Travel to Zambia, Pirates on the Zambezi, and the Animal Kingdom at last

Dear Reader, the internet is not easy to access here in the bush and when accessible, quite slow so I am unable to upload the incredible photos we are taking. Once back in civilization I will add the photos but for now, please enjoy the latest installment of the African Adventure blog...

This morning we woke at the brutal hour of 5:30am. I find it impossible to believe that just 9 months ago this was my usual hour of weekday work wakening. If I ever return to believing this to be normal, please smack some sense into me. The butler knocked at my door with a beautifully brewed pot of earl grey tea and this did lift my spirits measurably. We left Clive at the airport and boarded the first of our two flights en route to Livingstone, Zambia. Shortly after lunch we arrived in Zambia, obtained our visas, and met our greeter, Victor, and his 2 porters and 1 female assistant, who loaded our luggage into the van and drove us to the Royal Livingstone Hotel on the shores of the Zambezi River.

Breathtaking is the only way to describe the setting of the hotel with its colonial architecture set in the middle of a wildlife preserve along the river bank. Wild giraffe, zebra, antelope, hippos and monkeys all call this home, and we have been assured that we will have ample opportunity to observe the animals in their natural habitat. We have also been warned by our red Fez and satin sash wearing butler Terrence, to keep our terrace doors firmly bolted when out of the room, as the monkeys are “naughty” and have been found in guest rooms sipping wine and enjoying scones. Justin immediately assumed the role of room security and informed Livvy of the strict room protocol that he would be enforcing.

We unpacked and soon were picked up for our Zambezi River cruise aboard the double decked African Queen, one of no doubt thousands of similarly named vessels along the river. Our hostess, Martha, gave us a very thorough and exuberant description of both the cruise trajectory as well as the food and beverage service aboard. From time to time Martha or one of her colleagues would take the on board microphone in hand and repeatedly blow into it to test the system with great ceremony before making a crucial announcement about the availability of beer and wine. We spotted dozens of hippos on the cruise and Justin and Livvy did an excellent job as wild life photographers with Mom and I serving as armchair spotters/trackers.

About mid-way up the river an African Queen speedboat approached containing 6 black male passengers aboard. Mom visibly tensed as the boat advanced, concerned that we were being overtaken by pirates. I told her that I was unaware of any recent pirate activity on sunset cruises along the Zambezi. The men climbed aboard casually, and were seated at a table unfortunately upwind from where we were situated. Mom was relieved to realize that we were not being hijacked but a bit frustrated that not even one of the men offered her a drink. The group turned out to be a bunch of taxi drivers out for an evening cruise dressed in their uniforms of light blue long sleeved dress shirts and navy trousers. Similar I imagine to the modern pirate uniform.

Justin and Livvy befriended an adorable 4 year old Zambian boy who was an board with his family. His little sister began to cry when I smiled at her and her father assured me that it was nothing personal but it is just that she is afraid of the "Maguweh". I smiled at the man, "I understand. She is adorable. What are the Maguweh?" He chuckled, "Maguweh are why-et pipple." How perfect.

When we returned from the cruise we were stopped by a troop of giraffes enjoying dinner in the trees by the large roundabout near the hotel and once back at the hotel heard the high pitched braying of a group of zebras who then thundered across the lawn between the restaurant terrace and the river. We were most definitely in the animal kingdom now.

Wine country, Butterfly World, cheesetasting, Cheetah encounter and accounting irregularities with Clive

This morning we drove toward wine country, stopping for a quick visit at Butterfly World, a rather dilapidated structure overzealously filled with imported South American butterflies as well as an open aviary with molting local exotic birds that have been rescued and will hopefully be nursed back to good health. There were also a fair assortment of local spiders, lizards, snakes and rodents kept in what can only be described as makeshift enclosures, akin to a 5th grade science project. Creepy is the best way to describe the place and after checking my clothes meticulously for signs of any escapees that might have attached themselves to my shirt, was ecstatic to leave. A healthy dosing of Purel was in order and I did not feel disinfected until we were well on our way to our next stop at a local winery. Justin, however, was positively gleeful at getting so many vertical photos and even capturing one of a real wild meerkat outside.

