Life is never dull

Pork with sticky Asian glaze (Lusaka, Zambia)

2010-06-19T20:07:00.001+02:00

The whole idea of any thing pork with Asian flavors, just sounds delicious. I stumbled across this recipe and had to give it a whirl – not because I thought it was overly interesting, but rather I had never even considered cooking a pig’s neck. I bought the chunk of neck from Zoran’s Majoru outlet in Crossroads Shopping Center. Incidentally the rice noodles I had brought to Zambia from Thailand in January, along with the star anise and dark soy sauce.

Total time: 2 hours. Serves 6.

Ingredients:

1 T sunflower oil
1.5 kg pork neck
1/2 small red onion, thinly sliced
3 cm ginger, peeled and finely grated
5 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1/2 cup dark soy sauce
1/4 cup sugar
2 star anise
2 cups chicken stock
2 cups water
8 dried whole mushrooms (e.g. shitake or brown)
1 kg rice noodles
350 g chopped buk choy
3 green onions, thinly sliced

Steps:

Heat oil on medium in large sauce pan. Sauté pork until brown on all sides. Add onion, garlic and ginger and sauté 1 minute. Add soy sauce, sugar, stock and water and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer covered for 1 1/2 hours turning pork.
Meanwhile soak mushrooms in warm water for 30 min, slice and then add to pork about 60 minutes into cooking the pork.
Remove pork from pan. Reserve sauce.
Boil sauce uncovered for about 10 minutes, or until about 2 cups is reduced to 1 cup.
Meanwhile place rice noodle in bowl and cover with boiling water. Let stand until tender, then drain.
Slice the pork thinly.
Steam or sauté buk choy until soft.
Prepare plates by placing noodles down, then a layer of buk choy, a layer of pork, topped with a drizzle of sauce and chopped spring onions.

Hippy-Hater Hotels (Bangkok, Thailand)

2010-01-30T19:38:00.001+02:00

I’ve never really encountered true “Hippy-Hating” in any Hotel. (perhaps that speaks to the quailty of hotels I’ve been in.) Hippy-hating is Cartmen’s (South Park) whole raison d'être (insert his voice here), “I HATE hippies…hippies piss me off.” The Banyam Hotel announces its disdain for yogurt weaving tree-huggering backpackers with a big sign near the foyer.

(Sign posted outside the Banyam Hotel – “No shorts/no sleeveless tops, No back packing, and no slippers/sandals.”

Being a former backbacker, I took a bit of offence. The saving grace of the hippy attack was the stupendolorific (yes that is a neologism) view of Bangkok from the Vertigo Bar – over 50 stories up. If one can set aside the $12 tag of their signature fru fru drinks, the atmosphere is awesome.

(The nocturnal view from the Vertigo Bar on top of Banyam Hotel.)

(The barman busting a move from atop 50 stories of hotel.)

Thai transport (Bangkok, Thailand)

2010-01-21T17:54:00.000+02:00

Bangkok is blessed with the BTS (Bangkok Transit System). Cleaner than a German operating room and more efficient than a Japanese train, the BTS is a city traveler’s wet dream. BTS is chock-a-block with flat screen TVs and graffiti-free walls.

Of course there’s alternatives to the BTS. For the intrepid, there’s are scooters and motorcycles, which are quick (zip through traffic jams) and prevalent, often carrying more than two pax.

Here are a few pictures from the streets of Bangkok.

How does God spell “excellent?” (Lusaka, Zambia)

2010-01-18T07:55:00.000+02:00

I live in an area of Lusaka called Woodlands. My neighborhood is crisscrossed by tree-moniker roads – Ash, Elm, Fir – and my Road is Cedar. Most of us that live on Cedar, we actually live on Cedar; however, there someone that must think they live on another street. Or perhaps they sell apple-flavored drinks.

They painted the gate, “Cider No 7.”

(My neighbors down the street live on Cider Rd, but the rest of us on Cedar Rd.)

When giving directions to my house I use local landmarks. Street names in Africa are about as useful as squirt guns to the Marines. The three main landmarks around my house are: St. Andrew’s Church, a gargantuan maroon bus (which stalled outside my gate and hasn’t moved since), and Chilimoyo School – which is about 30m from my house.

The Chilimoyo School has many laudable characteristics. The school is far from bustling streets, a safe area for youth to frolic. The school has become an examination center, thus has some apparent qualifications. They taut their values proudly (“God leads we follow”) and publicly (Chilimoyo signs are everywhere).

However, there’s one small, but salient detail, which may stymie enrollment. The school’s spelling skills are egregious. The ad on the corner of Chindo and Leopard’s Hill reads, “Quality Education With Exellence .” The irony couldn't be better.

I suppose that one mistake could be forgiven. But two? What the hell are “Lavels?”

Nuclear island sunsets (Zeavola, Phi Phi, Thailand)

2010-01-13T07:00:00.001+02:00

I am not one prone to firework “woows” and “awwws” or sunset “ooos” and “ahhhs.” However, the nuclear sunset from Phi Phi Island, Thailand was worth an “ooo,” “woow,” “awww” and an “ahhh.”

There was only one thing flagitious about the day. Many mzungus (fa-rang) grumbled about the fickle weather as thunderstorms pounded the shore and rumbled across the horizon. Isn’t there beauty in rare weather? Isn’t there loveliness in lightening bolts splitting the cerulean blue? If all one wants is a fission-induced bronze (or actually “race-car red”), stick to the European tanning beds…more beach for me.

Better unspoken: Deworming and 1-ply TP (Lusaka, Zambia)

2010-01-03T18:58:00.000+02:00

I get called a lot of things, and one oft-used adjective is “cheap.” Yes, I buy wine by the box. Yes, I choose cologne by calculating the cost per mL. Incidentally, anything over $1/mL I won’t buy, and boxed wine is great for glasses 2 through 5, as the first glass can be from a bottle. Glasses 6 and up, one doesn't remember anyway.

However, do not compromise on some key consumables. Toilet paper is one key consumable. Treat your pucker well, I say…you only have one. (The way some people talk though, you’d think they had two – one at each end.) Guys – don’t buy cheap TP, or one day you may be saying something akin to, “Ethyl can you get my doughnut, my ‘roids are flaring.”

I’ve had stomach pains for the last week now. Commensurate with stomach pain is usually a disconcerting but proportional increase in TP consumption. My TP of choice is a three-ply bog roll made by Cottonsoft. Unfortunately in Lusaka, this TP is only available with little blue puppies – quite emasculating.

I am also hosting my first two Couch Surfers (see www.couchsurfing.org). They are very cool, and surely the best first Couch Surfers anyone could have. One walked out the bathroom today and said,

“I think I’ve got worms.”

I asked what you’re probably asking right now, “How do you know you’ve got worms?” I’ll spare you the graphic details. Suffice to say that with the exception of boogers, men should never pull anything remotely string-like out of their bodies. (perhaps I just didn’t spare you anything.) I was thankful though because it made me realize I hadn't dewormed recently.

This morning during my jaunt to Crossroads, my shopping list was succinct: TP and dewormer. In Zambia, almost anything can be found most of the time, but specific things, much less of the time. For example, mozzarella is almost always available. However, the best one - Simonsville Mozzarella from South Africa - is only sometimes available. My TP of choice was not to be found, and I had to settle with a far inferior derriere-cleaner called Carlton. (Shockingly this was the best of the worst.) Dewormer, this one is called Zentel: Treatment for Worm Infestations, was readily available at a reasonable cost, K17,500 or about $3.80.

(Carlton TP…the best of the worst. Zentel: Treatment for Worm Infestations, Albendozole.)

I’ve got a couple problems with this picture. First, “1-ply” should never be splashed across the packaging as if it were a selling point. That’s like trying to promote condoms with the alliteration: “Sensual, Sexy, and Sandpaper Soft.” If it’s not 1-ply, what ply could it be? No-ply…half-ply? Second, by definition “1-ply” cannot be either “strong” or “gentle” which are two adjectives found on this packaging.

A dollar store on every corner (Bangkok, Thailand)

2010-01-03T15:45:00.001+02:00

Coming from Zambia, Thailand is slightly, but pleasantly, absurd. Nearly everything is 20% the cost. I couldn’t pass up a photo of the “Chinese Clearanc Sale.” Clear-Rank?

Office Space and Jelusalem the Beautfull (Woodlands, Lusaka, Zambia)

2010-01-02T05:17:00.000+02:00

In the opening sequence of the cult classic Office Space (1999, Directed by Mike Judd), Peter is snailing it through bumper-to-bumper traffic to get to his loathed work at Initech. (The movie’s tagline is “work sucks.”) Even an octogenarian with a wheeled walker, out-paces him. In Lusaka, if I leave my house for work after 7:15 AM, my 8km commute is 45min, instead of 8min.

One day I pulled a Peter, and left in the midst of Lusaka rush-hour (please, no attacks from the Nairobi, Lagos or Jo’burg folks). Traffic was backed up over 2km on Independence Ave. I pulled up behind a truck (that’s a “lorry” for the Brits) with the following words painted on the back, “Jelusalem the Beautfull, City of God.”

(A lorry on Independence Ave. Jelusalem the Beautfull: City of God)

After a short time in Zambia (and parts of Malawi) one quickly notes that R’s and L’s are sometimes switched (hence Jelusalem), and some vowels are not enunciated (hence no I). At the airport you might be unlucky enough to get on a fright. If you forget Peaceful Sleep (Off) you might pick up the mararia from the mossies.

Below is one of the best dialogs in the movie (and perhaps great advice on work ethics) between Peter and Lawrence – his grubby blue-collar neighbor.

Peter Gibbons: What would you do if you had a million dollars?
Lawrence: I'll tell you what I'd do, man: two chicks at the same time, man.
Peter Gibbons: That's it? If you had a million dollars, you'd do two chicks at the same time?
Lawrence: Damn straight. I always wanted to do that, man. And I think if I were a millionaire I could hook that up, too; 'cause chicks dig dudes with money.
Peter Gibbons: Well, not all chicks.
Lawrence: Well, the type of chicks that'd double up on a dude like me do.
Peter Gibbons: Good point.
Lawrence: Well, what about you now? what would you do?
Peter Gibbons: Besides two chicks at the same time?
Lawrence: Well, yeah.
Peter Gibbons: Nothing.
Lawrence: Nothing, huh?
Peter Gibbons: I would relax... I would sit on my ass all day... I would do nothing.
Lawrence: Well, you don't need a million dollars to do nothing, man. Take a look at my cousin: he's broke, don't do shit.

Where there is no carpenter… (Lobito, Angola)

2010-01-01T08:08:00.000+02:00

From 2000 to 2005, I lived in Lobito, Angola on the restinga – an 8km peninsula that juts out into the Benguela upwelling of the Atlantic Ocean.

(View of the restinga from a King Air flight spiraling over Lobito. My apartment was about half-way down the 8km peninsula)

The vista was nothing shy of stupendous – the front veranda overlooking the ocean and the dinning room overlooking the bay.

(View of Lobito Bay out the back of the apartment.)

Over the five years, investments were made to make it more of a home than a place to park my arse. The wooden parquet floors were stripped, waxed and shined. An electric hot water heater was installed (sounds like something from a Vietnam era torture camp). However, I never had AC, relying on Chinese fabricated fans with names like Daywoo, Sunni, and RCCA .

Five years later (2009) I returned to my former abode and was more than slightly aghast. I am the first to admit that household cleaning, organizing, and other quotidian chores are the first to be sub-contracted to more capable folk – and therefore I should have no right to critique.

BUT, my former apartment made a red-neck piggery look like an operating room. Cat hair, dust-bunnies and roach feces were but a few of the former-tenant's legacies. One pleasant improvement, I do admit, was the addition of AC. The ingenuity and aesthetics from the strategic use of Styrofoam and duct-tape was alarming amazing.

(A lovely decor from non-traditional media, such as Styrofoam and duct-tape.)

Lobito, Angola

Don’t get out of the boat… (Zambezi River, Zambia)

2009-12-31T05:55:00.000+02:00

When you say you’d like to do a canoe paddle down the Zambezi, there are only two responses you’ll hear: a) “aww, yeah dude very cool…rivers are like sweet, man,” or b) “you’re a flippin’ nutter, please will me your Landcruiser.”

(Canoe paddle down the Zambezi. Eles and Cattle Egrets on the Zambian side.)

I am not sure which response is more accurate. However, last weekend a seasoned guide with 15yrs under his belt was spotting an African Fish Eagle from a boat. Suddenly, a hippo rammed its tusks into the bottom of the banana boat and he went somersaulting through the air into the Kafue river. He lived, but was a hippo’s hicky away from a Darwin Award.

Could be Fortuna, as on our paddle, no humans were assaulted by hippos, but an Impala wasn't so lucky with a leopard. This one was of those surreal moments in the bush when you look inquisitively at the Mosi was ‘just beer.’ I looked 10m in the air, where an Impala was gored and inverted. The Impala’s neck was perforated by a myriad teeth punctures and the hind-quarters and bowels were gored by a leopard.

Thank Microsoft that the picture below is not ‘scratch and sniff’ as the scene was ripe.

(Impala hanging inverted about 10m in the air.)

Lesson: Don’t be an inverted Impala…stay in the boat.

Please don’t misspell corkage (Muyanganas Bar, Kafue, Zambia)

2009-12-30T16:40:00.000+02:00

There is a quaint, but quirky river-side bar, called the Muyanganas, perfectly prepositioned for two vitally important things – the sunset and wassail. The proprietors peddle a lovely range of beers and fare from the braai (BBQ). It’s the first time I've seen a “pricing list.” One USD is about 4500 Kwacha, so the local Mosi beer is about $1.33.

Lusakans come oft for the bream on the braai, which we ordered; however, the best part about the place is even before one sets foot in the bar. (gasp, not many people thought I’d ever say something so brash.)

As you drive down the dirt slip road, one is welcomed by two signs – the bar’s name and some salient instructions, the former infinitely more innocuous than the latter.

The former, in verdant prose, reads: “Muyanganas: Picnic Garden & Waterfront.”

The latter, in alarming red, reads: “No food, drinks allowed from outside unless upon payment of cockage and charge.”

I don’t want to know how one makes “cockage” payments…

Be imformed of loses, prease (Lusaka Club, Zambia)

2009-12-30T15:55:00.002+02:00

Selling private parts? (Mangochi, Malawi)

2009-09-22T22:08:00.001+02:00

I was on the serene waters of Lake Malawi when I spotted this headline for The Daily Times - "Chinese in over private parts." Apparently he was arrested for selling body parts...not just any body parts. Another was alledgely nabbed at the airport with nearly $150K stuffed in her bra and panties.

What the....?

A reason to adore Africa (Siavonga, Zambia)

2009-09-22T22:03:00.000+02:00

A not so infrequent question is, "why do you like to live in Africa?"

Here's one answer.

Where there is no bridge...(Kasanka Natl Park, Zambia)

2009-09-21T23:14:00.000+02:00

Where there is no bridge...

Macdauds (Lilongwe, Malawi)

2009-09-20T13:13:00.000+02:00

I haven't eaten at McDonald's for over 15 years, nor Macdauds...ever. Macdauds is near the Lilongwe Hotel.

