After 17 countries and some 49 cities, we’ve finally reached our final destination of the trip. Home. I can’t say whether “home” marks the end of 8 plus months of constant traveling, or the beginning of life in the United States with a different lens than we had before we left. I guess it’s both really, isn’t it?

We see things so differently now, it makes us all feel like strangers in our own country to some extent. We’ve all been marveling at the contrast and differences between the US and the rest of the world we’ve just visited. There are so many differences that it bears highlighting just a few.

We drive big. Driving down our streets and weaving through scores of giant SUVs and pick-up trucks is really odd when compared to the scooters and tiny cars we dodged in virtually every other world city, especially when you’re driving one of the beasts yourself. We will be making some changes to our garage over the coming months scaling down our own "bigness". We'll be driving the scooter a lot more oten as well.

Walking down the “shampoo” aisle at our local grocery store is an out of body experience. It seems we have 100 kinds of shampoo just for oily hair and 100 more for dry hair. In Ghana, they had maybe 10 total, and none of them were for oily blondes. I swear this one aisle at Ralphs is bigger than most of the grocery stores in which we shopped.

In LA, where we finally landed, the freeways are 10 lanes wide, filled with countless cars carrying only one person, while ride sharing or public transportation rules the day virtually everywhere else. The rest of the world has invested in mass transportation infrastructure, while the US has invested in highways which are arguably the best in the world. We have some catching up to do on trains and subways.

We are big. Folks in the United States are massive by comparison to virtually every other country we visited. Germans were pretty big as were Australians, but big in these countries means someone who is athletic and broad shouldered carrying a bit more than their age should tolerate. Our bigness isn’t because we were born into an athletic family, it’s because athletics is something we watch on TV. We get in cars and drive to the grocery store and then drive back home and sit on the couch, watch TV and eat. In most places we visited, you walked or rode a bike to the grocery store and you carried everything back home on your person. You could only take home what you could sling on your back or stuff onto your bike. This meant you were shopping for a few days and you would return to the grocery by foot or bike when your food ran out. COSTCO wouldn’t work in this environment. Huge packages for huge people who are driving huge vehicles just isn’t part of the world outside of the US.

The US always seems to be in a rush while so many other parts of the world take their time. I supposed this is good news for getting things done, and being productive, but it seems that folks in Berlin, Paris, Florence, Accra, or LiJiang are expecting things to take longer, and so taking two hours for lunch isn’t a big deal. Waiting is just part of life.

Europe Australia, and New Zealand seem to treat the naked body and sex as a relatively harmless fact-of-life that can provide entertainment and even humor, while violence is something that should be kept from children at all costs. In America we do quite the opposite. In New Zealand, the kids weren’t allowed to see American Gangster under any circumstance. It would have been no problem in the US. We openly love our guns and our rights to have them. Sex – not so much.

The encounter between the TSA agent and Griffin reminded us about something we knew before we left, but now it was very clear. The general ignorance of the American Public about our political system and our own history is incredible. In every country, we met folks that were acutely aware not only of their own politics, government and history, but of ours. We were stopped a number of times and asked whether we supported McCain, Barack or Hillary and everyone had an opinion that was based on reasonable understanding of the differences between each. It was pretty amazing. These were not the super elite or well healed folks asking these questions. The folks in the know and the folks deeply interested in US politics were shopkeepers, airline gate agents, cab drivers, or waiters. These were the rank and file citizens of the countries we were visiting. It is truly amazing to see how much influence our country has over these people and how much time our country occupies in their collective consciousness. Yet, most of our own citizens have only a vague sense that a whole other world exists outside the US. A suffering US currency? Whatever. Starving people in Kenya? Whatever. A dictator killing his Zimbabwean challengers? Whatever. Folks in the US don’t seem to know or care. I could rant about this for a while. I won’t.

We were reminded of something that we had forgotten as we flew over the US: America is one of the most beautiful countries in the world. If we were traveling here as visitors, we would have had our faces pressed against the Plexiglas over the Rocky Mountains, the Grand Canyon, and Lake Powell. Oh wait, we did have our faces pressed against the windows. Our flight from Chicago to LA was gasp producing, even though we’ve done it many times before. Guess we just forgot how nice it is. Some other things we forgot about:

The Central Coast of California is about the prettiest place in the world. The beaches, the rolling hills, the spectacular vistas, Montana de Oro, Big Sur, they’re all beautiful. The little town of San Luis Obispo is lovely as well as are the surrounding towns. Most of us inevitably take for granted the cities or the areas in which we live. I think we had done that as well. We knew it was nice, but we just didn’t recall how nice. This place provides some awe inspiring scenery and an abundance of all things outdoor.

Our house was nicer than we remembered. We arrived at night and the soft glow of the lights made it look like a restaurant or night club with a soft ambiance. Carol's mom had done such a great job keeping the house in tip top shape she seemed more like a museum curator than the keeper of the house.

The United States is the “service” capital of the world. We have great service by any measure in this country of ours. Restaurants, grocery stores, retails outlets, and even car washes provide service that goes far beyond what we found anywhere else in the world.

We have a democratic process that works very well and unfortunately, we all take for granted. Notwithstanding some voting irregularities in Ohio and Texas, and a few recalls that oust Governors ahead of their time, we seem to trust our democratic process more than other countries, and we exercise the patience to let politician’s terms run their course. Not so for other democracies that are still learning. Countries are struggling to believe in the process while abuses run rampant. And who can blame them when you have a sterling example like Zimbabwe going so horribly wrong.

We tend to tear down “old” buildings and replace them with new ones while the rest of the world seems to honor their old buildings like they were fine works of art. I remember watching the kingdome implode. Maybe we destroy our old buildings because they’re just not old enough. We’re lucky to have a mission in our little town that dates to the 1600s. I guess it’s old enough to keep.

There were a few things we learned about traveling for eight months that are worth sharing. Some are are obvious. Some, not so much.

Spending eight months in the constant presence of your family was absolutely awesome, but it was also very hard. We all needed breaks to pursue our own unique interests and be our own people. That’s not so easy to do when you all have essentially the same itinerary. Make room for freedom in your schedules so your kids, wife and husband get some “quality time alone”.

Travel light! Duh! We shed more and more stuff as the trip went on. We shed clothes, electronics, shoes, all kinds of stuff. We mailed things ahead and sent stuff home. Go through all your stuff before you take off decide what you really need and then take only have of that.

Always carry and extra piece of luggage that you squish into one of your other bags. The dilemma is that airports restrict your weight and trains don’t. On trains, you want to be in as few bags as possible regardless of weight to make quick loading and unloading easier. On planes, you want to keep your bags below 25kg. Try to weight them before you go to the airport. If you are within 1 kg or so, they will cut you some slack as long as you’re not over your gross total. Those Ogio bags we showed you on the first page of the blog were awesome – but they are very easy to pack with too much weight. Be careful. The smaller the bags, the less risk of going over weight. Duh, you say? Indeed.

Yeah, yeah, there are many other things we learned, but I’ll stop at that in the name of brevity.

Anyway, we’re home now, have hosted visits from numerous family members and are enjoying all the things California’s central coast has to offer. We’re surfing again, Parker and Griffin are in the junior lifeguarding classes and skating, Parker’s golfing, Blake is preparing for a triathlon, golfing, and attending the summer car shows, while Carol is back to yoga, hiking, working out and hanging with friends and family. I must say that there is no better place on earth to take advantage of the outdoors and the quintessential California lifestyle than right here in San Luis Obispo, and I swear that after traveling around the world, we are never going to take this place for granted again..…. Yeah right.

Home at last remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Over the course of the week, we did our best to tote the boys to the major sites in Paris in a “cliff notes” style, that would allow them to visit the major sites, but never feel overloaded. We tried to balance visiting historical or educational sites with burning off their energy and serving their diminishing attention spans. One day we took the double decker tour bus to reacquaint ourselves with the city layout, but then walked home for more burn. Another day we walked to the Musee d’ Orsay and headed straight to the impressionists for a thorough scrubbing and then promptly left. On another day we visited the Louvre and headed straight to the Mona Lisa, prefacing that with some Leonardo, and finishing with the large format French painters from the same era. We were in and out of each museum in less than two hours, but saw a bunch of art that the kid’s recognized as we tore through them.

We took the Metro and RER everywhere, and had the boys navigate for a few days. The boys decided the itinerary one day and took us to a skate park at the end of the number 12 metro line, then after skating they took us to the Eifel Tower where we took the elevator to the top, and raced down the stairs to burn some energy. On another day we visited Notre Dame pretty quickly and took the walk (or run) to the top which was fun and tiring (400 stairs). The curriculum seemed to work.

Perhaps the oddest experience we had in Paris was at Notre Dame as we were enjoying a drink and a crepe at the café right next door. Apparently, someone called in a “bomb” as they noticed a lone and un-owned bag next to the church. The bomb squad arrived and cleared the street… and unfortunately all of the folks sitting at the café as well. We moved just a short distance away with our drinks and watched as the bomb squad carefully detonated a lethal bag of what appeared to be lettuce, fruit and milk. Actually, we didn’t stick around to see how the whole thing turned out, but the funny thing about the whole ordeal was that Carol and I were in almost the exact same place two years ago when a bomb was called in as well. A bomb scare… ooooo!! It was adventure, and perfect for the a-d-d curriculum.

A couple of random things that we noted in Paris that are worth mentioning:
The people were wonderful. You have all heard about how terrible and rude the people of Paris are. I’ve been here many times before and actually formed that opinion myself, but we found the opposite to be true on this trip. People were gracious, funny, charming, helpful and nice. I don’t know if there is a new sense of world citizenship in Paris, or maybe because we had kids in tow, but this didn’t feel like a place that is filled with Elitists. It felt more like a melting pot of nice and casual people that all spoke French, but were keen to try and speak English as well, and ready to mix it up with you, if you were willing.

Parisians love their dogs, and you will find their pooches in restaurants, subways, and even on scooters, and you know what, you didn’t see any evidence of dogs besides the dogs themselves (read no doggy doo). We had a dog (named Toto) sitting right next to Griffin in a charming little café and the owner let the dog sit right between her and Griffin. The dog eventually put his head on Griffin’s lap. The dog was so incredibly well behaved, it caused us to reflect on what Jasper (our dog back home) would be doing in the same restaurant, which would have been overturning tables, and franticly licking plates and faces. Yes, dogs and their owners are different in Paris.

Paris has a new bike program where folks can provide a credit card and pick up a bicycle at many places around town. The bikes are racked up in electronically controlled racks. You simply pick one up at one bike station and drive it to another bike station when you are done with it and put it in the rack. The system is all electronic and bikes look pretty darn nice. We’re not sure what the cost is, nor the details of the system, but it sure seemed like a super friendly solution to a tough environmental problem.

The metro is awesome. They have improved the signage and maps at the Metro stations and getting around is an absolute snap. We metro’d everywhere and only used a cab once the entire time in Paris. The Metro made our a-d-d touring possible and made Paris the perfect city to be our last on the trip. The metro is super fast and convenient, and an inexpensive way to get around town. Do be careful though. The seats by the doors fold up automatically if you rise up for just a second, and if your 14 year old doesn’t hold it down for you when you sit back down, you will fall on your ass and make an extremely loud noise. (which is what just happened to me in this photo). Yes, you will catch the attention of every Parisian in earshot. And yes, I was embarrassed.

Our apartment was in the first arrondissement near the Louvre. It had to be a few hundred years old, but it had been renovated pretty well, had a serviceable kitchen and bath, comfortable beds, a TV set, and Internet. The location was awesome with the Concorde and Madelline Metro lines only two hundred or so meters from the house.

We were told by a good friend of ours, John Turner, that we absolutely must go to Normandy France to see where the allies landed during World War II. He was adamant and convincing, so we strayed from the A-D-D curriculum one day and headed to Normandy to visit the D-Day landing site. It was a long 300km drive from Paris and we hired a tour company to take us there. The guide and driver’s name was Didier, and he was a nice and quite Parisian with a quick dry wit and quite a bit of knowledge about the sites in Normandy. This was a long day to say the least, but our most rewarding in during our Paris stay.

Having visited the museums and historic sites in Berlin, as well as the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam, this was a great way to tie it all together. First, let me say that the Normandy coast is a stunner. It is gorgeous, and it is hard to imagine heavy fighting and dying soldiers in the hills and on the beaches only 60 years ago. But there is proof all around you. D-day happened on the 6th of June, and we were lucky to be in Normandy on the 8th, just two days after the anniversary. Normandy was still being toured by World War II veterans and historians, wearing and driving memorabilia from the WWII era, which was very cool. We arrived at the British museum and the site of the artificial harbor that was built by the Britain. It was remarkable. Very few of us Americans know that the British actually built an artificial harbor. They built it in complete secrecy in Britain, then towed it (huge cement barriers, spans of bridges, and roads, etc..) across the sea, and then sank the cement barriers in the shape of a protective harbor on the Normandy coast. In 12 days, they created platforms for unloading troops, vehicles, tanks and supplies, and built floating roads to connect them and the mainland. It was an engineering feat I’m not so sure we could accomplish today. They unloaded 2 million men and supplies here. We all know that D-day was the start of the end for the Nazis, but few of us know that it was this harbor that allowed us to pour in the resources to win the war. We were all absolutely blown away by the scope of what was accomplished in the name of liberation. We also visited the US Memorial at Omaha beach where over 9,000 soldiers were laid to rest. This visit was beyond moving, and we all held back tears as we walked above the Omaha cliffs, among fallen soldiers. We noticed a few Jewish stars among the thousands of crosses, making the connection to Berlin and the Jewish Memorial so very real.

Finally we visited the battlefield at Pointe du Loc, where Army Rangers captured the large guns that were pummeling the Omaha and Utah beaches. Machine gun bunkers are still visible in the hills, as are big gun placements, where Canons with a range of 8 miles once menaced. The kids played in the deep craters and fractured cement bunkers that spread over the area, serving as evidence of heavy shelling from allied planes and war ships. The long drive back to Paris lead to conversations about how this visit tied up all the loose ends and unresolved feelings about what we had seen in Berlin and Amsterdam. As Griffin probably said best, we had visited the places where all the madness had started, and had finally visited the place where the free world shouted “No More!” We were apprehensive about the drive, but were so very glad we made it. What an incredible experience.

Paris remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Amsterdam residents also embrace the bicycle. Amsterdam could be the only city in the world where the bicycle is used as a structural element. The city seems to be held together by them. Bicycles lean with rusted locks on buildings, fences, bridges, trees, posts, railings, stop signs, and each other, not to mention the thousands of bicycles stacked one on top of the other by the thousands in official parking lots. I swear that if all the bicycles were removed, buildings, bridges, fences and trees would simply fall over. Almost all bikes are black and nondescript, ride on thin tires, have one or three speeds, and are adorned with hardware for carrying groceries; children or both, and of course a “bell”. The streets are full of moving bicycles, with their riders peddling quickly and with purpose, knowing exactly where they are going and when they need to arrive. And unlike the “it’s all good” attitude that radiates this friendly city, “its all good” disappears when the locals straddle a bike. There are strict rules for riding bikes in Amsterdam and all the locals know ‘em and follow ‘em. Do not get in their way.

We rented four bicycles for the duration of our stay and learned the rules as we went – the hard way. We learned that the bike lanes are like freeways with strict laws and hefty fines if you don’t follow the laws. For instance, if you are cycling in the wrong direction in a bike lane, it could cost you 80 euro if you’re caught. We biked just about everywhere and got better by the day, but we all had close calls and narrowly missed being hit by locals’ bikes or fines. Still, the only real way to experience Amsterdam is on bike, and I wouldn’t change a thing. In the end we loved it, in spite of the look of apprehension (and sometimes terror) on our faces as we rode. Our bikes were bright red instead of the usual black, and I think it helped locals identify us as a moving and dangerous obstacle. When you blend in as best you can on a bicycle that says “RENTAL” and enjoy yourself.

We stayed in a great little flat on a street known as P.C. Hoofstraat. We were surprised when we arrived, because it seemed from a brand perspective to be the Rodeo Drive of Amsterdam. It is. The street is all designer brands, with the Chopard and Roberto Boticelli stores under our flat. Out flat was on the fourth and fifth floors of the building and the stairs were the steepest we had ever encountered. I swear the treads were more like a ladder than a stair, and getting our rather large luggage up (and down) this thing was no picnic. The flat was very nice and we really enjoyed it, with a great living area, and two bedrooms. As it turned out, the location was fantastic as well, being only 5 minutes walk, and two minute ride, from the Rijksmuseum, the Van Gogh Museum, and the craziness of the Leidseplein. Of course going or coming we would window shop.

We did visit the Van Gogh and Rijksmuseum and both were very good. The Van Gogh was quite something if you like either Van Gogh or Gauguin’s work. Paul and Vincent were very close friends and they do a great job of educating viewers of the closeness of their relationship. For instance, one thing you may not know: Vincent cut off his ear after an argument with Paul. He didn’t cut it off as a gift to his girlfriend as folklore suggests. There are significant pieces of work at the Museum that you already have etched in your mind. Whether your favorite is the sunflowers or a Van Gogh self portrait, it is worth spending a few hours here. The Rijksmuseum was undergoing a significant renovation so most of the 230 rooms weren’t open, but they had moved most of the significant pieces to a small annex that took about two hours to go through, and it was perfect. Rembrandt, Vermeer, Hals, Steen, and so many other incredible Flemish painters who make light seem like a surreal element in realist paintings that depict objects so perfectly and naturally. We spent about an hour in the Rijksmuseum before a fire alarm went off and we all had to leave. We returned after lunch and spent another hour. I could have spent days there (the kids not so much). I was surprised to see that Griffin really got into it. The realism is incredible, and the stories on the audio track are wonderful making it easy for adults and kids to dive deep into the paintings.

As a school assignment, Carol had the boys read Anne Frank. There is a new edition out that is much longer, (350 pages) but it gives a much clearer picture of who she was as a person. (She was mad at her Mom a lot and was interested in boys). If you’ve read Anne Frank, you would know that she and her family hid in a house in Amsterdam for two years during Nazi rule. Ironically, the Franks fled Germany to escape the Nazis, only to be found in Amsterdam by the same regime. All were killed in Auschwitz, excepting Anne’s father, who survived and then discovered her diary, eventually publishing it. It is now required reading in many schools. The Frank’s hidden house is now a museum and through it, you can share the experience of the family through those last two years of Nazi rule. It was very moving, especially after visiting Berlin and having the context of Hitler’s regime made clear to us. It’s incredible that a family could withstand being shut in for two years in this environment without ever leaving. Their only contact was with a few close friends who ensured they had food, books, newspapers and clothing. This museum is a must see.

As we were biking to the Anne Frank house, Carol saw an advertisement for an exhibit of the World Press Photography Award Winners. After we visited the Anne Frank House, we cruised around neighborhoods, had lunch and eventually found the exhibit. The exhibit was being held in the Oude Kerk Church dating from the 1200s. To experience the church among the modern day photographs of front line journalists was a surreal contrast. We were walking over the crypts of Dutch history while viewing photographs of atrocities in the Congo, wars in Afghanistan, fighting in Kenya, and a shocking portrait of Vladimir Putin from Time’s man of the year cover. Incredible. Also incredible: This church is in the heart of the red light district, but we managed to weave our way in and out with only “alley entrance” glimpses of this infamous district.

Parker had his fourteenth birthday in Amsterdam. Of course what did he want for his Birthday? He wanted to be 18 years old, because it seems much of Amsterdam is geared for adults, which is pretty apparent even to an 11 year old. But he settled for a visit to a skate park. We found a skate park that was in North Amsterdam, which we had seen on the web and been tracking since Ghana and now we just had to find our way. We rode our bikes to the central train station, locked them up with the thousands of other bikes, and then took a free ferry to Northern Amsterdam where there were no tourists, and when someone speaks English they sound like Gold Member from Austin Powers II. “You are the boys Fasha?” It seems that everyone in Amsterdam speaks great English, accent or not, even out in the suburbs. Even the five year olds at the skate park could make me feel semi-shameful for speaking only one language. The ferry trip was pretty cool and we were greeted by a submarine breakwater when we arrived in North Amsterdam. The skate park was a nice indoor park, and Parker had a very nice birthday skate session. Later that night, we celebrated at the flat with a few small gifts and a few rain checks for some stuff from home. He is now 14. God help us.

