Extreme Africa - Vic Falls (Zambia, Zimbabwe, and Botswana)

Master Card is heavily preferred in the Vic Falls region. In honor of this tragedy (since I use Visa), I am going to pay homage to them with a commercial.

Flights - $1100
Lodging - $500
Visas - $370
Activities/Food/Transfers - $1200
Extreme Africa – Priceless

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In the first 30 hours of our trip, we entered and exited a country 9 times. In the EU, not such a big deal; in Southern Africa, hectic. First off, the boarders are not next to each other. When you exit one country, there is the obligatory paperwork and stamping of visas, and then you walk out. But the driver that got you there can go no further, so you have to hitch a ride a mile or more through “No man’s land” to the next boarder, go through the visa and paperwork dance all over again, and catch yet another ride onward. Not to mention the fact that no one actually checks your documents so if you just stayed in a car or walked around the counter, no one would be the wiser of your illegitimate entry (or you just pop through the fence, to which there are many holes).

God forbid you talk to these guys. When told I would have to pay $45 for each of the kids to enter Zimbabwe (not needed in Zambia 10 min earlier), I said, “You guys aren’t messing around.” The immigration officers were stern, and one asked me to explain. I said that meant it was serious and he said, “Don’t make fun of us.” I told him I wasn’t and continued with the paperwork. Then the driver came in and I told him that children did in fact need visas, something he said was not need in the car. The officer pounded on the window and yelled “Do you want to come in?” When I said yes, he told me to fill out the paper work. I scoffed back saying that I would have had the paperwork filled out already but this guy lead me wrong. He responded by saying that he worked for immigration, not that guy. After getting threatened a few more times, I said screw it, and I would just spend my money in Zambia. The drivers tried to intervene but this guy had a stick up his ass. I told him I never meant to offend him but he didn’t relent. But the paperwork was ultimately stamped and we moved on. Luckily, we found every other person in Zim to be pleasant and cooperative.

All except for the people selling stuff on the street, that is. Their favorite thing to sell, besides the typical African woodwork, is fake money. Some idiot foreigner long ago got overly excited at the high denominations of their money, and they saw a fish right away. Now you can’t walk 100m without someone coming up to you trying to see you these bank notes saying “1 billion dollars” and other various amounts. They want $10 for the set of them. And what is most frustrating is that they don’t change their pitch. They just keep telling you the price over and over. One time I was on the train and this guy wanted to sell me hippo statutes. After repeatedly saying No, and that I lived in SA and had stuff like that already, he went from $10 for the pair to $8. I still told him I didn’t need it. He waited me out 5 min. and then said, “$10.” Laughing that my deal had expired, the train pulled away, but not before another tourist yelled at a man who tried to use the “you are rich, I am hungry” pitch. She lit into him big time. Not a selling point.

Chobe Park in Botswana proved to be a valuable addition. We had to pony up $175 for each adult (and although they said 50% for Taelyn, they also told us to tell everyone she was 2 years old so she didn’t have to pay. We were asked lots but stuck to it, not loving the deception but now on the hook by the booking people who only charged us $350). After a lengthy drive to the boarder (1 hour), picking up people, and getting to the lodge, we finally departed on the boat on the Chobe River. This pontoon had drinks and snacks and we drifted for 3 hours looking at buffalo, crocs, and lots of birds, hippo, and elephant. By noon the heat of the day brought the elephants to the water and hundreds of them splashed in the tide. We docked for lunch and headed out on a drive for the afternoon. The heat was stifling and we saw much of the same as the morning, but from a different viewpoint. The dichotomy was interesting and the wildlife diverse, much like Tanzania when we could see so much from one spot. Word of a kudu kill came over the radio and we raced to it, but the lions were not guarding it. But a great game experience none the less.

