Happy New Year! May this year be better than the last but not as good as the next!

Check out pictures of my trip here.

Into Africa

Many of you know that I like to read and sometimes cannot find a book that grabs my attention at the bookstore. I love it when someone recommends a book that they consider their most favorite read in a long time.

One of these recommended books was Poisonwood Bible, a true story of a Baptist missionary who moved his family from the comforts only found in the US, to Congo. The cruelty inflicted on the family by the overzealous father is only part of the horror suffered by the wife and daughters. To my pleasure the minister dies at the end of the book while the wife and two eldest daughters overcome diversity to forge a new life, all in different locations and styles.

I read the book quickly, enjoying the scenery, the drama and the final outpouring of help that the natives bestowed on the down and out family. I wanted to be there to embrace the characters, to witness the beauty of the country, of Africa.

Two days after I finished the book I received an email from a friend who had been laid off from his job. It was an email directed to some 50 of his acquaintances. In his email he told us that he was renting a house in Cape Town for six months and was inviting all to come visit him and his family in South Africa. “Who wanted to come?”

I think it took me less then two seconds to make up my mind. “When do you have available time and space for me?” I asked in my email reply.

His response took a few days to get back to me. I was sure that he was trying to schedule the arrival of all who responded. “When do you want to come?”

I called Delta to confirm a seat. I booked tours to Zimbabwe and Botswana and then emailed Henry with my itinerary. “Arriving Cape Town, Sunday, November 18^th. Can I stay until November 27^th?”

A few more days passed as he checked the schedule of all who responded, or so I thought.

When the email came Henry explained his delay. He had just come back from a safari with his family in Namibia or someplace nearby.

“Those dates are open. You will not have to sleep on the floor,” he wrote.

I made an appointment with my doctor to see what shots and medications I needed for immunizations. While at the doctor’s office he suggested that I stay for my yearly check up since I was two years behind. “I can squeeze you in between patients as we get blood and urine samples. It may take a little longer, but at least you will not have to come back again. Do you mind?” asked my doctor.

I was so excited to be getting my vaccinations that I was really not paying attention to what he was suggesting. “No, I do not mind.”

They measured my heart rate, my blood pressure, I did not mind. They stuck a large needle into my vein to draw blood, I did not mind. I peed in a cup, that was the easy part, I did not mind. Hell, I did not even mind when the doctor came in asked me to cough and then ordered me: “Bend over!” I was so excited about my trip and getting ready for it way ahead of time that if the doctor would have asked me to stand on my head I would have. Within the hour I had my shots and a prescription for anti-Malaria pills and my late yearly check up.

All said and done, I still had over two months to wait before my departure. Two long months! Customers that I talked to about my trip recommended books for me to read. Two of the best were: A Traitor’s Heart, by Rian Malan and Southern Africa: Today and Yesterday by A.W. Wells, first published in 1939. After reading so many “serious” books I read Whatever You Do, Don't Run: True Tales of a Botswana Safari Guide by Peter Allison.

I read so much that I started to dream at night, believing that I was already there. At work I could not concentrate for wanting to be in some jungle sneaking up on elephants and rhinos. I had visions of Victoria Falls and the rain forest created by the mist as the water plunges some 100 meters over the 1700-meter wide edge (that is a mile long). I was ready for my trip.

Two weeks before my departure, I took my 35mm camera to get checked out and, as luck would have it, I purchased a larger memory card for my digital camera. A week before departing I had my suitcase packed and waiting by the back door. Never had I been more prepared for a journey as I was for this one. A journey of a lifetime!

Finally, finally the day came. Victor, my son, took me to the airport in his brand new Mustang. I walked into the airport and felt like I was entering an old friends house. Even though it had been so long since I last traveled, I quickly felt comfortable in the hustle and bustle atmosphere. It was a great place to be. I was at the doorway of a new adventure.

Because of the long flight, my reservations were made for first class seating from Dallas to Atlanta. Delta’s first class seating was not as impressive as I thought they would be. Arriving in Atlanta I went to The Crown Room, the first class and elite business club where I was greeted and invited in to enjoy hors d’oeuvres and what ever beverages I would want. I sipped green tea in hopes that it would give me a relaxed feeling, a sleepy relaxed feeling.

After an hour in the lounge I went to my gate and mingled with the tourists. Most of the people were smiling and happy, ready to go. They called seating priority section one. That was me!

As soon as I walked into the business elite cabin I realized how smart I was to spend the extra miles for this flight. The cabin was spacious, the chairs roomy and seemingly very comfortable.

After dinner I reclined my chair to the maximum flat position. In the comfort of these chairs I suddenly realized how tired I was. It was after 9:00 pm, with the excitement of my travels I had been up since 5:00am. I spread the blanket over the length of my body before fastening the seatbelt for all to see. I curled up into a ball and quickly fell asleep.

The flight crew, who felt it was necessary to let everybody know that we were beginning our decent into Dakar, rudely awakened me.

I quickly sat up and opened the blind covering my window. I wanted to be the first on our flight to spot Africa. I wanted to scream: “Land ho!”

As I was looking out the window I had my finger pushed on the button to prepare my seat for landing. I looked down hoping to see city lights, not a one. I looked straight out the window in hopes to catch city lights in the distance as we arrived into the capital of Senegal. Nothing!

I looked up too see the stars, to make sure that it was not cloudy since I could not see any lights at all. And then I noticed a white streak below. A wave, we were crossing over the coast of Africa. We had arrived. I felt my heart shift gears as it began to beat with fast anticipation. I would soon see the beautif… My heart stopped, the cities few skyscrapers raised to 4 stories. In the dark of the early morning the buildings cement exteriors seemed to be unfinished; there was not even a reflection on the windows. The surrounding flat roof homes that filled the city were colorless in the dark of the night and then we landed at the ugliest airport that I have ever seen.

Almost as soon as we came to a stop, support vehicles and crews as well as military equipment surrounded us, isolating us from the rest of the planes on the tarmac. As soon as the doors opened an officer entered the aircraft.

Only the passengers with tickets to Dakar were allowed to deplane. The rest of us were told to stay at our seats and to politely answer all questions posed by the customs agents, who would come on board in search of drugs, contraband and or weapons.

The plane was dismantled by a large contingent of agents who tore seat cushions from the metal frames emptied all contents from the overhead bins and quickly put everything neatly back together again. Thoughts of the book “Midnight Express” came to mind. I was wondering how many of the passengers were going to be led way from the plane never to be seen again.

After the customs agents left, empty handed and with out any drug traffickers screaming and pleading for their lives, the captain came out of the cockpit as he and his crew readied for a crew change.

“Why would you land in a place like this, don’t you get scared every time you fly in?"

