Day 17: Table Mountain, Penguins, Poaching, and the Complicated Beauty of the Cape

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We began the day at Table Mountain, because when in Cape Town, you go up the mountain. The cable car (technically a rotating gondola) carried us upward into blue sky… and then later, back down into pure whiteness as the fog rolled in like a curtain being drawn.

At the top, the landscape felt almost other-worldly — flat, windswept, dramatic. At moments it reminded me of Machu Picchu, but with ocean on three sides. We walked, took in the views, and I found a perfect place to leave an H marble. I also watched volunteers clipped into carabiners rappel down the sides of the cliffs to clean trash from the mountain face — a reminder that even in the most spectacular settings, humans leave fingerprints (and sometimes more). It was definitely chilly up there, and I was absurdly grateful to discover that the gift shop included a coffee concession — shades of Austria, where H always insisted that every mountaintop has an entrepreneurial soul ready to pour you a proper grosser brauner.

By the time we descended, the fog had swallowed the cable lines entirely. I took a quick photo (above) – the gondola wires vanish into nothing — though on the way up it had been a vertiginous drop, clear views for miles in every direction. From infinite horizon to pure white curtain in less than an hour.

Boulders Beach — The Penguins

From there (after lunch) we headed to Boulders Beach in Simon’s Town, home of the African penguins.

They are heartbreakingly adorable. They mate for life. Both parents share incubation and chick-rearing duties. Historically, they would lay two eggs. Now, because of food scarcity and environmental pressure, most successfully raise only one.

They are currently listed as critically endangered.

Part of the pressure is industrial fishing. Massive foreign trawlers — Taiwanese fleets were specifically mentioned — harvest sardines and anchovies in such volume that the penguins’ food chain is disrupted. Abe said he believes his grandson’s generation may be the last to see them in the wild.

That landed heavy.

The “Difficult Discussion”: Poaching for Survival vs. Poaching for Profit

One of OAT’s four “pillars” is a Difficult Discussion — an honest conversation about a controversial topic tied to the region. Ours was about poaching — specifically abalone and rock lobster in this area.

The speaker was from Abe’s village — Abe had actually been his Sunday school teacher decades ago. He explained how illegal abalone harvesting works: one diver goes out, but he needs lookouts, cleaners, runners. The economic benefit ripples outward. It’s not just one man feeding his family — it’s multiple families surviving off the same risk.

He argued that government investment in legal abalone farming could transform the community: jobs from security to processing to logistics, tax revenue, stability. Instead, foreign companies once ran large fish processing plants here, then abruptly pulled out, leaving behind huge decaying buildings and economic collapse. Abe’s mother had worked in one of those plants.

I told him about otters back home cracking small abalone on their chests, infuriating licensed divers. He laughed and said here it’s baboons. They wait for certain tides and moon conditions, swarm the exposed coastline, and strip it clean. “And you don’t argue with baboons,” he added. Fair.

It was one of the more nuanced discussions we’ve had — not romanticizing poaching, but not ignoring the economic realities either.

The Cape of Good Hope

When we rounded the bend toward the Cape, the wind came howling and the rain hit sideways. This is not a gentle landscape. The Cape of Good Hope marks the southwestern tip of Africa — not technically the continent’s southernmost point (that’s Cape Agulhas), but historically the psychological turning point for European sailors.

Sir Francis Drake once described it as “the fairest Cape we saw in the whole circumference of the earth.”

Many sailors might have disagreed in the moment. The Cape became infamous for shipwrecks — violent currents where the Atlantic and Indian Oceans collide, unpredictable weather, hidden reefs. It was once called the “Cape of Storms” before being rebranded “Cape of Good Hope” for marketing purposes (hope sells better than storms).

The word “Cape” refers to a promontory — land that juts into the sea — and here, the mountain range literally runs into the ocean.

Constantia Valley — Tomorrow’s Adventure

Driving back, we passed through Constantia Valley, the oldest wine-producing region in South Africa (and among the oldest in the Southern Hemisphere). In the 17th and 18th centuries it was famous for sweet wines — Napoleon Bonaparte famously requested Constantia wine during his exile on St. Helena. European royalty prized it.

Apparently today the winemakers in Constantia have broadened the wines to accommodate different (non-sweet-wine-centric) palates — but that’s tomorrow’s investigation. Mike, Fran, Mary, Barbara, Ari, Ilana and I are plotting a hop-on hop-off bus and ferry situation, then Mike and I will be branching off into the valley ourselves to see what wineries we can hit for a tasting before the farewell dinner. If the weather cooperates. It looks a bit nasty . . . Raincoat and umbrella time.

Abe’s Story — Khoi, Afrikaans, and Identity

On the drive, Abe shared more about his own background.

He is of Khoi descent — historically labeled “Hottentot” by Dutch settlers, a term now considered derogatory. The Khoi lived along the Cape coast; the San (sometimes called “Bushmen”) were more inland. Abe’s heritage is mixed — Khoi and Germanic. Under apartheid, people of mixed heritage were categorized as “Coloured,” a bureaucratic label that carried severe legal consequences.

He explained how Afrikaans — often seen as “the language of apartheid” — is actually a polyglot language shaped by Dutch, Malay, Khoi, and other influences. Yet in school, until 1994, only “Standard” textbook Afrikaans was acceptable. The version spoken in his community — with borrowed words and local inflections — was reprimanded as improper.

He became an activist at 12 during the Soweto uprising. He didn’t speak English well then — studied it in school but didn’t use it. So he taught himself through television, determined to become a better activist.

He had wanted to be a doctor. Then a teacher. But as an activist under apartheid, employment doors were closed. Banks wouldn’t hire him. He went into theological studies instead. His family were civil servants — teachers, pastors, ministers.

He mentioned Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton (which I downloaded for the flight home). Paton later testified during Nelson Mandela’s 1964 treason trial. Mandela avoided execution; the sentence was life imprisonment and many say that it’s due to Paton’s testimony on his behalf.

Apartheid itself literally means “segregation” in Afrikaans.

He also reminded us that the word “Boer” means “farmer” — once descriptive, now often pejorative. “Aardvark” in Afrikaans literally means “earth pig.” Language is layered like that.

One particularly complicated issue: under apartheid, all non-white groups were lumped together legally. Today, in certain university admission systems, “Black” applicants may receive priority over “Coloured” applicants, which creates its own tensions. Faith, our home host, had mentioned that her daughter — strong grades — did not receive placement under such quota systems. The woman on the phone had reportedly told her so directly.

South Africa is not simple.

Pants Are Getting Tight

Let me also just say: three full meals a day is… aggressive. At home I don’t eat three. Here it’s breakfast buffet, plated lunch, plated dinner, and usually wine or local beer. If you leave food on your plate, someone asks what’s wrong.

My pants are registering the data.

Tomorrow we do not meet until 9:30 a.m.

Huzzah.

I never get a percentage from any links I include – but! – if you are curious about Overseas Adventure Travel and want $100 off, call them at 1-800-955-1925 and request their amazing catalog, tell them you were referred by Sandy Shepard, customer number 3087257, and get $100 off your first trip! The catalog is what all good dreams are made of!

Days 14–16: Wine, Words, Freedom, & the Long Road to Cape Town

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The last you saw your fearless traveler, we were being told “Good luck” by the Kruger gate while pinned between elephants.

Since then: vineyards, revolutionaries, perfume chemistry, language monuments, prison guards, penguins-to-be, and one very long stretch of early wake-ups.

Let’s work backward.

Day 16 (Today): Gardens, District Six, and Christo Brand

Up at 6. On the bus by 6:30. Packed breakfast boxes (suboptimal).

First stop: Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens.

Set against the eastern slopes of Table Mountain, Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens is widely considered one of the world’s great botanical gardens — focused entirely on indigenous South African flora. King proteas. Fynbos. Sculpted pathways. And the mountain rising behind it like it owns the sky.

It’s often listed among the seven best botanical gardens in the world — alongside places like Kew Gardens in London, Singapore Botanic Gardens, Rio de Janeiro’s Jardim Botânico, the New York Botanical Garden, Montreal Botanical Garden, and Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Lofty company — and honestly, standing there, completely deserved.

Abe guided us from the upper slopes downward, explaining medicinal plants, fynbos ecosystems, and how shockingly resilient some of these species are in fire-prone landscapes. We crossed the “Boomslang” bridge — a sinuous elevated walkway named after the snake — which quite literally snakes above the canopy, giving you that slight vertigo thrill of being suspended between air and leaf.

