London Orientation

One of the first things people ask me in the States is: Where are you in London? Given that London is a pretty big place, and has more small neighborhoods than I can count, fortunately I have some landmarks that help me explain.

Our flat is located in what is considered central London. We are not in the City of London itself (which is encased within the old Roman walls) but in the burrough of Camden. We are a 5 minute walk from the British Museum, and a 15 minute walk to the Thames (“Tems”). It takes 15 minutes to walk to Covent Garden, and from there we have easy access to the famous West End theatres of London. I once raced Kaela from Covent Garden to our tube stop of Russell Square- she took the tube, and I walked/ran. She beat me, but it took 5-10 minutes to get there.

We live close to the Foundling Hospital- founded in 1739 by Thomas Coram who took pity on abandoned children and started the institution to house and raise them. Coincidence that the Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children (which owns the rights to Peter Pan) is located just down the block? Don’t know. Even more interesting is the fact that the Charles Dickens Museum, his home where he wrote Oliver Twist is right around the corner. Although the hospital has long been removed, it still is a lovely park for children with a small petting zoo and playground. It was here that Handel donated much of the revenue gained from his Messiah, and it is here he performed the famous music each year towards the end of his life.

Down the road a bit more is Gray’s Inn Fields where one of the two remaining churches still ring the nearly-thousand-year tradition of curfew bells (brought to a neighborhood near you by William Conquerer in 1066). Go north up the street a bit and you hit Camden Market (the Goth central of London), the British Library (where the Magna Carta is held) and Kings Cross/St. Pancras station (of Harry Potter Platform 9 ¾ fame).

Given our location, my morning runs are practically history tours, and I often stop and pinch myself because I cant believe Im actually there. One day I run past St Pauls, then cross the millennium bridge- past Tate modern, wave at the Globe, pass the fishmongers at Borough market, then loop back by Southwark Cathedral, cross the London Bridge, and then wave good bye to St Pauls again as I head home. Another morning I traverse across Oxford Street, run along the side of Hyde park, go through St James Park, skip tea with the Queen at the palace, go to parliament square, see Westminster Abbey, and then run along the Victoria Embankment (the Thames pathway) home while opposite the river is the towering London Eye.

I am constantly amazed at what is here in London, and the sense of history is astounding.

I look forward to writing more.

Wait, What Side Are We On?

It finally happened, and I cant believe it. We arrived in CA last week to spend Christmas with the fam, and to celebrate Heidi's wedding this upcoming week (so contact us if you want, please!!!). This morning I dropped Kate off at a friends to go surfing, and I decided to take a drive down memory lane and just whiz about La Canada and see some of my favorite sites.

As I came to a T stop, I had to turn left onto a road, and it hit me: I had completely spaced what side of the road I had to turn onto. Do I heed my immediate inclination to drive on the left side, and see what happens? Or do I revert to what I think I should do, and go to the right side of the road?

Luckily, the V20 Dodge Ram with 3,000,000 horsepower and 500 yards to he gallon gas mileage rumbling by reminded me that I was in the States, and not England. BUT, had there been a bunch of London Underground workers sitting on the side of the road picking their noses with "Down With Boris" signs, then it might have been a different story.

Fortunate for me, the recent dearth of loitering London Underground limeys in Los Angeles spared me from certain doom.

Disaffected Blogger Syndrome Recovery Program

I guess there comes a point in every bloggers life where they hit “the wall” and experience the three stages of “disaffected blogger syndrome”. Negligence, anger/avoidance, and continuance/dissolvement.

Stage 1: Negligence
It is a deceptively simple start really; 1 day goes, then 2 slip by unnoticed. You promise yourself that you are going to write soon because you are a responsible blogger; a self-respecting participating citizen of the online community. You are not one of THOSE people who just create and start blogs willy nilly; you are committed and have invested time and energy in your blog. It’s ok to skip a few days here and there, anyone else would right? So, still confident in yourself, you set a nearby date as THE day when you will catch up writing.

Oh, but hang on- that’s the day you end up cleaning your flat, or taking the bus tour in London, or sleeping in getting used to the time zone, or the day that your just reading books for a change. People understand why you’re not writing, right? You have to live life sometime! You have to go and do stuff to write about for crying out loud! Besides, its not as if you have a responsibility to continuously write. You’re not one of THOSE people who live their lives surgically connected to their computer spending their life devoid of human contact in small dark holes. Subsisting on microwave dinners, and becoming increasingly fluent in the geographic intrigues of Warcraft III.

No worries, just do it next week. You’re still a good person, you just live for the moment that’s all.

Stage 2: Avoidance
This usually starts about 1 month AP (After Post). Symptoms include increased desire to avoid writing, a heightened ability to find other worthless endeavors to supplant the blog, and aggression towards the blog.

The anger in some deep Freudian way isn’t actual anger at the webspace itself, but at the conflict of who you thought you were, and who you have become. That and your relationship with your father.
You realize that you also fear the blog. Yes, that’s right, fear a thing of your own creation. Like Frankenstein and his monster. Like Like George Lucas and Darth Vader. . Like Sheryl Leach and Barney the dinosaur.
Because you have to catch up, you feel there is too much to do, and it is impossible to really write everything that has happened. You are afraid that you cannot do it. You as the master and creator of an inanimate object, have failed in your responsibilities as master of its universe, and now fear the task at hand. Just like I feared retribution from the 7 Tamagachis I killed by negligence in 1992.

You realize that you are no longer the idealistic net-izen that cheerfully, and wittily contributes to the greater good of the web community at large, but one of the dregs of the online society who takes up space, and relies upon the constant welfare of the webstate to stall constant online eviction. You have become one of THOSE people and, therefore, you join the ranks of cynics before you who have left the online world for one reason or another.