“Senegal is located on the Cape Verde Peninsula, the nearest outcropping of land on our flight path to J’berg. It makes for a perfect location for refueling. We can get in and out in less then an hour. You get used to the agents after a few trips.”

As the plane took off towards the west, the sunrays began to illuminate the city. I was hoping that there would be enough light to see the city as we departed. I am sure that there had to be some beauty to this capital. I was wrong—the dawn’s rays made the city seemed more ugly and distressed than in the dark of the night. Luckily we flew out in the same direction that we flew into, causing the brief view of the city to quickly disappear.

Below us the beautiful waters of the Atlantic Ocean symbolically washed the Senegal grime from our ship. The captain turned the aircraft in a southerly direction and skimmed the coast for hours. From 37,000 feet the coast of Africa seemed beautiful as the ocean’s waves gently caressed the sandy beaches.

If you looked further east into Africa, the landscape quickly turned into a lunar surface. Gray and flat, sterile almost, the landscape was totally void of color and interest. I tried to keep an eye out for something to awe me. The landscape was sad. Very unflattering for a continent where I was about to spend fourteen days.

As far as I could see there were no lakes, rivers, or creeks. I could see no patches of vegetation. I tried looking for cities. None. What about towns or villages?

I looked for roads or paths that I thought would lead to… to where? Nowhere.

After several long minutes I gave up. I closed the blind and read my book.

Occasionally I would open my blind and look out the window, for hours we followed the coastline. Finally as I looked out the window I saw beauty. Wow! What a difference a few thousand miles made. Somewhere along the way the ship turned east. We were now flying over cultivated land, full of circles and rectangle parcels of disked, seemingly rich fertile soils.

Roads crisscrossed the surface below. Farmhouses and structures stood out in the middle of large fields. Rivers made their way like a large snake, to and fro, near and far through fertile soils. Lakes or ponds were scattered through the beautiful landscape. Irrigation canals or ditches led from these basins. This land was alive and doing well.

Finally the captain made the announcement that we would be arriving into Johannesburg shortly. It was a long flight. From Atlanta to Johannesburg was 18 hours. Add the two hours from Dallas to Atlanta and the one-hour for refueling. Twenty-one hours.

I was ready to get off of the plane and felt somewhat sorry for those traveling in the uncomfortable and cramped coach seats, but I quickly got over the sorrow as I disembarked the plane. My hurry to get through customs and get to my hotel made me think only of myself. I wanted to beat the other passengers before they clogged the lines at the immigration office. I did, and since I only had my carry-on suitcase I quickly sailed through customs and out of the airport to look for my shuttle bus.

Before my trip many people cautioned me about assaults and car jackings in any large city in South Africa. I was told that the unemployment was above 25% and crime was unchecked. At all times I was to have my defenses up and my eyes wide open.

As I exited the terminal I followed the signs that pointed towards BUS & SHUTTLE SERVICE.

As soon as I left the security of the airport there were fifteen to twenty rough looking men who vulture-like waited for tourists to arrive. You would think that I was the only tourist to come out of the airport. These men did not circle around me, patiently. They pounced. They must have done their best not to laugh for I knew that my eyes must have bugged out. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in fear.

One guy approached and in an English that I could barely understand he growled: “Take you to your destination. Cheaper then legal taxi.”

I turned on my heals and headed back into the safety of the airport. I then saw another sign a few exits away. Once again as I exited the terminal the same guy waited for me.

“I met you at other exit,” he mumbled. “I take you to destination!” It seemed more like a command rather than a request. If I, or any unsuspecting tourist would have accepted a ride from the “vultures,” I felt that we would be taken for a ride.

I turned around again. This time I waited for a group of people to exit and quickly joined them. As a group we walked safely to the shuttle buses. I saw my ride “Garden Court Hotel” and quickly entered the van. The hotel was only three miles away from the airport, but with all the construction going on the van made its way in what seemed like an eternity of circles before exiting the airport. Once on the roads more construction signs seemed to weave us through more loops and underpasses.

After a three mile, twenty minute ride we arrived at the hotel. As soon as I got off the van I noticed how clean and modern it was, very similar to a Holiday Inn. I had paid for the room in advance and scheduled the shuttle pick up at the same time. I was pleased with the arrangements and the continental breakfast. I did get one surprise, and that was that the shuttle service, which I thought was free, did cost $5.00 each way. I was still grateful for the service, but would have liked to have been told of the charge upfront.

In Dallas, one customer had advised me to go to Soweto. Soweto was a township created outside of Johannesburg to house the evicted black-Africans from the white-only areas as mandated by the 'Urban Areas Act' in 1923. The city was to be a planned area with two-room housing, but quickly grew into a squatter’s village by the displaced blacks. My customer told me that not only were there shacks but also a mixture of modest and upper-class homes as well as schools and hospitals in this 65 square kilometer area that housed over one million residents. I wanted to go out to Soweto, but after the incident at the airport with the “vultures” I thought that it would be safer to stay at the hotel.

Because of my fear, I did what I have never done before; I ate at one of the hotel’s three restaurants. This one had a menu that offered African fare as opposed to the Mexican Cantina or the Steak House. I ate Yassa, a marinated fish with grilled onions. The real reason I chose this dish was for the lemon-garlic marinade. I was very pleased with my selection.

I went to my room, took some sleeping pills and woke up in time for breakfast and my return trip to O.R. Tambo Airport. Now I was ready for my real adventure to start.

Zimbabwe

Zimbabwe. This was to be the highlight of my trip. I had wanted to see Victoria Falls since I visited Niagara Falls some thirty years ago, back when Olan Mills, the founder of the portrait company, hired me to drive him up and through the Northeast for three weeks during winter break from college. I was awed by the beauty of the waters cascading over the long edge of this gorge. Thunder Alley was a name I remembered the tour guide saying. The roar of the water cascading over the horseshoe dolomite walls imprinted in me a life long memory. I hoped then, that I would soon be able to see other beautiful waterfalls throughout the world.

Thirty something years later I was on my way to Victoria Falls. I was eagerly anticipating the beauty of this wonder of the world. As I entered the airport terminal and looked at the monitors for my flight I was amazed by the destinations being shown. Ouagadougou, Ibadan, Malabo, and others that were more familiar—Cairo, Tripoli and Algiers, a city I visited in Morocco twenty years ago.

I boarded a British Airway flight that left on time and had several pleasant flight attendants that seemed to enjoy their job. The attention that they gave to each passenger as they listened to their request seemed to make them feel as if they were their only passengers.

I was most impressed with the flight attendants as they cleaned the cabin after the meal. Using a cart that had several plastic bins on top, the debris was picked up and neatly placed in each bin according to the material it was made from. On the spot the crew separated plastic, paper, aluminum and glass. They were placed so neatly that some of the items looked as if they were ready for reuse on the next flight.

