Crespella The Creperie

Mmm Mmm Mmmm! There is a well kept secret of the crepe variety here in Cape Town. I walk by it several times per week, and had attempted to visit twice already without success, but recently was able to grab breakfast at Crespella. It is just a small café here in Obz, and the whole place couldn't be more straightforward.

It is owned by an adorable old Bulgarian couple, and apparently they just have a passion for crepe-making. They serve a pretty varied selection of savory and sweet crepes (or rearry rearry fin pancakes, for those Talladega Nights fans). I counted over 30 different types on their menu.

The first one I got was the peanut butter, banana, and chocolate crepe. Delicious. Then I got the apple, cinnamon, and cream crepe. Delectable.

Peanut Butter, Banana, and Dark Chocolate.

Apple, Cinnamon, and Cream.

I don't know, I just particularly like this place because it is so simple. It is literally just one room with two tables, and the couple makes your crepe right in the room for you, and stores their ingredients in the fridge behind the counter. The man even warned me not to get crepes somewhere else, because they make them, freeze them, and microwave them in the secret back room that Crespella does not have. I was amused, and it felt almost like my great-grandma Nygaard was cooking for me. I went back the other day and got the special Thai Chicken Curry Crepe. That one was scrumptious.

As far as the hours go, they'll close up at four or five, whenever works, but he said he'll stay until 7:00 if enough people want his crepes. The prices are cheap too, since I got both of my servings for about $5.50 with tip. I wish we had more places like this is Madison. As many of you know, I love food, so this place deserved a post.

Making my second helping.

Rioting and Missing Buses and Flights on the Way "Home"

After a great week of swimming, diving, making friends, partying, close wildlife encounters, and carefree relaxation... it was time to leave. Though this could not happen without a nice "Wisconsin Night" first. After hearing the glorious stories of my hometown and my alma mater, my new South African friends would not be let off without becoming honorary Badgers. And so it was:

If you want to be a Badger...

Now, in the early hours of day 10, our 4am shuttle back to Maputo was looming. We decided not to go to sleep, since it would probably have made things worse. Instead, I started to worry that I hadn't taken enough pictures of the resort, so I grabbed my camera and tripod and set about taking some night shots. I was doing long exposures, and each time a photo appeared on my camera I was thrilled with how cool they were turning out. Somehow, in the black darkness of the 3am night, I was exposing photos of the beach and the resort. Here are a few:

Most of our group packed up and started the half hour walk to the shuttle stop. We stayed behind to make some final pasta and assist in loading the trailer full of luggage, while Sean got his truck ready. Running a bit behind from everything, we arrived at the shuttle stop to find no shuttle stopped or waiting. It had left without eight of us, and the now 4:15am prospect of catching up to the fastest thing between Tofo and Maputo seemed daunting. It would appear that "African time" is quite selective in its application. The driver left promptly at 4:00, even as fellow trip mates explained that we were on our way and had tickets.

Speeding down dirt roads in the darkness and crammed into the uncomfortable back cab of Sean's truck, we caught up to the shuttle, only to find they had filled the empty seats immediately and we were now without transport... sort of. We simply remained in our current seats, with five of us sitting in the back of Sean's bakkie (South African word for truck). That's right, folks, we did the 8 hour chicken bus drive that was previously detailed in the back of Sean's bakkie. To make the ride a bit easier, we grabbed sleeping bags, pillows, and an air mattress from the luggage trailer. In retrospect, it was almost certainly more comfortable that the chicken bus drive, so we again sort of messed up, but actually made the right move.

Crammed into the bakkie for the eight hour drive to Maputo.

Fatima's chicken bus was also dethroned as the fastest thing from Tofo to Maputo... we beat it. Back at the backpackers, we spent one final night in the capital city of Mozambique with a dinner and lots of resting. Still a bit overwhelmed by my malaria medicine and feeling nauseous, I went to sleep early.

This would prove helpful when we got up at 6:30 to catch our Greyhound again, this time out of Mozambique, back into South Africa and to Johannesburg to catch our 7pm flights to Cape Town. (Did you get that? Lots of traveling, but it was the last day.) This seemed completely viable and timely until we reached the Moz border.

The full view of the border post.

So here is the scoop: It is Easter weekend, so there is an inordinate amount of traffic moving through the border. To compensate for this, Mozambican border patrol created a temporary border post about 3km from the actual border. This would seem fine, but as you can see in the photo, it consisted of several green military tents in the middle of nowhere. There were a few computers at each tent, powered by generators, and had ethernet cables running in the dirt to the satellite uplinked embassy truck. Worse yet, there was practically no signage or organization on how this "post" would be functioning. As a result, you had thousands of people attempting to follow directions, get in lines that were explained to be for this or that (Moz exit stamp, South African entry, Miner's, etc.), yet no visible progress.

