I'll explain the picture later.
This trip has been the experience of a lifetime. Traveling to South Africa was all about a feeling, it remains that feeling, and will always be that feeling. Yet in a way Stellenbosch has become my home, slighlty more than a feeling. It has become this strange, yet unrealistic reality. It has become a place that I feel safe, comfortable. It has become a place that I can understand and this is beginning to bother me. I am a person who can exist in a comfort zone, but I thrive when challenges come my way, when I am put into difficult, unfamiliar situaitons. Imagine living in a cage, except there are never actually walls until you have explored all the areas within the cage. As in the pure deed of exploring your surroundings in a strange way makes the area you're within suddenly seem smaller. What I am trying to say is not that I feel like I am in a cage in Stellenbosch, far from it actually. I am quite happy. But what I am trying to say is that the recent journey I took makes me realize how nice it is to explore beyond any degree of familiarity and just discover...
On
April 3rd my journey began at the Cape Town Jazz Festival. I had the privilege of seeing South Africa's Luther Vandross perform in front of a crowd of roughly 2,000 Xhosa speaking Africans and approximately (and this is a pure guesstimate) 6 white people. He was a firmly built black man, 6' 2" about 220, but was somehow able to do this fascinating gyration with his lower half, to which I told an even larger black man behind me "If listening to his music helps you to do that, get me a CD right now". He loved it and we cracked up every time this man gyrated. You had to be there I suppose. I also got to see some absolutely wonderful jazz quartets play, the most American form of jazz that I saw while at the festival. Perhaps one of the more fascinating things was seeing the hip hop influenced jazz. MCs came from across the world to freestyle, but not to processed beats and superficial riffs, rather to a horn section, stand up bass, drum kit and piano. Mos Def even came, and somehow everyone in South Africa has an impeccable understanding and appreciation for underground 90s hip-hop. Who knew???
All in all it was quite an awesome experience. I never knew that jazz would follow me all the way to South Africa, and that I would learn about so many cultures while I was there, so many unexplored variations of jazz. There were groups from the states, from Brazil, from Sweden, from Spain, and from other parts of Africa. I was truly in heaven. For one of the first times as well I was able to see how jazz has the ability to affect people in more than just a small setting. People had come from all across South Africa to see this, and they were all moved. I have also never felt more at home, everyone wore my kind of hats. Its nice to naturally fit into the jazzman vibe without really thinking. It just comes naturally, kind of like jazz.
On
April 5th I began my trek on the Baz Bus to Port Elizabeth, about 500 miles across the southern coast of South Africa from Cape Town. The Baz Bus is quite a beautiful thing. It is a about a 15 passenger bus, decked out with video, surround sound, a disco ball, and a more often than not surprisingly cool bus driver (all true except for the disco ball, but wouldn't that be awesome?). It starts and stops all along the N2, the main highway that goes all the way from Cape Town into the far Northeastern border next to Mozambique. When I got on the bus I was greeted by many friendly faces, and although I was on the trip to learn about myself, I figured the best way to do that was to learn about other people. I met a very nice guy named Rob from the UK, who was traveling with some friends from Cape Town, all from different parts of the world. They were all very cool, but Rob was the only non-pothead, so I liked him the most. Yet it wasn't Rob's friendly face that intrigued me, it was the unfamiliar and exotic beauty of the Brazilian girl only one row ahead of me. Vivien, she will be mine, oh yes she will be mine. Well turns out she won't, but I did everything I could to ensure it. I even changed my plans and called the backpackers she was staying at, just to see what would happen. Its my adventure right? I can do whatever I want. This was the first time in the trip I recognized this, and god was it beautiful. Well luck be a handsome German man, good ole Hans and Frans came to rescue Vivien from my arms at the beach house we stayed at. We still had a great time, but alas I think the exotic beauty of the Germans outweighed mine. Oh well, can't win 'em all.