The winery we visited has a unique attraction, a goat tower. Truly a structure where the prized family goats live a la Repunzel, {see pic} fashioned into a brick tower with a turret. Fanciful would be a kind way to describe it. We enjoyed the goat’s milk cheese with our wine tasting, although the wine itself was rather forgettable in spite of our effort to find one we sincerely liked enough to purchase. Clive on the other hand was having a jolly old time stuffing his chubby cheeks with cheese and espousing the virtues of the special “pinotage” created here in Stellenbosch by an apparent genius cross-pollinating viniculturalist. Clive you see, aspires to become something of a wine baron, no doubt all the pennies he’s pinched from unsuspecting tourists have gone into the wine course he’s been taking part time for a few years. He and a friend are apparently set to make their first barrels of wine next year and Clive was waxing poetic about the many varietals indigenous to the area as well as those imported and whether they do well on the hill with the cooling temperatures or in the valley where the heat is retained and creates higher sugar and alcohol content etc etc etc. He even managed to bore Mom a bit I think, and she’s French. Of course ever since the penguin fee incident, Clive has hardly been in my good books, so I may be just the tiniest bit uncharitable but who can blame me really.

We then decided the postpone lunch as we were well bloated from all the cheese, and headed instead to our Cheetah encounter. Clive had us wait outside while he went to the ticket booth and paid the entrance fee, and then ushered us through the gates and toward the cheetah enclosures. There were various large fenced-in pens with groups of 4-5 cubs or adults in each. People were queued up outside a sort of holding pen where 4 guests at a time are given the cheetah instructions and invited to disinfect with hand and shoe sanitizer so as not to infect the cheetahs with whatever the humans may be carrying. From the looks (and smells) of the group of backpacking Germans in front of us, this seemed like an excellent idea.

Clive told me that he had paid for us all to enjoy the Adult Cheetah encounter but that if we wanted to pay the extra for the Cub Encounter we could do so and he would go get the extra tickets. Mom and David decided to wait on the observation deck while the 3 kids and I decided to pet the cubs and so told Clive the same. Clive asked me for an extra 300 RAND (~$45USD) which I handed over. As Clive disappeared in the direction of the ticket booth, I noticed a sign reading CHEETAH ENCOUNTER PRICES, ADULT ENCOUNTER: 50 RAND PER CHILD, 100 RAND PER ADULT. CHEETAH CUB ENCOUNTER: 200 RAND PER ADULT 100 RAND PER CHILD. I did a quick math calculation and indeed the difference between the ADULT and CUB ENCOUNTER FEE for 2 11 and unders plus 2 adults was 300 RAND but given that neither David nor my Mom were participating, I wondered why Clive wasn’t applying their 2 x 100 RAND ADULT ENCOUNTER fees to our CUB upgrade. I didn’t say anything though, imagining there must be a no refund policy. Clive returned with our tickets and David at his side who decided to join us for the CUB ENCOUNTER. David asked me for 200 RAND to give to Clive, to which I steadied myself and then asked as calmly as possible, “Why?” David explained that is the amount Clive said he needed to get David a CUB ticket upgrade. Again I steadied myself, took a deep cleansing breath and then responded speaking to David but with content clearly audible to and intended for Clive this time as follows: “I don’t think that makes sense. We paid for all 6 of us to do the ADULT ENCOUNTER, so 2 kids at 50 each and 4 adults at 100 each, making 500 RAND. And I’ve already given Clive an extra 300 RAND so that’s 800 RAND altogether and it says here that the CUB ENCOUNTER is 200 per ADULT and 100 per CHILD, so that would be a total of 3 ADULT and 2 CHILD fees for the 5 of us of 800 RAND since Mom isn’t doing it.”
Before David could respond, Clive jumped in quickly, and I might add guiltily, with a big smile saying, “Well then we are all square. Great.” Great indeed. Good old Clive would not be making a tidy little profit off of this tourist. I handed the 4 tickets I had to the volunteer and then we enjoyed a tremendous 20 minutes petting the cheetah cubs that were as docile as house cats. As we were exiting I noticed Clive taking David’s ticket from him, so I looked away and innocently asked David to hand me his ticket so that I could give it to the volunteer. Clive awkwardly handed over the ticket and the volunteer and I exchanged a knowing glance as she gratefully accepted the ticket from me and put it in the metal cash box. Gotta hand it to sly Clive, the guy does not quit. He wisely avoided eye contact with me for the next hour, oh yes, he knew I was on to him.