We stood in line for about an hour and a half before getting to the front of the S. African entry line. It was at this point that a border agent shouted for everyone to create two lines (in Portuguese). What they were for was unclear at the time, but we did as people started to cut in line and find new spots. Eventually lines were disregarded, and people moved to the front of the tent to figure out what we were supposed to do, and to check on why the line had not moved for 45 minutes now. Lines disappeared, and this lead to a large crowd surrounding the tents, searching for information and trying to do the right thing. I was at the very front of this, and watched on as tensions rose, people began yelling, and the seemingly incompetent, outnumbered Mozambican border patrol agents attempted to shout back, tell people to move, and restore order to something that neither they nor the waiting people understood. I felt very uncomfortable as more people pushed to the front, more shouting happened, and people started crossing the tape to tell their story and get information.

At times, it felt like a full out stampede was going to happen as we were pushed from behind, and five unarmed military officers physically pushed our crowd back into place. Suddenly someone pushed too much, about 10 feet from me, as an officer pulled his spiked belt from his pants and started whipping the man. Some chaos ensued as people ran, others that were accidentally struck fought back, and other border people ran to assist or provoke. At the same time the line had stopped completely, and I thought, "This is getting much worse. This is getting out of hand."

And it did. Over the next 45 minutes, I stood near the front of the line, listening to the directions of macho men with military berets shouting at us in Portuguese while more rioting broke out just 15 feet away. This time more people were involved with more belts, more running, and more shouting and crying. And remember my anxiety issues around this time? My hands were shaking and I was trying to calm my breathing as I considered a full out riot with pushing, belting, and running as the prospect of people stealing the passport stamper became more real. Finally, I was next (and first among our group) to get my stamp. I slowly walked up to the woman and patiently waited for the god damn stamp. With passport in hand, I went back to the bus to calm down. Shortly after I left, things got worse with people pushing, and agents fighting back with clubs this time. I watched from the bus as people ran, some holding children. Apparently a woman was being hit and held her baby up to stop the man, but he didn't. Crazy stuff.


I learned that since this post was on Mozambican soil, there were only two South African guards whom could do nothing but watch, their power limited to observer at this temporary post. Further, I learned that this was not the norm, and it was a result of Easter weekend, understaffing, and bad management. At first I thought this was only overwhelming and dangerous because I'm American, but a woman from Durban, South Africa remarked that it was the most dangerous situation she'd been in in her life, and a woman from Joburg said she'd never return to Moz.

The most recent clubbing had lost our trip members their spots in line, and after a cumulative four hours at the post, we gave up as Greyhound called everyone back to the bus. They had found a South African official that was able to give us a siren escort to the actual border, where we'd have people looking out for us. This proved simple and fast, and the ordeal was quickly over. On the road again, it was now become obvious that we'd miss our scheduled flights that evening in Johannesburg.

This is when phone tag began. Six hours before my flight, I knew we wouldn't arrive in time, and opted to call the airline and rebook for the next day. My adventure seemed to be extending, and at the cost of $75, I blame the whip-weilding, belt-pelting border patrol. Over the course of the following hours our group sat on the phone with airlines spending money, approximating driving time, and asking themselves and others if we'd be there in time even to catch the last flight out at 9:00pm. Greyhound, incredible as they are, sent a private shuttle just for us, in hopes of speeding us to the airport separately. It was for free, and I can't say that would ever happen in America.

Sunset as we drove on South African soil.

This new bus sped down the highway toward the airport, but for naught as at least twelve of us missed our flights, with varying penalty fees and the need for new overnight accommodation plans. Luckily, Steve has family in Joburg that picked us up and brought us back to their house. Here, Alexei, Daniel, Steve, and I recharged, each got a shower, and were treated to an awesome braai the night before our new flights. Once again, I thought things had gotten worse but somehow found that our adventure was getting better.

A consolation dinner fit for kings.

Don't worry, this story does actually end. We got up the next morning, were politely shuttled to the airport by Steve's uncle, and finally, successfully caught separate flights back to Cape Town, only to reunite on the other side and head into town. This is about the point that I started thinking, "how in the world do I blog about this trip?" I hope I've done it justice. In the way of souvenirs, I didn't get a whole lot. In fact, I lost a number of Wisconsin shirts in the way of gifts, but I did gain tons of stories, over 700 photos, and some sweet as heck African trousers.

Three of the pictured pants are yours truly's.