After that, we were released with simple instructions: “Just head downwards and you’ll get to the gate.”

I was particularly taken with the bonsai garden — serene, disciplined, centuries-old miniature trees calmly existing as if they are not the one plant form I cannot keep alive for love or money.

Bastards.

From there, we went to the District Six Museum.

District Six was once a vibrant, multiracial neighborhood in Cape Town. Under apartheid’s Group Areas Act in the 1960s, it was declared a “whites-only” area. More than 60,000 residents were forcibly removed and relocated to barren townships on the Cape Flats. Homes were bulldozed. Communities erased.

The museum is powerful in a quiet way. Street signs. Personal objects. Stories written directly onto sheets, then the words painstakingly stitched in tiny chain stitches. It is not abstract history — it is lived memory.

We walked through town afterward (“keep your bags in front”), and later heard from Christo Brand, one of Nelson Mandela’s prison guards on Robben Island. Brand was 18 when Mandela arrived and eventually developed a respectful relationship with him. He later wrote a memoir, Doing Life with Mandela. Hearing him speak added nuance — it’s one thing to hear about imprisonment; it’s another to hear from someone who stood on the other side of the bars and changed.

Dinner tonight will be at Marco’s African Place, known for traditional African cuisine and live music — think game meats, bobotie, and rhythms that make you want to move even after 15,000 steps.

Tomorrow: Table Mountain (weather permitting), our OAT “controversial topic” discussion (poaching for subsistence vs. commercial abalone trafficking), Cape Peninsula, Boulders Beach penguins, and the Cape of Good Hope.

Sunday: largely on our own, farewell dinner at The Butcher Shop & Grill.

Monday: Cape Town to Walvis Bay, Namibia.

And yes — back to the 44-lb checked bag and 15-lb carry-on discipline.

Day 15: Franschhoek, Language, and Limo Logistics

Yesterday we drove up to Franschhoek, about 45 minutes from Stellenbosch.

Before heading to Franschhoek, we stopped at the Afrikaans Language Monument (Afrikaanse Taalmonument), dramatically positioned on a hill outside Paarl. From a distance it looks almost futuristic — a cluster of pale concrete forms rising out of the earth like something both sculptural and symbolic. Up close, you realize every curve and angle is deliberate.

The monument was unveiled in 1975 to mark 50 years of Afrikaans being recognized as an official language. The tallest, tapering column — soaring 57 meters into the sky — represents the rapid growth and future aspirations of Afrikaans. A second sweeping arc symbolizes the European roots of the language, primarily Dutch. A lower, rounded form represents African influences, while another element nods to Malay and other linguistic contributions. The structures do not stand isolated; they lean toward one another, intersect, and create negative space between them — visually suggesting that Afrikaans did not emerge from a single source, but from convergence. The open archways and curved walls frame the landscape beyond, reinforcing the idea that language is not static, but expansive.

Architecturally, it feels part monument, part modernist (Brutalist) sculpture garden. The pale concrete shifts color in the light. Pathways lead you upward in stages, so that as you climb, the shapes seem to rearrange themselves. In photos, the lines are bold and clean against the sky; in person, they feel almost kinetic, like frozen movement.

And yet, the monument carries complicated history. Afrikaans evolved from 17th-century Dutch but was shaped over time by Malay, Portuguese, Khoisan languages, and the voices of enslaved and indigenous communities. During apartheid, however, Afrikaans became associated with state power and was imposed as a language of instruction in Black schools — sparking the 1976 Soweto uprising when students protested being forced to learn in it. Standing at the monument today, you feel both pride and tension: celebration of a language’s evolution alongside awareness of the era in which it was politically weaponized.

It is a monument that reaches upward — literally and metaphorically — toward a more inclusive future, while standing firmly in a complicated past.

Franschhoek means “French Corner.” It was settled in the late 1600s by French Huguenots fleeing religious persecution in France after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. They brought viticulture knowledge that helped shape South Africa’s wine industry.

We visited the Huguenot Memorial Museum, which traces that migration and the cultural imprint left on the valley. The memorial itself features a central female figure symbolizing religious freedom, with architectural elements referencing the Holy Trinity and spiritual refuge. The gate was locked, so our photos are from afar — liberty viewed respectfully at a distance.

Inside the same grounds is the First South African Perfume Museum — and I went back three times (not solely because one of my favorite clients is https://theperfumeguy.net/ ).

Perfume history is wild. The Romans used scent not just for the body but for clothing, fountains, even walls. They flew perfumed birds through dinner parties. “Cologne” comes from Köln (Cologne, Germany), where Eau de Cologne was first created in the 18th century. Napoleon was famously obsessed with fragrance — reportedly consuming dozens of bottles of cologne a month (jasmine). His wife, Josephine, preferred the stronger scent of musk. Her perfume was so strong, that 50 years after her death, you could still smell it in her boudoir. Scent has always been power, ritual, seduction, medicine.

We had lunch at Wiesenhof, a coffee roastery and eatery. Our places were set with baseball caps reading “Coffee Snob.” The meal ended with a layered mint-and-Amarula drink (called a Springbok) that required one to perform a small dance emulating a Springbok at a watering hole, and then attempting to grab the glass with one’s teeth and down it in one gulp.

The diameter of the glass opening was… ambitious.

Tom tried valiantly.

From there, a splinter group of us hired a limo to visit wineries my manager had suggested. Due to delays, we had to drop one and settled on two: the first, Delair Graaf, a showpiece estate purchased and transformed by a diamond magnate who ripped out the old plantings and redesigned everything into an art-filled statement property; the other Tokara, a more traditional estate.

I was able to convince Ari to hold up one of Jim’s marbles against the mountains – then as he threw it into the bushes surrounding the vineyards, I caught the marble in midair. I wanted to leave one of H’s marbles by a sculpture I know he would have liked – but the security was watching me like a hawk.

We had fun! We tasted. We debated. We actually identified flavor notes. Tracey and Mary were especially taken with the hand soap and lotion at the first estate.

It was glorious.

Day 14: From Kruger to Stellenbosch

We flew from Kruger to Cape Town — arriving to news that the international terminal had experienced a fire, knocking out power. Luckily we were domestic; baggage claim was a guessing game, but manageable.

On the drive to Stellenbosch, we passed a building known locally as “The White House,” where Robert F. Kennedy gave his 1966 “Ripple of Hope” speech at the University of Cape Town during apartheid — speaking about freedom and moral courage in a time of repression.

We also stopped near Drakenstein Prison, where Nelson Mandela was released in 1990 — the famous image of him walking hand-in-hand with Winnie, fist raised. Ironically, just across the road is the former estate of F.W. de Klerk, the apartheid-era president who negotiated Mandela’s release.

In Stellenbosch we stayed at the historic Stellenbosch Hotel — charming, but with several flights of stairs that reminded everyone exactly how much luggage they had brought.

We visited L’Avenir Estate, where Ryan Bredenkamp guided us through the vines and cellar. We tasted MCC (Méthode Cap Classique), rosé, Chenin Blanc, and two expressions of Pinotage. One bottle bore the Old Vine Project seal — awarded to vineyards older than 35 years, with the planting year listed. Another vineyard there will qualify this year.

The rosé was a “Pink Pinotage,” pale and elegant, reflecting the shale soils. Their premium Pinotage used a glass stopper rather than cork — a nod to French style but avoiding cork taint. The punt of the bottle was striated, and when placed over a King Protea bloom, it fit perfectly — art meeting geometry. The single vineyard Pinotage was so strikingly good, Mike (the planner of our merry band) schemed on how to get it back to the States…until Ryan told us that they had a distributor in San Francisco! Of course Mike is in Florida, but shipping of any number of bottles is ~$25. Score!

That evening we had our home-hosted dinner with Faith and her husband Reggie. The group was split among three hosts – Mary, Lynn, Mike, Ari and Ilana and I were together (yay). “Home hosted meals” are one of the 4 pillars of an Overseas Adventure Trip (controversial subject; home hosted meal; day in the life; charity/school visit). Faith had risen from entry-level work in the wine industry (“when I couldn’t even use a corkscrew”) to leading tours and managing operations. I had watched a YouTube oral history of her beforehand, which startled her delightfully when I referenced it at her driveway.

It was warm, generous, human.

So yes.

We have moved from elephants pushing trees to perfume empires to apartheid history to rosé on shale.

And tomorrow: penguins.

Africa does not do one-note days.

And neither, apparently, do we.