Our home base for the week was Vic Falls Rest Camp in the town of Vic Falls. A combination of chalets and tents, it had a good restaurant and pool. We had two bedrooms and fans, plus a kitchen, but the place was quaint and all concrete, suggesting we should have paid about half of what we did. Within a short walk were all of the restaurants and attractions of town, and we ate twice at the lovely Victoria Falls Hotel overlooking the river. It was a scene straight out of early 20th century Africa, with the large white buildings and the British on safari. Speaking of, why do people continue to come to Africa dressed like they are going to actually hunt in the bush? They buy these expensive khaki shirts, pants, and ridiculous hats, probably thinking they blend in. I can’t help but wonder if the local Africans just see them sticking out more…after all, it isn’t the animals you are fooling. The large diesel Land Rover with raised seats rumbles up next to the elephant and the guide starts talking…it isn’t like you are hidden in your fancy “safari” uniform. They can still see you, and you will never wear these expensive clothes again.

The highlight of any adventurer has to be the Zambezi River. With its bungee jump, Fox Swing, and rafting, you can get your thrills all right here. We opted for rafting (leaving the kids in the care of a housekeeper at the lodge). The typical briefing and ride to the river left us very unsure of what we were getting into. It ran $130 per person (with $10 pp park fees on top of that) and you are subjected to a terrifying descent into the gorge on foot over busted ladders, near vertical stairs missing handrails, and across large rocks for hundreds of meters. Most had never gone rafting before, and many fell for the “that is a left-handed paddle; you need a right handed one.” We thought we got the better of the boats, but soon we realized we were wrong, and we paid the price.

Rafting works best when you have a good team. People paddling in time help you hit the right lines and avoid getting tossed in the water. Of the 8 guests in our boat, 4 didn’t do anything. We had a Russian guy who wanted to sit up front, but he paddled fast (taking no water) and I couldn’t keep with him. Plus, he would not listen to the guide’s call to start paddling and he often stopped with no order. His wife was worthless, and there was a girl in the back who was weak. But let’s not forget about our Belgian friend in the back who was so scared she just spent the whole time crying. Into Rapid #4 (our first class 5), we hit the wrong line and over we went. It was a long rapid and Sarah and I were underwater for 10 seconds or more, experiencing what it feels like to be a pair of jeans in a washing machine, coming up into waves and going under again. Hands down, the scariest time in our lives. Moments later, we hit another rapid and flipped again. This time, my Russian counterpart was paddling backwards into the rapid! I ended up 500m downstream in a boat with other people. Sarah and our new Canadian friend, Mark, spoke to the guide and said, something needed to change. When I reboarded the boat, the guide walked to the front and said, “Don’t take it personally, but you need to sit here,” and delegated our lazy friend to the 3rd seat. They told me to move to the front and when I looked around, people told me it wasn’t a request but an order. Back to the front I went. We managed to keep the boat upright for a while. Just before the most gnarly part of the river, we hit another rapid. Our guide offered a choice: go left and we were to flip certainly; go right and we could expect a decent ride. Mark and I yelled Left, but most people were content to stay in the boat. But as we neared the rapid, we ended up far left, and into the drink we went again. When I mentioned that was not right, the guide said shh, it is a $#%^ing secret. Some of us were laughing more than others.

All was good for the next few hours, thought we paddled a ton on this trip and were very sore and tired from all the work. The last significant rapid, 18 of 19, was another class 5. Not only did we miss this one, but we flipped straight up and over. Being in front, I had the biggest fall from the top, and because of the power of the rapid, was slammed into something – a rock, the boat, Mark – but things went black, there was a rush of pain, and I surfaced 50m downstream with my knee on fire. It took another 2 minutes of floating before I could move, and then struggled to the boat. Mark climbed back on with a large abrasion on his face. Everyone was sore, and soon we were paddling again to get to the end. After exiting the boat, we had a 20 minute walk up the side of the mountain (it took others twice as long). Remember, we paid for this.

With a day left to kill, we booked a train ride out to the bridge. It was $40 a person, but the kids were free. A small, 1-car tram took about 7 of us through the brush where animals roamed and out to the bridge that spans the river between Zambia and Zimbabwe. We had cocktails and chatted with other passengers. Once at the bridge, we dodged people hawking crap and were poured garbage champagne while taking pictures of the river and setting sun. More cocktails, some tapas, and a ride back capped off a nice evening.