As you've seen over the last few posts, and as I mentioned originally, my trip to Mozambique was truly an adventure of variety. Most notably as we got around: By planes, Greyhounds, chicken buses, taxis, cars, boats, and a bakkie for good measure.

Life List: Panic Attack Deep Underwater? Check.

The interesting thing about going somewhere completely different is that once things start to go wrong, or you feel sick, weird, or out of wack... it's very difficult to figure out the cause. In my case, in Mozambique, I started to feel a bit "off" after about a week. Who really knows what the cause was? Have I been sleeping too little, is it because I'm drinking every night, is it the malaria medicine with all the possible side effects that I've never taken before, is it the water, is it all the different foods that I'm eating, or is it the anxiety that I'm very far from credible medical care or any semblance of "home". It is within this context that you can go a little nutty. And I did.

Before The Dive

As I woke up on Day 9, tired from sleeping only three hours, I was invited on what would be the last deep dive of the trip. At 7:00am, I told Mike a solid no and put my head back into my pillow. A half hour later, though, unable to sleep anymore, I got up to check on the dive shop and get some water. I learned that the dive would be delayed three hours, which likely meant four or even five hours when adjusting for African time. I couldn't go back to sleep at this point (I wasn't sure why), so I started drinking water and ordered some breakfast at the bar. As the morning rolled on, I decided that I would be going on the dive. As you saw in the videos and stories from the last post, I felt like I'd be very disappointed in myself if I missed the last Mozambican deep dive of the trip, only to hear stories and see photos when a jubilant crew returned. So I began kitting up for my fifth trek into the ocean.

Our first dive with the resort.

From the very beginning, this dive felt more stressful than others. Not only was I feeling a bit "off", but it was my first time diving without my instructors Sean and Nick, the two people that have taught me to dive in Cape Town and whom I'd gone out with on all the dives in the last few days. I didn't think it would be a big deal, but just kept realizing, in my head, the difference I was feeling of not having them as calming reassurance. This was because my two new dive masters from the resort we're a bit cold and set lots of rules and expectations for the dive. This shouldn't have stressed me out, because it is how diving works, but for some reason it just changed the mood of getting ready and going out.

On the way out to the dive site it felt like things kept going wrong. We got hit by another big wave and, reminiscent of a few days earlier, it broke a piece of the steering wheel enclosure off. We stopped and tried to radio back, only to find that the radio was not working. As we headed to our dive site I noticed that the pontoon I was sitting on was deflating slightly, which lead them to reinflate it every 15-30 minutes or so. The dive master was shaking some from the wave impact, and the current was so strong that we had to move our dive site from Sherwood Forest to Giant's Castle. With full gear on, we slowly drove for about 20-25 minutes to the new site, while I got a bit seasick in the process. All along I had a million thoughts going through my head, while I was thinking "I don't want to be here right now." Feeling very anxious, I was hoping that once I got in the water things would get better, as they usually do, and I would get it over with and go back to Bamboozi.

Working on our sea sickness.

In The Water

"Masks ON! Regulators IN" 3. 2. 1." Bail.
Except I noticed that two of my friends didn't actually have regulators in their mouths as we fell in, because the staff didn't check that everyone was ready. I fell in the water and realized that I was floating for some reason, despite having sucked the air out of my vest. I began to swim down, kicking harder to get my fins in the water and past the surface to catch up with people. I began to descend, trying to get back into the swing of things. I looked for my buddy Alexei, he gave me an "Ok?" symbol and I reciprocated as we went down 20ft, 40ft, 60ft, 80ft, and finally reached the bottom at 100ft. Once down there, I was still feeling a bit out of it and my heart rate increased. Because we were so deep, air is compressed by 4x and is thus consumed that much faster. "We'll only have a bottom time of about 14 minutes", I thought. "Get past it and we'll be done." I knew my body was starting to freak out, because despite what I was telling myself, I kept thinking, "I don't feel safe right now, I cannot be down here." For about two minutes, I tried to get control of my breathing as my heart rate increased, and my dive masters tried to locate someone that had not come to the bottom with us. It all felt very hectic.

Alexei turned to me again and made a joking face and gesture. I thought, "You shouldn't surface for this. You might shake your confidence diving, and at worst could develop some phobia of diving. Push through it." At the same time, my heart was racing out of control and I was just about hyperventilating as my mind struggled to calmly sort through how to fix my problem. I decided that I would need to surface. I slowly shook my head "No" at Alexei, and the following conversation took place all in diving hand signals.

