At GenCon, there were many vendors with many dice. This vendor’s dice were awesome.
As a life-long geek, I’ve always wanted to attend GenCon, one of the world’s most prominent gaming conventions. I remember reading about it as a boy and wishing I could go play Dungeons and Dragons with all of the older geeks. So, when Adam Baker (Man vs. Debt) invited me to visit Indianapolis to attend GenCon 2011 with him, I jumped at the chance.
For four days starting last Thursday, Adam and his wife (Courtney) allowed me to tag along with them as we joined tens of thousands of other nerds to play (and purchase) games.
We played some of our old favorites (I actually won at Settlers, a game I normally loathe), but mostly we tried new games. Here, Adam is picking up the rules to Rio Grande’s Navegador, an exploration and economics game that won rave reviews from our group. (We all ended up purchasing it.)
Because GenCon is so huge — my guess is there were roughly 30,000 people present over the course of the weekend, so probably 15,000 or more at a time on site — it plays host to a variety of game tournaments and championships. The North American championship for The Settlers of Catan is played at GenCon, for instance. Here are folks playing Settlers at a custom-designed table:
Hundreds (thousands?) of games of Settlers were played at GenCon
These custom-built Settlers tables sold at a reasonable price, actually. I think a fold-up version cost something like $150 and a full table maybe twice as much.
There were lots of expensive games and accessories that tempted me, including a $120 version of Automobile and a $150 version of Settlers. Though I bought a lot of stuff, I did my best to steer clear of the deluxe editions.
My favorite part of the entire show was the exhibit from Geek Chic. Geek Chic produces amazing high-quality furniture designed specifically for nerds. They make fancy filing cabinets for comic book collectors, display cases for folks who paint miniatures or collect action figures, and jaw-dropping tables for gamers. Their gaming tables (which range from the size of a coffee table to simply ginormous) are gorgeous. Best of all, they’re thoughtfully designed for gamers, with all sorts of great features and options, like dice towers, recessed play areas, and shelves for each player. This furniture is expensive, but probably worth it for someone who games a lot.
These gaming tables at GenCon were amazing.
I’m not willing to spend $16,000 on the massive Sultan, a ten-player table for miniatures and role-playing games. But I might consider budgeting $1300 for the Hoplite, a coffe-table sized game station. And there’s no question I covet the comic book filing cabinets!
Most of the stuff in the exhibit hall was much less expensive. In fact, most of the things for sale were games.
You could buy nearly any game you wanted at GenCon
On the final day of GenCon, Adam and I both took some time to browse for our favorite games. We’re both big fans of the games from Rio Grande: Dominion, Power Grid, San Juan, Puerto Rico, and — my favorite game of all time — Carcassonne. Both of us bought a copy of a new Rio Grande game called Navegador. I look forward to teaching it to my friends.
Other points of note:
The game auction lasted all weekend (about 30 hours of non-stop live auctions!). We sat in for a couple of hours Sunday morning as the board games were auctioned. It was far more entertaining than it ought to have been. I was sorely tempted to bid on a copy of the Bionic Woman game I remember owning when I was a boy. But I resisted the urge.
The GenCon board game auction. Adam bought the copy of Tigris & Euphrates you see here.
There were also plenty of people in elaborate costumes. These ranged from generic fantasy adventurers (elves! barbarians! wizards! zombies!) to characters from popular comic books (especially anime) and films. (Tons of of Star Wars characters, for instance.) There were actually many, many shops in the exhibition hall that catered directly to the costumed crowd. I generally disdain costumes, but I’ll admit that by the end of this convention, even I could envision myself dressing up for something like this.
Lots of nerds came in costume. By the end of the con, even I was tempted by the costumes.
Companies preview their new games at GenCon. One game that caught my eye was X-Wing from Fantasy Flight Games. This game, which was just announced (and won’t be available until early 2012), is a tactical space combat simulation using miniatures. I’m hoping the gameplay lives up to the aesthetics of the thing.
I also stopped by to see my friend Nicole (on whose couch I slept two weeks ago) at her booth at the back of the exhibit hall. Nicole owns Green Ronin, a game publisher in Seattle. She was patient enough to answer some of my questions about her competitors’ game systems, and she even pointed me toward one that was best suited for gaming needs. (Okay, I’ll confess: I want to lead my friends on a role-playing game in which they play anthropomorphic mice. Think Watership Down but with mice instead of rabbits.)
I had a great time at GenCon, and I’d be happy to return in the future.
Footnote: I was supposed to fly to London immediately after the conference to begin a month-long stay in England (and possibly France and/or The Netherlands). But because of my mother’s health problems, I decided to cancel the trip. This makes me sad, but it means I can focus on preparing for my October trip to Latin America instead.
My wife and I have spent the past several days in western Alberta, tucked high in the Canadian Rockies. Every few years, we join her family for a group vacation. In the past, we’ve visited Alaska, San Francisco, London, and New York. This year we chose Banff (population 7600), the highest city in Canada (at 1383 meters above sea level).
The scenery in Banff National Park is stunning. Words can’t do justice to the views — and neither can my photos. The Canadian Rockies stretch from horizon to horizon. Jagged peaks burst abruptly from the earth, towering above the pine forests below. Here and there are rivers and lakes colored a creamy turquoise blue. (This captivating color comes from “rock flour” carried by glacier melt-water.)
I’d love to say my photographs captured the majestic beauty of the mountains, but they don’t. This is the best I’ve managed so far (though I plan to keep trying):
Lake Louise, as seen from the gondola on the opposite side of the valley
Kris and I drove from Portland to Coeur d’Alene on Friday, and from Idaho to Banff on Saturday. On Sunday, we joined her family to explore the town and the surrounding area. On Monday, we drove the 58 kilometers north to Lake Louise.
Like everything else in the area, Lake Louise is gorgeous: Its glacier-fed waters are the same creamy turquoise found elsewhere in the region; mountain peaks (and Victoria Glacier) tower on three sides. There’s pine forest all around.
Canoes are popular on Lake Louise, especially on a sunny day.
On a sunny summer day like this one, tourists are everywhere. Some sit on the patio of the nearby chateau, sipping tea. Others rent canoes to paddle on the lake. But most pick one of many trails to hike and explore. Kris’ parents decided to take the easy stroll along Lake Louise, while Kris and I joined her sister and her husband for a more strenuous hike.