Big red buttons one should never see (Somewhere over Malawi)

2009-09-18T21:51:00.001+02:00

I was taking Air Malawi back from Lilongwe through Blantyre to Lusaka. Air Malawi is better known as "Scare Malawi" or "Air Where Are We?" Being the neurotic java drinker I am, I had to use the bathroom on this prop plane. The first picture is a button one just does not want to see on a plane...a big red one with no orientation. Is it the eject button?

Alas the second picture clarifies the situation.

A sign one doesn't expect outside of the Red Light District (Lusaka, Zambia)

2009-09-17T17:01:00.000+02:00

Here is a sign we saw on the way back from Polocross. This is a sign one should never see outside of the Red Light District, but here it was on the Kafue Road.

Ass Flowers???

Yanking pins out of one's hand...(Lilongwe, Malawi)

2009-09-15T20:58:00.001+02:00

The first pin slide out quite nicely...the latter pin was a pain...pun intended. But the magic number is 6. Six beers to become a MD, and pull out the pins yourself. Or perhaps six beers to be an idiot.

Peculiar Taste Beef (Lilongwe, Malawi)

2009-09-15T20:19:00.001+02:00

Eventhough selection A3 is only $6, I couldn't bring myself to eat it. (Taken at a Chinese restaurant in Lilongwe, Malawi)

Penal Beating (Maseru, Lesotho)

2009-08-06T22:34:00.000+02:00

There are an inordinate number of reasons why this is damn funny...the egregious spelling, the lovely grammar, unintended messages, and the fact the guy on the right is wondering what I am taking a picture of.

I don't care how messed up my car is, there is no way in hell I'd goto this "machenic." I was in Maseru about 4 months ago and came across this mechanic's disastrous advertising.

Messing around (Lusaka, Zambia)

2009-08-05T18:44:00.001+02:00

This is on the bathroom stall of where I work in Lusaka. My only question is where do I poo then?

Doloe & Gabbini and elusive underwear (Lilongwe, Malawi)

2009-08-04T22:45:00.001+02:00

I arrived in Lilongwe on Sunday on Kenyan Airways. The flight was simply uneventful, barring the disturbing epiphany that I had forgotten to pack underwear and my belt. The later is infinitely more concerning than the former, so I went to the market soon after landing in Lilongwe.

The market was nothing atypical for a southern Africa market - an ordered chaos of everything one may need and more all laid out on organized dirt and stick stalls. Before I noticed what was happening - the driver was talking to hawkers in Chewa - a thin guy appeared with no less than 50 belts from such reputable brands - Gucchi, Timmy Holfinger and Levvis.

My procured leather belt was "Doloe & Gabinni," and cost $3.

Kissing planes (Lusaka, Zambia)

2009-08-04T22:21:00.000+02:00

I flew this morning from Lusaka to Lilongwe on KQ (Kenyan Airways). Ever since my first footstep on a place - which incidentally was the flight to from Chicago to Cairo - I've kissed every plane. This practice gets mixed reviews from the flight attendants from the raised eyebrow to the giggling disbelief. Today was a good bit of the latter.

When disembarking I said to the attendant, 'you see kissing planes works...I've never crashed.'

211 bones (Alexandria, USA)

2009-08-03T13:46:00.000+02:00

The average human has 205 bones. Until a few weeks ago, I had 210. That's four broken ribs and a broken toe. Now I have 211. I busted the small 'pinky' on my left hand.

Since I've yet to make up a cogent fable on how it happened, I'll avoid telling how it happened altogether. The doc recommended a 22 minute surgery called a 'closed reduction pinning.' Basically, yanking on the finger to get the bone to sit right, and then jamming two pins to hold it in place.

The whole endeavor was a miserable example of everything gone wrong. We couldn't find the ER. There was no hand specialist on duty, and the 'on-call' specialist was eagerly not recommended by the ER staff.

After all was said and done, it cost $7,814.59. That's a 45-min ER visit, 22-min out-patient surgery, and one office visit.

But the worst was opening my fat mouth right as the anesthesiologist pumped a bucket of sleeping drugs into my veins.

I said, "I am here for the frontal lobotomy."

Then I went under filled with fear...what if they took it seriously?

Sliding payment scale (Lusaka, Zambia)

2009-08-02T17:27:00.004+02:00

Yesterday, I went to a barber in Lusaka, Zambia. I walked in and inquired about the price for said service. She looked at me and said flatly, "$5". A bit high for Lusaka, but I agreed, sat in the chair, saw the price list - note that $1 is 5,000 Zambian Kwacha:

ORDINARY HAIRCUTS ADULTS: $2
HAIRCUTS (10 YEARS AND BELOW): $1
HAIRCUT AND SHAVE: $3
SHAVE: $1
TRIMMING (HAIR): $1.50
HAIR LINING: $.75
SPECIAL HAIRCUT: $2.50
LADIES HAIRCUT: $2
CAUCASIAN HAIRCUT: $5

Going Batty (Kasanka National Park, Zambia)

2008-12-14T13:29:00.011+02:00

In uni we chased and beat a bat out of 208 Breeze Terrace (actually we lived in the attic) with a Prince tennis racket. I hated that bat. There is only one thing worse than bat, and that is bats - plural see. I never liked batman either. The guy’s a wanker in a rubber suit.

(Is that Batman or a wanker in a rubber suit?)

If there were a “Mammalian Seven Wonders of the World,” Zambia would surely be on the list. In late November, eight million Straw-colored Fruit Bats descend on Kasanka National Park from the DRC roosting in the southern part of the park. It’s oft said it one of the largest mammalian migrations in the world.

Even late on-set bat phobia could be overlooked I suppose.

The five of us packed the rig, and made the 1,140km journey. Calum, reknowned for his Pig Sticker (a Rambo knife), manned the Garmin GPS and organized the fry-up of the year. Allen, a six-foot-four Peace Corps bloke, had an Irwinian way with animals, screaming “Come Back!” at the fleeing wildlife. Mark, a medical resident, provided useful medical advice after our Tseste Fly onslaught. Mac Attack, trigger happy, photographed every living thing in a 4km radius. Myself? Well, I’ll leave that to the comment box. It was a complementary group...everyone brought something to the foldable table.

(The bat crew. Mac, Allen Mark, Calum, and Christopher.)

One could be forgiven from calling bats "flying vermin," but they do have a keen sense of time. In fact, I’d venture to say bats one-up the Japanese tube in punctuality. After driving for eight hours north of Lusaka over two days, we finally rocked up at Fibwe hide. Right off the bat, I noticed that it was 5:45pm and not a bat was to be seen - ostensibly they flew at sundown. At exactly 6pm the calm area morphd into a swirling vortex of flying mammalian monsters. One roost after another burst onto the Kasanka sunset.

(The swirling vortex of fruit-bats.)

Now I don’t just dislike bats, I truly loathe them. Of the eight million fluttering above us, one managed to crap on me. Bat crap makes nuclear waste look like Dove soap.

(The inevitable. But why ME?)

If the bats were the most unnerving aspect of the Kasanka trip, truly the pontoon crossing made a close second. Our man Felix was the “pontoon keeper.” A series of hoots, hollers and honks, and he would hobble out of nowhere. Calling this glorified Huckleberry raft a pontoon is actually a malicious slight to veritable pontoons. About 20 air-filled drums were forced downward by a rusted metal frame, which was covered in wooden planks by a blind carpenter. Weighing in at 2.5 tons (unloaded), Lara the LandCruiser is a bit of a sow and the pontoon sunk to near water level.

Felix simply said, “Ewe, truck too heavy.” We careened side to side while Felix shouted at each of us to shift our weight.

(The "raft.")

(Lara the LandCruiser on the so-called pontoon.)

No comment: Run-away mates and election rigging (Lusaka, Zambia)

2008-09-22T08:24:00.002+02:00

A few things struck me about this classified ad. First, what exactly does “sweet-lay” mean? Second, certainly we’ve entered into a less racially divided world when talismans are openly offered to both blacks and whites. Third, perhaps the US candidates for presidency should look into the “calling charms for any elections…you will win!”

Actual excerpt from ad printed regularly in The Post classifieds. (A Zambian newspaper)

Notice. GOOD NEWS!

International Fortune teller and healer, worldwide. Prof K.K. Astrologist, palmist, traditionalist, diviner, run-away husbands, wives, boyfriends, and girlfriends recalled. We offer the best tactical luck charms and talismans, to both blacks and whites. Quick marriage to well-to-do people. We treat paralysis, barrenness etc. We lead the way, others fail to copy. We recover stolen property of any kind. We have promotional charms for any position. We treat all illnesses. We have special defensive charms of different types. We have special sweet-lay for both men and women. Defend your husband or wife from chancers. We treat all VD aliments with 5 days. We have calling charms for those standing for any election, you will surely win. We have casino charms, you will win, see the best, Prof KK. Drop at Chawama Police, go back to Anglican Church or call. QUICK RESULTS!

Cool stuff: Google Chrome (Lusaka, Zambia)

2008-09-19T08:30:00.004+02:00

It's well known that I love Google products, and have been called the Google Crack Dealer. First one is free...

Just downloaded Google Chrome - their alternative to Mozilla Firefox and Microsoft's Internet Explorer. It's friggin' sweet.

Let me know whatcha think.

Zambia International Rally (Fringila, Chisamba, Zambia)

2008-09-17T10:13:00.008+02:00

More pix at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/christopherreichert/RallyFringila#

Never seen before
I know I’ve had a good trip when I can say, “I’ve never seen that before.” Perhaps it is quintessential Aquarian.

(My first rally viewing.)

For the weekend of September 12, 2008, we popped just outside Lusaka to watch the Zambia International Rally, to camp one night at Fringila Farm, and to drive around Chisamba environs (Fringila and Protea Lodge). The whole endeavor put 207 km (128 mi) on the rig, but one of those clicks was special. Lara Croft (my 1993 LandCruiser) turned 12 - at 120,000km (74,400 mi). I was very proud.

(The track from Lusaka to Fringila Farms.)

(The Rally photos spots, the Fringila Loop and the Protea Loop.)

Impressions of a Rally
I had never seen a rally before, nonetheless an International Rally where they were duking it out for the title “2008 FIA African Rally Champion.” The rally cars were not at all what I expected. In my mind, I had pictured funny-looking dune buggies with puffer-fish knobby tires and roll-cage exoskeletons. But, these rally cars looked like normal sedans. In fact, barring the decals, one could easily mistake them for a street sedan.

These metal marvels were far from stock. Most cost around $100K and they had names straight out of a sci-fi movie. The Mitsubishi Lancer Evo 9. The Subaru Impreza. The VW Polo S2000. Although they have stock engines, alterations included upgraded turbos and modifiable gas suspensions.

(Evolution driven by the Verlaque sisters from South Africa.)

The paint work and detail not only showcases sponsors, but saves lives. The driver and navigator’s blood types are conveniently stenciled next to their respective names and nationalities. Note to self, "Do not willing participate in an event in which my blood type is stenciled on the death mobile."

(The driver and navigator's blood type is stenciled on the vehicle.)

The crew's vital functions include car maintenance and on-the-spot modifications. Between one stage, the captain screamed vituperative instructions to the mechanics as they disassembled and reassembled the entire CV joint and axle housing. We saw Team 420’s pit crew shaving off 1cm from the tire tread to increase grippage.

(A crew member of 420 Team Kenya cuts a tire to increase grip.)

Unhinged Drivers Need Hinged Navigators

On Saturday alone, there were nine stages all in the Chisamba Farming area. A rally marshal and I sat atop my 1993 80-series LandCruiser. He explained a few things about rallying in a thick Zambian accent.

“Ah, but you know a good driver with a mediocre navigator has not a chance. But a mediocre driver and good navigator will make a hard go,” he declared. “The navigator is the key.”

Still confused on why two people were needed in the car, I asked “So what does a navigator do?”

“The navigator is constantly screaming directions to the driver. Eish, I’ve had that car going over 200kph (124mph). Imagine if there was a T over a knoll?”

I couldn’t help but think rally racers were a bit unhinged, but very likable. At one point, a rally car came through the S-curve and a rooster tried to cross the proverbial road. The crowd cheered for the car to nail the rooster, but alas it just cleared the front tires.

(Note the rooster nearly getting flattened.)

The course had several ‘jumps.’ Those that were closer to the lead need to push for time savings. They would hurl themselves into the air. Others were much more conservative, avoiding the risk to $100K hunk of metal on four rubber tires.

(The Kenyan Team airborn.)

Blue Taxi Drunkards
A blue taxi appeared on the race track, broke through the red boundary tape laid by the marshals, and attempted to park near our trucks. The marshal was livid, screaming for them to get off the course. They were obviously inebriated beyond all repair.

(The drunk guy that fell out of the taxi.)

After all the rally cars blew through the S-curve, the taxi driver hopped behind the wheel, and gunned the Toyota HiACE taxi. The van lurched forward, the rear door popped open, and a man rolled out the back falling onto the ground like a rag doll. He pulled himself up to his feet only to fall a second time head first into the red dirt.

We were all laughing so hard we nearly pissed ourselves.

The drunk man clad in yellow T-shirt wobbled over to the driver, glared at him, and slowly wagged his finger back and forth, in a vain attempt to scold him. He crawled in from when he fell, and they were gone.

Ah, Zambia. I love this place.

(Young rally spectator happy as a clam.)

The favorite, Miyoshi, Rally Chicks, and the Nut-Job

The rally was not without its personalities. Every time we got out of the rig to watch a stage, it was like walking into a barbershop full of gossip. Nothing was off limits, and the same things the crowd admired, were the same things the crowd critiqued. A Politically Correct American would have been abhorred.

The local favorite was Muna Singh, a Zambian rally legend who won the 2004 Africa Rally. When I met, Muna he seemed to be the "calm in the storm." Drivers and navigators were screaming technical specs between a flurry of imprecations, but Muna smiled humbly, floating from place to place in a blue rally suit.

(Muna Singh.)

Muna's main rival was Hideaki Miyoshi from Japan. Suffice to say that the Zambians supporting Muna had few kind words for Miyoshi, yet those words were always followed by, “Iwe, but he is so clean in his driving. Too good.” Muna broke a gear box on Saturday, and Miyoshi took the lead, finally winning the Zambia International Rally and the coveted title "2008 African Rally Champion."

(Miyoshi.)

I didn’t expect husky motor-head men to act like high-school girls after a boy band. They all wanted their picture with the Rally Chicks. (I can hear the Politically Correct peanut gallery already.) These incredible women -- the Verlaque Sisters -- snagged fifth place in what most would say is a male-dominated sport. The Rally Chicks named their red car “Evolution.”

(Verlaque sisters, or locally known as "The Rally Chicks.)

My favorite, though, had to be Azim Ticklay, a local chap in his late 50s. While all the others entered rally cars, he raced a Toyota LandCruiser 70-series pick-up with a stock engine. It’s one thing to see a rally car scream around a corner at 100kph (62mph). It’s yet another thing to see a truck careen and bounce around that same corner. The crowd went wild as he pushed the LandCruiser to its limits.

(Azim in his LandCruiser - 70-series pick-up.)

Never seen before

I had never seen a rally, and never seen grown macho men act like school girls. I had never seen a drunkard topple out of blue HiACE. Yes, this was a good weekend.

No comment: Shark stats (Durban, South Africa)

2008-09-16T13:57:00.003+02:00

I've heard somewhere more people die each year from eating poorly prepared shark than from shark attacks.

