Hello again! I am now in the swing of things after my two weeks away. It is nice to be back in the DAM office (hehe) with my colleagues. I already had to say the first of my difficult goodbyes (I miss you already, Ncomeka) but I now have a special bond with the two other volunteers that attended CBCO training with me, as is the nature of going through such a week together. The upcoming weeks will take me to our final retreat and then World Cup craziness, so whatever I wish to accomplish better be done soon. My time here is running short. Aybo!
CBCO training ended on Friday, May 7. Even though we had our end of training party Thursday night (and my birthday party), we had workshops right up until it was time to go. We then got our very official-looking certificates of completion (it felt like graduation all over again!) and then it was time to say goodbye. It was quite difficult to part with the small group to whom I had grown close over the course of the week (I can’t even imagine what leaving Soweto will be like in seven weeks…). Good thing there is this little website called Facebook that will allow us all to keep in touch. If any of my CBCO people are reading this, thanks so much for being so great to me. I love you all and I will never forget you.
My departing sorrow did not last long, however. Brian Konkol (our fearless leader), Nate Berkas (the fearless volunteer in Port Elizabeth) and Nate’s brother, Ryan (who fearlessly flew all the way to South Africa to see his big bro) came to pick me up from the retreat centre. Whenever I see any or all of the other volunteers it feels a little bit like coming home. We are a family in the truest sense of the word. The four of us spent the afternoon and evening around Port Elizabeth taking in the sights. We had dinner at a pub and unbeknownst to us, a major rugby match between the Blue Bulls (I think they play in Pretoria) and a team from Australia was being televised. Every patron there had an appreciable lack of pigmentation (meaning they were all white), as rugby is the favorite sport of white South Africans (speaking in generalities, of course). It funny how I can feel comfortable in Soweto or at CBCO training when there is no one else that looks like me, but I feel terribly out of place in a restaurant filled with white rugby fans. That was a new kind of cultural experience (plus, quite frankly I have no interest in rugby). After we ate, we retired to our accommodations at the Hippo Backpackers (which oddly enough is about three blocks from the place CBCO training was held). I would also like to say congratulations to Brian and Kristen Konkol as they will be adding a member to their family come October! (I just had to throw that in there)
The next morning, after saying farewell to Brian, the remaining three of us went on an adventure to Addo Elephant Park and Scotia Nature Reserve where our guide, Malcolm, displayed incredible instincts as to where the animals would be. We had an amazing day and saw four out of the big five (no leopards in this park). I highly doubt I will ever get tired of seeing lions, giraffes, rhinos, elephants, hippos, and, of course, the rare and majestic impala (rumor has it, my father had a couple when he was younger). Thanks to Nate and Ryan for allowing me to tag along.
Early the following day, it was time for my real adventure to begin. I said goodbye to Nate and Ryan and boarded the Baz Bus (a hop on, hop off bus for backpackers in SA) all by myself. My first destination was a little beach town called Chintsa about four hours north of Port Elizabeth. This was really my first time taking a solo trip (although I did wander alone for a few hours in Tokyo, not venturing off the street that lead to Matt’s apartment) and admittedly I was a bit nervous. To travel alone, one must have a go-with-the-flow-and-see-what-happens mentality. I arrived at Buccaneers Backpackers in Chintsa after a pleasant bus ride through rolling green hills (except I always manage to sit on the side of the bus with the sun baring down on me). The setting was absolutely breathtaking. The accommodations consisted of a number of bungalows on a hillside overlooking a lagoon and miles of pristine beach. For 130 rand per night (about $17), I had a bungalow to myself, although I would have had to share with other people had I not been there during a slow time of year. It only took me a few nanoseconds to drop off my stuff and head down to the beach. I walked for a long time and only occasionally saw other people. The Indian Ocean was refreshing but not unbearably cold like the Pacific is off the Washington and Oregon coasts. I quickly met a number of friendly travelers, including Jen (pronounced like yen) and Annalie from Denmark. I had dinner that first evening with the two of them, a couple from the Netherlands, and a girl traveling by herself from the UK. I could not help smiling to myself and thinking that this is what it is all about. The conversations flowed, as did the cold drinks. It did not take long to find commonalities with my fellow travelers. After all, we are all on this adventure together. I also met a trio from Seattle, who helped remind me that although geographically I am about as far from home as I can get, the world is still quite small.
My second day in Chintsa began with another beach stroll to check out the tide pools, breakfast at the backpackers overlooking the lagoon and the beach, and then some more beach time and a feeble attempt at surfing with Jen and Annalie (surfing is WAY harder than it looks, and it certainly doesn’t LOOK easy). Buccaneers hosted a free evening event that involved free wine and volleyball, in that order. Needless to say a good time was had by all. Dinner once again found us sipping cold drinks and socializing. I spent another night alone in my bungalow, woke up, walked down the beach for the last time, and then got back onto the Baz Bus to continue by adventure. The bus wound through the hills of the Transkei (the birthplace of Rolihlahla Mandela, better known as Nelson, among other notable South Africans). The scenery was beautiful, the houses small and modest, and the likelihood of seeing sheep or cows crossing the road higher than that of seeing people. I got off the bus in the town of Mthatha, bid a very fond farewell to my Danish friends, and got on a shuttle bound for the beach town of Port St. Johns.