I never get a percentage from any links I include – but! – if you are curious about Overseas Adventure Travel and want $100 off, call them at 1-800-955-1925 and request their amazing catalog, tell them you were referred by Sandy Shepard, customer number 3087257, and get $100 off your first trip! The catalog is what all good dreams are made of!

Day 13: Bloats, Appeasing Spirits & Elephants, and “Good Luck”

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We breakfasted watching a bloat of hippos lounging on the far bank of the Crocodile River, directly across from Buckler’s.

Yes, a bloat.

Massive gray bodies half in, half out of the water, occasionally yawning like they were late for something prehistoric. We took photos. Many photos.

Off to Kruger we went. Though we had headed out at 0-dark-30 – because guided cars can get in half hour before self-driven cars – the “computers were down” and we lost our advantage.

The morning soundtrack included one of the local doves. Our driver told us that in the early hours its call sounds like “work harder,” and by late afternoon it shifts into something distinctly resembling “drink lager.”

Honestly? Accurate.

Things were, as they say, “quiet,” so the drive became less about sightings and more about learning.

Elephants eat 18 to 22 hours a day. One stomach. They digest only about 10% of what they consume. Unlike giraffes, they are not ruminants — they do not rechew their cud — so much of what goes in comes out remarkably recognizable.

Which we confirmed.

Because yes, our driver picked up a fresh pile of elephant dung and calmly began breaking it apart in her hands. (I forget if I mentioned that – way back in Entabeni – Abe and our driver Isaac had a contest with who could spit a round of impala poo the farthest. Why yes, yes they did. “Because it’s just grass.” Urk.)

But back to the elephant dung. Up close, you could clearly see green leaves — undigested and, more strikingly, unchewed. She explained that when you see a lot of unchewed plant matter, it often indicates an older elephant whose molars are worn down.

Elephants don’t have one lifelong set of teeth. They have six sets of molars that move forward like a conveyor belt over the course of their lives, roughly one new set every decade. By about 60 years old, they’ve worn through the final set — and without grinding ability, survival becomes difficult.

All of which we discussed while she was holding a turd in her hand.

Because that dung is useful.

Burned, it repels mosquitoes. Used medicinally, it plays a role in traditional healing. Including — yes — for pregnancy.

If a woman near the end of pregnancy is believed to have “caught” a bad spirit in the womb, she may be given tea made from elephant dung, because elephants are revered as devoted mothers.

Pause.

We are, in fact, calmly discussing elephant poo tea.

Safari does expand the mind.

This led to a long conversation about ancestral spirits and rituals. Our driver spoke about her mother, Elizabeth. Her mother must be dead, given the conversation. Since Elizabeth was not married when she became pregnant, certain rituals were required to properly acknowledge and appease ancestral spirits. These things are not folklore to our driver — they are part of the architecture of daily life.

We learned and were walked through a practice of walking around an amarula tree to ease spirits and appeal to them if you are having trouble in your life – involving, I think, first a smoke offering to the East (if your mother was married) or West (if not), then around the tree to the other directions. (She didn’t do this part). Talking all the while. This is followed by violently spitting water in the four cardinal directions and talking to your ancestor (here, Elizabeth) and her dead male relatives, who are responsible for figuring out what ancestor was being a bad actor and giving bad luck. Elizabeth’s male relatives had to be appealed to, since she was not married when the driver was conceived. If the mother had been married, then you start by appealing to the father and his mother, then go down the line. The water spitting, she did.

We learned about the buffalo thorn tree, whose thorns grow alternately forward and backward. If someone dies violently or unexpectedly, a branch is cut, words are spoken inviting the spirit into the sprig, and it is brought to the body so the spirit does not wander. If that wasn’t done at burial and misfortune follows, the ritual can later be performed at the grave.

Some healing practices involve ground wild dog bones. Others involve teas from animal dung. From a modern epidemiological perspective, one might raise an eyebrow. From within the cultural system, it is continuity and protection.

The land holds science and spirit simultaneously.

We saw ostrich. A fleeting hyena. Wild/painted dogs running across the road after prey. A baby elephant no more than a day old, wobbling beside its mother.

And then the evening shifted from reflective to cinematic.

Kruger gate closes at 6:30 p.m.

We were going to make it.

Until we weren’t.

We rounded a bend and found the other half of our group (we’d been split into 2 jeeps) blocked by two male elephants — a younger bull and an older one engaged in some testosterone-laced posturing.

The younger bull stepped toward the older one, who was behind a tree to the side of the road. In that moment, the other jeep seized the opportunity and darted behind him to escape.

Unfortunately, that maneuver spooked the younger elephant.

He backed straight into the road.

Blocking everything.

Turned.

Started toward us.

Our driver began backing up — calmly, smoothly — until we collectively realized she hadn’t seen what was behind us:

An entire herd.

Two babies in the road.

Three adolescents.

And a VERY large mother to the side, trunk slung over her tusk in a stance that clearly translated to:

Try me.

We shouted.

“STOP. STOP. STOP.”

Brigitte – in the other jeep – later said they could hear us yelling from their jeep and couldn’t understand why we were “making so much noise” when you’re supposed to be quiet around elephants.

Yes.

You are.

Unless your driver is calmly reversing you from the frying pan into the fire.

The younger bull turned sideways toward the older male, wrapped his trunk around a small tree, braced his body, and tried — repeatedly — to push it over onto the older bull. (Yes, really. Photos below.)

He was committed.

The older bull stood his ground and performed a series of mock charges.

Tree: undefeated.

So now we were properly stuck.

Forward: agitated bull, now braced with all his might, attempting to clobber his rival with a tree.

Backward: herd with babies and a matriarch radiating consequence.

Meanwhile, another guided jeep approached from behind the large mom (thank heavens it was a guide and not one of the self-driven rental cars that had been making questionable life choices on our drives). They couldn’t see our situation because of the curve in the road.

All we could think was:

Please do not push them closer to us. We have enough going on.

The guides were talking rapidly on their radios in one of the local languages — switching between that and English, sometimes deliberately so we guests are kept a bit in the dark.

Our driver radioed the gate.

“There is no way we are making 6:30.”

The gate did not sound thrilled.

Another flurry of native language explanation from our driver — who, I will note, was normally unflappable but now had a certain . . . edge to her tone. (Perhaps she was reminding the gatekeeper that — Why yes, yes we HAD been forced to wait for them, missing our window of opportunity due to their computer failure that morning). The radio crackled. English this time:

“Mmf. Good luck.”

Which is precisely what you want to hear when you are pinned between two sets of elephants.

After what felt like a millennium but was probably 15 minutes, the younger bull abandoned his tree-toppling ambitions. The older bull stopped mock charging. The younger one stepped off the road.

We crept forward.

Creep.

Creep.

Creep.

No movement from the Peanut Gallery behind us (ha ha – ouch stop hitting me…)

Rev the engine to bolt AND—

Stall.

Yes.

The engine stalled.

But we restarted.

We escaped.

Nobody was smooshed.

As the last rays of sun were disappearing, we got to the bridge over the Crocodile River that precedes the gate out. Ilana took the photo here of what we were calling our “Bridge To Freedom” 🙂

On the drive back in the now dark, we were pelted by bugs . . . I was hit in the face by a bug so hard I had to wear my hoodie backward as a shield (and actually have a welt on my cheek.)

Boma dinner that night included Zulu children from about four to thirteen performing traditional dancing. They had waited for us because we were late. It wasn’t cold exactly — but watching them all dressed solely in traditional short skirts (standing with their arms folded across their chests waiting) made me feel cold just looking at them.

Dinner was wonderful.

And then I made the potato salad decision.

Potato salad that had been sitting outside. In a muggy African evening. Then waiting some more while we watched the performance. Marinating. Developing character. Quietly biding its time like a sun-warmed culinary assassin.

You know how your mother always said, “Don’t eat the potato salad that’s been sitting out”?

Yes.

That potato salad.

It was there. It was glossy. It looked harmless and delish. It had clearly been gathering strength in the heat, just waiting for an unsuspecting traveler to ignore maternal wisdom and say, “Oh, it’ll be fine.”

It was not fine.

At 3 a.m., vengeance.

Given a 1.5-hour van ride, a 3-hour flight, and another 1.5-hour van ride to Stellenbosch, I deployed Imodium.

It worked. Thank goodness.

At the airport, Janice spotted a bag featuring a hippo lounging on a couch. I bought her a coin purse and picked up some coasters for myself. Clemmie!!!!

I also bought warthog socks — one pair for me, one for Mom.