Me: "I have a (problem). I need to (go up)." Alexei looked at me to see if I was joking. Again: "I have a (problem). I need to (go up)." He grabbed the female dive master (DM) and signaled the same.

She came to me, grabbed me by the straps on my vest, and gave me her best, eyes wide open "What is wrong!?" face. Unable to figure out a way to tell her, I just repeated "I have a (problem). I need to (go up)."

DM: "Where is your (buddy)?" I pointed at Alexei, shook my head about that question, and repeated the only phrase that seemed to make sense underwater. More rushed hand signals... DM: "Have you (lost your buddy)?" I shook my head no. "(No), I haven't (lost my buddy). I'm having a (problem) and I need to (go up). DM: "(Out of Air?)". Me: "(No)." Again, she gave me the demanding WHAT!? eyes as she grabbed me.

I was getting upset with how long the communication around this was taking. I started to think that with how inherently dangerous diving is, you'd think more communication than normal would be needed, but here I practically had none. This turned into a very serious game of underwater charades, where I could not find a way to tell her: I'm having a panic attack, and being 100ft underwater isn't suiting me very well. Not only do I feel like I need to be at the surface immediately, I know full well that if I inflate my vest or begin swimming up too fast, I'll get decompression illness and might die. And there isn't a recompression chamber anywhere near. "Okay, try again." I began to hit my chest with my hand very fast, my best attempt at saying what had happened.

She finally understood and turned to the other dive master. With all the lost buddy confusion, he thought I was without my buddy and proceeded to go through the same confusion that had already happened. About 30 seconds later, I was upset that my highly trained dive masters, whom I didn't particularly trust in the first place, were not effectively communicating while I was freaking out and trying to stay calm to solve my problem. I began to swim up without them, slowly, until she noticed and called me back. After a bit more communication, and after what felt like minutes had passed (they probably did), we began to ascend together. Let me just say, when you're at the bottom and all you want is the top, and 100ft of deadly water is sitting between you and a solution, trying to work the stress away isn't particularly easy. The ironic thing is that while an ascent is the solution, it is also the source of the stress and makes things worse thinking about it. It began to feel like a negative feedback loop, of things getting worse as I thought of them, despite trying to calm down. I just kept breathing, paid attention to the air in my vest so that I wouldn't shoot up too quickly, and held onto her while she controlled our ascent rate. I looked up, could see the surface very far away and just repeated to myself that I'd be up there soon. It felt like a very long time, but we surfaced.

At the top, I was fine. I explained what happened, apologized for making her end her dive, and we clarified all of the confusing progression at the bottom. She said it was the right thing to come up, and it happens even to the best of divers. She also commended me on using my training, because an actual "panicked diver" would have ripped off his mask, pulled out his regulator, and began breathing water while trying to kill the people that were attempting to help. I was now calm, and sat on the boat talking to the skipper until the dive was over. We discussed South Africa, Mozambique, studying abroad, and sunglasses (because he asked why only one of my eyes was open as I looked toward the sun). I responded that I'm a silly Norwegian with blue eyes and can't handle African, let alone Wisconsin, sun.

On Shore Aftermath

Yet when we got back on land, I realized that I felt much worse than I had thought. I originally thought the panic attack was just the result of anxiety and feeling unsafe (which was definitely a big part), but now realized that I was going a bit crazy from being awake so long. I recalled my cumulative 11 hours of sleep over the last three days, and wanted nothing more than sleep. In fact, I felt as though I'd been awake for three days straight and now had enough adrenaline in my body to simulate five cups of coffee. As a result, I wasn't thinking straight, I had a million thoughts going through my mind, all while trying to maintain an appearance of outward composure and the ability to hold a conversation. In fact, I thought I might be slipping into a nervous breakdown and thought "this must be what it is like to go crazy. I'm just going to snap soon. I need sleep this second." I was also losing the ability to tune out all the noise around me, and being around just 10 people at once became cacophonous and overwhelming.

Here is a photo of me, taken in the middle of all of this, as I was waiting to be driven back to the resort from our boat landing:

You may notice that my eye is folded over itself.
I'm not doing so good, Pearl.

As you can tell, I'm looking somewhat wily. I immediately went back to my hut, changed, and moved to a more silent place in someone else's room. I was left in silence trying my hardest to "get to sleep", while fighting thoughts of what had happened underwater just an hour ago, reassuring myself I wasn't going crazy and that a few hours sleep would bring things back to normal, while also wondering if I was having a heart attack based on how fast and irregular my pulse was running, and where in the world I would go if that did happen. In my near-insane soul searching, I found irony that my problem was again my solution. I had gotten to this point by not sleeping, and the stress of still being awake and not knowing what was happening to my body and mind was keeping from my solution--sleep. That was a scary feeling.