Not much comfort when a shark is a few feet in front of you. These pictures were taken by a fellow-diver when I got my PADI for SCUBA in South Africa. On my first dive, I saw eight Raggy-tooth Sharks. This is one of them.

Ingenuity: Kids and wire trucks (Chirundu, Zambia)

2008-09-15T11:30:00.001+02:00

This picture was taken on our Easter 2007 trip to Lower Zambezi National Park. Kid's ingenuity never ceases to amaze me. Perhaps Fischer Price and Mattel could learn a few things. One thinks that putting together a bunch of Leggos into a truck is creative. What about making your own truck from scrap wire, plastic, and foam?

This particular truck is modeled after a Lodge Safari vehicle. Note the viewing seats and the open design.

Ingenious.

Between two elections (Cubal, Angola)

2008-09-14T13:00:00.001+02:00

Angola recently held, what is deemed by most, successful elections. I remember exactly where I was on February 22, 2002. This is when the government killed Jonas Savimbi, the UNITA opposition leader. I had gone for a run down the main street in Sumbe, Kwanza Sul. Suddenly the streets were flooded with people yelling, "O mais velho morreu!" (The old one is dead!)

I sprinted back to the house.

At first many doubted the news thinking it was simply pro-MPLA propaganda. But indeed, Savimbi was dead, and his body was shown across the nation via national TV.

Here are some of the photos from my time in Cubal, Angola.

(A friend of mine stands in front of a political slogan on the side of a Cubal building. It reads, "Savimbi ja ganhou, or Savimbi has already won.")

(Political slogan from Cubal on the side of a building. It reads, "Savimbi e nossa paz, or Savimbi is our Peace.")

(A UN King Air pilot on the Cubal dirt airstrip. In the background is a UN cargo plane that used to fly in food for general and targeted distributions. I think the big plane is Hercules.)

(Children surrounding the UN cargo plane on the dirt airstrip in Cubal. The plane is possibly a Buffalo.)

(During the Angolan civil war, the UN used pressurized King Airs to fly international and national humanitarian workers around the country. Here is a King Air (often called a Kilo Alpha) on the Cubal airstrip.)

Ingenuity: Tequila and TIA - This Is Africa (Kafue River, Zambia)

2008-09-13T08:20:00.002+02:00

The acronym "T.I.A." is repeated throughout the movie Blood Diamond. The acronym stands for This Is Africa. During most of the movie TIA is followed by someone getting a bullet in the noggin, but the acronym TIA can be used for daily ingenuity found in Africa.

I love tequila. That's not the problem. The problem is that tequila loves me.

Last Wednesday some friends and I took a cruise on the Kafue Queen. The Kafue Queen is a double-decker pontoon boat embarking from where the Kafue River meets the Lusaka road.

Against all sensibility, we ordered Sauza tequila shots. In the absence of shot glasses, was had metal tumblers. In the absence of salt, was had Knorr Aroma Seasoning. In the absence of lemon, we had...well there was no substitute for lemons.

No training wheels.

TIA, and I love it.

Ingombe Ilede and severed goat heads (Part III of Siavonga, Zambia)

2008-09-12T08:00:00.001+02:00

This is the final part (III) of the Siavonga trip (Lake Kariba, Zambia)

(more pix available at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/christopherreichert/Siavonga)

Dried Fish and Flip-flops
Outside the Safari Lodge in Siavonga, there is a small market, a marine market I’d venture to say. Strangely enough, I didn’t see any fresh fish, but rather orderly stacks of dried fish, almost as if the fish school formation continued post mortem.

The most plentiful were tilapia, locally known as bream. A stack of four bream sets you back 10,000 Kwacha ($3). The larger dried carcasses are bottle-fish, and sell at 10,000 Kwacha each. A bucket of kapenta, dried sardine-like fish, is 15,000 Kwacha ($4.50). Few would disagree that the prize fighting fish of the region is the Tigerfish. In the market, the Tigerfish are sandwiched in a web of plastic fiber and twigs, apparently to keep them from breaking apart. A stack of Tigerfish retails for 10,000 Kwacha.

(The fish market outside of Safari Inn. The small dried fish in the buckets are Kapenta and the piles are mostly Tilapia, or Bream.)

(Tigerfish sandwiched with sticks and woven plastic. Apparently the vendors were afraid the dried fish would fall apart.)

I chanced to glance over near the edge of the market, and was a bit confused. Like most people, I’ve often pondered what happened to the flip-flop extra after the sole is cut. Now I had an answer. A multi-hued stack of flip-flop offal was piled in front of a stall. For 10,000 Kwacha the women will sell you a sheet of the flip-flop extras from Lusaka, used mainly for fisherman’s floaters.

(Flip-flop offal. Women sell the foam mostly to fisherman for net floaters.)

I’ve Broken My Truck…
To explore southern Africa, I imported a 1993 Toyota LandCrusier 4.2 Turbo Diesel VX (that’s a HDJ81 JDM chassis with a 1HD-T engine for the motorheads). In about a year, I added 30,000 clicks (18,600mi), and during that time, I’ve yet to have an adventure without an ‘oh shit’ moment. This short weekend trip was no exception.

Before returning to Lusaka on Sunday, I happened to pop the bonnet (aka “hood,” for us yanks) for a quick oil check and engine inspection. The dipstick oil seemed fine, but oil had sprayed all over the inside of the engine…which was not fine. The breather pipe tube from the top of the engine to the air filter had shimmed loose. Oil had sprayed all over and dripped down the driver’s side of the engine bay to the suspension system.

(Evidence from the 'oh shit' moment. The breather pipe had come off, and I learned later that the steering box has a slight leak.)

It’s no secret that I know more about inter-galactic gravity calculations than I do about engines, which is to say I know jack-all. However, I do know that oil found not where oil is supposed to be found, is bad. So I called my mechanic, and his advice was accompanied with a laugh reserved for when an adult hears a child making a series of ludicrous questions.

He said, “Chris. Attach the hose. Drive home. Call me on Monday.”

Mutulanganga and the Sleeping Cow
On most short weekend trips, the main goal is to get home as quickly as possible, but on this journey, the ride back to Lusaka was eventful. Between Siavonga and the main Lusaka-Chirundu road, there is a small area called Mutulanganga with a few 4x4 tracks. The track we took quickly dissipated into recently burned bush. The rig’s 15-year old paint job took a beating. The beating itself was far less painful than audible attack akin to a thousand fingernails across a chalkboard.

(The 4x4 track was overgrown and at one point we came across a tree that had fallen. The trunk will soon be a dug-out canoe.)

Not all bush lunches are perfect. This bush lunch had potential: tomato, Camembert, onion, and cucumber sandwiches in a dry river bed. However, a hoard of flea-like bugs descended on us like dung beetles on a pile of putrid poo.

(An inane attempt to fight off the hoard of flea-like bugs during the bush lunch.)

(The power lines that run from the Kariba Dam to Lusaka pass through the Mutulanganga Important Bird Area.)

Next we headed to a Zambian National Monument, tipped off on the way by a worn sign that led off the eastern edge of the road. The best part of the monument is not the monument itself, rather it is the 13km (8mi) of baobab-lined track heading east. As we cruised down the track, the lekker OME suspension (after-market suspension kit) was at its best absorbing the gullies with acute gusto. However, I did get a bit carried away down the track and hit a drainage ditch knocking my head on the roof. I slowed down.

(On the way to Ingome Ilede, or Sleeping Cow in Tonga. The road is lined with immense Baobabs all the way to the National Monument.)

(Jumpshot at a big ass Baobab on the way to Ingombe Ilede.)

(Signage to Sleeping Cow. Normally there are no signs, but when there are signs, sometimes there are two signs. Which way do I go?)

The National Monument is called Ingombe Ilede, or "Sleeping Cow" in Tonga. In fact, the monument is quite impressive. It is basically a fallen Baobab which has since been hallowed out. Purportedly it is an effigy of a sleeping cow; however, we struggled to see the connection. We were informed that the inside was used by a local chief for shelter, including a bedroom, sitting room, storage shelves, and windows.

(Our guide climbing into the Sleeping Cow National Monument, which was actually a tipped over Baobab.)

(A jumpshot on the Sleeping Cow.)

(The explanation of the Ingombe Ilede.)

Hanging Goat Butts and Severed Heads

After taking a tour of the inside of Ingombe Ilede, we drove back to Lusaka stopping briefly at the junction with the Livingstone road. There is a small market which stopped me for one reason – the hanging raw goat butts. In addition to goat butt, 5,000 Kwacha ($1.50) will get you a freshly severed goat head. A row of women lined the road selling grilled goat: 1,500 Kwacha ($.50) for your choice of either meat or offal. That was a tough one, but I chose the meat, which was rapidly reheated, sliced, salted, and packed in newspaper.

(Goat butts in a road-side market.)

(Fresh goat heads. Get 'em while they're fresh. 5,000 Kwacha)

(Your choice of goat meat or goat offal for 1,500 Kwacha. We chose the former.)

When my head hit the 1,000 thread-count pillow case in Lusaka, I somehow already missed my grass ground at Eagle’s Rest.

Ingenuity: Smelly fish and garbage (Zambia)

2008-09-11T12:53:00.003+02:00

This series is called 'Ingenuity.' I like to see how people come up with solutions to ordinary problems.

I saw this Nissan Patrol next to the road-side market near the Livingston junction. I've oft wondered what was the best way to transport fresh fish without a cooler. This guy had tied the fish securely on the mirror. Note the garbage hanging off the back tire.

Ingenious.

No comment: Using a human to catch a croc (Kafue, Zambia)

2008-09-10T17:11:00.005+02:00

This picture would not be alarming in most contexts, as the subtiltle would be something innocous like, "Tubing is great fun." But this was taken on the Kafue River about 50km outside of Lusaka. The subtitle is, "Extreme hunting: Using a human to catch a croc."

No Comment: Rebel Flag (Benguela, Angola)

2008-09-10T09:54:00.005+02:00

In March of 2001, I stumbled across this rebel flag not in the south of the USA (where you'd often find it) but in Benguela, Angola. The flag was flying just near the main market.

Kariba Dam and Croc Kayaking - Part II (Siavonga, Zambia)

2008-09-10T08:00:00.000+02:00

This is part II of the Siavonga trip (Lake Kariba, Zambia)
(more pix available at: http://picasaweb.google.com/christopherreichert/Siavonga)

(The Kariba Dam from Google Earth.)

Damn Good Dam
On the second day of our Siavonga trip (August 30, 2008), we visited the Kariba Dam. The most interesting aspect of the Kariba Dam is not its insane flow rate of 1,574 liters per second. Nor is it the fact that the dam is constructed with 1,032,000 cubic meters of concrete. Rather, the most interesting aspect of the Kariba Dam is the people on the Dam.

(Kariba Dam statistics. Click to view the details.)

(East side of Kariba Dam, which is downstream from the Zambian side overlooking the Zimbabwean side. From top to bottom, the distance is 128m. You can see the five flood gates in the middle of the Dam. Crocs were patrolling the edge of the Dam for fish, and fishermen stood on the lower sluices.)

Some Zimbabweans strolled along the dam as if were the Eiffel Tower or the Great China Wall. Some simply sauntered the Sunday away. Others fastidiously carried 25kg (55lbs) bags of rice or box of crackers on their heads. At the base of the dam, fisherman frenetically yanked bream (Tilapia) out of small holes in the cement sluices.

(Women carrying goods back to Zimbabwe via the Kariba Dam, including 25kg bags of rice)

(Near the base of the Dam, fishermen use small holes in the concrete to yank bream out of the sluices. The fish is immediately killed, filleted, and dried on the Dam walls. Here you see two men - one sitting and the other standing.)

There were three equally unnerving aspects to the Kariba Dam. First, I don’t care if you're Superman, 128m (420ft) is damn high (pun intended), especially when the guard rail is no taller than your thighs. Second, even if you sustain a fall, several monstrous crocodiles patrol the dam's base. Finally, the top of Kariba Dam is like a scene out of Matrix. You have to “Keeno it” from the dive-bombing Wire-tailed Swallows.

(A Kariba croc making its way through the muck. This photo misrepresents the size of this reptile's actual size, as it was taken from 128m up on the dam wall. Crocs patrolled the bottom of the Dam and grabbed the stunned fish shooting out the sluices.)

(Wire-tailed Swallows like this one zoomed around eating insects on the fly. Several times we were dive-bombed, seemingly harmless, but unnerving nonetheless.)

Stupid is as Stupid Does
Stupidity comes in many forms. A few years ago, I bought a two-person inflatable Stearns Kayak from Amazon.com and shipped it to Zambia. Never mind the dangers of hippos and crocs. This is like giving a pound of Pixie Stix to a diabetic with a sweet tooth. Ignoring all sensibility, we took a paddle around Eagle’s Rest, which has more ‘Beware of hippos and crocs’ signs than the San Diego Zoo.

(This was the first time I had used the Stearn's inflatable kayak. I had not a clue how it worked, nor were there instructions. The first thing out of the backpack was another bag...what the heck?)

(The kayak is not that heavy, and quite portable for a two-person watercraft.)

(The kayak ready to rock and roll! Well hopefully just rock--not roll.)

On this paddle, I learned the difference between anxiety and paranoia. Anxiety is when you feel mildly uncomfortable. Paranoia is when your current state of mind is painted with vivid images of a 3m (10ft) croc teething on your occipital lobe.

I felt grateful for the distractions (probable prey) on this paddle around the bay. Around the periphery, at least 30 kids were splashing in the water. Some were leaping off a large boulder clad in nothing but Chinese-made Calvin Klein imitations. Surely a floundering bite-sized kid is more attractive to a croc than a 4m (13ft) kayak, right?

(Kids leaping, jumping, and back-flipping off a large boulder into the water. The one on the far right is upside-down.)

In addition to the kids, several fisherman paddled around in dugout canoes setting their nets. Lloyd, skimming along in his dugout canoe, was quite a character.

(Lloyd paddling his dug-out canoe along with a stick.)

(Lloyd setting is net to catch Tigerfish.)

Clad in a black cowboy hat, “NBS HANSP” sleeveless t-shirt, and dress pants, he scooted along with a long stick, not a paddle. Lloyd laid a net which floated on small pieces of discarded flip-flops. All this was tangential compared to Lloyd’s ephemeral words of comfort.

“Ah, yes there are too many crocs and hippos in this water,” he said, grinning ear to ear.

“But there are kids swimming in the water,” we countered. “Have there been any accidents?”

“Oh, but no bwana, it is God who keeps the crocodiles.” (This was mildly confusing, but we thought he believed the children were protected by God.)

Sometimes belief is hard to argue with, and I could have used some belief to get my ass back to shore sans croc attack. It’s amazing how fast a person can paddle when images of crocs leaping through the air are on the mind.

Eagle’s Rest on Lake Kariba - Part I (Siavonga, Zambia)

2008-09-09T07:54:00.002+02:00

(Sun set at Eagle's Rest.)

Note that additional photos on Siavonga are found at: http://picasaweb.google.com/christopherreichert/Siavonga

The nutshell
The drive down the Machinchi Escarpment is never without excitement as you descend from 1,300m to 400m in less than 2 hours. We drove 430km (267mi) roundtrip from Lusaka to Siavonga. We camped two nights (Aug 29 and 30, 2008) on a small peninsula at Eagle’s Rest on Lake Kariba. Tangents included: a stroll across the Kariba Dam, a paddle on an inflatable kayak, a visit to Mutulanganga (Important Bird Area), and a peek inside one of Zambia’s National Monuments called Ingombe Ilede (or Sleeping Cow).

