In Search of the Golden Monkey

Reprise Memories

2005-10-24T23:43:00.000-07:00

This morning I was sitting working away and somewhat nursing a cold I received while in Ottawa for the ski show this past weekend (never fails with that show...) and the phone rings. I don't recognize the number, thinking it's creditors or someone coming after everything I don't have... then I look at the number closer... wait a minute...

They call back twice (the first time the connection didn't last)... it's the gang at Quencher's down on the South Coast! While I only spoke to Dean and Alex - there was a huge group hello in the back ground, and I could just picture everyone sitting there.

Shit I miss that place. I wanna go back.

But here I shall stay... for now.

Self Realization of One (The Final Chapter)

2005-09-29T17:06:00.000-07:00

Well it's been a month now (shy a few days) since I departed Beautiful South Africa. Six weeks of life, but a lifetime in and of itself. I've neglected quite purposely concluding this chapter of life for a few reasons, namely because I do not want to conclude but rather return to the Southern Cradle and expand more so... but also because I wanted to give myself some proper time to reflect on what I did there and what I achieved. I'm almost at a loss for words. But I will make an attempt. (Thanks goes to my Uncle Richard who kept on me to ensure I completed this novella. I also couldn’t write a final entry before due to the fact that I had to surprise Stacey for her wedding, that she was convinced I wouldn’t be there for. The look on her face at the back of the Church let me know that the surprised worked).

While in tenure and in retrospect, the most common thing I was asked by South African's while I was enjoying my escape was "What brought you to South Africa?". It wasn't simply asked as a point of interest for their own lost soul minds - it was deeper than that... it was asked with conviction and intrigue... as though a "why the fuck would anyone come to South Africa" type of mentality. Past the "Yes I know Bob from Canada" and the "We play Ice Hockey......... on ice" (I proudly do not) conversations, my routine response to this interrogation was initially repetitive.

"I really don't know." Is all I had to say. And so I must reflect.

Why did I go to South Africa? I look back in my life and try to think when this attempt at sovereignty and democracy came onto my radar of self-growth. While at a loss, I think I equate it to youth when we had an exchange teacher from Australia and the hype of the masses was "I want to go to Australia" (No offense Jess - I will make it there someday!).... and I basically thought, 'well shit - if everyone's going to Australia - I'm going to go somewhere else' (I've always had a comfortable level of self-recluse). If memory serves me correctly - I spun a globe at the tender age of seven or eight, and with a crushing impact, I wiped out 10,000 elephants with my pre-pubescent index finger. I landed on South Africa.

Shit - that was twenty years ago. WTF happened to the last two decades? Will I find a woman to marry - and not only marry, but actually enjoy her company and conversation three more decades down the road - will my business that has made me barely a pot to piss in over three years finally grow wings and fly - will I rid my life of the excess mental and physical baggage that's held on for far too long - will I lose friends or gain friends or both - will family members fall ill while in absence???????? It was time for change.

Two decades just like that. Where the hell does time go exactly (I think it goes where my socks go after laundry - that seemingly non-existent vortex that exists in all of our homes). If I had the past twenty years worth of anecdotes (minus certain suppressed videotapes) on paper - in a hundred years, some Oke would read through it and say "Hey - this guy had a pretty fucking cool life". So many questions unanswered - so many things to remember - so many things to experience. I visit with my parents and state - "Hey - if I die overseas, I had a pretty fucking cool life". No Remorse - No Regrets. And I go.

Now I must admit that a big part of my going to South Africa was due to the fact that I have an amazing circle of South African friends, all in Toronto, who have been some of the most hospitable people I've ever met in life. Most are 25 years my elder, but I have relations with them as though we blew up frogs in Gerber baby food jars, shot windows out of (supposedly) dead automobiles with pellet guns, paddle-whacked freshmen and defied authority together as youth. And maybe that's just it. A very special thank you with much love goes to Gill & James who provided me their family’s hospitality while living.

For those who read this and know me - I'm a bit of an anomaly from the social norm in life. I believe I live my life with proper morals and justifications. I'm a Humanist by nature and if religion falls to factor, I wrote the book on atheism.... and whatever your beliefs are - mine are my own and I have never needed any justification for who I am or where I am going. It's the in betweens that raise questions. I've never feared death - for that is a constant - I used to fear life - but now I embrace it and cautiously welcome it’s mysteries. My SA friends share this mentality and their predisposed caring for friends and family while maintaining an intellectual awareness of the planet's issues has never fallen short of many a glass of proper Scotch shared over deep philosophical conversations into the wee hours of the morn'.

"Well I think it's fine, building jumbo planes. Takin' a ride on a cosmic train"

Christ... I'm sitting in my car on King St. in Kingston, Ontario Canada after my local [office] bar has closed and given me the boot. My trusty laptop is in hand sterilizing my parent's preconceived grandchildren as I type... The car is shaking like mad as a windstorm is coming into town. Cat Steven's and Bread are playing and I'm envisioning a world much different than where I sit. I miss South Africa.

I experienced some amazing things... scenery, people, culture, cuisine. I saw some atrocious things... scenery, people, poverty and death. I drank with the rich and I drank with the poor and I drank with everyone in between. When Georgia went to Korea and I spent far too much time learning of the country - I picked up that a Korean businessman will not sign a contract with you until he has brought you out for an evening of drinking wine, for being inebriated on wine brings out the angels and the devils of a person.... I'd never argue that. The white people of this country are tired... oh so tired. They and their grandparents before them were raised in a world of Apartied. They grew with a commonwealth-dictatorship'esque mentality. They employed the kalfer's in farm - they shot the kalfer's in war - they sent their children to school with the kalfer children. They're all racist in their own way but all fear the day Nelson Mandela dies for he is the known savior of their nation. They're wrongfully convicted in a rightfull way and that is how it is. The importance is that they see change happening and they welcome it - but they know it isn't for their generation. What are Kalfer's today are educated decent law-abiding integrated humans tomorrow - and I will be happy to see that day come. They want to leave a better world for their children - and no one can argue that.

As I sat today for hours at the Aykroyd’s telling them of all my stories, Peter, purely for debate purposes, posed this valid question into the conversation (and I paraphrase):

“The children in your photographs. We presume they need international help. We presume they’re poor when compared to our standard of living. Yet, they are all smiling and their faces are filled with happiness. Are they really poor? Do they really need our assistance or are we really displacing them by intervening with the only way of life they know.”

An important observation and one that I asked myself several times while amidst their impoverished lives. For those who are not aware, I sit on the FDC (Fund Development Committee) for a Canadian NGO, Street Kids Internationals that has field workers in the poorest nations around the planet including SA. For the past few years, I have been responsible for raising ten’s of thousands of dollars to aide in the education of street children in hopes that they would not be pulled into a life full of addiction, prostitution and crime. I’ve spent countless hours sitting at the boardroom tables of the tallest towers in this country talking and talking about how to make change but not actually making change. I’ve been guest to dinner of the most powerful CEO in the country who runs the world’s largest and most profitable bank. I’ve sat there at the table with him and others behind gold lined windows and discussed how to bring change to these places as we ate catered meals worth hundreds of dollars… but we were just talking and we were not doing. Maybe it’s the activist blood in me from my parents countless years of unionizing work forces across the continent and participating in rallies where my father had barricaded himself inside Centennial College when I was four as thousands held their arm chains outside singing ‘Solidarity Forever’ (I forget what the cause was)… whatever it is – I welcome change and have always been prepared to make change. Change happens…whether we like it or not, we live in a multicultural diverse world with a global economy and change is happening everywhere… it up to us individuals whether or not we make the time to be part of change, big or small. We can be content with our day-to-day lives as we see fit – but I really think that it is our responsibility to get involved and make change. If so many years ago, the Dutch then the English properly annexed South Africa and eradicated the blacks from South Africa as they so successfully did with the Indian’s (First Nations) from North America – then yes, the problems there wouldn’t be a need for social reform (as the case can be applied to pretty much every colonized country in Africa, minus the French Colonies). But that isn’t the case – and yes, these people have been displaced of their hunter gathering lifestyle of only a hundred or so years ago… and yes they really are poor and yes it is up to us to “intervene” with their miserable lifestyles that our freedom and democracy has been built upon… Or we can adopt the mindset of the United States’ Foreign Policy for South Africa…. “Let them destroy themselves and when they do, we will claim the land for ourselves”. Don’t kid yourself – Canada is very much on their foreign policy agenda as well – and they’re all in favour of Quebec’s separations so they can walk in.

Okay – I kind of went off on a rant there.

Long in the short – being responsible for raising all of this aide for overseas, I had no real idea what or who I was raising this money for. Sure I’ve read the pamphlets and watched the amateur videos – but I really needed to experience it first hand. I went on my own accord and dime – not wanting to have the agenda of Street Kids over top of me… and while there, Marissa was good enough to put my mind at ease. “What you are able to do back in Canada – raising all of that money – it’s no more or less important that the person who is doing the front line work in the cities with the youth… but you are able to raise that money and we are not – so raise that money you must”. Thank you Marissa for putting that in context for me. I guess that I did need a little justification after all.

