After a nice self-catered breakfast on the backpacker's patio, we motored to the gate and collected our maps of the park, complete with a checklist of the animals we hoped to see.No more than a few minutes passed before we started to spot the wildlife.

Tons of Warthogs were munching on vegetation, while a Black-backed Jackal was simply chilling out. My old friend, the Ostrich, was soon seen, as were the pretty yellow Weaver birds when we stopped at the first watering hole. John was very adept at identifying each animal or bird and sharing a quick fact about them.

When you're in a park with wild Lions, Leopards, Black Rhinos, Cape Buffalo, and hundreds of African Elephants (The Big 5), it makes sense that you don't get out of your car except for a few signposted occasions. The skeletal remains of male Kudus (antelope-type animal with long twisted horns) below us near the watering hole were a good reminder of why exiting your car is also at your own risk!

As we continued onward, John navigating his way through the loops and criss-crossing paved and dirt roads of the park's northern territory, we spotted Jackal Buzzards perched atop bushes and Vervet Monkeys running around on the ground.A little after 8am, we spotted a bunch of Cape Buffalo, our first of the big five animals.

We also began to see lots of similar animals to the Kudu, including Red Hartebeests, Bushbucks, and Elands.Same same, but different.By late morning, we were getting anxious to see some elephants, although any one of us would have passed on the pachyderms for the chance to see lions or leopards.

Yvonne spotted the first elephant of the day, off on a distant hill.To the naked eye, it appeared as a grey outline against the green and dark browns of the landscape.Using the binoculars I picked up in Hermanus, you could see more detail, including the tusks.We were all excited to have seen a wild elephant, our second of the big five animals.And John assured us they start to pop up everywhere once you see one.

Sure enough, we drove a little further to another watering hole and saw tons of elephants, and what appeared to be a small parking lot of cars and safari trucks quite close to the action.Now we were REALLY excited!John maneuvered us into a good spot and turned off the engine.We sat and watched the behavior for about 15 minutes.

Males tested males, little ones chased away the warthogs in the area, babies nursed from moms, they rolled around in the mud to cool off, and had noticeable trouble lifting themselves up and out of the muddy embankments.About 3 of the 6 families were at the watering hole.The park has about 450 elephants, and with some of the older males off on their own, it meant each family must've held about 50-60 elephants.

We started to follow the ones wandering away from the watering hole, watching them cross the road just a few meters from our truck.After they get muddy, they spray themselves with dry dirt which helps to clean the parasites off of them.We stopped at another watering hole where an area protected by electrified fence allows you to get out of your vehicle and walk to a viewing point behind a wooden fence.

After the toilets were used, we returned to find a lone Cape Buffalo hanging out in the water. And then it was back to the most active watering hole where we watched a new family of elephants arrive from over a nearby hill. Watching them in the wild, marching along in a group, is fascinating. It made me glad I didn't decide to skip the park (thinking elephants were boring). I was learning to appreciate the whole experience, and all the animals, not just the carnivorous cats we hoped to see.

John recruited me for an overnight trip to Addo Elephant National Park for a few reasons. First, he offered to drop me off in Port Elizabeth afterwards, meaning I could take a break from using the Baz bus. Second, he promised a good experience by getting to the park early, when the gates opened. Third, he had worked as a guide in Kruger Park, and I could tell from the way he spoke enthusiastically about the trip, he'd be a good guide. And fourth, of least importance to a guy like me, was the fact that the three others who had signed up were girls.

I met Yvonne from Switzerland at dinner my first night, so we had already gotten to know each other a bit. She was volunteering at a local school. I met Karin and Stefanie (also Swiss-German) briefly beforehand as well. They were both in the English language school run by Island Vibe.

We left Jeffrey's Bay with braai supplies and plenty of wine. It was the most beautiful day of my time there. Low winds, bright blue skies, and lots of sunshine. The water looked as picturesque as any I'd seen in Thailand (ok, almost any view because Koh Tao had some amazing beaches). The drive to Orange Backpackers, situated 8km outside the park, was a pleasantly short two hours. Along the way, I got to know Karin and Stefanie a little better.

Once we settled into our basic 4-bed dorm for the night, opposite a paintball field, we uncorked the fine South African wines and hung out while the locals watched rugby in the bar. As the sun dropped, so too did the temperatures and we huddled around the fire burning for our braai. It took awhile, but John soon had heaps of sausage and pork chops coming off the grill. We retired around 10pm, knowing John would come knocking at 6am.