And as a newfound cynic, you avoid the blog.

For how long? I don’t know. Indefinitely.

At least till your consciousness kicks in, and you enter the third stage.

Stage 3
Continuance/Dissolvement
So, do you continue or end your blog? Do you put to naught the hours spent filling its space, or do you become the online Rudy, the come-back kid, the guy who came back swinging when everyone had moved on?

THOSE people quit. THOSE people end their blogs. THOSE people don’t try anymore, but I am not one of THOSE people.

I chose to start again, and finish what I began- and from now on I will do better.

I hope you enjoy our chronicles of England!

Christian

Eiffel Tower Over Dinner

If there was one thing that I wanted to do while in Paris, it was to sit in the Parc du Champs des Mars and watch the sunset go over the Eiffel Tower while eating a dinner of baguettes, cheese, and fruit. Oh, and take pictures.

Needless to say when it got dark, and it hit 9 pm, the Tower started sparkling, and it was magical.

The Eiffel Tower: To The Top!

I had never been to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and neither had Kaela. If there ever was a time that we should do it, it was definitely this trip! We went with Jack and Nick Hougaard who hadnt been there either. Given the clear blue sky, the view was incredible! Go to the below links to watch the videos of the ascent on the elevator.


http://sharing.theflip.com/session/b7d15dea419a977962818ae54d0fc84a/video/18599683

Montmartre

Montmartre, or mountain of the martyrs in French, is a definite sight seeing destination in Paris. Located on top of a hill to the north of Paris, we had the opportunity to have a guided tour of the place and learned a ton. Meeting our tour guide Jean Manuel at the base of the hill we also met several members of the US Embassy staff who brought their families along as well. Below are some tidbits from the tour:

-Instead of going up the stairway to the entrance of the cathedral, Jean led us immediately to the right of the base of the hill. We followed the road until we stopped at what seemed to be a gated-off cave covered with hanging vines at the entrance. Ever heard of “Plaster of Paris”? It is the original modern plaster, and it is made of ground gypsum powder combined with water. THE original source of Plaster of Paris was this little cave on the side of Montmartre. The entire hill is entirely composed of gypsum mines, and “is like a big mound of swiss cheese”. Even more interesting, when the miners were digging into the side of the mountain, from that very cave, they discovered huge rib bones, and then leg bones, and then arm bones- which came to be the first dinosaur ever to be discovered. All in Paris!
-Montmartre is also known to be the fabric district of Paris because it used to be the center for poor immigrants to move to. The wealthy people lived in the city, but the majority of city workers and domestics (immigrants) lived on the outskirts at the base of Montmartre. Instead of buying new clothes, they would simply patch, repair, or recycle bits of fabric to create new clothing, and that tradition has remained until today. The streets are lined with fabric shops where fabric is sold by the meter ranging in price from practically nothing to €4,000 per square meter.

-As to Montmartre being the site of the first martyrs, an interesting phenomenon has occurred in the centuries since the first martyr, St Denys the bishop of Paris, died in 250 AD. While there is a church over the site where he was beheaded (which is also the same church where the historically important Catholic Jesuit order was founded later on) where he eventually died is another matter entirely. Legend has it that he picked up his severed head and wandered 6 miles and died. The place that everyone initially thought where he finally dropped now holds Saint Denys’s Basilica, but the story gets even better. Since people, especially wealthy people, wanted to be buried next to a saint, it became a profitable venture to have one under your church. Jean Manuel said how some entrepreneurial priest came out with the “official” story of St. Denys’s life, and claimed that he was buried under his church. Immediately wealthy individuals paid him big bucks for the little space in his church, and he became very successful. Before the story came out only 5 other churches claimed to have him buried under their churches, but after the story came out, 59 others began to claim the same thing all over France.

-Picasso lived in a little wooden hovel on Montmartre, and painted Les Demoiselles d'Avignon in 1907 there. Its important to note that it was a wooden hovel because it was (and is) against the law for houses to have wooden facades in Paris (fires), but because it was a place where the poor primarily lived, no one really took notice or cared. It was a large laundry house, and the owner figured out he could make more money renting out sectioned off rooms to struggling artists rather than doing laundry. Consequently because of the wooden façade to the building, and the history as a laundry house, the place became known as the Bateau de Lavoir (or Laundry Boat). It was then, as is today, a gathering place for young artists to live and produce work. But, as Jean pointed out- “The living standards have increased, but the quality of work has dropped!”

-The Sacré-Cœur Basilica itself is an eyesore for many Parisians, and many people are still opposed to its existence even today. It is a controversial building (“disgusting pile of rubble” according to Jean Manuel) because the architects, when they built it, were at the “end of their tether”. They didn’t know what quite to do with it, and mixed byzantine with Romanesque styles to create what some tourists consider a Mosque at first glance. Aside from the looks it is a vestige of the Monarchy of France, and the historic influence of Catholicism as well. On the outside there are two statues- Joan of Arc (Martyr for the church) and Louis IX (the only canonized king of France). Hence, even before you enter the building, you are reminded of the two things that incensed the Parisians to the point of Revolution: Absolute monarchy, and the crushing grip and influence of the Catholic church for hundreds of years. Once you go inside, it gets even better. The mosaic “Christ in Majesty” is the largest mosaic in the world, and it is located over the main altar in the front of the church. Included in the mosaic are Louis XVI (deposed king from the Revolution) and kneeling in front, Marie Antoinette (his beheaded wife). Even more shocking is the white flag of the French Monarchy waving in the background. Essentially, “if your country went through a revolution, the last thing you want to idolize is the former ruler, much less the ruling power. It’s like having a British flag waving from the Washington Monument and a picture of King George.” And yet there it is emblazoned over the massive mosaic in the basilica for all of France to see.