Nevertheless, on April 6th the Germans left and I stayed with Vivien in the solitary town of Wilderness, half beach/half forest, half fairytale/half reality. We walked along the beach for a little while, talking about religion, Brazilian culture, stuff like that, but honestly I forget a majority of it because she decided to wear her bathing suit on the beach. Great for the fairytale part, but not for the reality. Gollee she was beautiful. We decided to take a journey towards the forest part, where we heard there was a waterfall somewhere around the bend. Now in fairytales caves usually lead to waterfalls, so we determined the path through the cave was the best option. On the other side of the cave we didn't find a waterfall, but we found the next best thing, an abandoned caveside restaurant. It looked relatively well kept in its day, just a little exotic. Yet as we were exploring, a man, imagine an extra from the Moby Dick film, emerges from behind a curtain, yes a curtain, and asks politely "Can I get you all some coffee?" His next questions is "Can I show you my cave?" I wanted to run, but I guess this sort of thing is normal in Brazil because Vivien just waltzes in like its no big deal. I wish I had taken pictures. The cave is filled with seashell stalagtites and sculptures made from drift wood. Paintings of seaside mannerisms, and full sized beds that mimiced the regality of one fit for a maharaja. An odd looking man, fumbling strangely in a dark corner says in the most effeminate voice I have ever heard (even for a female), "all things in this cave are dedicated to the glory of god". Again, I would like to run, for I feel as if any moment I will see skeletons in a corner decorated with seashells, the last human who came looking for a waterfall. Seriously it seemed like a Hitchcock novel. James, the Moby Dick character, extends the courtesy of helping us around the cove. I want to do it myself, but Vivien just loves him, so we continue on. James is a fascinating man, who tells us about how he became a cave enthusisast of sorts, a modern day caveman. He goes to market to buy supplies for the cave, but more or less lives off the amenities of the land around him. Sadly we had to say goodbye James, but happily all our limbs were secure, not part of James evening stew. We journeyed back to the beach house, and I departed on the Baz Bus towards Port Elizabeth later that day.
James was truly the closesI have come in quite a while, if not ever, to meeting someone who had such a unique understanding of human orientation. He believed that material things only wiegh down the spirit, and that rather than be bothered by the pettieness of possessions, why not make use of the talents you have naturally within the most pristene of settings, find simplicity in serenity, and serenity in permanence. Alot of people have the undertones of James perspective in their diaries, or in their random enlightned and transcendental moments, yet no one embraces it, at least not in the long term. I am not sure how happy James is really, I could sense some desperation in his life when he quietly asked for a donation as we left, yet the true passion with which he believed in what he is doing, and that he was doing it without the recognition of society, without ever having to be noticed is truly wonderful. He committs himself out of the kindness of his heart, sharing his life and views with someone, like me, who might just come along and listen to his words for just a moment. That's all people really need, is someone to listen.
Sunrise at Addo Elephant Park, April 7th, what a beautiful place to rise. Situated about 100 kilometers from the coastal city of Port Elizabeth, Addo Elephant Park is the second largest national park in South Africa, specifically designed for the preservation and sustainability of the plant and animal species living amidst them, in this case elephants. I began the day with a sunrise game drive. Nestled comfortably in the front seat of a high rise humvee, I watched the silent brush wave good morning, the African horizon reveal its subtle hues and yawn, and the wildlife unsettle itself from nocturnal wanderings. It wasn't quite like the sunrise in the Lion King, but I swear I heard an African tenor somewhere in the distance, filling the morning air with his native call. We saw zebra, wildebeast, warthog, and cape buffalo, but the coolest sight of all was watching a hyena slowly devouring a kudu (one of the larger ancestors of the antelope), while chasing off little jackals that attempted to rally the scraps. What a magnificent creature, I had no idea how large the hyena is, they actually have the most powerful jaws in the animal kingdom, and you could tell.
