Spoilt By Nature

Any one of the Seven Wonders of the Natural World should invoke awe and amazement when looking at them. I'm sure if I went to the Great Barrier Reef next year, or saw the Aurora Borealis the year after, I would be completely awestruck. But I went to see the Victoria Falls after spending the last three weeks travelling through some of the most astounding natural environment I have ever seen. So this goliath of thundering torrents did not seem that special. But I know that really, it was.

The locals call it Mosi-oa-Tunya, which means 'The Smoke That Thunders', which is far more exciting than naming it after our longest reigning monarch. Although if I was Queen Victoria I would be pretty pleased having such a mega water feature named after me - the most I can ever aspire to would be a mill pond off the Blackwater-Chelmer Navigational Canal taking my name. So the Vic Falls aren't a bad thing to sure ones namesake. 

Anyway they are pretty cool. We worked out that 5,000,000 litres of water are discharged by the falls every second, which I think is probably wrong, because that is a fair amount of eau. But given that the group I was with consisted of two cambridge graduates, two neuroscientists and a doctor of Chemistry, I imagine that is probably right. And when you reach 'danger point', the area closests to the main falls, you begin to understand how much water is being dumped into the gorge below. It is like being in a rainstorm there, and suddenly it feels like tabbing up a hill in North Wales again.

Except TIA, and this is Zimbabwe. I managed to get a 2lbs steak for $4, and then even more impressively actually ate it all. It seems cooking something yourself is the only way to get decent food here - although having an ostrich stew was definitely a welcome treat. 

Africa is much more expensive than I could have ever imagined. Tescos is cheaper than the supermarkets out here - the only things that are cheaper are accomodation and travel, and occasionally alcohol. Budgeting is a serious concern, especially as I hit Zambia tomorrow, which is supposedly ultra expensive (although they value the sterling ridiculously highly). But onwards and upwards, still travelling north from Cape Town, still meeting awesome people, and still learning that Africa has more surprises to throw at you than anywhere else I have ever been.

Ticking The Boxes

I'm in Zimbabwe.

 

Victoria Falls can by no means be viewed as real Zimbabwe, but the laws are still made by a corrupt dictator, the economy is only just recovering having been decimated by a period of unsurpassed hyperinflation and the town still lacks ambition and hope in the same way neighbouring Namibia, Botswana and South Africa have in abundance. 

But it is damn cool here. Beers cost US$1, spirits $2 and cigarettes are under a dollar. Zimbabwe uses the US dollar because of the farcical denominations its own currency reached a few years back. As a white tourist I am perpetually accosted by street salesmen attempting to sell souvenirs of the hyper inflation - the most common being a 50 billion Zimbabwean Dollar note. Quite amusing to be stopped on the way into Vic Falls by an impromptu police checkpoint, demanding money for some unknown charge which doesn't exist. But the only way to deal with it is to keep quiet and pay up; for some reason I think a gaol in Zimbabwe might be worse than England.

On a more interesting note, I jumped off a very high bridge yesterday. It's no skydiving, but it is still diving off a bridge 110m over the great Zambezi river in front of one of the world's most beautiful natural features. There was only one moment of fear this time - when standing with my toes over the edge of the bungee platform, and the countdown reaches 3 seconds to go, and I suddenly thought to myself, 'Am I  actually going to dive off a bridge into nothingness?' But I cannot ever be seen to be a coward, or afraid of anything for that matter, so it was fully committed, like Lucifer when he fell from heaven. The best part is hanging stationary upside down looking up at the bridge far above. Very enjoyable indeed.

I've also been white water rafting, which was pleasant. 

Wildlife viewing is going well. Seen lots more elephants and hippos, and seen buffalo too. No leopard yet though. They're more elusive than the Scarlett Pimpernel.

So I'm ticking off the countries, the animals and the high octane activities during the daytime, and still getting rather drunk in the evenings. When in Rome...

Roads? How Boring!

Firstly, I am well aware that I am in Africa, not Western Europe. However, some things still amaze me. Roads are often closed out here, mainly because of freak natural events, animal crossings or the road just not being very good. But when there is a sign saying 'road closed' it is apparently more of a suggestion than a direction.

So said our driver, shortly after spending over an hour stuck in a wadi (dry riverbed) with twelve inch deep sand, having to dig out our truck only for it to travel ten metres before being stuck again. Luckily there was a passing bulldozer in the middle of the Nambian desert (the only other vehicle we had seen for four hours) which we were able to engage the helpful services of, otherwise I would still be there now. But then apparently the diversion for the closed road would have taken us over a hundred miles off course. Although that would have been on a road, rather than sand covered mud - 'beaten paths are for beaten men,' a wise man once said - and we certainly have not been beaten yet.

My most recent off road experience has been in the Okavango Delta, Northern Botswana, which is apparently one of the most outstanding areas of natural beauty in the world. So said David Attenborough, anyway. I myself thought it was quite nice, although I managed to fall asleep for the majority of time I was traveling through the Delta in a Mokoro (kind of African gondola made out of tree trunks) so didn't see an awful lot until we got to our campsite. By which time it was dark.