(Google map with the track from Lusaka to Lake Kariba - light blue line.)

Siavonga is quite an exotic name for a town given its dubious past. In the 1950s the Kariba Dam was started, and after the lake began filling in 1960, the Tonga people were displaced from their traditional lands. Lake Kariba (280km by 32km, 174mi by 20mi) was formed, along with the subsequent towns around its periphery. From Google Earth, Lake Kariba looks like a squashed snow-flake with doily fingers etched into the mountains.

(Google map of Lake Kariba, Eagle's Rest, and the last part of the journey.)

Eagle’s Rest as a moniker is about as original a Milli Vanilli song. I am nearly sure that every state in the world has at least one ‘Eagle’s Rest.’ However, Eagle’s Rest in Siavonga has certain redeeming qualities, the most redeeming being bungled real estate planning. The camping sites are located on prime real estate in comparison to the ‘high-paying’ chalets and lodge. The campsites and the ablution block sit out on a rocky peninsula. This is akin to building the slums on Manhattan. Our slum (campsite), called the Chill Spot, overlooked the entire bay, iron-melting sun-rises, and two small islands. My week’s end was like the end of an equation: Hard week + short drive (with hangover) = Chill Spot.

(The verdant grass, great for camping. The rig parked just near Lake Kariba.)

(Eagle's Rest beach. The campgrounds are on the peninsula, and you can see the blue tent.)

(View from the Chill Spot Campsite.)

The Chill Spot is not without nature’s touch. A hippopotamus and her young quickly traversed the peninsula early one morning and disappeared off to the islands. Bird life included: White-breasted Cormorant; African fish eagle; Goliath Heron; Lilac-breasted Roller; Wire-tailed Swallow; Crowned Hornbill; and Trumpeter Hornbill.

(Not a sign you want to see on the swimming beach.)

(Crowned Hornbill.)

Three divine moments

If one is fortunate enough to be among those on the planet that live on more than one meal a day, the day is divided in three divine moments – breakfast, lunch and dinner. Breakfast in the bush usually consists of South Africa’s second most precious export – Nature’s Best Granola. (Second, after diamonds, of course.) Road lunches are either sandwiches or Bush Sushi – carved meat, cheese, cucumber, tomato, and English mustard atop a ProVita cracker. Dinner on this trip was tri-colored pasta, fresh tomato sauce, and cilantro garnish for the first night, and lemon-garlic chicken braai with jack-potatoes, roasted sweet corn, and roasted veggies on the second night.

(Garlic-lemon chicken, sweet-corn, roasted veggies, and jack potatoes/onions. Life is tough.)

(Plate o food off the braai.)

No comment: Zambia's Finest Chicks (Lusaka, Zambia)

2008-09-08T16:08:00.003+02:00

I came across this rig at Eagle's Rest on Lake Kariba. Somebody has a sense of humor.

Down the highest abseil in the world (Semonkong, Lesotho)

2008-09-07T15:23:00.018+02:00

(Rejoicing. I had just finished the abseil here.)

How high is high?
Sometimes the veracity of a claim is utterly meaningless. It is almost irrelevant whether Maletsunyane Falls is the highest abseil in the world or not. Few would disagree that 204m (669ft) is high. It’s even higher when dangling from a 1cm (½ inch) rope.

(The Maletsunyane Falls near Semonkong.)

The Mountain Kingdom
To call Lesotho mountainous is like calling the ocean damp. Lesotho’s claim to fame is the “highest lowest country in the world.” It’s also known as “The Mountain Kingdom.” The capital, Maseru, is firmly planted on the far western border, near Ladybrand, South Africa. The infamous Semonkong lies just 130km (81 miles) east of Maseru. East of Semonkong, the Maletsunyane Falls drop 204m (669ft) into a stony amphitheater at the toe of a gigantic canyon.

(Typical scene of Lesotho mountains. Note the soccer pitch in the foreground.)

Driving the road to Semonkong is a physical litmus test in maintaining mental mettle. The shifting gravel road has more switchbacks than straight-aways. At one point we began to slide towards a precipice. I am convinced that the GX’s engaged center diff-lock saved our hides. A common critique of the Land Cruiser GX, is that the 4.2 normally aspirated diesel is underpowered. This was abundantly evident as we crawled up many of the ascents in first gear.

The prescient idiot
It’s hard to know what has been said in history. But I do know something that has not been said. I know that some idiot saw the Falls and did not say, “Wow, gorgeous. Ok, let’s go home.” No, he said, “Hey, I got an idea. Why don’t we dangle ourselves over the waterfall?”

That was a prescient idiot. There are a whole slew of idiots, like myself, ready to pay for a chance to abseil the Maletsunyane Falls. Jonathan, the co-owner of the Semonkong Lodge, has benefited from the abseil installation. Jonathan is a pleasantly quirky chap with a jerky laugh. Although he has a countenance closer to a surfer than a lodge owner, Jonathan prioritized safety and preparation.

The day before abseiling the Maletsunyane Falls, a short training is required for two reasons: to reduce apprehension and to familiarize yourself with the abseiling gear. The training ground is a modest 25m (82ft) cliff near the lodge, which is a bit more than a 1/10th of the Falls. When I peered over the 25m precipice, I silently prayed that the trepidation I felt was not a tenth of what I would feel the following day.

(Practicing on the 25m cliff.)

(The practice abseil.)

The abseil gear
Abseil gear is quite simple, consisting of a harness, two ropes, and a belay device. The harness slips around the legs and up to the waist connecting to the ropes and the belay device. One rope is fastened to the top of the cliff and hangs down to the bottom. This is the rope which you belay down. The other is tied to you, and wrapped around a belayer at the top of the falls.

The theory is that if one rope fails, the other will save your plummeting ass.

The belay device we used looks like a miniature five-rung ladder, but the inner rungs move around to grip the rope. The rope snakes through the rungs. Thus, if you slide the rungs close, you slow or stop. If you slide the rungs open, you drop.

Welcome to the Jungle
The following morning we left for the falls at 6am. We were six – Jonathan, his dog, a couple, and my friend and I. We piled into the 70-series hardtop Land Cruiser. The so-called road was more like a torn up track, including: hub-deep mud, rocks, streams, and the occasional gravel road.

The Cruiser was duly Spartan, save one admirable and strategic attribute - the stereo system. Grinning ear-to-ear Jonathan bounced the rig around a hairpin turn, black mud careening off all four tires. There was a surreal moment as Guns N Roses blared and the Basotho landscape rushed by, 'Welcome to the Jungle, we got fun and games…'

I yelled to Jonathan, "Bru, nice choice of music."

He yelled back, “Yeah, I figured it was a better than 'Knockin’ on Heaven's Door”

We all did a double-take.

(Hiking to the top of the falls.)

The Cruiser met a pony near the falls. Jonathan packed up the pony with the ropes and abseil equipment, and we started the descent to the edge of the canyon. Upon arrival to the falls, Jonathan assigned the abseil order by perceived nervousness. Those exhibiting signs of trepidation went first, and those that appeared calm went last. In retrospect, my poker face was not an asset. I was slated to go last.

(Gearing up. Here is the LandCruiser and all the abseil equipment.)

Before the clients abseil, Jonathan drops the title of “lodge co-owner” and becomes “equipment guinea pig”. He clipped up, and wriggled himself over the edge. Before his head dipped out of view, I asked, "Hey Jonathan, do you still get nervous?" He froze like a deer caught in headlights. His eyes were petrified. He sighed deeply, and continued silently.

The first three clients geared up one by one, and edged over the lip like little lemmings to a date with death. Before I knew it I was harnessed, clipped in, and helmeted.

(The canyon and the abseil crew setting up.)

(The abseil crew setting up the equipment.)

Killing yourself by holding your breath
Let me attest to the fact that the human body does not on its own accord slide off the edge of a 204m (669ft) cliff. It is just not natural. In fact, it is like to trying to kill yourself by holding your breath. You simply can’t do it. Autonomic responses force you involuntarily breathe. Similarly, my legs locked up, and I white-knuckled that ½ inch rope like a corpulent kid gripping the last lollipop on the planet.

(Chris getting strapped in.)

Finally I was over the edge, and I started to belay myself down the waterfall. Then next thirty minutes of my life is a bit of a blur, but suffice to say some key moments are etched in my brain.

(Dude on the Falls. The small white dots in the far back are sheep.)

When I was dangling 201m (655ft) in the air, the belay device jammed. I was just out of reach from the abseil assistants, so they couldn't pull me back up. One might think that if you were to have a problem with a belay device, jamming is not all that bad. It’s certainly preferable to the alternative. However, instead of gravity assisting me down in a controlled manner, I had to literally pull myself down the rope.

(The first few meters were painful. This is where the belay device jammed.)

By 190m (619ft), my arms were exhausted. At this point, I could only yank myself down for about 3m (10ft), before I had to rest. This wasn’t entirely the end of the world as certainly there are worse vistas than a thundering falls overlooking a canyon.

I swung slowly back and forth in front of the verdant canyon. The falls produce a crushing rush of sound crashing around the rocks. Sheep and people are like flecks of Formica on a distant table to.

(A view of the Falls from the canyon.)

When I was dangling 180m (587ft) in the air, the afternoon wind picked up from the sun. For a split second, since I was sweating my arse off, I welcomed the natural air conditioning as a fortuitous change of environs. Good feelings disappeared, when I noticed that the entire waterfall started to shift on top of me.

(The Falls is blown in the wind so I was covered in frigid water.)

By 150m (489ft), I was fully engulfed in the frigid waterfall. I couldn’t see anything except my fingers freezing before my eyes. Luckily, the belay device started to give way so the descent was getting marginally easier.

(Utterly exhausted.)

Bastards
After I rejoined the others, I felt two overwhelming feelings. First, was the sense of accomplishment. Descending the Maletsunyane Falls by pulling myself down an arctic aqua onslaught, was no easy feat. Second, was the sense of callous contempt for my fellow abseilers. All three had descended in state of near dryness, “taking pictures, and enjoying the slow relaxing belay.”

Bastards.

There’s only one thing to say, “I do again in a heartbeat.”

(Abseiling on the Falls.)

(Someone abseiling the falls. On the left you can see the small red dot and the rope.)

More pix found at: http://picasaweb.google.com/christopherreichert/AbseilingMaletsunyaneFalls#

No comment: A Doc in the Bush (Lower Zambezi, Zambia)

2008-09-05T14:45:00.002+02:00

On the way down from Lusaka to the Lower Zambezi National Park, we saw this advert in the middle of the bush. I wonder if this is an in-network provider for AETNA?

More pix at: http://picasaweb.google.com/christopherreichert/LowerZambezi

Jackass: Asking dumb questions (Semonkong, Lesotho)

2008-08-27T11:48:00.006+02:00

In early February 2008, we drove east from Maseru to Semonkong in order to abseil the Maletsunyane Falls. The gravel road snakes through the valleys and passes. During the drive we had been conversing about traditional medicine, and the plethora of multifarious roots, barks and stones found in markets. We stopped for a photo op over the mountains and a young man came through on a pony.

(Typical landscape driving from Maseru to Semonkong)

Dumela Ntate, I stated.

Dumela, he replied.

In the mountains of Lesotho, the primary mode of transport is either by hoof or foot. Allegedly the Besotho Pony is the result of cross-breeding between short Javanese horses and European full mounts. Adaptations aid in navigating the rocky paths and steep inclines characteristic of the Mountain Kingdom. Most ride bareback with the traditional Basotho blanket for protection from the frigid elements.

I noticed that the young man carried two sticks, one longer on in his right hand, and a stubbier root-like stick in his left hand. It made me think of our conversation on traditional medicine. I pointed to his left hand, and inquired, “What’s that in your hand?”

He calmly looked down at the stick and paused. Then he looked at my friend, and then back at the stick, pausing again. Then he looked at me as if I was the king idiot of all idiots in the world.

He said, “It’s a stick.”

He silently trotted off down the road. I certainly looked like a jackass.

New stuff on blog (Lusaka, Zambia)

2008-08-26T15:22:00.005+02:00

The blogger website has a few features that I've added over the last week.

Link to picture albums:
On the right hand side of the blog there is now a link to my Picasa Web Albums. On the Web Albums there are pictures from: Madagascar (Andasibe National Park), Zimbabwe (Victoria Falls), Alaska (Glacier hike and Packrafting), and Zambia (Blue Lagoon National Park).

Comments welcome.

http://picasaweb.google.com/christopherreichert

Slideshow:
There is also a new slideshow of pictures taken from the Picasa Web Albums. At this juncture, the slideshow is from the Alaskan Packrafting adventure; however, this will change periodically.

Elephant shaking a tree (Savuti, Botswana)

2008-08-25T11:00:00.002+02:00

Most of us grow up with a stereotype of Elephants.

Elephants love peanuts.

However, I'd venture to say that Elephants have a stronger proclivity to Camelthorn pods. In fact, Eles will shake a tree to relieve the Acacia of its pods.

I took this video outside the Savuti campsite in the Chobe National Park (Botswana). As we rounded a bend in the bush, we couldn't believe our eyes. The Ele had forked a Camelthorn tree with its tusks, wrapped its prehensile trunk around the tree, and shook it violenty like a little twig. The half-moon shaped pods fell from the Camelthorn and then the Ele meandered around picking the pods off the ground.

Towards the end of the video I started up the rig as the Ele was getting a bit close for comfort.

No comment: AIDS in Africa (Lusaka, Zambia)

2008-08-24T11:00:00.001+02:00

This is part of the "No Comment" series.

This blog is published as the 15th International AIDS Conference just happened in Mexico City. This picture was taken in Lusaka, Zambia.

I am speechless...what about yall?

The dog and the rat (Lusaka, Zambia)

2008-08-23T11:00:00.001+02:00

A few months ago I changed houses in Lusaka. I moved from 23 Warthog Way to 11 Cedar Road. Although the latter is better in my estimation, the former had an awe inspiring street name.

My house on Cedar Road came with certain amenities, which are quite commonplace in Lusaka. These amenities include: a kitchen, a few bedrooms, and a walled-yard. However, one amenity was very unexpected.

My house came with a dog.

(Pata Branca in the backyard at 11 Cedar Road, Woodlands, Lusaka.)

On my first night at 11 Cedar, I walked in, I saw the dog, and I immediately called the landlord to remove the mutt. She apologized and said she would pick it up.

She was a smart lady. She certainly outsmarted me. Instead of picking up the dog, she dropped off dog food at the house. A week later, I couldn't fathom having the mutt removed.

The dog soon went from 'the mutt,' to 'the dog,' to Pata Branca, or White Paw in Portuguese. I call her Pata for short.

To say Pata is spastic would be an egregious insult to spastic people. In fact, she would have SADD - Super Attention Deficit Disorder - had she been born a humanoid. Although spastic, she consistently does one thing very well.

Pata brings me presents. Whether chameleons or rats, I am the lucky recipient of many reptiles and rodents.

(The first thing I saw when I walked out the door on August 12. A dead rat.)

To give Pata credit, most are dead, or at least mostly dead.

Anomalies: 1st class bowl (Antananarivo, Madagascar)

2008-08-22T11:00:00.006+02:00

This post is part of a series called "Anomalies." I've met few that would disagree with the statement, "We live in a peculiar world."

