Honeymoon in a Hundred and One Days!

I don't have to tell you who thought of that particularly amusing title.  I mean, a Phil Collins song + a bad Greek pun = hilarious.

We disembarked our high speed ferry onto the island of Paros without any place to stay or any idea of what we planned to do there.  As a testament to how much of this travel stuff we've been subjected to over the past few months, within 2 hours we had a nice (and cheap) place to stay, ate a beautiful Greek lunch and got ourselves some wheels.

Now, these were not just any wheels...this was a quad bike, baby!  [To be honest, we actually wanted to rent scooters, because what sounds more romantic than exploring a Greek Island on a couple of Vespas?  However, the rental companies were strangely concerned about our lack of motorcycle license or any experience driving any form of motorized 2 wheel vehicle, especially given the narrow winding roads that run through all of the island.  Instead, we were given the "special" scooter - one step above a Big Wheel, in my opinion.  However, for some strange reason men love quad bikes, so Mark was more than satisfied with this arrangement.]

While our squat and fat 4 wheeler did not quite exhude the European romance I was going for, driving that bad boy all over Paros was good times.  Over our 3 days there, we developed a relaxing routine of driving to one of the many small villages, walking around, then heading to whatever beach was nearby for a swim in the turquoise waters and a lie on the beach.

Note to self: wear sunscreen when riding on an ATV all day to avoid terrible, patcy sunburns on weird parts of your legs and upper body.

From Paros, we continued on to Naxos, only a 1 hour ferry ride on a very comfortable boat.  In Naxos, we were primed to rent a dune buggy to...well, let's be honest, to do more of what we were doing on Paros.  Sadly, our best laid plan was not to be, as it rained for an entire 24 hour period.

As an aside, despite the one rainy day we experienced, I would highly recommend visiting the Greek Islands in June, pre-high season - the prices are cheap, hotels and restaurants are virtually empty, and you get the rare experience of sitting on pristine beaches with turquoise colored water without being surrounded by topless screaming babies (and teenagers, for that matter).

It was truly a vacation from our vacation.  We were incredibly lazy in Greece - unlike our other previous stops, we made virtually no effort to learn anything about Greek culture or language - we couldn't even say "thank you" in Greek for pete's sake!  Actually, I take that back - in the food department, we did make quite an effort to eat as much feta cheese, olives, yogurt, tomatoes, souvlaki, moussaka....quite a difference between Mythos restaurant in Buffalo and Mythos restaurant, Paros Island.

Off to Greece.  I must admit, almost everyone I talked to before the trip did not enjoy Athens, and so my view of the city was pretty dim.  I've essentially been regarding it as a waypoint until we were able to board the ferry to the Greek islands, which seem much more appealing.

Our sightseeing in Athens basically met my expectations.  I debated whether to write this here, because I do not want to seem ungrateful for our travel experiences, but it must be said: the Acropolis was really disappointing.  We paid full price for tickets, and when we made it to the top of the hill, discovered that literally every site is undergoing "restoration" - understandable, except that all of them have been undergoing "restoration" since 2004.  My photos of the Parthenon are just great - thousand years old marble columns with cranes and piles of debris in the background.  [In contrast, while Angkor Wat was undergoing restorations while we were there, they were being done in discrete phases with minimal disruption to the sightseer - oh yeah, and they were being done in Cambodia, not an EU member country.]  Otherwise, we were surrounded by completely obnoxious tour groups filled with teenagers from the U.S., Canada, Europe and Australia; while other places we've visited have been touristy, nothing quite compares to teenagers/20-somethings on their parentally-funded month abroad during high school or college.

While we were sad to leave Israel, we were nevertheless excited to be heading to Istanbul, a random stop we added to the trip for a few days as I've always wanted to go.

India pics are posted in the "Photos" section.  Expect Africa...well, whenever I can get a reliable internet connection for 2 hours at a time.  Sorry!

Our minibus dropped us off at the visitors centre at the gateway to Wadi Rum at about 8am.  We had arranged a guide in advance, and were to meet him there.  Or we thought we had arranged a guide.  Actually, I had inadvertently arranged 2 guides.  I sent 2 emails out many months ago, stating that we'd be arriving at Wadi Rum by bus and that we needed a guide.  One of the guides emailed me back right away, and we booked with him.  The other emailed about a month later, and I didn't bother responding.  No big deal, right?  Except that in Bedouin culture, telling someone how you are going to arrive in their city is basically confirming a business deal.  Luckily, the mistaken fellow was very nice about it, and was subject to the unfortunate berating by many of his colleagues who were explaining the importance of confirming yet again with these idiot Western tourists.