Despite how most French feel, Jean Manuel told us that there are some French (not many) who still wish for France to go back to a monarchy…

When we walked outside, Jean pointed out a man in a wheel chair who sells little keychain animals made from pipe cleaners. “He has been here every day for 30 years, and hasn’t changed a word.”

Then pointing to a brand new looking shnazzy van parked on the street complete with a wheel chair lift, Jean loudly whispered over the gathered crowds, “And he makes a killing!”

The Catacombs

The first thing that I was surprised with was the length. In total the Catacombs was over 2 Kms of walking in confining underground tunnels, weaving through passageways, and ornately stacked bones. But that’s only the part that is open to the public. From what I understood, the Catacombs used to be ancient mines that stretched back to the Roman times, and there are hundreds of Kilometers worth of such mine tunnels underneath the city. From Wikipedia: “Since Roman times, Paris buried its dead on the outskirts of the city, but this changed with the rise of Christianity and its practice of burying its faithful deceased in consecrated ground in and adjoining its churches. By the 10th century, because of the city's expansion over the centuries, there were many parish cemeteries within city limits, even in central locations. When Paris' population began to rise rapidly in the following centuries, some of these cemeteries became overcrowded where expansion was impossible. Soon only the most wealthy could afford church burials, which led to the opening in the early 12th century of a central burial ground for more common burials.”


This mass burial area eventually became over crowded, and inorder to make room for more burials, the bones were removed and stored in the catacombs. At first they were thrown in, however, after time they were organized and stacked in artistic ways. So artistic, when my grandpa Gunn led a tour through the catacombs, he was so ecstatic about what he saw, the members of the tour went and bought him a skull as thanks. (Thats a Bone-efied true story!) The line above Mikaelas head in the picture was a line for people to use so they wouldnt get lost. The other interesting factoids are Louis the XVI threw parties down in the catacombs when he was in power, and during WWII the french resistance fighters used them as their headquarters- making it an "underground movement"


The catacombs are a surreal experience. Literally millions of people are buried down there, and plenty of stone monuments in morbid French give you a preview of coming attractions…

I wont go into Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” stuff, but needless to say, the eerie feeling went away as soon as I stepped back into the sunlight and back to the land of the living.

Paris

We just arrived in London from a few days stay in Paris, however the next few posts will be full of pictures from our stay there. While in Paris we stayed with the Hougaard family, a family that the Lanes came to know and love while the Hougaards were posted in Zim for the State Dept. From Zim, they went to Mauritania, and now they are in Paris. Michael, the father, is currently posted in Afghanistan, but will return to finish his posting in France next year. Victoria and her sons were wonderful hosts even though they were busy with their own daily schedules and we had a blast! Their apartment is huge, a few blocks away from the Champs Elysees, and really in an ideal spot to experience Paris. The first night we got there, Mikaela and I took a walk up the Arc de Triomphe and marveled in the massive structure looming over the rest of the city.

The next few days were spent sorting out our luggage problems (the two main bags didn’t arrive on time, and when they did we found both the zippers had been ripped off with the locks still intact. Everything was clearly rummaged through, but nothing aside from my jeans seemed missing) and walking around the city! I think our record was going from the Hougaards house (porte Maillot) to Notre Dame and the Latin quarter (over 4 miles) for one of the days- and needless to say after sitting around in Zimbabwe for a few months, my feet needed time to get back into shape!
Going from third-world to first world took a little getting used to. The first thing that I noticed was the space, and how it was (overly) defined. The amount of people here is staggering; after being in Zim with the relatively empty streets, and spacious properties, the close parking jobs and cement jungle of Paris was a bit unnerving. There is no space, no land that isn’t developed! You might think me weird for thinking that, but after being in Zim with miles and miles of undeveloped land, you forget how it is in the rest of the world. You forget that order requires control; something that can be maddeningly (and sometimes conveniently) absent in Zimbabwe.


It still blows my mind that every tree is preselected and planted on purpose, every blade of grass is kept in check, and flowers are also controlled. But in the first world, there aren’t powercuts, and you can always get a fresh baguette in time for dinner.

Plus it doesn't take 30 minutes to upload a single picture on the blog!

Kariba Elephant Video

Check out this video from our trip to Kariba! The Elephants came each night to our porch as well as numerous hippo. It was incredible!

Pickenins

Whenever we drive outside of Harare, we pass by tons of little mini-villages comprising of 5 or 6 huts about 10 yards from the road. There are always little kids waving from their make shift soccer games, or other creative methods of entertainment, and they squeal in delight when we wave back at them. They are called Pickenins. Little did we know they can also save your life.

When we were driving to Nyanga, Mandy told us a story of how a man was driving along the same road in the 70’s. Roadside bombs and mines were still an issue then (as they are in many other parts of Africa) as a result of the Bush War so one couldn’t be too sure when they drove. As he was about to go over a hill he drove past a group of kids on the side of the road, they wall were waving, and giggling. He waved back, and then happened to glance through the rear view mirror to see their reaction. Much to his surprise instead of just scrambling off into the bush like they usually did, they all covered their ears and giggled.

He slammed on the breaks, and skidded to a halt at the crest of the hill. Just a few yards away was a land mine, completely hidden to motorists beneath the line of sight from the top of the road.

Moral of the story? Never drive on dirt roads in Zimbabwe during the 1970’s.

Race Relations

One of the most revealing things that I have learned while in Zimbabwe is concerning race relations. In the States, when you are talking about African Americans and White people, there aren’t any complicated dividing lines. A person is just white or black. In Zimbabwe, and South Africa, the terms get a bit more complicated.