Amsterdam remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The entire city, if you have a proper guide book is a museum dedicated to World War II and the Cold War. Many monuments and buildings in town have been repaired or rebuilt to match what existed before the bombs fell. Buildings that were somehow spared from destruction are clearly covered with bullet holes and patches to bring them back to life as a government center, museum or office building. Other parts of the city are brand new in a way that feels almost surreal. Potzdamer platz for instance stood as an empty and ruined area around the Berlin Wall only 15 years ago. Now it features stunning modern architecture, the likes of which don’t exist anywhere else in the world in quantity and quality. In fact, what used to be East Germany, spreading from where the old wall stood, seems to be all new. The buildings are modern and beautiful, made of glass and steel, in modern style, and it looks and feels like a brand new city. I guess it is. While the city is renovating older building, they drape a life size façade of the building as it will be when it is completed. Quite a few times you are fooled into thinking it is the real building. I have a shot or two of this wicked and cool trickery.

We spent 5 full days in Berlin and were able to take-in heaps of information about Hitler, World War II and the cold war. The government and citizens of Berlin have done a magnificent job of documenting the recent history of the city and the atrocities that were either committed here, or planned from here. Many of the areas feature chronologically serialized story boards that walk you through the history of the city.

The Topography of Terror documents Hitler’s rise to power and the escalation of the atrocities his government committed, including the war. The Check Point Charlie area and museum documents the closing of the borders between East and West Berlin, the heated cold war between east and west, and the eventual collapse of the wall. The Jewish Museum documents Jewish Life and history in Germany including 1,000s of years of pendulum swinging from apparent integration, to misunderstanding and persecution. The Jewish Memorial documents the atrocities of the holocaust that were planned and ordered from Hitler’s headquarters, just a block away. This museum was probably the most impactful, making the holocaust highly personal, with detailed stories of individuals killed and entire families lost. You can’t help but be deeply affected. This history is so recent and so real, and so impossible, it just drops your jaw. A few people had to leave, because of the intensity of this memorial and children under 14 were advised not to go. As we reflected on the memorial, and walked to the underground to catch a train to the hotel, we walked past Hitler’s bunker, where he committed suicide. Today it is a gravel parking lot – and he deserves no more. Apparently, the German government didn’t want to mark the spot prominently for fear of creating a modern-day neo-Nazi house of worship.

We have found that the best way to get acclimated to a city is to take one of those double decker tour buses from the top deck. We did this in Rome, and thought it would be smart here as well. After a visit to the Berlin TV tower where we could stare down at the city, we took the bus for a two hour loop around Berlin. After our bus ride, we strolled toward the Brandenburg gate, and walked through the Museum Island area, and noticed they were displaying their incredible collection of Egyptian Art. It turns out that the Altes Museum has owned this collection since the early 1900s, and hid it away during Nazi rule. The bust of Nefertiti is included, which is one of the most recognizable pieces of Egyptian art on the planet.

During this same stroll, we ran into another museum of sorts. It was actually a Bugatti dealership just down the street. This museum was displaying a Bugatti Veyron. Passersby stood at the window gawking, while the more brave, walked into the dealership. We all drooled. This piece of artwork has 1001 hp and a top speed of over 250mph, and was until recently the fastest production car on earth. You can own it for a mere $1.25 million, which is much less expensive than Nefertiti. After four days of touring the city, the museums and strolling the streets, the kids had their fill and they just needed to burn some energy. We found a great indoor skate park (the Berlin Skate Halle) on the fifth day and spent a few hours there.

The people of Berlin seemed young and alive, even the people that were clearly old enough to have weathered the storm of a communist regime. Older Berliners had an almost exaggerated youth about them, dressing with style and hipness belying their age. It was a striking difference to Prague where fashion appeared to be something that took a back seat to more basic things. The younger people of Berlin could have been from anywhere along the coast lines of the US. Techno hipsters, skaters, goth punks, preppies, and dreads could be found all over town, though most appeared to stay within the confines of their neighborhoods, mixing in some of the busier train stations and squares. The people of Berlin also ALL seem to have taken English as a second language. Their English speaking was extraordinary, and I was once again embarrassed by speaking only it, and only marginally better than the locals. “Excuse me, do you speak English?” One of us would ask a Berliner as we pondered directions. The Berliner would first apologize for their poor English, and then put us to shame by providing detailed directions in perfect English. We goofed around every so often to break up the museums and lighten the seriousness of the subject.

By the way, if you’re staying in Berlin with your family, or just for business, we found our hotel to be excellent and quite reasonable. After feeling a weak dollar in Rome and Zurich, we were prepared for the worst. The hotel (Großer Kurfürst) rocked and was set up really well for a family of four with a kitchenette and two separate rooms. It was even next to a subway station (U4 Märkisches Museum) that shuttled us all over the city when places were simply too far to walk.

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The Vlatava river bisects the city and provides a stunning geographic feature that other European cities must envy. Those same courageous facades preside proudly along the banks of the river, presenting centuries of architectural styles dating back to the 1300s. Our apartment was in one of these buildings, seeming a few hundred years old to us, with 12 foot ceilings, thick moldings, large doors, and old-school double windows. Our windows framed a great view of the river while the balcony sported a view of the Prague Castle and cathedral that perches majestically (or maybe mysteriously) over the city. The location was great with the tram stop and the subway right next door to our building.

Still, in all its beauty, there is grayness to Prague that other cities we’ve visited didn’t seem to have. Yes, it’s true that it rained and was overcast our entire visit, but this grayness wouldn’t shine in the sun. Now, you might be asking how can you say this after talking about the fantastic colors and the gorgeous architecture, but I think you’d feel it too. This grayness isn’t found in most of the architecture we found in the old sections of Prague. It is found in the lesser travelled areas of the city and in the suburbs. It’s hard to know when you are going to turn onto a street or wander into an area that might be characterized this way, but they are there. A couple of examples follow:

Parker and I wandered out to get train tickets for a trip to Berlin, and we had to go to the central train station to pick them up. We trammed a good distance of the way and then had to hoof it on foot for the rest. Our foot path devolved from cobble stones to mud & rock, and the cool architecture gave way to gray cinder block and cement. We walked through a dimly lit tunnel under the main road, which was the passage to the train station and we encountered a dirty alleyway occupied by a junky tightening a belt around his arm, and shooting up with a hypodermic needle. Others behind him were doing the same. We spun on our heels to find a different way. When we reached the train station, we found completely unlit areas, broken windows, destroyed escalators, with the rubber handrails lying discarded on the ground like earthworms after a rain. Folks didn’t seem to mind it, nor pay it any attention and walked by without even the slightest head turn or glance. Nope, I didn't take pictures.

The boys and I traveled to a skate park quite a few miles from the downtown area through the (excellent) subway system. The skate park was fantastic and maybe one of the best we had seen so far on the trip. I had to wander from the skate park to get some water, and what I found on my short walk were rows and rows of the public-housing-esque cement structures - all the same. One structure contained residences; another was a school, and another, a government office, though you’d never know it. Apparently the personality that defined the architecture in the city never influenced the suburbs. This seemed an intentionally gray place that had been built in an era where folks were not intended to be self expressive, or different, but rather just enjoy their sameness, and the architecture did this era proud.

The contrast that we experienced in Prague architecture also seemed to exist in the people of Prague. In the tourist areas, we didn’t notice it so much, but as we spent time in more local areas, we gained a sense that some of the people here were constructed from a different situation, maybe from different materials. Of course the young people seem like young people anywhere, bursting with energy and a healthy ignorance, with their original hair styles, piercings and tattoos, their i-Pods affixed to their ears, and their Quick Silver, Volcom, Levis and Converse attire. Even some 30 and 40 year olds seemed to share these characteristics. These folks seemed like the modern architecture or the brightly washed buildings we ran into in the downtown area. But there was that eerie grayness we noted as well.

That same grayness that existed in some neighborhoods existed in some of these people. You could see it in their eyes, you could see it in their faces and their mannerisms, and their clothing. There had been a period here where life wasn’t so kind to people, and smiling didn’t come easy. There was a period here, when vaccines weren’t readily available. You can see this on the street. We noticed more than a reasonable number of folks with leg ailments, using crutches to walk. It wasn’t just seniors, but let’s say 50 years old and above. It was strange and made us wonder if polio vaccines weren’t available in some areas or during certain times. The creases warn in the faces of many of these folks showed hard winters and a rough patch in life, like rings in a tree that might show evidence of an ancient fire, or a drought.

With all that said, we loved Prague and would recommend a visit to just about anyone. The bohemian history is incredible, the architecture of old town and lesser town is beautiful, the river is like a fantasy land, the castle is awe inspiring, and the music and food are great as well. We attended a concert in a church, were treated to a gypsy band (with a jazz dulcimer) over dinner, sampled some wonderful Czech beer, and we ate Czech food all over town that was to die for. This is a great town to tour and unlike any other we had seen. It's so unique, that even Parker was having trouble coming up with comparisons, and that is a rarity.

Prague remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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I left the family in Zurich like any self respecting car junkie would, and made my pilgrimage to Stuttgart, a short 2.5 hour train trip, to pay homage to my favorite badge – Porsche. Stuttgart is where they build the Porsche 911, and I wanted to see it being made. As luck would have it, I was able to book a tour in the 911 factory with 10 other English speakers (mostly Americans) who were also religious followers of the Porsche.

I’m sure the Porsche factory is just a proud place to show up for work for most of the technicians, and St. Peters Basilica is only an office for the Pope, if you know what I mean. I was in awe. I saw a 911 turbo engine being assembled. I saw cow hides being cut into 911 body panels, and saw them being sewn. I saw 911 bodies drifting from the ceiling to meet their interiors. I saw those bodies being “wedded” to chassis and power plants, and I saw that all of this was being done with the most precious of instruments. Human hands. All of this stuff is hand assembled. The only thing in the factory that isn’t, is the windscreen. Factory technicians build 160 cars a day here, and every color and model of 911 can be seen interspersed on the line. It was a religious event for me (as much so as seeing St. Peters) but this witnessing didn’t require faith. I met some very nice people on the tour, and one fellow addict, Steve Potter, who is actually a Porsche Salesman in South Carolina, was doing the tour for fun on his vacation. I guess that’s the equivalent of me going to a data center in Eastern Washington for my vacation. We all asked a lot of questions of our young tour guide who spoke great clipped English, and was rarely stumped. “Yah. Thank you very much. Your tour is over now.” Unfortunately, they made us relinquish our cameras and phones before taking the tour so we didn’t expose any manufacturing trade secrets, so no photos of the tour. :-(

While in Stuttgart, I also visited the Porsche Museum, and the Mercedes Museum. The Porsche museum is tiny, but holds many significant cars, highlighting their racing heritage, while the Mercedes Museum is huge and other-worldly, showing their first cars, the plane engines they built for Nazi Germany, trucks and buses, as well as their entire racing fleet. My 24 hours in Stuttgart fed my addiction, and made me pine for home, just to get behind the wheel of my 911, while prepping the garage for a new one . After Italy and some time with Ferrari in Maranello, I had begun to wonder what sports car held the keys to my heart. After a 24 hour visit to Stuttgart and 2 hours or so in the Porsche Factory, it’s no longer a question.

24 hours in Stuttgart remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Lucca
Lucca is a town of about 70,000 in the region of Tuscany, about 50 miles west of Florence, and 25 miles east of Pisa. It is a quaint little city in spite of its numerous inhabitants, feeling more like a town of 2,000 than 70,000. The reason? The 800 year old “walled village” that sits in the center of Lucca. Lucca is an ancient city, described by locals and tourists alike as two separate cities. One city is “inside the wall”, and the other “outside the wall”. Hmmmm… how do I create this image for ya? Imagine an ancient brick wall that is 30 feet tall and 60 feet thick, in the shape of a 4 kilometer jagged oval encircling and protecting the inner city from once-plundering hordes. Interrupting the wall are battlements, entrances for bikes, pedestrians, cars and tour buses, while on top of the wall is a lovely paved and grass bordered path, strolled by grandparents pushing strollers, well attired joggers and cyclists, field trips of 11 year olds, lovers holding hands, families on holiday and the locals just walking and enjoying one of their numerous cigarettes (more on this later). The wall dates back 800 years, and has never repelled even a lone trooper. Lucca was a rich city for 100s of years, thanks to a booming silk trade that made it rather interesting to even folks like Napoleon who was one of Lucca’s proud plunderers. There is easy access to the top of the wall from the inner city so you can enjoy the views while you stroll atop it. Within the wall is a walking city, inhospitable to cars and trucks, but a great friend to bicycles, scooters, and of course walkers. The streets are charming, the churches are magnificent and the history just swallows you with every step. Simply sitting around in a café, enjoying an espresso, while facing one of the many piazza’s, courtyards, or shopping streets is a noble pastime.

A good friend from SLO, Judy King and her family have been staying in Lucca for months and were there to greet us when our bus arrived in Lucca. We had just missed Alex Crozier, Judy’s better half, who had gone back to San Luis Obispo to resume his responsibilities as the Women’s soccer coach at Cal Poly. He was here in Lucca playing with the men’s club team (ouch). The kids, Bo, Dan and Angie are all attending Italian schools, playing on Italian soccer clubs and learning the language from a fire hose.

Our apartment is inside the wall and we all easily walked to it, even with our giant bags. Chiara, our super helpful (and cute) property manager was there as well to give us a walk through. The walk through stunned us. Our place “The Residenza Mansi” was huge and perfect. It is on a quiet street, on an upper floor, overlooking everyday life in the small courtyard behind it. It has four bedrooms, two kitchens, a sitting room, family room, dining area, laundry room, a gaggle of bathrooms and everything you would ever need including four bikes and cooking accessories galore! I recommend renting the Reseidnza Mansi yourself. The web site is nice, but it doesn’t do the place justice.

We cycled everywhere and even tuned the bikes up when we needed at the resident shop for very little cost. We hung out, shopped, strolled, ate, found a nice little skate park, and could catch the train to anywhere in Italy, just by walking or riding our bikes the short distance to the train station. We had heard that Lucca was a fantastic place to call “home” while you trained your way to some of the major Italian cities and that is exactly what we did, heading to Modena and Maranello, Florence, Pisa, Rome and Venice. Lucca was a little slice of heaven and we will come back here for sure.

Modena
Parker and I trained our way to the Ferrari Museum in Maranello Italy. We passed through Prato and Bologna on our way, but two hours later, there we in Modena, waiting for cab to Maranello. This day trip was totally worth it, seeing some of the most notable Formula One cars ever, Parker’s favorite car, the Enzo, and a bevy of other beauties. We even saw a Scaglietti making its way around Fiorano test track which was fun to watch.

Florence and my Mom
We asked my mom, “Grandma Patty”, to come visit us while we were in Italy. My mom loves artwork and we could think of no better gift than to share some of the beautiful art history we knew we would see. We had enough bedrooms in Lucca, and one more person was no big deal at all for the small day trips we would take. She had never been in Italy before, and after some gentle prodding and an OK from her doctor, she was committed. Mom flew into Florence and I picked her up in the airport without incident, (that is if you don’t count that she missed her connection and Paris and arrived 9 hours late). Mom and I spent her first three days in Florence, visiting museums, cathedrals, palaces, and shopping in between those. We walked everywhere and we wore each other out. We hadn’t spent much time alone with each other for as long as we could remember and we had a great time touring by ourselves. It was our first time to Florence and mom had a list of places she wanted to see. I think we saw everything on the list, and we walked everywhere, never really needing a cab or a bus. We visted the Duomo, the Croce Cathedral, Santa Maria Novella Cathedral, the Uffizi Museum, the Academy Museum, the National Museum at the Bargello, the Duomo Museum, the Piti Palace, and the Ponte Vecchio bridge.

Our hotel was close to the Duomo, and we could see the bell tower and dome from our room windows. It drizzled every day for most of the day, so lines and tourists were relatively light. Florence is an incredible place to experience Italian Renaissance art. We visited the sarcophagus of Michelangelo, Machiavelli, and Galileo, all in the Croce Cathedral, and we saw Michelangelo’s David at the Academia which produces an involuntary a gasp in everyone I watched see it. We saw countless Italian Renaissance and Flemish paintings at the Uffizi, walking through the sculptures in the Piazza del Signoria from Ammannati, Giambologna, as well as Donatello and Michelangelo (which were actually copies), just to get in line.

Perhaps the most incredible place we visited was at the Pitti palace. The gardens were incredible and one could take hours to stroll it if they were so inclined, but the rooms are what blew me away. There are rooms at the Pitti palace that house an Italian Renaissance Museum with pieces by Francesco Fusini, who is my new favorite renaissance painter, blending beautiful Flemish light study with Italian and religious subject matter. But it wasn’t Fusini’s glorious work that made the Pitti stand out. The rooms themselves were the real prize. These rooms were painted in the 1600s to look as though they contain the most incredible and detailed molding and architecture on the ceiling and second floor. As you view the ceiling, you gawk at the incredible molding, balconies, and skylights. However, it’s all painted, and none of it is 3 dimensional. I found myself looking past Fusini’s work, staring at the ceiling and the incredible work of those artists. These rooms and this Fusini exhibit were coupled with the most insane jewelry and ceramics museum you can imagine. This museum does the best possible job relaying to the visitor how much wealth the Pitti and the de Medici families had. Wow. Wealth hasn’t been worn like this for hundreds and hundreds of years.

Pisa
After our Florence visit the kids and Carol were thrilled to see Grandma Patty in Lucca and we would all head out to Rome and Venice in a few days after chilling from some days in Lucca. Pisa is a slight 30 minute train trip from Lucca and Mom wanted to check that out as well so we did a half day trip to see the tower. It was worth a half day to see the Duomo, the Baptistry, and the leaning tower of Pisa. We all scaled the tower, toured the Duomo, and watched people taking the silly photos of their buddies holding up the tower. The place was quite over run with tourists, but nevertheless, it’s pretty cool to see the tower in person when you’ve seen images of it your entire life. The only real thing of note during our visit was our search for some initials of one of Grandma and Grandpa’s friends, Harvey Lorenzen (sp?), who carved his initials in the tower during the 2nd world war. We think we found them – but couldn’t be sure. Generally, this isn’t a place I would recommend spending oodles of time. Do it in a day, or better yet a half day and don’t stay there.

Rome
Rome must be one of the most photographed places on earth. There were “aha!” moments all over the town, seeing things in real life that you’ve only seen before through 1,000s of photographs. We were blown away by seeing St. Peters, the Sistine Chapel, the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps, and all the fountains, but the thing that set Rome apart for us was the Roman architecture that is still standing and the 2,000+ year old ruins that are barely standing. The Coliseum, The Forum, Circus Maximus, and what we thought was the most spectacular, the Pantheon, were all hard to fathom. We couldn’t imagine that people were so advanced as to build all this 2,000 years ago. We hung out in the Coliseum for quite a while absorbing it all, which is impossible. It was a major event for all of us to be inside the structure and imagine what it must have felt like for a spectator or a competitor, or for a carnivore’s lunch for that matter.

The other thing about Rome that should be said: It is a big city with lots of people and it is a bit dirty. Scooters abound and share the road with the numerous tour buses and a whole lot of cars. It was a bit like New York City to some degree, in its frenetic quality and errrr…cleanliness. Like New York, we had heard that we had to watch out for crime in Rome, but I guess we were lucky because we found none, excepting a poor vendor getting steamrolled by the Polizia for selling counterfeit purses. We liked the place, but were ready to head out after a scant few days.
Our hotel was pretty old and haggard and was on the third floor of an old building or “palace”. It had an old elevator that sometimes worked and held at most 4 people holding their breath.. The Oceania was the hotel’s name, and while the people working there were quite nice, the place itself was pretty bad and doesn’t warrant a recommendation. Five beds in a tiny room, with stained carpets, not a single chair or dresser, and the shower was essentially the entire bathroom, not in the bathroom. It was the bathroom. There was only a continental breakfast, and you couldn’t log on to the internet until 9:00am (if it was working) so you didn’t disturb guests, or apparently the noisy people eating breakfast. I just shrugged my shoulders when I was scolded for trying to get on too early in the morning. Oh yeah – the Oceania was hugely expensive as well.