Lastly, I needed a break, a breakaway from my routine entrepreneurial life. An escape – an out-door from the concrete jungle that I somehow got stuck in more than seven years when I was hitch hiking to the west. A getaway to re-evaluate my business and how to succeed while outside of the eyes of success. I needed to be free of pressure and demand to put the train back on the tracks. I needed to rid myself of horrible business partners that fucked me for tens of thousands of dollars in revenue. And I got it. I’m now out of Toronto and though I miss it and my friends there and may eventually wind up back - I saw my exit door towards change and I had to take it. Surprisingly, I’m coping quite well, being of “no fixed address”…

So that’s about it.

Two days prior to departure, the town of Umtentweni threw me a 'till next time' party. A porkie was cooked, people broke their schedules to share in drink and meandering speech. People were there to say 'so long' to me. It was then that I knew I had a family in this foreign land that only 6-weeks prior was uncharted earth with strange inhabitants in my journey of life... and these people, whatever their convictions, religions, sins or short-comings were, they were my friends and they will remain that so long as I am here.

I went to South Africa for a plethora of reasons - most unknown, but the time I spent - and the time I spent alone - allowed me to answer the questions to which I knew the answers all along. Namely one and one alone...

...I am me... this is my life.

The Road to Rhodes

2005-08-29T15:45:00.000-07:00

Well I've had two days to recover and can finally reflect on the equally great and insane trip I had to Tiffendell Ski Resort.

Despite others wanting to entertain, Wednesday night was called early as I thought a full-night's sleep would be best before the unknown drive that was ahead of me. When I first woke at 4am, I was rather unhappy as I had to chase a robber off a ladder that he was using to scale the side of my house. You would think that if you're using an aluminum ladder at 4am to break-in somewhere, you'd be as quiet as possible. That was the 2nd attempted burglary after the night I was robbed. Apparently the road I'm staying on has had over a dozen break-in's over the past week. These guys are bloody relentless.

In hindsight, chasing the robber with my knife probably wasn't the smartest thing - as who knows what could have happened (read back to my 'bringing a knife to a gun fight comment')... but this was the first time I realized that I had no idea how to phone the police. Since then, a neighbor has provided me with his phone number and said if it happens again - no matter the time - he'll come over and shoot the guy off the ladder. Tempting... but I don't think I'll call.

I slept with one eye open for another three or four hours before departing.

Having my fair share of mountain driving experience, I was smart and held off on using my laptop for music until I needed it. After the amount of times I've now listened to that Roy Oribison tape, I'm either A) his biggest fan or; B) ready to jam screw drivers through my ears.

I passed through many small hubs where I witnessed chickens being slaughtered in the streets and goats being dragged by raddy bicycles home for supper. My finger moved to the window button as ensured all doors were locked as I crept through these towns with every single persons eyes staring at me. I was definitely the interloper... and then, I came to a fork in Maclear.

With two road maps in tote, I contemplated which path to take. The paved road goes around the Drakensberg but looks like it's about 300km longer than the 100km pass through the mountains. Hmmmmm. Being someone who typically doesn't follow the crowd - I opt for the road less travelled and my adventure begins.

Within 15-minutes of my departure from Maclear it becomes evident that I won't be seeing any form of civilization for quite some time. The roads shift from pavement to dirt to path within a couple miles and I look to my gas gauge to ensure I won't be getting stuck out here. My speed drops from 120km/h to 20km/h. The time has come for my digital jukebox.

With sun shining bright and me needing a tan (it's too windy back on the beach), I decide to do something I don't think I've ever done - I pull over, strip down, crank up some Bobba O'Reilly and climb back in the buckie. Try not to get any visuals there - but I will say if you ever get the chance or inclination to drive naked through the mountains with The Who blasting at top volume - I highly recommend you do it, it's pretty damn liberating.

Despite the path being less than ideal for driving, I take my time and absorb as much of the scenery as I possibly can. There is nothing out here - not even animals and I have found a bit of solitute where my brain can be turned off... but it becomes short lived.

An hour or two into my journey something happened that forcibly switched my brain into overdrive. Maintaining my 20km/h speed, I'm climbing a ridge through something known as Naudes Nek Pass. While breath-taking in scenery, if one cares to look over the edge, you would see many vehicles randomly littering the valley floor some 500-750m below. This road is barely wide enough to hold the width of a vehicle and one wrong move means joining the rotting vehicles below - definitely a sign that one must pay full attention to driving. No worries - I'm in a 4x4 and being extremely cautious. But what happens when only 100 feet infront of you, you witness a fair-sized boulder fall from the sky and take out part of your path? First - you stop your vehicle... then you climb out... then you turn your head up the mountain - then down to impact site - then up - then down. You repeat this motion several times and decide it's best to get the hell out of Dodge before another one lands on you. I paused long enough to take a quick photo of the 1-m wide chunk of road that was no longer and barely squeezed the truck between the drop and the rocks beside me (see my pic site on Flickr - 'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road'). I can't help to think what might have happened had I not stopped to rip my clothes off way back when.

Eventually I made it to the top of the pass - 6300 feet I've climbed now and more than ready to descend. I traverse around another ridge and finally see signs of life - sheep. and more sheep - and even more sheep.

(see http://www.powderpatrol.com/safrica/2005%20-%200825%20-%20Sheep%20Herding.avi)

If I never see another sheep in my life - I'll be very content - just put it on my plate, thanks. I crawl the twisty windy path back down the far side of the pass and when I finally reach the valley base, I happen upon a small memorial that holds the names in stone of all those who didn't make it over. I was lucky enough to be able to submit my name in the 'survivor box'. Phew... let's take the paved road when we head back.

With the sun peaking behind the mountains, I climb my way up some more crazy roads until after 7.5hrs of driving, I reach Tiffendell (clothed). Holy crap - you really can ski in South Africa! (I think that I had forgotten I was heading to a ski resort by this time).

I won't elaborate too much on the resort itself as I don't want to reitterate everything I'm writing for the Ski Canada Mag article - but it was a pleasant place. Where they lacked in snow - they made up for in fun. Highlights included the 'Upside Downer' - where you are strapped into ski boots and hung from skis mounted on the celine. The object is to do situps and for each one - a shot of tequila is consumed. The male record holder is 54 - damn that's sick. Luckily, I was blessed with large feet - (and you know what they say about that?) the bindings wouldn't accommodate my ski boots so I was spared this 'exercise'. The other big event here is the Polar Bear Dip - which to South African's is probably one of the bravest things they can do - but for us Canadians, jumping naked into a body of freezing water before rolling in the snow and streaking the bar is almost an everyday occurence. C'mon guys - this isn't even challenging!

The skiing was great and the people were extremely hospitible, and while you'd never fly to South Africa to go skiing - if you are here, it's worth the trek in just for the experience.

I left after the rugby match on Saturday - bloody All Blacks won by a hair. The drive home, while not extremely life threatening was exhausting as I dodged so many horses, ox, cows, goats, pigs, sheep, dogs and people that believe the road is just an extension of a plain. I think in total, my roadkill count from this drive stands at:

3-sheep
4-horses
7-cattle
12-dogs
17-goats

What I found especially interesting was the amount of left-overs from the violence during the fall of apartied that still existed - especially considering most of the violence (or so I thought) never reached these extremely rural communitites... around the towns layed the ruins of burned out buildings and vehicles that have been all but forgotten. Also of note were the cemetries on the outskirts of the settlements, where it was apparent that AIDS was in full swing. Fields upon fields of fresh graves - literally hundreds if not thousands in a few areas - and all bodies being buried above ground in heaps of red and black soil. I took a couple photos on 35mm at a smaller one - but felt it was in my own best interest not to hang out in these areas as I have no knowledge of the burial rituals of the Xhosa and Zulu. If people are falling like flies quicker than they can be buried, I feared that it was literally flesh under soil and didn't want to be near any air born diseases that might be prevelant.

9-hours later and one last horrible experience that I don't care to publish, and I was home again. Ahhhh the coast.

Jeremy spoke in class, today.

2005-08-24T16:47:00.000-07:00

Before I get started, I must share this link that my bro just sent me regarding restocking the American plains with (now) African species that haven't been indigenious on North America for 14,000 years. Lions, cheetahs and elephants - coming to a flat in Arizona near you!

http://www.sciam.com/article.cfm?chanID=sa003&articleID=000CB945-A935-1303-A93583414B7F0000

Alright - so my last post I was stating how I didn't care if the 3 other day trips panned out and how all I wanted to do was crash. It's amazing how a bit of loud Megadeth on the way home can alter your awakened state. Crush 'Em and I pull into Quencher's. There are only 6 people sitting at the bar and there is no music - instead, these lonely souls are all singing renditions of Cat Steven's, Bread, Cohen and other great artists. Before I can reach the jail-cell like door, everyone has already spotted me and I'm greated with a semi-concurrent slighty-inhiberated "Jeremy!". You want to go where people know, people are all the same. Wouldn't you like to go where everybody knows your name? haha.