There are many divisions within the blacks in Africa. The differences can arise because of tribal lines, relative isolation over time, and exposure to non-african peoples (to name just a few). For example to just list three, there are the Bantu, the Nile-itic people, and the San. The Bantu are the Africans who occupy much of Sub-Saharan Africa. They have broad flat noses, and typically have darker skin. The Nile-itic people come from the Nile region, have very fine features, and have a lighter skin tone than the Bantu. The San people are bushman and are generally very short, have yellowish-dark skin, and are an endangered culture because of the loss of uninhabited bush land. When Mikaela and I flew Ethiopia Air, the Ethiopians (Nile-itic) looked very different from the Zimbabweans (Bantu). It was clearly recognizable in their features, and overall behavior. While these three peoples are not all-inclusive of Africa as a whole, it is important to note that they do constitute a significant part in the total population.

To make things even more interesting, there is another major group of society who are of mixed race. These are called (as they call themselves) Coloured. The Coloureds are any mixture of European, Indian, or South-East Asian with Blacks. I will be honest, when I first heard the term “Coloured” I was kind of offended as a result of growing up in the States. Such a term to me was derogatory, but here it is a normal part of the daily vocabulary, with no offense taken when used. In South Africa, the Coloureds make up a large segment of the population. During much of the Apartheid, Coloureds in the Cape retained the right to vote while the rest of the Blacks weren’t allowed to vote. Such a distinction is important to note as they maintained their right to vote as a result of their mixed heritage.

In Zimbabwe, the Coloureds also have a large presence. Harare has several neighborhoods, and often Mandy has said, “This is an Indian community” or “that’s where the Coloureds live mostly…” They are hilarious people and have their own unique culture.

In Africa, the divisions between these four different groups of people (Bantu, Coloured, Nile-itic, San) is clearly evident; whether by geographic, linguistic, or plain visual characteristics they are regarded as separate peoples. In the States however, they would all be considered to be just Black. On the reverse side, many Black-Americans don’t seem to identify with a specific people in Africa, but are content to be labeled with the all inclusive term “African American”. Is this a result of the disruptive nature of the slave trade, the large amount of time since they came to America and the poor records kept? I don’t know, but imagine the fury that would arise if we just said “Korean-Americans and Japanese Americans- you guys are from the same continent really- so can we just call you the same thing?”

Which brings me to my problem. After living here, and after being married to a White African, I don’t know if I can term African Americans the way I did before. To me, with all due respect, President Obama (while he is the first African-American) is not the first ”black” president, but the first Coloured President.

I used to be confused when Mikaela would point out that Halle Berry emphasizes her African American background, as opposed to her white background. “Why doesn’t she ever mention her white heritage?” To me (possibly out of ignorance), Halle Berry was black. To Mikaela, she was Coloured.

After living here, I now understand.

Price Differences Between Zimbabwe and the States

I apologize if I havent posted many pictures- we havent had internet at all for the past few days, but we are working on it!

So, if Zimbabwe runs completely on the US dollar, how similar are the prices? It varies. Your standard fruit, veggie, meats, and other basics are pretty similar, if not slightly cheaper. Petrol is much more expensive than in the states, and diesel here is the cheaper fuel- all being sold in the liter.

But some goods are twice the price.

Mandy’s hair dryer died and we went looking for a replacement, and the cheapest hair dryer we could find was over $40. On most items there is a 100% import tax, so it doubles the price of anything brought into the country (like new cars, TV’s, Electronics).

While some things are really expensive, others are incredibly cheap. The house we rented in Nyanga- slept 16, came with two domestic servants who cooked and cleaned, and we had acres of undeveloped land at our disposal. It only cost $80 a night. A speeding ticket is maximum $20, filet mignon costs $9 a Kilo, and movie tickets cost $2 ($3 if there isn’t any power and the generator is running for the whole theater). Likewise Kean was offered $5 a day to work at a local store for the school holidays.

Services and education can also vary. Internet costs $80 a month, the phone bill (when it is hardly used) is $250, doctors visits are only $30 to a general practitioner, and one of Kaela’s friends pays her domestic servant $37 a week. Schooling at the best private school for boys in Zimbabwe only costs $4,200 a year and when Kaela was in school it was only $1500 a year. Given that three students from her school went to Harvard last year, and several students scored the top three highest scores in the International Cambridge examinations (A-Level GCSE) out of 130 nations (including Asia), that’s a pretty good deal.

It’s just interesting to see the differences in living.

The Power Problem

One of the (ahem) highlights of living in Harare, and in the entire of Zimbabwe for that matter, is power cuts. When Grandpa Chris was growing up in Rhodesia he could only remember two power cuts his entire life, and even then they only lasted for a few hours. Now, it is rare to not have a power cut every few days.

There seems to be two different types of power cuts: faults, and load shedding. A fault is when a power line is cut through, or there is some mechanical error, and “ZESA” has to fix it. A few weekends ago, on Friday at noon the power went out because of a fault, and it took them until Sunday to even find where the break was. Then it took them time to fix it- which took until late Monday evening. The other type of power cuts, load shedding, is merely distributing power throughout the city so that some places have it for a day, and others don’t and the next day it is vice versa. This usually is the case for most of the week. The power will go off some time in the morning, and come back on later in the evening when it is dark.

When there isn’t power, we rely on the Lane’s massive generator to run the appliances, keep the lights on etc etc. The thing is, it cant run everything, so we have to shut off the water heater, the fridge, and alternate usage so it doesn’t overload the generator. During the incident a few weeks ago- the generator was on 24/7 for those few days and its noise can be distracting.

The lack of power can be maddening at times. For example, when your cooking dinner, and the oven is baking something, the power goes off. You’re on the computer talking on skype to someone, and the power goes off. Mandy can be making her fudge on the stove, and the power goes off (then ensues a mad dash to the gas stove where the fudge resumes). Then the generator rumbles into life, and the lights come back on- but falter occasionally when the tea kettle goes on. It’s like living in the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland! When the generator is on, it brings its own set of problems: does it have enough fuel, is the electrical load too much, is there enough water cooling it down, has the oil been changed recently, etc etc.