We had two options. We could:
Hike a 10.6 kilometer round-trip to the Plain of Six Glaciers Teahouse. This four-hour journey includes a 365 meter elevation gain.
Hike a 6.8 kilometer round-trip to the Lake Agnes Teahouse. This two-and-a-half hour climb features a 385 meter elevation gain.
I was eager to do the longer hike, but my companions preferred the shorter route. Besides, Kris’ parents would be finished with their walk along Lake Louise in about an hour. If we were gone for four, they’d have a lot of time to kill. No worries — we set out for the Lake Agnes Teahouse.
Tiffany, Kris, and Paul on the well-marked (and well-traveled) path to the Lake Agnes Teahouse.
The path from Lake Louise to Lake Agnes is wide and well-trodden. There were many other hikers on the trail. Some were serious: they moved swiftly with their trekking poles and hiking boots. Others were more casual, making their way to the top in flip-flops.
About one-third of the way to the top, we reached the first switchback; here a small clearing in the trees allowed us to catch glimpses of the boaters on Lake Louise below. Two-thirds of the way to Lake Agnes, we stopped briefly at Mirror Lake. We would have rested longer but the mosquitos were out in force. Instead, we hurried on.
Note: When traveling, I almost always carry insect repellent with me. (I’m a fan of Ben’s wipes, which are like moist towelettes soaked with DEET.) For some reason, though, I left my insect repellent behind for the excursion to Lake Louise. I paid dearly for that mistake.
We stopped for a break at Mirror Lake; the bloodthirsty mosquitos forced us to resume climbing.
Aside from the mosquitos, the most difficult part of our hike was the elevation. Though it’s a constant climb from Lake Louise to Lake Agnes — there’s no up-and-down as on some mountain trails — the pitch isn’t severe. But because the trail is a mile above sea level, even fit folks can feel out of breath.
After about an hour of hiking, we reached Lake Agnes, a serene spot tucked into a bowl formed by a series of mountain peaks. The Lake Agnes Teahouse sits on the near shore, and is a popular destination with hikers. The teahouse offers 100 varieties of loose-leaf tea, but also provides snacks, light meals, and other drinks too.
I enjoyed a tuna sandwich and a bowl of “spicy African peanut” soup, which I washed down with a pot of lapsang souchong tea. (Since I don’t like coffee, I often drink this smoked tea from China. I like it so much that I buy it in bulk.) Given that the Lake Agnes Teahouse has only a tiny kitchen (and no electricity!), the food was surprisingly good, especially the oatmeal brown bread (which is baked fresh every morning). The only drawback was the cost: $5.70 for the pot of tea and $13.80 for the soup & sandwich combo. That’s $19.50 (or about $21 U.S.) for a simple meal! We agreed the price was worth it, though — a fitting reward for our efforts.
Note: The Lake Agnes Teahouse accepts only cash (or travelers checks). Because there’s no electricity, you cannot pay for your snacks with plastic.
Before we left the Lake Louise Teahouse, Kris and Tiffany played scofflaw by feeding a granola bar to the chipmunks lurking nearby.
Kris and Tiffany disobeyed the signs and fed the wildlife.
On our descent, we were plagued by even more mosquitos than before, which hardly seemed possible. Brave Paul allowed one of the little devils to suck his blood while I snapped a photo of the only predator we’ve seen so far in Alberta.
Paul fed the wildlife too. It was impossible to not feed the mosquitos.
The climb from Lake Louise to the Lake Agnes Teahouse was excellent exercise, and the weather perfect. Plus, the meal at the teahouse was memorable. We had fun. I do wish we’d done the Plain of Six Glaciers hike, but traveling with groups requires compromise. Besides, this gives me a reason to come back to Lake Louise sometime in the future, right?
I was standing on the tarmac last night, waiting for my backpack to be brought from the small commuter plane I’d just taken from Seattle, when my good friend Chris Guillebeau appeared at my side. “Hey man, how’s it going?” he said, shaking my hand.
“Holy cats!” I said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Angola.”
“And Dubai and Madagascar,” Chris said. “But I just got back. I’ve been traveling for 47 hours. What about you? Where have you been?”
Chris Guillebeau, in line for our attempt to audition for The Amazing Race last February.
We grabbed our bags and started the long walk to the exit. Chris told me about his most recent adventures. He’s been traveling the world for several years now, pursuing a quest to visit every country by the time he turns 35. He only has a couple of years left now, and the remaining countries are becoming more challenging to get to. I’d already read about his adventures in Angola and how cold it was in South Africa, but I hadn’t heard about the latter parts of the trip.
“I ran out of cash in the Comoros,” Chris said. “That hasn’t ever happened before. Maybe I’ve grown too cocky. I didn’t have enough cash to enter the country, so they confiscated my passport. I had to pick it up when I left.” But even that wasn’t so simple. (I’m sure he’ll tell the whole story over at The Art of Non-Conformity before long.)
When we reached the waiting area outside security, Jolie was waiting for Chris. She burst into a smile when she saw him and ran to give him a hug. Then she saw me and stopped, puzzled. “What’s J.D. doing with you?” she asked.
“He’s been with me since Madagascar,” Chris joked.
I offered to give the Guillebeaus a ride home, so we hopped on the shuttle to long-term parking, where our driver was a mildly retarded but very friendly man named Bob. He shook our hands as we entered, and then cracked silly jokes all the way to the lot. (“What do you get when you cross a turtle with a porcupine?” “A slow poke!”)
As we drove into Portland, we talked about plans for next year’s World Domination Summit. How big should it be? Where should we hold it? What date? Who should speak? Chris also told me about his upcoming seven-continent book tour. “My goal is to have the best-selling book on Antarctica,” he told me.
“I’d love to go with you,” I said. “Maybe mine could be the second best-selling book on Antarctica.” We laughed at that and hatched some plans.
I left my friends at their doorstep and drove home happy. Real Life has some challenges in store for me this week. The next few days will be tough. But I awoke this morning with a smile on my face because last night I got to spend an unexpected hour with friends. What a fine way to end five days of travel.