Admitting to myself that this was some sort of medical sleep deprivation, I sought out my friends and told them how I was feeling. For all I knew, I was going to die in the hut or something from poisonous levels of adrenaline or who knows what (more stress). Alexei, Daniel, and Mike jumped into action and made me feel much better, seeking out some nausea medicine to calm me a bit, while Lauren came and sat with me for over an hour to calm me down and help me sleep. I asked her, "Will I ever sleep again?" I was fully conscious of what was happening and what I was feeling, I just didn't have the means to fix it myself or improve things. It felt terrible. To make things worse, I kept feeling pinches all over my body, which I first thought to be nitrogen expanding from too fast an ascent, but must have been psychological in some way. Anyway, I fell asleep after two hours of laying down in silence, and slept for just three hours or so.

What I hadn't thought of was the malaria medicine, though. I looked at the side effects later and saw that it causes insomnia and lack of sleep. Granted, what happened to me was no doubt a combination of pushing my limits too hard in many ways, but I now know that the malarone was playing a big part. Ironically, drinking at night was helping me get to sleep, because I wasn't able to nap in the afternoons, and didn't feel tired at 4-5am when it was time to retire. Over the next few days I was mostly good, but wavered from thinking anxiously about my dive experience to still being in Mozambique to getting a bit of jungle fever.

Lastly, upon getting home I was supposed to take the malaria medicine for another seven days. I wasn't drinking any alcohol, was sleeping much more regularly, and was eating normally. Essentially, everything was back to normal, but about two hours after taking a malaria pill I would realize that I felt messed up, almost in an altered state of mind and my heart rate would change. After realizing this... I just stopped taking them altogether. I think I'd rather have malaria.

So yes, I think what happened was a combination of the stress of the dive, things going wrong, not having Sean or Nick around for it, and not being able to handle the anxiety due to lack of sleep, being jacked up on malaria pills, working through a hangover, and perhaps dehydration. Who knows? You can't find you're limits unless you pass them. The rest of the trip outside of this day was absolutely phenomenal as I have been saying, and I was even able to wind down on this night by chilling out and pacing myself. My new goal is to get back in the water and dive as soon as I can.

In my next and final post about Mozambique, I'll be recalling the trek home and the rioting at the border post.

World Class Diving in Tofo

I was told before signing onto the Mozambique trip that diving off the coast of Tofo was world class. Now, I have little to compare my experiences to, but it certainly didn't disappoint. While some dive sites were more shallow, at less than 50 feet or so (15m), I knew that the real action would be down deeper. For this reason, I began my advanced PADI scuba certification just before leaving. This gave me more flexibility on my dives, and I was about to visit some sites that reached 100 feet (30m).

Our resort had a full service dive center, so they were able to provide support and all of our equipment. On a much neater level, though, my scuba instructor and trip leader brought his own boat and led most of our dives himself. This definitely made things more intimate and relaxed, since we knew everyone on the boat. I even learned to dive with many people that we went out with, which made things fun.

Our dive shop. Note the palm thatch.

On Sean's Boat.

We got to really practice our diving and boat skills while there. They use dive boats, which drive right up onto the sand to beach, and can be towed around by tractors without trailers. This also means that you physically push the boat into the water to launch, and need to get past the surf to get out. Our group (myself not included) learned the hard lessons of this on the first day when a huge wave broke the steering wheel console off, and caused some injuries. Ben was hit in the head and thrown from the boat, and Nick sliced his foot open. We also got lots of practice bailing off the boat, backwards, with full kit on to enter the water and begin a dive. I'm sure you've seen this in movies. Everyone has to fall at the same time, or the current moves the boat, and you can fall onto someone. This actually happened, and someone's tank fell on my head. Ouch. Then you do a negative entry, which means that you have no air in your vest and must hit the water and immediately swim down, so as not to spent time at the surface, drifting away from people. As you may be getting, the current can be pretty strong. And it happens very fast.

"Masks ON! Regulators IN! 3. 2. 1." (bail).

Daniel, Me, and Alexei

Anyway, to the depths! On my first deep dive, at Giant's Castle, we dove to 100ft (30m). The visibility was something like 75-100ft (like a gigantic swimming pool with lots of life), and, again, the water was 80ºF. Simply outstanding. Very shortly after reaching the bottom, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and someone pointed to my right. I turned my head, and from the distance saw a huge manta ray emerge. It was easily the size of a car, with a massive fin span, and a lonnng tail. It did a mini-dance as it opened its mouth and started filtering. I widened my eyes and really couldn't believe what I was seeing. It felt like I was watching Animal Planet, but no, on IMAX, except it was actually happening. Here is a video of it.