When the power does come back on, it often has massive surges which sometimes damage the appliances. The neighbor across the street had her borehole pump wiped out because of a power surge and was left without water until she bought a new one.

And the even more interesting thing is: an Indian engineering firm has offered to take over ZESA and has predicted that within 13 months it would have the entire country completely modernized and functional. The only draw backs would be- the monthly electric bill would be 20% more. Yet the people in charge refuse to modernize because they wouldn’t be getting their cuts from the profits.

When we were up in Kariba, I asked the caretaker of the home we stayed at whether or not they have power cuts up there. “No boss, we don’t have them here, not like in town. The dam supplies our electricity- so maybe once or twice a month there is no power, but that’s it. That’s why I like it up here!”

Its moments like these that make the State Department so appealing: all diplomats have a generator running 24/7 that is paid for and maintained by the embassy, and have water delivered daily.

The Water Problem

The other day as we were eating lunch, a call came in from the front gate to let the city utilities guy come in to read the water meter. The thing is, it is a complete joke.

The Lanes have a link to the city water line, but haven’t had water consistently come in for years. “We had it for one day in February, and then 2 years before that.” Even if water came in consistently, they wouldn’t use it. Last year when Zimbabwe was still suffering from hyperinflation (before they switched entirely to the US dollar) the city of Harare essentially couldn’t pay for the chemicals needed to purify their city water. A cholera epidemic affecting hundreds of thousands ensued, with several thousand actually dying. To add insult to injury, while the World Health Organization (WHO) was still setting up clinics by the thousands, and international envoys were scrambling to reach people, President Mugabe stood in a press conference and declared that all the cholera had been eradicated from Zimbabwe by his government.

Hence most of the people who can afford not to use municipal water use either water from a borehole in their yard (and have the threat of the pump being stolen), or have the water shipped in large containers (like the diplomats who work for the American Embassy).

Even though the Lanes don’t use the city water, they still get a bill each month for $10 form the city for having a line at the house. And yet each month the guy comes to read the water meter…

Medical Care and Isolation

On our last night in Nyanga, Mikaela has a really bad stomach virus which left her throwing up and having diarrhea throughout the night until we left the following afternoon. Literally she was bed ridden up until the moment we loaded her into the car. When at 4 in the morning it was at its worst, it hit me how isolated we were if something drastic happened: A 10 minute drive up a 2.5 mile dirt road that is impassable in the rain, another 30 minutes drive to the nearest “chemist” or pharmacy, and from there another 10 minutes to a clinic, and at least 4 hours to a decent hospital in Harare.

Given that the Makone District of Nyanga (a few miles away) had the highest AIDS percentage in Zimbabwe, the clinic in Nyanga didn’t sound like a good idea. Plus, there was no way the clinic would be open at 4 in the morning.

It was moments like that that made me grateful that in Provo we had the Student Health Center, the Instacare, the Emergency Room, countless offices of specialists and an entire hospital within 5 minutes drive of our apartment- including traffic…

Pungwe Falls and Mt Inyangani

Pungwe Falls lie up the canyon of the Mtarazi Falls, the 5th tallest waterfall in Africa, and the 17th in the world. For the drive to Pungwe falls, people told us that 4 wheel drive was recommended but not required, however after navigating for hours through ditches, upturned trees, gullies, washed out roads, rocks, mud pits, rivers, logs, and straight bush, I would say that 4 wheel drive isn’t enough!

When we signed in the guest book at the small hut near the entrance to the access road, we discovered that we were the first visitors there for over two weeks. As we began the descent into the river basin, it was quickly apparent why. To get to the road that led to the falls we had to ford a river, and then drive along a completely overgrown road (see picture). Once it was clear that the Venture was not going to make it any further, we ditched the car and walked for another km or so along a road so riddled that I would be hard pressed to find a car that could navigate the terrain.

Once we reached the falls, we had a great several hours swimming and hiking through the rocks- and we were completely secluded. We had the place all to ourselves, minus the leaches I had to pull out!

The drive back to Nyanga was incredible as we had a rare glimpse of Mt Inyangani without any cloud cover. The road was terrible of course, but we made it back alive!

The Pine Forests of Zimbabwe

The drive to Pungwe Falls from Troutbeck was one of the most scenic, educational, and inspirational drives I’ve ever been on. Not only did it change my perceptions of Africa, but it opened my eyes to how breathtakingly beautiful this country is. As I mentioned before, the flora is completely different in the eastern highlands than it is anywhere else in the country. The drive to Pungwe Falls was filled with vast expanses of massive pine forests covering the hills, mountains, and gorges with a thick shaggy blanket of green. What’s even more astonishing, they’ve all been planted by hand.
The entire pine forests of Zimbabwe are grown on a rotational basis. The trees stretching for hundreds of acres are all planted in rows upon rows of neat lines, and then harvested after a number of years. The ground lays fallow for some time, and then they are replanted in the same manner with neatly cut firebreaks punctuating the otherwise rolling scenery. When the pines mix in with indigenous plants in the national parks is when the views turn truly stunning. If the entire infrastructure of Zimbabwe is failing, then the Forestry Commission is insulated from the rest of the country.

My perception of Africa changed in two ways: I became aware of the diversity that is here, and I learned what is possible when effective governance is present. When most people think of Africa, they probably picture endless grasslands filled with animals and picturesque sunsets. Others most likely see starving children and AIDS infected Africans.