Later in the afternoon I attended another game drive, this time offerred by a friend of Jon, the owner of the backpacker's I was staying at. This one retained something special, as we had almost 5 hours to explore the park, allowing us to hit the further ends of the wilderness there, and spend valuable time with the animals. Darren, our tour guide, as well as Russ and Susie, a lovely British couple, accompanied me on this personal look inside the nature at Addo. Darren is a practiced man in the arts of observation and appreciation of wildlife, and his knowledge is far from limited. While on our drive, I learned numerous fun facts about the plant and animal species in the area, I truly felt like I was inside the mind of the narrator on one of those Animal Planet specials. The most fascinating knowledge I gained, and retained, is those about elephants. My favorite tid bit is that regarding the birds and the bees, of elephants. Darren was kind enough to inform us that elephant sex only lasts, at its maximum, for 45 seconds. We later found out why. The pure girth and robustness of the elephant penis, probably weighing as much as an average human's body, is large enough to act as a fifth leg, suggesting that if intercourse went into the minutes, heaven forbid, some damage might be done. Luckily enough we were able to witness this phenomena of nature, a 7 ton bull mounting a 3 ton cow, balance being the key word here. Well, he kept it for about 30 seconds, and it looked like that's all he needed. What a sight. Fast forward that act about 22 months, witnessing a baby elephant is slightly more appealing, though degrees of intrigue remain the same. His little elephant ears were still stuck to the side of his head, fuzz protruded from the crest of his head, and his trunk hung like a vestigial organ, flopping like a pendulum from side to side, no control over its tempo and time.
Later that day I enjoyed the company of the Orange Elephant Back Packers and the company of the best steak I have had since leaving Texas exactly three months ago. For dessert was a little bit more of American tradition, this time courtesy of yours truly. Quite luckily while at the towns main restaurant, I found marshmallows resting innocently on the shelf, looking for some innovation in their lives. Well, I put two and two together, bought the biscuits (cookies, they don't have graham crackers here) 4 bars of pure delicious Cadbury chocolate, and prepared my fellow South Africans for the chance of a lifetime-S'mores. Susie, of Russ and Susie, was the only one in the group who had the pleasure of tasting S'mores in her past, so the pressure was on. Yet the only person who I really cared about enjoying the S'mores was Jon, the owner of the backpackers, who had shown such hospitality in order to ensure that my experience here was once in a lifetime. Now Jon, what a man. Picture the the human reincarnation of what a strong elephant bull would look like. Intimidating, maybe at first glance, and his slightly lazy eye didn't help that either. Yet he was the friendliest guy, and had a very real presence about him. Well, Jon admitted to me that his sweet tooth was something extraordinary, so he didn't want to tempt himself. Alas, I would not take no for an answer, to which he replied "Alright! Show me that Schmegel biscuit!". Watching him make his Schmegel biscuit was a beautiful sight, and he devoured it, loving every moment. It was the best S'more's making I have had in a long long time.
It's not always the intrinsic nature in the experience that gives someone memories and allows them to appreciate, yet rather the realizations these experiences give you about yourself, mostly in relation to your place in the vast and diverse social spectrum. Visiting the Addo Elephant Park certainly gave me a new appreciation for wildlife and what's really going on out there when no one's looking, but it goes down for me as probably the first time in which I met a group of people so unique, so focused, so passionate. The people that I met at Addo, in particular Darren, our tour guide, had this simple, yet intense, understanding in their life. It is truly hard to define, but Darren described it as something that no one else can touch. His lifestyle, his passion for animals, his vocation, were all safe within the wilderness of Addo. People couldn't tell him what to do, the government has no impact on his life, he comes and goes as he pleases, making money from game drive tours, finding happiness in observing the ever-changing permanence of the wild. He truly has no part in regulated society, but rather a society of freedoms, of responsibilities as you make them. Perhaps I over-exaggerate to express the point, but the point stands that until that point I have met few people so comfortable in their own existence.