Perhaps the most interesting part of the Rome visit and something I highly recommend is the “double decker red bus” tour. It is a great way to see the city and we did it all the way around. The bus makes 12 stops around Rome in a big loop. If you sit in the top of the bus for the entire loop you will get your bearings straight and see all the major sights. Pick it up at the Train station. There are always a few waiting there. A funny thing happened while we were making our loop. We were driving straight into St. Peters Square and we noticed what appeared to be 10,000 people and two jumbo monitors displaying *gulp* the pope. Yep, the pope was speaking to the masses while we drove by in our tour bus. We heard him say “President Bush” and “USA” because he had just returned from his trip. Upon reading the fine print, it appears that a papal visit was included in the price of our bus tour.

Venice
Venice was fantastic and we all loved it. We stayed in a fantastic place right on the Grand Canal, and while the floors slopes a bit just like the building, everyone had their own bedroom, and we had a nice kitchen, dining room and living room. We could hear the boats going by day and night. We grabbed a three day pass for the Vaporetto (or water bus) so we could get around easily, but really only needed it when we were trying to cover ground from one island to the other without enjoying the neighborhoods. Venice isn’t nearly as big or overwhelming as Rome is, and much of it can be easily walked. In fact, it seemed to us that on these walks the real Venice can be found. We ran into churches that held Caravaggio and Peter Paul Rubens artwork, and we were just strolling. The tiny canals and the little shops, and the people who work in them are the story it seems. There aren’t that many people living in Venice any longer and the ones who do must really love it. There are tons of tourists, and getting anything done is hard with the transportation being a huge limitation. Venice population has declined by half in many years, with many accommodations be used as pure rentals or vacation spots. The people who live here full time, must really love what this city has to offer.

Saint Marks Square and Saint Marks was a highlight, feeding pigeons with the boys, and viewing the incredible work that makes up the Catherdal and Clock tower. The food was pretty good (we had heard otherwise) and the people were very very nice.

We took a water taxi one night for an evening tour of the canals. We literally walked out of our door, walked 10 feet to our dock, whistled at a passing wooden taxi, and a driver picked us up. We toured the canals for an hour, drank a great Brunello and watched the sun wash the beautiful buildings in what felt like a warm farewell wave to Italy.

Trenitalia
The trains in Italy are incredible. They can take you virtually anywhere you want to go in Italy or get you started to just about anywhere in Europe. They are clean, convenient, safe, on time, and not very expensive. There are many choices as well. A). You can ride in a regular Trenitalia train with no reserved seats. These trains stop in every city along the tracks and take their time. B) You can take an “IC” that has reserved seats and doesn’t stop at every stop. C) You can take the Eurostar which moves at 200kmph and stops only at major stops. On the Eurostar, you can sit in 2nd class (coach), or 1st class. As you might imagine, the prices increase as you move up the service classes. From Lucca, we would need to take a regular train that would connect with a Eurostar in Florence or Milan. We found that the best way to organize train travel was to investigate departure and arrival times on the Trenitalia web site, write down the train numbers, times and dates, then show up at the train station with all your information and then simply hand it to the person behind the counter. This worked flawlessly and was super low stress, with the only exception being that our train from Milan to Zurich simply vanished with the comment “sopresso” next to it, which it turns out means “deleted”. We boarded a train with the same destination a few hours later because the Trenitalia help desk told us our seats were still valid, which was true, except a group of Singaporean tourists had those same seats on that train. Oh, you mean the train number changed? They forgot to tell me that. Oh well, we hopped from seat to seat as we were booted by the real “occupants” until we reached Zurich. It seemed to all of us that America is so backward when it comes to train transportation. Imagine how an all electric high speed nationwide rail system would be. If this high speed rail system was integrated with rail systems in major cities (real rail systems like major Europe cities) it would be incredible and have incredibly powerful impact on the environment.

Smoking
It seems everyone in Italy smokes cigarettes. I know this is a gross over statement, but we were shocked by how many kids and adults were smoking. It seems a national pastime. Imagine this: A bus load of junior high school kids exit their bus in Lucca for an “inside the wall” tour, and as soon as their little converse hit the gravel, they all, (and yes I mean all), whip out packs of smokes and start puffing away, along with their teacher. I swear to god it’s true. Mothers, grandmothers, fathers, uncles, cousins, brothers and sisters, all smoke. Inside, outside, upside downside. Walking, driving, riding bikes or skateboards. These people love their cigarettes and treat them as just another incredible fashion accessory, but more on that later. It must be true that the Italian people think they look more interesting or sophisticated when they are smoking. With their cigarettes gently resting between index and middle finger, their hands wave vigorously, leaving wispy translucent patterns of smoke in the air, not unlike a stunt pilot at an air show performing his grand finale. It truly is a beautiful and interesting fashion accessory. NOT. How do you think it looks on us? Yeh, no so nice, eh?


No actual smoking was done in this photo

Beautiful people
Italians are beautiful. Now maybe that’s as big an overstatement as my smoking hyperbole, but I believe it. These could be the best looking people on earth. I have been abused by my family members for even thinking this, but I think it’s true. These people are just damn good looking. Now maybe it seems so, because we spent a week in Turkey, where I found the opposite to be true, but we all found ourselves ogling passersby with mouth agape, because they were just so damn beautiful. The men, the women, the kids are all beautiful. Blonde hair and blue eyes, red hair and green eyes, brown hair and brown eyes, all shapes and sizes. Ya know, maybe they aren’t really that good looking. Maybe it’s just that they dress so much better than everyone else, and they carry themselves with such royal aplomb. We would sit at cafés and watch passersby in layers of color coordinated clothing; orange pants, red pants, green pants, or brown, with contrasting or subtle hues of shirts and sweaters on top of that, capped with great hair and subtle earrings and perfect glasses, with cigarettes in graceful outstretched fingers. And that’s just the men. The women were even more beautiful, but I think they’re just trying to keep up with the men. By the way, there are as many men’s clothing stores as there are women’s, and their selection is fantastic. Now I’m not implying anything here, but people kept trying to talk to me in Italian. I must look like that ugly Italian second cousin they keep squirreled away in a house attic in the Tuscan hills somewhere. Seriously, it’s probably just the sense of style Italians have, but it just looks so darn good on them.

Bye Bye Grandma. Arrivederci Lucca.
We had a great time in Italy and it felt so much like home, we’re all pining for it. It was great to see Grandma enjoy herself so thoroughly in Italy. We were sorry to see her leave, and had our saddest goodbye of the trip, but we were happy to know that she had a great time, packing so much into her 18 days with us. I think we were also sad because we realized out time in Lucca was coming to a close. Bye bye Grandma! And Arrivederci Lucca!

Italy! remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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We had done some studying before arriving in Istanbul, but any books we poured through didn’t capture the frantic pace of the city, the traffic, the diversity nor spirit of the locals. We found the city to be very European and concurrently highly Muslim. 99% of the city is Muslim, but 99% of the folks we saw on the street were European in appearance. Folks all over town dressed sharply European regardless of the day, and we found a walking street near our hotel (the Hyatt) that was packed to the gills with upscale stores, and folks walking the town until dawn, (literally). The boys found a nice street spot near the hotel to skate, within the mass of people cruising the streets, and the locals seemed amused by the boarders, not irritated, which was a welcome surprise.

The old part of town is where we spent the lion share of out time. We were staying in Taxim, a relatively modern section of town, so we would need to taxi our way into the old city each day to get to the various sites we intended to visit. Once we were in the old town, where the majority of Istanbul’s history resides, it was pretty easy getting around by walking or public transportation, but not quite as easy traveling from our Hotel. Throughout Istanbul we met many folks that spoke great English and wanted to talk to you about America, and the trips they had made or were planning to make, or whether Hillary or Barack were going to be the next president. Once again we were shocked to see how much citizens of another country know about our government.

Istanbul has a long history dating back well before the Romans and we found museums and archeological sites that took pleasure in recording and telling the stories. We visited the Basilica Cistern that roman emperor Constantine had built to ensure water was plentiful for the palace. We drove underneath the ancient Roman aqueduct that filled that same cistern. We walked around the chariot race track that housed 100,000 people and saw many deaths. We gazed on an Egyptian Obelisk that was over 4,000 years old. We did this without entering a mosque, cathedral, or palace. We of course did that as well. We visited the Hagia Sofia which was built by the Roman Emperor Justinian in the 4th century AD and still stands quite proudly to this day. It has been a church and a Mosque and is now simply a museum – a gawkers paradise. We were amazed how well this structure has held up over the centuries. Considering that this building is over 1,600 years old, the architecture, and the mosaics within its walls are stunning.

Next to the Hagi Sofia stand the Blue Mosque, which was built roughly one thousand years later, and it is perhaps even more stunning from the outside, but the inside just made us uncomfortable. It is the first mosque we had visited and we are not used to taking our shoes off to enter. Parker commented first about the smell of feet, and we all gave him a silent but acknowledging nod – it did smell like a dank closet. And the thing that bothered us all the most was the way the women were stuffed into two small areas at the back of the mosque. Men worshipers had the run of the place, but women appeared to have domain over only two small galleries in the back. The men seemed to have an open invitation to show the tops of their heads to god, but the women had to wear a scarf over their head. In fact all women had to wear a scarf including Carol. This segregation of males and females made us uncomfortable, (beyond the pungent olfactory issue) and we all scrambled for the exit for a breath of fresh air and an equal footing. I can’t claim to understand nor to have ever studied the reasons for the different treatment of men and women in mosques, but it made us very uncomfortable. We also cruised over to the Topkapi Palace to see how the Ottoman Empire’s Sultan and his Harem lived hundreds of years ago, and it was pretty amazing to see the wealth dispensed by the royal family, and to see more evidence of the unequal footing between men and women. None of us were shocked that 300 women were kept for the Sultan’s needs and wants hundreds of years ago, but the recent memory of the Blue Mosque made this seem like another piece of evidence that something just ain’t right from a western point of view. It was pretty apparent that this isn’t really Europe, is it? We read an interesting article before arriving in Istanbul that detailed the tension between an Istanbul that wants to become a non-secular Muslim country and an Istanbul that wants to become part of the EU. There is so much happening in this country to pull it further east, and simultaneously pull it further west, it caused us to wonder whether the fabric of the country can hold together. Or will it rip apart at the Bosporus straight, creating a European Turkey and a non-secular Muslim Turkey. Only time will tell.

We took some time to go through the Archeological museum in Istanbul as well that is literally right next door to the Topkapi Palace. This place is amazing featuring treasures from Africa and Saudi Arabi, as well as local Archeology. There seemed to be scores of 4-2,000 year old sarcophaguses dug up in simple farmer’s fields. There were fabulous Mesopotamian relics and artwork. And there were some of the most significant items I’ve ever seen at a museum. For instance: The staff of Moses, the sword of Joseph, the sword of Mohammed, the turban of David, and the baseball bat of Joe DiMaggio, (ok just kidding on that one). It was the first museum that produced eerie shivers down my spine, confirming that people I thought were just folkloric, actually lived and held possessions. Beyond bizarre.

Carol and I spent some time in the Grand Bizarre, which, if anything is perfectly named. It was a giant and grand maze of tiny shops selling everything you could want to take home from Turkey: faux Monte Blanc pens, Turkish Delight candy, leather satchels, rugs from every corner of Asia, jewelry, antiques, spices, food, bobbles, bangles, etc... The aisles and stalls seem as if they will never stop, and getting lost among the brightly colored aisles is expected. Even a GPS wouldn’t help you here. The grand bazaar could hold your attention for hours and turn almost anyone into a shopper. The men and women working in the shops are more than accomplished sales people with a mastery in an English language derivative known as “come into my shop”. It is a highly effective language. We walked away from the Grand Bazaar with some very cool things, some of which we are now asking ourselves “What the hell were we thinking when we bought that? “That’s yours, not mine” “No it’s not. You bought that thing – you carry it home.”

For our parting shot of Istanbul, we did what everyone told us was a must. We cruised up the Bosporus straight which connects the Marmara Sea to the Black Sea. It is considered to be the narrowest straight used for international navigation, and we saw some massive ships cruising it. We also got a taste of other parts of Istanbul that were beautiful and tawny. We caught our boat in Bebek, which is the highest end neighborhood in Istanbul. If you shielded your eyes from the occasional Turkish flag, bebek could have been on the French Riviera. Beautiful homes sat on the shores. Large boats and yachts bobbed in the choppy waters. Exotic cars cruised the streets in stop and go traffic lined with pedestrians. The pedestrians were the giveaway that you weren’t in the Riviera. As much as we loved the people of Turkey for the friendliness, they don’t look European like French or Italian. They look Turkish which is entirely different. Strangely, I was being talked to in Italian throughout the trip which seemed quite befuddling to me until I stepped foot on Italian soil, which will be explained in the next entry… but I digress. The boat we took was an all wooden boat that served a fantastic lunch on board and cruised both sides of the Bosporus, avoiding the occasional and massive wakes of tug boats, and cruising under the bridges connecting Asia to Europe. We anchored and had lunch outside a school and watched with amusement as children ran into and out of the school at the sound of the bell, (which sounded more like a ring tone). The boat was awesome and the lunch was great. It would have been nice to have an English speaking guide, but we had a map showing significant palaces and forts, which was a great help.

After nearly 7 months of travel, we have finally made the turn into the Northern Hemisphere again and we all feel like we are entering our final leg of the trip. Istanbul, while not “really” Europe signals the end to our Asia, Australasia, and Africa legs of the trip and the beginning of our European segment. As we meander through Europe over the coming months, we’ll likely start pining for home as places begin to look feel more familiar. So let’s sign off to Istanbul with a song that we were singing for our entire stay in the fabulous city, raising a few eyebrows as we did… The song was first recorded in 1953 by the “Four Lads” and remade by “They Might be Giants” in 1990. Sung to the tune of putting on the ritz…

“Istanbul was Constantinople
Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Now it's Turkish delight on a moonlit night

Every gal in Constantinople
Lives in Istanbul, not Constantinople
So if you've a date in Constantinople
She'll be waiting in Istanbul

Even old New York was once New Amsterdam
Why they changed it I can't say
People just liked it better that way

So take me back to Constantinople
No, you can't go back to Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Why did Constantinople get the works
That's nobody's business but the Turks

Istanbul (Istanbul)
Istanbul (Istanbul)

Even old New York was once New Amsterdam
Why they changed it I can't say
People just liked it better that way

Istanbul was Constantinople
Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Why did Constantinople get the works
That's nobody's business but the Turks

So take me back to Constantinople
No, you can't go back to Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Why did Constantinople get the works
That's nobody's business but the Turks

Istanbul”

Istanbul remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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We stayed in the suburb of Camps Bay, on the other side of “Lions Head” from Cape Town city center. Camps Bay is a quaint, west facing coastal town on the Atlantic, sitting directly below the peaks of the 12 Apostles and Table Mountain. Residences and vacation homes scale the foot hills that rise from the Atlantic and slam into the base of the 12 apostles. Villas perch themselves directly over Victoria Road, Camps Bay’s main street, and the 2 km strand of white sandy beach that beckons just on the other side. Victoria Road is lined with restaurants and shops that seem busy from morning until the wee hours. During our stay, weekends filled Victoria Road, the beach, and the restaurants to the brim with tourists, sun worshipers, and folks that simply appreciate a great meal or their favorite beverage in a near-perfect atmosphere. Our Villa was perched over Victoria Rd, on the Northern end of Camps Bay, looking over a surf cove called Glen Beach. Glen Beach is rimmed with magnificent rock formations, warn smooth by eons of Atlantic surf. The Villa and its location was perfect for our family and for our visitors Anna and Fred, who flew to Cape Town from Accra, Ghana to visit. With its perfect west facing view, we saw some unbelievable sunsets from our balcony over Glen Beach.

Adding a bit of Color to Camps Bay and to all of Cape Town I suppose was a worldwide Hell’s Angels get together. Hell’s Angels leather jackets could be seen from all over the world strolling the streets in Camps Bay and Cape Town. Finland, France, England, Austria, Northland were all accounted for, as was California, Connecticut, Ontario, and New Jersey. It was funny, but North American Hells Angel Jackets feature the State, while the rest of the world just reads “country”. We actually found the Hell’s Angels we met to be fun loving, cool, and damn nice people. It was fun to have them in town throughout our stay, adding a bit of color that otherwise would have been missed.

The city center of Cape Town was a nice place, but rather unremarkable if measured by its architecture and activity. What sets Cape Town as a city apart from the rest of those in the world is its fantastic waterfront and the almost surreal location of the mountains that surround it. The city center of Cape Town sits in between a large bay and the beautiful backdrop of Table Mountain. Table Mountain rises almost vertically above the city, dwarfing the entire skyline, and making one wonder if New York or Shanghai’s skyline would look equally unremarkable in its presence. A tram runs to the top of the mountain and on a clear day, it is a magnificent place to stand. We were lucky to take the tram on an evening where the weather was perfect and we could see for what seemed like one hundred kilometers in every direction. False Bay and the Cape of Good Hope lay to the south and the city, with its millions of people and endless beaches to the north. Table Mountain regularly produces its own weather, which is a large fog bank that covers the top of the mountain, referred to by locals as “the table cloth”. We saw the Table Cloth spread out over the mountain tops a few evenings, but were lucky to miss it during our trip to the table top.

We didn’t have a big agenda in Cape Town. We had only planned on three activities besides hanging out at the beach and studying; 1) A visit to the top of Table Mountain, 2) A shark cage dive, and 3) A visit to Robben Island. Upon our arrival and discovery of our Villa’s spaciousness and location we added one more important activity, which was re-establishing a vigorous workout routine. Every morning we would rise, and do sets of pushups to exhaustion, jump rope, and then run 2 lengths of the beach. This proved to be a fun family activity that wasn’t really possible at some of our other locations. OK, that’s a bit of a cop-out. Finally our guilt of not working out for a couple of months after Australia caught up with us, and this perfect workout setting inspired us to dive back in to prepare for our entrance back into our active and healthy little town. We found a couple of other fabulous things that were “must dos” as well, like sand boarding some South African dunes and hiking Lion’s head, that we manage to find time to do as well :-)

Shark Cage Diving
We knew that South Africa was home to just about every Great White Shark documentary we had seen on television over the years. We weren’t exactly sure where these documentaries were filmed, but we knew they were close to the cape. After a few internet searches, we had found that one can arrange transportation from Cape Town to Gaansbai, about 180km south east to take a boat about 10km off the coast to swim with Great White Sharks. You don’t actually swim with the sharks, mind you. You put on a full wetsuit and weight belt, and lower yourself into a shark cage while the crew of the boat “chums” with fish parts to bring great white sharks right to you! Isn’t that awesome! We thought so. So off we went, leaving the house in the morning for the long drive to Gaansbai. We arrived, had a lunch, watched a dos and don’t video, and walked to boat. The boat had an appropriately scraggly and unaffected crew who were quite comfortable with the notion of rubbing great white sharks on the nose, and throwing Tuna heads and blood into the water to bring sharks nearby. Nearby is an understatement.