It’s 17:01 and I’m waiting for the bus. I’ve spent the past eight hours making my way from a conference in Colorado Springs to a friend’s home in Seattle. For much of that eight hours, I’ve been waiting.
I’m on the last leg of my journey now — waiting for the bus to take me from the train station to Nicole‘s house. Apparently I missed the five o’clock bus by seconds. I rounded the corner in time to see it pulling away. No worries. I sat in the covered shelter to wait for the next bus. As I did, though, a boy across the street shouted at me, “Hey you! That bus don’t come for another hour.” So, I’m waiting.
I’ve learned that any sort of travel entails a lot of waiting: waiting for buses, waiting for planes, waiting for trains, waiting for ferries, waiting for tour groups. And if you’re sightseeing, there’s always lots of waiting in line. When I was younger, waiting bothered me. It felt like lost time. I was easily bored. And if I were traveling, it seemed that I ought to be doing something because otherwise my money would be wasted.
Now, though, I often enjoy the wait. It’s an essential part of the process, a natural component in the rhythm of travel.
Note: Sometimes the actual travel itself is a form of waiting. A sixteen-hour light from Washington, D.C. to Johannesburg is a long exercise in patience. A three-hour van ride from San Ignacio, Belize to Tikal in Guatemala requires patience too. We wait to travel, but the travel is simply waiting in motion.
What I do while waiting depends on the situation. In a new country or city, the novelty takes the edge off — there’s plenty to see and do. (I especially like to browse the shops in new places. What do people in Paris read while traveling? What sorts of snacks can one buy at an airport in Zambia? Are there good souvenirs to be had in Belize?) Here are some of the things I’ve done while waiting:
On our flight from Portland to Venice last summer, we had a long layover at JFK. To kill time, I exercised. I did push-ups and sit-ups and squats in a corner of the room. After 30 minutes of exercise, I sat down to read. “You stink,” Kris told me. “Go change your clothes.” I went into the bathroom and gave myself a sponge bath.
On that same trip, we had a long wait in Rome before the night train to Paris. We had a long, leisurely lunch at a sidewalk cafe (during which I drank an entire liter of wine) before crashing for several hours at the edge of the train platform. We weren’t alone. Dozens of other passengers waited with us.
In Florence, Italy, we had to wait an hour to get into the Uffizi Gallery because of an impromptu strike. (We felt lucky; often these strikes can last much longer.) But waiting in line while sightseeing can be fun. It’s a chance to do some people-watching or to share stories with the people around you.
In most airports, I’m able to work while I wait. For instance, to kill time at the Denver airport this morning, I found a nearly-abandoned gate (downstairs in the A concourse, under A51) with a garden of free power outlets for me to charge my electronics. While I waited, I answered e-mail.
And now, as I sit in a bus shelter in southeast Seattle waiting for a bus, I kill time by blogging. I jot notes to myself on an iPhone. But today my wait is short. Nicole texts to say she’ll drive down to pick me up. “It’s Sunday,” she says, “and the buses don’t run very often.”
Nicole arrives a few minutes later, and I toss my pack into the back seat of her car. As I do, the #36 pulls up. Nicole and I laugh at the timing. I guess I could have waited.
“Waiting is fun when you have an iPhone.” — Kate (Nicole’s fifteen-year-old daughter), upon hearing the bus anecdote
What’s the longest you’ve ever waited while traveling? Does waiting make you tense? Or have you found ways to make the time pass more pleasantly?
I’ve lived my entire life within a 25-mile radius of my hometown, Canby, Oregon. When I left for college, I didn’t go far: I spent six years in Salem before returning to Canby. I now live closer to Portland, but I’m still only 20 miles from the place where I was raised.
It’s not just me. My father’s family has deep roots in the Willamette Valley. For the fifty short years of his life, Dad barely budged a mile from the home where he grew up. And his father was born and raised less than ten miles from that spot. The Roth family settled the area in 1889 and has never left.
When I was a boy, a big trip was a weekend at the Oregon Coast. Maybe once a year, the family would pile into the car and we’d make the two-hour drive to Lincoln City, where we’d stay at a cheap motel. One time, when I was seven or eight, we drove to Salt Lake City to visit my mother’s family. And once, around the same time, we spent a weekend in Vanderhoof, British Columbia (to which my father had decided he wanted to move). But other than that, we never strayed far from home.
Note: To be fair, my family couldn’t afford to travel. Much of the time, my parents struggled to scrape by. Their priority was to put food on the table for three boys, not to see the country or the world.
For most of my adult life, I’ve remained a homebody. I’ve liked the idea of travel, but lacked the money and the motivation to actually do it. Instead, I’ve explored the world through the eyes of other people. I watch travel shows. (Yay, Rick Steves!) I read books about Europe, Asia, and Africa. I watch foreign films to get a feel for other cultures. Whenever possible, I dine out for Thai or Moroccan or Ethiopian food.
These are small things, I know, but until recently, that’s how I’ve managed to glimpse the wider world.
The Travel Bug
In the summer of 2004, my wife’s parents paid for a family vacation. They took us on a cruise through the Inside Passage, finishing with a couple of days in Anchorage, Alaska.
The cruise itself was largely forgettable — I’m not a cruise kind of guy — but I was enthralled by the various excursions we took at each port of call. At the time, it was tough to rationalize spending so much money to go crabbing or to watch whales or to bike down the Klondike Highway from the U.S.-Canadian border (descending about 850 meters in 33 kilometers). In hindsight, however, it’s these experiences that made the trip worthwhile. Seven years later, I remember each vividly. It was from them that I became infected with the travel bug.
A ten-minute video of our stop in Ketchikan, Alaska.
Over the next few years, my in-laws took the family on other vacations. We spent a week in San Francisco. We traveled to England, Ireland, and New York. I loved each trip. I loved learning about the cities and countries we visited, loved meeting new people, and loved eating the food. Dim sum in San Francisco! Bangers and mash in Bath! Curry in Cork! What I loved most about each trip, though, was finding time to walk alone through the city or countryside.
With each trip, I wanted to travel more, but I couldn’t afford it. Eventually, I paid off my debt and began to channel my savings toward travel. Kris and I took some trips on our own. We spent:
A week on the San Juan Islands in northwest Washington.