Now that I know I can get a refund minus $100 for my impromptu British Airways purchase upon arrival in South Africa, or change the dates for $50, I need to quickly decide how much time to spend in the region (can you believe I've already been here almost a month?). 

If I were at the start of my RTW trip, I would be booking a long overland tour from Vic Falls to Nairobi but with less money in the bank, I want to be more conservative. 

Here are the options I'm giving myself....please help me decide!

[poll=35]

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PS - due to internet bandwith limitations (or should I say price structures by ISP's), I am at a standstill for uploading photographs.  Please let me know if you want me to continue posting daily without pictures, or post less frequently (every 2-3 days) with a picture or two (I'll sneak them up)!

Brother Paul did me a huge favor when he agreed to host me for the night. Sister Carrie, an older, white Australian woman who has lived in South Africa for 27 years, runs the Bed & Breakfast in the community. Brother Paul had worked as a tour guide with Orin in the past, and opened his home up so I could learn a little bit about the Rastafarian way of life (beyond the fact that they smoke a lot of marijuana and love Bob Marley).

Brother Paul collected me at Island Vibe. In the car was Malcolm, our driver, and Jonathan. Paul was up front about the costs, and told me I'd need to bring my own food. The overall cost would be a little higher than had I stayed at the B&B ($20) but it was still low in my book. Along the way, we stopped at a convenience store and I picked up a few supplies.

And then we were off to the community, which was situated within a township on the ridge overlooking Knysna and the harbor. As we turned off the main highway (N2) and into the township, I suddenly felt very white. A few people smiled and waved at the others in the car, and I'm sure they were noticing me in tow as well. We pulled up to the dead end off which Paul's home was situated, and said goodbye to the others. The Rasta community has about 25 families, and 120 some people, though there are others living in the surrounding township.

Paul gave me the grand tour of his home, beginning with a walk down through his garden (the home was situated on a hill) which was filled with colorful flowers and various fruit trees. His home was a composite of the old and the new in Knysna township home design. The old half was built from local timber, with a half-wood, half-dirt floor. The new was built from concrete and included a small bathroom (cold water only), bedroom, and kitchen. The roof on the newer section was metal, while the old was tarp-covered wood. He explained his plans to further increase the size of his home so his two children and wife could live there as well. They were living separately in a colored township (note: In South Africa, races are broken apart as white, colored (mixed), and black (African)).

Once I was settled, I tried to relax. Not only was I in someone else's home, I was in the middle of a township and didn't know what to expect. Paul's nephew was visiting as well, so it took some of the pressure off to keep the conversation going. I asked plenty of questions about the Rastafaria, and learned its origins lead back past Bob to an Ethiopian emperor often referred to as the Lion of Zion. It was the image of this Ethiopian who graced Paul's walls, not Bob Marley, though his influence was undisputed.

Paul cooked lentils for dinner, as he and his nephew were vegetarian. He offered me some, which tasted better than my ham and cheese sandwich I'd brought. I spent some time reading and writing at a table in the garden, which overlooked Paul's home and offered a great view of township homes on the surrounding hills. Pitbulls seem to be the Rasta pet of choice, as there were many in the neighborhood. Thankfully, Paul's was just a 3-month pup, still in the playful teething stage. We retired by 9pm, with me taking Paul's bed while he and his nephew slept in a tent within the wooden section of the house.

I slept well, though the cold morning provided a rude awakening. There was no insulation in the home, and if it felt cold now, it would've been downright frosty in the winter. Paul took me on a morning tour of the community. We stepped inside the tabernacle where he described the activities that take place there. He proudly pointed to little marijuana plants sprouting from the ground. As most, if not all, of the Rastas grow weed, I was curious to know what the local police thought. He said they tend to show leniency, and try to ensure the plants aren't growing too big, or in too clear a view of the surrounding homes (as this could lead to a double standard for how the police handled others growing herb).

Paul was also proud to point out the positive effect the Rasta community had over their neighbors. He said crime was lower within their immediate vicinity, and they had started a daycare program which handled 30 local kids from the township.

Malcolm was nowhere to be found when it was time for me to leave, so we hopped in a share taxi. Sure enough, three ladies joined us to use up the remaining seats. A large mama hopped in the seat to my left, immediately squishing me. " It's all part of the experience,"? Paul joked, as we left the township.