We landed outside of the Town of Victoria Falls, at an airport that seemed like a relic from World War II. Some recent remodeling made this airport façade appear more modern than the one in Senegal. Once inside you realized there was nothing modern about this terminal. They herded us into a dark room illuminated only by the sun’s light that filtered through the openings from which the baggage would soon be dropping. A full flight of passengers, excited about our once in a lifetime visit to this host country of a natural wonder, waited in line as the two immigration officers processed our entry. I hoped out loud that the government was purposefully ignoring this entrance to their country so that they could use tourist dollars to feed the needy. It took an hour of waiting in a hot African building before we were all allowed to enter Zimbabwe and leave for our hotels. As I made my way out of the customs area I saw a sign with my name on it. Damn! Not even in a foreign country can they spell my name properly:

RHODE

I wanted to say something, but decided that it was not worth it. I walked up to the Wild Horizon representative and introduced myself.

We waited for two more tourists to join us before heading to our van.

The arid landscape that I had seen the day before as we flew into Africa was not much changed here on ground level. The drive into the city seemed more desolate than a drive through West Texas. At least in West Texas, you did not expect to see forests of dried up trees and vegetation.

No animals were seen on the way in, only dead trees and dead grasses. It saddened me to think that the whole continent may some day be as desolate as the landscape that bordered this narrow highway, as dry as the Sahara desert.

“Wow!” As we came around a bend in the highway someone exclaimed. “Wow!”

We all looked at the amazed screamer. Our eyes went beyond the window through which he was looking. I do not know how far away we were from the exclamation worth view but there it was. A cloud rose above the leafless, drought stricken trees. Smoke from the dried up jungle?

Quickly I realized that it was not smoke, but the mist from the falls. In unison we all exclaimed in awe: “Wow!”

My heart began to beat hard and quick. I hoped that the driver was going to take us straight to the falls so that we could cleanse the sweat from our damp clothes caused by the wait in the ugly, dark and hot room that served as the immigration office.

We left the narrow highway and entered a wider road that led to the town center. The bustling town had a traffic jam with the commuters coming and going to work. The traffic was a weird sight and reminded me of Beijing in 1985 when bicycles dominated the traffic. Here the traffic was pedestrian. The cost of a bicycle was more than two years of wages for most of these people. Bus rides cost more than half a day’s wages, I was told. So, the locals walked, dangerously spilling onto the roadway as they made their way into the city.

As we slowly drove by these commuters we saw them trudging out of narrow paths surrounded by dead brush. With each step that they took a puff of very dried sand rose as high as their knees before settling again. I strained to see where they were going, where they were coming from. Wherever these paths led to, they disappeared deep into the brush, the dried brush. Children stood next to the roads, waving as we passed by, their extended bellies showed their hunger, their smiling faces belied their pain.

Once again the mist became visible. This time it did not seem to raise as high as during our first viewing. I assumed that it was because of our proximity and the narrow angle of view that we now had.

Finally we made it to the A’Zambezi Hotel located on the shores of the Zambezi River. The ads that I saw showed this thatched roof hotel as the only one in Victoria Falls over looking the rivers edge. It’s cost of only $100.00 per night with breakfast included also influenced my decision.

As I got out of the van I was visibly disappointed that we had not gone to the falls. The driver asked me if I was well. I told him that I thought that we were going directly to the falls.

He looked at a list with my itinerary. “This evening you will be picked up and transported to the Zambezi Marina for your Sunset Cruise and dinner. Tomorrow, at 7:30am you will be picked up and driven to Botswana for your safari at Chobe National Park.”

I looked bewildered enough to catch his attention. “What is the matter, are you dissatisfied with the arraignments?”

“I traveled all the way here to see the falls, when do I see them?”

“Not until Sunday. I will personally pick you up and be your guide that day. Do not worry. I will make sure that they do not turn the water off before you get there.”

“Ha!” I laughed out loud. I had waited thirty years to see these falls, the falls that were first seen by a white man, Dr. David Livingston, in 1855. In three more days another white man would realize his dreams of seeing the “smoke that thunders” up close. I figured that they would not change much before I arrived.

Zambezi River

At 5:00 pm I was picked up by Horizon Tours for my drive to the Zambezi Marina. The van exited the hotel and made a quick right after a long drive that covered the distance of 100 yards, and in only 20 seconds we were at the marina. As I climbed out of the van I saw my hotel room less then a stone’s throw away.

We embarked onto a wood framed boat with tables set on either side so that we would be able to eat and travel near the shores and get spectacular views of the green vegetation growing on the river’s edge. Yes, at last there was a jungle to look into. Granted, the vegetation was so thick that we could not see very far beyond the shores of the river.

The boat went north, away from the falls, which was disappointing, until I thought of the screaming people who would plummet to their deaths if the engine of their dinner cruise ship lost power. The drunken tourist, led by me, would have demanded a refund as we plunged down the 100-meter drop.

Whatever disappointment I may have had quickly disappeared as we made our way into a shallow pool where we saw a pod of hippos. Several of these yawned, their mouths opened wide as if greeting us.

As the boat drew near, we all clicked away. I was doing double duty as I snapped photos with my 35mm Vivitar, my trusted 30-year-old camera—the camera that has traveled with me around the world. I then snapped more pictures with my Canon digital that would allow me to download shots to my family, who I had left behind in Dallas.

After we moved away from this pod of hippos we saw them disappear into the deeper center of the river. As they crossed the river we saw the wake caused by their massive bodies moving quickly under water, a wonderfully amazing sight. And more amazing was that I never did see them come up for air until they made it to the other side.

We moved just a few more yards up the river. Crocs! Well, one croc. Well, a baby croc.

It would be the first of many and the smallest of those that we would see. But being the first, and not knowing if there would be more, I snapped five photos and three digitals.

And then came the birds, lots of birds. Sandpiper, Crested flycatcher, Opened Billed Stork, African Fish Eagle, Great Heron, Egret, more flycatchers. “Hold on!” I screamed. “They’re coming too fast!”

Every time I took a photo with my 35mm I would write down the name of the bird with the corresponding frame on the camera. By the time I finished writing the names down and adjusting my zoom lens, the guide was three birds ahead of me. But, I was getting some great shots.

Birds flew in low in front of our boat. Snap.

An eagle darted over us with fresh prey secured by its sharp talons. Snap.

Herons took off on a long cumbersome effort to try and gain altitude. Snap.

The boat slowed down as we entered another inlet. Now that was a croc! At least fifteen feet long from snout to tip of the tail. It opened its eyes and glared at us. Not his food, so it closed its eye and dosed off again. I did not dare turn it over to sex it, but it looked large and mean: a female?

As we stared at this crocodile anther one swam past us. Less the 10 feet from our boat, the large protruding scales visible over the water as this dinosaur like beast glided effortlessly through the water. Snap.

