South Africa 2008
South Africa
April 2008
Greetings from Africa, AGAIN.
Somehow I started out with a roundtrip ticket to Singapore, or Singarich is more accurate, and have ended up in Cape Town and Johannesburg, South Africa. And, I will go to Gabon and Paris before I get home. All I can say is NEVER ask a Singaporian for directions!
First time to ever spend time in South Africa. Cape Town is a very nice place, just entering fall here, where the mornings are in the 50’s and the days are mid 70’s. You can’t swim in the ocean, it is too cold. This is where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans meet and there is a strong current that comes up from Antarctica and passes up the West African cost. Table Mountain divides the town along the middle of the cape. They have a cable car that takes normal people to the top of Table Mountain for a spectacular view of two oceans and mountain vistas. However, I’m not normal, so I climbed up. On one particularly steep portion of the ascent, I was using hands and feet and almost grabbed a stripped snake. Considering the last time I teased a snake in Africa, it turned out to be a green mumba and one of the most poisonous snakes in the world, I left this one very much alone. I just had to avoid jumping backwards when the snake suddenly moved. Three feet back would have yielded about 50 feet down! At the top, recovering from severe muscle cramps and gasping from air is a plaque that announces that Table Mountain is one kilometer tall. How they could possibly under-measure a mountain by nine kilometers, I will never know. There is a legend that if one is able to climb to the top of the mountain, he will live 10 years longer. What they fail to add is that he will sacrifice 20 years on the trail up.
I took a bus tour and found out that Cape Town is really an old town with European settlers in the early 1500’s. Many of the buildings are hundreds of years old, as it developed into a major port on a major trade route, at least until the Suez Canal created a shorter route between Europe and the Middle and Far East in the 1850’s. In contrast to many old cities with ultra-old and ultra modern buildings, Cape Town’s old and modern is divided neatly. Most of the ultra modern downtown is on thousands of acres reclaimed from the bay in the mid-1900’s. Houston should try that – dump sediments on Pasadena until the land can be reclaimed and made productive.
The menus are interesting here. Thursday night at a nice restaurant, I ordered the sampler platter with wildebeest, springerbok, and kudu. The wildebeest was fantastic, the springerbok a little dry – even at medium rare, and the kudu was a little gamey. Then last night I had the crocodile appetizer with the ostrich steaks. Don’t worry. Both times before I ordered, I applied the most stringent test one can apply to any food in the world: I ensured it was brown. In my old age (-hush Rach!), I have simplified things in life. My culinary motto is: “If it ain’t brown, it don’t go down”. Think about it. Everything that tastes good is brown. Chocolate, meat, anything deep-fried. But don’t apply the opposite rule – I did not say everything brown tastes good and could give a few examples…but I won’t! In Africa, eating fresh veggies and fruits can kill you - or, at least make you wish for death – if it has been washed in questionable water. However, if it is thoroughly burnt and hot when served, absolutely nothing can kill you. At least in short term. I don’t like fruits and veggies anyway (they AREN’T BROWN), so I NEVER get sick in Africa, while coworkers are usually dropping left and right. If you absolutely must eat veggies or fruits, simply apply the brown rule and have them deep-fried! Yeah, all that brown might take 10 years off your life, so see the earlier paragraph about hiking to the top of Table Mountain.
I am currently in Johannesburg. I flew up from Cape Town a day before I had to hoping to see some wildlife. I definitely got my wish. And I haven’t seen a single animal. There are warnings to avoid taxis and every normal form of transportation. So, I’m not exactly sure how I am supposed to enjoy the countryside. The tour guides wait at the information booths much like the crocodiles wait for the migrating zebras at the river crossing. But please don’t think I am comparing the guides to the crocodiles. That would unfair and not nice. No, the crocodiles are humane and kill in one fatal clamp of the jaws. The tour guides, on the other hand, bleed their victims continuously, causing needless suffering and anxiety. My last time here, connecting only – not staying – they lost my luggage. And based on comments from co-workers based in Africa about 70% of the luggage passing through J’burg is lost. Evidently luggage has some use in repopulating the savannah. Most of the time, I either love a locale, or it is just marked off as ‘been there, done that, got the T-shirt.’ For J’burg, I have a new comment: ‘been there, pulled the pin, threw the grenade.’