There is a restaurant down from the Antananarivo office called "Hot Gasy." Normally, this moniker would not inspire more than a serious investment in soft triple-ply toilet paper. However, I came to find out Hot Gasy was quite the tasty joint. In addition, the prices were reasonable, which was a welcome respite from Lusaka. A ginormous plate of Misao (excessively buttered noodles and veggies) was 1,500 Ariary or $1.

(The Hot Gasy Restaurant banners.)

(The walk to the Hot Gasy is not for the faint of heart. Large chunks of fresh meat dangle in the air as if chumming for lions.)

There is a dish called Bol Reverse. Bol Reverse is basically an oily mix of rice, meat, and a near-raw egg. The entire concoction is packed in a bowl, and flipped over in front of you at the table. When the waitress flipped over the bowl, I noticed the inscription, “American Airlines.”

This was a bit of an anomaly.

How did this bowl get from a 1st class AA flight to the Hot Gasy?

The 1st class bowl from American Airlines somehow ended up in front of me in restaurant "Hot Gasy" in Antananarivo, Madagascar. The infamous Flipped Bowl dish is 2,500 or just shy of $2. In the background, is Riz Continental (Chinese Fried Rice) and the Burnt Rice Tea - basically boiled water from the rice pot.

Would you like to see 50,000,000,000 Dollars? (Harare, Zimbabwe)

2008-08-21T09:33:00.002+02:00

I remember my first trip to Zimbabwe in January of 2001. Having just arrived in Southern Africa, I was wetter behind the ears than a newborn river otter. At that time, one US dollar was worth 60 Zimbabwean dollars. On August 14, 2008, 1,000,000,000,000 (One Trillion) Zimbabwean dollars equaled $1 at the black market rate.

(A "Special Agro-Cheque" for 50,000,000,000 Zimbabwean dollars. I couldn't figure out what an Agro-cheque was.)

In August 2008, the Zimbabwean government lopped off 10 zeros from the old currency, and launched the New Zim Dollar. The Harold claimed the revaluation was for “convenience, efficiency, and compactibility.” There is only one place on earth in which “compactibility” refers to money, instead of garbage.

(The Zimbabwean Herald explaining the revalued Zim dollar. One wonders why they'd even bother with the plethora of security features. Why would anyone bother to counterfeit Zim dollars? By the time you would counterfeit the money, it would be worthless.)

(The new Zim dollars for "convenience...efficiency...compactibility.")

(A conversation table to go between the old Zim dollars and the revalued Zim dollar. I sure am glad they put in the cents on the conversion tables.)

Inflation in Zimbabwe is insane. This is no secret, and its often reported as the highest ever in the world. Upon my arrival, I walked over to the forex counter and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was open. At the CBZ Bank Limited one US$ was equal to 14.7 New Zim$, but the black market rate was 100 New Zim$ to one US$.

(A forex bureau in the Harare Airport. One US$ equals 14.7 Zim$ (revalued). By exchanging at this official forex, one loses over 85%, as the black market rate as of Aug 15, was 100Zim$ to 1US$.)

What does this disparity between the black market and forex mean in reality. It means you have to be a mathematical genius to buy anything, otherwise you can get robbed blind. I walked downstairs for breakfast at the Meikles and was greeted by a chalkboard, “English B/F, 10 Trillion or $1,000 revalued.”

For the sagacious, breakfast costs $10 (black market rate).

For the knave, breakfast costs $68 (Forex rate).

(Mr Mugabe gracing the presence of the Meikles foyer.)

(The Meikles Breakfast Buffet offer for 10,000,000,000,000 Zim dollars, or 10 Trillion Zim Dollars.)

The longer I live in Southern Africa, the more I am amazed at the power of human ingenuity. In Harare, you can order vegetable oil, flour, and sugar via email. A woman will accumulate orders until it is fiscally viable to send a truck from South Africa to Zimbabwe. Once the order arrives, you pick up your staples from her house.

Forget order-in pizza, you should order-in sugar.

I don’t have DSTVin my Lusaka house, but then again I am never in my own home. I have to catch up whilst in hotels. A Zimbabwe Revenue Service commercial screams at me:

"PAY YOUR TAX!"

In June 2008, employees were fiscally bludgeoned. Employees are taxed nearly half (47%) of total income. This had been tolerable because it was paid in Zim dollars, which was literally peanuts. However, by June 2008 the government now required tax to be paid in USD if staff were salaried in USD.

Imagine half your salary disappearing to a government, such as Zimbabwe's?

[more pictures available at http://picasaweb.google.com/christopherreichert]

Baggage claim - checking in rice (Harare, Zimbabwe)

2008-08-20T09:00:00.000+02:00

I’ve always dreaded checking in my black roller luggage. Surely someone else would mistake my luggage for theirs. Well, normally, I am filled with trepidation at the baggage claim, until I arrived in Harare, Zimbabwe.

I paid $30 for the business visa, and walked to the luggage claim. The arrival hall was dim, about 10% of the lights were on. The hall presumably designed for the buzz of mass movement felt more akin to a funeral parlor. Regal marble and glass, slated for an anticipated tourist boom, glistens as if new. The baggage claim buzzed and the conveyor belt began to spit out luggage one by one.

At first I was confused. Perhaps I had entered into the cargo area?

The first piece of checked luggage was what appeared to be a 25kg (55lb) bag of rice.

The second piece of checked luggage was plaid with gaudy belts around it. Clearly not mine.

The third piece of checked luggage was another 25kg bag of rice. I see a pattern here.

Wait, is that really rice, I thought.

“Good morning. How are you?" I asked.

"Fine, and you?"

"Is that a bag of rice?” I inquired. “Yes, if you can find rice in Zimbabwe, it’s too expensive to buy,” she said.

In some countries people fret for paying fees for checked luggage. In other countries people try to get staples into the country, instead of checked luggage.

Fighting poachers and viruses (Blue Lagoon NP, Zambia)

2008-08-19T08:32:00.002+02:00

(The welcome sign for the Blue Lagoon National Park, Zambia. "You may visit places of interest in Blue Lagoon National Park, but remember it must be with permission from the management. For more information, orientation, and clarification come to our Naleza Sector HQ.)

The ZAWA rangers (Zambia Wildlife Authority) in the Blue Lagoon NP were extremely hospitable and professional. The six we met were part of a larger contingent (26 in total) that patrolled the NP by foot, bike and pole-boat. Their camp was as modest as the welcome sign to the NP. Yohanes ensured that I was aware of their particular plight, which was quite serious by most accounts.

"We do get paid even though it is very much too little."

Most of the "tents" consisted of reeds (poles) and plastic and/or netting (tent). AK47s were strewn about, mostly to hold down lighter things from flying away in the wind.

(The ZAWA ranger's mobile camp alongside the causeway. The Kafue Flats are in the background, and the camp is well protected from the frigid wind.)

ZAWA (Zambia Wildlife Authority) was established with the passing of the 1998 Zambia Wildlife Act. The Act was meant to transform the Department of National Parks into a semi-autonomous body. If one thinks that "privatization" is always a good thing, the ZAWA rangers surly thought differently:

“Since ZAWA was made 51% private, and 49% public, we have suffered. All the proceeds have to support us, and we get no more support from the government.”

(The ZAWA rangers at camp next to the 6km causeway. Supplications to squeeze off a couple AK47 rounds were fruitless.)

The ZAWA rangers were there to protect the NP, and there were also government police near the entrance to control Foot and Mouth Disease (FMD). FMD (Aphtae epizooticae) is a highly contagious and sometimes fatal viral disease affecting cattle and pigs. Outbreaks of have resulted in the slaughter of millions of animals with the obvious economic repercussions.

(Upon returning to Lusaka from the Blue Lagoon NP, we passed the Foot and Mouth Disease Control Check Point.)

(Each passenger must sanitize both feet and hands. Even those on bicycles have wheels and feet sprayed with disinfectant. I hope that plastic mug was not for potable water...)

(The checkpoint police sprays the wheels for FMD.)

Nutshell: Blue Lagoon National Park (Zambia)

2008-08-18T11:00:00.002+02:00

(Jumpshot into the sun, taken in the Blue Lagoon NP.)

Who are these people that get the pleasure to name places. I’d love that job. If I could have named Death Valley, I would have called it, “Verdant Valley.”

"You have to mess with people, otherwise they sink into a cryonic torpor, never to be seen again." (Utah Phillips)

Blue Lagoon is no exception. It's not blue, and I saw no lagoon. (Perhaps it was the time of year, as it is now winter.) To be candid, it would be horrible if it were only a blue lagoon, like some 2nd-rate TV show exported to Africa. Rather Blue Lagoon National Park is billion times better than its moniker implies.

(I've used the Garmin GPS on most of my trips throughout Southern Africa, but this was the first time I uploaded the data to Google Earth. Lusaka is the red dot on the right, and the 284km trip is the bright blue line running east-west. The Kafue River is very clear on the satellite imagery.)

(Just outside of Lusaka the first sign to Blue Lagoon National Park appears above some tombstones for sale. When passed, I thought, "I hope this is not an omen.")

We spent one night (August 9, 2008) in the Blue Lagoon National Park. The park itself is a bit like Canada. It is amazing, but often overlooked because of its proximity to the infamous Kafue National Park. It took five hours to cover 140km from Lusaka to Blue Lagoon. Outside Lusaka the 25km tarred road veers left southeasterly. One gets the fortune of about 30km of grated gravel, only due to the nearby mine, and then it's proper gut bouncing 4x4track to the NP.

(The Blue Lagoon National Park entrance sign has seen better days.)

(There are two monuments on the causeway. The left one reads: "This road to the causeway was built by friends in memory of Erika Cricthley (1910-1976) Famous in the land, and much loved." The one of the right is from the former president of Zambia - Kenneth Kaunda. There were also these strange yellow melons with spikes lying about. And yes, that is grey hair...)

The causeway is like a peninsula, jutting 6km out into the Kafue Flats. The Flat’s marsh supports nothing but reeds, water and the various grasses. Naught a tree. The causeway dog-legs out, covered in fluttering black splotches, which are mobs of Open-billed Storks. The banks of the causeway wriggle with Water Monitors fleeing from the rig.

(The causeway is covered in Open-billed Storks. On the one hand it's a bit surreal, on the other it can be quite eerie. Isn't there some movie where black birds attack people?)

Some sagacious someone built a thatched-pavilion at the end of the causeway for viewing the Flats. Normally one would be excited, but Africa can teach one a bit of reservation and hesitation. Rule 1. Never order from a restaurant menu without asking if the item is available. Rule 2. Never assume a thatched pavilion can be used without inspecting it from close-up. The wooden planks have been stolen by, “poachers,” said the ZAWA rangers.

(Like the the end of a long sentence, the causeway's final punctuation is a thatched pavilion. The ZAWA rangers use the stairs for reclining as the planks for the top level have been stolen. The only trees in the area line the causeway...the rest is the Kafue Flats marsh. Notice the Open-billed Stork flying off to the left.)

Cooking in the bush is always a blast. Some people think that going to the African bush means you need to torture your taste buds with cold pork and beans. That's crap. We often do what I call Cush Car Camping.

(There is no need to suffer in the bush. This type of camping I call Triple C - or Cush Car Camping. Menu: Garlic-lemon chicken braai, corn on the cob roasted in olive oil and garlic, jack potatoes, and veggies roasted in olive oil and spices. Libations include: J&B and Nederburg white wine.)

(There is one risk of good bush food, especially if you have a big maw like mine, over-eating.)

There is only one thing better than a campfire in the bush, and that is a sunrise in the bush. The sun popped up over the Flats, bursting through the clouds like a scene out of Ghostbusters.

(In this pic, I dropped the Land Cruiser into low gear and propped the front left tyre up on a 1m high termite mound. The sunset was stunning across the Kafue Flats.)

(The sunrise on the Kafue Flats from the end of the causeway.)

These moments I wouldn’t trade for anything. If someone would pay me for this, I'd only have one question, "Where do I sign?"

Airline codes (Harare, Zimbabwe)

2008-08-16T09:37:00.000+02:00

The International Air Transport Association (IATA) adores acronyms. You may have noticed on airline tickets that airports are often simply listed as their three-letter codes.

Harare is HRE, Milwaukee is MKE, Nairobi is NBO, Atlanta is ATL, Antananarivo is TNR, Baltimore is BWI, Lusaka is LUN, Chicago is ORD, and Asmara is ASM.

The acronyms do not stop at airports, as even airlines have two-letter codes. South African Airway is SA, Kenyan Airways is KQ, Delta is DL, and American Airlines is AA.

My second favorite airline code is Y8. Most of the airlines codes you can decipher from the code itself, but what the hell is Y8?

Y8 is Eritrean Airlines.

I’ve taken it once into Asmara from Dubai (which is DBX). I was in the Dubai airport, and nobody could tell me where to go to get the Eritrean Air flight. Nobody could issue my bording pass. At the airport, it simply was not listed on the board, neither for check in, nor for the boarding gate. Finally, I found an Eritrean that called the one Eritrean woman in the airport that was doing check-in and boarding

My favorite airline code is Zimbabwean Air. Zimbabwean Airline’s code is UM.

As in, “UM, I am not sure this plane will arrive on time.”

Or, “UM, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to take this airline.”

Aside from the airline codes, passengers have fun with the names of the airlines. The most creative are those that fly Air Malawi.

Air Malawi is most often called, “Scare Malawi,” or “Air Where Are We?”

Be an idiot...it could improve your life (Blue Lagoon NP, Zambia)

2008-08-15T16:00:00.002+02:00

There are probably few times in life when being an idiot could actually improve your life.

(The Darwin Awards writers might not be amused...)

I stumbled, or rather bumbled, into a good example on my recent trip to the Blue Lagoon National Park.

Just 130km west of Lusaka, the Kafue River spreads out like an elongated amoeba oozing onto the surrounding plains. The area is called the Kafue Flats, a vastness of muck and marsh. A 6km causeway - akin to a peninsula - was built into the Flats from the north right into the heart of the flood plain.

(The Kafue Flats floodplain. Simply stunning in simplicity.)

Although spectacular, and known for the endemic Kafue Lechwe (Kobus leche kafuensis, an amphibious antelope), the Flats are like a wind tunnel. Due to the vast marsh, there is little tree-cover for shelter or firewood. The wind whips up the causeway flapping your ears like Dumbo in a nose dive.

(Kafue Lechwe, endemic to this area, are a sub-species of Red Lechwe. The Kafue Lechwe swims with aquatic-adapted hooves, and uses 'knee-deep' water for protection from predators. And yes, they taste damn good. Kobus leche kafuensis.)

We set up camp at the very end of the causeway and started a fire. (I had brought a few chunks of a Eucalyptus tree that I cut down in my backyard to make room for the volley-ball court. I have priorities.) We walked over to the edge of the berm for some respite from the frigid howling wind. Entertained by a Malachite Kingfisher dive-bombing for fish, we sat down there for about 30 minutes.

(The camp at the end of the causeway. The Kafue Flats are in the background - basically flood plains for the Kafue River. Nary a tree, nor bush in sight. The wind was howling.)

Suddenly I heard a complaint, "Eish, I smell burning plastic, the ZAWA rangers must be burning garbage. Such a shame how they treat the environment!" ZAWA is the Zambia Wildlife Authority.