We moved on. We saw several water buffalo rolling in the mud. We kept our distance as they lazily got up from their mud bath and looked at us, their horns moved from side to side, bravely asking: “Do you want a piece of me?”

And I did. The crew called us to dinner. It did include water buffalo, which turned out not to be as tough as it looked standing in the mud. Also on the cooker were crocodile and springbok and chicken.

I was so disappointed with the meal, which consisted of four meats. The cook served one piece of each variety to each passenger. Each piece, I swear on the bible, was smaller then a single popped corn. I swear on the bible. There were no vegetables or rice to go with this and I had planned for this meal to last me until breakfast?

Who did they think they were feeding, starving Africans? And… I swear as soon as I thought of the starving children that we saw on the roadside coming in from the airport I lost my appetite. I did not complain. I was hoping that they were saving our portions for their children whose bellies were not as extended as those I was now crying for.

The sun was setting, the sky was turning from blue to orange, and birds flew over as they dashed for the safety of their nest. Our boat turned around and made its way back to the marina. Once on land I walked back to my room, untangled my mosquito netting, and crawled under for a long sleep.

The next morning, Saturday, I woke up early feeling rather hungry. I went to the restaurant and arrived just as they were opening. I ordered a large omelet with tomatoes, diced ham, lots of cheese and onions. While I waited for my omelet I shuffled over to the bread bar and chose a chocolate filled croissant and a plain one too.

As I was about to sit down an Asian couple walked into the restaurant, and after selecting their breakfast came into the seating area that overlooked the Zambezi River. I stood up and introduced myself; they invited me to sit with them. It turned out that they were also going on the same tour as I was to the Chobe National Park in Botswana.

The Wild Horizon Tours Van picked us up promptly at 7:30. We made one more stop at the very opulent hotel “Victoria Falls.” While we waited for the passengers to board I ran into the hotel with my camera ready. Built in 1902, this beautiful hotel should be seen as a tourist attraction for those like me that did not want to pay $200.00 per night for single accommodations. Just beyond the reception area is a beautiful courtyard featuring ponds filled with lilies surrounded by quiet sitting areas surrounded by palm trees. Snap-snap-snap. Passing through a hallway that led to the rooms, I went out into a garden that overlooked the swimming pool area and opened up to the lower river beyond the falls, a site to be seen. Snap-snap-snap.

Back out to the van that was now waiting for me, we headed out to Chobe, a ride that would take us to the border with Botswana. On the way, the driver slammed on his brakes and pointed out two zebras, I saw them, but by the time I readied my camera they ran off and quickly disappeared behind some brush. Double damn.

A few more yards down the road and just when we started to pick up speed, the driver again came to a quick stop. “Giraffe,” he said as he pointed into the bush.

I looked; I looked at the other tourists looking for the giraffe. We looked blankly.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Under the tall tree, just to the right.”

Immediately we saw it. No larger than 12 foot tall, it blended in perfectly with the surrounding brush. The guide spoke: “Maybe we will see its mother.”

We waited several minutes. My 35mm camera clicked away, and I took one with my digital. Finally we moved on, stopping when we arrived at the border where we were instructed to take all our belongings through customs and immigrations out of Zimbabwe and into Botswana. Between both countries we were asked to walk over a large sponge that would disinfect our feet of any diseases that would be harmful to wildlife.

Botswana

In the building serving as Botswana’s Immigration/Customs office I found one interesting piece of equipment: a condom dispenser. Never in my travels have I seen a dispenser inviting you to take a condom. The message, “Real men use condoms.” I took a pack as a souvenir for my son Victor.

Leaving customs we were picked up by another vehicle, a much cooler vehicle than what we had been traveling in. This one was a Land Rover that had been fixed up to allow tourists to have stadium seating and uninterrupted views of whatever interest they may find.

Our first stop was the Chobe Marina. From this very beautiful building we were to leave for the first part of our tour: The Chobe River.

We made our way onto a flat, shallow, aluminum boat that would afford us entry into some of the more shallow waters and allow a closer look of some of the wildlife.

As we were departing the marina an eagle swooped down, its talons barely broke the waters surface as it grabbed a fish. Where was my camera when I needed it?

We had been in the water for less than two minutes when we came upon a group of hippos. Only their ears and nostrils were visible. We stopped, but just for a short while before our guide thrust the throttle forward and took us to the shore of a nearby island where a monitor lizard hunted for fresh eggs. And then two more sauntered over and all of a sudden there were five monitors, each larger than the other. A flock of Egyptian Storks were scattered around the island hopping around nervously. The monitors all headed in different directions, their tongues darting in and out sensing food near by. I wonder if the monitor lizards have a signal that brings them out of hiding when the tourists arrive.

Just a few minutes passed before we headed off again. This time we went a little farther, our ride taking at least three minutes. We stopped in front of another pod of hippos. Just behind them, maybe 100 yards away, there were two large male elephants. The elephants were camera shy and immediately started to walk away from us and into the Chobe River.

Here they decided was a good spot to entertain us. Both animals started to fight. The colliding of their tusk as they slammed them together sounded as though they were cracking. For several minutes they sparred until one of them turned away and headed toward deeper water, the other followed. They both disappeared into the murky water. The guide did not move the boat. We waited, and then just a few yards from us, as if synchronized, the trunks of both elephants appeared. Using their trunks as snorkels the elephants made it to the other shore and walked out. A herd of impalas sauntered away to give room.

Our guide slowly made his way to the impalas. Two of them began to lock horns, the sound of their clashing antlers barely audible in contrast to the elephants’ tusks. Our guide moved on, entering a small inlet where a pod of about sixteen hippos tried to stay cool from the mid morning sun. The dominant hippo mounted a nearby cow, his slow rhythmic body movements created waves that rocked our boat, bringing the odors of the stagnant water to fill our nostrils. We did not have to ask our guide to leave as he headed back into the Chobe. Traveling up river, birds of all sorts stood at the shoreline, or perched in trees. Some skimmed over the water’s smooth surface in front of our boat.

Blacksmith Plover, Black Billed Sacred Ibis, Great Heron, Goliath Heron, Open-Bill Stork, Ground Hornbill, Yellowed Bellied Kite, African Darter, Kingfisher, Sandpiper, and more birds than I could photograph and record in my diary.

As if he was giving me a break the guide pulled up next to a resting herd of Water Buffalo. It did not take them long to stand up, our guide quickly backed the boat up as he explained to us that the water buffalo was one of the meanest animals in Chobe.

Nearby, our guide saw a rather large croc sunning on the shore. A very large croc indeed, we all started taking photos as our guide approached. He might be waiting for a buffalo to come near before slipping into the water and attacking. Slipping the tip of our boat onto the shore the guides then asked who among us would like to get up close and personal. I did! A fellow passenger took my photo; I later noticed that I was not smiling at the moment.

