ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE

This weekend, a little love from the Weather God, the Directions God, the Milk Tart God and of course the love of the Newlyweds God all came together as a recipe for success in our road trip down to the bottom of the continent.
It all started out Saturday morning at 8am. We answered our doorbell to find a squeaky clean and super-blue hatchback begging for adventure. We piled in with the company driver to go and sign away all of Liz’s financial assets in exchange for a weekend on the road. For a whopping 18 US dollars per person, we were granted 48 hours of freedom. The only catch being that Liz was the only insured driver, and if anything happened, her money would quickly disappear. But it was a risk we were all willing to take, especially with the confidence/arrogance that we could tackle the steep mountains of South Africa in a stick shift. I wasn’t driving, so I have to say I felt little pressure.
We took off with a map and our dance moves, leaving all homework and thoughts of the week ahead behind us. Reservations and contact numbers were disregarded as too American for us – we were truly out to let the wind take us. All we knew was that we were going to stand at the southernmost tip of Africa and watch the Atlantic and Indian Oceans embrace. We had a vague notion that we might try to sleep in a nature reserve, but at that time we did not even know where it was. Sleeping in the car/grass became a possibility multiple times.
Liz blew us away with her clutch (pun, pun, pun) skills on the road. She didn’t stall once and before long we were successfully out on the “highway,” which consisted of a two-lane road with mountains on one side and ocean on the other. We drove for a while without interruption, until we ran into a police roadblock. I guess this is a routine practice here; the police stop each car and ask everyone to get out. We knew we should be okay with the North Carolina license, but never having been stopped at a blockade before, it was still somewhat nerve-racking. Fortunately, the SAP (South African Police) could not have been happier to run into a bunch of American students. What started out as just 2 policemen quickly multiplied to 10 as we stepped out of the car to open our trunk and it became obvious that we were not locals. The cops were amused at our obsessions with seatbelts, asking why anytime they stop an American he/she is always scrambling to put one on. I guess that is not a strict law here. They all offered us advice about where to go and what to do, asked about how long we were staying and what we were studying, and some even were bold enough to try and get our phone numbers. Thinking it may be a good idea to make a connection with the SAP in case we find ourselves in any sticky situations, I tried to offer up Chris’ number. But I guess they were more interested in the ladies – they were openly jealous of Chris’ position in a car with four American girls. One of them even insisted that it was against the law and we would have to leave 3 girls behind. By this point we had had enough flirting with the cops so we jumped back in the car and tried once again to drive without interruption.
But that didn’t last long, because as soon as we hit a flat, straight stretch of pavement, we were all almost killed by a plane that we are convinced was attempting to land on the road. Maybe it was having some sort of trouble and had to land because it was flying far lower than it should have been and was descending rapidly. But once again, luck was on our side; we dodged that bullet and added it to the list of unforeseen exploits and continued on our way.
Throughout the drive we stopped several times just to get out and absorb the beauty of our surroundings. We were as giddy as school girls when we thought we saw a whale just off shore (it was a false alarm). The landscape of the western coast was like nothing I’ve ever seen - couple that with some Backstreet Boys sing-a-longs and the thrill of driving on the wrong side of the road and you have one absurd car ride.
By early afternoon we had reached Hermanus, a town renowned for its whale watching. We stopped by a grocery store, picked up what would turn out to be some disgusting cheese, some decent bread, some rotting fruit and some pretty portable milk tart and took to the water for a picnic lunch and whale watching. The weather took a temporary turn for the worse, and I guess the whales dislike the rain as much as humans because they were all hiding under the umbrella of the ocean. We gave up on the food and whales and strolled around town looking for a coffee shop. Instead, we found 5 more UNC students from our program. They had decided that morning that they too had the itch to travel so they rented a car as well. SMALL WORLD! Anyway, after one more failed attempt at calling the whales to shore, we gave up and got back in the car to keep heading south.