Mom once told a story about sitting poolside in Africa when a warthog trotted up, slipped, fell into the pool, and had to haul itself out.

Now that I’ve seen warthogs run full tilt, trip over nothing, and glare at the universe as if gravity personally betrayed them, I fully believe that story.

From bloats to buffalo thorn to “Good luck” at the gate, Kruger gave us science, spirit, adrenaline, and dung — sometimes all at once.

And we survived.

Slideshow to ALL the Kruger photos is HERE (Apple version) and HERE (Lightroom version).

Next up: We made it to Stellenbosch. 🍷 I’ll talk a bit about that next. While I did get the slideshow together of ALL the Kruger photos – which took like 45 minutes (linked above), I’ll try to insert more actual photos into the blog. Just . . . Tired. So Tired.

I never get a percentage from any links I include – but! – if you are curious about Overseas Adventure Travel and want $100 off, call them at 1-800-955-1925 and request their amazing catalog, tell them you were referred by Sandy Shepard, customer number 3087257, and get $100 off your first trip! The catalog is what all good dreams are made of!

The Court of Master Sommeliers (as it applies to South African Wines)

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(a.k.a. Yes, I Actually Did That)

Before we dive into South Africa, a small (but actually not small) preface.

During COVID — when the rest of the planet was perfecting sourdough — I enrolled in the Certified Introductory level with the Court of Master Sommeliers (CMS).

They shipped me little bottles.

Dozens of them.

Tiny, carefully portioned vials of wines from around the world so we could taste blind at home, live on Zoom, while simultaneously being interrogated about soil types in Rioja and labeling laws in Germany.

It was not “wine appreciation.”

It was:

  • Every major wine-producing country
  • Their history
  • Their grape varietals
  • Their geology
  • Their wine laws
  • Their winemaking methodology
  • Plus beer, cider, spirits, sake, and all things Proper Serving related (because why not add more pressure?)

The Introductory (Level 1) exam has a pass rate often cited around 60% — but that’s among people who voluntarily sign up for this kind of structured wine nerd-dom. The real attrition happens later. Fewer than 300 people worldwide have ever passed the Master Sommelier Diploma exam.

So yes.

I passed Level 1.

And yes, I earned the lapel pin.

Which brings us to South Africa.

Why This Is Written (Instead of Delivered as a Speech)

I could stand up and present this.

I could gesture.

I could hold forth.

Some people derive visible joy from standing up and doing such things.

I, however, find that if someone is actually interested, they can absorb this far better in writing — at their own pace — perhaps with a glass in hand.

So.

Let’s get on with it.

South Africa: Vast Country, Concentrated Vineyards

South Africa is enormous.

It’s about a 16-hour drive between Cape Town and Johannesburg.

Yet nearly all viticulture is concentrated in the southwestern corner of the country, near Cape Town.

Why?

Because of major moderating influences:

  • The cold Atlantic Ocean (west)
  • The warm Indian Ocean (east)
  • And most critically: the Benguela Current, a cold current flowing north from Antarctica that cools the western coastline

Without that cooling current, much of the Western Cape would be too hot for quality wine.

History: Wine and Power

1652 – The Dutch Arrive

The Dutch East India Company establishes a refreshment station at the Cape for ships sailing to India.

Wine was not luxury.

It was morale. Medicine. Survival.

1655 – First Vines

The first vines were planted by enslaved people brought from other parts of Africa and Asia.

Slavery is foundational to the early South African wine industry.

Early plantings included:

  • Semillon
  • Chenin Blanc
  • Palomino

1685 – Constantia and Global Fame

Simon van der Stel (Stellenbosch = [van der] Stel’s Forest) planted vineyards in Constantia.

The sweet wine Vin de Constance became globally famous in the 1700s. It was:

  • Served in European courts
  • Referenced in literature
  • Requested by Napoleon during exile

For nearly a century, it was one of the most sought-after wines in the world.

1688 – The Huguenots

French Huguenots arrived, bringing advanced viticultural knowledge.

Dutch structure.

French technique.

African soil.

That is the foundation.

1800s – War and Phylloxera

The Anglo-Boer Wars destabilized agriculture.

Then phylloxera hit.

Exports collapsed.

1918 – KWV and the Cooperative Era

The KWV (Kooperatiewe Wijnbouwers Vereniging van Zuid-Afrika) was formed to stabilize prices after devastation.

They set minimum prices.

Farmers increased production.

Glut. Bankruptcy. Chaos.

So quotas were imposed.

But farmers had already planted high-yield grapes.

Workaround?

Distill them.

This is how South Africa became known for:

  • Brandy production
  • Fortified wines
  • Oxidative styles

Chenin Blanc (high yielding, relatively neutral) became dominant — especially for distillation.

1948 – Apartheid and Isolation

While the rest of the world was desegregating, South Africa institutionalized Apartheid.

Sanctions followed.

The country produced enormous quantities of wine, fortified wine, and brandy — but had limited legal export routes.

Even more damaging: during the 1970s–1990s, when the rest of the wine world embraced stainless steel, temperature control, clonal research, and modern viticulture science, South Africa was largely cut off.

1994 – Mandela and Modernization

Nelson Mandela becomes president.

Sanctions lifted.

Capital, technology, expertise, and international investment flow in.

Massive replanting begins.

In 1997, KWV becomes a private company.

Today, South Africa ranks among the top 10 wine-producing nations globally.

Terroir: Ancient Soil, Maritime Moderation

  • Soils up to 500 million years old
  • Nutrient-poor → vines struggle → lower yields → concentrated fruit
  • Maritime climate near coast
  • Hotter and drier inland
  • Elevation plays a major moderating role

The Cape Doctor

A powerful southeast wind.

It:

  1. Suppresses fungal disease
  2. Moderates vineyard temperatures
  3. Can damage flowering and reduce yields

Because fungal pressure is lower, South Africa adopted sustainable and organic practices earlier than many European regions.

The Grapes

Whites

  • Sauvignon Blanc
  • Chardonnay
  • Chenin Blanc (“Steen”)

South Africa produces more Chenin Blanc than the rest of the world combined.

If someone says “Chenin Blanc” and you automatically think Loire Valley…

Think again.

Reds

  • Cabernet Sauvignon
  • Syrah/Shiraz
  • Bordeaux blends
  • Pinot Noir
  • Pinotage

Pinotage

Pinotage = Pinot Noir × Cinsault (formerly called “Hermitage”).

Developed in the 1920s.

Early versions were rustic.

Modern versions are polished, dark-fruited, structured, and distinctly South African.

Méthode Cap Classique (MCC)

MCC = Méthode Cap Classique.

Traditional method sparkling wine (Champagne method).

Bright. High acid. Often extraordinary value.

Vine Virus & The Old Vine Movement

Isolation during Apartheid led to widespread vine virus (leaf roll in particular).

Post-1994, replanting surged.

Today, a remarkable “Old Vine Project” seeks out neglected old vineyards — incredibly low yield, exceptionally high quality.

Wine of Origin (W.O.) — The Hierarchy (With California Comparisons)

South Africa’s W.O. system (1973) guarantees origin.

It does not dictate grape varieties or stylistic rules — unlike many European appellations.

If a wine carries a W.O. seal:

  • 85%+ stated vintage
  • 85%+ stated varietal
  • 100% from the named origin

Now the hierarchy — smallest to largest — with California analogies.

1️⃣ Estate (Smallest)

All grapes must come from one contiguous property.

Wine must be grown and made there.

California comparison:

A true estate-grown Napa property.

No blending from outside sources to “fix” the vintage.

More terroir expression.

Less flexibility.

More vintage variation.

2️⃣ Ward

A small, terroir-defined subdivision within a district.

Defined by soil, elevation, geology, climate.

Example: a ward within Stellenbosch (which has 7)

California comparison:

Rutherford within Napa Valley.

More specific climate signature.

Blending flexibility to reach a desired tasting profile, but only within that ward.

3️⃣ District

Recognizable names:

  • Stellenbosch
  • Paarl
  • Swartland
  • Walker Bay

California comparison:

Napa Valley, Sonoma County, Paso Robles.

If it says “Stellenbosch Cabernet Sauvignon”:

  • 100% from Stellenbosch
  • 85% Cabernet Sauvignon

Producer can blend from multiple vineyards inside Stellenbosch.

4️⃣ Region

Grouping of districts.

Example: Coastal Region.

California comparison:

North Coast or even just “California”.

Greater blending flexibility.