Back at the Marina a buffet type meal was waiting for us, unlike the skimpy meal offered during my Sunset Cruise in Zimbabwe, the meal had many offerings. Meats served included chicken, fish, impala and water buffalo. To accompany the meats there were several rice dishes, potatoes and salads. Everything was delicious; the table was placed on the balcony overlooking the Chobe River. As we ate in this relaxed setting, I considered that the view from this outlook was worth the price of the tour. Well… almost.

The afternoon guide arrived by 1:00pm and drove us into the wildlife refuge. As we began our tour we saw a truck full of soldiers heading out of the park. They were standing in the back of an all terrain truck, their machine guns strapped to their shoulders. The guide told us that they were here to protect the elephants from poachers.

As we drove into the reserve I noticed that the larger trees seemed dead or dying. The smaller shrubs were sprouting, but barely. I truly expected to see more green vegetation rather than the dried up landscape that I was witnessing. “How can animals live here?”

As I asked the question to myself, the driver stopped. I was wondering what he was looking at. I scanned the 360 degrees, nothing. No noise, no sights except for the dead brush.

As if a ghost appeared, a very large elephant passed beside our jeep, followed by fifteen more. Large and small elephants walked by quietly. One elephant approached a Mopane tree and scratched the bark with its tusk. As it peeled bark from the tree you could see the shiny white, nutritious layer the elephant sought, proving that the trees were not dead. The elephant wrapped its trunk around the bark and quietly pulled a large piece off and stuffed it in its mouth.

“I thought the trees were dead?”

The guide explained to us that normally the trees would have leafed out, but the rains had not arrived yet.

I hoped that the rains would arrive soon, this land looked so parched, so dead that I believed it was. Branches were broken; trees were toppled or covered by the only greenery that I saw: an aggressive growing vine that our guide called Wooly Caper Bush. It reminded me of the kudzu that is taking over much of the forests in America’s southern states. The Wooly Caper Bush can grow so aggressively that its weight alone can topple large trees. Add wind to it and the easier it becomes to hear a large tree fall in the forest.

We did see other animals: Wart hogs, Puku (red antelope), Springbok and then a rare daytime sitting of badgers scurrying under some fallen trees. Further into the reserve we came upon a very large troop of baboons scattered underneath the canopy of some leafless trees.

Just to the side of the road there was a male baboon being groomed by a much smaller female. The attention she was giving to her mate made me jealous. “I want to get in line!” I shouted.

As soon as I finished my statement the male quickly moved behind his groomer and mounted her. “Real men use condoms!” I tried to remind him of the posters displayed on billboards. Before I could find the condoms he was finished.

One of the tourists on our jeep asked if I still wanted to get in line.

During our meandering through the plains of Chobe National Park we noticed piles of ashes dotting the landscape. Our guide told us that one of the problems that animals faced in Chobe was Anthrax. He reminded us of the sponge we walked on to clean the bottom of our shoes upon entering Botswana. Anthrax, an acute bacterial disease, mainly affects wild and domestic animals exposed by inhaling, or ingesting anthrax spores. The high temperatures produced when burning carcasses of animals will destroy anthrax spores.

Let me get this straight.

• The lush savannahs of Chobe National Park are not lush, because the rains are late in arriving. But, as I was flying into Africa, all of central Africa seemed parched and unlivable.
• The elephants in Chobe, which comprise the largest herds left in the world, are not being culled, yet the trees that they favor are being destroyed faster than they can re-grow.
• The soldiers are patrolling the reserve against poachers, but elephants are still being killed, usually complete herds, just for their tusks.
• Anthrax is killing elephants and other animals that eat spore infected vegetation or carcasses.

As a result of my trip, I know that I am grateful for the all that I witnessed. I am grateful for the birds, reptiles and animals that I saw. But I am sorrowed by the prospects of all of the areas that I saw. I am sorry for the animals that shortly may not be.

I really wonder how long this continent can sustain life.

I hope and wish that everyone would be able to travel to Zimbabwe and Botswana or other areas in Africa before extreme changes occur that would cause major parts of this continent to exist as we remembered it from old Tarzan movies where hippos, water buffalo and the majestic elephants roamed freely in their natural habitat.

I rode in silence all the way back to the Town of Victoria Falls. We arrived just before dusk. I walked out to the shores of the Zambezi River that caressed the hotel grounds. The lush green vegetation that surrounded the hotel grounds, the seemingly impenetrable jungle visible on the opposite banks of the river, that is the Africa that I want to remember.

Victoria Falls

I woke up the next morning feeling less melancholic. This is the day that I had waited for.

Immediately after breakfast, as promised, the same guide that met me at the airport picked me up from the hotel. We made one stop before heading to Victoria Falls. Once away from the hotel grounds and from the rivers edge and all the way up to the gated area that protected the falls, the same absence of greenery shocked me.

As we entered the gate to the falls I was immediately surrounded by lush vegetation. Mist from the waterfall drifted upon us and quickly clung to my glasses and soaked my clothes. Plants that I had seen in photos, plants that I recognized immediately like the Pin Cushion, ferns, mushrooms and a Mimosa tree, and plants that I have never seen before graced either side of the walkway leading up to the falls. After a few more steps through the rain forest created by the heavy mist from the falls, I forgot about the plants. I had my first glimpse of the falls. Standing at the east end of the gorge created by millions of years of water eroding the basalt stone, I was mesmerized by the beauty of the water cascading thunderously over the edge. The sun’s full rays illuminated the water’s white mist. I was in the presence of something majestic. I was in heaven!

It was hard for me to move on, even though I knew I had much more to see. I noticed that my hands were held together as the Nuns instructed me when I received my First Holy Communion. I noticed that my mouth was wide open tasting the water as I tasted my first wafer. I was being baptized again. I truly believed that there had to be a God, for who else could have created such beauty.

I moved slowly, wanting to capture every inch of the view. I took photo after photo. I was very happy to be here. For the first time in years I felt peace.

As I stood there in wonder I heard some one say: “Water is like God. It is refreshing, it is like a blessing.”

I turned around thinking that she was talking to me. She was not. She was embracing her husband; they both gazed out into the distance, no more words were spoken. I wondered how many visitors to the falls felt the same way?

I looked around for my group and could not spot them. I did not miss them or feel like I needed to be with them, but the guide had been telling us about the history of the falls, the discovery of the falls and the different sections that made the whole. I had paid him for some of his knowledge and felt that the more I knew about this Seventh Natural Wonder the more I would enjoy it.

The walkways meandered in and out of lush rainforest. Their were mushrooms growing on rotting wood, florescent red pin cushions standing out so boldly amongst the green ferns, shaded by large mahogany trees and surrounded by large fig and palm trees. The overhead canopy shielded us from the thick mist created by the cascading water, allowing us to view the falls through the dense foliage. The beauty of it all enticed me to linger, and I did. I had never, not even in the renowned museums of Europe or at the Hermitage in Russia, enjoyed the beauty before me as I did here.