The further we got from Cape Town, the more the roads started to remind me a bit of Tanzania. Pavement gave way to dirt and architecture surrendered to animals. We were alone on the road with troops of baboons, ostrich farms, oodles of sheep (which we decided to pretend were leopards for the sake of seeing the Big 5), and even penguins. Alison has a humorous email exchange taking place over our list serve with the Program Coordinator back at UNC in which she enthusiastically informs her of the Big Five and her hopes of seeing them all. She’s been sending emails about how she safely arrived in Jo-burg for the program, asking what time she can pick up the Jammie Shuttle in Soweto, and all sorts of other amusing details to make Frederieke question her location and her sanity. I have joined in on the game to play the part of the bitchy student who is tired of receiving personal emails over the entire list serve (something we see often back at UNC). So now poor little Frederieke thinks that Alison is insane and Jillian is just malicious as I have scolded Alison (also over the entire list serve) for her inability to limit her emails to just the intended recipient. Anyway, in one of Alison’s many entertaining emails, she attached a picture of a leopard for Frederieke’s enjoyment, so now I am thinking we may have to attach some of the many sheep pictures in order to document our encounters with the leopards for our befuddled Frederieke.
But enough about our bazaar forms of amusement. I should get back to writing about this past weekend so that I can get to the pile of reading beside me. Besides our detour in Hermanus, we also stopped in a small town where we paid $1.50 to walk along the water and watch the penguins do their thing. African penguins are small little guys, but when it comes to waddling, they can hold their own. They often walk single-file down into the ocean, where they are actually quite expert swimmers. The only pitfall of the penguins was their stench; they definitely made themselves known, unlike the whales. I found myself taking a ridiculous number of pictures as I was captivated by their charm. In hindsight, most of my pictures are ridiculous and fail to capture any of their allure. Oh well. I’m a tourist, poor picture-taking is what I do.
At any rate, we pushed past the penguins and pressed on past the site of an ostrich dropping the deuce next to the road. The bird must have lost 10 pounds in the process. We adapted to these raw encounters, we got used to seeing baboons by our side, but we never got over the awe of the environment around us. Whenever we were not violently dancing to a song we recognized (or one we didn’t) on the radio, we were mostly just silent, trying desperately to photograph the scenery in our minds because our cameras just couldn’t do it justice (and our cameras were all dying after our visit with the penguins).
Finally, we reached Cape Aguhlas. It was just about sunset, and we were the only people there. It had stopped raining, and the clouds that remained turned out to be an awesome filter for the sunlight that was disappearing. I will admit, I didn’t expect Aguhlas to be all that amazing. I was mainly just up for a road trip, but in the end this place exceeded all of our expectations. Standing on the rocks over the ocean, knowing that you are underneath all of Africa, is, to make the understatement of the year, a rather exceptional experience. We stood out overlooking the sea, taunting Antarctica and waving up at Africa. Then it was time to bust out the milk tart, which had been toted around Hermanus and bounced around on our laps for the past few hours in the car. We toasted our spoons and enjoyed a South African dessert that probably tasted more glorious there than it could have if eaten anywhere else on Earth. As a real crowd pleaser for those of you who appreciate my baby bladder, I also seized the opportunity to “pop a squat” underneath everyone else in Africa. Robin did the same, as it turns out we have miniature bladders in common. It was a pretty empowering experience.
By this point, we realized that it was after 6 and it probably would not be possible for us to enter the nature reserve to spend the night. We would have to rely on our own resourcefulness in finding an affordable place to stay. So we drove towards the reserve, planning on staying in the nearest town so that in the morning we could get an early start in the park. According to our maps, we were looking for a town called Ooplas, but all that we found was a long dirt road lined with wildlife and a few sporadic houses.
Eventually, we came across a sign for “Farm-a-Fair.” The sign had pictures of silverware, tea, pie, soda and PRESENTS! It said it was open, so in the spirit of adventure, we decided to give it a whirl. At the top of along driveway we found ourselves at what was obviously someone’s home. There was only one car in the driveway, but we were feeling curious, so we nominated Chris to go up to the door and check it out.
