe the cynical hope for a lasting peace that pervades the Middle East.

To be Palestinian
You are gripped by an intense longing for the ancestral homelands you’ve never known. Though the West seems to have forgotten, your people had been living in modern day Israel for generations upon generations - and had put down deep roots. You’ve grown up as a refugee in the West Bank, and spent countless hours covering the walls adjacent to your home depicting the Arabic villages of your father.

You carry the burden of despair and hopelessness, arising from the sure knowledge that you are unable to change your situation. Like many others, you have resigned yourself to praying that the world’s superpowers will awaken one day to your plight, and that your children will lead better lives.

To be Israeli
Whether you’re conscious of it or not, within you simmers nervous fear that itches at your fight/flight instincts. Its a feeling not dissimilar to that experienced by a white guy walking alone in a predominantly black and violent neighborhood. Or conversely, the broiling emotional cauldron experienced by Richard Wright’s Bigger Thomas. Regardless of whether there is ill intent, it feels like everyone is out to get you.

Now, it seems like the sun is setting. You’re certain that an Iranian moon is rapidly rising in the East, ushering in a nuclear night. This particular hood is about to get a whole lot more dangerous and you’re expecting Tel Aviv to be the next Hiroshima. Worse, these fears have been confirmed by friends actively involved in the military, all of whom expect to be engaged in Iran within two years. While Gaza is a constant thorn, its merely a piece of the survival puzzle.

This must be tempered with the fact that the people I’ve encountered, both Israelis (particularly in Tel Aviv) and Palestinians, were incredibly friendly. Yet bring up the opposing nation, and the conversation quickly sours. Israelis become withdrawn and aloof, while the Palestinians (both in the West Bank and Jordan) get worked up and angry. It’s tragic how such wonderful people could develop this deep hatred for each other. With bad blood between these groups now spanning generations, its clear there will be no easy resolution. A two state solution would only give Israel a hostile neighbor in an already volatile region, and your opponents another potential weapon. Yet to refrain from such a solution would be to continue oppressing a people that absolutely have the right to self rule.

I hope that Palestine will gain its freedom, and Israel will gain an ally in its Arab neighbor. If God is willing, peace will come tomorrow or in the near future. But from what I’ve seen thus far, that’s a big maybe.

Due to a combination of laziness, constant activity and surprisingly, writer’s block, there has been a distinct dearth of posts in the past few weeks. Here’s a brief summary of what I’ve been doing to bring you up to speed, with extra photos to compensate for the lack of creative prose:

Andaman Sea
After weathering the bone-numbing cold of China’s winters and the ind-melting heat of Myanmar’s summer, I was ready to set aside some time for more relaxed travel. Enter the turquoise waters and refreshing sea breezes of Thailand. We spent two full weeks enjoying the turquoise waters and refreshing sea breezes of Ko Lipe and Ko Phi Phi. Our daily activities was usually some mixture of sun bathing, snorkeling, trekking, rock climbing and generally having a good time.

White Desert
This was our first time this trip that we had ventured beyond Asia, and discovered a less conventional locale for surf and sand in Egypt. The White Desert proved to be spectacular and the harsh, wind-swept beauty literally moved Sarah to tears. She ended up developing a special bond with Mona (the name she gave her camel), and our Bedouin hosts ensured crackling bonfire evenings. Sleeping out in the open desert under the stars is a magical experience - I witness three shooting stars in the span of 15 minutes!

Sinai
The Red Sea is legendary amongst divers for its crystal clear waters with visibility up to 40 meters. After having earning my Advanced Open Water certification there, I can attest that it does not disappoint. Some of the more memorable moments include brilliantly colored cuttlefish, night diving with lion fish and free falling to depths of 30+ meters through canyons in the ocean floor.