I could tell you about the five falls that form the one-mile long Victoria Falls.

I could tell you about the gorge that was created by the water as it carved deep into the rock. I could tell you about the view from above the Boiling Pot where people more adventurous than me descend to ride the white waters on rafts and kayaks. But, I won’t.

My whole world at that moment was surrounded by the beauty of the falls. The “smoke that thunders” drenched me to the bone in a comforting way, for as wet as I was, I was never cold or uncomfortable, and once I walked away from the falls my clothes and my hair quickly dried. Oh, how I wish that all of you could see the beauty that I saw.

My guide came looking for me (wondering if I had died and gone to heaven?). Everyone had gathered by the far fence near the bridge that separated Zimbabwe from Zambia. Once I was reunited with my small group the guide began to tell the story of Cecil Rhodes who immigrated to South Africa for health reasons. He later launched the De Beers Mining Company, and after acquiring his fortunes he used his money to help expand the British colonies, eventually conquering lands that would be named after him—Rhodesia.

At this point I interrupted my guide. Remember this is the same person that picked me up at the airport and had spelled my name incorrectly: Rhode.

“Do you remember my last name?” I asked.

“Yes, you are Mr. Rho…?” The look on his face expressed surprise.

“Rhode!” he said out loud. The others on our tour looked at me with interest.

“Are you related to the Rhodes?” (He pronounced it roads).

“Yes, I am very much related to the Rohde’s.” I said with my correct pronunciation of the name, which he did not catch.

But, one of the American tourists did. “Pronounce your name again,” she demanded.

“When I was at the airport he had misspelled my name. Now I was teasing him to see how long I could keep him in suspense.”

My guide laughed as he stated that never in his life as a guide had anyone interrupted him with such a parallel to his comments.

As we left the falls we found out that all of us were leaving that afternoon on the same flight, our driver hurriedly headed back to our hotels to gather our luggage. Our driver saw a train blocking the most direct route, causing him to cut through a parking lot and head in a new direction. He headed back to the falls and then turned down a road that bordered the southern edge of the park in which the falls were located.

After a few miles down this twisting road he stopped in front of a large Baobab tree.

I had seen large baobab’s earlier on this trip, but failed to mention them until the appropriate time. THIS is the appropriate time. The baobab or “upside down tree” usually has an average trunk diameter of 36 feet. It is in this massive trunk area where the tree stores a great amount of water to help it through the drought season. This tree also sheds it leaves for most of the year and only has foliage for about three months causing the compact branch structure to look more like its roots.

The Baobab that we were in front of is estimated to be over 1500 years old. The trunk has a diameter of 53 feet and a height of 60 feet. I took out my already packed camera and snapped four or five shots. I was impressed.

Back at the hotel the driver waited for me to gather my luggage and then took me to the airport for my trip to Cape Town via Johannesburg.

Cape Town

I arrived in Cape Town as the sun was setting. The plane landed to the North giving me my first glance of Table Mountain. I was amazed at how flat it actually seemed to be. A cloud appeared to roll over the edge. I later on found out that this was a common occurrence and the effect was dubbed “The Table Cloth.”

Henry picked me up at the airport and in a short while drove me to his house, a beautiful property in Constantia, an affluent neighborhood in Cape Town. Kirstein, Henry’s wife was in the kitchen making dinner while my godson Oskar and his sister Avery were in the pool, but politely came to greet me as I walked out to the patio.

The first thing Henry did was to offer me a glass of wine, one that I had to try because it had a chocolate–coffee flavor. And… yes it did. Blended at Diemersfonein Winery where Henry was trying to make an appointment with the owners to see if he could distribute their wines in the US.

While we sipped this wine Henry asked me what I would like to do, where I would like to go? We decided that we would go in the direction of the wind.

The following morning, Monday, we went to Kirstenbosch Gardens. After breakfast Kirsten, Henry and I walked through some of the native plants growing along walkways that led you through well-maintained lush lawns. As you walk under hundred year old trees you find streams and ponds. There are many picnic areas as well as secluded areas for romance and quiet moments. We tried walking uphill, so that we can look down onto the gardens but only made it halfway to the top before realizing how difficult it would be to go all the way up.

Thank god we ran into some people who were speaking my kind of English. After a brief introduction we found that they were from Dallas, talking to them gave me some time to catch my breath and decide that going further uphill would probably kill us. We headed down and eventually found our way to the exit.

We left my film off for developing and then Henry took me down Boye's Drive, the road that skimmed False Bay on the Indian Ocean. As we went past quaint villages such as Muizenberg, St. James, Kalk Bay, Fish Holk, Simons Town and then The Boulder Beach, it was hard for me to focus on any one eye catching landscape, building, or the dark blue waters.

Low colorful buildings framed by flowering roses and multi-colored bougainvillea cascading over small walls. Many large junipers and trees gracefully bending in the spring breeze added shade and comfort to the sidewalk cafes. No mega yachts docked to show off the wealth of their owners. No traffic jams caused by hordes of tourist straining to see the rich and famous. We drive south, looking out the right side of the car we pass beautiful homes and storefronts, some built in the mid 1800’s. Gracing these buildings we see simple landscapes of colorful plants and shade trees. We drive at a slow rate of speed only coming to a stop as the polite drivers allow traffic to enter the road.

Looking out the left the Indian Ocean’s calm waters kiss the shores gently in some areas, while in others a more beautiful spray is thrown high in the air as the waters crash against boulders or water breaks. Fishermen line the piers casting their baited hooks in hopes of catching fresh fish. Fishing boats arrive one after another and unload the fresh catch to fishmongers who have set up small stalls to sell the day’s catch. Seagulls fly in to steal any unprotected morsels.

The scene repeats itself from one village to the next, small differences are hardly perceptible for the beauty as a whole. We made it to The Boulders, home of a naturalized colony of Jackass Penguins. As we were walking towards the penguins reserve Henry pointed out a strange looking mammal walking through the underbrush. “That is a Rock Dassie, its closest kin is the elephant.”

“You have got be kidding!” The dassie, part of the hyrax family, is the closest living relative to the elephant. Studying similarities between teeth and feet has scientifically proved this. The average weight for a dassie is seven to eight pounds. An elephant weighs 5100 pounds.

After paying a slight admittance fee we walked onto a boardwalk that leads us out to the sandy beach. A small size crowd had gathered at the end of the walkway to get a better glimpse of these penguins as they walked around on their small legs or jumped clumsily from one boulder to another as they tried to get up or down from a small ridge. After a few minutes of photographing these funny birds I looked down to see a penguin just below my feet. His cute face seemed to be begging for a photograph, so I took a few more.