What they don’t imagine is rich pine forests in high mountain passes. What they don’t imagine is rolling hills filled with ripe orchards. What they don’t imagine is a country that actually functions without corruption. And yet, that is what I hope to imagine. That’s what a lot of Zimbabweans hope to imagine everyday of their lives. If anything, they showed me what Rhodesia used to be like.

The pine forests of Zimbabwe showed me how to imagine for the future of a country.

World's View and Nyangombi Falls

If the roads had been paved, the drive wouldn’t have taken more than 10 minutes or so. But, this being Africa, and this being Zimbabwe, the road wasn’t paved, and the machine that is used to pave roads was left rusting 50 meters down the way. The road- or trail- to World’s View was some of the worst roads I had ever seen. Rain had gutted out entire sections leaving small boulders for us to maneuver around, yet somehow the Venture made it through, and brought us to World’s View.

Worlds View is essentially the vantage point from the edge of a very sheer drop. The view goes eastward and you feel as if you can see the whole world. Mikaela, Kean, Liam and I took the opportunity to climb up to the highest point on the mountain where the view was that much more thrilling. When we came down Grandpa Chris couldn’t help but tell us about an idiot hotshot pilot who wanted to be the first person to hang glide from the top. The day came and the news cameras and reporters were there to document it, but the wind wasn’t going in the right direction. This is where the idiot part comes in: despite the bad wind, he was more concerned with the reporters and he ran and leapt off the edge with his glider. Immediately the wind shoved the glider down he plummeted to his death on the side of the mountain, and it took hours before a helicopter could retrieve the body. “What an idiot. And he was a pilot too.”

After Worlds View, we drove to Nyangombi Falls, a series of waterfalls that have calm deep pools beneath them. The problem was, we had to walk on a trail upstream to find a suitable spot to cross the river. Grandpa Chris led the way as we went “Bundu Bashing” or bushwacking. What was supposed to be a ten minute walk quickly turned into a several hour long ordeal. Quickly the trail disintegrated into tallgrass, bushes and thorns which did not go well for our “swimming costumes” and flipflops. Grandpa was looking for an easy place to cross the fast stream, but we ended up getting cut up legs, and dampened spirits before Mikaela and I decided what we were doing was ridiculous. Leaving Grandpa, Liam and Kean, we backtracked until we found a much easier spot, crossed there, and made our way down to the pools on a totally non existent trail. Having no idea where we were, or exactly where we were going, I will be honest I felt like we were having our moment with nature and wasn’t sure what was going to happen!

By the time we got to the pools, the sun was going down and we had only time for a quick dive before we had to hike out. As we hiked Grandpa Chris showed us the rock slab where, as a 17 year old, he spent a week camping under the stars hunting and fishing for food. I really wonder what the country must have been like then…

In the end, we were all pretty frustrated that a lazy afternoon swim had been shortchanged by improv trailblazing, but we were rewarded with one of the most beautiful sunsets Africa could produce.

Nyanga

A few weeks ago we had the opportunity to go to Nyanga, the famed eastern highlands of Zimbabwe. Bordering Mozambique, the landscape is entirely foreign to the high veldt that surrounds Harare. Driving east, at first the scenery is your typical rolling grasslands with sparse trees. However, the rolling grasslands turn to undulating hills, and then suddenly, the landscape erupts into giant boils of granite formations and jagged peaks. Sheer granite faces stare at you as you drive on twisting roads, but the most startling change occurred as the flora adapted to the increase in altitude.


The first thing you notice is that the msasa trees, due to lack of oxygen, turn into msasa shrubs, and sweeping acacia trees begin to fill the skyline as well as vast stretches of pine. It felt like I was driving along the scenic Oregon coast mixed with the sprawling orchards of Napa valley. It honestly felt like I was no longer in Africa, but the rusted road signs and occasional potholes jarred me back into reality. Far to the eastern horizon thick clouds shrouded Zimbabwe’s highest peak: Mt Inyangani (2,592 Meters, 8,500 Ft). Supposedly, the mountain is home to witch doctors, and there are many stories of people who go hiking, get lost in the mists, and are never seen again. Some are as recent as a few years ago. Because of these incidents, schools no longer take their students on hikes up Inyangani.

Nyanga, because it is so close to Mozambique and so far away from Harare, has traditionally been a hotspot of activity. During the Bush War, Mozambique assisted the terrorist forces and frequent guerrilla raids occurred against the Rhodesian forces. Even after the war had ended and Zimbabwe had its independence, Nyanga was still a very unsafe place to travel. When Bob and Mandy went on their honeymoon to Nyanga in 1982, people thought they were crazy to drive out there, and there were several accounts of whites being murdered by War Vets. More recently in the 2008 elections, many War Vets took over properties and farms, and even more political violence against blacks was documented. The owners of the place we stayed at told us that War Vets were eyeing the property and consequently didn’t want to refurbish it in case they just took it from them.

Which brings me to Tsakatombi. Located on the top of a heavily forested valley, the property included several acres of pine forest, rivers, waterfalls, and cows. Tsakatombi isn’t necessarily the name of a city or a person, but just the property, as most large properties here have names. The building itself, reminiscent of a 1950’s Swiss chalet located in some remote part of the alps, was replete with a wood burning stove, onsite cooks and domestic help, and sweeping views of the valley below. At the end of a 4.5 Km dirt road (road is a euphemism) that is utterly impassable in the wet season, the property is usually covered in mist making you feel like you’ve just left Glasgow.

The nearest outpost of civilization to Tsakatombi is the small town of Troutbeck, named after Troutbeck Lake. Surrounding this small alpine village are vacation homes, and cottages owned by some of Zimbabwe’s wealthiest. At the center of Troutbeck is the Troutbeck Inn, where Bob and Mandy had their honeymoon. Supposedly in the entry there is a fire that hasn’t been extinguished in 150 years, but thanks to the new management, the last time some friends were here the fire was out. Despite Troutbeck being one of THE holiday destinations, in typical Zimbabwean style, there is no functioning store much less anything else!