I have only one beer (quart) spread over the next 2 hours here, initially joining in on the singing then into talking with everyone at various times. The night ends with the new barmaid Lisa and myself sitting on the front porch for an hour after the bar is locked shut. This girl definitely has issues of her own and was searching hard for the answers at the bottoms of many bottles tonight (needless to say - the answers are never there, but it can be a nice hide-out from time to time!). Anyway - now asleep on my lap - I think "shit - how am I going to get her home?". I know she lives in a flat among many flats only 300m from the bar - so I carry her to the buckie, throw her and her belongings in and drive her home. I attempt for a while to wake her - but no good. Christ, now I'm stuck with a comatosed woman. I pull open her eyelid and tell her I'm taking her home.

Fast-forward to the next morning. After an extremely uncomfortable sleep, trying to protect my side of the bed with this lifeless body next to me, I gently wake her saying "aren't you supposed to work at 9?" (it's 8:40am). She opens her eyes, looks around and I just know what her brain was thinking... "Where the hell am I - how the hell did I get here - who the hell are you - what in hell did we do last night?!?!?!" I don't think I've had one of those since I was a teenager... Luckily she recognizes me pretty quick and hiding her embarassement and puzzled mind I drive her to work. Sitting at the bar with my coffee, I await for her to finally ask the question... "What did we do last night?" to which I stare at her convictingly long enough for her face to turn south before finally letting her know that nothing happened, other than me stretching (the wrong) muscle carrying her to and from the buckie. I think she's probably still hungover - and I'm feeling 200%, it's a beautiful day....for me anyway :).

The fate believers and their "everything happens for a reason" fell into place here - as without all of that happening, there would be no way I would have been in a pub at 9am (I watched an older guy polish off a bottle of Bells Scotch before 10:30am....sick). And had I not been in the pub at 9am - I don't think I would have had the very unplanned invite to the days proceedings.

By 2pm we were into Alex's farm again - this time there were 9 of us... including two police officers who took a couple of nice firearms and a tonne of ammo with. We spent the next 3.5 hours blowing off some 1500 rounds through 9mm's (first time I've ever shot a pistol in my life), R5's and a black powder muzzel loader. The 9mm was a lot of fun, just because it was a pistol, the muzzel loader was neat, but would never want to go to battle with one - and the R5.....woah boy.... this submachine gun was so awesome... in rifle mode, the accuracy was just bloody impressive... I was shooting with about 80-90% accuracy at 400m. In fully automatic mode, well, screw accuracy and just hold the trigger - yee haw! The R5 along with the AK47 were the major assault guns during the escalated violence here in the 90's. Today the R5 is a police assault rifle and the AK47 illeagal (though there are thousands in existence of which I could buy one within 2 hours for only R100 [C$20]) .

Here are three video's of me going commando (no - not taking my underwear off!):

http://www.powderpatrol.com/safrica/0823%20-%2011%20-%20Jeremy%20with%20R5.avi

http://www.powderpatrol.com/safrica/0823%20-%2012%20-%20Jeremy%20with%20R5.avi

http://www.powderpatrol.com/safrica/0823%20-%2015%20-%20Jeremy%20with%20R5%20Full%20Auto.avi

What a day it was... if nothing else, a great time and a great stress reliever. I've never been a huge fan of guns, but when in Rome.

I'm contemplating many a thing right now - mostly - how much I'm going to miss the infamous birthday cakes that Jacqlyn always bakes for me on my birthday.... relationships, place of residence upon my return.... those and how to raise capital for my company when I'm back....fuck sake... tomorrow's 6-7 hour drive into Tiffendell will probably give my brain some much welcomed breathing room away from technology and locals. LET'S GO SKIING! WOO HOO! Will be out-of-touch until I'm back in Tweni on Saturday night.

Imagine all the people...

2005-08-22T21:25:00.000-07:00

I meant to post something meaningful today, as quite a bit has happened over the past week, but long in the short, I've been sitting at this bar for 10 -hours working and sorting luggage of life, and my eyes are growing heavy.

Reader's digest version.

This past weekend drove to Durban with a friend, James. Another friend, Werner (professional Rugby player) arranged us 2 box seat tickets at the Durban Rugby Stadium for the Sharks vs. Leopard's game. The box was called 'Coyote Ugly' and as the title applies - just like the movie - it was nothing short of a tonne of hot women dancing on the bar counters in tight skimpy clothing. I even managed to watch a bit of the game believe it or not - Sharks slaughtered the Leopard's.

For the perverts in the house, a tasteful video is here:

http://www.powderpatrol.com/safrica/0819%20-%2006%20-%20Girls%20on%20Bar.avi

(it's amazing how women dance when a video camera comes out).

Luckily I paced myself as I always do - and was pretty much stone cold sober all night... James on the other hand - well, I've never seen a guy hold up a bar for that many consecutive hours in my life. We finally made it home at 8am after sleeping on the side of the highway for a couple hours....and I spent the next 12-hours fighting sleep as people spray painted my head for hospice (despite the pleas, I would not shave my head again... never ever again).

I've spent a lot of the past week working my ass off - haven't gone out to too many places, though I'm still awaiting both the day at the police field range, some deep sea fishing and supposedly an Aardwolf (similiar to an anteater) hunt to come through, but quite frankly, I don't care if none of them do... I have a lot of priorities to look after.

After much bartering with the ski resort, Tiffendell, I finally managed them to give me free accommodations, ski rentals and 'all that jazz' (chya chya - love that album) in exchange for me writing a decent article on them that Ski Canada Magazine has already agreed to print this season.. watch for 'Places You'd Never Ski' by yours truly. They wanted to charge me R6500 (C$1300) for a 4-day stay at the resort (like hell!) - it took me 3 hard lines but they finally knocked it down to ZERO. I guess I posses better negotiation skills than I sometimes believe I do. So I'm heading up there Thursday morning and will come back Saturday or Sunday... they better get some more snow - and judging by this tropical storm that I'm currently sitting in - they just might. I'm sure to have some near death experiences on the roads there and back. If I run over any goats or cows - I'll send the meat home.

I'm definitely welcomed here - going to many people's homes for great cooked meals (better than my own cooking abilities of corn flakes and smarties) but I must say I am extremely uncomfortable at the amount of young attractive wives that want to bed me - and seem to be encouraged by their older husbands who simply aren't interested in sex. Sure it sounds like a slice of heaven, but really it's weirder than any shit I've ever read in a Stephen King novel when experiencing it first hand. Maybe I'll write a pseudo-sexual-horror novel based on some propositions I've had here. I don't expect any single male friends to understand - but man it's creepy.

I have lots of crazy stories that are almost Hollywoodesque - but don't have the energy to share them right now. One thing I will mention, is that if you ever read a little sidebar back home in the papers about a "minor cholera outbreak" somewhere in Africa - well - let's just say that it is probably some redneck farmer who has just murdered about 20-40 blacks by "tainting their water" because he was sick of them coming onto his property. Who the fuck stocks cholera is beyond me - but that's one of the worst and sickest anecdotes I've been told first-hand (and I have more). Despite some previous posts - believe me, racism is alive and well in this country (Indian's hate the blacks, the blacks hate the whites, white's hate everyone - especially the blacks). Before you know it - this place will go the way of Godobi's Zimbabwe...sad.

I'll try to post next about how almost every single white male here has at least one confirmed kill to their name (the highest I've met so far is a guy with 34.... just bloody nuts).

Time for this guy to go pass out.

Hardy Har Harding

2005-08-15T00:20:00.000-07:00

What a piss fest this weekend was.

Waking up early Friday morning, I met Alex, Walter (Adolf) the German Chef and Duncan over at Quencher's for 9am. We strapped a trailer onto the buggie and drove for a couple hours through the mountains until we reached the tiny hamlet of Harding (for those native to small towns and events such as The Ompah Stomp or Tweedfest, then you can begin to see where this story is going).

After we erected a huge military tent, we setup a full kitchen to feed the people of this farming town. Then into the evening, we joined parties with everyone at the local Country Club where I was introduced to one of the oddest charitable events I've ever seen.

Every booth space holder at the agricultural fair was there as were the white towns people. As the evening progressed, an auctioneer kept adding company names to the chalkboard with monetary amounts beside each. The object - to get as much in donations as possible. The beneficiary - everyone who had a capable liver. By the end of the night, there had been R32,000 raised (C$6,400) and of that, R14,000 (C$2,800) had been consumed. Luckily, I was quite high from over dosing on antihystimine cream and pills so I didn't partake in the festivities too much - with one exception.