Henry and I realized it was lunchtime and head back north to Kalk Bay. Before we got in, Henry asked me to look underneath his car to make sure that no penguins were hiding. There were none.

At Kalk Bay we stopped in at Harbour House and went up to the balcony overlooking the harbor where hopefully we might see a passing whale. Henry ordered Roy- Bos tea, a mild red tea grown in South Africa just sweet enough that sugar or creams are not needed. A side benefit to this tea is it’s liver-protecting abilities, and anecdotal evidence suggests that rooibos eases stomachaches and insomnia.

We decided not to eat here just because I noticed another restaurant that served Fish & Chips just on the other side of the harbor. Kalky’s is a small restaurant with outdoor seating. They served up a nice basket of food prepared after we ordered it. There was enough food to fill me up with very little left over. The both of us ate fresh fish for less then $12.00.

We headed back to Cape Town, picked up Avery and Oskar from school and returned south to Surfers Corner in St. James. Here, Henry took Avery out surfing while I stayed with Oskar playing on the sand.

On Tuesday, we tried going to Table Mountain. We drove all the way up to the entrance only to find that the heavy winds caused unsafe conditions for the cable car. It was disappointing, but not entirely a waste of time. The view from this elevated parking lot was spectacular. As we looked out onto Cape Town you could see that it was truly a beautiful city. Back down the mountain we crossed over Kloof Nek Road and headed up to Lions Back and Lions Tail Mountains where we saw beautiful views of the Indian Ocean, Robben Island and large ships coming in to unload their massive amounts of cargo.

After an hour or so we went to pick up my film. Boy, was I disappointed. Do you remember all the double duty that I had performed with both my 35mm and my digital cameras? I was told that all the photos on all my rolls of film could not be developed. It seems that whoever checked out my camera before I left Dallas did not do a good job checking it out. OUCH! I felt a lump in my chest as my heart was making its way up and out of my throat. OUCH! The photos with which I was going to win a Pulitzer Prize that would enable me to pay for my next trip, Igusazu Falls in Argentina, were now just a memory.

Oh man, was I upset! I was wondering if I could sue the repair shop for ruining the memories of my once in a lifetime trip. But… I had my digital cameras memory card transferred onto a disk. I had enough shots to calm me down. I breathed deeply, and then again.

Henry knew what I needed to cheer up. He decide that we needed to go fishing and headed all the way back to Kaulk Bay, a total of twenty minutes. I tried telling Henry that I went fishing once and I hated it. I promised, while stomping my feet furiously on the floorboard, that I was not going to bait the hook. I was not going to unhook any of the many large fish that I was going to catch. I was not going to clean the fish. I was not going to have a good time. I complained all the way to his favorite fishing spot. Even while Henry was busy baiting the rods I was complaining. I complained while I was holding the rod waiting for a fish to tug on the hook.

Out of the twelve people out fishing on this cold and windy day that produced waves large enough to crash over the piers’ concrete barriers, and soak us with an ungodly like wall of cold salty water, I was the first one to make a catch. I quit complaining. I started bragging.

I eagerly took Henry’s reel from him while he removed my whopper of a fish and baited the hook again. By then I caught another fish and traded reels with Henry who brought in a fish only a little larger then mine. For the next few but very long hours we traded reels back and forth until we ran out of bait. At that point, thank God, we left. I, as promised never baited a hook or unhooked a fish.

That night we ate at The Africa Café in downtown Cape Town. This restaurant served small portions of foods from all over Africa. One plate after another was served in small amounts allowing you to taste all of their fare: marinated game, grilled sardines, grilled vegetables, several rice dishes from different regions, salads with vegetables from all over, cassava flat bread with cheese, sweet potatoes and sesame seeds, grilled butternut and sweet potatoes. Everything was delicious and the service was great. Almost.

Our server was either in a bad mood or just plain bored. In her soft voice she would tell us what the food was that we were about to eat. If we did not understand her and asked her to repeat herself she would do so quicker and quieter. I kind of liked her.

At the end of the first round you could ask for a repeat of whatever foods you liked. I reordered more of the marinated game prepared with honey and herbs. I found out that the meat used was springbok and water buffalo. I could not tell the difference they were both tender and very well prepared.

On Wednesday Henry had a golf lesson at Steeinberg Golf Course. While he swung away at air balls, I decided to walk the nearby grounds. I enjoyed the landscape and noticed that many of the plants were similar to those used here in Dallas - mostly perennials, grasses and yuccas. The beds were immaculate, no weeds or fallen leaves. By talking to a nearby landscape crew I found that they tended the beds on a daily basis. I wandered into the men’s locker room to wash my hands and noticed large pitchers of water placed on several tables. The pitchers were full of ice and lemon slices, I had to have a glass. I felt guilty, but just for a while, as I suspected that each glass of water must cost the club member about $100.00. I drank another glass full.

By the time I made it back to Henry his instructor had left him, probably fed up with his not so stellar student. We left this beautiful golf course and went back home where we relaxed for the rest of the day.

On Thursday we headed out to some wineries. We drove through rainy weather and made it to Stellanbosch. After a few wrong turns, we arrived at the top of Helderberg mountains surrounding Devon Valley. Here we found Hidden Valley Winery. From this viewpoint we could look down into a beautiful valley that hosted several wineries.

We ate lunch here and were surprised at the menu. The location was our main reason for choosing the restaurant, but the menu was wonderful. All organic vegetables were well presented around your choice of entrees. The meals were masterfully sculptured and almost too beautiful to disturb, but once tasted, difficult to resist the mouth-watering flavors.

We stayed here for an hour and then joined a group for a tour of the modern wine making facility. The entire operation was so clean and well maintained that everything sparkled.

Leaving Hidden Valley we drove deeper into the valley to Ernie Ells Winery.

Huge boulders that seem to have been left in place since the beginning of time surrounded the exterior of the building. The buildings exterior beauty was over shadowed by the beautiful and warm interior. Graced by the presence of attractive and friendly women who took great pleasure in introducing us to some spectacular wines.

While we tasted Ernie Ellis wines we sat in the comfort of uniquely designed furniture as we looked through massive windows on to their vineyard growing on rolling hills.

Before we knew it we had spent three hours enjoying the beauty of the valley from the two vineyards we visited, it was time to move on. We headed to just a few miles away to a small town called Franschhoek. Even through the rain you could tell that citizens of this quaint area lived here for the area.

After finding a bed and breakfast for the night we were told about a winery nearby called Grand Placier. Here we tasted some more great wines while enjoying the company of some wonderful natives. These friendly people gave Henry and myself a quick lesson in local wines. It was here that I learned that wine had “legs.” Legs are the streaks that form down the side of a wine glass after swirling. Legs form because of alcohol content and do not indicate wine sweetness.