I did however come within twenty metres of Africa's most dangerous mamal. Seemingly lumbering, passive and a bit ugly, the hippo (kubu, in the local kavango language) is prone to attack anyone who goes a bit too close. It didn't come near me, though - probably because I was so close to sleep myself that it didn't recognise me as a living creature it would actually be worth attacking. Quite cool though, hippos. And they can be quite intimidating at close range.

My favourite animal is probably the African Elephant though. He (I prefer the bulls) is like the guy in the gym who comes along wearing a loose hoodie and some old trainers who, without any pretensions, warming up or posturing, just walks over to the bench press, whacks 100kg on each side and powers out 10 reps without even breathing. The elephant knows he is the biggest, and strongest, and everyone else knows that too. He doesn't go around getting in fights or bullying anyone, he just walks from watering hole to watering hole, eating a few leaves as he goes. The only animal he ever disturbs is the lion - the bully of the bush - because once some hungry lions killed a baby elephant, and an elephant never forgets. So the elephant restores order, gives safety to those springboks, impalas and zebras who just want to go for a drink without getting started on by an arrogant lion, and is fascinating throughout the process. I was lucky enough to be in the middle of a herd fifty strong in the Etosha National Park, Namibia, and it is an experience I will not forget.

Other things I am unlikely to forget are getting smashed on the Okavango River above some hungry crocodiles, trying to stare out a black rhino, and attempting to join in singing with a traditional African choir and setting them off wailing because I was so bad. They did very much enjoy my rendition of silent night, though. As well as my version of the pre-1945 German national anthem.

Botswana is very much the same as Namibia, apart from the fact that there are cows everywhere. I don't know who they belong to, and nor, I think, does anyone else. But apparently someone would get annoyed if I slaughtered one for dinner. AIDS and poverty are rife here, but it has the basic amenities and the people are still very happy. I'm off to the Chobe National Park now, which apparently has 55,000 elephants - some of whom I am very much looking forward to meeting.

Essex's Answer To Icarus

'Welcome to my office', says the Tandem Master as the parachute opens, and we slow from 220km/hr to 50 in a couple of seconds. We've just dropped 5,000 feet in less than half a minute and I am buzzing. Skydiving is something I have wanted to do for a very long time, and in no way was I disappointed.

The whole idea is ludicrous. It takes 20 minutes to fly up to 10,000 feet and then you just jump out and go back down again. The plane is so small that it is full with 5 people in, and that is when sitting between the legs of the person behind you (in what I call the 'oops upside your head' position).

The plane has no door - there is just an open hole that there is every chance you might fall out of much before you reach the magical 10k height. It's at that point when it actually starts to get frightening. I'm looking at the hole - as my foot, which is hanging out of the plane, is getting buffetted by the wind - thinking, 'Am I actually going to have to jump out of a plane whilst its a few miles up in the sky?'

Luckily the safety briefing was comprehensive and put all my fears to rest. 'I've done 10,000 jumps and I'm still here,' says the insructor, 'so you should all be fine on number one. The only pain you will get is from your Tandem Master kicking you if you're in the wrong position.' Amazing.

But then, This Is Africa. We are in the middle of the desert, miles from anywhere. There are two sheds and a swept piece of sand which someone might rather speculatively call a 'runway', in front of which we bask in the sun watching the pilot come and grab a beer and a cigarette before the next flight. We are allowed to watch the guys pack the parachutes, which looks rather like someone stuffing a sleeping bag into a compression sack. 'It opens better this way,' I am assured.

And then soon enough it is time to go. I may be smuggling a budgie or two in my jump suit but at least the harness feels sturdy and tight. And I am reassured that at least I am less apprehensive than Martin, a petrified Irishman I am travelling with. The flight is one of the most scenic I have ever been on, and would have been the most relaxing build up to hoofing it towards the ground at ridiculous speeds had: a) there been a door on the plane and b) the sound of the 'stall warning' alarm wasn't coming constantly from the pilot's control panel. Well at least he was concentrating on flying the plane...oh no, wait a sec, he's checking his phone...now having a chat to one of the other guys. Fantastic.

Then finally the countdown reaches 1 minute to go and we clip on, and start to inhale deeply. Martin is virtually pushed out of the plane by his Tandem Master, which is my cue to go and sit on the edge of the plane, waiting for the plunge. It's like sitting on top of a 15m diving board, staring at the water below trying to summon up the courage to jump. Except it's a little bit higher. And this diving board is moving sideways at 300mph; 5 seconds there seems like eternity.

And then we're gone. And there is nothing. I'm just hanging in mid air, arms outstretched grinning from cheek to cheek. This is incredible, like nothing else. And when the chute opens, it's just a graceful descent to the ground like an eagle riding the thermal currents to its nest. We land, but I don't realise it. I'm still soaring like a bird in the sky, the only communication I have with my friends on the ground is my grin, which has remained firmly in place since I fell off a bit of metal at 10,000 feet. Everything afterwards is a haze. I went home and slept the soundest sleep ever, and today I cannot stop talking about it. Just amazing.