The Malachite Kingfisher hit the water for the last time, missed a tiny fish, shook off the water, and flew off.

As we walked back over the berm, we were shocked.

Our campsite was engulfed in thick black smoke. The wind had blown over a camping chair into the fire. I've always thought the "idiot tags" reading WARNING FLAMMABLE - KEEP AWAY FROM FIRE on furniture insulted my limited intelligence.

In that moment, two thing became abundantly lucid:

1. I am obviously the target market for these idiot tags.

2. Aside from gasoline and nitroglycerin, few things are more flammable than a blue camping chair.

Do they soak these things in petrol before they are sold?

(The blue chair on fire.)

In no uncertain terms...I was an idiot on this one. BUT, now I was warm. The chair gave off enough heat to melt a Titanic-sinking ice burg.

(I was freezing, and the blue chair, ironically was a great source of heat.)

(The remnants of the blue camping chair. The charred tubes were given to the ZAWA rangers for their improvised tents.)

Be an idiot...it could improve your life...I was a lot warmer.

Zambian food (Lusaka)

2008-08-14T11:00:00.004+02:00

It’s not uncommon for folk to inquire, “What’s the food like in Zambia?”

Not a bad question. I like that question. However, the "best" (read "worst") food question came from an American.

He asked me, "So, like dude, is there any food over there, man?"

I smiled thinking it was some refreshing sarcasm, but he was sincere. I looked left and right for the candid camera, but there was no camera. This scared me, so I responded with sarcasm.

"No, there's no food at all. And worse of all, we have to ride elephants to work for protection from marauding lion prides," I stated.

The basic staple in Zambia, and in most of sub-Saharan Africa, is corn. Sometimes one finds yellow corn (which comes out a bit like polenta), but most is white. In essence, the corn is dried, ground (often by hand in the villages), and boiled into various consistencies.

The Kenyans call it ugali and prefer it a bit more rigid. The Zambians call it nsima and prefer it the consistency of mashed potato. The Zimbabweans call it sadza. The Angolans call it funge and make it soft, just shy of grits.

Personally, I prefer Zambian nsima.

(Here's my usual order - braised beef, rape, and boiled cabbage. The nsima is the bowl-formed white corn on the smaller plate. Local protocol calls for avoiding implements. One grabs a bit of nsima with your fingers, rolls it into a small ball in the palm of the hand, and then dips it into the garnish of choice.)

The Acamms Restaurant is a stomach's growl from the office, and serves quite the nsima meal. I am a bit partial to the braised beef or fried tilapia. For 8,000 Zambian Kwacha ($2), your plate is piled with dark green rape, boiled cabbage, and your choice of meat. The ladies then bring about two pounds of nsima.

(Our local nsima haunt. I am unsure which is more interesting, the spelling job or the choice of pink. I have no idea what Acamms stands for.)

(My intrepid colleague cutting up pili-pili chillies. I've been accused of being excessive on the chili, but these things are deadly.)

DIY: How to get a duck drunk (Cubal, Angola)

2008-08-13T11:00:00.002+02:00

A rather sagacious friend of mine is fond of saying, “Be careful what you wish for, you just may get it.”

There is a corollary to this, “Be careful what you wish for, you just may get it, in a way you didn’t anticipate…”

During my five years in Angola, I spent a good bit in Cubal. At that time the civil war had not yet ended. Security measures ensured that you didn’t breach the town perimeter by land. Access for most was by air, unless you joined an armed convoy, which were routinely attacked. Depending on whom you asked, the town’s denizens numbered between 50,000 and 200,000 people, of which 95% lived in mud adobe and straw huts hugging the edge the town.

(Cubal from a UN King Air, a nine-seater dual prop plane. The dirt airfield is near the small pond at the top left. In this photo, the South African pilot is twirling down in a tight circle from 20,000ft. The theory is that it is harder to hit a plane with missiles if it's circling. Not very comforting for most, and we called it the 'vomit comet.' The paved grid is Cubal proper, but the vast majority of people lived on the perimeter of town.)

(Typical view of corn, bushveld, and rocky outcroppings around Cubal.)

(A typical shot of the villages around Cubal. The adobe and straw huts are nestled in the background.)

Although greatly destroyed, Cubal was charming. The Portuguese’s intentions to stay were evidenced by the infrastructure investment. The asphalted town held several tennis courts, an Olympic-sized community pool, soccer pitches, and a recreation center. The Cubal river circumvented the town, but both the main rail and road bridges were destroyed in the civil war. The blame was usually placed on the rebel UNITA ‘terrorists’ (or ‘freedom fighters,’ depending on your point of view).

(The city-side of the blown-out bridge taken from the remains of the bridge in the river.)

(The main bridge that connected the Benguela coast to the city of Cubal. Now the bridge was relegated to a platform for people hand-washing their clothes.)

(The CFB - Caminho de Ferro de Benguela - used to run from Lobito to Lusaka via the Democratic Republic of Congo. When I was in Angola nearly all of the CFB was in disuse, either from landmines or sabotage bombing like. This train bridge entered into Cubal, but now is nothing but a sketchy footbridge.)

(Another view of the destroyed train bridge.)

I liked Cubal; however, one always had to be a bit innovative when it came to food. At the guesthouse there were two house-keepers, Rosalina and Leonarda, both well-known for their skills in preparing bush pizza. Cheese was a rarity, thus butter or margarine was used. If yeast was unavailable, then it was made sans, or unleavened.

The pizza was damn good, but I could only eat so much of the same thing. On one trip, I noticed a plethora of ducks around town. I also noted that local oranges were available. None other than, “Orange Duck” came to mind, so I asked if Rosalina could make it.

“Sim, posso.”

“How much do you need, and what will you buy?” I inquired.

“Preciso 500 Kwanzas para um pato, uma laranja e uma Cuca.”

“Ok, wait...what are you buying the beer for?” (Cuca is the local Angolan beer)

“For the duck,” she said as if I were brain dead.

I let it go, and went to work.

After work I came back to the guesthouse, and found tremendous commotion out on the back porch. A live duck was squawking bloody murder. When I came through the kitchen Rosalina had the duck pinned to the cement floor in a heavy-weight wrestling move. Leonarda held the bill open and Rosalina spoon-fed the duck Cuca beer.

In case you would like to do the same, here is the Do It Yourself step-by-step guide to Getting a Duck Drunk:

(Step 1. Hold down the duck's wings with your feet, and grab the neck from behind.)

(Step 2. Open the duck's bill. This is easier if you have two people.)

(Step 3. While one is holding the bill open, the other should spoon-feed the beer to the duck. Any local beer shall do, but they used Cuca beer from Catumbela, Angola.)

(Step 4. Keep feeding the duck beer till it gets a bit tipsy. Not a bad way to go.)

Now when I’ve told this anecdote some people are marginally horrified. (I can't imagine even talking to the PETA people.) However, I’d have to say that if I was a duck, this is not a bad way to go.

At least you get a bit of a buzz before you are decapitated.

Something you never want to hear...(Lobito to Lubango, Angola)

2008-08-12T09:00:00.001+02:00

On November 13, 2000 I boarded a MAF flight from Lobito to Lubango, Angola. The Canadian pilot was cordial, and since we were the only two on the manifest, he invited me up to the cockpit.

Never one to deny myself an adventure, I accepted. In retrospect, this was dumb.

The Cessna Caravan 208 is a renowned work-horse. The unpressurized, single-engine turbo-prop plane lugs nine pax or the equivalent in cargo. We used to fly Caravans in and out of Lubango and Sumbe. The Caravan's down-side is that since they are unpressurized, they can't fly at 20,000ft, the recommended altitude to remain out of range of anti-aircraft missiles. Thus, Caravans tended to route over the ocean or over 'secure' airspace, and the pressurized King Air was used for interior flights.

(The Cessna 208 is an unpressurized single-engine turboprop plane. We used to fly these in and out of Lubango and Sumbe.)

The Lobito airport was never a civilian airport, but the UN's World Food Program and MAF had obtained permission to embark and disembark during the civil war. Check-in was conducted in a shabby shipping container near the runway.

As I clamoured up front to the cockpit, the pilot instructed me to put on the communication headphones.

Never one to disobey (no comments please), I complied. In retrospect, this was dumb.

(The intrepid MAF pilot conducting the flight safety checklist for the single-engine Caravan.)

(Lobito from the air. For five years, (2000-2005) I lived half-way down the peninsula, known as the restinga, on the bay-side. The red roofs on the left are the Lobito port authority. Off to the right on the bay sits SONANGOL, the state-run Oil Company.)

(Another view of Lobito from the air.)

(Lobito city from the sky. This photo shows vinte-oito, or Section 28 of town, which is the commercial part of town. On the right, sits the salinas or salt-making fields, which are popular feeding grounds for the Lesser and Greater Flamingo. The isosceles triangle in the middle of the picture is now filled by a ShopRite, a South African supermarket chain.)

After we were aloft, the proverbial shit hit the propeller...

"Lima Oscar Bravo, Mike Alfa Foxtrot requesting Delta" (MAF requesting direction from the airport)

"Mike Alfa Foxtrot, continue Echo for 45 Mike" (Airport asking us to fly east for 45 minutes.)

"Lima Oscar Bravo, that is the wrong Delta" (MAF stating it is the wrong direction we want)

"Affirmative, but we lost another plane in the air. Fly east, until with locate it"

WHAT??? The air traffic controller LOST a plane in the same airspace. How to you lose a plane?

We flew towards Brazil for nearly one hour before they "found" the plane.

After the ordeal, we flew south towards Lubango. The first striking geological feature after the restinga, is the Catumbela River. The river itself is nothing more than a mention, but the Catumbela Military airport was always a treat. From the air in 2000, one could see the MIG fighter jets. Each MIG was surrounded by a three-sided berm of earth, which occluded the MIG from ground view.

(The Catumbela Military Airport east of the Atlantic Ocean, south of Lobito. Just below the runway there are a series of eight bunkers for the MIGs.)

(The Catumbela River on the far right drains in the Atlantic Ocean near the Catumbela Military Airport.)

Aside from bombing missions, the MIG pilots had another favorite past time - buzzing Lobito. I still remember my first time. Conveniently, no one told me about this. I was in the office, and there were three things that happened all within about three seconds of each other.

1. A faint whistling crescendoed in to a Star Wars-like screech. (Think Ty fighter.)
2. The Ty Fighter screech climaxed into an explosive sonic boom rattling the windows.
3. I jumped under the desk like a whimpering dog, nearly pissing myself.

From then on, I knew what to expect. But, I was the laughing stock for quite awhile.

No one told me about the MIGs buzzing the office.

DIY: How to evade mosquitoes (Brooks Range, Alaska)

2008-08-11T11:00:00.000+02:00

Mosquitoes, or mossies as they say in

South Africa

, are an incarnation of the devil.

Whether carrying the plasmodia that causes Malaria, the virus that causes Dengue Fever, or simply just biting the living crap out of you…mossies suck. There are a few that might disagree: birds such as Swifts, reptiles such as geckos, and torture-loving regimes such as the Bush-Gitmo complex.

This is the bad news.

The good news is that there are some Mossie Evasion Techniques.

Technique 1. Geographical evasion. Run for the hills or any mossie-free area. Advantage: there are no mossies around, thus is 100% effective. Disadvantage: you never get to set foot in Africa or Alaska. (Option 1 is a non-option for me.)

(CDC's report from 2005 that shows global distribution of the mossie that carries the Dengue virus, and distribution of Dengue. Note Angola is red meaning has Dengue epidemics. My bout with Dengue was no fun at all.)

Technique 2. Preemptive attacks. Carry mossie cudgels (e.g. branches) to beat them away. We found that Alder branches work nicely. Acacia branches in Africa, which tend to have armor-piercing thorns, are not so nice. Advantage: fairly effective even when standing. Disadvantage: tiring and a bit annoying.

(Mossie cudgels for preemptive attack. Trevor, Chris and Ed in the Brooks Range, Alaska.)

Technique 3. Chemical protection. Some people carry products with DEET. Over the counter Off has about 5% DEET. On the black market, along with plutonium and cryptography software, you can get 100% DEET. I am unsure of where Trevor procured this stuff, but it was toxic. Nonetheless we slathered it all over any exposed appendage. Advantage: very effective. Disadvantage: lasts for about 15 minutes when sweating, 100% DEET is probably the equivalent of Thalidomide for your children – remember the deformed babies?

(An example of 100%. Note red for 'danger.' This stuff eats plastic and probably mutates your sperm or eggs.)

Technique 4. Wind. Mossies are quite the evolutionary marvel with regards to blood sucking. The proboscis is actually 3 sets of tubes – one to cut you open, another to inject an anti-coagulant, and the last to suck blood. However, mossies are crap at flying, as they can’t hang in the wind. Thus, if you need to stop for a rest, find somewhere with a strong breeze. This is particularly useful if you need to squat. Without the wind, you, and your gibblies, are a sitting duck for mossies. Advantage: great method, free. Disadvantage: strong enough wind is not always available.

Technique 5. Physical evasion. When swarmed by mossies you can also run, jump, or just move around so they can’t land. Advantage: effective until you stop for one moment. Disadvantage: very tiring and you look a bit comical.

We were hounded and tortured in Alaska by mossies.

The following video is an example of the physical evasion technique by Trevor. The video was taken about ½ way down the Ribdon river in the Brooks Range. The pack-rafts are in the water, and we had just gotten out for a break. Look closely and you can see the mossies swarm me as I shoot the video.

Mountain kingdom horse races (Semonkong, Lesotho)

2008-08-10T12:48:00.003+02:00

I know as much about horses as I do about quantum mechanics, which is to say I know virtually nothing about them.

I remember one thing about horses, which came from a high-school friend. All of us had a crush on her at one point or another. She was the gorgeous, smiley, blond bombshell we all dreamed of. She loved two things: living in the country and showing horses. Once I went to see her in a horse show. I pitched up, and I asked her why she was smacking the horse on the belly.

“To make his erection go down,” she said.

Right…yeah I suppose you’d want to take care of that before the horse show.

On a particular Sunday morning (February 2006) I found myself at a horse race just outside of Semonkong (http://www.placeofsmoke.co.ls). Semonkong is 130km east of Maseru, Lesotho. Its claim to fame is two-fold: proximity to the 204m (670ft) single-drop Maletsunyane Falls (which we abseiled), and Sunday afternoon horse races. I was well informed of the former, as that was the reason why we were there, but the latter was a surprise. At the race, it seemed that everyone knew what to look at and what to do except for me.

So like a turd in a toilet bowl, I went with the flow round and round.

We decided to sit on a rocky outcropping overlooking the valley. In the distance the jockeys prepared their horses, some dancing, singing, and praying for the win. The local villagers, instead of watching some prosaic Hollywood blockbuster, meandered about rooting for their favorite jockey. Most of the jockeys could not have been more than 12 years old.

(Some young kids in gum boots rooting on the jockeys near the "finish line." Gum boots are required apparel, and there seemed to be four types available: green, blue, black and red.)

(Folks from the surrounding villages came to watch the Sunday matinee of horse racing.)

(Not all fauna were horses, in fact some mean-looking cattle were around.)

(Aside from cattle and horses, donkeys were also part of the scenery)

(Preparations for the race were quite intricate. Some jockeys had singers and chanters around to bless the race.)