The surf raised its white foam above the line the horizon draws with infinity, and rolled to the shore of Jeffrey's Bay, April 8th. I arrived safely into the arms of Ubuntu, a surfside backpackers with a great view of the ocean, the surf, and of why it is beautiful to be a surfer. To add to the lackadaisical vibe, I found out that Ubuntu means "humanity", and if the backpackers embodies that concept, then there may be hope for humanity yet. I couldn't wait, I add to experience this thing they call surfing first hand, so I bought a pair of Billabong board shorts, signed myself up for surf lessons, and hit the waves. Perhaps I should change the agency in that last sentence, the waves definitely hit me. But there was something incredible about facing mother nature, truly being a part of the roll of the tide, some surreal juxtaposition of man and nature and time. It also helped that there was a girl, not just any girl, probably the best looking girl I have ever seen in a bathing suit. We're talking SI Swimsuit Edition good, and I got her to take pictures of me while I surfed, I mean "surfed". She caught one of me when I stood up for about 5 seconds, my record for the day. If you look at the glass half full, then I'm doing a really cool surf move, but if the glass is half empty then I am certainly about to fall. I will let you be the judge. Well, needless to say I hit the surf again later that day, for about three hours all on my own, and got completely demolished. We're talking waves that are a good two feet above my head when I am all the way in the ocean. Pretty intimidating, but something about the beating made me want to conquer it more. This new found sense of adrenaline takes you, and you just go with it, and go with it, and go under, and go under, and go with it. What a feeling.
Completely exhausted from my rough day on the surf, all I needed was a nice beer and some good food. A surfer man called Robert, probably in his mid 40s, but with the heart of a lion, suggested a steak night that was in town. Steak sounded fantastic, but seafood sounded better. Alas, within the spirit of Ubuntu, I didn't argue and just went along with the crowd. Big mistake. Whenever "steak" is followed by "night" it means that this restaurant doesn't serve steak on a regular basis, only on special nights, which when the restaurant is a hotel lobby, is never a good thing. When we found out that we had to buy tickets to redeem our steak at a later hour, I almost called it, but was rather intrigued by the lack of class surrounding me, I needed to soak it in. I felt like I was supposed to either be meeting a hooker at this place, or my Aunt Susie for the awkward family family reunion. There was a gentleman in pleated khaki shorts and a T-shirt grilling steaks next to the hotel pool. I couldn't stop laughing, I felt awful, but needless to say Cousin Eddie could have fit in quite well (bravo to those who caught the National Lampoon's reference). We proceeded to the buffet, yes buffet, featuring grab and go bread, as well as surprisingly nice looking salad. I was sorely mistaken. I had only had one nice steak here since I left Texas, and it was the night before in Addo (it was quite wonderful as well), so with that steak in mind, and with TX in mind, I took a bite. I wanted to cry. It tasted like a mix between uncooked meat from the inside of Chef Boyardee ravioli, and yesterdays meatloaf from the elementary school cafeteria. To call this a steak would not only be an insult to porterhouses and T-bones everywhere, but so bad that steaks, as we know it, would probably change their names rather than be associated with this piece of meat. However, one of the more memorable meals I have had, ever.
I got to chat with Robert for quite a while and learn what made him the man he is, but more what makes him a surfer. He explained that, and I paraphrase, "There is so much bullshit that happens in the world, so many trivial concerns, and we get wrapped up in them and worry all the time. Whenever I am in the ocean, I forget all of that. It is just me and the wave, nothing else matters besides making the most of my relationship with mother nature at that moment. I have to focus all my energy on every wave, so there is simply no room for anything else to be on mind. It makes me free." I found this commentary so simple, yet so deep. I know that when I have to explain my passion for jazz, I have hard keeping the conversation below half an hour. It only took him half a minute to encapsulate his feeling, and it was quite lovely. He really captured the whole personality of that seaside town. Jeffrey's Bay is home to some of the best waves in the world for surfing, thereby attracting the best surfers. Surfers by nature have this relaxed quality about them, so chill, so calm. And as in any other passion, the more you become attached, the more you become a part of that mindset. Thus J-Bay is the haven for the serene, the intense, the thrillers, the beach-potatoes. It was an absolutely wonderful place to be, it has a way of effecting the soul, so you don't want to leave. The "10s" in bathing suits don't encourage you to leave either.