A week exploring the jungles of Belize (with a brief foray into Guatemala).
Ten days in Italy followed by two weeks in France.
Three weeks in southern Africa, including Johannesburg, Cape Town, Botswana, and Zimbabwe.
But rather than quench my thirst for travel, each trip has made me want more. And they’ve made we want to see the world in a different way.
In general, Kris and I have traveled with groups on organized tours. These trips have their merits, and they’re great for some travelers. But they make me feel insulated. It’s as if I’m in a bubble, set off from the cultures I’m supposed to be experiencing. I don’t want that. I want to meet people. I want to move slowly through a country, allowing time for the unexpected. I don’t want to be slave to a schedule.
I want to travel on my own terms.
Going It Alone
I’m fortunate. I’ve worked hard over the past five years to not only pay off my debt but to build substantial savings. As long as I cut back on other indulgences, I can afford to travel (especially if I do it cheaply).
I’ve also constructed a lifestyle that allows me to work from anywhere. As long as I have an internet connection, I can write and get paid for it. As a result, it’s possible for me to work from the road — even if the road leads through Quito or Kathmandu or Cape Town.
This flexibility is awesome, of course, but it’s also unique. Like most folks, Kris has a regular job, one that ties her to a specific location. Plus, she’s not as keen as I am to try budget travel. My friends and family are in similar positions. They can’t travel as often as I’d like, and they probably wouldn’t want to travel in the same way.
So, I’ve decided to travel alone.
Starting next month, I’ll experiment with extended solo journeys. I’ll travel lightly, carrying only the things I truly need. (I’ve been paring down my travel kit with each trip; it’s still big by the standards of veteran travelers, but it’s shrinking.) I’ll stay in hostels and dive hotels, the sorts of places Kris is wary of. I’ll do a lot of walking, a lot of talking, and a lot of eating.
Where will I go? That’s the toughest question. I want to go everywhere, and it’s difficult to decide what to see first. For the past month, I’ve been vacillating. First, I wanted to hike Hadrian’s Wall in northern England. Then, I wanted to explore Mexico’s Yucatan peninsula. Next, I had my heart set on Guatemala. And Ecuador. Plus, what about Thailand? And I have invitations to Rwanda and Nepal, as well. So many options!
But this morning, as I wrote this background, I made a decision. Ever since I visited England in 2007, I’ve wanted to return. I want to see the country at my pace. I want to see Avebury without being rushed. I want to stroll through the Lake Country. I want to visit Wales, to see Huw Morgan’s green valley (or what remains of it). I want to see an Everton football match. And, most of all, I want to walk Hadrian’s Wall.
England isn’t very exotic, I know. That’s okay. There’s plenty of time to see the far corners of the globe. For me, for now, I simply need to make a decision. Which I’ve done. On August 4th, I’ll fly to Indianapolis to spend time with Adam and Courtney. On August 8th, I’ll fly to London. What happens after that? You’ll have to check back here to find out!
Though things have been quiet around Foldedspace, they haven’t been quiet in Real Life. As always, I spend most of my time writing about money. I’m also exercising 2-1/2 hours a day, five days a week. I’m absorbing enormous (digital) piles of information about money and writing and travel. I’m meeting friends and colleagues for lunch and dinner. I’m doing my best to not let the yard turn completely feral. Kris and I are hanging out with friends. And, yes, I’m learning Spanish.
For years now, I’ve said that I want to learn Spanish “some day”. But that day never seemed to come. I’ve always found reasons to put it off.
Part of the problem is that learning a new language is slow going. Plus, it’s scary. I feel embarrassed stumbling my way through verb conjugations and incorrect nouns. I hate when the words don’t spring immediately to mind. Besides, there’s a huge time commitment if you ever really want to become proficient.
Background: I studied German for two years in high school. During my first semester in college, I studied Spanish, but then (for reasons I forget) I went back for three more semesters of German. Since then, I’ve tried to teach myself Latin (hey, I should try that again!), and have dabbled in French and Italian. In other words: I’m fluent in English and know a smattering of words in other languages.
Earlier this month, I met Benny Lewis, the Irish polyglot who writes about language learning at Fluent in 3 Months. I told Benny I wanted to learn Spanish and asked if he had any suggestions.
“The best thing you can do — if you can afford it — is to hire a private tutor,” he told me. “Meet with the tutor as often as you can.” (Later, Benny spent an hour with me on Skype. We talked about his current trip to Turkey, and he gave me travel tips, especially for Latin America. Benny rocks!)
Well, I can afford to hire a private language tutor, and so that’s what I’ve done. For the past two weeks, I’ve been meeting with a Peruvian woman named Aly. We spend 4-1/2 hours a week together, and she assigns stacks of Spanish homework. It’s almost overwhelming at times — but I love it.
I feel like I’m catching on fairly quickly (and Aly seems to think so too), but I’m also frustrated because I wish I lived in a world populated by s-l-o-w-talking Spanish speakers. I could learn Spanish more easily if everyone around me would just speak it!
This is actually one of Benny’s top tips. In addition to hiring a tutor, he recommends immersing yourself in the language you want to learn. He wants to learn Turkish right now, so he’s in Turkey. If I want to learn Spanish, he thinks I need to go somewhere that Spanish is the primary language. I need to be forced to learn it.
Meanwhile, Stephanie (the Travel Chica), Courtney Baker, and Shannon O’Donnell have all suggested I try to find a language school in Antigua, Guatemala or Quito, Ecuador. From my initial research, it looks like I could sign up for a week at a time (for about $25/day) and get one-on-one personalized training. Benny says a language school isn’t necessary, that I’ll simply absorb the language through daily experience. He says I should head to Medillin, Colombia. “Colombia has the easiest Spanish in the world to understand,” Benny told me.
Benny may be right, but I know how my mind works. One-on-one lessons are going to be a better bet. Besides, if I decide I don’t like the language school, I can always shift my focus to learning from daily interactions.
In any event, I’m excited to have a focus for my first solo trip. Next week, I hope to pick my August destination. (Ecuador holds some charm because it’s a jumping-off point for the Galapagos Islands.) In the meantime, I’ll continue working with Aly three days a week.
I feel like the days ahead hum and glow with promise.