As you will see in this video (4.5MB),

http://www.powderpatrol.com/safrica/0813%20-%2001%20-%20Girl%20Breathing%20Fire.avi

, there was a girl in the club who was breathing fire - which was pretty damn cool. So after watching this a couple times, I went up to her and asked her to do it one more time so I could video it. I went to the bar and ordered a glass of 'Straw Rum' - 80% proof. She took a small sip of the 3 or 4 shot drink, and after fumbling with a dead zippo - she shot a 3 foot flame from her lips. Woo hoo! I was so impressed... except I didn't know that as part of me getting her to do this - I had to drink the glass.

Now I don't know if we have straw rum in Canada - I've definitely never heard of it, but then again I live a sheltered life. Apparently this drink was devised by the Austrian's to keep them warm during cold winters... well, this stuff doesn't keep you warm - it literally rapes your insides of everything you've got. It was the most vile shit I've ever had in my mouth and unless I can master the flame blowing trick - I'll never go near it again, and highly recommend that no one else does either...learn from my mistake.

We eventually retired to a caravan type trailer and passed out. At or around 4:30am, I awoke to some woman shaking me saying "C'mon Let's Go! It's Shooter Time!" and as much as thoroughly enjoy being woken up by women I don't know in foreign lands, my eyelids kept closing until she eventually left.

The next day was pretty much communal lethargy across the fair grounds as people struggled to operate their heavy machinery.

After another evening of mass consumption and some great dancing, I pulled myself into our tent around 4-5am and upon seeing 10 bodies laying on all exposed ground, I decided that car camping was more my style - so I retired to the front seat of the Pathfinder and paid some guy R10 (C$2) to guard my truck and me for the night with his 303 Rifle (the entire perimetre was being guarded by armed personnel with automatic weapons).

I awoke on Sunday to find that my co-campers who passed out much earlier than I, decided to have some fun with me (not the first time, and won't be the last in life I'm sure). As my eyes opened, I saw red - and not the vengeful murderous kind but more of the boquet of roses type. As my eyes wided, I saw that I was covered head-to-toe in roses... they were in my pockets, my belt line, my chest, my shoes - everywhere. Apparently I was in one of my coma sleeps as I had no knowledge of anyone doing this - will try to get my hands on the photos I knew were taken. At the end of it - I don't think I've ever smelled so fresh after a night of car camping in all my days...hahaha.

The day started and ended with a 120 person Enduro (sp?) bike race lasting some 75km through eucalyptus forests...

At the end of the day - despite it being a great weekend - I think everything that happened I could have achieved simply by driving to Sharbot Lake, ON instead of Harding, KwaZulu-Natal - but whatever - was nice to meet the farmers and learn more of the big business tree farming here.

Here are a few other videos from Hluhluwe (biggest is 16MB)

http://www.powderpatrol.com/safrica/0802%20-%2018%20-%20White%20Rhino.avi

http://www.powderpatrol.com/safrica/0802%20-%2022%20-%20Warthogs.avi

http://www.powderpatrol.com/safrica/0802%20-%2051%20-%20Monkey%20Movie.avi

Tick Tick Tick

2005-08-13T10:03:00.000-07:00

Well I did come down with something, but it wasn't tick bite fever like I had previously thought... it was more of an allergic reaction to the pepper ticks I think (dust mites are my only known allergy and the reaction I went through was near identical). I have posted a couple pictures of what my legs currently look like as a result of these damn things... check em out at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/campjer/

On top of the crazy ticks, which I'm almost positive I picked up in Hluhluwe Imfolozi, at some point along the way, I managed to get bit by an apparent spider as well - though after spending some time searching online, I can't be sure whether it is or not. The mark left behind is pretty crazy - not as offensive as the ulcer like marks left by pepper ticks, but my body has developed a bit of a swelling around it (though it's now going down) and I can see what appears to be a trail of the venom extending 3 inches out from the inital puncture. The most common spider bite here is the black widow - but given that I can still walk and breathe, I'm sure it wasn't that. If we have any aracnophiles in the house - please speak up.

Kriss-Kross Will Make You...

2005-08-10T18:00:00.000-07:00

Just when I think my internal clock has adjusted, I find it’s four in the morning and I’m ready to start my day, though it could be that I’m coming down with something – probably just a cold from proving to these blokes that Canadian’s are tough.

The past day brought me to recognizing my limits as a human being. After waking up on four hours of sleep, an empty stomach and mild nausea from from a few pints, I went to the Kapenta Bay Resort where the manager, Dean, and his wife, brought me on a tour of the property. The resort is highly interested in joining my golf company to have us promote the golf (not Gulf) coast back in Canada.

Once business was complete and I took advantage of the only WIFI hotspot on the coast (finally!), Dead his wife and I drove up to Oribi for a tour of the hotel and conference center. Then, well… then we went to the Oribi Swing.

Thinking, by all the stories I’ve heard, that I was going to walk right into this was an extreme misjudgment on my part. The Oribi Swing is the highest gorge swing in the world. For those who have been to Canada’s Wonderland and see the bungi swing – you can understand the pendulum science involved. Now I’ve done the Wonderland Swing a couple of times, but there you are hoisted 30-metres or so and dropped into the fall. At Oribi, it’s a slight bit different.

Passing over the R300 and signing off on the next-of-kin form, I strapped on the harness and climbed down a ladder to a rock platform some few hundred metres above the forest floor. With safety ropes strapped I was given the brief instructions of how to handle the bungi rope. As he spoke to me, I stared out at the 100m-arc in front and tunnel vision started to set in.

Within a couple minutes, the safety rope was released and I leaned back to take the weight of the cable, which pulls you forward. My toes on the edge, I look down to see a “comedic” chalk outline of a body way down on the rocks. What a confidence instiller!

Heart pounding, knees shaking and brain spinning – the countdown echoes through the corridor – 3…2…1…JUMP! And I don’t. A family, though specs in the distance echo it back - 3…2…1…JUMP! And I don’t.

I eventually back off and ask the instructor to go – which he gladly does. Within a couple seconds, he jumps up and I see his body disappear. Looking back over the edge, I see an ant on a piece of fine hair flying over the trees. Holy fucking keerist!

He’s hoisted back up by a power winch five-minutes later and I attempt to finish the job. Just as I gear myself up psychologically, a flash rainfall hits me sideways – screw this – I’m not jumping in the rain!

So I bail, climbing up the wet rocks and ladder and leaving my dignity below. I sit at the stoner shack above and my body continued to shake for hours after.

While I have some pictures and video, I’m almost reluctant to post them as the embarrassment from this is great (I’m glad the black marker scribed ‘chicken’ on my hand eventually washed off!).

I’ve never felt that level of adrenalin in my life – I’m sure that if my heart could have beat much faster, it would have exploded. It’s still beating rapidly now some sixteen-hours later.

Well it’s official – I have a bug in my system and it’s not a cold – I really hope it’s nothing serious. Since starting this journal entry, I’ve dashed to the lieu seven times. This sucks big time. I haven’t watched television in two-weeks (minus a rugby match), but I think it’s best that I attempt to pass out to this (true???) account of Sarah Jordan – a humanitarian who was killed in Chechenia in the late 90’s. Food for thought.

Monday, Monday - Can't Trust That Day.

2005-08-08T12:05:00.000-07:00

First off, here is a video (large) that I took just after my first elephant charge and before the herd coming at me:

http://www.powderpatrol.com/safrica/0802%20-%2031%20-%20Angry%20Elephant.avi

Well today is a national holiday... apparently it's 'Women's Day' where women take off from work to remind all the men how much they're needed in the work place. Don't anyone get any ideas about bringing this back home! haha.

And speaking of women - today is me Ma's birthday - Happy Birthday Ma! Hope you enjoy it to it's fullest.

I spent the day yesterday walking down the beach until I hit the river where Chaka-Zulu started his assault on the Xhosa some time back. It was such a beautiful day, and walking along the edge of the ocean with barely a breeze was just what I needed. 6-hours later I returned after seeing lots of different marine species stuck in the mini-pools that form on natural break waters... was pretty cool.

My place was busted into a few days ago - and they got the TV and an [empty] safe... when the police came, I almost busted a gut holding in laughter as this 6'8" HUGE black police officer opens his mouth and all that comes out is a very high pitched tiny girly sounding voice... how that hell does this guy get taken serious in his line of work? You kind of had to be there - but it was great. I'm sleeping with my knife under my pillow now... just incase.

So Alex wants to setup an overnight camping trip at his farm... should be awesome. Might get a chance to shoot some monkey's... I wonder if you can eat these ones? Actually I doubt I could shoot a monkey - I'll just do target practice.

Last night, I met a great couple who have a house out in Tiffendale - where my supposed ski resort is supposed to be. After speaking with him and his wife for hours, Mike finally said "Hey - wanna come up"... what took him so long? So he and I are going to do the drive (which has gained another 2 hours from everyone else's guesstimation) this week. Skiing is Africa - sweet. I've also had invites from a couple other people to take part in a few excursions, including deep sea fishing and a Shark's Rugby Match in Durban - but I am still waiting for this to materialize. (Todd - did you see the Bok's kick the All Black's ass on Saturday? No one here could believe it either!)