Alas my journey carried on, to Tsitsikama, "Water-Water Land". Time flies, April 9th. Tsitsikama National Park is held within the small simple town of Storm's River, featuring the running rapid's embodied by the name. It's hardly a town, so much as a place where people turned their tents into houses and left everything else the same. One of the best tents is the Dijembe Backpackers where I spent that night, and I found out later the next night as well. Dijembe, as the name suggests, is full of the native African drums, but complimented by the proper atmosphere. As you enter the fallen timber made into a pastoral entrance, you are surely welcomed by a lovely firepit, surrounded by the same timber, used this time as a placement for bodies around the fire, enhancing the natural feel once again. If the fireside isn't your cup of tea, there are hammocks sprawled out across the backpackers, right in the midst of the social scene, yet removed enough in the environment to allow for a cozy spooning session, or just a relaxing nap. Everything has an African tinge to it, even the bar and pool room. Oh, the bar room, my first realization of my time to come at Dijembe.
I was signing in at the bar, filling out my name and information, which included my passport number. As I searched for my passport, I quickly apologized to the hostess for taking so long, to which she replied, "No, take your time, you're hot." I quickly processed the awkward syntax and word choice of the previous sentence, and said "excuse me?" to make sure I wasn't confused. She repeated with equal direction and confidence, "You heard me, you're nice to look at, you can sit here all day if you like". I am a rather confident person, also slightly vain, so it takes a lot for me to blush. But the scarlet on my face was enough to make the letter on Hester Prynne look dull. Juan was her name (pronounced like John, but with a sexy soft "J"). She had a friend, Brenda, who echoed the comments, with almost equal intensity. It was a tag team of not completely attractive girls who were both throwing themselves at me more directly than any South African girl I have yet come across. The attention was quite nice though. Well, the night rolls on and the bar rolls out. Comments like "I'll give you a shot if you give me a shot" consisted of much of the conversation at the bar between Juan and I, the one I had taken a slight interest in of the two. Well, she was operating the bar, and I wouldn't be mistaken to say that the bartenders had more than their customers. This formula didn't work in my favor as they made me come behind the bar to dance with them. For the sake of virgin eyes, I will leave out some details, but let's just say I was far too sober. Anyways, the night continues, amidst the Comfort of the South, the arms of good ole' Mr. Jack, and one-is-always-too-much-Tequila. Juan tells me that she wants to give me her necklace, but that I must never take it off. She was drunk so I went along with it. For the sake of the story I will fast forward about 36 hours. As I was leaving, I attempted to give her the necklace back, but she said "no, keep it, I already got another". Weird. The reason she had gotten another, which I found out from Brenda, was that the necklace she had given me was given to her by Brad, her fiance'. This girl, who had all but thrown herself at me, was engaged! It blows my mind, but I guess even a ring on the finger won't stop the temptation of one whose eyes are set on Mr. Tutor. Crazy what it did to my ego, and my perception of what "available" means.
Believe or not, this wasn't the end of that April 9th night, but for reasons unknownst to you, the details will not be shared at this moment.