Once Chris had disappeared into the house, we all started to take note of the strange crosses that decorated the siding and the monstrous dog that Liz aptly described as “doped up on Jesus drugs.” The minutes seemed to get longer and we all started to fear for Chris’ life. What if he was being chopped to pieces by the cult members that OBVIOUSLY occupied this house? We positioned the car for a speedy get-away, and just as we were about to send in reinforcements, Chris reappeared, welcoming us in to join him. He convinced us that the people were nice and that no one even vaguely resembled Charles Manson. Reluctantly, we went inside, where, in support of our superstitions, we found several adults and multiple children. CULT! WE KNEW IT! The situation intensified once we were all inside as our hosts tried to convince us to buy food from them and spend the night with their brother down the road. They were asking what would have been about 18 US dollars per person for the room, and as for the sausages we were offered, I don’t think we bothered to get a price. Chris tried to tactfully bow out and thank them for their time. It took some time to reject their offer because we feared that rejection could result in our own demise. We might be turned into the next batch of sausages. Ok, now I am exaggerating, but it really was creepy. We got out of there as fast as we could and headed back towards Aguhlas to find a more densely inhabited town with legitimate accommodations. Farm-a-Fair had turned out to be just another detour to tack onto the list with the SAP encounter and the plane attack.
On the way back to town we pulled over to appreciate the sky. I hadn’t even thought about how the stars here are not the same as those I see at home until this point. We all laid down in the middle of the road, huddled together for warmth and mesmerized by the exhibit above us. But reality returned when we noticed a car coming towards us in the distance and we scrambled to get back in the car, fearing that we might be greeted by more Farm-a-Fair members.
Finally, we reached a sleepy town, the name of which has already escaped me. After spotting a hotel, Liz dropped Chris and me off at the door to see about a room. Most establishments here charge by the head, not the room, so we only wanted to send in 2 of us so as to save as much money as possible. We walked in hand in hand, pretending to be on our honeymoon. The first price we were offered was 400 rand for a full-size bed. Batting our eyes at each other and musing over our limited newlywed funds, we weaseled the manager down to 280, the cost for one person in a full bed. We argued that since we were just married we only needed one bed.
Things got a little hairy when he asked to see our car keys so he could register our rental car number. Of course, Liz was sitting out in the car with Alison and Robin and neither of us could produce the keys. I mumbled something about having hid them outside and tiptoed out to the car to retrieve them. When I returned, I was reminded by Chris of how fortunate we were to have FOUR MORE WEEKS of or honeymoon. I guess he panicked when asked how long we were staying in South Africa. The manager was shocked that at 20 years old we had the funds to take such an extravagant vacation. Sensing his skepticism, I employed the Beatles to bring him back to our side, shamelessly pronouncing that “all you need is love,” and we don’t care about how poor we will be back in the States. It couldn’t have been more effective; the manager broke into song and we were given the pen to sign in for our room.
I thought I was going to die laughing when we were finally free from sight and able to relay our success story to the rest of the group. The only obstacle left was figuring out how we would sneak the rest of them up there, but we figured we’d go for dinner first and hope that the lobby was cleared out by the time we returned.
Dinner was an oddly depressing event, not only because the grease of the food almost gave us all heart attacks, but more so because our waiter left me feeling somewhat hopeless. He was a 21-year-old guy with a gloomy eyes and heavy shoulders. He asked us all if we liked South Africa and why. Until now I had always jumped at the opportunity to tell a South African why I loved his/her country so much. But to the waiter, all of our answers seemed so touristy and naïve. We told him how we loved the landscape, how we admired the triumph of the nation politically in recent years, and how we were inspired by the ability of its people to overcome difference. He didn’t buy a word of it. He told us how he can’t wait to get out, how if he had the money he’d take off tomorrow. The crime and the lack of acceptance were two flaws he pointed to, and they were also two flaws that we as Americans have not yet truly seen. I felt an intense sadness for him, as I saw that just as we have much to learn of this nation, he too is ignorant of the flaws of the western world. As we have built a pedestal for South Africa, he too has built one for Europe and America. I hope he does find his chance to escape one day, and when he does, I wish I could meet him once more, if only to share how both of our views have changed. You can’t find a place on this Earth where crime, racism, sexism and bigotry do not exist. Discrimination can be outlawed in their Constitution, but not in South African’s daily lives. I wonder if this is a problem that we as one race can ever overcome.