We left the protected dock and pushed the outboard motors on the way out toward “Seal Island” and area you have likely seen on the discovery channel called “Shark Alley”. The swells were pretty large and the water was very choppy. We were all a bit freaked out as the boat slammed its way through the swells. It felt as if the boat was going to break apart in the swells. We could see the top of the boat separate from the bottom on every slam. It looked like it was going to fall apart. And there are Great White Sharks in the water. AHHHH! We slowed down, and came to a calm stop. The engines idled, and we hooked up with the shark cage. The sea now seemed calm by comparison, but the swells were large enough to completely lose the other boats that were nearby as the dropped their passengers into the water as well. We took turns dropping into the cage which was a bit of a thrill as 10+ foot Great White sharks actually rubbed up against it. The sharks were so close that I couldn’t get a picture of an entire shark from inside the cage. I got a lot of pictures from outside the cage. The horrendous smell of the 10,000 seals on seal island would waft over us from time to time, which, when combined with a chum of fresh tuna heads and fish blood, made simple sea sickness seem like a paper cut in a trauma ward.

We had a blast on Shark Cage Diving and it was one of the highlights of our Cape Town activities. It’s pretty hard to describe how scary and claustrophobic it is to be enclosed in a cage under water while Great Whites swim around you. It’s even scarier getting in and out of the cage while the crew is yelling at you to “HURRY UP – SHARK RIGHT THERE!” About a week after our adventure, I ran into a story about a Shark Cage Diving boat capsizing and losing (as in death) three of its 10 passengers. It turns out that a “freak” wave capsized the boat in the exact same place we were diving only one week before. The “freak” for me was that the same boat was only 100 meters from our boat. The two pictures that follow are the boat that capsized: One from the Cage Diving Company’s own web site, and the other from our camera the week before the accident occurred. As much fun as it was, I would urge you to make sure you are comfortable with the conditions before you commit to heading out to the sea, even after a 180km drive.

Robben Island
Robben Island sits in the middle of Cape Town’s Bay, just a few kilometers off the coast. A visit to Robben Island was on our list of things to do, because Robben Island is perhaps the most significant acknowledgment of apartheid we would encounter on our visit. Robben Island was an Island jail, that held both political prisoners and criminal prisoners. Political prisoners were sentenced to years of detention on Robben Island, many for protesting the policies of the apartheid government nonviolently. We had seen pictures of Robben Island during our visit to the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg, but pictures couldn’t capture the raw emotion of the place. It seemed as if we took a virtual time machine, touring the jail that held political prisoners. Our tour guide himself was a prisoner on Robben Island during the apartheid era. He described in detail how he was treated, what he was allowed to read, allowed to write, and allowed to do. He described how many letters he could receive and send per year (two). He showed us the daily diet for black prisoners, and the contrasting higher calorie diet for Indian prisoners. He described what it felt like to have letters from his wife destroyed before he could read them, and letters he wrote destroyed before reaching his family. He explained how treatment like this was all part of the psychological warfare used to keep the prisoners weak.

Nelson Mandela, who was the central figure in unraveling of the apartheid government and its policies was held in Robben Island for many of his 27 years of incarceration, and we were able to see the cell in which he spent those years. What an incredible ordeal this man and this country have been through in the past 50 years. This “tour guide”, having spent more than a decade of his own life incarcerated on this Island, was very upbeat about the prospects of life for him and for all South Africans going forward. He was sure that we all left understanding that Robben Island is a tribute to all men’s strength to overcome injustice, and about the power of reconciliation, and not about the wrongs committed by a ruling class of South African’s who wished to keep the black majority forever in the dark. It was an inspirational visit.

We spent a fair amount of time at the Victoria Water Front, a fantastic collection of shops, restaurants, bars, movie theatres and attractions, as well as the Nelson Mandela Terminal, home to the Robben Island Ferry. The Victoria Water Front is also a bona fide working waterfront with fishing boats, and fishing terminals with all the aromatic sensations you would expect from such a place. We found some of our best restaurants here, and did a fair amount of shopping too. It seemed however, ironic to depart from this upscale water front, and arrive at the most notorious of apartheid prisons.

We sensed and discussed with white and black South Africans the nervous anticipation of what the future holds for this great country. All hope for a better, more unified and equal South Africa, but all worry that the time machine we took back to Robben Island won’t treat the country as well in the next 20 years. This was top of mind in most South Africans because the Zimbabwe elections were being held during our visit, reminding them all of how a shining example of an African democracy can go so horribly wrong. So many South Africans privately, (and publicly when prodded), worry that Zimbabwe’s shining example could become their South Africa as well. During the Zimbabwe election week, power outages were rolling through tawny Cape Town neighborhoods, pressing ever harder on the South African Psyche, providing another scary comparison to Zimbabwe’s hardships.

Sand Boarding
Carol saw a “Sand Boarding” activity in one of the brochures at the Villa, and called the outdoor adventure company that managed these trips. Sand boarding, as you might imagine, has something to do with putting a snowboard and boots on your feet and sliding down sand dunes. We like boarding of all kinds, so it sounded fun to us, so we arranged a trip. A young South African drove us about 50km north of Cape Town, where sand dunes were large and plentiful. We put on our snowboard boots and carried our boards about 1km out on to the crest of one of the dunes. We strapped on our boards, and slid down the hill. The hills were steep, but you didn’t gather much speed, since the sand slowed the board. We actually had to apply car wax to the bottom of the board before each and every trip down the dune. Now, there are no chair lifts in the dunes, so when you reach the bottom, you walk to the top. I don’t need to tell you how much work it is to hike up sand dunes in snowboard boots carrying a snow board. I think you can probably envision that. It was a little hot that day and we were all dripping in sweat by the end of our outing. Let’s just say it was a calorie deficit day.

Lion’s Head
Toward the end of our stay, the boys and I climbed Lions Head, while Carol and Anna did some last minute shopping, (there isn’t much in Ghana). Lions Head is part of the Table Mountain National Park, but the peak sits alone, separating the City Center from Clifton and Camps Bay. The climb took only two hours thanks to some great paths and pretty quick hand over hand climbing, (in some cases assisted by chains for a vertical wall short-cut). The payoff at the top was incredible offering even better views than Table Mountain. If you’re in Cape Town, in reasonable condition, and not afraid of heights, do this climb! That evening we were visited by some friends, John and Candy Montgomery who live in the New York City area, but have lived in, and still love Cape Town. They gave us some great suggestions about Cape Town before we left on our trip, and we were very lucky to have their visit overlap with our stay. We enjoyed some great conversation, some excellent South African wine, and a beautiful sunset.

Our family repeatedly found ourselves toasting Cape Town, one of our new favorite “world” cities, wishing Cape Town and all of South Africa good fortune and great luck in the coming years.

Cape Town remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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When we arrived at Mombo, we were greeted by Izzy and Taps, the managers of the camp, and Kirsty, a high school graduate who was learning the ropes, and taking care of guests like they were family. They walked us through the do’s and don’ts of the camp, and showed us to our tents, which were more like houses, making even Tubu Tree, (which was incredible), seem relatively simple by comparison. The paths to the rooms were elevated as were the two pools, the bar, the dining area, the viewing platforms, and of course your three room house, errr… I mean tent. This “elevated everything” was required to let the deadly cape buffalo migrate through camp every night without crushing the guests. Yes, I’m serious. Our three room tent included a private viewing platform with a comfy couch, an outdoor shower, a long balcony, two full beds, a living room, and a bathroom that had two showers, two sinks and two toilets. Ok, I’m kidding about the toilets, but you get the picture. Our rooms were over 100 yards from each other with an area by the pool only slightly elevated, so we split up in our usual Griffin/Mom and Dad/Parker combos.

Of course, shortly after we arrived and settled in, it was time to eat our “tea time” snack. The food at Mombo is prepared by a chef named Simon, a larger than life South African bloke who is a pleasure to hang out with and share a beer or two. He and his kitchen were amazing producing some of the best food we’ve ever had. Not the best food on the trip. I mean the best food we’ve ever had, period. I had an ostrich filet that was as good as the best beef fillet I’d ever eaten at Morton’s or Daniel’s. We had an eggs benedict brunch one morning, and it was by far the best I’d ever had. The boys wanted burgers one night, and they got burgers that were equally yummy. One evening, shortly after Simon introduced the meal, which he did before each dinner, Griffin made the comment to me “When Simon describes what we’re going to eat, my mouth waters”. So, not only is his food delicious, his descriptions are as well. Griffin found that he had so much fun with the staff at Mombo that he became part of it. Griffin was mixing drinks behind the bar, serving snacks, chasing monkeys and squirrels away from the brunch bar, and on one occasion he was even part of the official greeting team, welcoming new guests to Mombo with a old towel and a special drink that he actually made at the bar.

Mombo Camp “stilts” on the edge of a wide plain which turns to a seasonal marsh flooding as the Okavango Delta rises. The floods were filling the plain as we arrived. Across this broad plain we could watch hippos wading, cape buffalo meandering, crocodiles slinking, and red lechwe grazing – all at once. Just sitting at the bar or chilling at the pool, brought a sense of awe as we gazed over the plain and felt flooded ourselves.

We went on 6 game drives over the course of our three days at Mombo, and all were incredible. I won’t go into the details of each drive, but will highlight a few of our experiences. First, it should be said that we hooked up with a couple from San Francisco, Lucrecia and Wayne, who were on four of our drives with us. They were both funny and interesting and we couldn’t have chosen a better couple to experience this with. They were a hoot. Our guide at Mombo was an affable and fun Botswanan named Emang, who knew the area well, and was always there with a fact, or a quip. Emang had the coolest way of finishing every sentence with an “ayh?” “Look at these prints. These lions walked a long way last night, ayh?” “We’re now going to drive a long way to see the white rhinos, ayh?” The boys and I found ourselves talking like Emang by the time we left, and none of us have been able to stop. We felt a little jaded, having seen so much before Mombo. The large herds of Impala had been so common over the weeks that we didn’t gasp anymore. Emang knew pretty quickly what we had seen and what we hadn’t, so we spent little time viewing animals of which we had seen many. “We’ll move away from the Impalas now, ayh?”

A documentary covering the life of a female leopard called “Eye of the Leopard” was filmed in the Mombo area. The documentary is shown on BBC, Animal Planet, and National Geographic. We had the pleasure of seeing this leopard, (named Legadima), one morning with her two new cubs, as they played shortly after dawn. They were precious, and so utterly comfortable with people, that they played without fear or caring as we watched the cubs beat up on their mom for a half hour or so as. That same day we saw our first and only cheetah of the safari, as she hung in the shade after a hunt, avoiding the midday sun. We rushed from the cheetah to catch up to some white Rhino that were a few kilometers away. We were in a Land Rover again and we found ourselves in door deep water, for 100s of meters as we made our way to the Rhinos. When we arrived we found the other camp Land Rovers there ahead of us viewing a Bull, a mother and two baby rhinos. These Rhinos are new to the area and rather shy, so it was heard to follow and get a good view, but these animals are incredible. They are huge, made of muscle, and they are unbelievably quick. We saw all of these things, plus our usual sightings of lions in one single day. Absolutely incredible.

Lions were plentiful here, and we had many encounters with prides of up to 22 at once. Each night, we could hear the lions, and one night, a couple of males were so loud, apparently in a fight, that Parker arose from a sleep and woke me as well, we listened to males make more noise than you can imagine. They sounded like they were just outside the tent, yet they were likely over a km away. The guides joke that a male Lion’s roar sounds like a deep bellowing “Whoooooselandisthis…” “It’s mine”, “It’s mine”, “Mine” and you can almost hear them say it as they patrol their area. The next morning on our game drive, we ran into the two male lions, both of whom appeared injured and tired from their fight. Later that morning, we ran into a large pride of females. While we were parked next to the pride, my glasses fell to the ground as I was working with the camera. Remember that lions think you’re part of the vehicle when you’re in it? It’s true. Well, I got out of the Land Rover within 20 feet of the lions, (on the other side of the vehicle) to retrieve my glasses. I asked and Emang said no problem but be quick. Every lion lifted their napping heads abruptly and turned toward my foot the moment it contacted the ground. I was back in the Land Rover within approximately one nano second. Chilling.

We tended to lose track of dates and days of the week while we were on Safari. We didn’t really care which day was Sunday or Monday, or the 20th or the 31st or whatever. On this particular day, we had completed a morning game drive and we were headed toward the camp, but we sensed that we were heading to a different camp than usual. All of the vehicles seemed to be converging at the same time at the same place which is very odd. We arrived at an elevated tree house, sitting atop a beautiful hippo pool and an exquisite brunch. It was Sunday brunch. It was Easter Sunday brunch. A Simon prepared Easter Sunday brunch. We had all completely forgotten what day it was, and it never occurred to us until we showed up at hippo pool. Chocolate eggs and all. Brunch was wonderful as was every meal at Mombo…. and so were the hippos. Hippos, had been difficult to spot before Mombo camp, because they tend to be pretty shy and unfortunately we tended to get glimpses of hippo heads or hippo backs, but never a whole hippopotamus. That changed at this hippo pool. We didn’t get enough on Easter however, and we returned the next day to take all the hippos in.

frontCape Buffalo had been elusive for the entire trip. We’d been close, but the buffalo would simply disappear after our first glimpse. Not at Mombo. They slept in the camp, and under your tents. They would migrate into the camp from the plain at night, and back out in the morning. We could hear them breathing, and we could feel them rub against the stilts of our tent. In the morning, we would have to be careful not get in the way of these huge creatures as they moved out into the open plain again. These guys are incredibly fast and pretty nasty if you rub them the wrong way, so you have to be careful. A couple of the bulls stood near our vehicle as we took off for our morning game drive, and we were “encouraged” to move quickly. After we were in the Land Rover, the buffalo took off in a sprint and shocked all of us with their power and quickness. Yowza.

We were lucky to be treated to a full moon at Mombo which shared the sky with a setting or rising sun on a few occasions, providing us with some great photo opportunities. The night sky was beautiful and we could see Cape Buffalos move through camp in the moonlight. On one occasion Carol and Griffin saw a hippo and a Nile Crocodile square off right in of their room under moon light.

We saw more baby animals at Mombo than anywhere we had been. We saw baby giraffes, baby elephants, baby leopards, baby hippos, and baby rhinos all within 10km of the camp. Each sighting of animal babies produced ooohs and awwwws and we usually hung out with the little ones until they meandered out of sight. We also saw the other side of life, running into an elephant skeleton that even Emang had never seen before. He explained how the bones of the elephants are spread around the grave site by the herd, everytime they return to “visit”.

Mombo was an otherworldly conclusion to our safari. Our little Cessna landed in Maun, which is the “safari city” of Botswana, readying to transfer out to Capetown. After two weeks, we were all sad that our safari had come to a close, not just because of all the incredible wildlife we had seen, or the beautiful landscapes or sunsets, but because of the remarkable people we had met. The very special people who have decided to make wildlife the key ingredient in their own life are forever etched in our hearts and minds, and we couldn’t help take just a little piece of their spirit with us.

Without any question, we’ll be back to renew that spirit, over and over again.

Mombo Camp remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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This camp is called “Jacks Camp”. The camp was started in the 70s by a man named Jack and is booming today, with a loyal following, a growing business, and a strong conservation agenda. The camp is located on the edge of the Kalahari Desert in an area known as the Makgadikgadi Pans. The individual pans that make up the Makgadikgadi are some of the largest in the world, and are essentially dry salt beds, evidence of a giant super lake that used to cover this area and the much of the delta millions of years ago. Those weren’t beaches I was seeing from the plane. Jacks camp is a permanent tented camp, themed as a 1940s British officer’s compound. There are old books, old furniture, old pictures of old soldiers and more interestingly, there are old skulls, taxidermied animals, and ancient tools providing a museum of sorts in the main eating and lounging areas. This place is very unique and unlike the last two camps that seemed focused on “client meets animal” experiences, Jacks Camp seems to be more of an academic institution, with a set curriculum focused on building an appreciation of this foreign landscape and teaching all things native to the area; history, geography, geology, sociology, botany, ornithology, and zoology.

When we arrived in camp, we were greeted by Renee, one of the managers of the camp, and roughly one billion ants. Yes, one billion ants. It seems that ants rise from their subterranean homes and spill onto the foot paths after a rain to feast on bugs that have been washed up from their homes. Now, these aren’t the common little black ants that we have back in America. Nope. These are carnivorous ants that can sense the vibration from a step and actually run toward your shoe the moment you set it down. I am petrified. We are all petrified. We sprinted to the main tented area for lunch and epileptically kicked and swiped the ants off of our shoes and trousers the moment we hit the first step to the raised wooden floor, which ironically was ant free. We met the other guests who were just finishing their lunch and witnessing our anti-ant seizure. Surely they must have endured the same affliction upon their arrival. It seemed not from their reaction, but we later found that everyone who is visiting the place is a bit freaked by the notion of one billion carnivores and we witnessed each having a seizure filled moment not unlike ours upon stepping onto any raised floor. Yeah, perhaps I’m being a bit melodramatic about the whole thing, but man they freaked us out, and we had to walk some 300 yards between the main area and our tents through piles of these things, repeating our seizures upon arrival anywhere.

Our first evening, Kevin, (who the ants don’t seem to phase), took us out on the open plain to watch the sunset and hear about the history of the camp, the geography and geology of the location. We happened to find a fantastic bar set up out in the middle of the plains. This lesson of sorts was quite fascinating, and made perfect sense. It is an area unlike anywhere in the world, with some of the largest salt pans on the planet. The camp sits on the edge of the Makgadikgadi pans and wildlife migrates through the pans, adoring their ability to expose a predator’s intention from a long distance. The area is also rich geologically, providing the source, but not location of the world’s largest diamond mine, and hosting scores of unfelt earthquakes every other day. I will spare you the details, hoping you come here and see for yourself. We enjoyed drinks and snacks under the stars, absorbed the clouds and colors of a gorgeous Kalahari sunset, and drove back to camp in the dark, spotting an occasional spring hare with Kevin’s spotlight.

The next morning we went on a bush walk with the native “San” Bushmen from the area. If you’ve ever seen the film, “The Gods Must Be Crazy” you would recognize the native bushman of the Kalahari. They have a gentle appearance and a soft presence, appearing to conserve energy in an environment that demands conservation of all kinds. They speak a wonderful language that is formed of tones, clicks and pops, leaving you wondering how they make the sounds, after you’ve tried it out. Three bushman walked us around the bush and dug up a plant to show us where water is stored in its roots. They dug up a plant, showing us a root that provides an energy supplement for their food. They dug up a scorpion “just for fun” and they started a fire from zebra dung, grass, and twigs – which was crazy to watch. They smoked a pipe full of dung, lit from the fire and they instructed us how to shoot their arrows with a tiny bow. We weren’t too good at this. It is amazing to think that these people have been able to survive and find sustenance in an area that appears to banish all but the hardiest residents. These kind and gentle people might be the hardiest of them all.

That evening we drove to the salt pans and saw firsthand how flat and disorienting the salt pans are. The pans are the most convenient and speedy way to cross this part of the Kalahari, but they are also the most difficult to navigate. Old explorers would set out by night and use the stars to navigate across the pans, but after 25 miles, the sun would rise and they would still have 15 miles to cross. If you didn’t have a good inner compass, you were in a tough spot. We did an experiment on the pan and it showed how damaging a continuing five degree miscalculation could be in your navigation, perhaps spinning you in circles indefinitely, not unlike the vultures who would likely be circling above your carcass. On the edge of the pan we saw a fresh lion kill (a local cow) and heard the lion bellowing just a kilometer or so in the distance. Kevin also showed us how to take advantage of the Pans for some really silly photos that are equally disorienting which we share with you here. This was like having a recess in a day of extraordinary classes in the great outdoors.

Our next morning, we set out early to find the meerkat group that lives a few kilometers from the camp. If you have seen the TV show “Meerkat Manner”, you know these animals. This is a different group, but they exhibit the same comical behavior. Meerkats move from burrow to burrow throughout the day foraging for food as they go. One Meerkat takes on the role of sentry for the group, climbing to the highest point nearby, and watching for predators, calling to warn others if trouble arises. Not fearing humans as predators, they assume that we are basically just another mound of dirt that will allow them to get a better vantage point for their role as sentry. See what I mean…..