(The Lesotho landscape is none other than stunning. Grandiose mountains and verdant fields are common)

(A young jockey making his way back home. The horses in the background were preparing for their shot at the gold.)

DIY: How to do Irish River Dance (Pakistan)

2008-08-09T12:47:00.000+02:00

There was a time in the USA, when Irish River Dance was all the rage. People ran to Irish dance lessons like rats run to cheese. An Irish friend informs me that there was also a time when the Irish actually liked Americans. Irish came to the ‘land of opportunity and awe’ for study and work. However, ever since Bush’s Invasion, the only reason Irish pitch up in the US is to take advantage of the cheap dollar.

Can they be blamed?

I never took Irish River Dance lessons, and the conventional learning methods seem a bit boring. I have trouble counting past ten. It is important in life to keep things interesting. Simply learning Irish River Dance in a class is a certain path to the doldrums.

Thus, let’s make it a bit more interesting:

To learn Irish River Dance is one thing. (it’s a nice dance)

To learn Irish River Dance in Islamabad is another thing. (better yet)
To learn Irish River Dance in the only booze-serving disco in Islamabad is yet another thing. (very much better)

To learn Irish River Dance in the only booze-serving disco in Islamabad at 1:19 am is quite another thing all together. (almost there)

However, to see my tipsy Pakistani friend trying to learn Irish River Dance from an Irish at 1:19 am in the Marriott Disco in Islamabad is a spectacle of a life time. (sweet)

Subsequently, I was informed that the "teacher" here was mixing three dances in one…apparently a big faux pax.

Nutshell: Kenya July 2008

2008-08-05T05:34:00.010+02:00

(This is the lager Tusker beer from Kenya. There is also a malt, which is a bit better. Beer in Kenya is served warm or cold, and one has to be sure to request the baridi (cold) if you want it that way. The one-year old here knows what he wants. Beer and bread...there is only one B missing.)

I just spent ten days in Nairobi (Jul 27 - Aug 5, 2008). It’s been over two years since I have been in Nairobi, and I had forgotten how much I adore the city. It’s not some vulcanized cement jungle like New York, but rather lush with winding roads through the “1,000 hills.”

Nairobi is vibrant. The beer is cold. (Tusker Malt baridi). The music is loud. The women are beautiful.

What more can a simpleton like myself ask for?

After a week on Wayaki Way for work, I moved to Lavington where a friend from Angola now lives with her husband and one-year old. Suffice to say that I have more experience walking on Mars than I do with one-year olds.

The little bugger was a blast.

I think we had the same maturity level. I’ve got a great picture of him in the high-chair stretching out for a Tusker beer. I was impressed with her food planning system: ice-cube trays of food chunks, labeled and ready for nuking. Who knew?

(This Tusker immediately tipped after this photo, spilling on the baby chair. Lot's of tears were shed...mostly mine.)

I am happy to say I did absolutely nothing, and loved it. There was no plan, no jaunts to some obscure park, and no liver-testing nights out. (gasp…what is happening?) We just caught up on old times from Angola and popped out to the Sarit Center and the Junction Java.

A few months ago Kenya would have appeared under Zimbabwe in the headlines along with words like, "machete-wielding gangs, political violence, ethnic fighting, etc." The presidential elections ended in a power-sharing agreement between Kibaki and Odinga, and now most people I've talked to said they were content. One cab driver said, "Kenyans voted. The Kenyan people wanted Odinga in the government. Kenyans were heard."

Edward was one of my cab drivers. “We were shocked. I could have never believed that our country would go into such violence,” he said. “We had to rebuild homes, businesses, and our lives.”

"Where is your family from?" I inquired.

"Obamaland," he quipped.

Obama's father is Luo, which are traditionally from western Kenya. Edward said that many Luo newborns were being named Obama.

DIY: How to mate like a lion (Botswana)

2008-07-31T20:42:00.021+02:00

This is part of the Do It Yourself (DIY) series.

I am certain that nearly everyone, at least once in their lives, has thought, "I wish I could mate like a lion." This is laudable; however, after watching it first hand, their may be some serious disadvantages to the lion's mating method:

1. Apparently they mate once a year. (But, it is for five days straight.)
2. Although its for five days straight, the lion lasts about 20 seconds.

Hell, I'd come out shining if 20 seconds were the standard.

In February, 2008 we drove the rig to Central Kalahari Game Reserve and camped just off Sunday Pan. In Leopard Pan, we found some lions mating. Here is the DIY Guide to Mating Like a Lion, or 10 Steps to Making Lion Love.

(Step 1. Initiate fore-play phase. Start kinky music in background.)

(Step 2. Read the signs. Lion rarely decides anything - lioness leads. Note tail up.)

(Step 3. Prepare for mount.)

(Step 4. Giddy up.)

(Step 5. A neck bite here and there seems to be the thing...as it adds a little je ne sei quois.)

(Step 6. A growl and a grimace seems to be the thing.)

(Step 7. Prepare for the dismount.)

(Step 8. Complete full dismount.)

(Step 9. Lioness rolls over)

(Step 10. Conduct post snuggling.)

Repeat steps 1 - 10 every 20 minutes or so...

Gule Wamkulu - Scared $%^#less

2008-07-31T17:47:00.007+02:00

I am sure all yall was freaked out by something as a kid.

A friend of mine living in Malawi has two kids. That's two more than I do. The sheer terror on the kids' faces when the Gule Wamkulu came out was priceless. Gule Wamkulu is a religion, which translates to “the big dance”). Here is a blurb from the internet:

A very secretive religion, Gule dancers believe that they are able to summon the spirits of animals or dead relatives. A drummer helps to control the Gule Wamkulu dancer as he or she summons the spirit through dance and mischievous behavior. Human spirits are summoned to communicate with relatives and to seek advice from elders. Animal spirits represent the negative side of the Gule Wamkulu religion—in fact, many Malawians will translate the word “Gule” as “beast.” These beasts are mischievous animals who represent what the living should not do.

Here are some pictures from a performance done at Salima, on the infamous Lake Malawi.

(This is the Spider-man version of Gule Wamkulu.)

(Spider-man Gule Wamkulu doing some break-dancing.)

(Here is what you get when you cross Gold Man and Raggedy Ann.)

(Gule Wamkulu Gold man down.)

(This Gule Wamkulu had a Kudu horn on his head. The devil-like mask along with the Kudu horn was a freaky combination.)

(Gule Wamkulu with hundreds of strips of cloth. Zoom in for the crazy patterns.)

Toilet covers and toothpaste (Kenya)

2008-07-30T17:31:00.009+02:00

I’ve never really understood toilet lids.

Why cover the toilet when you need to uncover it every time you need it? It’s like making a bed. Why make your bed when you’re going to sleep in it every night? Its just shy of some Sisyphean Task.

At least that is what I used to think. As of July 29, 2008, I now understand fully why toilets have lids.

The bane of my existence is now relegated to hotel rooms and airports. It’s certainly not a compliant, but a simple fact. Some hotels are better than others, and some are down-right problematic. I am currently prisoner 121 in the All African Conference of Churches Guesthouse on Wayaki Way, Nairobi.

Room 121 at the AACC is really not anything other than what one would expect from an austere religious establishment. I have to say that the AACC stamped all over everything is an ingenious theft protection system. Who is going to steal 100-thread-count bed sheets from a church-based guesthouse - whose president by the way is Desmond Tutu?

It’s a sure-fire way into hell.

Ever since the whole Al Gore save-the-water whatever initiative, I’ve been a very conscious urinator. (Actually, I usually just forget to flush). Today, I took a shower, shaved, and then went to brush my teeth. The next moment was straight out of a movie. As I picked up the Colgate and my toothbrush, the tooth paste leaped out my hand, and two realizations came in a split second:

1. I should have closed the toilet lid.

2. I should have flushed after the last whiz.

The toothpaste didn’t just fall and float, it fell and sank.

This is a problem. I can’t really appear in the workshop with halitosis.

You’re thinking, “No, he didn’t.”

Yes, I did. I grabbed the toothpaste out the toilet both, washed it for 10 minutes, and brushed my teeth.

I now vow to close not only flush the toilet, but close the toilet lid.

DIY: How to climb Livingstone (Zimbabwe)

2008-07-30T17:31:00.005+02:00

When you hear talk of Southern Africa, and in particular Victoria Falls, its hard not to hear, or see for that matter, reference to Dr. David Livingstone. In fact, a stroll around Victoria Falls and you bump into a 3m effigy of the bloke.

And if you are sensible, there is only one thing to do with a statue like that, and that's to climb it.

Now climbing a 3m statue is not as easy as it may sound. However, here is the step by step guidance in case you find yourself with the urge to climb.

(Step 1: Grab the left arm with both hands and get your foot on his knee.)

(Step 2: Slide one arm over his shoulder and grab onto his lapel. Note that you can face the camera by now...which is good.)

(Step 3: Now you can reach both arms around his noggin and grip the lapel. Swing your feet around so you can step on his butt.)

(Step 4: Celebrate.)

(We also managed to get the whole crew up on Livingstone.)

Living statues (joke)

2008-07-25T14:10:00.002+02:00

Two statues stood in a city park: one female and the other male. These statues faced each other for many years.

Early one morning, an angel appeared before the statues and said, "Since the two of you have been exemplary statues and have brought enjoyment to many people, I am giving you your greatest wish. I hereby give you the gift of life. You have 30 minutes to do whatever you desire."

And with that command, the statues came to life. The two statues smiled at each other, ran toward some nearby woods and dove behind a couple of bushes. The angel smiled to himself as he listened to the two statues giggling, bushes rustling, and twigs snapping.

After fifteen minutes, the two statues emerged from the bushes, satisfied and smiling.

Puzzled, the angel looked at his watch and asked the statues, "You still have fifteen minutes. Would you like to continue?"

The male statue looked at the female and asked, "Do you want to do it again?"

Smiling, the female statue said, "Sure. But this time YOU hold the pigeon down and I'll crap on its head!"

DIY: How to make a coconut into a drink (Madagascar)

2008-07-24T11:00:00.005+02:00

Truth be told, I hate coconuts.

Don’t ask what form of coconut I hate because I hate all forms – liquid coconut, grated coconut, coconut flavor, and solid coconut.

In the recent past I would have considered that a drastic statement; however, I hate other foods too, such as oatmeal and flan. My father hates raisins. My mother hates eggs. My brother hates onions. Hate is ok, just don’t hate on people…at least not for too long.

On the way back from Manambato, Madagascar in November 2007, I couldn’t repel the myriad attacks to drink from a coconut. We stopped on the side of road in front of a series of small shacks hugging the road selling coconut, banana, and cocoa. Coconuts have a higher density index than diamonds. I had no idea how our ‘vendor’ was going to make a ‘drinkable coconut’ with nothing more than a rusty machete.

However, if you find yourself in need of some (nasty) coconut juice, here are the steps:

(Step 1. Secure coconut firmly with one hand and whack the very tip off with a rusty machete.)

(Step 2. Twisting the coconut in 40 degree turns, keep whacking off little bits forming a slanted cone.)

(Step 3. Once there is a cone, whack off the very end to form a hole to sip from.)

(Step 4. Enjoy with a grimace. After the picture was taken I gave the coconut away to the first available kid.)

PS. It tastes better if you have a t-shirt that says, "Save the humpback. Less hunting, More humping."

PSS. Perhaps some scotch would have made this bat urine drinkable.

Pasta sauce, beauty in simplicity (recipe)

2008-07-24T10:41:00.005+02:00

It doesn’t take much time before someone notes and comments on what perhaps could be construed as peculiar eating habits. Usually it begins with a stare when certain condiments appear, namely brown mustard, black pepper, or chili peppers.

Of all the comments thought, by far the most common is, “Would you like some pasta with your black pepper?”

Ha ha...you people are so funny. So to my own chagrin, I say, "point taken." I’ve tried to cut back on excessive condiments and the overall approach of "over-modifying" dishes. To be honest though, it’s quite a painful proposition for a self-confessed modifier.

I’ve opted to make one modification though upon a recommendation made by a professional chef whose culinary skills are unparalleled. She once said, “I used to serve every dish at the Buehl’s Supper Club with a sprig of parsley.”

OVERLY-SIMPLE PASTA SAUCE
(serves 4 in most countries, but only 1 in the USA)

- Tomatoes, fresh, 1 pound
- Onion, 1 medium, finely chopped
- Garlic, as much as can be tolerated, chopped
- Olive oil, 1 tbsp
- Water, 5 tbsp
- Pepper and salt
- Parsley, 1 sprig finely chopped
- Parsley, 2 springs, garnish

Directions:
1. Pour boiling water over fresh tomatoes, and let sit for 10 minutes. Peel off skin, remove stem, and cube.

2. In sauce pan, cook onions in oil until clear (5 min).

3. Add tomato, garlic, chopped parsley, water, salt and pepper. Simmer for 15 – 20 min.

4. Puree sauce in a blender, serve over any pasta, and garnish with sprigs of parsley.

The Big Lebowski and a great gaff

2008-07-24T08:38:00.015+02:00

I have mixed feelings as whether I should be proud or embarrassed that I’ve seen The Big Lebowski no less than 80 times. Of those 80, 24 were in Spanish on a tiny TV in Cubal, Angola. At that time, it was the only VHS movie at the Cubal guesthouse besides The Man in the Iron Mask. The choice was a no-brainer.

Its probably safe to say that there are only three things that one of my friends loves more than the Cohen Brothers' films, and that would be his wife an his two dogs. I’ve yet to meet anyone with a cinematographic memory as acute as his. If Jeopardy only included the Cohen Brothers' film, he’d be retiring in Rio right now.

It is not uncommon for the two of us to drop random quotes from the movie The Big Lebowski. Nor is it not uncommon for little pranks to be played here and there. However, the funny part is how far a little prank can be actually taken.

Once I came home to find a post it on my desk that said, “Hi, my name is Chris, I are a alcoholic,” written in shaky handwriting. Pretty damn funny I must admit...not too his face of course. Rather I said, "Haha…very funny. There is only one prankster here buddy…time will yield an opportunity for vengeance."

A week later, he gave me his flash-drive, and I remembered a scene from the The Big Lebowski:

The Dude: Quintana... that creep can roll, man (bowling reference).

Walter Sobchak: Yeah, but he's a pervert, Dude.

The Dude: Yeah.

Walter Sobchak: No, he's a sex offender. With a record. He served 6 months in Chino for exposing himself to an eight year old.

The Dude: Oh!

Walter Sobchak: When he moved to Hollywood he had to go door to door to tell everyone he was a pederast.

Donny: What's a... pederast, Walter?

So I did was any self-respecting Lebowski-phile would do with a flashdrive in hand…I changed the name of his flashdrive to “Pederast.”

Now this is the point in time where the error occurred. I forgot that I did that, and gave it back to him, and about three weeks later, I received an email:

“So today I was sitting in front of a group of UN staff during this emergency in Kenya, and I gave my flashdrive to a UNHCR girl. Imagine to my surprise when the girl, sitting at her computer with my flashdrive, says in front of the group,

“Hey, what's a Pederast?"

There are a few lessons to be learned here.

Please don't pee on the floor (airport bathrooms)

2008-07-24T08:38:00.006+02:00

Airports are interesting places, but airport bathrooms are just plain strange. A few people have the odd habit of procuring sex in airport bathrooms, such as Mr. Larry Craig (Republican Senator of Idaho) in the Minneapolis Internional Airport, on June 11, 2007. However, the rest of us simply prefer to do nature’s biz in there.