We also visited the wild bird enclosure at the Cheetah park which was inhabited by dozens of indigenous wild bird species kept side by side in stalls with their feet tethered to wooden perches like avian convicts, see pics. The vultures looked particularly sinister but it was the Secretary Birl, so named for their long legs and long eyelashes that stole our hearts, she was named Mary Anne like my sister and the kids got a massive kick out of that. There were a pair of owls whose expressions were eerily human, they must be siblings or an old married couple as the looks they were giving one another seemed to be saying, "You are so embarassing," see pics.

Then we were off to lunch at a vineyard overlooking the valley. The menu had mostly fish and game with little for Livvy, so I ordered her the Spring Bok rolls and told her they were simply beef springrolls, which I think is a bit of a stretch as I am unsure whether Bonta Bok qualify as cattle or more of an antelope. Fortunately she thought they were delicious. Back at the hotel we said goodnight to Clive, I gave him an especially warm handshake having been taught to be a gracious winner.

Justin and I headed to the craft market in search of the elusive perfect miniature hand carved wooden hippo. We scoured the market and then happened upon the stall of a chubby and jovial visually impaired woman who chuckled at everything through her coke bottle glasses. Justin found a perfect specimen and we bargained until we reached a fair price. Unfortunately, our semi-blind new friend uses her brassiere as a wallet and I didn’t have the correct change, so left the stall with a handful of breast-sweat soaked bills. Justin was mercifully unaware of the moist misfortune that had befallen me, and clutched the newspaper wrapped creature to his chest like a mother carrying a newborn all the way back to the hotel where a fresh bottle of Purel awaited me.

After dinner we enjoyed a delicious dessert of sticky toffee pudding and vanilla ice cream paid for with the 200 RAND we didn’t give Clive at the Cheetah Encounter. Excellent day.

Road side baboons, Penguin suffrage, Coastline beauty, and the great escape from dinner

This morning we were served breakfast by a delightful waiter called Thompson, who did not mind in the slightest when David repeatedly called him Thomas. Our trusty guide Clive picked us up at 8:30am and we began our drive down the beautiful Southwestern coast toward the Cape of Good Hope. We stopped on the side of the road when Clive, who resembles a 55-year old version of a South African Philip Seymour Hoffman, spotted a family of baboons. Justin was in shock at the humanlike nature of the baboons, especially the mothers with babies on their backs, and snapped away dozens of photos not wanting to drive on. Unfortunately, Justin has decided that vertical photos are preferable to horizontal shots in spite of David’s insistence to the contrary, so I expect we will end up with a battle royale once we reach Botswana on photo technique. For the time being please enjoy the ample vertical photos from today.

We stopped several more times for roadside baboon watching and the occasional ostrich (remarkably well camouflaged in these parts but Justin had no problem spotting them and alerting us with ecstatic shrieks of OSSSSTRICH!!!!!) before stopping to pay the entrance fee to the national heritage park at Cape Point. Clive told the park ranger that we were 4 adults and 2 11-years and under, this is patently false and I knew that Clive was well aware of Justin’s age as we had discussed his 13th birthday just that morning. I then saw Clive hand over a pre-paid voucher and get back a small wad of folded bills. I suspected that Clive was pocketing the difference between the adult fee the tour company had prepaid and the child’s fee, but it was a small amount (<$10USD) and so I decided to let it slide but keep my eyes on my shifty friend Clive.