Other notable sights included a leopard shark that was sitting on the bottom waiting for us when we finished our descent, lots of colorful fish including Nemo and a blowfish (that I gently made puff up with my fin), a disgustingly archaic moray eel, sea urchins, varying types of weird starfish, schools of hundreds and hundreds of fish, and other things that looked cool but I had no idea what they were. :-)

After our second dive, we were headed back to shore on the boat. I was thinking that the excitement was over, but the skipper spotted the tell-tale shadow of a whale shark in the water nearby. I've heard that Tofo, Mozambique is one of the only places in the world where you're guaranteed to see a whale shark year round, and scientists aren't entirely sure why the population is so concentrated in this area. Sean shouted "Masks and fins on!" We quietly approached the whale shark, and the excitement began to build as we were told to make a quiet entry to the water. I forgot for a brief second that I didn't actually have a scuba kit on, and took a mouthful of water. Whoops. I recovered, and began powering with my fins and snorkel after it.

Jessica was trailing with her camera (remember mine was lost to King Neptune):

The whale shark is the largest fish and the largest shark. It's a friendly, gentle giant that is only called a whale because of its feeding technique of filtering. They get up to 12 meters long, but this one was about 6 meters (20 feet). Around the middle of the video, you'll see me at the surface swimming further up alongside it (with the blue fins). I managed to either stay above it, next to it, or in front of it for a full five minutes. It was moving so slow, just about 20 feet below the surface. I was able to swim ahead, and look back as it opened its mouth, and also took a look at me through its eyes on the side of its head. I just couldn't believe it was happening, that I was somewhere out in the ocean, successfully swimming alongside a whale shark. It began to surface, and I didn't really have enough time to get out of its way as it came up. I just kept my pace, and swam with it a bit more. We were quite a ways from the boat, and Jamie and I were the only ones very close to it at this point. It got within a few feet of me, and although I shouldn't have... I thought "this is like a once in a lifetime opportunity... I have to touch it." I reached out, and touched its somewhat rough, spotted skin.

He didn't really like that, and tried to take off. He bent and smacked me with the blunt side of his body as he began to swim off. Jamie, who can be seen diving in the video, was next to him and jumped back. He powered off once more, but this time struck me with his strong, firm back fin. Now that I review the video, it looks quite ominous. I came to the surface, looked at Jamie, and began laughing so hard. I had a huge smile on my face, wasn't hurt, and was laughing about one of the coolest experiences of my life. I rumbled a deep laugh as I whispered "Shhh! Don't tell anyone." We got back on the boat and looked at one another while laughing the whole way back, and I had a smile on my face for hours. So cool.

My whale shark friend. Note Jamie below it.

A bit later, another ocean safari was headed out from the dive shop. Still euphoric about my whale shark experience, I eagerly jumped on board to see another, and maybe a dolphin. I said on the way out on the boat, "Nothing will be able to sour this day for me now." Shortly later, the skipper shouted about another whale shark. We dove in, and I lead the way in the general direction again, searching underwater for the big dark figure to emerge. Suddenly, I felt something like a bug bite on the back of my neck, but quickly realized it was something much more as it starting to hurt on the side of my neck, my cheek, and my neck, as well. I started to swat at whatever it was, knocking off my mask and snorkel in the process. It was about now that I realized I had jellyfish tentacles all over my face and neck. I started pulling them off, while my fingers and face were being stung. Once they were off, I looked into the water to see my mask sinking to the bottom. Feeling like my face was on fire, I gave a distress signal the boat to come pick me up. I fell into the boat, trying to make sense of what had happened, and whether it was going to get worse or better. Luckily, I found that I probably would not need to have my face peed on, and that it would be getting better over the course of the next fifteen minutes.

Shortly after being attacked! Not pleased.

I was told that it was a blue bottle jellyfish, but it wasn't until I did the research that I found it to also be the famed Portuguese Man O' War jellyfish that we talked about so much in biology class in high school. Sure enough, they hurt, and have barbs that attach to you to spread their poison. I still have a line on my hand, a week and a half later, from where a tentacle had me. A few other people in the boat ended up getting stung as well. At first, I felt corrected in a big way, that there actually was something that could sour the day. But after the 10 minutes of pain, I decided it actually made the day better. Not many people can check the life list box of being attacked in the face by Portuguese Man O' War jellyfish. And although a bit tender that night, it didn't last very long.