Later that morning, we visited an ancient baobab tree that is one of the largest in the world. It was historically used by explorers to navigate the last 15 miles of the pan when the daylight struck on their trip northward and it’s nicknamed “the beacon of the pans” The tree is a giant succulent with 7 trunks and you can literally hear or feel the water when you slap the side. There is no bark, but rather a hard fibrous covering that can be ripped away in sheets to make a very strong rope. You can see quite clearly where rope has been cut from the tree over the years. The age of giant baobabs can only be determined by size, because baobabs have no rings like a more common tree. This Baobab is believed to be between 3,000 and 6,000 years old, and before a few years of drought, was actually larger than it is today. It was pretty amazing.

That evening we ventured out on a drive to “see what we can see” as Kevin put it. We spotted many birds, a jackal or two, and we ran into 1,000s of zebra who were completing their migration to this part of the Kalahari. We also heard a male lion bellowing, but we never got close to it. After dinner, Parker and I went for a night drive with Kevin to see if we could spot that male lion. Three camp mangers were in the vehicle with us as well. We saw some bat eared foxes; a couple of small spotted genet, quite a few birds, but we never did see that big cat. We couldn’t take pictures of course at night because the flash freaks out the animals. Parker and I ran the ant gauntlet back to our rooms, kicked and slapped the ants off our shoes and pants and then collapsed.

The next morning we ventured to the pans one last time to pick up stone tools that were used by the natives some 40,000 to 200,000 years ago. The pans is the perfect place to find these stone tools because the ground is generally more dense than the stone, so the tools just ride on top. We found blades and scraping instruments of all kinds. Kevin explained how the stones were made. It was fascinating to understand this process, and astonishing that someone built the tool you hold in your hand over 40,000 years ago. That afternoon, as we were heading out to our plane, we met Ralph, who accompanied us to the airport. Ralph is the son of Jack of “Jacks Camp” fame and now owns and runs the camp. He was a great guy to talk with and we got an understanding of what Ralph is accomplishing with Jacks Camp. Ralph is passionate about the Kalahari and believes this is the most beautiful part of the world. He is quite keen on ensuring that the habitat is conserved and taken care of and he seemed like the perfect steward for this land. Jacks camp was quite different from the other safari experiences we had, seeming like more of an educational institution than a Safari. With that said, I would recommend the Jacks Camp experience to anyone who maintains an intense curiosity and has a passion for learning. It is a great experience to accompany a traditional safari itinerary.

The Kalahari Desert remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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This camp is different than Tubu Tree. It is a real camp at a campsite that Brian has set up for us. It has a dining room, an open area for playing games, or lounging in hammock chairs, and we have two tents with ensuite bathrooms and bucket showers right next to each other. We are close enough to have the boys in one tent without worrying too much, but the rules are clear. Do not EVER go outside your tent at night under any circumstances. The first night will tell us why.

At 4:00 we headed out on our first game drive with Brian. Brian stopped and read the tracks and told us that Cape Buffalo, has just passed through the area and we will use the paths to find them. As we are moving down the paths, we can’t believe how thick the forest is. Brian tells us that we are going to have our work cut out to see animals these days because the grass is so high. The grass is easily 3 to 5 feet high and visibility is difficult. Within fifteen minutes of cruising, looking and stopping to read tracks, Carol stammers something that sounds like Brian or Lion or something. She is so excited that she can hardly get it out. 15 feet from the Land Cruiser is a Full Grown Male Lion, lying in the grass. I have no idea how Carol spotted the thing, but there it is. It is a great spot. We backed up and rolled close to it, and it rose up and walked underneath a bush, which hid it completely, which is more than unnerving. Imagine walking next to a bush and having a full grown lion leap out at you. It could happen. Simple as that. Brian told us that he does walking safaris in the summer, but not at this time of year, for this very reason.

We left the Lion there and began looking for the tracks of the rest of the pride and the Buffalo herd. We couldn’t find the pride, but we did see some tracks. Just then, the radio crackled and the camp called to tell us that two wild dogs, the most endangered predator, had just entered our camp. Brian asked if we would like to see these dogs, and off we went. We were tearing back to camp, on the same path, when we slid around a corner and slammed on the breaks. Right before us, just feet ahead of our vehicle, were four lion cubs, looking attentively at our car. Right behind them were four lionesses and a male Lion. They were spectacular. They were all just lounging around on the road, and waiting for the sun to go down, so they could begin their hunting. Ironically, a herd of Impala was off in the distance looking very nervous as the lionesses made deep and bellowing “hurroomph” sounds. The sound was so loud it could be heard 400 meters away where the impalas stood, and the lionesses weren’t even opening their mouths. Brian joked that the Lionesses looked sooo relaxed, just waiting for another fun evening, while the impalas looked like they were thinking “oh god, not another night…” especially after hearing that sound.

After the game drive which exceeded every expectation we had, heading the “start at zero” advice from our friend at Tubu Tree, we proceeded with a great dinner and a nice time around the fire. We bedded down for the night in our tents and the night came alive around us. Birds made beautiful sounds and wildebeest and other animals interrupted our sleep throughout the night, coming within feet of our tent. We heard the lioness bellowing their sound repeatedly from nearby, “Hurrrooomph” “Hurrrooomph.” The sounds of the Hyena could also be heard nearby, “Awwwwooooyaa”. We are staying in our tents tonight.

The next day we headed out with expectations already exceeded and we didn’t expect much more having hit the lion lottery the night before. We were going to be joined this day by a guide from the Africa Adventure company who actually grew up in Zimbabwe, Andre Steinberg. After a morning game drive and a few Giraffe and Zebra, we picked up Andre who dialed us into some Lion and Buffalo from his flight in. We took an afternoon break to let the heat subside, and we enjoyed a very brief and refreshing thunderstorm. After the thunderstorm we took our first bucket showers. It’s an experience to take your entire shower in one bucket of warm water, but the challenge was quite fun and the shower felt great. Afterward, we headed out on our afternoon game drive. The Lions that Andre saw were actually right next to the landing strip, so it was pretty easy to find them. There was big male Lion and a few females, all of which we had seen before, but the cubs were off in the bush somewhere. These Lions were following the herd of 150 or so cape buffalo that were passing through the thicket. We had spent some time with the lions, so off we went to find the buffalo. We found them in a deep thicket and we could barely get a glimpse of them. It was just the front ranks of the herd while the others trailed behind. Soon after we spotted them, they seemed to just disappear. Imagine 150 2,000lb cows instantly disappearing from view. They blend in so well with the thick greenery, they just dissolve into the background. Either that or David Blaine must be traveling with them. That evening, after enjoying our little sundowner with Andre and Brian, we sat around the fire, told stories, and watched electrical storms flash in the distance against a deep purple sky. We heard the low rumble of thunder and the low hurrrooomph of lionesses, and you could almost hear impalas stiffen nervously as the sun faded into the horizon. The night went black and we finished dinner to the night sounds once again.

The next day we had a fabulous time dodging a lightning storm that we saw moving quickly toward us across the delta. We sat in our Land Cruiser and took a few photographs from behind a Hippo Pool at the lightning as it crashed into the delta in the distance. It became apparent that this was going to be a big storm and we were going to have a tough time avoiding it. Brian thought the best thing to do was to outrun it for a bit and try to get to some shelter. Camp was out of the question being quite a few kms away, but there was a shelter by the third bridge, and we just might make it. We sped along at around 40kmph across some incredibly rough and already drenched roads, racing the lightning and rain. As we passed over the rickety stick bridge, the wind broadsided us as did a 10 degree drop in temperature. And the rain came. We made our way into an old bathroom that is shared in the busy season by many campers. Today it sits empty and we were lucky that the bars in front were left unlocked. We stayed for almost an hour as the rain poured down, chatting about things that would make us forget we were in a dark bathroom. The rain lightened up and Brian thought we should leave before the next broadside came. We made it back to the camp, laughing about the new speed record we set getting to the 3rd bridge. It was apparent that the camp got blasted as well. Water had seeped into the dining area, blowing sideways and we were expecting to see something blown over, but all was intact. We ate dinner and hung out telling stories and then made out way tour tents, falling asleep to the sound of rain on their plastic roof tops.

It had rained all night, and was still raining when we woke, so the next morning was a bit “iffy”. As the rain began to lighten up, we set out for the permanent water ways of the delta. Brian had hired a boat and we were to travel up the delta for a few hours, stopping for a picnic and then returning. Brian said that rainy days and the main channels of the delta weren’t great for wildlife spotting, but we’d see some great scenery. On our way, Brian spotted some Lion Tracks in the wet sand. We had all heard a lion last night, and Brian thought this was the one we had heard. He knew it was a male by sight, and this track confirmed his hunch about the sound last night. He told us it was a male over breakfast. These tracks were very fresh, because the rain had washed all the tracks from the night before, and these sat atop the rain drops. At one point Brian got out of the car and found an Elephant track with the lion track on top of it, and a leopard track going the other way. I only know this, because Brian and Andre were schooling us in tracking and to watch Brian track this lion was really something. We raced down roads with Brian looking down at the sand from the car every so often, and saying “yep, this way”. We turned left, right, left, then a right again. We stopped looked at tracks and then went on again, when we ran headlong into a full grown beautiful adult male Lion about 10 feet from the Land Cruiser. We watched it for a while and then followed it for a few km as it marked its territory on the bushes that ran along the road. The lion lay down and rested. We congratulated Brian on his tracking, and he brushed it off saying it was easy. You see the grass is wet and lions don’t want to walk on wet grass, so he was sticking to the roads. Very easy. Errrrrr…. maybe for Brian not for any of us. Another safari vehicle showed up and we left” our” lion for the others as we headed for the delta.

Boating on the permanent water way in the delta was as beautiful as Brian said it would be. The scenery was awe inspiring. Tall grasses rose from the root beer brown water for as far as you could see, leaving narrow paths for boats to traverse, opening to larger channels and pools every so often. Maroula trees and small islands of land seemed to draw close toward the boat as we made our way down the snaking water ways, only to recede toward the horizon as we motored our way around another bend. In one of the wider channels we encountered a hippo and Brian and John got very serious - very quickly. You don’t want to encounter hippos. They can flip boats and often do. We slowed, and then sped up and the Hippo could be seen sliding underneath the boat as we passed. Disaster averted. We took photographs of the landscape and of fabulous birds, and we stopped for our delicious lunch. On the way back, we encountered a few more hippos without incident and passed some elephants that grazed along the edge of the water way and a few others that enjoyed the water, playing and washing themselves as we passed nearby. These Elephant encounters had been the best of our trip thus far. Elephants are working their way into our hearts and becoming a family favorite.

We arose the next morning to a light rain and short schedule with Brian. We would depart at 10:00 for the Kalahari Desert on a charter flight. After packing and eating, we made our way out of camp for one last goodbye game drive with Brian at about 8:00am. While were driving, the crew would pack up the camp site to make way for the next campers. Within those two hours, we saw a heard of Cape Buffalo, a few friendly elephants, and we came within few feet of an elephant, that had just exited the water. This elephant didn’t like us so close, but he was nearly blocking the road and we passed as silently as possible. This male bull turned quickly to face off with us as we passed, and chased us just a little bit to ensure we weren’t coming back. It was actually quite unnerving, having a giant bull elephant that close and that unhappy. We made it to the airport shortly thereafter and had a quick coffee and a sad goodbye while we waited for our plane. Brian was an awesome guide and the experience he provided us was absolutely top notch, exceeding our wildest expectations, even when the weather wasn’t cooperating.
Thanks for a great four days Brian. We really missed you at our other camps. Griffin is ready to come and work on your farm as soon as he’s in High School, so start negotiating now

The Moremi Game Reserve remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Tubu Tree
We took a 70km drive to the Botswana border from Victoria Falls and crossed the border with little hassle. There was no Visa fee for entering Botswana for Americans. Compared to Zimbabwe at $30 and Zambia $130, we welcomed the bargain. Woohoo! We drove a short distance to the Kasane airport and boarded our chartered flight to our first camp in the Delta. The plane was a Cessna 260 which barely held all four of us, the pilot and our few bags. We would be on this plane for 1½ hours, traveling over Botswana for 150 or so miles. As we flew over Botswana, warn paths, like spokes in a wheel, led to full watering holes which we could easily see 3,000 feet below us. Elephants showering themselves in the middle of watering holes looked like the last cocoa crispies in your cereal bowl of faux chocolate milk. As we grew closer to the Delta, the grasslands appeared to be reflecting sunlight, providing a clue to how wet this environment becomes when the floods flow. We dropped to 500 feet for the last 20 or so miles. Scores of elephants, giraffe, zebras and other animals could be seen from the air, and it felt a little like dropping into Jurassic Park. Could this all be real? It didn’t seem so.

We landed at a remote dirt air strip and were met by Johnny, our guide for the next three days. He drove us over sand paths and through tall grass, for a half hour to the Tubu Tree camp, where we were met by the entire staff who were belting out a beautiful African welcome song. We met Demi and Bono, the managers, who informed us that our rooms were ready, but we couldn’t walk there at the moment, because an Elephant was blocking the way. Yeah right, we gaffed. They weren’t kidding. An adult male elephant was standing on the path to our room. He eventually moved away, and we split into our rooms. Carol with Griffin, Blake with Parker. This whole elephant business is repeated with Hyenas and Leopards at night, and we weren’t to walk the long paths from room to room at night under any circumstances – without our guide. Check out the photo if you think I’m joshing. That’s a bull elephant outside the window of our tent.

Tent is kind of an understated way of saying “nicest rooms we’ve stayed in on our trip”. Technically, these are tents, but they are tents with hardwood floors elevated 8 feet off the ground, with indoor and outdoor showers, a sink, hot running water, lights, beautiful bedding, a desk, coffee, and a gorgeous elevated balcony. All the conveniences of a great hotel are here. There is a fully stocked bar, a library room, a dining room, a curio shop, and a little pool for cooling off. We are pinching ourselves. It is hard for any of us to believe that an elephant is standing at the window at our 5 star tent, eating the trees. This must have been planned for our arrival? Oh, did I forget to mention the Baboons who were climbing all over the tent as well? Not to mention that a few Impala, and snakes made appearances on the way.

The managers explained a pretty hard core schedule for us. Each day we would take two game drives. We would take an early morning game drive, rising at 5:30am and heading out at 6:30. We would head out again at 4:30pm for the evening drive. Animals are much more active at these times. That evening, we took our first game drive in the 10 passenger land rover. We drove a few meters from the camp, and began seeing all kinds of game. We couldn’t believe how much was here, and it furthered the “Could this be real?” feeling of the whole place.

We experienced some incredible animal spotting. We saw from the Land Rover in no real order Elephants, Hippos, Impalas, Wart Hogs, Ostrich, Kudu, Wildebeest, Banded Mongoose, African Python, Giraffe, Zebra, Steenbok, Red Lechwe, Bat Eared Fox, Brown Hyena, and the Leopard and… the incredible Leopard Tortoise. We also saw a huge and beautiful assortment of birds. We saw all of these things at Tubu Tree in our first two days of game viewing. We have ten more to days to go at two different camps in the Okavango and one more camp in the Kalahari.
You could rattle through the list above by visiting a zoo, but seeing these animals in the wild, in their own environment is breathtaking, and you feel privileged that the animals let you watch them. We saw a full grown bull elephant running across a field shaking his head to warn us not to come any closer. We saw a mother leopard stalking a wart hog and we watched the chase that ensued. We saw a juvenile leopard climb a tree and rest. We watched a male leopard walk toward us and come within 4 feet of our Land Rover as he passed, barely giving us a thought. It seems that animals think you are one big and harmless animal when you’re in the Land Rover. Don’t step out though. As soon as you step on the grass, their pray drive kicks in and you are just another meal or intruder to them. We hit the jackpot at Tubu Tree seeing more Leopards than anyone expected, and we were told by a woman who runs a UK safari company staying at camp, to keep our expectations low for the rest of the trip. “Start at zero at every location” she told us. That is probably very good advice.

Johnny was an excellent tracker and he would look at tracks in the sand, listen to the birds, and say in the coolest Botswanan accent, “a leopard is this way”, and he was usually right. After he sensed we had seen enough of a particular animal or had a watched a scene long enough, he would say “oookaaayyyy.. “and off we would drive to the next spotting. Johnny would drive the Land Rover in some unbelievably harry situations and pull out of it without an issue. I couldn’t believe what these Land Rovers can do. They go anywhere and over anything. My respect for Land Rover is forever changed. Johnny would turn the vehicle off anytime we asked a question, or when he wanted to point something out and we would all listen to the sounds of the delta, and look over the expanse of plains rolling into islands of jungle. He’d fire the car up and you wouldn’t even hear the starter motor. We would have a “sundowner” each evening, which was a drink with cheese and crackers overlooking a watering hole, or perhaps the savannah. The evening game drives were so peaceful – as the sun usually dipped behind storm clouds on the horizon.

The meals at Tubu Tree were prepared by an excellent chef and were so good and abundant that you had to decide what you wouldn’t eat – sorta’ like a cruise ship. If we ate everything we were served, breakfast, brunch, afternoon tea and cakes, and an incredible dinner, we would have weighed more than the Land Rover. If you are going to Safari in Botswana, Tubu Tree is an excellent choice.

The evening before we departed, the same bull elephant that greeted us kept Carol and Griffin up all night as he ripped tree bark off a tree next to their tent, trying to get to the tasty inner bark that is packed with vitamins. It was a fitting farewell to this amazing place

The Okavango Delta, Botswana remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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We obtained our visas quickly and cleared customs, meeting Esther. Esther was our local tour guide and she was a kick. Esther is about 65 and actually retired as a tour guide. Today, whe will only work for the Africa Adventure Company. A tribute to Allison me thinks. We climbed aboard a bus with some other travelers, and headed for out hotel “The Victoria Falls Hotel”. Esther had a relaxed and confident style as she educated the bus about “Vic Falls” and the National Park in which it resides. We saw baboons on the road as we entered the little city of Victoria Falls and Esther made sure that we knew that the entire area was a game park and there would be animals roaming freely throughout the area. Be careful she said. These animals are wild!

We arrived at our hotel and it was beautiful. The Victoria Falls Hotel is 103 years old and was named after Queen Victoria as were the falls. The hotel is perhaps an overly gracious tribute to English colonialist history, with warn photographs of a 1947 visit from Queen Elizabeth (as a teenager), dukes, duchesses, the King and then Queen, and the entire royal entourage. Sharing the wall space are politically incorrect animal trophies that are stunning, but harken back to a time when the word safari meant you were taking shots with a gun and not a camera. Even with that, the hotel was beautiful and splendorous and we were privileged to have the best view of the falls possible from the hotel Grounds.

After checking in, we went immediately to the pool to play around and have snack. The pool was square and fountain clad in the old school style that you might see at Hearst Castle. There were cabanas, tables, a beautiful lawn, and people getting massaged in their loungers. We ordered snacks and they were brought by African waiters clad in the black pants, white dinner jackets and bow ties we saw in the 1947 photographs. It was classic. The food was delivered, and as I looked over to Carol to ask a question, I almost choked, as I waved my arms and tried to sputter “look out”! A pretty large and lean Vervet Monkey was taking a swipe at her shoulder, trying to get some of her food. We shooed him away, when a nice guy who had been staying at the hotel a few days set us straight, about the “monkey thing” . We were a bit more careful from then on, noticing that baboons and monkeys were all around us in the trees.

The next morning we went on an elephant back safari with a company called “Wild Horizons”. We had heard about elephant back safaris and were predisposed to it believing it was cruel to have elephants toting around people on their back. It turns out that elephants are quite comfortable with this arrangement, and better yet, the reserve we visited for this safari actually adopts abandoned or orphaned elephants, and raises funds to protect elephants from poaching, which is a big problem in Zimbabwe (folks are poaching for ivory). The reserve was quite large at 30,000 hectares and the property has no fence, allowing the elephants to roam freely when they’re not on safari, and allowing other wild animals to enter the land to be viewed. We really enjoyed the one hour tour and were surprised by what a comfortable ride the elephants were. Our guide, Francis, was a very knowledgeable young man, and controlled our elephant (Jake) gently, but firmly. We really didn’t expect to see any animals excepting the elephants we road, but we were pleasantly surprised to see 24 wild Giraffe with 10 accompanying zebra, and we even saw a Crocodile making its way across a large watering hole to snatch a water buck drinking on the shore. We were stunned actually. We had seen Giraffe, Zebra, Baboons, Vervit Monkeys, Elephants, and a crocodile within 24 hours of landing at the airport and we hadn’t even come to Vic Falls for Safari.