Once inside the park, we climbed up to the infamous lighthouse built by clearly the dumbest lighthouse engineers in history; the lighthouse was erected in 1870 at a huge cost atop the hill at Cape Point only to be found absolutely useless due to the preponderance of heavy cloud cover at night obscuring the lighthouse lights. And so, a second less elaborate but far more effective lighthouse was erected very shortly thereafter on the bottom part of the Cape Point. We also made a quick stop at the Cape of Good Hope to snap a photo en famille at this Southwestern most point on the continent just 4,000 miles from Antarctica.

More photos with the baboons enjoying a lunch of pincushion protea roadside until the alpha male bore his incisors at us in warning, and then it was quickly on to Simon’s Town to observe the flock of wild African penguins tending to their eggs on the beach and waddling about with much humor. I learned that it's the male penguins who sit on the eggs for 4 months, now that is just awesome. At the entrance to the penguin beach Clive once again said Justin was only 11 years of age and again pocketed a small amount of cash, I could see this was part of his m.o. and wondered what other tour guide loopholes he had discovered. My imagination ran temporarily wild, imagining Clive living in a sprawling mansion paid for by the thousands of pre-pubescent American boys he had guided over the years and used as ponzies in his elaborate entrance fee refund scheme. Snapped back to reality by my growling stomach we sat down to a thoroughly forgettable lunch where the kids compared the local ketchup to Heinz and pondered how they might make a buck importing Heinz which they concur is clearly far superior to the local brand. Nowhere in their discussion did the notion of fraud arise.

We then drove to the office of Baboon Matters, a local baboon conservation group which offers hiking tours of the territory inhabited by the baboons they are trying to save. We met our guide, Mzewatu, one of 12 monitors who work from dawn to dusk each day, attempting to keep the 4 baboon troops from leaving their natural habitat and entering the adjacent township where the residents view them as pests to be shot on site. Mzewatu gave us a thoroughly unintelligible orientation speech and we all smiled politely nodding our heads to his nonsensical instructions not wanting to offend or let on that the language he was speaking was not in fact English.

We drove through a nearby township called Ocean View, so named for its irony as the residents were relocated from their ocean side homes to this inland township during Apartheid. We piled out of the van and followed Mzewatu past the shacks and piles of rubbish onto a hiking trail at the foothill of the mountain. Mzewatu began calling out in a tribal tongue to locate the baboons, cupping his ear in his hand to listen to the forest and quickly shifting directions. Somehow Mzewatu understood the animals and could tell exactly where they were, for just minutes later he lead us directly to a group of over a dozen males, females, juveniles and babies. It was only later that I noticed the tiny mobile phone he was holding up to his ear and the other Baboon Matters monitor perched on a high rock some 200 feet up the mountain.
The juvenile baboons were fantastic to watch, just like kids daring one another to jump farther, run faster and come as close as possible to the humans in their midst. Livvy began the outing terrified of being attacked by the wild baboons but ended up a junior wildlife photographer snapping pics (horizontally thank god) while crouching in the tall grass. Yeah Liv!

We drove back to Cape Town and Chloe, Justin, Mom and I headed to the shopping area by the wharf before meeting up with David and Livvy for dinner at a steak house. Once seated at the restaurant we glanced at our menus and were uniformly turned off by the exceptionally unappetizing menu and décor. I noticed David and Livvy were still missing and asked where they were. Justin told me that Livvy wasn’t feeling well so she and David stayed behind to have room service. It was at that precise moment that our waiter was approaching the table with sparkling water I had requested, and Mom, ever the quick thinker, began to address me very loudly, “Oh no Lorna," she exclaimed, "do you think she will be okay all alone in the room?” Livvy was not alone but I realized this was our exit strategy and our waiter noticed the agita straight away, so I played along, “No she won’t be, we have to go now.” I rose from my chair with great drama, turned to our kind-faced waiter named Pride and apologized, “I’m so sorry, my daughter is ill (sounded better than saying sick I thought) and we must go to her now. I fear she may be quite unwell.” For some reason my English had turned into something written by Emily Bronte. “Ov kewse,” said Pride, “Aye hewp she filz behtah.” And off we scurried like mice, high fiving each other once safely out of site and congratulating Mom/Grandmaman for her ingenuity. We then returned to Meloncino’s for dinner as we had our first night. Thankfully Livvy is feeling much behtah now.