The only bad part is that I'm not sure I will ever get this rush again - until the next time I do it. Victoria Falls bungee jump, you've got a lot to live up to.

Oxfam Are Liars

Phew. I need to catch my breath. I'm in Swakopmund, Namibia, a week into an overland journey which seems to be getting longer all the time. Thousands of miles covered, many friends made (even if only for a day) and so much more to come.

African people crack me up, they really do. Every experience I have with them seems massively surreal. Like arguing about Kenny Daglish's transfer policy with an Ovambo (African tribe) cook in the smallest town in Namibia. Like causing a group of Bushmen to howl with laughter at my inability to pronounce their names, because they make clicking noises instead of certain sounds. Like asking one of our guides where to put a black sack full of rubbish and him just taking the bag and putting it in a nearby shopping trolley whilst saying, "This Is Africa. Anything is possible."

TIA was not an acronym invented for Blood Diamond. People here do not allow themselves to be restricted by convention or regulations - which is a good thing and a bad thing. If something does not go to plan, they just carry on, doing things to the best of their ability. But equally, if there is a way to avoid putting in extra effort, they will always do so.

So after a couple of nights in Cape Town, where I walked home alone at 3 in the morning without being mugged, I started on my epic journey to Victoria Falls and beyond. Between wine tasting and canoeing, with a bit of skydiving in between, it has been a bit of an eyeopener. Southern Africa is not backward, nor is it undeveloped. It has its poor parts, but the only difference between them and Basildon is that people over here don't live off benefits.

There is great wealth and prosperity here, with the people being intelligent and articulate. They have a sense of duty and pride which is pretty cool to see, coming from a country where everyone just moans all the time.

And the landscape is something else. I've seen green fields stretching to the horizon, dry plains scorched by the sun, deserts marked by dunes always on the move, great open bays with empty sandy beaches, flat topped mountains losing their struggle against nature, and valleys reminiscent of the Scottish highlands but devoid of water. Ostriches and Springbok roam free, with Gemsbok and Kudu chasing passing vehicles, whilst I can't leave my shoes outside at night lest they get stolen by the jackals. Mental.

We're not allowed to say the roads are bumpy. Because they're not really roads. More like gravel in a line (not a very straight one). And travelling over them is actually a pleasant experience. Apparently. Called an
'African Massage' - more like sitting on top of a washing machine for five hours. Good for calorie burn though (necessary, given the amount of beer I am drinking).

Currently in the last town I will see for a while, about to hit the Etoshia national park - one of the top five in Africa, where obviously I am hoping to see the big five. I'll take lots of pictures of lions and giraffes and put them up. And I will try not to get my hands mauled in the process - because that happens quite regularly...apparently.

Hang on...this isn't Africa

Bit of an odd one, this one. It was baking hot when I got off the plane, and it seemed to be dry and arid for miles around. Exactly what I was expecting from Africa. Except I didn't think the signs would be in arabic, nor did I expect the customs officials to be wearing dish-dashes. And I definitely didn't expect there to be signs everywhere saying 'Welcome to Dubai'. But then it dawned on me - I wasn't in Africa. I was in Dubai.

Which irritated me slightly, just because it makes my blog name (which I spent so long devising) a bit of a fallacy. But 'Dom in Africa/the UAE' doesn't have the same ring to it. But I found a solution to that - I got out of Dubai and came to Africa.

Dubai is the antithesis of Southern Africa - with extravagant signs of wealth everywhere, crime free streets and steaming hot temperatures, so pretty good prep for the main part of my trip - or not. What was though was taking part in an evening of 'Bunco' - a South American game (conducted in Spanish, which is of course my second language) in which you lob a few dice around a table, lose count several times and then some raucous Chilean ladies shout 'Bunco' at the top of their voice.

Between that and swimming in 40 degree waters at the beach, shortly after going to the only shopping mall where the Porsche Designer Clothing store lines up next to the De Beers outlet, I'd say it was a nice way to spend the inane 20 hours between my connecting flights. Aided by the fact that two of my parents' oldest friends kindly took me in for the day.

Anyway, my real African experience began with the line, "Why are there all these black people here?", the words of the woman I was sitting next to on the plane down from Dubai to Cape Town. I could only describe her as a Boer widdow, who was aghast at the number of 'black' people on the plane. There weren't actually any Africans in the cabin - but clearly any non-white person she thought of as black. And clearly she also thought that air travel was reserved exclusively for the white. Luckily, despite my brief period at the beach in Dubai, I am whiter than ever, so had no problems with her. Not that I was awake for any of the flight anyway.  It seems that The Green Hornet (awful film, don't watch it) has a somewhat narcoleptic effect on me.

Cape Town is not real Africa....apparently. It is freezing cold, being mid winter, and it is smart, clean and green. Not what I was expecting. But then apparently other places are a bit different. Only the future will tell.