That afternoon Esther met us at the hotel and took us to see and experience the Victoria Falls. Victoria Falls, or the “smoke that thunders” as the locals have called it over the years, is one of the 7 natural wonders of the world. This is why we came here. Esther took time explaining Zimbabwe geography and geology, and then told us about the Falls. If any of you have heard the “Dr. Livingston, I presume?” line over the years, this is where it happened. Livingston actually discovered the falls and named it for Queen Victoria. A larger statue of Livingston watches over the falls from a nice vantage point. Victoria Falls is hard to describe. In fact, it is hard to see. The mist is so thick, you can’t see the entire falls from any one point. You can see the devils Cataract, a small and speedy fall about the size of B ridal Veil Falls in Yosemite. You can see Livingston Island. You can see the main falls, which are larger than Niagra, but you can’t see it all at once. The mist is simply that thick. It was about 80 degrees outside, but we actually had to wear rain jackets. Why? The mist is so thick, it would fall from the sky like sudden and torrential rain. There would be no warning, just a drenching. We were looking at the falls with a peaceful mist all around us then wham! The sky seemed to open. Esther is an old hand at this and laughed as we got our first unexpected drenching – which she shared by the way. How does she stay excited about this place after doing this for 20 years, just stare at the falls, and there’s your answer. You could visit every day and watch the power of this water pouring over the edge.

The next day was an “activity day”. Victoria Falls is the adventure capital of Africa, just like Queenstown is to New Zealand. There seem to be a guhzillion extreme activities that you can choose if you’re feeling the need for adrenaline. Parker and I were hankering for some adrenaline, so he chose a 450 meter zip line over the Zambezi river Gorge, I chose to Bungee Jump off of the Victoria Falls bridge, and Griffin chose the Zambizi river tour later that evening, preferring to see more animals. Mom chose to chill out and take the river tour that night. At 9:00am Parker and I headed over to the Wild Horizons adventure area, that featured a sky swing, an abseil, a flying fox, and a zip line. The Zip Line “launch platform” is on a cliff hovering 100 meters above the Zambezi river, and the cable extends from this platform to the other side of the canyon 450 meters away. Parker had strapped into a climbing harness and now dangled underneath. “Three – Two – One” and away he went, shooting down the wire at a speed better than 100kmph all the way across the river. After reaching the other side, parker started sliding back to the low point in the wire that hovered about 50 meters above the river. Parker hung there for 5 minutes or so while a local slid down the line to tow him back to the “launch platform”. Parker loved it. It was a thrill and unbelievably beautiful. Yes, I tried it too, and it was a rush. From here, legs still shaking, Parker and I walked to the Zambia border crossing at the Victoria Falls Bridge. We had to get our passports stamped just to make the bungee jump. We walked between semi trucks that were lined up for 1km just to clear customs unto Zambia. We arrived, I weighed in, and we proceeded to the jump platform in the middle of the bridge perched 120 meters above the Zambezi. The folks at the platform strapped me up, gave me some tips, walked me to the edge, and then yelled five, four, three, two, one “Bungee!” I leapt out, looking at the horizon, in a nice little swan dive. As gravity pulled me down toward the river, I could feel spray in my face from the falls and I could see the river approaching. With my arms outstretched, I free fell for four second before the Bungee stretched to stop me from going in the water. I felt like I was flying. After the bungee stretched to it’s end, I was whipped back toward the bridge, where I bounced and dangled until someone hooked me up to a cable that pulled me back up. I was pumped. This was one of the biggest adrenalin rushes I’ve ever had. I did buy the pictures and the video. Turns out that watching the video was actually scarier than the jump itself.

The Zambezi River Cruise was amazingly beautiful. We left at at 4:00 from the hotel and didn’t get to the boat until 4:30. All drinks were free and there were a group of French Tourists on board already taking advantage of this . We met their guide, a young man named Waldo who as an absolute blast, spoke perfect English and French along with the local language and dialects. We talked a great deal about the local political climate and other things. We cruised the River above the falls until sunset and drank in some of the most beautiful sunsets you can imagine. Better than this, we spotted a bunch of Hippos and hung out with them, watching Moms and babies keeping cool in the flowing river. We saw gorgeous birds and a crocodile or two as well. We were told that we might see hippos, but don’t expect much. Our expectations were exceeded, and we floated only 20 feet or so from the big river horses. What a terrific way top end our stay at Victoria Falls.

Victoria Falls, as beautiful as it is, is unfortunately a fantasy island in the middle of a sea of thorny issues. Zimbabwe, it seems is in deep trouble. The inflation rate is 26,000 (yes thousand) percent. Unemployment hovers around 75%. The currency is worthless, (which we saw in our $1billionZD check for dinner) and the locals are paid in this worthless stuff. People are starving in Zimbabwe and the few folks who are working, are taking care of their extended families and sometimes friends. We talked to one man who had 15 people staying in his house. They were all broke, and many were starving before the were taken in. We heard from many people how one man, Robert Mugabe, has single handedly ruined the country. The once strong and respected leader has let the country collapse into a malaise. Yet there is a strong sense of hope. Elections will take place in the beginning of April and everyone we talked with was wishing that Robert Mugabe steps aside, so the country can start anew. Folks who haven’t ever voted, are voting. The Zimbabweans we talked with felt strongly that if the election doesn’t unseat Mugabe, there will be a forcible removal. In either case, folks felt it would be another 10 years before Zimbabwe will return to the position it enjoyed only ten years ago as a prosperous, stable and respected African Nation. With that said, the people at Victoria Falls were optimistic about the future and they would want you to come, visit and enjoy one of the Seven Wonders of the World. But…. please, pay in American Dollars.

Victoria Falls remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Rolling in from the airport, we found ourselves being whisked along on an 8 lane freeway that rivals anything in the states, and we unfortunately ran into traffic that jam-packed every lane. Getting off the freeways to make better time is an expertise most professional drivers have, and ours did this with aplomb, making sure to drive through an idyllic residential area. We drove by stately manors, the golf course where Gary Player earned his badge, and we even drove by Nelson Mandela’s house that was quite tasteful and featured armed guards on the fence perimeters. This was akin to Beverly Hills of South Africa, with about a 70% price discount. We arrived at our hotel (the Park Hyatt) and were pleased to find it was situated within a shopping area with great restaurants and all the modern conveniences we lacked in Accra. Yes, I said conveniences.

The boys hadn’t been to a skate park in a long time, and we had found (via the web) that there was a great one in a nearby Joburg suburb. We hired a driver, and went to the park at the “Monte Casino” which is a hotel, casino, and boardwalk mall that looks like a direct rip off of the Ceasar’s Palace in Las Vegas, replacing the roman theme with a slightly more modern Italy. Faux blue skies adorned the ceiling of the mall area, and the shops were bustling. The skate park was a cool and clean indoor facility, and the staff and the skaters were all very nice. The boys skated for 3 hours after doing some school work and both had a great time as they burned off weeks of steam, in non skate-friendly Accra.

The only serious thing on our agenda while in Joburg was to tour the Apartheid Museum, which was across town from our hotel. We drove through the downtown area and headed toward Soweto. The museum was in the Gold Casino area, and it was part of a large complex that includes a theme park, a casino, and a hotel. Seems there are only two major casinos in the Joburg area, and we hit both of them in the same day. The museum was an incredible experience and gave all of us an education about the history of South African apartheid, how the concept evolved and how horrible it was for anyone who wasn’t a blanc (white). It was mind blowing to see firsthand how a government passed laws mandating segregation. It was equally mind blowing to watch a video of the leader of South Africa introducing the new laws, and calling apartheid “a good neighbor law”. There were individual stories of how apartheid affected Blacks, Indians, and Asians, (basically non whites). It was heart breaking.

There were documented stories of killings instrumented by the government, ridding the country of anti-apartheid demonstrators. It was quite amazing to all of us that a minority government could have held back the vast black majority for so long, and equally astounding was that the apartheid was reversed without a major war. Many people died in the struggle to rid South Africa of apartheid, but there was no civil war. You have to applaud any government that is willing to open the scars of a broken policy, and bear ownership for so many wrong deeds, so many deaths, and so much wrongheadedness. The only other example I can think of is the Holocaust museum and the Jewish Memorial in Berlin. We talked as a family and agreed that the American government could take note and think about doing something similar around the subject of slavery or the American Indian.

Johannesburg remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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We had a few chances to visit some Ghanian beaches during those last two weeks as well, which is also part of the “expat in Ghana” experience. One was just west of Accra and one was about 5 hours away near the Ivory Coast border. While we visited these places, we discovered a secret that no one in Ghana wants you to know. The beaches are insanely good. There is great surf for boarding, boogie boarding, and body surfing. The sand is clean and it is relatively critter free. Honestly, there were more bugs and dangerous reptiles in Australia than there were at Ghanian beaches. The people at the beaches are super friendly, and laid. The food is great and the lodging is a great value.

Our favorite beach was in Axim, about 30km from the Ivory Coast Border, where we spent 4 days at the Axim beach resort. We could hear the sound of border gunfire from the local militia as they squared off against the Ivory Coast Army, and we did see the amphibious tanks rolling. Just kidding. Except the part about the amphibious tanks. But seriously, the Axim resort had nice little villas, a couple of nice bars and restaurants, and a great little zip line which the kids (and me) loved. They had wonderful tide pools and a great boogie boarding / body surfing beach that was to die for. We really enjoyed it. Anna and Freddy love this place and they reserved a family villa that had three separate rooms, and a common living area with a gorgeous view. We had some wonderful evening storms while we there which made the view all the more enjoyable. Still, this is Africa, and you simply have to change your expectations about many things, and just let go. When your food will arrive, whether you will have power or hot water, whether your beer will be cold or warm is all up for grabs. Set your western resort expectations aside. This is Africa.

Something that folks rave about when they come to Axim is the trip to the stilt village. We drove within a few km of the Ivory Coast border into a little coastal town Beyin which is the launch point for the stilt village called Nzulezo. We parked the cars near the beach and we couldn’t help but notice a killer sand bar break that was producing super long lefts. Maria Sweasey, you would have been in heaven. It was only about three feet, and as with most of Ghana, the waves went unclaimed, set after set. In and the tour office we met the men that would “pole” us. We were also told that the “elder” of the village would give us the history of the village for a donation of one bottle of local gin – I kid you not. We bought the gin. From here we walked into what feels like a Bayou and climbed into Canoes. Francis and Felix, our two pole-men/tour guides, pushed the boats along with their poles and we rowed when it was deep enough. We made our way through jungle and onto a large and broad river. After a few km or so of paddling, we pulled up to the stilt village. The village was not what we expected. I expected grass and bamboo huts and few signs of western influence. Wrong! First, we were greeted by the bar owner/landing party who was ready to set up beers and sodas for us. I bought a round. We cooled off as much as you can in 85 degree, 95% humidity. From here we walked with Felix and Francis to meet the “elder”. We walked through the village and it was incredibly dirty and it was evident that the people of the village were simply tired of having visitors. They’d rather we not be there. We arrived in the area where the elder would visit with us, and as we expected, he appeared to be hammered, having polished off his last donation. We listened to the history of the village and it was settled by Malis that were fleeing tribal warfare. Here, they were untouchable, and here they had a windless environment versus living on the other side of the village where the farms existed. This trip was fun, but the real fun was in rowing the canoes and seeing the landscape. The village felt a bit like a sideshow to the real event.

On the way home the kids and Carol visited the Cape Coast Castle. I had gone home with Fred a day earlier, in dire need of antibiotics, having ingested something very wrong. The Cape Coast Castle is ominous. That is an understatement. You see, the Cape Coast Castle was built by the Portuguese in the 1500s to hold and transport slaves off to the rest of the world. 12 million slaves passed through this Castle on the way to Brazil, Spain, Portugal, Britain and the America to name a few. 8 million of those slaves died either in the Castle or crossing the water. There were 3 holding cells, each the size of a living room that would hold 150 women. No light. No toilets. Little water. Women stayed in there for months before being transported in a weakened state, only being let out so they could be examined to see who would be cleaned and strengthened so governor could rape them. The men were treated equally badly and there was even a cell that existed simply to starve insubordinate slaves to death. One room called the point of no return was the last room a slave entered before they were loaded on a ship for transport. Here they might see a family member one last time as they were boarded on ships headed to different places. A man might go to Brazil (the most common destination) and his brother to America. If either made it to their destination, which only 33% did. The Cape Coast Castle is an ominous example of man’s inhumanity to man and should be experienced by all visitors to Ghana.

The one thing about Ghanian beaches that we found tough to deal with was driving through one poor village after another to reach a beach that we intended to use as our playground. These people use the beach and the ocean for their subsistence. They may fish in the ocean, they may gather rocks or shells on the beaches. It really hurt our hearts to see hungry people in every town, and folks wearing clothes that they had on for weeks without washing. The real expats who have been here for a long time see through all of it, and don’t notice, but for our family it was really hard to see. We were reminded by expats that these people love their way of life and are happy. Living to our standard wouldn’t make them any more so. We were reminded that only 70 years ago, these areas looked as they did 700 years ago and that what we were seeing was progress and evolution. The advent of cell phones and power is changing many of these lives for the better, and you can see it, albeit inch by inch.

A fitting sendoff to our visit in Ghana was some freaky behavior in the power grid. Ghana power was suffering fits and starts and power out then on then out then on. Freddy and Anna’s generator was failing as well adding to the scene. When we got to the airport, we saw lightning on the horizon, and understood. The airport lost power three times and the Windows ™ start up screen appeared on every monitor in the place. We made our way to the plane and bid Accra and Ghana farewell with a heavy sigh (we’ll miss our family and friends) and perhaps just the slightest feeling of relief.

Ghana revisited remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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We landed at Nairobi’s Jomo Kenyatta airport at 5:30am, blearily making our way through immigration, customs and baggage claim. We were met by two beaming faces from Free the Children. Brooke and Jon were there with bells on, bubbling with much more energy than we had, having slept rather poorly on our flight. We stepped outside and made our way to the van. It was cool. Uh oh. We didn’t dress for cool. I mean, Nairobi is on the equator, isn’t it. It was completely lost on us that Nairobi is at an elevation of 5,500 feet and it doesn’t matter if you’re on the equator. Whoops. Filo, our driver, whisked us to the Karen Blixen Coffee Plantation through the early morning traffic of Nairobi. While I distantly listened to Jon and Brooke talking with everyone in the back seats, I recognized Jon’s voice. I was so tired, I never put it together. Jon had been the person in Toronto that had put our entire trip together. I re-introduced myself with a bit more vigor.

We freshened up in our rooms at the Karen Blixen, and met Jon and Brooke again for a trip to a Giraffe Sanctuary and a bead factory. The Giraffe Sanctuary was really interesting. We were taught about giraffes, where they live, the three sub species that live in Kenya, and we were able to get up close and personal which these pictures show. Yes, their tongues are disgusting, but they actually carry a natural antibiotic, so after licking our faces, we were actually healthier than before (real or imagined). We visited the bead factory that employs mostly single moms and saw them working the process of painting and firing beads. We also went to the Karen Blixen Museum. Karen Blixen wrote the novel “Out of Africa”. We saw her original house, plus many artifacts from the movie with Robert Reford as well. It was Valentine's day which was kind of lost on all of us, until we tried to get a table for dinner. No chance. Anna, Carol, me and the kids ate in the bar amongst the decorations and fawning sweethearts.

The next morning we prepared for a short charter flight headed to Kenya’s Masai Mara, about 200km from Nairobi. This is where Free the Children and its sister organization “Leaders Today” have developed a site for Kenyan volunteers. The “School of the Savannah” not only houses volunteers, it also acts as a leadership development campus of sorts, provides a place to gather and reflect on the day’s activities, and acts as a hub between school building projects. It also provides jobs for local people. With the worldwide news about political unrest and tribal fighting in Kenya, very few people were traveling and we were the only volunteers staying at the facility. At the plane, we were met by some of the leaders of Free the Children, that were having an offsite at the facility. We met Mark, (Craig’s brother), Roxanne, (Marks wife), David Baum, (an organizational consultant), Peter Rihuhu, (who runs Kenyan operations), his wife Michelle who provides medical services to many of the villages, and their baby son Kananja (aka Andrew). We flew out of the charter airport directly over Kibera, where most of the televised violence had taken place. Kibera is the 2nd largest slum in Africa (Soweto is the first) and it is pretty amazing to view from the air. People buy a piece of corrugated metal lean it up against another, and call it home, until they can afford or acquire another piece of metal to make a wall and roof. Once they have a roof and walls, maybe they’ll even fashion a door, and once they have that, they can hang a curtain and perhaps rent the half of their “home”. Almost hard to believe. After we passed over Kibera, we passed over large estates and homes that rival the stateliness of southern plantations and these soon gave way to farms and rolling hills. We approached the great rift valley, and the Mara. We were all surprised by how much agriculture there was. I don’t know what we expected, but farms, for as far as we could see, wasn’t it. The only animals we saw as we landed were Cows.

We were met on the landing strip by a Masai Warrior and guide named Nabaala (the Masai name for Greedy or Hungry). Nabaala wore traditional Masai clothing and carried a Machete and a Konga (a Massai club). It was love at first site for the boys. We were also met by Robin, an American from Chicago who has lived in Kenya for 5 years, and speaks the local languages with ease. We walked to the facility and Nabaala speaking great English described plants to us, using english and latin names as he pointed out the plants. Is this guy for real? The answer is yes, but more on that later. We arrived at the facility and found a very stout electric fence surrounding it. It turns out that there is a salt marsh right next door that elephants really love, and they tended to walk through the center of the camp so the fence made a great defensive line. We thought we’d be in tents and bunks, and were surprised (actually blown away) that the facility had built family housing that was beautiful and comfortable: Two bedroom homes with lofts and two bathrooms that could sleep all 5 of us.

Emorijoi
After lunch we drove out to two schools that Free the Children had built in communities that were a few kilometers away from the facility. As we slowly traversed the well torn and bumpy road, all the locals we passed were waving to us in our trucks. Young children would stream across farms toward the road, not with a hand out, but rather, a huge smile and two arms outstretched, waving and yelling “Jambo!” which means welcome or hello! We pulled into the entrance of the Emorijoi primary school and we were greeted by a throng of sweater clad children lining the fence, singing a greeting song and welcoming us into their school. The music was beautiful and the children’s faces were lit up with excitement. We stepped out of the cars, and the kids flocked to touch us, hold our hands, say their names and ask ours. It was overwhelming and Carol’s eyes were tearing. They kids were so appreciative of our visit and so interested in Parker and Griffin. We met Paul the headmaster, a strong, quiet, and gracious man, who walked us about the school buildings that free the children had built. He also walked us to where the old buildings stood, to show us the improvement, and then showed us a water station where children wash their hands after using one of the new toilets. He was very proud that kids were finally washing their hands after going to the bathroom. Hygienic consciousness is no small accomplishment here. It is a very big deal and can improve community health almost instantly. We talked with Paul about the impact and the growth the school had seen since the new classrooms had been built. A new school is a self fulfilling prophecy of success. More new buildings can decrease class sizes, which interest more parents, which brings in new students, which brings in new teaches, which improves student/teacher ratios, which improves quality of teaching and learning. Paul talked about a future phase which would provide teacher housing on campus, so teachers wouldn’t have to walk or drive from villages far away. It seems only a few weeks earlier during a rain, high water over one road prevented teachers from getting to school. Not at all uncommon. As we walked to the cars, some little kids were playing tag and chase with Griffin and Parker and we all joined in. One child in particular, who looked to be about 4 years old and full of diabolic energy, taunted me by rolling his eyes, swiveling his hips, and with arms outstretched motioning with his fingers to “come get me”. My heart melted a thousand times right there. We played like this for a while, before heading to the school where we would spend our days working.