Not a whole lot else going on... except Sean's place in Toronto got messed up after a photolab underneathe it blew up on your long weekend... luckily they weren't there and everyone is okay...

Well it's noon here... time to go find some chow.

Isn't it Ironic - I ate the crocodile!

2005-08-05T05:24:00.000-07:00

So what can I say... I woke up extremely early - didn't sleep worth shit last night (this sleep deprevation thing is growing old real quick), pretty much just tossed and turned and thought about stuff too much - so this morning, I get in the truck and start driving again... driving + good music = awesome therapy.

An hour or two later I find myself down at the tip of the South Coast (not the true South Coast, but the region known as South Coast). I drove through so many banana fields - it would make jump on the table and start beating your chest. They wrap the bananas in some sort of fabric to keep the monkey's off - so I didn't even bother taking any pictures.

On my way back from I believe it was Port Edward, I came across a crocodile farm where some schmuck has hundreds and hundreds of nile crocodiles. After seeing the size of the adults (check my Flickr site for pix) I was really happy that I didn't run into any in Hluhluwe Imfolozi or I might not be typing this (well, maybe with my nose). These things were huge! I couldn't believe that the only thing between them and me was a 4" concrete wall that stood maybe 4-feet high... I mean, c'mon.

After I went through the interprative centre and learned about what fascinating reptiles these guys are - I decided to eat one. And it was yummy. Fried banana & crocodile steak... damn it was good - and the portion was enough for a, well... crocodile! It filled me right up. Tim - I picked you and Izzy up something real cool while on this journey - so pick me up at the airport whenever I come home and I'll give it to ya's.

Other than that - not a lot going on. I'm actually feeling like I could head home now - probably because I feel that there are priorities to look after on the homefront, that even while good intentions are here to take care of them - I just can't get into a routine (hard to do when you have to pass Quencher's everyday).... I think another thing - is that for some reason, I chose to travel single, to a major beach/holiday town - during their winter... so not only are there no hot women around - there is no one of my peer group either... kinda sucks. Though I did find a town today called Margate that looks a bit more happening... too bad all the hot young women get married to grandpa's so early in life... not really the place for a handsom bachelor like me ;)

Anyway...that's it for now... not sure if there'll be too many more crazy experiences on this journey - unless my plane bursts into flames on the way home...but what are the odds of that happening ??? ;) haha.

Cheers All.

ps: HAPPY 28th BIRTHDAY BITCH (Sean know's this is for him --- send me an updated pic of Ella please)

4 Wheelin' - S.African Style

2005-08-03T06:12:00.000-07:00

Today was a real treat. I woke up not wanting to set foot near a vehicle, but I had an appointment to keep with Alex from Quenchers. Him, James (a young sugarcane farmer) and myself loaded the truck with beer, meat and firewood then headed into the hills.

When I was first invited to ‘The Farm’ by Alex and his wife, I conjured up images of a Montana’esque ranch by the river with your nearest neighbor a half-day hike away. I was right about the neighbor part.

We drove for miles and miles, never going above 30km/h along the craziest four-wheel path I’d ever been on. Over ridges and rivers, until we setup camp at one of the most breath-taking pieces of scenery I’d ever seen in my life. This is the exact piece of property I’ve always envisioned myself building on… and I may get the opportunity to do just that – even though I always thought it would be in British Columbia where I’d find this. 512 hectares on the second largest river in KwaZulu-Natal, at the base of a massive gorge with hill contours that are irrigable for growing many different crops.

We spent the entire day here discussing how to properly develop it and preserve it’s natural beauty.

I didn’t see either the black or green mamba or the puff adder, but soaring above at highest count were thirty-two cape vultures.

We cooked traditional brai meat on an open fire and enjoyed every second of it. Words can not describe this place so you’ll have to view my pictures to get a better idea of it.

Elephants - Cute but @#$% Deadly!

2005-08-02T06:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning I felt like driving – so I did. What originally was nothing more than an intended hour tour with just my music and open road, turned into a bit of a two-day journey.

Departing at 7am, I headed north along the coast until I hit Durban – South Africa’s 3rd largest city. While it was apparent at the beach that this place relies heavily on tourism during their summer – a few blocks uptown the streets and markets were very much alive.

I walked around for a long time looking to purchase some shorts and a shirt – which was a difficult task in mid-winter. Shop after shop failing, I finally located a Woolworth’s (I don’t think I’ve been in one of those since I was five!) which solved my dilemma.

It was a very interesting city – the world’s largest Indian population outside of India – and definitely a taste of coastal city culture, brief as it was.

Stomach fed and car karaoke voice watered – I proceeded to make my way further north until four hours later and a tonne of petro, I arrive at Hluhluwe Imfolozi, South Africa’s oldest game reserve [1895]. Being so late in the day, I decided not to venture out on Safari, with the exception of the 30km’s of mountain road I traveled into the breathtaking ‘Hilltop Lodge’.

My drive in, while giving me a taste of animals I’d see tomorrow, was nothing but a warm-up. I booked a rondavel, ate dinner with a nice couple from Seattle, and went to sleep.

This morning I woke up shortly after sunrise and after pulling two blood-thieving ticks out of my leg (that grossed me right the hell out) I loaded up the truck and continued my hunt for my monkeys.

While driving towards a crossing on the Mansiya river, I spotted a perfect photo opportunity of a beautiful white condor perched a top a tree directly in front of me. I climbed out of the truck and with my long lens ready for the capture, I began framing my [hopefully] award winning shot. Then – just as I begin to depress the shutter, the bird takes flight after a ruffle in the bushes scared it. Angry at missed opportunity – I turn my head towards the brush and immediately am frozen in shock as I stare at a bull white rhino in the face!

Terrified as I am, I couldn’t move for what seemed like hours. Is he going to charge me or just stare? If I move, is he provoked – if I don’t move – is he provoked? I finally muster up the balls to raise my camera – and sure enough, this massive beast snorts his nose and stomps the group – I don’t think I’ve jumped in a vehicle, started the engine and slammed the gas in such a fluid motion in my life! Collecting my composure just up the road (and checking t make sure I didn’t shit myself), I returned to get some pictures of this most impressive animal.

While filming his now relaxed guarded state, I realized why he was warding me off of his territory. Behind the bull was both a cow and calf rhino – damn – this was great!

I stayed and studied the family for probably half an hour – being much smarted than before. The baby was such a beautiful creature (I’m sure birthing one wouldn’t be a pleasant experience at all!). The three, in time, slowly disappeared into the thicket and I went about my way. Aside from hiking down a dry section of the riverbed and encountering a herd of buffalo and a few zebra, the rest of the early morning, though thoroughly enjoyable, was somewhat uneventful.

Two hours later, I arrived on the banks of the Hluhluwe River and while too far too approach, I found a mixed community of black rhino, wildebeest, zebra and warthog. I observed them for a while then traveled down to the river’s u-turn where I hiked through the semi-dry mud of the river bottom. I didn’t know this at the time, and while I never saw any – I was apparently walking through a highly populated area of Nile crocodiles – too bad, would’ve made some great pix.

Driving onwards around the Magwan and Gontshi mountain ranges, I encountered one bull elephant standing in the middle of my route. I watch with curiosity as this giant tore large trees right off their root bases – giving me real insight into how destructive these beasts are. Within 20-minutes, he moved from my path and allowed me to continue on. What waited me at my next stop was something I never would have imagined.

The path of destruction gave them away – there was no mistaking it. I looked into the veld to see trees dropping left, right and center. I heard how to government was culling elephants but having never seen more than two or four in a group, I couldn’t fathom how elephants could possibly over breed. Wow – what an eye opener! While I lost count several times, I think a conservative number for this herd would be 100. Bulls, cows, calf’s and teenagers like you wouldn’t believe. Everywhere I looked – more elephants.

I drove around the bend and within thirty-feet, a watering-hole proved a great social spot where some fifteen elephants of all ages were bathing themselves in mud, as another thirty eagerly waited their turn. I watched in awe as they played, wrestled and fought – all the time taking picture after picture. I probably spent two-hours spectating the elephants and a large herd of giraffe and zebra that were grazing just fifty-meters ahead.

As the saying goes – “three’s company, four’s a crowd” – and whatever the numbers were, it wasn’t long before I knew “I” was the crowd.

Part of the elephant herd, done with their bathing, decided to move onwards for grazing, except I was in their path. Guarding their young carefully – two adults told me to get out of their way – which I immediately adhered to. The mother and her child then walked by me up the path several meters.