More stylistic consistency year to year. This is why if you can love a “California wine,” the vintner will be able to make that same tasting profile year after year – because they have all of California to source “a little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

5️⃣ Geographical Unit (Largest)

Example: Western Cape.

Broad origin. Maximum blending flexibility.

Concentric Circles

Estate → Ward → District → Region → Geographical Unit

Moving outward:

  • Specificity decreases
  • Blending flexibility increases
  • Consistency becomes easier

Moving inward:

  • Terroir expression increases
  • Vintage variation increases
  • Winemaker flexibility decreases

Unlike France’s AOC system, South Africa’s W.O. does not regulate yield limits, aging rules, or grape approvals.

It is truth-in-labeling of origin.

Very New World in spirit.

Key Regions

Stellenbosch

Historic capital of South African wine.

Produces:

  • Cabernet Sauvignon
  • Bordeaux blends
  • Pinotage
  • Chenin

Structured, age-worthy wines.

Swartland

Former bulk wine area.

Now revolutionary.

  • Dry farming
  • Old vines
  • Chenin, Syrah, Grenache
  • Revival of Palomino, Cinsault, Semillon

Yield ↓

Character ↑↑

Walker Bay / Elgin / Cape Agulhas

Cool-climate zone.

Chardonnay.

Pinot Noir.

Sauvignon Blanc.

Fresh. Precise. Ocean-influenced.

Constantia

Birthplace of South African wine.

Historic sweet wines; now also fine dry whites.

SOUTH AFRICA QUIZ

  1. What is Steen?
  2. How is Pinotage made?
  3. What cools coastal vineyards?
  4. Which is a South African district: Mendoza, Maipo, Salta, Stellenbosch?
  5. Order the W.O. levels smallest → largest.
  6. Three effects of the Cape Doctor?
  7. What is KWV?

Answers

  1. Chenin Blanc
  2. Pinot Noir × Cinsault
  3. The Benguela Current
  4. Stellenbosch
  5. Estate → Ward → District → Region → Geographical Unit
  6. Suppresses fungus, moderates temps, can damage flowering
  7. A cooperative founded in 1918 to stabilize grape prices; privatized in 1997

There you have it.

A not-at-all-small overview of the South African wine industry — history, politics, geology, reinvention.

I would rather write this properly once than make you endure it and zone out.

But if you would like to discuss Chenin over MCC?

I’m available. 🍷 However, I’m sure Abe has forgotten more about South African wines than I ever will know. If you’re curious to see my “wine recording book” (complete with a laminated tasting “cheat sheet”) please just ask.

Day 12: Kruger, 600 Photos, and the Biological Marvels of Everything

Posted on by Sandy

Kruger is why I’m behind.

Yesterday (Day 1 here), I was up until nearly 10 p.m. editing photos — and we had to be “at the gate to Kruger” at 5:00 this morning. Guides get priority entry into the park for the first half hour. Yesterday we did not. Today we did. Worth the 45 minutes less sleep.

Yesterday, over 300 photos didn’t make the cut.

And there were still nearly 300 left.

We’ve done the morning round thus far today, and it’s been a bit “quiet.” Which, in Kruger terms, still means astonishing.

Abe told us we were to be “helper guides.” The actual guides use WhatsApp groups and radios to alert one another to sightings. Some guides share generously. Some hoard. Abe noted — diplomatically but clearly — that the hoarding behavior unfortunately skews toward certain white guides. The ecosystem is complicated in more ways than one.

We were tasked with spotting whatever we could. Even if it was just an ALT or a BLT — an Animal-Like Thing or a Bird-Like Thing (a.k.a. stump, rock, bush).

So here is what our collective eagle eyes turned up.

The “road runner birds” are actually spur fowl — cousins to the kamikaze picnic birds we saw in Entabeni.

The sausage tree is apparently a fine place to sleep — no snakes. However, the sausages themselves are heavy, woody, and could absolutely knock you unconscious if one fell. So perhaps not that fine.

Tracey spotted a kudu deep in the bush. The name “kudu” is said to mimic the sound they make when bounding away. The spiraled kudu horn produces an extraordinary resonant sound and was historically used for communication — we dubbed it the “African shofar.”

All wildebeest (gnu) calves are born in December. So much so that in the local language, December is referred to as “wildebeest birth time.” Nature runs on schedule here.

We saw a red (something) tree with long bean-like pods hanging from it. If you burn the pods, you can brew a kind of bush coffee from the ashes.

We had a black mamba cross the road — too fast for a photo, which is precisely the problem with black mambas. They are among the most venomous snakes in Africa and extraordinarily quick. (And yes — venomous, not poisonous. Venom enters the bloodstream through a bite; poison harms when ingested or absorbed. Think curare from the slime on poisonous frogs, used on poison darts. We were corrected, properly.)

We glimpsed a hyena — mostly brown blur through brush — but it counts.

We have seen many a weaver bird nest. The male builds it. He then brings a female to inspect it. If she disapproves, she tears it apart. He may try again — if she hasn’t found a better nest carpenter first. Evolution has no patience for mediocre craftsmanship.

We photographed a terrapin crossing the road. It immediately made me think of “Terrapin Station,” the Grateful Dead album — and Phil Lesh’s now-closed venue back home. I don’t know if the turtle had any jam-band aspirations, but it had excellent presence.

We learned that giraffes have an extraordinary blood pressure regulation system. When they lower their heads to drink, specialized valves and tight skin around the neck vessels help control the rush of blood so they don’t faint. When they lift their heads again, they shake slightly as circulation stabilizes. If humans had to drink like that, we’d be horizontal most of the time.

We saw so many birds.

The European roller — iridescent blues and flashes of gold — is a cousin to the lilac-breasted roller (Lynn’s favorite from her previous trip). The kingfisher we saw had a red head and brilliant blue wings. I will have a slideshow of All Things Kruger on the last day. It takes too long to upload . . .

We spotted painted dogs — African wild dogs — which is incredibly rare. Not only that, we saw a mating pair. In a pack, only the alpha male and alpha female breed. The others help hunt and raise the pups. It is a tightly structured society with one ruling couple at a time. We also learned that wild dogs are democratic – they “vote” on whether it’s time to go hunt by sneezing. The alpha male and female’s sneezes, however, count for more votes than the rank and file.

On warthogs, the males have four tusks — two prominent upward-curving ones and two smaller ones behind. Females have just the two front tusks. The babies have little white facial tufts that simulate tusks until their real ones grow. Their tails stick straight up when they run — partly for communication in tall grass, partly for balance. (They do trip. A lot.)

We learned about elephant social structure. The matriarch — what I scribbled as “Mytrog” — is the head female. She leads the herd and influences mate selection for younger females. The dominant males operate more independently and are responsible for mentoring younger bulls on how to “behave” like adult males.

To distinguish male from female elephants visually: the female often has a more V-shaped forehead; the male’s forehead tends to appear broader and flatter. Subtle, but once you see it, you see it.

We saw a Cape glossy starling — metallic blue-black — and remembered why they’re called kamikaze birds at picnics.

We learned about amarula—the fruit elephants love—which is turned into a cream liqueur that tastes like a cross between Baileys and coquito. Abe picked some up in Victoria Falls, and we had it for dessert on our first night here. If it shows up in Duty Free, resistance may be futile.

That said, with a 44 lb checked limit and a 15 lb carry-on, every potential purchase is now evaluated in pounds. “Lovely carving . . . nope, that’s a pound.” If I can’t wear it, it’s a liability.

And then — perhaps most fascinating — we learned why giraffes must keep moving. When they browse on acacia trees, the tree begins producing tannins that make the leaves bitter. Not only that, the tree releases airborne chemical signals that alert neighboring trees, which then also turn their leaves bitter. So giraffes must move constantly, outpacing the communication network of the trees.

Nature is not passive.

It is strategic.

We head out again in about twenty minutes for the afternoon drive.

If yesterday was 600 photos and a black mamba, I’m not betting against Kruger.

Stay tuned.

I never get a percentage from any links I include – but! – if you are curious about Overseas Adventure Travel and want $100 off, call them at 1-800-955-1925 and request their amazing catalog, tell them you were referred by Sandy Shepard, customer number 3087257, and get $100 off your first trip! The catalog is what all good dreams are made of!

Day 11: Elephants in the Street, Empire Lessons, and Arrival at Buckler’s

Posted on by Sandy

We didn’t have to get up too early — bags outside the door, breakfast, and off we went. The drive to the airport wasn’t long, though it was punctuated by an elephant calmly blocking the street. As one does.