Enelerai
Enelerai school is a few Kilometers from Emorijoi and services a different community. The kids knew we were coming and welcomed us similarly, following us up the hill to the school as we entered. Bright new classrooms had been built for the elementary school, and the old classrooms still stood. It began to rain and we made our way under shelter in the old classrooms. Kids flooded into the room from behind, beside, and they even seemed to ooze through cracks in the walls, like the water that was pouring outside. We were packed in and they were singing and asked if we would sing. I got volunteered since Carol and kids were too shy, and I completely blanked. The only song I could think of was “On Broadway” from George Benson, thanks to some bad Karaoke memories. I belted it out and surprised the kids… and myself because I actually remembered the words. We then ALL sang songs that Brooke led and that was a blast. The rain stopped. The kids went back to class. We walked into classrooms and each of us introduced ourselves, while some of the kids did the same. Parker noted that the 8th grade class was actually doing 9th grade math from California. 8th Grade is the last year in elementary school before you move on to secondary school and only the best make it to 9th grade. The 8th grade class is small, composed of only the best, most serious and most fortunate students. These students didn’t have to stay home or drop out to help with the farm or the chores. Many do. It takes great parental commitment and a breaking with historical norms to take a child through secondary school. We saw a great deal of that Enelerai. This village dreams of great things and education is the way to get there.

The Building Experience
The differences between old and new classrooms at Enelarai is stark. The older classrooms consist of mud and stick walls, small openings for windows, a tattered tin roof, uneven mud floors, a black board, and desks. It is hard to see the black board or for that matter the students. The new classrooms in sharp contrast have thick cement foundations, brick walls, skylights in the roof for light, and glass windows. They are clean and they stand proud. We were here at Enelerai to help with the secondary school and were in fact going to start digging the foundation of the kitchen the next day. The next day, we began working on digging the footers for the foundation. We spent four days working alongside Kenyan construction workers, some of which live in the area, and some of which come a long way to work on the project (referred to as Fundi’s) . Truth be told, we only put in a half day on each of these four days, and even with that, it was hard work. Picks, Shovels, biceps and backs are the tools of creating footers in rural Africa, not backhoes. Carol and I wanted the boys experience to be one of blisters. That would prove true. Our job was to dig the footers around the perimeter of the kitchen to a depth of about four feet. The first day the ground was very wet and the clay chunks that lay just under the grass stuck in thick chunks to our shovel blades and Picks. This was slow going. We learned from Wilson, a Fundi, who was there with us every day, how best to do this. The clay chunks were so large that Anna started a trend by not even using the shovel and just heaving them out. Over the next three days, the earth dried and we got more productive. We couldn’t help but notice that the ditches seemed deeper than when we left. We were grateful the Fundi’s were helping us make our way through the muck and we were more grateful that they put us with our ineptness as I’m sure we were to a large degree just getting in their way. In any event the kids put in some good hard work and we all got blisters. Working alongside the local men was extraordinary and taught us how to pace ourselves, and also taught us how tough these men are for putting 10 or so hours of grueling physical effort into the same trench each day. We finished our work by creating rebar structures for the cement pour. We cut the rebar with a hack saw, cut wire with a hammer and rocks, and tied the rebar sections together. It seems amazing how things are done here when you consider the expensive power tools that are available in the world. People, not power, nor money are available more broadly here, and that’s what deployed.

We were working on Sunday morning when we heard some African music from beyond a tree line. I could swear it was live. And we argued about Radio vs: Live. During a quick break we peaked between the trees to see a church service taking place inside a small and austere building. A quasi-tuned synthesizer and drum machine belted out music that went on for what seemed like hours. Folks inside could be seen dancing and heard singing. What did we do? We danced our way back to the digging site, playing with a little girl who lived nearby as she danced as well. I wish I could describe the dance. It was beautiful, rhythmic, proud, and distinctly Kenyan. I’ve seen this dance before, but never in states.

Nabaala
We had a morning and an evening with Nabaala, the Masai Warrior who patiently spent time with us educating us about the Masai. One morning he took us to an open field to teach us some of the Masai’s weapons. He taught us how to throw a club called a konga and how to shoot his bow and arrow. It was amazing to watch the command that Nabaala had over these tools. Nabaala could hit a bird in flight with his Konga, and easily hit an animal in the eye with his bow from over 100 meters. The bow and the conga were wooden and handmade. We all took turns trying them both with differing degrees of success. Nabaala was a great teacher, praising every attempt with “Wow!” that was great! The kids are hooked. In the evening, we sat around a table on a hillside sipping tea as the sun went down, as Nabaala told us about the process to become a Masai Warrior in the first person. Now, I know I’m going to get some of this wrong, but it’s largely right. (Chime in Nabaala if I got something wrong). He was named when he was 5 years old, not when he was born, based on his characteristics or nature. At 12, he was circumcised quite publicly and if he flinched during the operation, he was basically cast out of his village as a “flincher” shamed by his entire family. Nabaala is not a flincher. Nabaala was prepared for his circumcision by burning, cutting, etc… to get him ready for the pain. After a successful circumcision, Nabaala entered a hut for 6 months to heal his wounds. He couldn’t bathe nor cut his hair. At the end of that healing period, he bathed, cut his hair, and then went to a camp where he ate meat, trained on his weapons, and saw his body change to prepare for the ultimate ritual: kill a lion. Masai men must kill a male lion and come back with it’s mane as a headdress to become a warrior. Nabaala described his time in cave on the Mara where he prepared for his lion kill. He described how he killed the lion and lost two friends in the process. He described how urgently he needed to kill the lion, because he had an exam to ensure he get into secondary school, and he couldn’t afford to miss it. Nabaala did actually kill a lion and make it back in time for his exam. Nabaala went on to attend a 4 year university in Nairobi to study botany, biology and the environment, and he now enriches people’s lives by keeping the Masai culture alive and educating us on all that surrounds us on the Mara. This is a truly amazing guy who lives every day like it is his last.

The Village Walk
We spent an afternoon on a community walk near Enelerai where we were able to visit with some of the local people in their homes. We were taken by the pride the village women had in showing us their homes and walking us through the neighborhood. The proudly showed us their school and the new water collection system, and a few different homes where we met some wonderful people. The homes were round, one or two room bungalows, and the cooking was done inside over an open fire, in some homes in the same room as the bed. Smoke fills the hut and everything smells of it. Most young children have runny noses because of all the smoke, that and a relatively low functioning immune system. If you imagine a young child clinging to his mom while she is cooking , it all makes sense. The houses were clean and well cared for. We were educated on how daily tasks are done and who is responsible for what. It seems that the women do all the work. I know that’s a bit blunt, but it’s true. They fetch the water. They fetch the firewood. They cook the dinner. They keep the house. They manage the kids. These women are studs. The men take the herds in and out every day. That’s it. You do find men like those working along side us at the school, but apparently this isn’t the norm. We had a chance to fetch water, just like an 8 year old girl would do in her village. We all tried it. Imagine carrying a 50lb container of water on your heard for two kilometers. Now imagine doing that twice or three times a day. You do this just so you can cook, or wash, or drink. And this water comes from the Mara river, which is not a clean river. We all took turns carrying the water on our heads with a rope strap. It was very hard and completely impossible to imagine an 8 year old girl doing this two times a day, school or not.

We were lucky to have tea with three of the women with whom we walked the village earlier that day. We sat around a table and spoke frankly of the way things were long ago, and the way they are now. We spoke about men and their roles and women and their roles. We spoke of wife beatings which are common, about wives having wives if they are unable to have children, about men having multiple wives which is also quite common, and about the very little that men actually do on a daily basis. It is hard to grock why this is a male dominated society, given that women do all the work. Female circumcision is still practiced, (illegal but practiced), men beat their wives, take loans and then disappear, etc… Carol told them that I actually do the laundry and they giggled, seeming a little uncomfortable with the concept, while still wanting the village men to do more. One of the women there manufactured and sold charcoal, (which is an insanely tough and labor intensive job) to bring in the family’s money, and she still held down all the other responsibilities in her household. She was 60. With all of the responsibility and pain these women shoulder, they still find the time to organize as a group to work on projects with the intent of moving their community forward. These women, and women like them, are the strongest force of change for rural Kenya. We include Robin among them.

The closing “ceremony”
Our last day at the Enelerai school ended in a thank you ceremony in which we were thanked by teachers, parents and students alike for coming to their village and their school, and for contributing what we had in our short stay, and for spending time with them. We each spoke in front of the students and parents, and thanked them in turn for educating us and welcoming us into their community. We had learned so much and were so grateful for all they had given us: warmth, welcome, kindness, laughter, and an overwhelming sense that at its core, humanity is good regardless of circumstance. We finished the day playing a game of soccer with some of the students and it was astonishing to see them run across a field full of rocks in their bare feet, showing off skills. We wished that we had been here much longer and had accomplished much more. We hope to come back to this wonderful place and help in any way we can.

We came to Kenya and the School of the Savannah to show our children firsthand what can happen when a small group of likeminded people are inspired to do something for others. We came to show them that a small act can blossom past impossibilities into something that can affect millions of lives. We came to show them that inspiration and perspiration when combined could achieve the impossible, and we hoped that we would find people that exemplified all of that. We did.

Robin: Thank you for educating and inspiring us with your story and for helping these people so passionately. We honestly don’t believe that people would be waving feverishly at every car as it drives by if it wasn’t for the genuine care you have shown to these people and the frank and open dialog that you have had with them that has made so much of this possible.

Jon and Brooke: Thanks for helping us understand things on our own when you thought we should and explaining things when you thought we needed it. Also, thanks for being our friends and cohorts. Your sense of humor and skills as facilitators helped us enjoy our trip more than we ever could have on our own. We are still laughing at the answer to Parker’s question: “Hey Brooke, If we combined the USA with Canada, what do you think we should call it?” Your immediate dead pan response: “Canada.” Brilliant. Jon, we’re now hooked on Arrested Development. Thanks. You were both awesome and insightful from pick up to drop off and felt like part of the family. You know where we live. :-)

Nabaala: Thanks for everything. Parker wants only to be a Masai warrior now. Do you have room in your next camp? :-)

Roxanne, Michelle, Mark, Peter, and David: We consider ourselves very lucky to have had a couple of nights with you over the dinner table. You are all living proof of what my sister Lori believed, and what Margaret Mead said was 100% right: Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.

Thanks for everything.

Kenya - The School of the Savannah remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The contrast in this East Legon neighborhood is something that you wouldn’t see in a developed nation, but is quite typical in Africa. Next to this great house that we are staying in is a tin shack with a family living in it full time. Chickens roam the yard and each morning the family bathes themselves in the yard. Children will be raised to adulthood in this house, and those children could become Doctors or Lawyers. People emerge from these tiny tin shacks dressed, pressed, and starched to the nines, ready to go to work. A similar home is just across the street. This is just the way it is here, and it can be seen all over Accra. It’s not considered strange. It just is. Another thing that “just is” are construction projects that seem to never end. Beautiful homes rise in the neighborhood and then seem to stop making progress. They’ll make progress eventually, just not now. Skeletons of incomplete homes and buildings punctuate the landscape and this isn’t considered at all bizarre. It just is. Another thing that “just is” is fluctuating water and power supply. The power goes out regularly and every large home has a generator to maintain power. The power doesn’t just stop. The lights start to dim, and then eventually the power goes completely. The same thing happens with water. It just runs out and comes back at another time. Folks don’t fret about it. They just make sure their schedule accommodates this kind of thing, and they don’t get upset when it happens. It is expected. It just is.

Another thing that is expected is traffic. There are 2.2 million people in Accra and the roads and infrastructure struggle to accommodate them. Streets are paved, then not. Streets appear to be “through”, and then just stop. Lanes are simply suggestions which are largely ignored by the locals, and traffic lights sit lifelessly, without power, encouraging intersection anarchy. With all that traffic, the stop and go, the near misses, and the stifling heat, people wave to each other calmly as they let drivers squeeze ahead of them into the lane, then patiently waiting for the next five feet of movement. Whether in a car, a cab or a tro-tro (a large shared taxi van) they just patiently wait. You won’t find road rage in Ghana. It takes a long time to go anywhere, or do anything, and people expect it. Man, could LA use a dose of that or what? Something that complicates the traffic situation is the lack of super markets or super stores that might have everything you need. There are no home depots, kmarts, best buys, etc.. If you want to get some nails, you might have to go to the other side of town, which could take more than an hour. We’ve been part of this routine now for over a week. This isn’t a convenient life. Again, in sharp contrast, and Accra is a contrast Anna can walk across the street and buy soap, eggs, salt, and other staples, just by walking to the neighbor's little "shed of commerce" across the street.

Something that the Expats apparently don’t like, but we love are the “hawkers” on the street corners. Every busy intersection is abuzz with vendors walking and running between lanes of cars with goods for sale. Apples, water bags, toilet paper, mops, ice cube trays, chocolates, magazines, snacks, or whatever you can carry on your head. The hawkers negotiate deals with the folks in the cars, send in the goods and then continue to barter for a mutually agreeable price. The hawkers then chase after the cars to either get the cash or get the goods back if a satisfactory price can’t be negotiated. This works pretty efficiently. We picked up three ice cube trays and two power outlet converters just yesterday.

The People
A Ghanaian cab driver in New York once told us that we would see the “sweet face of humanity” in Ghana, and he went on to tell us “A little food, a little music, and a little soccer” is all that Ghanaians need. He wasn’t exactly right, but on the whole, the people of Ghana are wonderful. The people are fun, passionate, hard working, and they love life. They love life just like it is here. They don’t wish for a life that we might have in the states because you can get to your store faster, or have 200 kinds of cheese side by side in the grocery store. They appear to like it just the way it is. Esther and Dennis who run the house for Anna and Freddy are great examples of local Ghanaians. They are quick to smile and love to hear us “try” and use the local language called Twi (pronounced Trwee). Of course they both speak excellent English as well, but they speak Ghanaian around each other and we love to try. Esther’s daughter Gifty (a great name!) and her brother Kwamei are at the house quite often and we’ve been playing cards with them, doing homework with them, listening to music, talking soccer, and just hanging out.

The Africa Cup of Nations
We were very lucky to have our visit coincide with the Africa Cup of Nations soccer tournament. This tournament takes place once every two years, and pits the best teams in Africa against each other. This is Africa’s world cup. This year the tournament was in Ghana, and the semi finals and the finals were being played in Accra. Soccer was everywhere. Anna went on a scalper search for some tickets and at the last minute, we were all able to get tickets to the Ghana vs: Cameroon semi final game. The scalper’s prices were dropping as the game approached and we lucked out. The streets on the way to the semi final were beyond jammed. Hawkers ran between cars selling Ghanaian fan gear; shirts, flags, horns, silly hats, whistles, scarves... The Ghanaian team is called the “Black Stars” and this night, Accra was going Black Star crazy. As we approached the stadium, we had to get out of the car and walk. Traffic just stopped and we were passed by masses of Ghanaians walking the streets, either going to the game or crowding around televisions that glowed in shops fronts. The air was damp and hot, and thick with the smells of smoke and meat cooking over open fires in the parking lot. Dusk was settling in. African rhythms boomed from drums while bands and DJs played fantastic Ghanaian and Cameroonian music. Huge crowds danced and fires burned while the music played. We separated into twos and made way to our entry gates. Parker and I had seats together and we smashed ourselves into the queue to get in. The game was starting and we were still in line. We pushed forward and I swept a pickpockets hand away from my pockets, we saw a south African bloke throw a man to the ground to protect his friends backpack. We were told it might be rough. It was. We made our way to the seats while the game was in full swing, and the crowd was so loud you couldn’t hear your own voice. At half time, it was still zero-zero, and they fans were jubilant. About 25 minutes into the second half, Cameroon scored, the collective Ghanaian crowd audibly exhaled, followed by an uneasy silence. The rest of the game was painful to watch as Cameroon dived all over the pitch , feigning injuries. On the way to meet the others, the streets were calm but crowded, and resignation could be read on the face of the locals. Esther was very upset and was holding back tears. She was a good proxy for all Ghanaians. The excitement waned a bit in the city after that evening, but it was still “the cup” and the city was still excited. Freddy and I went to a sports bar for the final, and saw a group of young men from Cameroon jump from the crowd and begin playing with the band in the post game. Cameroon lost to Egypt, but the Cameroonians were partying as if they won, and hearing their rhythms and the ease at which they maneuvered through complex polyrhythmic chanting and drumming absolutely blew my mind.

Golfing in Ghana
Fred and I played a round of golf at the only “grass” course in Accra. I use the term grass rather loosely, because there wasn’t much of it. The greens were like rough, the sand traps were more mud than sand, and the fairways played like a hazard. Shacks lined some holes on the course, while shared TVs glowed with the Ghana cup consolation game, which would eventually establish Ghana as the third place team. Our caddies were awesome, and they steered Fred and I around the course, avoiding army ants and termite mounds. I lost only one ball thanks to a stellar forecaddie. It was unbelievably hot and humid and you could hear Ghana scoring as neighborhoods broke out in shouts at each Ghanaian goal.

The Market Places
Cynthia is one of Anna and Freddy’s gate guards (yes the house has barbed wire and a manned gate), and she has a special talent. She is an incredible seamstress. Anna asked if she would make some clothes for us and she gladly said “Yes!” She asked to see a pair of my pants, and said she could make a new pair just like it. We just had to go shop for fabric. So Esther Dennis, Anna, Carol and I made our way to the market. This is the Ghanaian peoples market where you can buy fabrics in one shop, buttons in another shop, thread in yet another shop, Ghanaian hip hop in another and so on. This market reminded us a bit of the Barkhor in Tibet. Crowded and tight streets, lined with small shops, snaked their way through alleys and walk ways. A few large streets crisscross the market slowly transporting goods in open lorries. We cruised the markets and had an awesome time. The people welcomed us into their shops and dickered with us on prices. Negotiating the deals was half the fun. The other half was walking the market to the shouts of “Abrone!” (meaning foreigner), and shaking hands with Ghanaian shop owners and their friends. People in these markets loved to see us, and you could tell by reactions that it was very novel and unique to have white people in this market. We keep remembering our NYC cab driver telling us “You will see the sweet face of humanity” … indeed I think we did

Accra, Ghana remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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We arrived at sunrise and the city loomed large, or maybe I should say stretched tall, rising out of a hanging dust cloud. Parker was in heaven, and had been chattering about the Dubai skyscrapers since the beginning of the trip. What we saw from the sky and the airport was pretty shocking and certainly isn’t replicated anywhere else in the world. One building actually stands double the height of the empire state building and we could see this from the airport terminal. Other clusters of immense buildings rise all over the city in what I’m sure is anything but a random pattern. As we left the city and the airspace, it seemed really odd to see all of this incredible building, and then seeing how quickly and abruptly it stops - running into vast stretches of sand. On one side of town, the view conjured up visions of Vegas, and the other side, Miami. Both on steroids.

Emirates Airlines and Dubai remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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It rained during our visit and it was a little chilly, but we still got in a couple of nice dinners, a good surf session, visited the steepest street in the world and we visited a gorgeous place called “Natures Wonders”.
Natures Wonders is a converted farm that now is a very nice a wildlife sanctuary – though sheep still roam. This isn’t like Deer Park Heights. It’s a gorgeous place that acts as a preserve, (not a petting zoo) for the endangered yellow eyed penguin, and a breeding and birthing ground for fur seals. We saw a few slow-moving Yellow eyed penguins, a few blue penguins, as well as hundreds of baby fur seals that had just been born. Heaven for Griffin, though I thought we were going to crash on the way to the place as the lanes were at times one lane wide. We were driven around in 8 wheel vehicles (like the old Banana Split mobiles) to access the rugged and untouched coast line. The boys loved that.