I could only bite my tongue so long before I broke into a conversation on the Baz bus between two guys at the start of their round-the-world trips, a young German and Thomas (England). I suggested to Thomas that if he's going to New Zealand, he not miss the South Island. They played rock/paper/scissors at the next stop and because the German guy lost, he decided to stay the night in Wilderness while Thomas and I continued on to Knysna.

We both got off at Island Vibe Backpackers and checked into the dorm. Offering a mere 30 beds, it was considered a small hostel. Loren, one of the staff, gave us a tour which included the kitchen, balcony with a view toward the harbor, tiny pool, bar, TV room, and the dorm. I liked Thomas right off the bat. Maybe because he seemed genuine, or admitted his fear after being ejected a few times from a raft while navigating the mighty Zambezi River (near Victoria Falls). It was one of many stories he had from a recent 6-week overland journey from Nairobi, Kenya to Cape Town.

At any rate, we met a few Irish and Kiwi girls who were also staying at Island Vibe, and after Thomas and I devoured some quality Indian food on the Main Road, we joined them for a few beers at the little hostel bar. I never knew Jenga could be so fun. Unfortunately, Thomas was on a tight schedule, traveling from Cape Town to Jo'Burg in just 7 days, so he left on the bus later the next day.

I was hopeful to find two other people interested in going to the shooting range. From a poster on the wall in the TV room, I made a call and talked to one of the owners. He had an arsenal of 600 weapons including all sorts of machine guns, pistols, and rifles, of which I could choose 8 to fire, at a cost of 1,000 Rand, or about $100. Given the same amount bought far less in Thailand, let alone Australia, I felt compelled to make it happen. It didn't work out in the end, but he did name drop Dave Mathews, saying they were friends from school in Jo'burg and that when he comes to visit, he takes him to the range. I responded that Dave Mathews didn't seem like the gun type, and he confirmed he was a wuss, but did it anyways. And then he told me a story about how his wold champion marksman of a partner was just getting out of a 6-week jail term in Egypt because his guns were seized as he traveled to Israel for a two million Rand bodyguarding contract.

There were plenty of other activities in the area to take my mind off the shooting range. I opted for a peaceful guided hike through the local forest. It was lead by a guy named Orin who managed to make an otherwise routine hike around a valley by the coast interesting. I am now adept at identifying the local sage plants!

After the pleasant two hour hike, he drove me up to the Knysna Heads, a pair of opposing cliffs which mark the natural entrance to the harbor. Knysna is a popular vacation destination for South Africans as a result of this unusual coastline geography.

Orin later assisted me in setting up a homestay with Brother Paul, a member of South Africa's largest Rastafarian community.

The thrilling Thai Tiger Kingdom experience fresh in my mind, I splurged on time with both the cheetah cubs and adults. They were much smaller than the adolescent tigers. In the adult's cage, I was struck by how slender a profile they present from above. Tall and narrow, they are built for speed, a feline counterpart to greyhounds.

Due to their flexible spines, they have the unique ability to keep their head propped up and alert while laying down. One of the handlers said they can even sleep in this position. The thickness of the black hairs making up the spots varies from the golden hairs which assists with heat distribution.

Unlike the tigers, I could feel the cheetahs purring when I petted them. I was slightly unnerved by the male, and soon switched to the smaller female. Neither cat could be bothered to sit up for me as they did with a few of the other tourists.

The three month old cubs were a bundle of energy, running around the enclosure chasing after each other. My time with them was rushed as a queue had formed.

Back at Backpacker's Paradise, I celebrated the ostrich once more, this time with Carla, a German-American, and an older (50's or 60's) Swedish couple who generously shared their wine with us. Afterwards, Carla and I shot some pool, a common offering in the bar area of the hostels.

The caves were a nice warm-up to the main event, ostriches.

Outdshorn is the self-proclaimed ostrich capital of the world, and they are a popular draw.

Already having consumed ostrich steaks and sausage for dinner, and their scrambled egg for breakfast, I was excited to learn more about the largest bird on the planet.

Our guide started off with a short lecture. He looked dressed to lead us on a full-blown safari and was quick to make jokes, picking on a straight-faced English guy in particular (dubbed Mr. Bean).

After the lecture, we had the chance to see hatching babies in an incubator and hold a one-day-old bird.

Then, we headed outside where several of us, including yours truly, stuck a bit of feed in their lips and allowed the ostrich to pluck it out.