Following them at a careful distance, the mother never took her eye off of me. Then, without any intended threat on my part, she lets out a thunderous scream and begins charging my vehicle. Heart pounding quicker than it ever has in life, I throw the gear into reverse and stomp on the gas, not caring if anything is behind me. I fly backwards about 100-feet and she stops – knowing I’m no match, and returns to her young. I barely collected myself and captured my thoughts on video when I hear another thunderous scream – I look in my rearview mirror and fuck me if I’m going to survive this. Four bull males are charging at me from behind – right out of a movie. While I try to breathe through the stomach lodged in my throat, I slam the vehicle into drive and floor it up the path – dodging the earlier threat and directly towards the herd of giraffe. The onslaught, realizing their victory, join the mother and child and leave me to reflect on my life. I thought the rhinos this morning scared the shit out of me – but I didn’t even know what that phrase meant until this moment. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so close to death – there’s something about being attacked by a herd of elephants and knowing that regardless of the hundred reserve troops in the bushes, that just one of these animals could have destroyed my vehicle, crushing me in a steel coffin (with reclining seats and power steering J ).

Later when I left the reserve, I saw a sign that I somehow missed on my way in. It read: “The elephants in these valley’s are EXTREMELY DANGEROUS! DO NOT APPROACH – DO NOT GET OUT OF YOUR VEHICLE – ALWAYS MAINTAIN A SAFE DISTANCE!”. Now I know.

After going through what I just had, I decided it was time to return for lunch. White Brian, Carrie (Seattle) and myself cooked lunch, the invasion began.

It started as all battles do – with a scout. He was sleek and clever – jumping branch-to-branch, not letting himself be seen, but we knew he was there. Within minutes, after the ‘all-clear’ signal was passed, they came, and they came, and came some more. Five, ten, twenty, forty or more strong. They jumped up at door handles, they pried open windows and they bounced from tree to car hood to picnic table to ground. At last – I finally had my monkeys!

Amazingly smart little creatures, humans’ presence didn’t phase them at all as they ransacked the rondavles, raped the kitchens and pillaged the waste bins. These guys wanted food and they were stopping at nothing to get it.

While others ran from their units and chased them, I sat on the lawn and laughed as these primates ran all around me in every direction. What a humourous way to top of the day!

Driving out at dusk, I was equally impressed with my experiences here and disappointed that I hadn’t seen any lions. I was almost willing to stay longer just do hunt down The King, but half an hour later, coming along side a ridge, I found them – not one, but two lions laying in the grass enjoying the sunset. Perfect.

With my computer battery nearing empty, I made the deadly night drive home through the burning sugarcane fields as Roy Oribison played over and over again.

How to water the ceiling...

2005-07-30T06:07:00.000-07:00

Just when you think you’ve seen everything, life throws you out something that you never would’ve even thought of.

Quenchers, my local watering hole and source of intellectual conversation (sometimes) is owned by a burly master of snakes and reptiles, Alex. He is about as bonafide a South African as the rural countryside can offer, without the extra two-feet of height that born and bred Africaans tower with.

Through Friday night, I was told by a local of Alex’s special ability, I was in half disbelief until last night – I saw it with my own two eyes… In the lieu, finishing my business at the trough, I hear Alex’s voice.

“Jeremy, do you understand rugby?”

“Hi Alex – yes – my brother used to play.”

I step to the sink and in my peripheral vision I see Alex back himself against the wall. Keep in mind here, we’re discussing the owner of the bar. As I lightly turn my head, I see this guy pissing up to the ceiling and basically hosing the entire roof and trough wall of the lieu! I couldn’t believe it!

“Are you coming to the farm Jeremy”, he asks as he continues his fountain.

Still a bit in awe at what this guy is doing, I finally respond with a yes. Alex owns a 512-hectare piece of land up past Eland, where he has dreams of building an educational eco/adventure-tourism retreat someday. So this coming Wednesday, I will be going deep into his property in search of both black and green mambas as well as the puff adder. Don’t worry – I’ll be sure to wrap all exposed skin and keep my distance from every breed I might encounter. Alex has miraculously survived the black mamba’s venom twice – though I have nothing to prove to anyone on this excursion. I heard that after each time he was bit – he killed, cooked and fed the snake to unsuspecting guests!

All that insaneness aside, I’ve been acquiring quite a bit of knowledge about the complete history of politics in this young maturing country. Before I get started though, I will state that every white man (and woman) has the answers to all of the country’s problems – but none are willing to do a damn thing about it – and maybe it’s because they are just that – white.

One can try to understand the racial tension here – but it’s not all, excuse the pun, black and white. When Mandela was released from prison then shortly later became the first black president in South Africa, white rule and apartheid came to an end. After more than a hundred years of white rule, it was now time for the black population to have a chance.

Since 1995, with the new government in full power – a new type of discrimination has come to light, and it’s not in the day-to-day interactions of the white, black, coloured and Indian’s who inhabit the land – it’s in the form of affirmative-action, a mandate directed from the residing government and carried out through the provinces.

For the most part, I haven’t encountered much racism on either side of the white and black communities, though white-to-Dutch racism seems to be very apparent.

Currently, as a white person in this country, your chances of obtaining employment over a lesser qualified and less educated black person is about 1 to 50 – that is to say, unless you’re already employed, or if nepotism is in your court or if you are an entrepreneur – you simply will not obtain work.

This shift in employment has led to a vast and growing sector of a seemingly incapable labour force who together with inept managers, have caused nation wide problems in the supply of goods and services across all sectors. The result of this, white people share the ideology that black people are unable to efficiently run government (corruption and scandal aside). This isn’t a racial comment per say, but rather a group observation by witnesses.

Now, in addition to the above consensus, there is also a common qualified by over 90% of the people I spoke with – and that is they were all in agreeance that apartheid didn’t work either and that instead of a direct pass over of government from white to black, that a migration of blacks into white rule should have occurred.

Corruption, while stemming from many causes, seems to largely be a factor of tribal relations between all eleven recognized tribes, but primarily within the Xhosa and Zulu people left over from Chaka-Zulu’s annexation of Xhosa land more than 150-years ago.

Don't feel bad - it was just a rabbit.

2005-07-29T00:40:00.000-07:00

Despite opening my eyes to the break of dawn – I couldn’t muster myself out of bed today – which was a shame considering how gorgeous sunrise would be here. Try again tomorrow I guess.

Yesterday I had trouble with rudimentary tasks – my brain just simple was not working – but after a while – I drove back out towards the Oribi Gorge to a game reserve called Eland. I have plenty of photos and videos of my first Safari – though most pix were on my SLRs.

I must say – I am very happy that I brought along an old CD/Tape adapter. Using my laptop as a jukebox while driving is definitely better than listening to that damn Roy Orbison tape over and over!

The reserve was amazing and while I don’t have any pics of them, I saw several monkeys – they’re so damn quick! I happened upon several Zebra (different than the ones we’re accustom to) and a herd of Giraffe – which were amazing creatures. Ox, Impala, Eland, Wildebeest and even a bush hog are all animals that I was able to get up close with. What a great experience it was!

Prior to leaving the reserve right at dusk, I toured up a ridge where I walked across an 80m suspension bridge some two-thousand feet above the canyon floor.

I tried to go take care of Internet in Shelley Beach but there was no power anywhere and it was scary as hell driving.

I swear I am going to run over someone before I leave here – the odds are stacked against me. Knowing the reality of this – I’ve asked several locals what one does in such an occurrence – and the unanimous advice is “don’t stop – drive yourself to the pub, have a drink – a smoke – convince yourself you hit a rabbit – and go home to bed.” Pretty nuts.

So work begins. Sitting at the pub last night – I befriended the local golf pro who I am meeting with today to promote the Golf Coast back in Canada. ‘Jesse’ and his friend are both highly interested in my company – his friend – a down to earth self-made man owns a dozen beach resorts on the coast and is apparently worth R250 million ($50 million Canadian). Too bad he has no knowledge of computers or I might be able to sell him in as a silent partner.

Must be off now to post all this in a blog and get some work done.

The Monkey Hunt Begins in Oribi Gorge

2005-07-26T07:22:00.000-07:00

What a day had I yesterday! Though initially prepared to lay on the beach and sun off the ‘Great White Canadian Ass’, cloud coverage soon set in and I decided to head to the Oribi Gorge.

The drive there was swift, darting at 120km/h (the speed limit) for thirty-minutes. Something I must point out – driving here is a freaking obstacle course. No matter the road class, from dirt pathway to major highways – one must be prepared to shoot their vehicles between the goats, cattle, ox and humans that popup whenever they so feel the need to. If I could drive and take pictures at the same time – I would – but I know I’d hit and kill one of the aforementioned if I tried.

Descending into the Gorge was sight to behold – thousand foot cliffs topped with grazing pastures falling into a twisted river bed umbrella’ed by a mixture of forest and jungle (Mother Nature was asleep at the wheel here).