We left the Grand Placier and headed into town locating a restaurant by the name of “Burgundy’s.”

Several of the people we talked to had told us that most of the restaurants would be booked and we would be lucky to find a seat anywhere without having made a reservation way in advance. They were right. We went to five restaurants before being seated at Burgundy’s. Several people also told us that Burgundy’s was an inferior restaurant but our best choice for walk-in patrons.

If Burgundy’s were an inferior restaurant I would never have known. The atmosphere was inviting. The waiters were pleasant. The food was EXCELLENT. I started with a salad.

What a salad! “Naughty by Nature” was the name. I chose it for the avocado, but enjoyed it for the slices of ginger hidden inside the layers of ingredients. I could barely finish my lamb loin. And had no room for desert.

I could not believe that this restaurant was poorly recommended it was by far better than any meal I have ever had in Dallas. The Fairmont or The Mansion could not compare to the quality, quantity and price. If I ever go back I would drive the distance to eat here again.

Friday morning we went to Diemersfontein where Henry had an appointment with the owner of the winery. This is the winery that had developed the wine with the coffee-chocolate’ Pinotage. For the two hours Henry was in his meeting, I walked around or sat outside enjoying the early morning views as horses roamed the property and birds squawked overhead as they began their day. The beauty of this flat land vineyard located near Wellington was not as memorable as the mountainous lands of Ernie Ellis and Hidden Valley, but the quantities of wildlife that I was able to see made my short stay one that I will remember.

Later that morning we headed to another winery: Nabyelegen Private Cellar established in 1712. As soon as we arrived, three large German Shepherds and one small terrier greeted us, and then the owner came out and led us to an old bench comfortably placed under a 200 year old oak. After some introductions and a brief history of his vineyard, he led us into his private cellar, which is located in the basement of the original cellar. Updated recently, someone had the presence of mind to build a frame for a glass enclosure exposing the original rock that was excavated to create the cellar. The rains from the day before could be seen seeping down the wall and into a canal designed to keep the cellar from flooding.

We did taste their wine, which I enjoyed very much, however the highlight of this experience was the history found in the buildings.

Lunchtime found us in Riebek, a small town that we were just passing through. However the quaintness of the Royal Hotel caught our attention. We ate outside over looking the beautiful grounds that surround this hotel. It was another worthwhile stop for food.

As we were leaving I spotted a book that I found to be out of place: “The Complete Works of Shakespeare.” Next to it was the original typewriter that Shakespeare used on all of his manuscripts. How and why did this typewriter end up here?

The rest of the afternoon was spent at more wineries located nearby. Allesverloren Estates being the most impressive. Here behind the rolling rows of vineyards were lush fields of golden wheat. The beauty of the contrasting colors and the movement of the wind over the fields of tall grasses appeared magical. I looked out onto these fields until Henry threatened to leave me behind.

We headed back to Cape Town arriving in time for dinner. We picked up Henry’s family and went to eat at Ocean’s Basket. For a chain of restaurants, I was surprised at their large selection of dishes. More surprising is that a basket for two was more than enough to feed Kirsten, Henry and myself. The basket that we ordered had squid, prawns and kob, a white fish. Below the fish there was a large portion of buttered rice and French fries. The cost was less then $17.00.

Saturday took us back to Table Mountain, which was closed again due to high winds. We decided to go eat breakfast at the weekly organic market in Tokai. Here booths are set up with prepared foods as well as fresh vegetables and meats.

That night we went to The Waterfront and ate at a restaurant called Hildebrand Restaurant Waterfront. I was told by customers in Dallas to stay away from the expensive waterfront restaurants, but since Henry was buying I was not going to argue.

Hildebrand’s looked expensive, the number of wait staff dashing gracefully back and forth between the bar, the kitchen and the tables seemed choreographed. The politeness of the waiters came out naturally. The breadbasket steamed as the just out of the oven bread was placed on our table. The food was magnificent; my choice was Fillets of Angelfish Pernod with shrimp capers and covered in a creamy sauce.

Five adults ate for just over $100.00 including, three glasses of wine, five beers, three bottle’s of sparkling water and the tip.

On Sunday Kirsten had tickets to Robben Island. This island was at first used for restocking foods by ships that were heading back to Europe. Later on it became a prison most famous for housing Nelson Mandela.

I am glad that I did not pay for this tour and would not recommend this tour to anyone. It was interesting only to see the views from the island towards Cape Town and Table Mountain. The island was desert like and had very little landscape that caught my eye. The wildlife was non-existent except for three penguins and some African black Oystercatchers.

On Monday we drove to Cape Point stopping for breakfast in Scarborough. Here we ate breakfast at a restaurant called Old Farm House. The windows of this 200-year-old home seemed to be frames for beautiful works of art. Through each window you could see beautiful scenery of old majestic trees, ponds, horses and decaying fences.

We made it to the end of Africa, Cape Point surrounded by the Atlantic or the Indian Ocean the cape juts out deep into the blue waters. The quietness of it all does not go by unnoticed as no vehicles, trains or airplanes pass by.

My vacation was ending the next day and I would remember the beauty surrounding the end of the continent forever. I will forever be indebted to Henry and his family for inviting me to visit and enjoying all the wonderful sights and foods.

As my trip ended I was surprised at how depressed I had become. The beauty of the trip, the relaxed person that I had become, the good foods and wonderful people that I met made this one of the most enjoyable trips that I have ever been on. I knew that as soon as I got back on the airplane and headed home all would go back to normal. But, as I approached the coastline of the United States, as I went through customs and immigration in Atlanta and finally arriving in Dallas where Victor was at the airport waiting for me my depression was no longer a thought.

I love traveling, I love seeing new things but more than anything, I love the realization that I am blessed for having what I have, living where I live.

I was gone a total of fourteen days and watched my money spending very carefully.

At the end of my trip I spent less than $1800.00 including the taxes for my airfare.

I did my reservations for my trip through Rhino Africa and was pleased with most of the arrangements that they made for me. I was not pleased with the double sale of a river tour, which, as you may recall, duplicated many of the animals, and birds that I saw. The so called “sunset dinner cruise down the Zambezi” river could have been switched with some other tour. But it was my fault for not finding out more information about this cruise and also for relying so much on the tour agent.

Wild Horizon Tours were my real heroes; they treated each customer as royalty and bent over backwards to make sure that each customer did experience a trip of a lifetime.

I did!

I am not a wine drinker and even though I did visit several wineries and enjoyed the tasting at each location and the knowledge that I gained, I will not start drinking wine, not even occasionally. But, the surprise that I found at the restaurants that are now opening up at the different wineries serving foods that have spoiled my palette forever make me want to go back for more. But, I still have so much more of the world to see!

I hope to have my photos up soon. If you want to see them visit my website in January.