For those that have made it this far, thanks for reading. Too many big things happened to condense this post, but hopefully I was able to convey how exciting these days of diving were. I also want to send a huge thank you to Jess for letting me use her underwater photos and videos. Much less of this would have made sense without them.

All in all, I did four full dives of the five that I attempted. In my next Moz post, I'll be covering what happens when a combination of things going wrong makes a dive go just as wrong. That would be my fifth dive.

South Africa Votes in Three Days

Electioneering in South Africa has pretty much reached a fevered pitch within the last two weeks, since the general election happens in just three days. That's right, after closely following the big national elections for two years in the US, I came here and have been following theirs since. They're electing new mayors, provincial premiers, and even the president. Except it is more difficult to read into the politics here, certainly because I'm an outsider. But I've been trying, through conversations, Wikipedia, and general creeping.

First, the election cycle (as in most other countries) is a lot more relaxed that in the US. The main method of campaign publicity, it seems, are the hordes of party posters that line every single street post in and around Cape Town (see left). These went up just over a month ago, and parties have been ramping up public appearances and newspaper rhetoric since. The last two months, though, have been when most of the action has happened. This difference, however, is small compared to the general culture surrounding the election.

Unlike in the US, there is virtually no question who will win the presidency. It will be whoever is leading the ANC (African National Congress), in this case Jacob Zuma. There is so much loyalty toward the party for leading the resistance to, and the liberation struggle against apartheid that they have a monopoly on votes in the country. The problem, as I understand it, is that the ANC has not made the transition from liberation movement to a sound, intelligent, responsible government that has the resources and organization to deal with some of South Africa's major contemporary problems, like crime, HIV/AIDS, housing availability, and employment rates. They've faced fighting within the party, corruption, and generally do whatever they want while being secretive about it (like an underground liberation movement does). Many would argue that the ANC hasn't done a whole lot since 1994, and it is no longer the party of the great Nelson Mandela. I can't really disagree, but am careful to make the statement my own.

So today, you have Jacob Zuma assured a presidency. I think they are already planning his inauguration. A man that has no formal schooling past grade 5, and has been embroiled in national, high-profile lawsuits over the last few years over corruption, money laundering, fraud, racketeering, and even a very serious charge of rape (which made a mockery of him). All charges were eventually dropped, some just a few days ago. I've really not met anyone in the country that is looking forward to Zuma being president. It seems very depressing, actually, since things in the country seem to be getting worse, a distancing from the grand visions of a non-racialized, progressive society in 1994. It is, more importantly, a distancing of the protections built into their heralded constitution as well.

The thing to watch, then, isn't who will be president. Most people are watching whether or not the ANC gets 2/3 of the vote this coming Wednesday, because if they do, they will have the power to alter the constitution. And lots of people are scared of that. Opposition parties have been warning that South Africa could be headed the same way as Zimbabwe, where Mugabe changed the constitution every time he ran into legal trouble regarding his position and power, and other things that stood in his way. We'll see. I've heard good things from the opposition parties, especially the Democratic Alliance, but they aren't gaining much traction outside of this province. It is a bit scary, actually.

All eyes are on Wednesday.

I think this political cartoon illustrates the general idea.

1994: Nelson Mandela, standing tall, leading the nation.
1999: Thabo Mbeki trying to fill Mandela's shoes.
2004: Thabo Mbeki trying to fill Mandela's shoes.
2009: Jacob Zuma using Mandela's shoe to destroy Mbeki.

Praia do Tofo, Moçambique

When we last left our heroes, they were beginning day four of their Mozambican adventures, by waking up at 5:30am in Maputo in order to catch the shuttle north along the coast to their final destination.

The 6:00AM Chicken Bus.

Our bus ride was affectionately referred to as Fatima's 8 Hour Chicken Bus Ride, not for any true presence of chickens, but it was perhaps the only thing missing from the experience. We were packed quite tightly, and I spent most of the ride with my knees in my chest and my butt falling asleep, trying to pass the time. There was a marked changed as we moved north from Maputo, though. Things got even more remote, and I was pleased to see more and more palm trees as we drove.

Passing the time.

Fast forward, and we arrived in the afternoon at Praia do Tofo. It is a long stretch of beach, essentially unspoiled, with a few different backpacker lodges and beach bars along it. A 15 minute walk along the sand is the only thing standing between you and a new venue to drink, party, dance, or hit the local market. So yes, the night life was there, and we took advantage of it every single night of the trip (It's Spring Break, by the way. Sorry guys).

We've arrived!