Lynn had taken my shaving kit into her checked bag (which is now about ten pounds under weight, thanks to the school computers being gifted and some strategic shifting). Unfortunately, the bag I purchased to replace the dearly departed over-the-shoulder bag that died at the airport is not quite as roomy. I did my best to stuff it with the camera bag and tech bag. The late, great bag had also held the two pounds of Ghirardelli chocolates for our upcoming home-hosted visit. Yes, lamented.

We flew from Zimbabwe back into South Africa and landed at Kruger Mpumalanga International Airport. Mpumalanga is the province that borders Kruger National Park, and the word means “place of the rising sun.”

On our roughly 1 hour 45 minute van drive, we received a master class in South African history.

“Kruger” refers to Paul Kruger, the second-to-last president of the South African Republic (Transvaal) before the British took control. When defeat seemed imminent, he fled into Mozambique (then Portuguese territory), and ultimately to Switzerland, where he died in exile.

Abe reminded us that “Afrikaners” were not just of Dutch origin, but also included French Huguenots and Germans who had settled here. The word “Boer” means farmer — though today it is often used as a pejorative.

The British originally had little interest beyond trade, but once gold was discovered, everything changed. In 1910, the British and Afrikaners formed the Union of South Africa — in part because together they represented only about 10% of the population, and unity strengthened their political control. It was described as a democracy, but it was democracy for some, not for all.

As Abe put it, they believed it was their “God-given right and moral obligation” to educate — and rule — the indigenous population. South Africa became, in many ways, a “little Europe.”

It took 84 years before South Africa became a true democracy in 1994.

Abe did note that during white minority rule, South Africa developed some of the most productive agricultural land in the world. This province is an example: lush, subtropical, and astonishingly green. We saw citrus groves, banana trees wrapped in protective coverings, and macadamia nut farms — which are currently booming, with farmers pulling out other crops to plant macadamias.

This area also produces timber for the paper industry and sits atop some of South Africa’s largest coal reserves — much of it lower-grade coal used in power generation and heavy industry, including smelting operations such as copper processing in Zambia.

Large tracts of land and many mines remain owned by international conglomerates. De Beers, for example, is not just about diamonds.

Abe pointed out something I hadn’t realized: look at the name on your juice box on the plane — Rhodes.

Cecil Rhodes founded Rhodes Fruit Farms, which still operates today. Rhodes never married and had no children; instead, he poured his wealth into imperial expansion and philanthropy (including the Rhodes Scholarship). He was very much the flip side of Livingstone — a buccaneering imperialist who aggressively acquired land for what he saw as the glory of “Queen Vicky” and the British Empire, during the era when it was said the sun never set on that empire.

Many British settlers wrote of South Africa as “empty land,” ignoring the indigenous populations who had lived here for generations.

Driving along the roads, you sometimes see white crosses marking places where farmers were killed — a visible reminder of how deeply entangled and unresolved land and race issues remain.

We arrived at Buckler’s Africa Lodge and, after a brief rooming debacle, were rewarded with a lovely lunch overlooking the Crocodile River.

There was an elephant quite close to the deck, and another further upstream with five hippos nearby. Abe and I were both surprised the hippos were out of the water — it was hot, and their skin is sensitive!

All of our meals are covered while we’re here. We’ve had lunch and are now unpacking just enough to reassemble “safari clothes” before dinner.

Tomorrow is our first full Kruger game drive: wake-up call at 5:00 (coffee, tea, rusks), depart at 5:30, into Kruger by 6:00 through Crocodile Bridge Gate. Breakfast packs at 8, lunch at 12, back to the lodge by 3, and dinner at 7.

The following day — Monday, Herbert’s birthday — we repeat the early start, return to Buckler’s for a proper breakfast at 9:30, lunch at 1:00, an afternoon drive at 2:30, and then a Boma dinner at 7 with local entertainment.

When we were getting ready to leave the U.S., there had been massive flooding in Kruger, closing much of the park and causing evacuations. I had watched a YouTube video filmed from the deck at Buckler’s showing the Crocodile River raging almost up to the deck.

Today, while eating lunch on that same deck, I realized that an entire building between the riverbank and the deck must have been underwater.

The staff confirmed it.

Everything is fine now.

I don’t think I took any photos today — between getting up and out, driving, flying, and driving again. Well, that’s not entirely true. I did try to take photos of the hippos and elephant across the Crocodile River, but I’m feeling too lazy right now to get out the SD card transfer cable. Those will wind up in tomorrow’s post.

And finally — thank you.

I spend a fair bit of time getting what we learn and what I’m noticing into this blog. I mostly do it because my mom reads it aloud to my dad, and sometimes my dad pulls it up himself.

But to the rest of you out there who are following along — thank you, thank you, and thank you. 😉

I never get a percentage from any links I include – but! – if you are curious about Overseas Adventure Travel and want $100 off, call them at 1-800-955-1925 and request their amazing catalog, tell them you were referred by Sandy Shepard, customer number 3087257, and get $100 off your first trip! The catalog is what all good dreams are made of!

Day 10: Rhino Sleuthing, The Big (and Ugly) 5, and the Lovely Livingstone Lodge

Posted on by Sandy

Today was our Zambia day — passports in hand, dual-entry visas at the ready.

No issues heading into Zambia (aside from the ever-present copper bracelet hustlers). Coming back into Zimbabwe was more dramatic: about half our crew had visa issues, while the rest of us — the dual-entry visa crowd — slipped back in without trouble.

We crossed over to sleuth out a rhino and, in the process, learned far more about elephants, vultures, monitor lizards, termite architecture, antelope anatomy, and group names than I expected.

And yes — we did see two rhinos. I’m not sure that officially qualifies as a crash (the proper group name for rhinos), but it was enough to make us happy.

First: elephants.

An elephant can be left- or right-“handed.” If the left tusk is sharper, that’s the dominant side. The dominant tusk is used for finer tasks — digging, stripping bark — while the blunter tusk handles heavier chores. If an elephant loses a tusk, it’s usually the blunter, more heavily used one.

And how to tell a male from a female elephant?

Watch the bathroom habits.

A female urinates directly on top of her dung.

A male sprays forward or around it — but never on top.

You’re welcome.

On to rhinos:

Black rhinos stand in front of their babies to protect them.

White rhinos keep their babies in front of them.

White rhinos have a noticeable shoulder hump and graze with their heads down. Black rhinos browse from trees and shrubs, so their heads are often up — which makes them harder to hunt. White rhinos, heads down in the grass, are easier to sneak up on.

We also learned that White Rhinos Don’t Jump. There is safari lore that if one charges, lying flat behind a log might save you — unless there’s a herd. In that case, apparently, they will simply surround you.

Comforting.

Those of us on the pre-trip have seen four of the Big Five — lion, elephant, rhino, and Cape buffalo — but not the mythical leopard. Those who joined us for the main trip have seen two so far.

We’ve all seen three of the Ugly Five — wildebeest, warthog, and vulture —the remaining two members of that less-than-glamorous club are the hyena and the marabou stork. As we head to Kruger tomorrow morning, we’re expecting to add a few more to our tally.

Then, there is also the Little Five (animals whose names contain the Big Five) – the antlion, the elephant shrew, the rhinoceros beetle, leopard tortoise (which we did see on the pre-trip), and the buffalo weaver.

Naturally, that led us to invent a few additional categories.

For the Nasty Five, we nominated the honey badger (zero fear, zero manners), the assassin beetle, the demonic wasps that stung me yesterday . . . to which I would add the black mamba and the tsetse fly — small, but historically mighty — to round out the category.

For the Pretty Five, we proposed the giraffe (elegance personified) and the cheetah; I’d add the zebra (nature’s graphic design masterpiece), the lilac-breasted roller (if Africa had a jewel mascot), and either the African fish eagle (wings outstretched over the Zambezi) or the puku — which we were lucky enough to see both male and female, separately.

Speaking of zebra, we also learned that a group of zebras is called a dazzle. The name fits perfectly: when predators are hunting them, the adults put the babies in the center and then weave and move together in a shifting black-and-white blur, trying to “dazzle” the predator and make it lose track of the young.

The puku is a reddish-brown antelope that favors wetlands and river plains. They’re built a bit differently from impala — slightly heavier through the front with relatively shorter forelegs — and their running style reflects that. They bound strongly forward but don’t leap as high or as theatrically as impala.

We also saw one white-backed vulture — the “undertaker” of the vulture world. They aren’t strong enough to open carcasses themselves, so they wait for larger vultures to do the heavy lifting. Poachers sometimes kill vultures because circling birds reveal where illegal kills have taken place.

