15 June 2011

KuuuL dude!

A ten hour flight and as much sleep as is possible on a plane with free movies and booze and 6 very excited individuals, we arrived at Kuala Lumpur just as the sun was rising.
First experiences:

  • Tandas! *
  • The most expensive but much needed coffee at the airport.
  • Overwhelming humidity that foggs up glasses and cameras.
  • Our very friendly driver Zamri, waiting to take us on a whirlwind tour of Kuala Lumpur.



* Tandas: Malay for toilets. The word rolls from the tongue in a manner much too convenient for terminology referring to ablutions. It caught on immediately and from this point onwards, nature's call was expressed as "Ek moet gaan tandas".

14 May 2010

Die worsies

Die Tjegge is blykbaar lief vir hul worsies. Arm dog avontuurlustige reisiger wat ek is, gooi ek toe alle instinkte en bedenkinge oorboord en koop 'n pakkie worsies by die local Albert supermark se slaghuis. Albert, by the way, has served me well gedurende my tydjie hier. Pain au chocolat vir minder as R3!

In elk geval, die Vienna styl worsies het my ongemaklik herinner aan Ewald-en-die-skelpienk-worsie insident in Greyton (hmmm...dit klink dodgy...sorry Ewald!), maar dis 'n storie vir 'n ander dag. So, for the sake of sampling foreign cuisine het ek maar oë toegeknyp en gekou.
Wat 'n aangename verrassing!
'n Goeie voorbeeld van looks can be deceiving. Ek het al 4 heerlike worsies verorber deur die loop van die oggend.

'n Worsielose dag het verbygegaan.

Toe, vanoggend, terug by Albert, soos 'n kleuter wat sy boundaries push, besluit ek om op te gradeer. Hierdie keer 'n effense duurder variëteit - vacuumpacked the works. So arend logo labeltjie met woorde op wat ek nie verstaan nie en nie eens spasie laat vir logiese afleidings nie. Brawe meisie wat ek is gooi ek in elk geval die worsies in my mandjie en stuur 'n gebedjie op dat die arend logo nie 'n aanduiding is van die inhoud van die worsies nie.

Vandag se les: 'n Fancy label is nie noodwendig 'n indikasie van goeie smaak nie (letterlik in die geval). Ek sweer dit was regtig 'n bleddie vrot arend kuiken. Jigggggg!

Ek pak toe maar die oorblywende 4 arendjies weg in 'n plastieksakkie want, dink ek naief, as ek regtig desperaat honger word mag ek die roofvoël dalk nog 'n kans gee. Fout #2. Want toe ek 'n uur later my rugsak oopzip om vir 'n souvenir te betaal toe ruik ek, die kassier en almal in 'n 10m radius net arendworsies.

Toe chuck ek maar die res met die besef dat soms...net soms...is duurkoop ook maar net plein duurkoop.

The Turkish-Canadian-American

Along the way every traveler's path will cross with that of another. In most cases this is an uplifting part of the journey - the meeting of kindred spirits....or Americans ;-p But like all things in life, the travel coin has two sides. And in some cases the chance meeting of traveling strangers can also be described as the nature of the beast. And as my luck would have it...

I have not met many people during my stay in Prague. This is mostly due to the fact that I ended up alone in a 6-bed dorm room. Not to sound anti-social, but not meeting potentially friendly fellow roommates was a small price to pay for a bit of privacy at the end of a long day of sightseeing. Call me old before my time but traveling at 29 is not quite the same as I remember traveling at 21 to be...die ou lyf word moeg mense! By 10pm I'm ready for cuppa tea and a warm bed... (Toemaar, vanaand ontmoet ek vir Annelé in Reims - all is not lost! :)

The only place where I encountered a few of the other hostel residents was at the internet corner. There are 2 PCs placed very close next to each other making it inevitable not to have the random conversation with your nextdoor surfing neighbour. A charming Nigerian-looking American with a funky braided bowlcut hairstyle helped me fashion a mousepad from some leaflets. I tried assisting a girl from Vegas in finding the @ sign on the weird Czeck keyboard. And then my luck turned.

I was innocently minding my own business yesterday morning when a friendly man in his mid 40s sat down next to me.
"I knew a girl who also hid behind a hat."
(I was wearing hat)
(I fake laughed)
"I'm actually just hiding a bad hair day."
(He didn't get it and continued with his story about the insecure girl who wore a hat.)
(I pretended to listen)
"So, where are you from"
"South Africa."
"Oh. I saw an American movie where they showed a guy in Cape Town. It looked dark and ominous. Very dark and scary. I love American movies."
(I fake laughed again...annoyed this time)
"Well, I guess you shouldn't always believe what you see in movies. Cape Town is actually very nice - beautiful place."
"It seemed so ominous. And then I saw this other movie where people got highjacked."