Feeling a bit ambitious, I chose a 7km trail that would lead me to Hoopoe Falls. My missions – to find a monkey. Following the river eastward, it wasn’t long before I saw a tuff of bamboo moving in sporadic motion. Then – I heard the call – ‘Umph, Umph, Umph’. While I couldn’t see what was there, it was evident that across the river, was a baboon. Not quite a monkey – but close enough.

I made my was across the river and towards my first encounter with a primate in the wild. I climbed through the thickets and brush and just as soon as I reached where this baboon was to be – he had gone deeper into his dwelling. This process repeated itself three times until I came to a very thick wall of almost impassible thorns. Thicket – Schmicket – I want my monkey man!

Passing (with great struggle and torn skin) through the initial thorns, I came upon an entrance to a clearing as the baboon kept chanting me on. He ed me this far for a reason. When I finally saw the clearing – I recognized that this was a baboon camp… and that if I truly valued my life - best not push forward.

Baboon – 1… Jeremy – 0.

Though I didn’t even get a glimpse of this animal – it left me even more intrigued and determined to find another.

After arriving at the falls and briefly relaxing while thinking of the amazingly hot young woman I passed a half hour before, I decided that to make it out of this while still a bit of sun allowed – I had better go.

It was on my way back that I had a feeling someone – or something – was continually watching me. Though every time I stopped to look – there was only me. Then – just when I was telling myself I was perhaps going mad – it let itself be known.

“Umph, Umph, Umph”

Son of a bitch – I was being followed. Still not seeing anything, I knew this baboon was fifty feet of me – just up the hill. Steep and unstable as it was, I began my ascent with all cameras in hand and ready to shoot.

“Umph, Umph, Umph” and I climb.

“Umph, Umph, Umph” and I climb higher.

Then – finally – through the shadowed vines and twenty feet away – I meet a baboon – his eyes into mine. Eerie. A bit scary as well though he is as curious to my motionless body as I am to his. Just as I look away for a heartbeat to fetch my camera – I look back up and only see his ghost like body and tail disappear behind more vines and trees- before taking to the tops and wailing out a cry.

Gone.

Heading back to Port Shepstone through the rolling sugar cane fields, I happened upon another shanty town. Amazed and reminded of experiences a few days prior – I decided to give myself an unguided tour into the heart of this poverty. I’m still not sure if what I did was smart or not but it was something I won’t forget and do not regret.

Scared as hell driving into this hillside community on my own – with no one knowing of my whereabouts – I dodged the garbage and holes along a less than dirt road.

With much more sun up here than I had while in the Gorge, I finally parked my vehicle beside the general store (tin hut) and ventured by foot into the unknown.

While I received friendly waves and smiles from near everyone, almost no one could speak a word of English. The community is a melding pot of both Xhosa and Zulu tribes. Still I pressed onwards until I found a lady standing in the entrance to her ‘home’. A fourteen-month old sat at her heels. While not fluent by any means, she could understand enough of my speech and I hers.

We spoke for half an hour and I learned of her and her five children (all younger than seven) and how she does not work and has trouble getting food from the towns as they are far away. She then wanted me to see the school house – the one sense of hope for the children.

I said goodbye to the nice woman and began my conversation with the teacher. This amazing lady, who receives no income from anyone or anything, has, overtime, collected small items of educational nature and hangs them on the dark walls of this dirt floor room. She has a chart with all the types of transport in the world to teach the children of locomotion. She has small maps to serve as geography lessons and pictures of things you can buy at a store. And finally, across from the decadence toy chest, she has a partial alphabet hanging on the wall as she attempts to teach the children English. Sadly, she was only able to obtain picture cards for the letters ‘A’ through ‘L’.

Unlike the projects in SOWETO that will allow the relocation of everyone into less substandard living – these outreaching rural communities have access to extremely limited aide – most provided by overseas NGO’s never reaches these children as it is commandeered by businessmen along the way to increase their net worth.

I stayed with several of the children as they jumped and played and proudly demonstrated their home made “slingshots” consisting of the broken off necks of liquor bottles with elastic bands that shoot sticks.

Before my departure, the teacher called to me asking me to stay longer – the children have a gift for me. As I sit down outside the schoolhouse, three, then four of the older children line up and begin singing for me. Seemingly rehearsed as it was preformed so well, I managed to capture the event on film with my digital camera. I have since watched it over and over and am moved by it every time.

As I head out, they beg me to return and I say that I will. I reach into my pocket and split all my coinage between the teacher and the lady. What is the equivalence to three Canadian dollars to me is food for days for all of these wonderful smiling children.

I will be back.

Hell on Earth

2005-07-22T07:22:00.000-07:00

Only five days in to my journey and I think I topped it today – not sure if I can get the same high or enlightenment again as I did today in SOWETO.

Marissa came by around 10 or 11 this morning and we picked up Charlene over at ‘The Estate’. They wanted to take me to lunch at a really nice place in Melville, but after two-hours of driving in circles – we gave up and settled on smoothies & muffins at the mall. After some brief browsing, I was dropped off at the Santon City Hotel Intercontinental, and while waiting for my tour company to pick me up, I was poached/abducted by another (illegal) cab company [taxi’s here are the equivalent of minivans.] For an hour I was wondering what the hell was going on. Apparently the Indian Concierge at the Hotel phoned a company that pays him under the table to put tourists who are confused into their taxis. After this, according to everyone I’ve spoken to, one of two scenarios could have occurred:

1) The abductee gets swindled out of a R300 tour and is brought only to gift shops and piss-poor museums where the driver then gets a big kickback from purchases, or;
2) The abductee gets driven into the hills and gets the shit kicked out of them before being robbed and left for dead.

It’s hard to say which I would have fallen into, but given the camera gear I was carrying, I hate to think that it may have been the latter. Long scary story short – after my booked tour guide tracked me down (I think I can thank Marissa for that) and I was swiftly dumped in a less than desirable area of downtown Jo’Burg, I continued my original (and safer journey) to Soweto.

What a small world. In a city of probably 10-million people, my tour guide (who I kind of recognized) asks me, “Are you Hunter?” I’m shocked – not only is that my middle name, but it was me who was the great ‘Hunter’ yesterday with Marissa at Lesedi. My guide today is the same person guiding through the cultural villages yesterday!

Anyway - all that past and together with a couple from Holland and a younger guy from Rome, we arrive in the South Western Townships.

Up until now, the word ‘poverty’ to me meant as much or as little as the guy at Queen & Bay Street in Toronto sitting with his small radio, maybe his pet dog or rat or anything else that would bring him comfort or communication. Poverty to me was a kid in semi-new brand name shoes living under the Gardiner-Expressway and making perhaps a hundred dollars tax-free per day. Up until today, poverty to me had been First-Class Poverty in a First-World Nation. A nation where social assistance, shelter and food is available for all – if they want it.

Today I learned what poverty really is.

SOWETO, an acronym for South Western Townships, is truly a city within a city – complete with it’s own economy, classes and way of life.

Born out of segregation in the 1920’s with the expulsion of Black’s from the White Man’s city, and booming in size during progression of apartheid, SOWETO is a community representing some of our planet’s poorest people… yet – as poor as they are, they are also resilient and I would be lying if I said there weren’t tears underneath the smiles which the beautiful people – the gorgeous children ensured were shining on my face.

As we drove through the smoke of the burning sugar cane hills, it became increasingly more apparent that the new few hours would be some of life’s most memorable.

Our first stop was the large SOWETO market, across from the world’s largest hospital, home of the first ever-human heart transplant. Despite the size of the hospital, and it’s notoriety, one can’t be fooled as we are still standing in a city of two-million people living in hell.

The market, while an enriching experience of the upper class of poverty, was only a warm up as to the three tiers of unbelievable fabric of people that is SOWETO. I spoke with only a few people in the market including the holistic medicine man that sells roots, leaves and other plant parts to help many unable to afford medical treatment.

With the exception of a few aimless children and a man or two sleeping in precarious places, the market was a bustling center of activity for the upper class of this society.

Driving onwards into the blurred line of the middle class, despite what I had been warned about over and over, I never felt as though my safety was in jeopardy. Immediately upon our arrival, the word passed through the shanty home communities that white people were here. The children, encouraged by their mothers, ran to the streets cheering for us as though they believed they would finally find an exit door out of their impoverished state.

Viewing these children from the road through their razor wire protected yards lined with laundry, the kids yelled and clapped – often holding their thumbs up pressed against their fists calling “Shupe! Shupe!”. We spent a brief time talking to these kids as we held them back from entering our van – all eager to go to where ever these white people came from.

Leaving this middle class, myself and my co-explorers were beginning to get a glimpse into what was awaiting us over the next hill. Unlike the previous transition, the line between the former and the third class was as clear as night and day.

With our van perched aside the road, we looked down the backside of the hill at the thousands of derelict small tin buildings that these people call ‘home’. As our Xhosa guide told us, “You have seen the good and the bad – this is the ugly.”