We spotted a Cape glossy starling — otherwise known as a kamikaze picnic bird. They will absolutely bomb you for your food. Ruthless.

Termite mounds are marvels of architecture. They’re rounded — no corners — because snakes prefer corners to hide in. No corners, fewer snakes. They also lean away from the prevailing east wind, meaning they subtly “point” west.

We had lunch at the David Livingstone Safari Lodge on the Zambezi — quite the place. Polished wood, sweeping river views, and the kind of lodge where you half expect someone to hand you a gin and tonic just for walking in. We were meant to eat outside, but the rain had other ideas.

While there, I broke down and purchased a red, black, and white kente-cloth-style duster. It seemed inevitable.

Before the Lodge, we visited a large local market. In the slideshow, you can see photos of the various wares…including dried maggots which I think I heard Ari tried (not recommended). We were tasked with speaking to someone and learning something interesting. I spoke with two men who were removing worn thread from sandals and re-stitching them.

What were they using for thread?

Strips cut from Dunlop tires.

They slice thread-thin bands from old tires and use them as nearly indestructible stitching material. The original thread gives way first — so they replace it with something that won’t.

Ingenious.

As I type this, a serious thunderstorm is rolling overhead.

Tomorrow we leave for Kruger. Bags to pack. Boots to dry. Leopard to locate.

Slideshow HERE.

I never get a percentage from any links I include – but! – if you are curious about Overseas Adventure Travel and want $100 off, call them at 1-800-955-1925 and request their amazing catalog, tell them you were referred by Sandy Shepard, customer number 3087257, and get $100 off your first trip! The catalog is what all good dreams are made of!

Day 9: Chidobe — Learners, Lost Notes, and Seeing Through Their Eyes

Posted on by Sandy

Today we visited a homestead near Chidobe and met the headman and his family, had a snack there, and then went on to the Chidobe School, which Overseas Adventure Travel’s charitable arm supports.

OAT builds a few core elements into every trip — not just seeing beautiful places, but having a true “Day in the Life” connection with the communities alongside the route, and supporting local projects through the Grand Circle Foundation. Today was very much that kind of day.

I’m frustrated to say that I took a LOT of notes on my phone (instead of my trusty notebook and pencil — I should know better) and they have completely gone walkabout. All that is left is one lonely note: school costs about $25 per term, and there are three terms.

So I’m going to do this the old-fashioned way: from memory.

We learned that each village is made up of a number of homes, overseen by a village headman. Then the headmen fall under a chief. The homestead we visited was led by a headman responsible for more than ninety homesteads.

Abe had purchased for us (courtesy of OAT) beautiful stiff, batik-like wrap cloths to wear. He told us, though, that if any of the women wanted what we were wearing, we had to give it up.

So… I don’t have one anymore.

First, we headed to a local market area, were split into four groups, given some money, and tasked with getting staples (big bag of maize, cooking oil, brown sugar, salt, soap). We were bringing these to the headman and his wives.

We learned a lot about their lives — and they learned about ours. We tamped maize down into flour. Everyone but me had a peanut and pumpkin-leaf stew over maize.

In trying to get away from the peanut smell, I stepped backward into a tree full of wasps.

Immediately stung three times on my hand.

YOWZAH.

It hurt terribly, and my hand began swelling right away. Abe saw it and asked the headman if there was anything that could help. He went into his house and came out with a salve, which he rubbed onto the bites.

The pain stopped almost instantly.

My hand is still a bit swollen — especially where two stings landed right on my knuckles — but I was quite thankful for the salve!

From there, we headed to Chidobe School.

The school is supported through OAT’s philanthropic efforts, and it was such a joyful, energetic place. We were each assigned a “learner” to show us around. I got two boys — their names were long, so I ended up calling them “older brother” and “younger brother.”

They showed us classrooms, the grounds, and the daily rhythm of the school.

But what they were most interested in…

was Herbert’s camera.

I put it around older brother’s neck and showed him how to take photos on automatic. He went into his classroom and around the property taking pictures of everything that mattered to him.

Then I made him teach younger brother, and he did the same.

We were joined by the vice principal, who told us these boys would receive enormous cred for being trusted with such an expensive camera.

And here is the BEST PART:

All the photos in the slideshow (and below) where taken by the boys. Slideshow HERE.

Yes, I deleted quite a few — trees, grass, the side of a building, a truly artistic close-up of nothing — but the ones that remain are wonderful.

It is the school through their eyes.

We took a group photo, and then we were off to lunch at a local restaurant.

Back at the Shearwater afterward, Mary, Lynn, and I headed into the market Fran had found the other day, because I desperately needed an over-the-shoulder bag to replace the one that fell apart at the airport.

I found two and made a deal: not only would he reinforce the straps (he had a sewing machine), but he would give me both for $20.

Then we wandered into the indoor market building — which was entirely men, entirely intense, and entirely in-your-face.

Mary and Lynn said they were overwhelmed, so I started holding my finger to my lips, or telling vendors that if they spoke to us, they would owe us money.

One guy got huffy.

But one young man heard what I was doing and simply stood silently, indicating his wares without saying a word.

Naturally, I bought from him.

I was looking for a tiny beaded hippo with its mouth open. The silent vendor had little wire animals with beads slid onto them, and I found a few I liked. Mary and Lynn made the final choice.

Eight dollars. 🙂

I was very happy to have not one but two replacements for my critical “carry-on shoulder bag.” (I tested them with the merchant by dumping the camera bag inside — some had too narrow a neck.)

Tomorrow, we head off on a “rhino hunt” in Zambia — which is why we needed the dual-entry visa and why we must carry our passports. We’ll cross into Zambia, spend time there, and then return to Zimbabwe.

And after that…

It will be time to pack up, in anticipation of flying off to Stellenbosch.

Onward.

I never get a percentage from any links I include – but! – if you are curious about Overseas Adventure Travel and want $100 off, call them at 1-800-955-1925 and request their amazing catalog, tell them you were referred by Sandy Shepard, customer number 3087257, and get $100 off your first trip! The catalog is what all good dreams are made of!

Day 8: Victoria Falls — Walking, (Soaking), Helicopters, Elephants, and Simunye

Posted on by Sandy

Slideshow of Victoria Falls/Zambia portion HERE.

Today started with a walk down to Victoria Falls, and wow was it wet! I chose not to wear the provided rain poncho but instead slung it over the camera bag to save the most expensive part (ha ha). So by the end, every stitch of anything I was wearing — and every inch of my body — was soaked through… but the camera was fine. (The photos are in the link above.)

We learned a lot about the Falls and the river that makes them so amazing. The local indigenous name for Victoria Falls is Mosi-oa-Tunya, which means “the smoke that thunders” — a reference to the massive spray and rumble that can be seen and heard from miles away.

We also heard about Dr. David Livingstone, the Scottish explorer and missionary who is credited with “discovering” the Falls for the European world in the 1850s (though of course local people had known them forever). Livingstone’s journeys across Africa made him one of the most influential explorers of his generation, traveling over 45,000 km across largely uncharted territory. Later in life he dedicated himself to fighting the East African slave trade. Many places named after Europeans have now been renamed – but anything with Livingstone’s name still remains, a testament to his work for Africa.

Victoria Falls is where the famous meeting with Henry Morton Stanley took place — greeted with the immortal line: “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” Livingstone died in 1873 in what is now northern Zambia, and in an extraordinary act of devotion, his companions carried his preserved remains over 1,500 km back to the coast. His body was returned to Britain, but symbolically, his heart remained in Africa.

He named the waterfall Victoria Falls in honor of Queen Victoria — but standing there today, soaked to the bone, it feels much more like “Smoke That Thunders” is the correct name.

The waterfall itself is part of the Zambezi River, one of Africa’s great rivers, flowing through multiple countries before plunging into this incredible gorge. The Zambezi is the fourth-longest river in Africa (after the Nile, the Congo, and the Niger).

Our driver took us around the falls, and it was fascinating to see how the waterfall is not just one drop, but a whole series of named sections: Devil’s Cataract, the Main Falls, Horseshoe Falls, Rainbow Falls, Armchair Falls, and the Eastern Cataract — with Livingstone Island sitting right at the brink.

One of the signs compared Victoria Falls to other great waterfalls: it is taller than Niagara Falls, and while Iguazu is wider overall, Victoria Falls is often described as the largest sheet of continuously falling water in the world. Victoria Falls is about 1,737 meters wide (5,698 feet) and 107 meters high (351 feet) — an absolutely staggering wall of water when you are standing in the spray.