A couple of weeks ago, Kris and I took the plunge: After years of talking about it, we went skydiving. In 2007, when I built my list of 101 things I wanted to accomplish in 1001 days, skydiving was one of my adventure goals. It took me a bit longer than 1001 days to get to it, but it was worth the wait.
I splurged to get video from the jump:
Note: I think the music for the video is hilarious. I opted for AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” because that’s the mood I was in at the time. But the Metallica is nothing I’d ever choose.
If you look carefully, midway through the video, you can see me saying, “Look, Jeff, I can see your house” (or something like that). It was fun to be able to look down and spot where my brother lives.
Now that I’ve jumped once, I’m willing to jump again. But I think I’m going to save my jumps for special places. I recently met someone, for instance, who went skydiving over Table Mountain in Cape Town, South Africa. That sounds frickin’ awesome. So, I’ll do this again in the future — but only in amazing places. (Sorry, Jeff — Molalla isn’t that amazing.)
Even after several days in Cape Town, our vacation wasn’t over. Kris and I could look forward to 36 hours of travel before we were snug in our beds in Portland. Maybe more. And since I had a hare-brained scheme to make the Portland auditions for The Amazing Race on Saturday morning, we were eager not to miss any connections.
Security Theater
We left the hotel for the Cape Town airport at 10am local time — or 1am back home. Our flight to Johannesburg was uneventful, but once there, we had a couple of small adventures.
First, Kris and I got cranky with each other. Really cranky. I know some folks like to pretend they never get cranky with their partners, but Kris and I do sometimes — especially when she’s hungry. And especially while traveling. (We have different travel styles, which creates some conflict.)
Second, security to board the plane back to Dulles was ridiculous. How ridiculous? I took notes.
We had to show our passports to pick up our boarding passes. (This is normal and expected.)
We had to show our boarding passes to pass through the security scanners. (This is normal and expected.)
Before we could enter the boarding gate, we had to submit to a pat-down search, take off our shoes, let our bags be searched, and show our boarding pass. During the pat-down, the security officer didn’t notice (or didn’t care) about my “body bug” that I wear on my arm, which seems to me like it might feel like a concealed explosive device. But he did remark on how much chocolate I was carrying home in my bag.
Immediately upon entering the boarding gate (and just after the pat-down), we had to show our passport and boarding pass (again).
When they actually began loading the plane, we had to show our boarding pass again.
A few feet later — and for no apparent reason — we had to show our boarding pass again to pick up a numbered chit.
Half-way down the ramp, we had to show the numbered chit and the boarding pass.
At the door to the plane, we handed over our numbered chit.
Once aboard the plane, we had to show our boarding pass one final time.
I’ll leave it for you to decide whether this security is worth anyone’s while. But suffice it to say that nobody standing in line thought it mattered. It was a hassle, and yet it seemed ineffectual at the same time.
The Amazing Race
Our flight to Washington D.C. landed on schedule at about 6am Eastern. From there, we caught an 8:34am flight to Denver, and then made a tight connection from Denver to Portland. After 36 hours of travel, we reached Portland just after one in the afternoon.
But the fun wasn’t over yet!
Thanks to some co-ordination from Tiffany, she and Paul helped Kris grab our luggage and head for home. I, on the other hand, met up with my pal Chris Guillebeau, hopped in the Mini, and zoomed to Lake Oswego. We had a date with destiny!
As most of you know, for the past year, Kris and I have been obsessed with The Amazing Race, a television reality/game show in which teams of two race around the world for a one-million-dollar prize. Over the past twelve months, we’ve watched all seventeen seasons. Kris has watched most of them two or three times.
Because of my new-found love for travel, the idea of running The Amazing Race is very appealing. But as much as I’d love to do the race with my wife, it’s probably not a good idea. Remember the start of this post? Remember how I said she and I bicker, especially when traveling? And especially when she hasn’t eaten? Well, we’re both certain that doing The Amazing Race together would be a recipe for disaster.
Instead, I asked Chris Guillebeau if he’d like to do it. He’s — reluctantly, I think — agreed to audition with me.
Note: Chris is a natural fit for this. One of his goals is to visit every country in the world by the time he’s 35. With just two years left, he’s almost there. His experience traveling and my knowledge of the race could make us a formidable team. Plus, it’s be fun to see us billed on the screen: “Chris and J.D., professional bloggers”. On the other hand, I’m fairly certain he has no clue what he’s getting himself in for. He might hate it! (That’s why I have back-up partners in my mind: Michael H. and Andrew C.)
The auditions were scheduled to run from 10am until 2pm. It seemed unlikely that we’d make it in time to be seen, but we figured it was worth a try. And it was. When we arrived at the restaurant where auditions were being held, there was still a long line, and the audition time had been extended until 4pm.
It was bitter cold outside (a shocking change from the warm summer Cape Town days we’d just left), but Tiffany had brought my jacket and gloves to the airport. (Thanks, Tiff!) Chris and I took our place at the end of the line.
Almost immediately, Mr. Unconventional began looking for ways to get us near the front of the line. And he found one. Those who’d been in line longest had been issued tickets. As people gave up and left, one fellow was collecting (or buying) the unused tickets. He then resold the tickets to people further back. Chris found this fellow and brought him to me. I paid $50 to move to the middle of the pack.
And then we waited.
And waited.
And waited.
It was cold. The line moved slowly. We made idle conversation with our neighbors in line. And we waited. Eventually we received some bad news: The process was taking too long and the line was going to be cut here, far far ahead of us, and everyone else should go home.
“We can’t give up now,” Chris said, and others around him agreed. He prodded me to go speak to the fellow who had made the announcement. I did. And then I learned the terrible truth.
You see, The Amazing Race has a normal audition process that goes something like this:
Fill out an application.
Film a two-minute video.
Sign a waiver.
Mail this stuff in.
It’s an open-ended application process, and anyone can apply at any time.
Well, this audition for which we spent hours standing in the bitter cold was nothing more than the normal application process, but handled by the local television affiliate. There was no advantage to applying this way. In fact, if anything, I believe there was a dis-advantage to doing so. When you film yourself, you can try again and again until your audition is just how you want it. There was no chance to do that with the audition at the restaurant. This was just a publicity ploy.
Blarg!