I get tired reliving it.
The dude is from Canada...or Turkey...but ended up in America. I wouldn't be surprised if illegal money exchanged hands in the process. Despite myself trying to look really busy the man talked incessantly. He jabbered on about the exchange rate, how he does business from his laptop from the room upstairs (!!!???), how wonderful America is, how dangerous South Africa seems (again), why I'm hiding behind my hat (again). Eventually I didn't even look at him anymore in the hopes that he will get the point and move on. But nope. Instead he tried to make me watch "Complete the danged fence" - a "brilliant" YouTube video of John McCain's stance on illegal immigration. I excused myself.

So you'd think that was the end of the Turkish-Canadian-American wouldn't you? But the same damn Murphy who made me miss my flight on Monday caught up with me in Prague as I ran into the talker on a random street in the city center at 10pm last night.
"You shouldn't walk around with your camera in the open like that."
(I was taking a photograph).
"Why do you have such a big camera? Mine does the job just fine."
(He shows me his cellphone camera).
"Do you make money from your camera?"
"No."
"Then why do you have such a big camera?"

So. My last day in Prague. No sign of the Turkish-Canadian-American this morning. But I don't dare relax. I still have 3 hours left before I go to the airport.


23 March 2008

Dis cherry dided go up da moerse mountain

Until my recent trip to Zanzibar I had not set foot on African soil outside South Africa. I'm not counting the 8 hours I spent in transit at Namibia's Hosea Kutako airport. As far as first impressions of a country go I'm giving our neighbouring country the benefit of the doubt by believing that Hosea Kutako is one of the worst Namibian encounters and not the cover intended for the judgement of the Namibian book which I've heard is quite a place (read?).

But the second African stamp in my passport came sooner than expected. SJ and myself jumped at the chance to go up Sani pass and into Lesotho during our visit to Natal for Pip and Pugs wedding. Forced to leave poor Adamski behind due to the unfortunate misplacement of his passport we left early on Sunday morning to join a tour group departing from Sani Lodge not far from Underberg. The group was very international with me and SJ being the only Saffas apart from our guide Matthew. The ride up the pass is bumpy to say the least. SJ and I - sneaky and clever as we are - decided to build up some leverage by sitting in the back (the most uncomfortable spot) for the whole way up in order to enjoy the trip down in front seat comfort.
Okay, for all you intellectual freaks, Wiki describes Sani as follows:
"Sani Pass (coordinates 29°35'18.87"S 29°17'33.86"E) is a route that connects Kwazulu-Natal and Lesotho. It is a notoriously dangerous road, which requires the use of a 4x4 vehicle and above average driving experience. It has occasional remains of vehicles that did not succeed in navigating its steep gradients and poor traction surfaces, and has a catalogue of frightening stories of failed attempts at ascending the path over the Northern Lesotho mountains. While South African immigration at the bottom of the pass prohibits vehicles deemed unsuitable for the journey, the Lesotho border agents at the top generally allow vehicles of all types to attempt the descent. "

Yep, Africa sure ain't for sissies!
As one of only 3 landlocked enclave countries in the world, Lesotho lies completely within the boundaries of South Africa. It has a constitutional monarchy and has never been part of RSA. The Lesothon landscape differs quite dramatically from what one experiences during the ascent from the South African side. The top is relatively flat and the fields are scattered with huts and Merino sheep. It is not uncommon to encounter Lesothon shepherds along the way, wearing their traditional blankets, balaclavas and boots.



We enjoyed our packed lunches on top of the mountain at a good 3000+m above sea level, with a few curious shepherds hanging around trying to sell weed or get money in exchange for Kodak moments. The trip also included a visit to a local woman's home where we got to taste some tangy local beer and the most delicious freshly baked bread. And before our descent back into South Africa we made a quick stop at the highest pub in the Southern hemisphere, where the rain finally caught up with us. Since SJ, Adamski and myself still had a 3 hour drive to Durban where we had to catch a 9.15pm flight back to Cape Town, our guide Matthew had to put pedal to the metal to get as back down at a respectable hour. The speedy ascent turned out to be quite eventful when our landrover's spare tire came flying off the roof and landed on the bonnet as Matthew was maneuvering down the sharp turns of the pass. He found this hilarious, but I wasn't sure if this was from shock or amusement. For my own peace of mind I assumed the latter. He remained in high spirits for the remainder of the trip during which he (a native English-speaker from Rondebosch) recounted some Lesothon history in colourful Afrikaner Ingliesh, telling us the story of king Moshweshwe whose ouks was eated by uder brus and dat king Moshweshwe marrieded a nice cherry and dat everone dided smaak da king cause he were moerse cool.
The foreigners didn't get it of course but we were in stitches.

Having grown up fairly close to the Drakensberg I think I've often taken it for granted. I haven't been to the berg in almost 10 years and I was humbled by the experience. It is the place that inspired JR Tolkien to write the Lord of the Rings. It is the mountains that our Boer forefathers crossed in search for better lives. It has provided fun, adventure and joy to countless people but it has also caused disaster and heartache for many. But above all it remains one of the most awe-inspiring places in South Africa, if not the world. When you stand on the edge of a cliff looking over valleys that stretch into the distance as far as the eye can see, whilst surrounded by magnificent peak upon magnificent, you realise how small you really are in the big scheme of things.


More photos can be seen over here.