We also heard some fascinating cultural stories and traditional lore. One story was about different tribal ways of confirming paternity: in some tribes, when a child was born the elders would observe how livestock behaved around the baby. The goats were let out of their pen, then the baby was bundled up and lain across the threshold. If the goats wouldn’t step over the baby to get back into the pen, there was something suspect with the baby’s paternity.

In crocodile clans, if the crocodiles didn’t eat the baby if it was bundled up and laid in the water (yes, really), it was believed the child was truly a member of the family — especially if two crocs left it alone.

Next up was a helicopter tour over the Falls and the gorge — unbelievable views! Slideshow HERE. It’s so impressive from above to see the full width of this massive river suddenly plunging into the chasm below. Also seeing how many times the river has changed direction, cut and turned, etc. was fascinating.

After that we did the Eye of the Elephant tour. The guy who talked to us was absolutely great; we not only learned a lot (such as: a male elephant has a secretion gland behind his eyes that shows if he is afraid, in grief, etc. – if you see one with a dark streak down its face, BEWARE), but he also made us close our eyes, and sent us into a “meditation” to “become” an elephant.

Once we were elephants, we were named after one on the compound – Lynn and I were chosen to be “Musubi,” the smartest female, who “figures out all the treat hides” when they are doing “enrichment” with the elephants. (Sounds about right?). Then we met our elephant — ours was Cariba. Slideshow HERE. (Trunk boops = always joyful.)

We also learned that an elephant’s trunk contains about 40,000 individual muscles (technically muscle fascicles). No bones. No joints. Just astonishingly intricate muscle structure. For comparison, the entire human body has only around 600 muscles. Which means an elephant’s trunk alone has more than sixty times the muscle power of our whole bodies. That’s how they can delicately pick up a single blade of grass, lift a calf, strip bark from a tree, or blast water with precision accuracy. It’s essentially a biological Swiss Army knife. No wonder they can paint pictures and we struggle with parallel parking.

At the end, we were encouraged of course to donate (it’s a non-profit and even with the tours, etc it has trouble making ends meet), and then were “turned back into humans” from being elephants. Our tour guide said to us ladies that “sorrowfully, you must lose the long eyelashes you have had,” and the men? Well, they had to lose their . . . “So large and impressive Appendage.”

On the way home we ran into a troupe of baboons – doing baboon things, though one looked like he was on his cell phone. (Some people call a group of baboons a “Congress” – I’ll just let that one lie.)

The last thing we did that day was go to a play called Simunye — The Spirit of Africa, a local production near the Falls. It’s a beautifully creative performance that combines puppetry, dance, music, and visuals to tell a story about love, unity, and community through African myth and folklore. And it didn’t help that the “hero” was very easy on the eyes, either!

I never get a percentage from any links I include – but! – if you are curious about Overseas Adventure Travel and want $100 off, call them at 1-800-955-1925 and request their amazing catalog, tell them you were referred by Sandy Shepard, customer number 3087257, and get $100 off your first trip! The catalog is what all good dreams are made of!

Day 7: The bag as an illegal paszenjah, plus the Zambezi

Posted on by Sandy

This morning began, as so many of our mornings do, with the ANEW buffet.

I continue to believe this buffet is… trying its best.

Breakfast was serviceable, but not exactly the breakfasting at the buffet-a of our dreams. Lynn, poor thing, had slept terribly, so we were running on a combination of caffeine, competence, and sheer travel momentum.

Bags were outside the door by 6:30 a.m., porter-assisted as promised, and the bus rolled out at 7:00 sharp.

Airport check-in was refreshingly smooth. My suitcase weighed in at the top-end-allowed 44 pounds, and my carry-on was the top-end-allowed 15 — but that was with cleverly stashing in my (unequaled) over to my shoulder cloth bag:

  • about two pounds of Ghirardelli chocolates (for the upcoming home-hosted meal),
  • all my tech,
  • and the full Nikon camera situation

Everything was fine until right before passport stamping, when the universe decided I was getting a little too confident.

The cloth bag strap broke.

Not “fraying.” Not “loosening.” Broke. Down at the bag itself. No possibility of knotting. No duct tape miracle.

Argh! (Which Siri helpfully just autocorrected to “Dead!” which honestly felt accurate.)

RIP, wonderful travel accessory. You served bravely.

So now I had to expand my carry-on and shove all the cloth-bag contents inside, which made the carry-on approximately the size of a small refrigerator.

And then we boarded the plane.

This was not a plane. This was a flying suggestion.

It was so tiny that walking down the aisle required me to tilt my head so far sideways that my cheek was nearly brushing the ceiling. I immediately realized: this carry-on is not fitting in any overhead compartment built for mortal luggage.

I fought the very intense “one person at a time, one-way traffic” back to the flight attendant and asked if she could stow it.

She said she’d come see.

She came, noticed I didn’t have anyone sitting next to me, and said, “Just put it there.”

So I did.

I heaved the bag into the empty seat and buckled it in like a passenger.

When she came back, she absolutely cracked up.

“No,” she said, kindly but firmly, “you can’t have the bag as a passenger.”

(Paszenjah.)

All the intraAfrica flights had very nice snack boxes. USA – take note.

Fair.

She had me put it on the floor in front of that seat instead, which in retrospect is how planes usually work.

We arrived in Zimbabwe to an airport entry scene that was immediately joyful: a male singing group in traditional dress performing in the arrivals area — very Ladysmith Black Mambazo energy, and a lovely welcome.

My dual-entry visa worked perfectly, but there was some real visa drama in our group. Theresa had paid $70 for hers, only to learn it was single-entry — meaning she’ll have to pay another $70 when we cross again. Other folks had other issues. Mike got a single entry and was told that was “enough” (though it means he will need to pay another $30 tomorrow). Janice had gotten this accidentally when she got her online one. Mary, and Brigitte and Jean-Marie had all used the “OAT strongly suggested” company that got the visas for you – which cost I believe they said like $100 each direction. Craziness.

Abe had thought I might need to adjust by $5 (since the old dual-entry visas ($45) are gone and the KAZA Univisa is now the main option ($50)), but… nope! Got through swimmingly.

After our meeting at the hotel — the Shearwater Explorers Village — we had a bit of downtime. Lynn and I came back to the room and did the usual travel ritual: reorganizing clothing cubes, figuring out the next few days, and trying to restore order to the suitcase ecosystem after Strapgate 2026.

Later, dinner was on the Zambezi, which felt wonderfully surreal.

(Also: Zimbabwe is often translated as “house of stone” or “great stone houses,” referencing the ancient stone city of Great Zimbabwe. And Victoria Falls’ local name, Mosi-oa-Tunya, means “The Smoke That Thunders,” which is exactly right.)

My dinner choice was a very tasty tomato basil soup, followed by a slow-braised kudu stew with grilled boerewors, mealie sadza, and chomolia — basically the Southern Africa comfort-food plate: rich game stew, smoky sausage, cornmeal staple, and greens.

“Chad” and I had carefully determined that the correct wine pairing was Pinotage — South Africa’s signature grape, smoky and perfect with game.

Reader, they were out of the Pinotage.

Whut-WHAAAA.

So I had to “settle” for the Shiraz, which leaned more fruity than peppery… though to be fair, the wine arrived after we had had to start our food, and it’s entirely possible I lost the peppery overtones to the boerewors.

A sentence I never expected to write, but here we are.

Abe, disregarding the sign at the bar behind him.

We’re back at Shearwater now, and tomorrow is early: up and out by 5:30 a.m. for Victoria Falls. We’ll drive over, then walk about a mile to the falls. At 11:00 we have the helicopter flight over the falls and gorge, lunch afterward, and then at 2:30 the Elephant Experience.

Dinner remains a mystery.

Fran, one of the non-pre-trip gals, scouted some shops and reported seeing bags that could solve my sudden lack of shoulder-bag infrastructure. So tomorrow, between waterfalls and elephants, I may also be shopping for Shoulder Bag: The Sequel.

Because travel, as always, is glamour punctuated by logistics.

Slideshow from the river dinner cruise, plus Victoria Falls (see next blog post) HERE.

I never get a percentage from any links I include – but! – if you are curious about Overseas Adventure Travel and want $100 off, call them at 1-800-955-1925 and request their amazing catalog, tell them you were referred by Sandy Shepard, customer number 3087257, and get $100 off your first trip! The catalog is what all good dreams are made of!