Chris and I packed it up and headed for home. I’m grateful that he took several hours from his busy schedule to stand in line with me, especially since The Amazing Race is not his dream — it’s mine. But we’ll have to send in our application through normal channels. (And if Chris doesn’t really want to do it, I’ll try to recruit one Michael Hampton to join me.)
Final Thoughts
Kris and I loved our African vacation. We’ve been back for a month, and we think (and talk) about it constantly.
When I first started to travel, everyone told me, “Oh, travel is amazing. It changes you.” I thought this was mostly bunk. Our trip to Belize was interesting, and it’s stuck with me, and our trips to Europe have been fun. But change me? Venice didn’t change me. Paris didn’t change me. So, going into this trip, I was skeptical that Africa would change me.
I was wrong. Africa did change me. It opened my eyes and my mind. I now know what people mean when they say that travel can change you. If it was practical, I would pack today and return to southern Africa. I’ve spent many hours over the past month talking with people and reading websites, learning everything I can about volunteer tourism. I’m trying to find organizations that do good without a religious or political agenda.
Though it cost a lot of money, I’m richer for having gone to Africa.
And speaking of richer, here’s a final bit from our trip. We spent several days in Zimbabwe, which is a beautiful country with beautiful people. It’s also a country ravaged by political and economic turmoil. In fact, a few years ago, Zimbabwe was hit by hyper-inflation — the rampant de-valuing of its currency. As a result, the government had to print more and more money in higher and higher denominations.
As we were crossing the border into Zambia, our tour bus was besieged by hawkers. “Please don’t buy from them,” our tour guide told us. “It only makes them bolder.” Our group was fairly good at first, but then one by one, we succumbed. Kris was drawn by a chance to pick up trillions of dollars. Literally:
These are scans of Zimbabwean currency issued during the period of hyper-inflation. How much are they worth today? I think Kris paid a buck (maybe two) for each banknote, and even that was probably too much. That’s okay, though, because the memories are priceless.
After two weeks exploring Botswana, Zimbabwe, and the northern part of South Africa, we turned our attention to the southern-most tip of the African continent. We flew from Kruger National Park to Cape Town, where we spent our final few days exploring life at the end of the world.
Note: The text and photos are finished for this post, so I’ve published it. I hope to edit a short video, too. When I’m done with that, I’ll add it here, at the front of the article.
Cape Winelands
We started our stay on the cape at The Village at Spier, a pretentious hotel and entertainment complex located on a winery outside Stellenbosch. Stellenbosch is a part of the Cape Winelands, a hilly region in the Western Cape province well-known for its chenin blanc, cabarnet sauvignon, and — my favorite — sauvignon blanc.
On Saturday, we settled at Spier, which has been made to sort of resemble a European village. On a quiet, sunny Sunday morning, we boarded a bus for a tour of the surrounding wine country. We drove into the university town of Stellenbosch, where we took time to walk around and look at shops. The population here seemed mainly Afrikaner, meaning the white descendants of the Dutch, German, and French settlers of the area. (This is as opposed to the predominantly black population in Johannesburg, Kruger, and Cape Town itself.) Much of the signage was in both Enlish and Afrikaans. Many people were dressed in their summer finery — because mid-February in South Africa is the equivalent of mid-August in Oregon — going to church services.
Next, we drove to Franschhoek, an even smaller village higher in the wine country. We had a little time to wander around, so Kris and I bought gelato and watched a pair of owls that are long-time residents of a particular tree.
Note: Our group ate a lot of ice cream (and gelato) on this trip. I set the tone from the start. After we landed in Johannesburg and were waiting for transport to our first hotel, I bought a Magnum bar, which I enjoyed very much. From then on, we were all buying ice cream whenever the opportunity presented itself. It was awesome.
After a brief look around Franschhoek (again, much too brief for my liking), we drove to Dieu Donné, a nearby winery, where we tasted a few wines and then ate a fine lunch.
Anita, snapping a photo of three boys outside Dieu Donné Vineyards
Back at the vast Spier complex, Kris and I toured Eagle Encounters, a bird-rescue facility, and Cheetah Encounters, a similar program for big cats. I wasn’t feeling well in the evening, so we skipped the scheduled wine-tasting event to have a quick, quiet dinner in the bar with Coy and Margaret. In the evening, we watched The Social Network on the iPad. We were unimpressed. (What’s the big deal? Why does everyone love this movie? It seems pedestrian, almost pointless.)
Table Mountain
Monday morning, we left Spier and drove into Cape Town. Our bus took us to the base of Table Mountain, where we took the cable car to the top. We only had half an hour to take in the lovely view (again, I felt rushed), of which no photos can do justice.
It’s almost impossible to describe table mountain in a way that conveys its grandeur. Even photos and video don’t really give the whole scope of the thing. But let me try.
Table Mountain makes up the southeast border of Cape Town. It’s a three-kilometer (roughly two-mile) long plateau set a few kilometers back from harbor itself. The mountain is about 1000 meters tall, and is almost perfectly flat. (Well, “perfectly flat” in the grand scheme of things. It’s actually very rough and rock up top, but the overall effect is one of level-ness.) Because of the mountain’s position and its flat top, it’s often covered by “the tablecloth”, a blanket of flowing, white clouds. Again, the effect is amazing, and you really have to see it in person to understand. When the clouds come over the top of the mountain on a south-easterly wind, they cascade down the face of the cliff toward the city. It’s like a waterfall of clouds. It’s awesome.
The clouds spill over the top of Table Mountain
Looking down at Cape Town from atop Table Mountain. The tip of my sleeve is almost exactly touching the point from which I took the top photo. [Photo by Phil.]
Back at the base of the mountain, we made a brief tour of the city, including a stroll through the Company’s Garden, a large park in the middle of Cape Town. We were then subjected to an hour-long shopping stop at a local jewelry manufacturer. (To the credit of Brian, our tour manager, he applied no pressure here.)
After checking into our hotel, Kris and visited the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront, which is one of Cape Town’s primary attractions. The V&A Waterfront is a touristy shopping area along the main harbor. It’s filled with shops, restaurants, singing groups, and more.
Cape Point
The next morning, we set out early for an all-day trip from Cape Town south to Cape Point, then back up the east side of the peninsula. Cape Point is the southwestern tip of the African continent (thought its not actually the southern-most point.)