In effect, an ostrich kiss. Yuck! We got to feed the ostriches and see a male flap its feathers in a typical" I'm ready to mate with the next attractive bird to walk by" manner.

The odd desire to ride a yak lead me to the high-altitude Tsomgo Lake (12,400 feet) in Sikkim, India, so if you think I'd turn down the opportunity to ride an ostrich, you're sadly mistaken.

Four girls rode first, so I had a preview of this unique experience.

To my surprise, I was the only guy in our tour group to saddle up. I think the others were scared, because who wouldn't want to ride a big funny bird!

The process involved one of the real jockeys (yes, there is such a job) rounding up an ostrich in the pen, putting a bag over its head and leading it to the V-shaped mounting area in front of the stands.

I climbed aboard, gripping each wing near the front, and wrapping my legs around its front chest. The bag was then pulled off....

...and away we went! The bird ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, moving in a counter-clockwise direction around the pen.

Two jockeys ran behind it (and probably steering it to some degree), ready to catch me by my arms when I lost my balance.

I already knew how funny the scene appeared from watching the ladies, however, the perspective from atop the bird is truly hilarious.

You're hanging onto its wings for dear life while it bounces around, its neck swaying from side to side in front of you.

The bus and shuttle rides from Hermanus to Outdshorn, ostrich capital of the world, ended up taking an entire day. Along the way, people hopped on and off at various stops and we watched a pirated copy of " Taken."? I felt guilty at times, being engrossed in a movie while the countryside passed us by. As in New Zealand, the geography and weather can change quickly in South Africa.

Off the Baz bus, and on the one hour hostel shuttle to Outdshorn, we passed up and over a 1,000-meter mountain pass. The weather was cloudy so we had limited views, however once we came down the other side into a valley, the sun was shining and the skies were blue. Looking back at the mountains, you could clearly see a carpet of white clouds drifting over the tops and descending down the slopes (a la Table Mountain).

As we drove out of the green valley and passed through what I can best describe as scrub land (or dare I say African bush), purple flowers colored swaths of the otherwise drab terrain. I thought to myself, THIS is Africa!

We arrived at Backpacker's Paradise on the main street toward the western edge of town. After dropping my bag in the large, yet comfortable, 10-bed dorm room, I signed up for the nightly ostrich braai and unwound.

The compound was well worth the $8 per night. There were no keys for the dorm room, and you signed up for breakfast, dinner, tours, and shuttles via chalkboards. True to Lonely Planet's word, the overall quality of the hostel accommodations are the best I've experienced so far.

The Shark Diving Unlimited shuttle picked me up at the crisp hour of 6:40am from Moby's. An older couple was already on board, and we quickly left Hermanus for the Great White shark capital of Gansbaii. A buffet breakfast of eggs, toast, muffins, cereal, yogurt and drinks greeted us at the office overlooking the harbor from which we would launch. The walls were filled with framed photos of Great Whites, and even a few shot of the crew with celebrities such as Brad Pitt (3-time visitor), Leonardo DiCaprio, and Prince Harry.

A DVD started up on the big plasma TV. It was a documentary about the company's founder trying to induce a sleep-like state known as " tonic"? on the Great Whites. The boat on the show was the same boat we'd be taking, the Barracuda. As we ate, and watched the documentary, payments were made and another two or three people arrived. It seemed odd that we were making it through the whole documentary instead of leaving once all the clients arrived for the trip.

And then we were informed the 5-meter swells crashing into the rocks around the small harbor were too dangerous, and they were only getting bigger. The boat could handle them, but we were assured the clients could not. After refunds were issued, the shuttle returned us to Hermanus. I was told to have Moby's call the company at 5pm for an update on trips the next day. At 5pm, the company told us they'd have to wait for the weather report the next morning.

I awoke at 7am to the tune of winds whistling outside the window. From the third floor, I could see whitecaps on the water, and was resigned to the news which soon came that there would be no trips for the second day straight. Unlike others with limited time, I was not leaving town until I got in the water with the sharks. Weather reports looked good for the following day, and I was given a later pick-up time of 9:40am.

On the third morning, the sun was shining, the wind was light and the waters were calm. I was picked up by a packed shuttle. In all, sixteen clients were being taken out in the afternoon trip, a big difference from my first day (the boat has a capacity of 19 clients with 4 crew). Going through the motions, we ate, paid, and watched the documentary. And again, we made it through the whole DVD while impatience grew. The morning trip wasn't seeing sharks. They were apparently skittish after the stormy weather of the past few days, and weren't coming around the boat. I think the only thing worse than getting up early and to the office only to have a trip canceled is making it to the point of throwing bait out and not seeing sharks!