I once flew from Cairo to the Schiphol International Airport in The Netherlands. It was a long lay-over, so like anybody on the Heineken’s, I went to pee. All was going according to plan until I noticed a fly in the bowl of the urinal. I thought to myself, “This must be the stupidest fly in the world.” I did what any other self-respecting guy would do…I peed on the fly. A fly in a urinal deserves to be peed on, right?

The fly didn’t move, so I peed on it harder. It still didn’t move. This was one obstinate fly. Do flies get high from the second-hand smoke in Amsterdam?

I realized that the fly was not budging in the least. In fact, the fly had been painted on the porcelain. It wasn’t just my urinal, but all the urinals had flies painted on them in the bottom of the bowl.

First of all, what unfortunate sod has the job to paint flies on urinals? Secondly, why is there a fly painted on this urinal? I don’t know the answer to the former, but I soon was informed on the later. Ostensibly, some study was conduced showing that guys like to aim at things when they pee, and if they had something to aim at, they would be less inclined to pee all over the place. The result would reduced spillage; hence, a cleaner bathroom.

(Ladies, do you need flies in your toilets to keep them clean?)

It was ingenious. It worked on me. I admit that I wanted to pee on the fly. We men are simple folk.

Andasibe National Park, Madagascar (nutshell)

2008-07-21T18:07:00.019+02:00

From July 10 to 22, 2008, I had the pleasure to be in Madagascar. Now normally, I'd say that just being in Madagascar is cool enough but, we even saw a Satanic Leaf-tailed Gecko. What the heck is that? That's the same question I asked, so I've put a pix for your viewing pleasure.

Most of the time I skulked around the capital Antananarivo (when not at work), but also visited Andasibe National Park, about three hours from Tana. Our small troop of primates stayed at the huts in Feon'nyala and spent the time eating, snoring, and wandering around the National Park. One night we hired a guide for a two-hour night walk in Mitsingo Park.

Here are some pictures from the weekend trip, mostly from Mitsingo and the Andasibe NP

PS. If one only had a few minutes to check out these pix, I'd recommend the Leaf-tailed Gecko and the pix of the insect getting crucified by a chameleon. The former is a bad-ass demon-looking gecko, and the latter is self-assuring to those that loathe cockroaches.

(A fist-sized frog that looks like moss. Or wait, is that moss that is imitating a frog? Fringed Forest Frog, Spinomantis fimbriatus)

(Another frog the size of a dollar coin. Bulgy eyes seems to be 'in' when your living on a leaf. Green Bright-eyed Frog, Boophis viridis)

(We came across these two birds at night. They were sleeping, but somehow we 'accidentally' woke them up. It was a bit unnerving, as their pointy peckers (beaks...get your mind out of the gutter) were at eye level.)

(A Satanic Leaf-tailed Gecko (Uroplatus phantasticus). This, apparently I was informed, was the big find. My co-adventurers went berserk when we saw this. This Gecko fits in your palm, but has a tail exactly like a leaf - see that leaf thing in the back? It also just looks generally pissed-off with demon-like red eyes and mini-me horns.)

(Another mini-frog...about the size of a thumbnail)

(This frog - also big-eyed - was cool as it had ridged armour along his 'forearms'.)

(A super close-up of the green chameleon. To kill time, one may consider clicking on this guy, and then zoom in on his eye. Short-nosed Chameleon, Calumma gastrotaenia)

(This Parson's Chameleon was found in the entrance of the NP. Although extensive research was conducted, it was unclear whether this one-footer was strategically placed for the tourists or not. Parson's is the largest of the Chameleons - think the Lion of the cat family.)

(This "diademed Sifaka lemur" was chowing the leaves in the background. I am convinced that the producers of Predator watched these lemurs bound across the jungle in order to show how the alien moved in the movie.)

(We all like to get lucky. I'd say it took me about 100 shots of bounding Brown Lemurs to get this guy shooting himself across the sky.)

(A typical shot of the rain forest at Andasibe NP.)

(This inquisitive Brown Lemur came down from the canopy and shimmed past us at about 3m. The more ironic part of this sighting, is that I had thought I had lost my Sony digital camera, so we cut our 5km walk short, back-tracking. As we were back-tracking, we ran into about 15 Brown Lemurs. Later, I discovered I had left my camera in the car. It pays to lose your camera.)

(As I left the NP, I stumbled across this chameleon. I said to myself, "Self, why do you think this chameleon is in this peculiar position?" As usual, there was no response, so I continued shooting some pictures only to realize...see next two photos. Short-horned Chameleon, Calumma brevicornis, Female)

(The chameleon was hunting! The first few seconds were quite exhilarating, but then I quickly realized that these things eat like pigs. The cockroach-type bug was persistent even when half its body was inside the maws of the chameleon. Never give up!)

(Chameleon chomping on a cockroach-type bug. Click on this one to zoom in. Parental guidance is recommended.)

(A chameleon the size of your index finger. I like this one for its blue spots.)

(The view from Bungalo 205 looking across into the NP, complete with en suite shower/bath. Not bad for 48,000 Ariary pppn or about $30.)

(Although chameleons are about a fast a snail on Quaaludes, one cannot say they aren't ambitious little buggers.)

DIY - How to fit a queen-sized matress in a two-person tent

2008-07-21T00:01:00.009+02:00

Certain nationalities are known for their ingenuity.

This ingenuity tends to appear at the most auspicious times. One could argue that one of the Dutch’s greatest accomplishments - and exhibitions of ingenuity - are associated with their enormous hydro-projects. The most cited marvel would be the dike system put into place after the mid-century disaster in Holland.

These hydro-marvels are laudable; however, one should also note other examples of Dutch ingenuity, such as effective space-utilization. If you've seen Amsterdam, you know how the Dutch use little land to accomplish great works. I witnessed first hand Dutch ingenuity on a trip to Mvuu Lodge in the Lower Zambezi. For Easter 2007, we drove three rigs and seven people down the T-1 highway from Lusaka to Mvuu Lodge.

We arrived at Mvuu Lodge (Hippo Lodge) around 3pm after a night of poor choices. I believe we all got about seven hours of sleep between the seven of us due to a colleagues going-away party. Setting up camp with a hangover is not the most of pleasant activates; however, our intrepid co-travelers set the bar. (not the tavern, the level.)

I’ve yet to comprehend the mathematics involved. I think it must have taken an astrophysicist to assure that the queen-sized mattress would fit inside the two-person tent. One thing is for certain, a decorator was not consulted when the mattress was procured. Perhaps it was thought that a pink-leopard print would be an effective hippo deterrent.

(Step 1. Grasp queen-sized mattress with two hands by two people.)

(Step 2. Moving towards two-person tent, fold mattress in half.)

(Step 3. Place one end of mattress in tent maintaining folded.)

(Step 4. Second person slides final end into tent.)

(Step 5. Celebrate.)

This display of ingenuity was by far the greatest marvel during our Easter 2007 trip.

Advice from an outhouse in Alaska (USA)

2008-07-20T23:37:00.005+02:00

In case you ever require advice in how to take a number 1 or 2 in the Alaskan Tundra, I posit this picture here. If it's difficult to read, simply click on the picture. This picture is taken at the back of a rest-stop north of the Arctic Circle - a place called The HotSpot.

I find it interesting that the sign is on an eraser board. Does this mean that the advice will change if it doesn't work?

DIY - How to drown a truck (Zambia)

2008-07-20T23:02:00.005+02:00

Right after I imported the LandCruiser from Japan, I had the pleasure to do some river crossings near the entrance of the Lower Zambezi National Park (Zambia). Actually, the video is mildly interesting, however, what I shouldn't tell is that we were actually lost. We crossed three rivers going in the wrong direction - away from the park entrance.

The video is taken from another rig that had already crossed the river. One can hear the driver from the other rig laughing in the background. I am driving, Ee is in the passenger seat, and Erwin is in the back seat. Conveniently, the banks of the river were lined with crocs. We didn't really think through what (or better yet who) would get out of the rig to attach a recovery rope had we stalled in the river.

Subsequently, I've been told this was 'pushing it' in terms of crossing a river without a snorkel. The other rig had water from the river coming out the AC ducts into the cabin.

Everyone is equal. Bull. (Chameleon hunt)

2008-07-20T17:14:00.007+02:00

Have you ever heard anyone say, "Everyone is equal."

Its pure bull.

We arrived at Feon’nyala (near the Andasibe National Park in Madagascar) around 6pm from Tana on July 18, 2008. Those three had spaghetti rubbed with red sauce, and I Zebu kebabs. Zebu are a local cow, thought to originate from northern India, and characterized by a huge hump behind the head. We polished off a 65cL Three Horses Beer (THB), grabbed the head-lamps, and walked onto the main road. It was dark and the road was ensnared by tropical trees and brush.

“What are we looking for again,” I inquired, hardly containing my excitement. This was my first night walk in Madagascar. I was feeling a bit like Livingstone the explorer. Well…like Livingstone, except that we donned head-lamps, were two minutes from a hot shower, and were walking on pavement. Minor details, I say.

“We are looking for white patches and shining eyes,” said a voice from the dark.

“What the hell does that indicate?” I asked.

A deep sigh emanated from the Madagascar resident, “white patches are indicative of chameleons, and eyes usually mean Lemurs.”

Oh. Sure thing…that’s what I thought. White patches and eyes. White patches and eyes. My forehead furrowed, I doubled efforts.

I’ll I see are dull branches and leaves.

“HERE is one!” she clamored. She, being the recent recipient of an embryo. Complaining of nausea, she still had found the first chameleon. Sure enough, there clinging to a branch was a sleeping chameleon in all its glory. Prego woman 1, us zero. After a blitz of flash photos that would rival the Paveratzi, we wandered on down the pavement.

(My first chameleon. My first sleeping chameleon.)

(My second Chameleon. Oh wait, no, this is the same one. We woke it up.)

“HEY A MOUSE LEMUR!” from the same voice. Damn, she is good. Sure enough, there hiding behind the brush was a pair of brilliant eyes peering out at our party of lighted Cyclops’. Prego 2, us zero. We continued on.

(The dual bright eyes on the left side of the photo (apparently) are from a Mouse Lemur. No bigger than a - you guessed it - mouse, it crouches in the bush.)

“CHECK THIS TINY CHAMELEON OUT!” she says. I am beginning to hate this girl. Sure enough, there on the bush was a yellow chameleon the size of an oblong grape. Prego woman 3, us zero.

(This chameleon was small. The white semi-circle is a finger cuticle. See below also.)

It was embarrassing. After the walk up the pavement, the other three made a bunch of sightings, and me, absolutely none.

Everyone is equal. It's pure bull. If that were true, I could find chameleons and lemurs on the side of a road in Madagascar like everyone else.

( This is the ever elusive Chameleonis Reichertis or commonly known as the Reichert Chameleon. Ha ha. Kidding. Our noses aren't that big.)

Screw the Safari - Part II, Mr. Frog's

2008-07-17T22:18:00.007+02:00

The Ultimate Frisbee game on the Luangwa River flood plain morphed into a braai. Braai is Afrikaans for BBQ, and I’ve yet to find a brave soul that could better an Afrikaner in a braai-off. Our braai included rump steak, sweet corn and jack-veggies. No self-respecting braai-goer feels complete without libations, and a bottle of J&B was quickly emptied. No inebriated, self-respecting, braai-goer feels complete without a bit of dancing. We went to the “town” of Mfue about 10km away.

Earlier that day, we had scoped out the town of Mfue. To our mutual surprise, we found a ‘disco’ with a pool table. To our continued surprise, we also found the tavern to be borderline charming. The cobwebbed thatched roof gave way to a view of the bustling street.

(The shop next to the disco had quite a diverse set of goods - bike rims, tooth brushes, socks, underwear, mirrors, knives, and pencils.)

(In case anyone was in the market for a lorry tyre. Readily available in Mfue.)

The pool table was equally charming. The felt was ripped in no less than six places; however, this was a chance to MacGyver it. I grabbed the duct-tape from the rig, and proceeded with the intricate surgery. Surgery complete, it was quickly realized that not only were the felt rips a source of ill-playability, the slate was about a level as an Iraqi golf course. The cue ball had more dimples than a golf ball.

(The duct-tape repair job of the pool table.)

(The disco pool table after the duct-tape repair work. I got my ass kicked playing pool, and the ever humble opponent didn't let it go for 3 days.)

The disco was closed at 10pm on a Friday night, so the others turned tail. True troopers, or true trouble-makers, Joe and I forged on to the next town stumbling onto Mr. Frogs.

Mr. Frogs is an unpresumptuous, but entertaining establishment. The intimate dance floor was separated from the pool table by a set of dubious cushions. The DJ, I assume Mr. Frog himself, climbed a precarious two-story ladder to the DJ station. We were warmly welcomed, as Mr. Frog cut from the Zambian music to 50 Cent, mid-song.

Mr. Frog’s had us perplexed for a bit. As we sauntered over to the bar, a male bartender asked me, “Would you love some sausage?” I flinched responding, “No thanks, I am not that kind of guy.” I turned to Joe and said, “Haus, this dude just asked me if I’d love his sausage…talk to your people.” Joe lives in frontier town called Solowezi and has picked up the Zambian English accent both in terms of speaking and comprehension. His command of the dialect is astounding.

Twenty minutes later, the guy walked around the bar with some chopped up Hungarian sausage on a plastic plate.

Kenya Safari - photo expo

2008-07-17T18:15:00.009+02:00

The first time I had set foot in Kenya was not dull by any means. From January 17 to 30, 2003, Trevor, his brother Josh, and I cruised around Kenya covering Nairobi, Mt. Kenya, Samburu National Park, and Lake Nakuru. The adventure on the mountain probably deserves a blog itself, so here I'll just include Samburu and Nakuru.

Incidently, it was during the month of January 2003 that Kibaki was elected president of Kenya. I remember the euphoria in the air, people openly talked about change and hope for the future. Five years later, things are not looking as positive.

(The FIGS Expedition party - Trevor, Christopher and Josh.)

It was the 2003 Kenya safari that started the tradition of naming each trip. We started thinking about the importance of certain things in life. We created the F.I.G.S Expedition Company. The F is for flatulence due to the tendency to overeat on these trips. Indolence covers the I. G for gluttony, and S for Sloth. On the Kalahari Safari of 2007, Trevor and I considered changing the S, as Indolence and Sloth were quite close in nature. However, I am not at liberty to disclose the new S.

(The FIGS in the Toyota HIACE. After climbing Mt. Kenya we rented this vehicle to cover Samburu and Nakuru.)

(Elephants and Josh.)

(A lioness in Samburu)

(An Ostrich.)

(This is the first White Rhino I had seen. They look like four-legged tanks. Nakuru.)

(White Rhino. These things are bad-ass)

(This cheetah was rather entertaining, walking right past the HIACE, and then perching on a termite mound - see below)

(Here we are in Samburu NP at the Cheetah sighting. One of the upshots of being in the NP is that once the larger game are found, a gaggle of vehicles usually forms, making it easy to find the big game. However, the downside is obvious - a bunch of Mzungu and vehicles in your pictures and space. Imagine the frustration of a big cat trying to hunt with a bunch of humanoids around.)

(Lake Nakuru is famous for the flamingos and other water foul.)