I hope everyone is doing well! I hope to see you all soon!
Happy hunting,
Bwana Keith
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There was an additional adventure on this 2008 trip that I am just documenting at the present time (October 2025):
The exit from Johannesburg to Port Gentil, Gabon was added last minute due to an issue my company wanted me to address in Gabon. The usual company-approved method of travel between African countries was to fly Air France to Paris and then back to the next country. This is because nearly all of the local African airlines are not approved by USA air safety standards. However, since the odds of safe travel on these airlines is usually 51% or better, I would arrange to fly the local airlines. Such was the case in getting from Johannesburg to Libreville, Gabon, a small local South African airline called Interair. From Libreville, I would then catch a smaller and even less reliable prop job to Port Gentil.
The best part of Johannesburg is by far the airport. It is one of the best, most entertaining, and best shopping airports in the world. You can buy actual zebra pelts, items made from exotic animals, and all kinds of African items. They usually have an African band playing during busy times and the overall experience is wild and fun. I have connected before through J’burg, but this time I go to a different part of the airport where the gates are all at ground level. Great! Ground level gate means a crowded bus ride to board the plane and not a stroll through a jet way. My flight is a direct non-stop to Libreville. A little over four hours. After waiting long past the departure time, they finally call my flight to line up at the bus door. I am in business class. Business class on Interair involves sitting in the first three rows of seats that look exactly like all the other seats on the plane. We sit. And sit. For about 45 minutes. Then a second bus shows up and more passengers get on. This seems strange since how many connecting flights could have been held up for persons going to Libreville. Then we sit. And sit. Until a third bus finally shows up and a few more individuals get off. We finally close the door and leave.
After an hour and a half, the pilot comes on the loudspeaker, “We are making our descent now to Ndola at this time…”. I panic – I’m on the wrong freaking plane. I grab the Interair magazine in the seat back and see that Ndola is in Zambia. I don’t have a visa to Zambia! I flag down the flight attendant and tell her I was supposed to go to Libreville, Gabon. She calmly informs me that the plane will go to Libreville after a stop in Ndola. The Ndola International Airport looks like someone paved a strip through 800 acres of mature weeds. I don’t see any town and only one small shaggy adobe building that where the plane parks. About five people get off. No one gets on, so we close up and take off. There is no control tower, other airplanes, or any taxi lanes. Just the one hut and the runway.
Now I relax for the remaining three hours to Libreville. Until the pilot comes on the loudspeaker, “We are making our descent into Brazzaville at this time…” What the $%$##&! I again panic and flag down the attendant. At this time, she is getting frustrated at this constant interruption of her naps and informs me the plane will indeed go to Libreville. We land in Brazzaville and I watch out the window while 50 luggage handlers unload 20 pieces of luggage in just under an hour. Probably a holdover from the Republic of Congo days as a communist satellite in Africa. Or they’re just French.
I now realize that the last two buses to the plane were the all the passengers flying to Ndola and Brazzaville. Interair saved flight cost on partially filled planes by combining them on a plane with vacant seats flying a longer route. Finally, almost 8 hours after we take off and as the plane is landing, we finally arrive in Libreville, Gabon. I have been to Gabon many times and know the agent that meets the plane in Libreville for transfer to Port Gentil well. Edou runs up when I finally clear customs and jumps me “You are late, we have to run to catch the last flight to Port Gentil.” At this time I nearly explode, “I wasn’t piloting the blankety blank blank plane!” Edou is a really nice guy and I feel bad for unloading my Interair frustrations on him. But he started it. Anyway, I made it to Port Gentil for my meeting the next day and, once again, my company failed in their attempts to kill me!
May all your non-stops not stop,
-Keith