Around 11am we received good news - the sharks had finally arrived and our turn to dive with them was within sight.

My last hoorah in Cape Town was a two-and-a-half-hour cruise from the V&A Waterfront to Robben Island and past the beaches of Clifton (another affluent district) on the boat that set the most recent speed record for encircling the globe (74 days). The waves were high, making for a more adventurous experience. We spotted a few seals and a small whale on our way back to the harbor.

The following day, I was on my first (of many) Bazbus rides. The company offers a hop-on, hop-off service that runs two routes between Cape Town and Johannesburg. The service is similar to what I experienced in New Zealand with Stray, though half the price and with minivans and trailers in tow instead of larger buses.

My first destination, Hermanus, is a famous whale-watching town, so it seemed fitting that I stay in Moby's Traveler Lodge. Southern right whales are the most frequent visitors to the Hermanus coastline, though humpbacks and one other species are also in the waters. Upon check-in, I immediately booked a shark cage dive for the following day.

The social epicenter of Hermanus is a little grass-terraced area overlooking the ocean. Behind it, a cluster of restaurants with patios and balconies offers clear views of the water. The whales are so close to shore that you can easily spot them with the naked eye. You can see their flukes (tails), heads, backs, and water sprays from their blowhole.

After a quick lunch, I bought a pair of binoculars and found the whale watching much more fun. It took the guesswork out of whether the black area you spotted was whales or rocks exposed at low tide. Plus, I'd need them down the road for safaris!

Barbed or electrified wire line most of the walls enclosing homes and businesses in and around Cape Town. Prison style bars block window access while metal gates are common outside doors. Security company signs broadcast armed response to intrusion. Long Street and the train stations have their own security patrol of unarmed men and women during the day (in fluorescent-striped vests and hats). Most of the time they seem bored, though I did walk past one of them separating two arguing men on Long Street.

I received a lot of mixed messages about what is and isn't safe. One local who helped me find the train station for the first time said the train is safer than taxis, while another person said the opposite. And neither are safe after dark. Walking alone after dark has been the occasional reality during my trip, though I learned enough from my Bali encounter to stay out of alleys. In Cape Town, I was uneasy walking down Long Street before the sun even went down. It was noticeably devoid of people despite being a popular district, day and night.

Even though I was ending my days before the sun went down, I found it hard to give up the freedom of movement I took for granted elsewhere. It felt as if I had a curfew. In my mind, if I didn't get back before dark, there was a high probability I would be robbed.

My first threatening encounter since Bali didn't come at night. Just the opposite, it was in broad daylight on a crowded sidewalk. I walked out of the train station and found the bus stop where you can catch a 35-cent ride to the waterfront (and vice versa). The bus being boarded was for a different location, so I stood there looking around, considering whether to ask someone about the bus I wanted.

I wasn't there more than a minute when a young man tightly grabbed my right arm, pulling himself closer to me. Whatever he was trying to sell me, I declined with a straightforward " no."? When he didn't let go, I took a few steps toward two older men sitting on some stairs outside an office. The aggressor maintained his grip, pleading in (a phony) desperation not to pass judgment on him. I looked at the two men and without words they could tell I needed help. One of them said something in Afrikaans (one of the 11 official languages) which resulted in the aggressor releasing my arm and walking away quietly.

The man who helped me then proclaimed the guy was about to rob me. I stood within the office for a minute, still processing what had happened, before the helpful man ushered me to a taxi driven by his friend. I agreed to the $4 fare for a ride to the waterfront, while the cab driver who was told about what had just happened tried to assure me Cape Town is a good place, and that I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I hadn't been enjoying the city for so long already, I might not have agreed.

One thing everyone agrees upon, Johannesburg, South Africa and the continent's financial center, is dangerous.

Table Mountain and Devil's Peak (left) as seen from the waterfront.

A boat so big it carries two other smaller boats and two helicopters!

Camp's Bay is the hangout of the rich and famous.

Long Street is home to many popular bars and clubs.

Preparations for the 2010 World Cup.

The cold Atlantic brushes up against the city's promenade.