Port St. Johns is a vibrant little beach town located on South Africa’s Wild Coast. My accommodations this time were at a place aptly named the Jungle Monkey Backpackers, which indeed was situated in the coastal jungle. The first thing I noticed upon arrival was the colorful bar decorated in sort of a Rastafarian style and the small stage with an array of musical instruments set up along with amplifiers, microphones, lights, and the works. It did not take long for one of the staff members to ask me if I play any instruments, to which I replied that I dabble on guitar and bass. When asked if I wanted to jam later that night, I nonchalantly said that would be great (you know, to play it cool). I started out on bass with Conway on guitar and Fez on the drum kit (I mean, how many people get to jam with guys with names like Conway and Fez?). It felt great to play some bass again as it had been a long while. I then switched to guitar when someone mentioned that day was the anniversary of Bob Marley’s death to do a little rendition of “Redemption Song” to honor the Legend himself (I was just playing, Conway was singing). I then brought out a little “Rockin’ in the Free World” on the Fender Stratocaster to keep in lively. Needless to say it was a blast, but as it turns out, nothing compared to the following night.
In the morning, after sleeping in a big dormitory with a number of other solo travelers (and one of the loudest snorers I have ever heard), I decided to take a stroll into town where I found a coffee shop owned by an elderly Dutch couple. I sat in a little garden and drank delicious French-pressed coffee and chatted with two guys from Spain who, the night before, thought it would be a great idea to save money and sleep on the beach, a decision they regretted that morning. As you can imagine they looked a little rough when they arrived for coffee, but when they asked if they could join me at my table I politely gave the affirmative. After a great conversation, the old cliché about not judging a book by its cover was once again proven true. I returned back to the Jungle Monkey and then decided to take a walk to Second Beach, which is about four kilometers away. Fez the drummer, who is a Xhosa fellow from a neighboring town, decided to come along. Fez and I became fast friends during our hike to the beach (which look a lot longer than either of us anticipated) and then spotted a hiking trail heading back in the right direction. The trail took us along the cliffs overlooking the ocean, down to a formation called “The Blowhole” and through a village. The views of amazing rock formations being hit by enormous waves were spectacular. We arrived back at our place exhausted but incredibly pleased with our decision on how to spend the day.
I was informed that afternoon a musician named Ashley was coming to the backpackers that evening to jam with us. Upon arrival, he picked up the guitar, sporting long dreadlocks, and began a rendition of Hendrix’s Voodoo Chile. The big boys had come to play that night. Ashley (the first Rastaman I’ve ever heard speak Afrikaans), with Conway on drums and Mike (the owner of the Jungle Monkey) on bass, played a nice mix of rock, blues, and reggae. They took a break a little while later and Mike the owner (who was obviously still learning to play bass) introduced Ashley and I and said that I am also a musician. They asked me if I wanted to play bass for the next set. I, of course, calmly said I would. We rocked, rolled, and reggae-ed until my fingers were raw. We played classics like “All Along the Watchtower” and “Little Wing” and Bob Marley favorites like “Kinky Reggae” and “Who the Cap Fit.” Somehow, I have actually become a better bass player then I was in high school. To say that I had fun would be the understatement of the century. To jam on stage with musicians like that was a dream come true. They guys tried to convince me to stay another day so we could rock some more but I had already made up my mind to press on to Durban. You can’t make this stuff up. Things like this only happen when you take the risk of stepping out your front door to go exploring. I think I made the right choice.
The end of my trip was fairly uneventful. I visited the coffee shop again the morning I left Port St. Johns and took the shuttle back to Mthatha. This time the Baz Bus took me to Durban where I spent the night at the Happy Hippo (a place that brings me found memories of a previous trip there) before going all the way back to Johannesburg. I had originally planned on traveling a couple more days but both my body and my wallet were becoming exhausted. I was as glad as ever to see Soweto and return to my cozy little flat. I had a great time on my two-week adventure through Port Elizabeth and beyond, but traveling alone took its toll on me. Despite all the fun I had, I also had moments of loneliness and homesickness. It was bittersweet to be in such amazing places but be unable to share my experiences with my loved ones. I have no regrets about taking this trip, but next time I think I will take someone with me. Traveling solo taught me a lot about myself and about other people, which I suppose fits perfectly with the goal of the YAGM program. Thanks be to God I made it back safely. These were just the highlights of my trip; the full story could probably be turned into a novel. It is great to be back in Soweto, and in just seven weeks, after another retreat and this little soccer tournament, I will be home.
Blessings to everyone on this Memorial Day.