On our journey, we spent an hour at an ostrich farm, where we listened to short lecture about the birds, looked at some baby ostriches, and then fed the animals by hand. Because this was another shopping stop, several people bought ostrich eggs and ostrich-leather purses.
Ostriches are dangerous — unless you ply them with food pellets.
Next, we drove to the Cape of Good Hope and to Cape Point (which are about 2.3 kilometers apart and visible from each other), where it’s traditionally said that the Atlantic Ocean and Indian Ocean meet. After a nice lunch, we rode the funicular to the lighthouse at Cape Point, where it seemed like we could look off to the end of the earth.
Our tour group at the Cape of Good Hope. [Photo by Brian.]
On our drive back to Cape Town, we stopped at Simon’s Town to visit a colony of penguins.
Cape Town
At long last — on the 17th day of our trip — we had a “free day”. We slept late, which felt great. After breakfast, Kris and I set off in search of Church Street, where it was rumored we could find some antique shops. (I’m still not clear on what Kris wanted South African antiques for or how she intended to get them home.)
Our path was re-routed by road construction, so we ended up at St. George’s Mall, a pedestrian thoroughfare filled with street vendors. We each bought a used book, then made our way through the Company’s Garden again.
At the top of the Company’s Garden, we stopped to tour the South African Museum — our first museum of the trip. (Contrast this to our visit to Europe last autumn, when it seemed like all we did was tour museums!) Our tour manager Brian had dismissed this as suitable only for schoolchildren, but we thought it was well worth the R15 (~$2) admission. We saw a Darwin exhibit, whale skeletons, prize-winning nature photographs, an enormous interactive model of the earth, and a 1970s-era display of Bushmen life.
After a couple of hours at the museum, we found our way to Church Street, though we decided not to browse the antique shops. Instead, we followed the trail of street vendors down to Greenmarket Square, where I spent nearly R1000 on tobacco! (A small shop had clove cigarettes. These are now illegal to sell in the U.S., but popular when my friends I enjoy the smoking porch. When I can find them in other countries, I buy them.) Kris and I ate lunch at the edge of Greenmarket Square.
In the late afternoon, we lounged by the pool. Jim Booth — who organized this trip for Willamette‘s alumni office — hosted a cocktail party in the evening, at which 13-year-old Ruby debuted her brand-new hair-do.
Ruby’s new haircut — note how talented she is!
Robben Island and Langa Township
On our final day of the trip, we saw some of the darker sides of Cape Town.
First, we boarded a ferry for the trip to Robben Island (or “seal island”), which lies about seven kilometers west of Cape Town. For 300 years, Robben Island served as a penal colony. Nelson Mandela spent about seventeen years imprisoned here.
Because I’d spent much of the trip reading about Mandela, I was looking forward to this visit. I didn’t know much about him when we started, but the more I learned, the more I liked. Mandela is a great man — and yet very human. There’s much to admire in him.
Ultimately, though, I found the tour of Robben Island disappointing. It lacked context. It felt rushed. If I hadn’t been done my own background reading, I don’t think I’d have got much out of this tour. As it is, I got very little. Still, after everyone else had gone, I lingered at Mandela’s cell to pay my respects.
In the afternoon, Kris and I took the optional “cultural tour” of Langa Township. Again, this felt rushed. (Can you see how this is a theme of this trip? I loved everything I saw, and wanted to spend more time at each place.) We rushed through District Six, a former inner-city residential area for blacks and coloreds (remember: “colored” means mixed-race in South Africa), which has a rich cultural history.
Ron Rhodes, looking at a map of District Six
The District Six Museum features a collection of embroidered recipes
At the Langa Cultural Center, Kris and I played marimba
But for me, the highlight of this excursion — and perhaps for the entire trip — was our visit to Langa Township. Here’s what Wikipedia has to say about townships:
During the Apartheid era, blacks were evicted from properties that were in areas designated as “white only” and forced to move into segregated townships. Separate townships were established for each of the three designated non-white race groups (blacks, coloreds, and Indians)…
Townships sometimes have large informal settlements nearby. Despite their origins in apartheid South Africa, today the terms township, location, and informal settlements are not used pejoratively.
Townships are permanent communities. As part of a township, there might be one or more “informal settlements”. You may know of informal settlements by less flattering terms, such as squatter camps or shantytowns.
For our tour of Langa Township, a young woman nicknamed Sugar (who lives in Langa) described how the local people work and live. As in any community, there are different levels of wealth in Langa. Some folks have relatively nice homes, with yards and garages and fences; we were told these belong to people who have university degrees: teachers, nurses, doctors and lawyers. These homes would seem small in the U.S., but are positively luxurious compared to the shacks in the informal settlements just a few hundred meters down the road.
Sugar led us on a short walking tour of some of the government-built housing in Langa. We were able to see two homes. I didn’t see much of the second because I stopped to talk with a girl in the first house (I couldn’t understand her African name, I’m afraid). I started by asking her about her life, but she was actually more curious about me. Where did I come from? Did I like Africa? And so on.
I wanted to know more about this girl; she wanted to know more about me.
I learned so much from this three-hour tour that I can’t possibly share it all here. Besides, you’re probably bored after reading this far. Instead, I’ve compiled this 9-minute video that features Sugar and Sophia (our guides) talking about the daily lives of township residents, especially from a financial perspective. I’ve done my best to annotate things to head off confusion.
This video is the cornerstone of this entire post.
I wish more of our trip could have been focused on meeting the people. While others appreciated the birds and the animals and the spectacular scenery, I got so much out of our brief interactions with actual South Africans and Zimbabweans.
Note: I found two great write-ups of Langa Township tours. One wonders if these tours treat the poor like zoo animals, but notes township residents don’t seem to mind. (This is what our guides told us, too — the residents like us to see how they live.) The other is from an up-close-and-personal walking tour, the kind I wish I’d taken.
Farewell to Africa
Back at the hotel, we were treated to a chaotic (read: African) farewell dinner. The food and wine were served in fits and starts, with some tables (or people) being served their main course while others had to wait for their appetizer. But it was all good. We enjoyed each other’s company, and reminisced about the trip.