Lucinda (Australia) and I ate lunch at the V&A waterfront before boarding the ferry to Robben Island. We both opted to organize the trip as part of our township tour given the waiting list for boat tickets can be several days. The prison tour was guided by an ex-political prisoner who was once held on the island along with Nelson Mandela and many others. Surprisingly, he and most of the island's employees live there today.

Our 3pm boat was split into two, creating a tour group size larger than I expected. Made up of families, couples, and a few younger backpackers, we walked through the prison which had recently undergone a makeover. Unlike the eerie feelings I felt in Cambodia's S-21, this prison's new interior paint job did little to give a dreary view of life there.

In addition to the walking tour, we took a bus ride around the island, passing through the current residents' village, along the coast for great views of Cape Town, and past World War II embattlments and the limestone quarry where prisoners would work. Amazingly, the island is host to 148 different species of birds.

And up to 10,000 bunny rabbits. It has been in the news that the island will be closed for the first two weeks of November to cull the furry critters. Apparently a non-indigenous cat was removed, leading to an explosion of the non-indigenous bunnies. They've been destroying the island's vegetation so it's time for them to go.

During the 6pm ferry back to Cape Town, the sun was setting and I had my first view of the new stadium being build for the 2010 World Cup.

You don't need to hang around Cape Town too long to see its affluent side. Tour buses regularly cruise through Camps Bay, the exclusive playground of the rich and famous. I spotted an Aston Martin in passing and the streets are filled with Mercedes, Audi, and BMW. Toward the popular waterfront, you'll find Lamborghini in a showroom and multi-million dollar mega-yachts. It would be very easy to live in a tourist bubble and completely overlook the townships (poor communities) and informal settlements (shantytowns) which contain the majority of Cape Town's population.

Wine tastings and nature trails under my belt, I set off on a more somber cultural tour to the city's poorest neighborhoods. The morning began at the District Six Museum housed in an old church. District Six is a region of the city between the port and Table Mountain. In 1966, under the cloud of apartheid and more specifically, the Group Areas Act of 1950, District Six was declared a white group area. By 1982, over 60,000 people had been forcibly removed and relocated to an outlying area known as Cape Flats, while homes and businesses were bulldozed.

Today, District Six is mostly overgrown weeds and grass as the land was never fully developed after it had been cleared. A few new homes are going up in an effort to provide restitution to the displaced people or their living relatives.

Next, we headed to the first township where we were lead down an alley to a small shack, the local men's club. It was only 10:30am, yet the local beer tasting was about to begin. Everyone took turns sipping the rather awful tasting brew from a giant can. Cultural norms are different in the townships, as was apparent when we were told a woman's place was still seen in the home (so you won't find them drinking beers with the guys). After us tourists had our fill, the locals began to pass around the can taking noticeably bigger gulps. Unemployment is 52%.

Lead by an unemployed resident (training to be a guide), we were shown the older, more cramped and dilapidated public housing where up to 16 people live in an apartment with 4 small rooms off a main kitchen area. Our guide said that up to 50 people share the same toilet facilities.

Next, we walked over to the more costly ($28/month) renovated buildings. We saw an apartment which looked to be in much better condition, and probably on par with some efficiencies in Western cities.

A brief stop was made at the " office"? of a traditional African healer. It looked exactly like you'd expect, hooves, bones, and all kinds of animal parts hanging from wires strewn across the room. The guide made sure to point out a few condoms hanging from one of the wires as well, in recognition of the population's (hopefully increasing) HIV/AIDS awareness. As of 2006, about 5 million people were infected, and up to 30% of deaths could be attributed to the disease.

Our final stop was a peek inside an NGO-run pre-school and the Philani Centre, a Women's Project in Khayelitsha (a township with over 1 million people). The kids sang us a song, while Philani offered a chance to watch some women create textiles (which could be purchased, of course).

Clearly, South Africa is a land of contrasts. I find it hard to reconcile the ostentatious lifestyles of the wealthy with the abject poverty across the highway. As someone said to me, everyone has the same view of the mountain.

The Daytrippers van picked me up around 8:30am and we drove south along the Atlantic coast. The weather was perfect, cool with a warm heat radiating down from the sun. Our first stop was Hout Bay from which we took a ferry to Duiker Island to see the colony of Cape fur seals. They did what seals do.....lay around sunning themselves, with the occasional one splashing around in the frigid waters.