So, back to the story. Jamie, I keep wanting to say that we “returned to the honeymoon suite,” but I cannot bring myself to use the term. The honeymoon suite is Moso 206, and that will always be the only honeymoon suite for me. To the rest of you who don’t know what that means, don’t worry about it. Chris and I got back to the room and found that the lobby was fairly empty. We carried up blankets and pillows and all of our bags before sending for the three remaining partners in crime.
Once we were all safely in the room, we noticed just how small the bed really was and decided that the honeymooners (as we had 4 more weeks of comfortable beds to enjoy) would each take a side of the floor while Liz, Alison and Robin crammed into the bed. The room reeked of smoke, and by morning we had a pretty toxic mixture of morning breath and tobacco cooking in the room. We hadn’t even thought to ask for a nonsmoking room, if one even did exist, because we are all so used to the no smoking rules of America.
We got up at 7 and made our individual escapes, Chris and I being the last to go as we had to check out. We found some breakfast and then made our way the De Hoop Nature Reserve. The Reserve was mostly just a lot of scrubland and restricted roads, but finally we made it to the ocean where we hoped once more that we would find whales.
This time we were successful. We saw countless whales breaching and swimming in the low-tide. They are such graceful animals that we decided they should also be included in our “Frederieke Big 5.” Everyone took off to explore the area except for me. In classic Jillian Casey fashion, I pulled up a comfy rock and took a nap in the sun. The sounds of the ocean were my own personal sleep machine and the wind was just strong enough to cool my face in the warm sun. It was heaven on earth.
When everyone returned, we decided to hike the “whale trail” along the sand dunes. Before long we spotted what surely couldn’t have been a dead whale washed up on shore. The skin was white but sunburned in spots, and from our angle on the rocks it was impossible to see a tail or fins. It just couldn’t be a whale. We scaled down the rocks to get a closer look and found that this poor animal was undoubtedly a baby whale. The umbilical chord was still attached, so we thought it might have been a still birth. Not only did none of us expect to encounter such a heartbreaking sight, but none of us knew how to react once we did. We spent a good amount of time in silence, all of us individually gathering our thoughts and reacting internally to the loss. We could only hope it was a still birth, for scraping up against the rocks and suffocating in the sand would be one awful way to die. Like I said before, its skin was sunburned from days of abuse from the open sky. Its body was ravaged by birds and littered with open wounds from the rocks. Whale oil was leaking out in some places and tissue in others. But despite its dilapidated state, it was still a beautiful animal. The tail was so perfect and the blow-hole so striking. The body I would guess was about 15 feet long, and it had not even had the opportunity to grow.
This was enough for us for the day; we thought it best to head back to the info center so we could alert the staff in case we were the first to come across the grave. As it turned out, the staff did already know, but it would be a big process to lift the whale and prepare it for a necropsy (I think that’s how you spell it?).
We left the park, still in silence, and started the long drive home. The car ride this time did not offer any obstacles and we made it home in time for dinner. With the exception of the baby whale, the weekend had been an overwhelming success. It was a much-needed escape from the crowded house and the stress of the previous week. We were all exhausted, and yet rejuvenated by our discoveries and ready for the week ahead.
And now I need to go be a part of the week rather than just write about it. I’ll try to post again Friday, but I have to leave for work at 6:15am tomorrow so I want to get my work done and get to bed early tonight. Me, wanting to sleep? What else is new?