On the morning of Day 19, we boarded a plane for Johannesburg to begin our 36-hour trip home.
My typical breakfast: baked beans, beef mince, a sweet roll, and fruit. I loved it!
I don’t think Kris and I really knew what to expect before our trip to southern Africa, but we both loved it. Kris had been wary, I think, worried about violence and crime. But we both came to love the land, the animals, and — especially — the people. I’m glad we did this. In fact, I’d encourage more people to consider southern Africa when they plan vacations. Sure, it’s a bit more expensive and requires a bit more time, but the rewards are worth it. Who cares about a Mexican resort when you can come home with memories of elephants and hippos and bush dinners — and of Langa Township…
The middle of our trip to Africa was spent looking at wildlife. We moved from Zimbabwe to Kruger National Park in South Africa, where we enjoyed two full days driving the preserve, spotting a huge variety of birds and animals.
Humans have been roaming the area around Kruger National Park for about 250,000 years, and it has long been teeming with game. It currently forms the largest portion of the Great Limpopo Transfrontier Park, a vast “peace park” that will soon cover nearly 100,000 square kilometers (36,000 square miles). As a transfrontier park, it spreads into more than one country: it reaches into Zimbabwe and Mozambique.
With so much space, there’s plenty of room for the animals to roam free. All the same, there are only small numbers of certain critters. While there are over 130,000 impala in Kruger, for example, there are just 300 black rhino and 350 wild dogs. (Every guide said the same thing: “I can’t guarantee you’ll see any animals today. [beat] Except impala. I guarantee you’ll see impala.”) The next-most populous animal in the park is the blue wildebeest (or gnu); there are 31,000 of them in Kruger. There are 23,000 zebra, 12,000 elephants, 7000 giraffes, 2000 lions, and 2000 hyena (but we didn’t see a single one).
Because the park is so huge, we only saw a small piece of it. On both Thursday and Friday, we spent six to eight hours in safari vehicles, driving through the southern reaches near Skukuza Gate. We entered through Paul Kruger Gate, and roamed the hard and soft roads nearby, searching for game.
We saw all of the Big Five — leopard, lion, elephant, rhino, and buffalo — though some were easier to spot than others. The two leopards we saw, for instance, were both back from the road. One was in a tree, which gave us a better view, but he was still tough to photograph.
This video will give you a ten-minute tour of the park. I took over an hour of footage and have trimmed it to this. Because the animals were sometimes far away, and because we were in a moving vehicle, and because it was sometimes raining, the video isn’t always as steady or as clear as I’d like. But I still hope it’s fun.
A ten-minute video of highlights from Kruger.
I also got some good photos. For instance, here are three photos that show what it’s like to ride in a safari vehicle, looking at animals. The vehicles have high sides, but still offer plenty of space for a passenger to take photos. If it gets too rainy, the sides can be rolled down so people stay dry. (We had a couple of misty periods during which we covered ourselves with blankets.)
Life in a safari vehicle — to the animals we look like one big, lumbering beast.
Close encounter with a lion.
There are only 350 wild dogs in the park; we saw six. They seemed curious about us.
Our guide in Chobe told us that when we’re in a safari vehicle, we seem like one big beast to the wild animals. But if we were to climb out, we’d suddenly become prey. We stayed inside.
I don’t know what I was expecting from the game drives (by the way, “game drives” and “safaris” are apparently the same thing), but I enjoyed them. If anything, they went too quickly. I would have liked to spend a week driving slowly through the park. I never tired of looking at the animals. Mostly they just did boring stuff. But so what? Their boring stuff was still new to me. And sometimes we got to see neat things, like a month-old baby elephant. Who knew baby elephants could be so cute?
I’m not usually a fan of baby animals (except kittens), but even I loved the baby elephants.
Here are a handful of other animal photos from our trip (click on each to view a larger image at Flickr).
First, the elegant, stately giraffe, which was probably my favorite animal of the trip. I loved them.
Next, the zebra, in all its psychedelic glory. Apparently, people have tried to domesticate them, but they’re just not good workers. Note that one of the beasts has a huge hunk out of his right foreleg.
And here’s a baboon, who knows that sometimes you just have to let it all hang out.
Finally, here’s a photo of a vervet monkey on the porch of our hotel. There were many monkeys around the lodge, and when Kris opened the patio door, they came running to see her. They were hoping for food. This little guy was hoping most of all.
I have many other animal photos, and am happy to bore you with them when I see you in person.
As I may have mentioned, Kris was enamored with all of the birds we saw in southern Africa. She made friends with Jim and Linda, a couple from Salem, who are avid birders. Together, the three of them cataloged their sitings. Here are two of the common birds we saw at Kruger:
The European Roller (as ubiquitous as our Scrub Jay) and the Southern Yellow-Billed Hornbill
At first, we were delighted to see the very beautiful European Roller. Eventually we realized they’re also very common. “There’s a roller on every tree,” became Kris’s motto, because it truly seemed like there were. But that’s okay. There’s a blue jay on every tree here in Oregon, and I still like them.
One of my favorite things about Africa was the sky. Parts of the U.S. are known for having a “big sky”, but I’ve never really understood what that meant. Now I know. Namibia had a huge sky. And the skies around Kruger were gorgeous, too.
Three views of the African sky — one with impala.
On our first evening at Kruger, we spent a couple of hours getting to know Alissa and Ruby, the mother and daughter from Jacksonville, Oregon. Alissa is an attorney and about our age. Ruby is thirteen, and probably the most talented person I will ever meet. (Well, according to Ruby, anyhow.) She’s also besotted by Justin Bieber.
On the second evening, the group was entertained by a group of young singers from the local area. The Tipfuxeni Youth Project sang traditional songs, and then asked some members of the audience to dance. I knew early on that I’d be dragged onto the dancefloor. I was the closest to the group, and the young woman on the end kept eying me. Anita got some snaps of my smooth moves:
I was as graceful as a rhino. [Photo by Anita.]
Our safari days were awesome. It’d be great to come back to Kruger in the future to drive through in our own vehicle. I’d love to spend a week watching the animals, lingering for an hour to watch a giraffe eat instead of hurrying on to the next photo op.
After three days in the park, we boarded a plane to Cape Town.