Like Mother Like Daughter

(Photo of us in Nyanga)

Mikaela: “Do my mom and I look alike?”

Christian: “I think you both have wonderful qualities of beauty.”

Mandy: “Lying bastard.”

ZBC News

In Zimbabwe, there are just two TV channels to watch if you don’t have satellite. A few nights ago one of Mikaela’s friends, Ryan Koriya, was going to have a spotlight on him during the nightly national news. He was born here in Zim, and for the past 7 years has been in England trying to make it as a musician (www.ryankoriya.com) and is back in town to record his album. He said the news studio looked like it hadn’t changed since 1947. While waiting for the special to appear (Photo), I jotted down some of the top news stories that came up, and included (in parenthesis) parts of the real story:

-There is an international ban on Zimbabwe diamonds. Anyone who is caught trading them abroad will be punished. Quoting a Zimbabwean official: The ban is an act of war (by the West), which of course is what we have known for some time”. (Mugabe and his cronies own the mines, and the diamonds are considered “blood diamonds”)

-Harare Man suspected of Domestic Violence is in Court after dumping his pregnant girlfriend in a sewage drain. He is charged with attempted murder. After she was dumped alive, it took three days for her to find a place large enough to exit. He duped her to think he wanted to take her to meet the relatives, and got rid of her on the way.

-Zimbabwe Revenue Authorities say that 22 out of 25 highway Toll Gates are in operation. The US 15 million collected so far is to be allocated for road rehabilitation. (All the money is being used to spruce up Mugabe’s rural hometown)

-Lack of government support has made government provided low income housing a challenge. International sanctions are the cause of the government’s financial problems. In Harare, 3000 homes (sheds more like) have been built in the past decade.

-University of Zimbabwe awarded 637 Education degrees today. Shortage of university lecturers is a challenge.

-The national soccer team is struggling to stay afloat as a team because no other international teams come to play them.

-Head of State and Government and Commander in Chief of the Zimbabwe Defense Forces President Robert Mugabe addresses SADC. Don’t miss his stirring address, airing at 9.

-A Zimbabwean official spoke about the strength of SADC: It protects Zimbabwe from “continual political influences of the exterior, the ugly hand of foreigners are continuously trying to fuel conflict in our country. SADC is one of the strongest forces why apartheid ended.”

The international news was full of jabs at the US when it was possible:
-As the US prepares to leave Iraq, it is leaving only a tradition of anarchy. The US went there to secure its oil in the first place.

-Ambassadors from Pakistan, Indonesia, and Sweden all visited Zimbabwe promising more aid when the “conditions are right”.

Both nights that we watched the news, detailed accounts of floods in China were included. This is because there are large numbers of Chinese workers who work here on joint Chinese-Zimbabwe government projects.
The advertisements were interesting- being the same 3-4 repeated over and over again.

-An ad reminding viewers to be mindful of the spread HIV, wash their hands after being in public places, and to take their anti viral medications (ARV’s).

-Be sure to register your cell phone with the government by August 31st

-ZBC provides 2 TV and 4 radio stations for your listening pleasure (That’s it- no others). By paying the license fees, you help ZBC to provide good service for you. Help us satisfy your listening and viewing pleasures. Below are the license fees you need to pay if you have a TV or Radio:

Home radio license $20
Business Radio $50
Company vehicle radio $80
Personal Vehicle Radio $30
Home TV license- $50
Company TV License $100
Vehicle sound and TV license- $100
(The home licenses are per lot- so Janet and Esther’s TVs are included when the Lanes pay)

-This September, don’t forget the newest soap opera. (It is set in prehistoric Zimbabwe- replete with guys in loincloths)

-Coming Soon Hawkeye (re-runs of American West drama)

In the end, Ryan’s special never aired. He said that right before the broadcast he received a text from the producer:

“Technical difficulties, will air tomorrow”

Darwendale Dam and African Innertubing

A few weeks ago, in preparation for Chirundu, Chris Shepherd invited me to go fishing with him and his son early one morning at the Darwendale Dam. When Zimbabweans refer to a “Dam” they don’t mean the actual concrete retaining structure, but rather the entire reservoir/lake behind it. About an hour’s drive in total, we had a great time watching the sunrise. Graham, Chris’s son, recently made the All Zimbabwe Rugby team for his age level, and we were fishing in celebration.

Lining the dam are several farms on either side. “All those farms were seized by Mugabe, and look at them. All those fields were completely green with different crops, and now none of them have anything.” As we fished on the boat a few meters off shore, we watched as a herd of scrawny cattle grazed nearby, and kicked up a huge dust cloud.

Darwendale has some of the best Bass fishing in Africa, and local fisherman are trying to profit from it. “Fishmongers” set up nets, and then collect the fish in their canoes everyday. While this is illegal, there is no one to enforce it. On the other hand, no one was checking my fishing license (or lack thereof) when we left the docks.

Most of the fishmongers work in teams while staying in their canoes, but there are other intrepid soloists who lay nets on their own. How to they get around? In innertubes with their feet dangling in the water. If you notice the picture, you see that there is a bic pen inserted into the tube- that’s how he inflates the thing!

The only problem is, not 200 meters up from where the kid is fishing, we saw a ten foot crocodile basking in the sun. When asked about the croc, the kid said, “Eh- I see him all the time. I’m not worried.” Another man said, “Its too cold for them to bite.” The really sad thing is that no one would know if anything happened to these fishermen, and one day all that could be left is an empty innertube floating in the reeds.