The next morning we booked it out of town. Having hired a private driver, we were able to go to the boarder and have a local take our passports and jump the long queue for stamps. We arrived at the Royal Livingston Hotel in Zambia. It was here we would embark by boat out to Livingstone Island, the place where David Livingstone was first taken to view the falls over 150 years ago. The purpose of this excursion was to jump in the notorious Devil’s Pool – a pocket of water at the edge of the falls. At the lowest water levels, one can jump into the river and not be swept over the falls. The most exciting part was lying on the rock ledge and looking straight down 100m to the floor of the valley. Follow up this exhilarating adventure was a luxury breakfast in the bush.

Taking the plunge into Devil's Pool

Note to travelers: Do NOT forget your Yellow Fever vaccination cards when traveling in Southern Africa.

Germany

Is there any place in the world more desirable to visit?  Sure, people talk about white sand beaches and bustling cites, but they haven't been to Bavaria!  We caught a direct flight overnight from Johannesburg to Munich.  Upon arrival, we had one primary objective - Beer Hall.

Our first stop, however, was the Dachau Memorial.  The exact opposite of a rancorous beer hall, this is the site of Nazi Germany's first concentration camp.  Some horrific deeds were completed here, and 32,000 souls lost their lives on these grounds.  Room after room of black and white pictures depict the evils of man in its darkest hours.  A large sign reads in multiple languages "Never Again," a hope we all share.

Accomplishing our primary objective, we sidled up to Paulaner Brewery, our favorite international brewery.  Tasting your favorite beer out of its homegrown tap is second to none.  By the end of our first day, we had seen the worst and the best Germany has to offer.  Our stop was The Meininger Hotel, a good deal for a quad room at about 56 Euros/night.

We rose the next morning to visit the 1972 Olympic Stadium.  Being huge fans of Steve Prefontaine, it was significantly important for us to see where he ran as well as the site of the horrific terrorists attacks of Black September.  The track was being redone so we were unable to walk on the track but we sat in the stands while the children ran.  Also on the tour was the pool where Mark Spitz set his records.  Unfortunately, there was very little on the information side.  We left disappointed not seeing more historical items.

With the big cultural sites out of the way, we hit the largest beer hall in Munich, Hofbrauhaus.  With four levels, this beer hall rocks any night of the week.  We feasted on sausages and guzzled dark beer while a band played traditional music.  Our girls danced in the aisles.  Later that evening Kaelia was riled up from lack of sleep, climbed half way up a bunk bed ladder, and launched herself off. We spent the night in the emergency room and returned the next morning because Kaelia refused to walk and screamed bloody murder at being set down.  We carried her for the rest of the trip.

On the way out of town we rolled past the Theresienwiese, site of Oktoberfest. While nothing was going on, we vowed to return when there was.  It was a few hour drive down to our next stop, Garmisch, in the mountains on the boarder or Austria. It was our first experience on the autobahn, and we fared well.  The road had high speed limits and when "off" cars rolled along quickly.  But it never felt too fast and we were impressed by the order on the road. When we arrived, we rolled up the hill to the base of the Zugspitze, the highest peak in Germany.  We went up the cable car at the extravagant price of 50 Euros a person to the top.  From the 3000m summit we could see into four different countries.  The girls loved playing in the snow at the top because it was the first snow Kaelia could see (Taelyn wouldn't remember her snow encounters).  On the way down, we ended up in a beer house where every one of the 30 patrons was dressed in traditional Bavarian garb.

For the next few nights we crashed in Füssen, also in the southern part of the country.  In an effort to realize a romantic dream, we stayed in the most castle-looking place we could, Hotel Fantasia.The rooms were very nice, in the center of town, and looked up to a castle.  The girls loved the trampoline, Sarah the towers and archways, and Justin the large breakfasts.  From here we enjoyed several great runs along parks and rivers and into mountain lakes.  But the main purpose of visiting is to see the famous castles of Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau.  FYI - this was every bit as exciting there as anticipated.  Sometimes when you see so many postcards and pictures of something, it isn't as good in person, but this was. We loved hiking up the hills to the gorgeous castles and hearing all about this history.  We took a horse-drawn carriage down from one of them.  The girls ran up and down the stairs pretending they were in Cinderella.  After all, Neuschwanstein is the castle they modeled Cinderella's castle off at Disney World.  Justin and Taelyn danced in the ballroom.