No words can express the emotions and thoughts that race through one’s body and mind when living conditions such as this are witnessed first hand. Just as before, the children – only many more of them, began calling to us up the embankment. As we pulled into their main road, we were greeted by dozens of them.

They ran from their homes, from the streets and from the stagnant river where they played in their own feces. They were of all ages of innocence – some barely old enough to walk – some old enough to know that Spiderman was a good role-model and that he really exists somewhere in Manhattan.

The Italian and myself sat and spoke with as many as we could – all the while blasting through roll after roll of film… hoping to get that one single photo that might capture what really is SOWETO.

While we were there for an hour – it felt like five minutes, then just as quick as we came, we were gone – leaving these diseased children to their masked lives of false happiness until the next white people come and the cycle, for them, is repeated.

As horrific and humbling an experience as this was, it seems as though in this city, hope is within grasp. After years of neglect, the government is attempting to eradicate the shanty’s of SOWETO. Not far up the road, concrete form housing with electricity and plumbing is being built for the masses, and while by our standards it is still extremely unlivable – to these people – it is a dream come true.

Before my departure, I asked a boy of seven years if he was going to be moving to these new houses.

“I and me family move soon yes.”

“Does that make you happy?”

“Yes – me very happy. Very happy.”

[Note: Despite this long awaited solution for housing – the troubles that plague these children are still vast. Education, nutrition, medical aid and employment are almost non-existent and will prove to keep these children at the far end of the spectrum in life. While government and charitable aide from nations around the globe intend well for all of these kids – the sad fact of the matter is that with the corruption that exists in their own governments, very little – if any of the aide is ever witnessed by them.]

Zulu Dawn

2005-07-21T23:20:00.000-07:00

This book is too small to write in & the pages keep breaking of the glue. So I’ve been here for a few days now and my hosts, the Jooste’s, are amazing. Greg left for 3-months to Australia & New Zealand yesterday, and even though we only knew each other for two-days, I could call on him as a brother in 2-years, and vice-versa.

I’ve been taken out to dinner twice – first Greek then Thai – both lovely. I think it’s a plan to ensure I don’t try traditional cuisine.

Greg and Robert’s half-sister (different father – convoluted), Marissa, has been my personal tour guide for a few days. We’ve spent a lot of time together as she shows me what I’m desiring. Today she brought me to a great craft market in Jo’Burg and bartered prices for me like a champ. Afterwards we went for brunch and continued a deep philosophical conversation that lasted the whole drive home.

After she had to take care of her priorities, she picked me up and rove me far out of the city to experience indigenous cultures at their best. Here at the grounds of Lesedi, as I learned about the pre-apartheid era of S.Africa from Xhosa, Zulu and other tribe members, Marissa was twice assaulted by a horse that I befriended. The damn thing nearly bit her left tit right off! It was absolutely hilarious (for me anyway). Wish I had photos for that and me beating this wild horse away with a bamboo chute that I ripped from the native fence.

Afterwards, we attended a dance ceremony put on by several tribes for all war, food and fertility. They call for a ‘Hunter’ to participate in a battle and naturally I push forward (not without the initial push by Marissa). Next thing I know – I’m running around a fire with an animal hide shield on one arm and some type of native club on another. I’m fighting a fucking Zulu warrior as if I’m William Wallace (although if you were a spectator – I’m sure I wasn’t the skilled, graceful contender I thought I was).

So more to come – more pix, etc. Off to bed now – kinda woozy from going to the pub with David – turned down two women (am I ill?) and heading to SOWETO tomorrow.

Hey Fatty - Share the leg room!

2005-07-19T09:19:00.000-07:00

That was the single most worst flight I’ve ever had! My brain is mush right now but I’ll try to reflect. I cut myself off at the bar in Frankfurt as I was getting a healthy glow. I go to the ticket counter to receive my boarding pass and what do you know – they’ve oversold the flight! I’m on stand-by – WTF?! Oh well – no use stressing – I’ just wait it out and (un)luckily there were three seats left – at the very back of the plane and I get the center – the seat that unless you’re five-foot-fuckall and weigh in at 100lbs soaking wet – you just can’t get comfortable in. Limited leg room? Try no leg room – I’m straddling the forward seat as if a woman opening her world to the local gynecologist, just waiting for my icy tools now. Check out the guy to the left of me – what favours were preformed for that seat? No chair infront of him; allowing for four feet of leg room – and despite being a nice guy – he’s also horizontally gifted and hus huge body kept thieving me of the limited real estate I didn’t have. 12-hour flight – no comfort – no sleep – I alternated between 1-hour in chair and 2-hours standing. I sure hope that doesn’t happen again. What was really cool though, was that every seat had a t.v. in the back of it and on top of movies and games – you could watch various cameras mounted on the outside of the plane – it was so cool! Oh yeah – every seat had a phone as well and you could call other seats on the plane. We were joking about calling first class and asking them how their leg room was.

So I’m no sitting in Jo’Burg – Greg picked me up and brought me to his pad – sweet! Lots of little things to discuss, but I’m so tired – I just need some sleep.

At the Bar in Frankfurt

2005-07-18T18:45:00.000-07:00

Sittin’, Drinkin’, Continental thinkin’ about the washed up blonde on my left. And then I say “hi” like a spider to a fly… Shit – she doesn’t speak English. Oh well – next!

Frankfurt, Germany and all is well despite an almost harsh landing – things are good. In the past two hours I’ve drank with an Air Canada employee who used to be in the dotcom biz – and is now just finding her stand-by home before moving to Greece – a Mexican (I think) who had great conversation – he’s from Denver so we spoke of skiing and lastly – an Iranian who lives in Atlanta and is visiting his elderly parents in Tehran. Before he left, he pulled a freshly minted bushel of $100 greenbacks from his pocket. Crazy fool. Two-hours until re-board and then off to Africa. I still don’t feel like I’m anywhere but such is life sitting in a terminal.

Part way there

2005-07-18T02:17:00.000-07:00

Yes Virginia – there IS a Santa Claus – or at least a pilot who can hopefully take us more than thirty feet off the ground. Anyways, I’m feeling Tipzy on rye and I don’t wanna write any longer – I just wanna get away – I wanna fllllyyyyy away… with you.

Well apparently after a few drinks kicked in, I passed right out, or so the steward’s tell me. I remember vaguely eating dinner but it was very dreamy. It’s about 2:30pm and we’ll be landing in Frankfurt in an hour. Beauty.

Still on the Tarmac

2005-07-18T00:15:00.000-07:00

Fast forward. It’s now twenty of twelve on the day post my intended departure. I’m on my third or fourth rye & coke (I should’ve bought more than 3 26’ers at customs) and fuck me if I’m still not looking at the same piece of tarmac. The funniest part of it all, is despite the guy in the terminal yelling “This is final boarding call” – I think I was the only one intelligent enough to not get out of line at tax and duty free. I have 3 26ers – they have none – and despite the wonderful snowboarding stewardess, Ani, offering me drinks (and only me?) – I’ve declined saying “Just bring the coke and I’ll be doing fine.” Jesus Christ I’m half lit and I’m still on the fucking tarmac! Oh well, I have Bolero playing (Mike – you have my headphones!!!) and the two old German’s infront of me (who look as though they’ve had more than one conversation with the Grim Reaper) I think are enjoying it. Let’s go size up this Ani girl.

[Note: I have no recollection of writing any of the above!]

The Tarmac Blues

2005-07-17T07:13:00.000-07:00

“Sitting on the tarmac,
Knnes in my chest.
Sweat’s drippin’ off my brow,
Neck, pits and breast.
Got three bottles of rye,
But I ain’t got no mix.
I’m sure that by Frankfurt,
This shit I’ll fix.

Waiting in the airplane
I tell ya, I’m just waiting on the airplane.
Pilot please don’t hit big turbulence,
‘Cause mixing rye and coke on a plane is a bitch.”

Okay so here we (“I”) go. Despite a day of stress and running around like mad, I’ve made my flight and am currently taxing down the runway. I wish I could have seen the sibs prior to leaving – but it’s only a short time – I’ll be back in the blink of an eye.

Christ, I feel like John Hurt (or was it William?) in ‘The Accidental Tourist’. First stop is Frankfurt and I look like I’m going to Maui.

Mom & Dad’s pump died twice this morning in Sydenham, so I didn’t get to shower and believe me – I needed it – and that says a lot considering I have next to no sense of smell. Luke even commented on my refined aroma after the drive back. I tried the shower on a stick routine but don’t know if it worked. I’m on a 767, 2nd seat from the back. A young couple from somewhere in Indochina were sitting behind me but have since left – I wonder if my ripe manliness had intruded on their olfactory?

Fuck – what a way to start a trip – waiting to take off – at the starting gate – just need someone to throw the green flag – but what do I get instead? I get a captain on the P.A….

“Ladies and gentlemen – we are having problems with starting our left engine – we need to be towed back to have maintenance repair it.”

I think I’m going to get comfortable and start reading my book. Son of a bitch.