“If that were my son,” Chris said, “I would be standing over him with a rifle watching everything. You don’t even know when crocs are there…”

Booze Cruise: With Cokes, and Mini-Croc Attack

On our last night in Chirundu, we did a Booze Cruise, but with cokes. The concept is simple: get on a boat and watch the game come to the riverbanks at sunset. Oh yeah- with beer. We had cokes instead. It was incredible as we floated down the river listening to the hippos, and watching different groups of elephants bathe and go back into the bush. It was one of the most relaxing things I’ve done. All the while, we had the fishing rods in the water trying to catch tiger fish with no luck.
There is something interesting about the difference in the North and South Zambezi riverbanks. On the Zambian side, the first couple hundred meters or so is lush, and green lined with palm trees. Afterward it turns to regular brown brush. On the Zimbabwean side, it was relatively grey and dull to begin with. The reason being- the palm trees on the Zambian side supposedly mark an old Arab trading road that existed centuries before. I am told that there are abandoned Arab camps with pottery shards hundreds of years old nearby as well.

Despite the relaxed sunset, earlier in the day, we had a few close calls.


Scenario One:
I am standing on the riverbank of the Zambezi next to an upturned/submerged tree. Behind me is a small dirt ledge about 10 feet high, and there are 4 other people with me. The boat is anchored but drifting facing upstream about 4 meters away. As I am standing there, the water was clear, and we can see the fish swimming amidst the dead branches of the tree. In this calm setting, out of nowhere a Crocodile exploded out of the water. It was only 3 feet long, but still the suddenness of it had me a bit mesmerized. It came within a foot or two, stopped and looked at me, then swam away down stream keeping a good view of us.

What I Learned: You really have no idea what is out there, and crocs really are dangerous. Later when I showed Graham, Chris’s son pictures of Lake Powell in Utah- he was stunned that such scenery was in the states and asked me- “You can really swim anywhere in the lake? Its safe?” He was shocked that there wasn’t anything dangerous there. Had that croc been just 2 feet longer, then he definitely wouldn’t have been scared to turn away.

Scenario Two:
We were drag fishing for Tiger fish when we drifted close to one of the small islands in the river. Feeding in the reeds was a bull elephant. Keith took us in upstream of the elephant, and then cut the engine letting us drift right in front of it. We were within five meters of the thing, it looked straight at us, took a defensive stance and started flapping its ears as a warning. It looked as if it was going to charge into the water, and trumpeted at us. As I got it on video literally the second after it trumpeted, Keith said “YES!” in the background.

What I Learned: No matter what you think your gonna think, elephants are scary when they are that close to you. I felt slightly dazed and weak after we floated by it, but I was still surprised by Keith’s shout of “YES!”. Even though he’s been here countless times, and seen more wild elephants than he could count, he still is invigorated by elephants when he encounters them. He still gets a thrill, or a high from it.

I think I understand why.

The Croc Farm

One of the days we were in Chirundu, we had the chance to go to the oldest Croc farm in Zimbabwe, and the 4th largest. Turns out that the hot semi humid climate of “The Valley” is perfect for Crocodiles. Go figure. In the 50’s there was a ban on Crocodile hunting in Zimbabwe because they were nearly hunted to extinction. Not that they were hunted for a purpose, but rather people would just stand on their boats and shoot the “filthy buggers” from afar, needlessly wounding and maiming thousands.
Jump ahead 60 years, and the croc numbers have flourished to the point of becoming pests along the Zambezi causing many game guides to want two crocs thrown in with every hunting package. “But, they do serve a purpose- they clean up the river of any dead animals, and waste” Chris Shepherd told me. He also told me the best way to swim the Zambezi, “Swim facing upstream, because crocs face upstream waiting for things to float by. That way you’ll see them long before they see you.” As if I would be able to spot a log staring at me in brown murky water…
The background about the road along the way to the croc farm deserves attention. The long dusty road is lined with what seems to be bombed out remains of homes, churches, and other buildings. Truth is, they are bombed out remains of homes, churches, and other buildings. Because the buildings were a few hundred meters from the Zambezi, during the war countless shells from “terrorists” destroyed what once used to be a thriving, predominantly white, town. Under a thousand whites, and several thousand laborers and domestics all lived there. When people fled, the locals destroyed what was left so they couldn’t be used as hideouts.
Enter the Croc farm. Given the increase in the need for croc hide for clothing and hand bags, the croc farm has been going long enough to have a healthy population of 80,000 or so crocs. There are a several large breeding pairs kept in separate pens the size of several Olympic pools, but most are kept in large swimming pool size pens made of cinder block. When they lay eggs, in goes a few guys with brooms to push them away, the eggs are gathered, and then put in an incubator. The incubator part is crucial: the sex of crocodiles is controlled by the temperature, not genetics. “Males are produced at around 31.6 °C (89 °F), and females produced at slightly lower and higher temperatures.”(Wikipedia) Is there a benefit to having more males than females? I’m not sure but interesting huh?

The majority of the crocs are under four feet long. Reason being: if they get any longer, and any older, their skin is too tough to tan. The result of all this is a several acre plot of land with countless holding tanks, and a stench that fills the air for miles around. Lining the croc pens however, you see wires a few feet above each pen. Turns out the killers are vulnerable after all. Marabou storks, one of the largest flying birds, fill the air nearby and stand on the edge of each tank at sunset. The wires help somewhat in stopping the storks fly in and out. The effect of seeing hundreds of massive hideous birds standing lone watch over the croc pens as the sun sets an eerie glow, is haunting to say the least…

Lining the yard of the croc farm manager you can find several hippo skulls. When asked why he had so many he said, “We go out each year and shoot two hippo. It’s the best meat for baby crocs we’ve found.” Despite their controlled environment, millions of years of living in close proximity with hippos still comes through…