Our next stop was Rothenburg ob der Tauber.  This medieval city has been around since before 1000 and some of it has original structures.  We visited the Medieval Crime and Torture Museum and saw many artifacts.  Our favorite was the barrel the drunks had to wear or perhaps the masks for women that were gossips. There were executioner swords, axes, thumb screws, an iron maiden, and much more.  Sarah and Justin went for runs around the walled city and save seeing some medal or the rare car, it felt as if it were in the 1500's. We ate Schneebälle (snowballs) of dough, sugar and chocolate, famous for the area. Sarah went on a night tour of the city led by a night watchman dressed in traditional garb.  We also visited the Christmas factory which had 4 levels of crazy holiday cheer. It was a bit overwhelming.

Barrel worn as punishment for public drunkenness

Our last stop was the small town of Hirschau where we visited a former UNC athlete. She hosted us in her house and we sampled small-town Germany life.  Overall we found Germany to be very clean, incredibly efficient, and beautiful.  All in all, one of our best trips ever!

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A Special Haircut

When you have one unusual haircut experience, you shake it off as part of living overseas. When you have another, well, that’s a blog entry. Let’s go back to China. Walk down any side street in Shekou and numerous salons await you. Greeted by a very metrosexual stylist who has hair bigger than a beehive do in the 50s (and probably with a pink streak in there somewhere), you were escorted into the parlor of your choice. But this isn’t your typical shop.

Hair is everywhere. Sweeping up isn’t a priory and a day’s worth of shedding coats the floor. Smoke fills the air as both employees and customers puff away during the procedure. You are asked, most likely, what you would like, but you don’t understand a word so you just point stupidly to your hair and they point mockingly to a chair. Once seated, a ballad of charades gets the work started, yet the questions in Chinese continue as if they think somehow you would suddenly snap out of your monolingual ignorance.

So how do they cut hair in China? A regular trim up the sides starts you off, but when they cut the top, that’s where it gets weird. A pair of scissors that look like two combs that clip together is randomly and aggressively passed through your hair. In short, I believe these layer the hair and give it definition. In reality, by the time it grows out, your head looks like it was last trimmed with a kitchen blender. Next, out comes the straight razor, and you know how human life is valued in China. So is that razor, new, sharp, or sanitized in anyway? Of course not. Rust lines the edge of the blade which is scrapped mercilessly around your hairline as you pray that you aren’t slit Godfather-style and that your tetanus shot is up-to-date.

Now, the winner, and I am not joking that this happened. The guy finishes my hair and then asks me something. I nod stupidly again because I have found it is the only response when you are asked a question and have no idea what they are saying. But in this case, it wasn’t, “Are you pleased with your haircut?” He walks over to a large curtain and pulls it back to reveal a semi-passed out woman, scantily clad, laying on a cot. She looks 10min from her last heroin blast. A sexually explicit gesture breaks down the language barrier like a tank and there is no longer any confusion on my part about what he asked me. Now, it is the middle of the day and I am married. Not that these are the most immediate problems with the situation in front of me. There is literally a curtain separating this service from the rest of the shop, and I don’t want whatever I am going to contract in the long run from this encounter. I pay my $2 US (for the haircut only) and bolt out of there.

It isn’t just the massage service that ends this way.

South Africa

Barber shops aren’t as plentiful here as China, so when I saw one I made a mental note to go back to get the mop chopped. When I strolled in, three Middle Eastern men were staring at the ceiling. I immediately looked up and seeing nothing, could only assume they were bored. When they saw me they jumped up and rushed over. My cashmere sweater was carefully hung and a woman came by to offer me coffee or tea. The next few minutes were haircut as usual. Out comes the straight razor, a new blade is put on and he starts shaving my hairline only in the up direction. It felt weird but came off without a hitch. So far, status quo in the hair department.