Back on shore, we continued the drive, with the new instruction to keep an eye out for whales!  Southern right whales and humpbacks migrate close to the coast from June to November and they can be seen clearly from land, as we soon found out.  We stopped a few times when there was confirmation of a whale in the water.  I saw tails sticking out, a head pop up now and then, and plenty of water being sprayed upward from their blow holes.  It was fun to try and spot them amongst the wind-whipped whitecaps.  The people with homes overlooking that area of the coast must see quite a show every year. 

Boulders Beach hosts the African penguin, formerly known as the Jackass penguin due to the funny way it walks.  They were chilling out, and molting up a storm, all along the wooden walkway.

We ate lunch further down the road at the visitor center for The Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve.  As lunch was being set up, I spotted my first wild ostrich.  The break allowed me to chat with a young English couple temporarily living in Cape Town, and another Brit.  Food in our stomachs, we jumped on the mountain bikes we'd been towing all along.  A unique feature of the Daytrippers' tour is the bicycling to The Cape of Good Hope instead of driving the bus right down to the water's edge.  It was one of those " stop and smell the roses"? moments as we careened along the road taking photos and battling the constant (and strong) winds blowing off the Atlantic. 

Thirty minutes later, we arrived at the Cape of Good Hope, the most south-western point on the African continent.  The most southern point is Cape Agulhas, a few hours further east, but claiming the most south-western point sure makes for a good photo. 

As we began to hike up along the cliffs, we passed a few dassies (aka rock hydrox) taking in the view.  Why these furry little creatures are the closest living relative to elephants, I do not know.  The entire Cape Peninsula is covered with a combination of flora (plants and flowers) known as fynbos unique to the western cape.  Thirty plus minutes later, we reached the parking lot of the Cape Point lighthouse where we took a funicular called The Flying Dutchman (think cable trolley) up the hill to save our legs the further effort. 

The one common animal absent from the day was the baboon.  The guide said they don't like to hang out by the roads and paths when it's windy. 

My proud place at the front of the immigration line only meant I received the news sooner rather than later, and by a none too pleased woman.

The last time I booked a flight in advance to ensure I had proof of onward travel was Singapore to Hong Kong back in February.

Officials from China, Nepal, India, and SE Asia didn't seem overly concerned that I would take up residence in their countries, so why would South Africa be different, I thought.

The entire plane had to pass through immigration before I was lead to an internet connection in an office upon my request.

A young woman was to stay by my side the whole time, and eventually, a man joined us in the office too. I was glad they were both friendly.

I was kicking myself for not having Warren's cell phone number on paper as I knew he was waiting for me.

My hope to have some semblance of control over a costly decision under a cloud of fatigue and stress was dashed when the internet connection gave out after ten minutes.

Not even enough time to get one quote.

It was suggested I could go to the airline counters to buy direct, though it appeared to be in violation of airport protocol.

The man lead the way in a quiet and covert manner as we passed customs and a security guard.

I passed by Warren and was able to quickly tell him why I was delayed. The only counter open was British Airways.

I once again admitted to arriving on the continent without proper documentation.

The woman who was helping me tried to say that every country in the world requires a return ticket for you to enter.

I briefly considered a foray into my last 8 months of travel, though bit my tongue instead.

To aid me in the decision, a map of the world was unfolded on the counter.

The woman handler had left by this point, while the man stood patiently to my right.

Dealing with British Airways put a big limit on my options.

I could fly from Jo'burg to Victoria Falls for $200, however by that time I might be low on money and didn't want to find myself in central Africa without the funds to extricate myself.

Alternatively, I could fly from Jo'burg to Cairo for $593 on Air Egypt, the catch being a requirement that I include a British Airways flight since they would be booking the whole ticket for me.

Under increasing pressure from the airport handler, the British Airways woman, and myself knowing that Warren had been waiting for me almost 2 hours, I bought the Cairo flight.I could always change the dates later for a $50 fee.

Relieved to have a ticket in hand, the man walked me back through a staff security point and found the surly woman who held my entrance into the country in her stamp book.

Passport updated, I grabbed my backpack and greeted Warren properly, feeling horrible that I'd kept him waiting so long when he was going out of his way to pick me up at the airport.

Easily saving me $18+ in cab fare, he dropped me off at the award-winning Backpack (hostel, though they're called backpackers in South Africa).

It was dark, chilly, and I was exhausted.

Excited to begin my African adventures, I impetuously signed up for a (hopefully) relaxing full-day tour of the Winelands, to be followed by the hostel's Tuesday night Braai (traditional South African barbecue).