There was room for me in the inn, April 10th. The lovely people at Dijembe liked me so much they "found" a room for me. This allowed me to experience a long-awaited event. So that picture from the top, I said I would explain later. Well that time has come. The Bloukranz Bungee, the world's highest at 217 meters, a bridge more or less 700 feet off the ground. The bridge is constructed over a gorge that on one side leads into the Atlantic Ocean, and the other into the vast wilderness of the Tsitsikama National Forest. Either way you look is quite an impressive sight. So, me, 600 feet of bungee, and the river below me make up my present mindset at 5 o'clock on April 10th. The scariest part is walking the bridge to the platform. There is just enough spring to keep your step quite hesitant and your breath quickened. I am not a nervous person by nature, nor do I have any fear of heights are thrill seeking opportunites. I love roller coasters, and am up for mostly anything, yet that didn't stop my heart from jumping and the adrenaline from rushing throughout my body, like the water in the mighty river below. We got to the platform, and saw the last person from the previous group jump, backwards. This direction is quite unique for a bungee jump, and quite important to this story. I waited, waited, waited. Person after person jumped off to their potential death, yet returned up the other side minutes later. The platform was filled with energy, most of it natural anticipation, but the pounding techno bass and dance melody helped the limbs move even looser than would usually be natural. Person, after person, until myself, Lourens (my friend from the backpackers), and one other guy were the only left. Lourens decides it would be a great idea for him to jump off backwards. He did. I decided that I live only once, so I should jump off backwards as well. I did. But there is an important catch. As you approach the moment, the point of no return, large weights around your ankles, a few ropes through that, and a simple backwards step between you and freefall, the bungee workers stop you. They count down, "5,4, 3,2,1" and then they yell "Bungee!!!". As they yell bungee, they push you and you jump, to get the maximum liftoff. I wanted to time it perfectly. They countdown 5,4,3,2,1...I jump with all my might. Yet instead of yelling bungee, they yell, dear god they yell "Oh no!! Wait!!!". This phrase is never a good thing to yell to anyone, particularly when they are falling at 50 mph to their potential grave waiting below. As I fall backwards, I can see their faces in utter disbelief, their hands grabbing each other, as if to suggest, "So, did you forget it or did I?" All these mental processes have about 3 seconds to register, for I have about 5 til I hit the bottom and the moment of truth. So, needless to say, the three scariest seconds of my life. I didn't even have a chance to do that whole flashback thing they do in the movies, where all your favorite memories come before you as you the light blinds you as it comes closer and closer. As I hit the bottom I swear I felt myself die for a split second, and then magically back to life. I can't tell you what I saw, but it was beautiful and intense, the recognition that life is still continuing. There is no feeling like it, I can tell you that. I should've sued them, but instead I called them a few choice words and gave a well-earned high five for having the balls to pull off a prank like that. Wow. The energy that I felt on the bridge walk back to land is undescribable. I felt so alive, rushed with emotion, a spring in my step that could only be defined at that moment in time. I will never do it again, because the feeling was a once in a lifetime experience, and I got the biggest and bestest I could have. I would not give that feeling back.
I met some other incredible people at Dijembe. Wootes (Pronounced "Votes"), a 32 year old trapped in a 21-year old surfer's body. His youthfulness, energy, and vitality is something almost unparalleled. Yet he was also a very learned and passionate individual, with an uncanny knowledge of the environment around him, with dreams of one day opening his own backpackers (he was one of the worker's at Dijembe). Mike, from Wales, just a friendly and easy-going guy. He had a way of always being around, but in a good way. Becca, from Chicago, met her a few days earlier on the bus, she is working in Johannesburg in a social project. A very fun and exciting girl, the type that you can interact with like you've known them all along, they just have that personality. Letti, a British girl, with a lovely laugh and fun-going personality, she will come into the story again later. But the one who I connected with the most, was Sara. It's always Sara. Sara is from Canada, but had spent the past 12 weeks working in the bush in South Africa and Botswana, most recently the latter. She is a hopeful zoologist, and embodied that passion working with animal rehabilitation with the native Africans. Her stories were incredible, and her passion untouchable. She told me stories of traveling to Australia and Tasmania, Antartica and Argentina. She is only 23-years old. I envy her experience, but am doing what I can to create the same opportunities. Our personalities meshed naturally and beautifully. Her demeanor is slightly cooler than mine, as in less excitable, a little more emotionally detached, but thats only in comparison to myself, a very emotional and expressive personality. We spent a lot of time together over the course of that 48 hours. 48 hours, such a short amount of time.