Then the guy stops, eyes me up and down, and asks, “Is this your first time with us?” I nod that it is and he wanders off, returning with what looks like a spool of thread. He bites a bit of it, twirls it around and comes in close. I swear I am about to get a tooth flossing and although this seems odd for a barber shop, hey, I am in a different country, a different hemisphere even. Then he zips the thread, which is more like fishing line, and starts zipping the hairs around my eyebrows clean off. It hurts like a mo-fo! The fuzz on my forehead, between the eyes, on top and even in my ears, all ripped away with a flick of the fingers. I want to yell out but I can’t give my torturer the satisfaction. When it stops, I am ready to tell him all my secrets but he walks off, clearly not interested in national security. Every facial feature from the neck up is beet red and burns like someone sprinkled cayenne pepper on a blistering sunburn. I pray for death.

But it isn’t over. He returns with a Q-tip dipped in wax. This isn’t going to end well for me. He blows on it to cool it to a mere singe then crams it in my nose. Hardly loving that someone just blew on something that went in a mucus membrane of mine, I sat and waited till he filled my other nostril with green goop. Off he sits in the corner, bouncing his leg and humming a tune. I look at myself in the mirror, see a red walrus staring back, and look over to the guy, curious if this is all just a joke for his benefit. It isn’t. He rises, walks over, grabs the tip and yanks. Blood rushes to my face (again) and tears fill my eyes. I try to glance at the cotton swab he is holding in front of my face like a hunting trophy, but my vision is blurred. Knowing what is coming, I brace for the second nostril raping, but it is worse than the first. At least 30 of my nose hairs are perfectly removed on a chuck of wax.

I pay my money, get suggestions on shaving so as not to ruin my sideburns, and leave, a little pissed that I paid, then tipped, for getting my ass kicked. As I limped to the car a broken man, my finger picked green boogers from my nose. The next morning after my run, a little blood still trickled from my nostril.

My suggestion: Do it yourself.

Cambodia & Singapore

We were looking forward to this trip for a while! Cambodia was a blend of some of the most amazing accomplishments of man coupled with some of the darkest moments in history. We started in Phnom Penh. Everything was cheap, the food was good, but the history was horrible. One hostel had drawings of a girl who was a child sex slave. The pictures were dark and sad.
Across from our hotel was Tuol Sleng (S-21), the genocide museum. Once a school, it became a prison where 14,000 men, women, and children were tortured. Black and white mugshots of everyone of them still haunt visitors.

Not far away were the Killing Fields or Cheoung Ek. A 100-foot tower of skulls marks the entrance, and shallow graves are everywhere. It is estimated that only 8 people from Tuol Sleng didn't end up here. It was one of the most sobering places we have ever seen.
On a lighter note, we took a bus to Siem Reap, the gateway for the Temples of Angkor. This town was awesome! Food and beer for under a dollar, night markets, silk, - the shopping was endless! Then we hired a moto and hand a tour of Angkor Wat and about 15 other temples in the jungle. They were amazing! It was an excellent end to such an emotional trip.

But before we left, we went to Singapore. Although clean and beautiful, this place was expensive!! We had great dinners and ate at the Paulner Brewery, but we couldn't afford to stay long. The Singapore Zoo was one of the best around.

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Vietnam

All we knew about Vietnam was the war. But what we found was a country that was very interested in the US, was very kind, and took US dollars! We spent a few days in Hanoi beating the heat with some good beers, buying cheap dvds and silk ties on the street, and planning the next leg of our trip.
We were picked up in a van and transported to HALONG BAY, one of the world heritage sites. We spent the day on a boat, floating between islands and hiking in caves. Then we had dinner on the boat and met some people from MSU!! The next day we kayaked in the water. Pretty amazing.
We took an overnight train to the mountain town of SAPA. After hiking all day in the terraced rice fields, we were quite exhausted (I guess we shouldnt have done it in Teva sandles). We really saw how primitive people live.