Our resort was Bamboozi, a unique place made almost entirely from natural materials. The chalets, dorms, and huts were all from wood and palm thatch, which I enjoyed. In fact, I was weary at first that it was just a gimmick for tourists, but most of the housing and local structures all up the coast are made from the same. It is easy to build and very practical.   The whole place runs on generators, so there is no electricity at night when they're off, and the drinking water is brought in for cooking and ending hangovers.  On the subject of changes, if I wasn't used to African time before, I had to quickly get used to Mozambican time which is far worse (or better?). A simple meal like eggs and toast can easily take 45 minutes, more complicated things an hour and a half. And, yes, bribing can help to get the food faster, but it won't make them more truthful about when it will arrive. The answer always seems to be "five minutes (smile)".

Overlooking Bamboozi.

Looking toward the beach from the restaurant.

So... that's the introduction. The next five days and six nights are a blur of incredible timelessness. I committed myself, successfully, to stowing my sandals and going barefoot the entire week. I'm a bit sad that the blisters are now disappearing because it means I must be civilized again. We also swam in the ocean for hours (the water is nearly 80ºF), and then in the onsite pool most nights. I would have photos of swimming and such, but my underwater camera was lost to the great sea gods. Some huge waves took it while swimming, and although it was in Alexei's possession at the time, we're still friends because that is what insurance is for. Goodbye Olympus 720SW! We have a great few years together.

"I give you good price today, my friend." Georgia and Me.

This is perhaps the difficult part of conveying how great these days in Tofo were, though. I found a general schedule of getting up at 7:30am for some of the best scuba diving in the world, then lunch, playing all day long, drinking and attending Mozambican dance parties all night long, only to fall into bed at 4am or so and sleep a bit before getting up at 7:30am for more diving. At that rate, it takes about two liters of water in the morning to pull things back together, and a few sporadic naps in the day, but it still took a toll. It felt like summer in high school again, just making friends and playing the entire time. Just lekker.

Remember how I said that transit vehicles in Moz rarely have working car batteries? Mike and I decided to assist a minibus van, along with some other locals, with a push start to get it going. We pushed pushed pushed, and had it going at a good pace, it started, and sputtered a large amount of black smoke as it lumbered off. Seconds later, the sliding door on the side just fell off. Fell off. I grabbed my knees, laughing, as I asked, "What country are we in?" and "I hope I never forget this."

Walking toward the market amidst palm groves.

The best way I can probably wrap this up is to describe an afternoon I had. After a full morning of diving, and seeing a spectacular underwater show (manta included), I went back to my bed, crawled beneath my mosquito net, and fell asleep. There were no windows, just window frames and shades in our hut, so the breeze hit me the whole time. I woke up a few hours later, with most friends still sleeping and wandered for a half hour down the beach, at sunset, alone, with my feet in the water toward the market. I got there, bought some fresh bananas from a woman, picked up some handmade, custom tailored pants that I had a guy make me (four pairs in the end total, you'll see in photos), purchased some local rum called Tipo Tinto, and then proceeded to make my return on the beach wearing said pants, eating bananas, at sunset, thinking about how much I didn't want to go home. "Does this place actually exist?"  Surely not.  Upon return to Bamboozi, my friends were awake, and it was time to have dinner and open the Tipo Tinto. And we did!

That's the gist of the terrestrial world of Tofo. My next post will cover all things underwater, including my swim with the whale shark! See below for more photos, if you're keen:

Silent for Day of Silence

Being in South Africa, I wasn't sure if I would observe the Day of Silence this year. It isn't observed here, so staying silent wouldn't make much of a difference.

But last week, an 11 year old boy committed suicide in Massachusetts, allegedly from bullying at school that included a lot of anti-gay slurs. So I'd like to show some support toward the often controversial Day of Silence in the US.

For those of you that don't know, it is a national, student-led event that asks students to stay silent for the day to bring attention to anti-LGBT name-calling, bullying and harassment in schools. The vow of silence is meant to encourage schools and students to address the problem of anti-LGBT bullying, and illustrates the silencing effect that the bullying has on students that identify as or are perceived as lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender.

I will not be blogging on Friday, no twitter, and won't be available electronically. As the website says: My deliberate silence echoes that silence, which is caused by name-calling, bullying and harassment. I believe that ending the silence is the first step toward fighting these injustices. Think about the voices you are not hearing today. What are you going to do to end the silence?

I hope some of you participate in some way, I know there will be some events on the UW-Madison campus, including a breaking the silence ceremony at the state capitol. I hope to be back on Saturday with stories of Tofo!

Here is a quick video about it from Larry King:

Update: Ha.  The official Day of Silence Twitter account sent me: "You might win the furthest participant for DOS."  Neato.