Parker and I walked up Baldwin Street, the steepest street in the world according to the Guinness boo of world records, and it was incredibly steep. Unfortunately, somehow I nuked all of the pictures of our hike, so you’ll just have to gander at this stock photo to tell.

The surf was powerful even though it wasn’t all that big, and it was teaming with life. There were so many jelly fish in the water it felt like soup when we were paddling, our hands pulling through hundreds of tiny purple jellies. With the wet suits, we didn’t care too much about the cold or the sea life. Neither of us got stung once.



Dunedin had a very nice skate park which we had planned to abuse, but after about 15 minutes of skating, the rain came and thus came an end to the skate session. Instead, we toured the local “Speights” brewery, which had become my favorite beer in New Zealand, and as cheesy as the tour was, the boys enjoyed it, tending bar and pouring a couple of pints for the first time. A bizarre dichotomy in New Zealand: A parent can hand a 12 year old a beer and they can drink it legally, but that same parent can’t bring that 12 year old to an R rated movie, under any circumstance (e.g. American Gangster).

Christchurch
We stayed in Christchurch for two days just to get ready for Africa. The drive to Christchurch from Dunedin was unremarkable, and the roads were straight. The land was actually flat for a change – and represented the only coastal plain on the east coast of the island. It felt a bit like the plain between the Ventura river and the Conejo Grade, with a lot less activity. We picked up a couple that was hitchhiking and looked like they were in need of some help. It turns out they were touring the coast in their sail boat, and their engine block cracked. They were now waiting for the repairs which could take the better part of a week or more. Now they just needed a lift to get to the nearest town, which was about 45 kilometers to restock some provisions. We dropped them off and continued north on our flat straight and uneventful road.

When we arrived in Christchurch, we returned the camper and were reunited with our bags and our gear that we had shipped to Christchurch. We washed laundry, and picked up any provisions we needed for our flight out. We also skated a nice skate park, dined at a couple of nice eateries, and strolled the city a bit on foot and on the bus system). One restaurant in particular deserves mention. It was called the Mexican Café, and the Mexican food was better than we get at home in San Luis Obispo, and the tequila selection was one of the best we had ever seen. If you’re in Christchurch, don’t miss it. Christchurch was a bit of an anticlimactic end to our New Zealand itinerary, but frankly, we were ready for the next adventure to start. On Monday we drove to the New Zealand airport with plenty of time to spare and readied ourselves for the longest airline trip we’ve ever taken.

Dunedin and Christchurch remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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When we arrived, we found the little city bustling with activity and our holiday park just a short walk from downtown, and an even shorter walk from the gondola that lifts you to the peak overlooking Queenstown. As we walked into town, paragliders carrying pilot and passenger floated through the sky, having just launched from the top of the gondola. They were landing right next to our holiday park in the elementary school play yard. As you walked downtown, you realize just how young the town is. There are twenty something’s everywhere patrolling the streets and they come from all over the world. Europeans, Australians, Africans, Israelis, Chinese and Japanese can be heard on the streets and in the shops, though all seem to speak English as well. We saw very few young Americans, which bothered us, and we quietly wished more young Americans would leave the US for some cultural immersion in a place like this. The Americans we did see were overweight, retired and in their 60s, and proudly wearing “we’re American” on their sleeves. This also bothered us, and we wondered how a cruise ship could have floated to this land locked city.

Adventure tour operators filled store fronts all over town and it seemed that virtually anything you wanted to try out was available; horseback riding, paragliding, hang gliding, parachuting, mountain biking, motorcycling, luging, jet boat riding, river sledging, white water rafting, bungy jumping, sky swinging, water skiing, and I probably left out more than I just mentioned. The beauty, along with the adventure tours is what brings all these young people to town.

The Luge:
The first “adventure thing we did was “luging”. Truth be told, it wasn’t all that adventurous, but it was fun nonetheless. We took the gondola to the top of the mountain and took a chair lift further up from there, where we all jumped into wheeled carts that rocket down a cement “luge track”. They had a “scenic track” and a “fast track”, the prior being a little dangerous due to all of the slow pokes taking in the scenery, while we just wanted to race. Old folks, young kids and everything in between were shooting down the tracks and only a few times did any of us almost go over the side.

Ride of the Rings:
Queenstown is Lord of the Rings Country. The mountains, valleys, hillsides and forests, that surround Queenstown are the backdrop for many of the movies’ scenes. There are many location tours, most by car, some by plane and a few by horseback. We thought it most appropriate to take the tour on horseback, since that is how the actors travelled on screen, so we chose a tour called “Ride of the Rings” which departed from the tiny and quaint town of Glenorchy and trekked through forest and hills and valleys. Some of the horses were actually from the movie. Our guide was a guy named “Soap” and he knew more about the Lord of the Rings than anyone we have met, as well as being one of the few folks who can lay claim to actually being in the movie. He was an uruk-hai. He showed us sites on the way to the ride, on the way home from the ride, though a nice young woman named Ellie actually took us on the trek while Soap arranged all of our horses for us and made sure Ellie had all she needed. Soap was absolutely awesome with the kids and we invited him over for a drink after the tour. The tour was cool, and the kids could actually spot scenes from the movie before they were pointed out. “Here is where so and so was shot”, and “That is where the pippin hid from the Uruk-hai”, and “The Orks ran down that hill!”, and the guide would say “Yes that’s right kids, now shut up and let me point that stuff out” :-). The horses were easy to ride, excepting Carol’s that had a bit of a mean streak, and kept nipping at the other horses as he jockeyed for the front position.

Deer Park Heights
Queenstown sits on the shores of Lake Waikatipu, the largest lake in New Zealand. It’s a glacier fed lake, filled by cascading glacial rivers throughout the region. On the other side of the river is an area known as “Deer Park Heights”. Soap asked us if we would like to take a trip to Deer Park Heights and he picked us up and gave is a personal tour of the area. Deer Park Heights is a privately owned farm of sorts that is now sort of a gigantic petting zoo. Deer, Alpacas, Pigs, Buffalo, Yaks, Elk, etc roam the hills free as you drive through the park on dirt paths. As you enter, you pour yourself a big can of deer pellets – which all the animals love. Shake the can, and herds of whatever is nearby start running toward you. It’s a little unnerving, but it was really cool having Alpacas, Miniature horses, and deer eating out of our hands. Some animals even stuck their heads in the cars to get a little pellet action
The other thing Deer Park heights has are numerous sites from Lord of the Rings including the cliff from which Aragorn fell, after being attacked by a warg. We took all of these sites in, including a couple of sets from the upcoming Wolverine, movie. Deer Park Heights also has the best sunset views of Queenstown you will ever see. We took many photos as the sun dove, trying to capture the light over Lake Waikatipu. At one point while we were snapping away, a group of male deer approached and I lightly walked toward them to get a picture from a distance that is almost too close to believe.

Kowabunga!
We saved the adrenaline rush for the last day in Queenstown. When we jumped off the tower in Auckland, it was actually in preparation for a bungy jump in Queenstown. Once again, we all did it. It was actually quite fun and while it was a little scary, it wasn’t as visually terrifying as the jump in Auckland. The boys and I jumped off something called the ledge Bungy at the top of the Gondola in Queenstown, which is only 47 meters of Bungy, but it feels like every bit of the 400 meters you are above the town. Carol bungy’d off of the Kawarau bridge with the intent of getting dunked in the water at the bottom, but as luck would have it, her bungy cord didn’t make it all the way to the water. All of us let out a hoot or a scream as we plunged. She actually did say Kowabunga when she jumped. It's on the video. The boys did us one better by dropping from the sky on something called a sky swing, which they both maintain was much more scary than the bungy jump. After watching them drop about 80 feet or so before the rope actually starts to swing, and after hearing their screams, I believe ‘em.

Queenstown remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The Franz Josef Glacier
We pulled into the “Rain Forest Holiday Park” in Franz Josef just as the skies were starting to part and the rain slowed to a minute drizzle. Now, you might be asking why would something in a town with a Glacier be called “rain forest” anything? It’s a pretty crazy thing, but the central west side of New Zealand gets hammered by rain. The mountains rise to 10,000 feet within a few km of the coast, so Tasman Sea storms dump literally meters of rain as the clouds get pushed upward by the mountain range. The saying in town is “We measure our rain in meters”, and we heard that a few times as we were told that they get over 5 meters of rain every year. This rain has sprouted a beautiful and lush rain forest over the years with beautiful ferns, grasses, massive and mossy trees, broad leafed and otherwise. Our Camper felt like a fern bar inside – which was pretty cool. You would have no idea that a massive and still advancing Glacier is only 3 km from town.

Hiking the Glacier was the reason we came here. Our first day in town, we went to the Glacier museum and Imax and learned about the area and the Glacier. We booked a guided hike for the next day. The hike was called a “3/4 day hike” which put you on the Glacier for about 4 hours. Luck was on our side this day for weather. In a town that gets over 15 feet of rain a year, this morning’s sky was a stunning blue, interrupted only by misty clouds clinging to the mountain sides. We met the guides and our fellow hikers that morning and put on the hiking gear provided. The guiding company provided boots, a jacket and crampons (spike attachments) for walking on the ice. We piled onto a bus that took us over the milky blue glacial river to the park entrance, chattering excitedly, where we all disembarked and began tramping toward the base of the glacier. Unfortunately, the path to the glacier had been washed out by heavy rains, so we walked on newly cut paths, that required us to scale up and down ladders affixed to rock faces, just to get to the river bed. Most of this walk was in lush rain forest, with cliffs covered with waterfalls, vegetation and ferns, climbing up to the now-clearing mist above. We then tramped for about 2km across the river and toward the Glacier base. Huge ice blocks, some the size of cars, lay in the river from an explosion last week where the snout of the Glacier gave way to a flood of water and Ice. Our guide paused and pointed to the face of the glacier to show us some tiny little black dots that turned out to be hikers making their way across the glacier ahead of us. “We will be there in an hour or two” we were told.

We strapped and re-strapped our crampons on to our boots and began slogging up the glacier. The face of the Glacier was covered in shale and was a difficult trudge. It looked like a mountain of Rock, but just under the layer of Rock was frozen ice. Ice that is the densest on the planet. So dense that it glows blue when uncovered by snow or rock. We climbed up perhaps 100 feet before we reached ice that you might viscerally associate with a glacier. From here, we climbed a ladder of ice and clung to a chain that had been hammered into the ice. We climbed for hundreds of meters, between crags, over crevasses using a ladder, even through a cave, and we continued upward. We stopped quite often, catching our wind, as the guide pointed out glacier facts. He showed us how high the Glacier had been over the past decades and how far it had advanced in the past few years. The glacier was advancing meters per day only a few years ago, but had slowed now, yet it was still advancing. In the ice age of course it had reached the ocean which was about 10 km to the west. A glacier is like a frozen waterfall we were told, pushing itself down the mountain and the more snow that accumulates on the top of the mountain, the more mass to push the glacier along.

We reached the peak of our trek, and rested by a little glacial waterfall where we filled our water bottles with real glacier water – which was tasty and cool to say the least. We could look up toward the mountain’s peaks and see the glacier flowing downward. There were cliffs of ice above us, and it was nearly impossible to judge the scale of these cliffs until a helicopter appeared in front of one, looking more like a gnat on a refrigerator door than a helicopter carrying hikers. It was hard to believe that we were on a glacier and near sea level with crampons on our feet and plenty of air filling our lungs, when only three months earlier we were hiking in Tibet at 17,000 feet, wearing our tennis shoes, but gasping for air.

It felt like the hike back to the Bus would never end, and while it was only 9km total, it seemed so long with rented boots and crampons on our feet. It had taken its toll on all of the hikers, and the bus was eerily silent on the way back to town, with each of the hikers looking glazed over and tired. Now, the guides and the crew that had been clearing and cutting ice paths that day chattered excitedly, while all us hikers sat slack jawed and exhausted, remembering the beauty of whatwe had seen that day and what our aching feet had accomplished.

The South Island Begins remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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After lunch we intended to head down to Tongariro to hike the Tongariro crossing, a 17km tramp across the park that is widely believed to be the best one day hike in New Zealand, trekking through shale desert, glaciers, forests, and calderas. However, after we ate lunch and strolled the Taupo town center, we enquired about the “crossing” and were told that “in this heat” the trek would incredibly hard and a very fit employee in a sporting goods store told us that even he wouldn’t do it in heat like this. Completely coincidentally, (I swear this was coincidence), it turns out that a race was being held at the Taupo race track. It wasn’t a little race you would expect to fit the size of the town, but rather, a series of races including the New Zealand Porsche GT3 Cup, the New Zealand V8s, and the A1GP international formula race, which had just received Ferrari sponsorship. This was the real deal. We decided to stay in town to check into our options. It seemed there was much to do. We stayed at a great big holiday park that had, pools, saunas, trampolines, and other little things the kids loved. By the end of the day, we decided to ditch the hike. Carol, Parker and Griffin would go white water rafting, and Blake would go see a day of racing. It was a qualifying day at the track so the crowds would be small.

That morning Blake hitch hiked to the race, and Carol and the boys were picked up at the holiday park and driven to Tongariro area for their rafting trip. The day was awesome for everyone, with Blake squeezing past security into the Porsche Paddock, and Carol and the boys squeezing through some Class 3 rapids that were a whole lot of work. The raft didn’t flip, but the kids and Carol described some close calls and heavy paddling to keep the raft upright. It was pretty hairy. Carol said the water was crystal clear and she saw trout in the water the size of large salmon. Sorry Mike Hillygus, they didn’t catch, nor release any.

Wellington
After Taupo, we drove about 400km to Wellington, which is on the southern tip of the North Island. The landscape changed through this 400km dramatically. The highways on the north end of the North Island wind their way through dense forests while the south end of the island reminded us at times of the high desert, and at other times the rolling hills of Ireland, and at even other times the lave fields of Hawaii. The roads were never wider then two lanes, and our little camper van was passed by cars and trucks with reckless abandon. We were treated to awesome coastal views as we approached Wellington and you could see the mountain ranges of New Zealand’s South Island in the distance. We pulled into Wellington and decided to stay at a hotel in the middle of the City so we could experience the downtown area. We were only in Wellington for two nights, but we didn’t want to have to take a bus in from a holiday park outside the city each day.

We loved Wellington. It reminded us all a bit of the Seattle downtown, and maybe even a little of Hong Kong, but it was infinitely more approachable and walk able. It had a great water front, wonderful family amenities, fantastic restaurants, a museum, sail boats that dotted the water front, a working harbor with sturdy ships, all framed by hills punctuated with Victorian homes that complemented the modest skyline. It also had a killer skate park right in the heart of the city. We really liked this place. We also lucked out as the weather was wonderful.

Ferry to the South Island

The last morning in Wellington, we gathered our things, moved back into the motor home, and drove to the ferry terminal which we would take to the South Island. We were in a long line of Camper Vans and cars that were using the sole four wheel connection between the north and south islands. There were campers, buses, horse trailers, and even Ferraris piling onto the Ferry for the 3 hour ride between the North and South Islands. The ferry was large, comfortable and had pretty much every creature comfort you would want - on a ferry. The weather was wonderful, the seas were calm, and a penguin paddled into Griffin’s view. Perhaps some good foreshadowing for the South Island? We sat on the outside deck of the boat at a table and absorbed some sun and the magnificent view as the North Island shrank in the distance and the South island rose before us.

Finishing off the North Island remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Our Holiday Park in Rotorua was quite nice and featured (surprise) hot springs right on site. We don’t know if that was accidental or not. There were three pools that were fed by geothermal springs, all cooled to different temperatures, and there was a geothermal creek bordering the park. There was also a natural “steam cooker” where you could cook vegetables, right from a steam vent. We didn’t do this, but in retrospect wish we had. The park was pretty fragrant, but we didn’t notice it after a while.

We took some time to walk to the Rotorua museum which was only a few kilometers from our holiday park. The museum was long ago used as a healing spa where natural sulfur and mud baths would nurse virtually every skin or orthopedic ailment back to health. The museum sat within a gorgeous park with beautiful rose gardens along the banks of Lake Rotorua, next to a giant thermal pool that fed the lake. It was stinky – but cool, highlighting the geography of the area, the history of the building, and featured a special exhibit dedicated to the New Zealanders who fought in World War II. Being a tourist town, there were awesome restaurants and many hotels within walking distance.

We actually came to Rotorua to experience something Parker had read about called “Zorbing”. Zorbing is a pretty cool experience that I must say isn’t like anything you’ve likely done before and apparently is only done in Rotorua. A Zorb is a giant air-filled ball about 10 feet tall, that suspends another giant ball within it. Through the wonder of air tight zippers, and 1,000 rubber bands, the inner ball stays in the center of the outer ball. There is a hatch that allows you to climb into the inner ball, and you can choose to either be strapped onto the wall of the inner ball, or float freely within it along with about 20 gallons of water. Why in god’s name would you climb inside a Zorb? The Zorbmeisters push you down a giant hill and you roll all the way to the bottom. Zorb Rotorua has straight line and zig zag tracks and when the ball rolls down the hill, you are bounced and spun about like a pair of tennis shoes in a dryer. It’s fun to do and it’s pretty fun to watch as well. We did it alone, with each other and no one got as much as a scratch.

We had intended to pull up our poll tents, and move to Waitomo, only 120km to the west, but we decided to take a bus and return that same day. Waitomo is famous for its beautiful caves and a phenomena known as glow worms. I won’t go into in detail, but suffice it to say that these little critters actually “glow” a phosphorescent green, hang on to the ceiling of the cave, and attract food with the little light. In a pitch black cave they look like stars on a moonless night. Did I mention that the caves are filled with water? I didn’t think so. They are, and we had a few choices to make about how we would view these caves. You could abseil, (rope slide), into the caves, climb and swim the caves (with an inner tube), float the cave in a boat, or walk on an elevated path. Because Griffin was under age, Carol and Griffin took the boat, and Parker and I chose to climb-swim. Both the experiences were very cool. We all wished that Griffin and Carol would have done the climb-swim experience because Grif was easily a strong enough swimmer. We had to squeeze through water filled tunnels, jump off little waterfalls and float in our inner tubes through the caves. We had on 5 mil wetsuits and even with those on, it was very cold – and extremely dark. The only illumination came from the glow worms and the lights on our helmets, (which got pretty banged up on the sides of the caves. It was a blast and a real wonder. The caves were carved from under water rivers, not from volcanic activity. In some places, there were water holes that reached to the surface from 180 feet below, and it is not unusual for these holes to simply “open up”. Carol and Grif’s tour guide told them that they had to remove a cow from the caves a few days earlier because the cow fell into a new “sink hole” falling to it’s death. That same tour guide told of a good friend of hers that had a pretty little pond on their property, and one morning they awoke to find their pond replaced by a giant sink hole. It is even said that farmers (the entire cave area is covered by grazing lands) can’t stand sink holes because they lose cows. They just lose em…

We left Rotorua and headed south for our next destination. On the way there, we stopped at a national park called Wai-O-Tapu only 50 km outside of Rotorua which stands for ”sacred waters” in Maori. It is a pretty big park, but the geothermal touring area is only 18sq km. We had heard that a geyser spouts at 10:15 each day so we arrived right around then to see this. We toured the park and watched the geyser unload in front of an appreciative amphitheatre. The 18 sq km were very desolate and it looked like a moonscape, but only steps away was lush forest. The colors of the waters were pretty incredible, and some of the thermal pools were huge. The touring path needs to be moved relatively often because craters open up and swallow it. The geyser actually had to be prompted by one of the park rangers to shoot into the sky. He did this by throwing a few soap bars into the geyser mouth to release the surface tension in the water below, which is something that Old Faithful does all by itself. We asked the park ranger later in the day what the differences were between the two. He told us that besides being about the same size, and having the same amount of water, there are some technical differences that allow old faithful to erupt predictably, while this geyser requires prompting. I won’t go into the details here, but suffice it to say that we appreciate old faithful much more than we did in the past.

Rotorua and Waitomo remains copyright of the author Blakei, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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