This was probably the most difficult yet most exciting concept that I found in the course of traveling this week. The duration and mindset of travel creates this unique yet fantastic dynamic on social interaction. The life of the solo backpacker is one on the move, the antithesis of a sedentary lifestyle. Static creates confusion, disillusion, and a feeling of restlessness amongst the traveler. Rather one thrives on the constant interaction and excitement that comes from revealing new things about yourself every moment, because you are truly natural. It was an absolutely incredible feeling. To be me, to be all me, and no one else, because no one knows me but me. No one could tell me how to act, or expect me to act in a certain way. The beauty of the void of expectations is one of the more treasured beauties in my life. Expectations unnaturally paint a disproportioned picture of what will happen, and when the picture turns out rotated 180 degrees, it throws one off, and creates disillusionment. It was so awesome to be able to expect nothing and live in each moment as I saw fit. This same mindset translated to my relationships. Everyone traveling recognizes that they are only in that moment for that moment, and will never see these people again. Everyone has nothing to lose, and when the community understands that absolute gain is the only option, the best parts of people's personalities emerge. It creates a super social experiment, redefining the boundaries on honesty and experience in light of your new surroundings. It makes you wonder if people are truly this way in real life, or if this is only a fleeting realization of what they want to be. People are so full of energy, spirit, and excitement, that you can't help but want to believe that this is who they are. I choose to believe that. It makes the time between us that much more special.
Alas, my last day on solid ground, into the heart of an oasis, Nature's Valley, April 11th. The British girl, Letti, accompanied me on my journey, so we could go surfing together. Well, she was much better than I was, and the surf instructor only had one board, so I took some much needed alone time, and journaled. We hung out together when she got done on the surf, and spent the rest of the night observing the oddities of the Wild Spirit Backpacker's. The day flew by, with nothing particularly memorable, just a calm, relaxing and appropriate ending to the trip.
April 12th, on the Baz Bus back to Cape Town. Alfred the bus driver was the memorable personality. It was Easter, so I bought him a cupcake, after testing the deliciousness on myself. He loved it, and Alfred and I talked about life on the road, music, and his momma, who loves him very much, but he doesn't get to see her often enough. I told him to go visit right away, he said she understands, but I told him mothers just say that to be mothers, but that he should at least call her that night. I hope she heard his voice that night. Alfred was a delightful man, and had a keen perception of the mood at all times. The CD player feature mixtures of Bob Marley, a healthy serving of Jack Johnson, Eddie Vedder's Into the Wild soundtrack, and the feature film of the ride "Cool Runnings". Nothing like John Candy and a Jamaican bobsled team to make any film experience complete. I ran into many old faces. Including Mike, the Welsch, Russ and Susie, and at the end Rob and the potheads I had met earlier on the trip. They were heading to the Coke Zero Fest the next day just outside Stellenbosch. I decided it would be fun to stay with them at a backpacker's in Stellenbosch, show them my town. We met up with some lovely Dutch girls who were on the bus with us. It was a good night.
Deja vu, the festival of music, April 13th. It was literally the last day before I had to go back to class. I was very excited about some sentimental experiences to come, namely Panic! at the Disco. However, I was more pleasantly surprised with the performance of Snow Patrol. They had such an emotional dynamic to their show. The rise and fall that should be in music was there. The crowd connection that should be in a live show was there. And the essential knowing the words to at least one song was there. I met some lovely people, as I always do at music festivals, and ending my vacation to "Champagne Supernova" sung live by Oasis. A rather fitting ending I must say.
It is critical in life to find moments that allow you to define, redefine, and define again, the person that you are in a moment, and therefore will be in the future. This vacation, April 3rd-April 13th, I found many of those moments. I found out that new experiences truly are "at the core of man's spirit"-Alexander Supertramp. I found a connection with the natural beauty around me, a challenge in the heights, the sounds, the movements, the feeling of it all. I established myself as a social being, through which my interactions took me around the world, quite literally, through the intricate experiences of others who have traveled more than I. I learned what the "Free" in freedom really means, and what it means to be irresponsible in a good way. To do away with the word "commitment", and replace it with "time". That's truly all we have, is time. We don't have commitments if we don't call it that. That sounds so restraining, and it is. Yes, we commit ourselves to events, experiences that we enjoy having, but it is all a matter of our time. When your commitments become what you naturally do, they no longer hold the name, and they become truly you.
I found this out on my journey. I experienced. I realized. I have redefined my life, and will do so again. I am more free than I could have imagined. How much more beautiful does life really get? As beautiful as I want it to be. As beautiful as I make it. As fantastic as I want to make it. I want it be my kind of beautiful, and I will make it so.