Our guide was Zidane, a 23 year old Bedouin man who lives in Wadi Rum.  He drove us around in a pretty beaten up Toyota that got the job done in the sand beautifully.  Wadi Rum is a very famous desert, the sight of the filming of Lawrence of Arabia, and the scenery did not disappoint.

It was quite funny to watch Zidane throughout the course of the day.  When he met us in the village, he was wearing the traditional Bedouin dress (light cotton pants and a shirt-type thing that goes all the way to his feet over them with a head scarf wrapped in the traditional way).  By the time we got to our campsite that night, he was wearing Billabong pants, an Ed Hardy t-shirt, a Marlboro cowboy hat and Oakleys.  He explained that while all the older people in the town wear traditional dress all the time, he was younger and preferred modern clothes.

Our evening at the campsite with Zidane was an enlightening experience.  He asked many questions about women - not American women or Christian women, just women.  After many years of being separated from women in school and daily life, he was very curious.  I got the feeling that he probed the female Western tourists who come through this desert for as much information as he could collect.

After a very peaceful night in a Bedouin camp, we left to return to the village on camels.  I was really excited about this prospect, as I have never ridden a camel, unsurprisingly.  In hindsight, I was probably not prepared for 2 hours of camel riding, and I can confirm that my butt was most definitely not prepared.  The ride was wonderful, but by the time we arrived in the village, Mark and I were walking like...well, we were barely walking.

A quick taxi drive back to the border, through Israeli security (pretty intense this time around - also interesting to see the multiple photos of Bill Clinton everywhere in the security screening room - they love that guy over here), very gingerly sitting down in our rental car (those camels were no joke) and we were off to the Dead Sea.  Luckily the advice we had been given was correct - car and baggage were all intact.

We arrived at the Ein Gedi Spa at the Dead Sea after about 3 hours.  I should explain that I have wanted to go to the Dead Sea ever since I was in elementary school, when my friends would return from visiting family and friends in Israel and tell me about this crazy place where you float on the top of the water.  So to say I was excited to jump into the water was an understatement.  Mark got the camera all ready, and I eagerly waded in...until literally my entire lower body - places you don't want to think about - was on FIRE.  Note to potential travelers: do not schedule a 2 hour camel ride the morning before you plan to swim in the Dead Sea - extreme salt water + saddle rash = YEOUCH!  Sadly, the amusing picture of me reading the Jerusalem Post while sitting on the water was not to be - all I could manage was one with my arms and legs sticking out of the water and a screwed up expression of pain on my face.  Despite my cries, Mark also waded in - he got the saddle rash treatment plus the excruciating pain of the several open cuts on his legs from our scrambles up rock faces in Wadi Rum from the day before.  We forced ourselves to stay in the water for 30 minutes - I had been looking forward to this for 20 years, after all - but could not have been more relieved to enter the fresh water showers after we got out.

The rest of the afternoon we had a much less painful experience, smearing ourselves from head to toe with Dead Sea mud (at least ONE good photo came out of this part of the trip), relaxing in the natural hot sulfur pools, and eating an ice cream under the hot Dead Sea sun.  That night we stayed at a kibbutz which was just lovely.  And the next morning, unbelievably, we set out for Tel Aviv to catch our flight to Istanbul the next morning.

We can't believe Israel is already finished!  We had such experiences here - the nightlife in Tel Aviv, the sorrowful trip to the West Bank, the bustle of the Jerusalem Old City - I feel like we could have stayed for a month.  I do feel like we have gained some good perspective on the issues facing this region.  The most important lesson of all: despite what I watch on the news back home and the preconceived notions it may create, everyone we encountered here, be they Jewish, Muslim or Christian, Arab or white, male or female, was incredibly welcoming and kind.  In the end, I guess no matter what you might see on CNN or Al-Jazeera, people are just people wherever you may be.

After our day in the West Bank, we headed south to the Israeli resort town of Eilat - good for a relaxing night by the beach, and also to access the closest border crossing into Jordan.

Eilat was a total culture shock compared to everywhere else we had visited in Israel.  We're talking characters from the MTV show Jersey Shore here, people.  There were about 400 Snookies running around wearing tiny bikinis, big sunglasses and a tanning bed bronze.  It was hard to believe that we were in the same country.

We visited the Coral Reef National Park in the area for some snorkelling.  While it was no Thailand or Bahamas, it was nice to have a swim in the ocean - one thing this trip has been missing so far is beach time.  We also managed to find an excellent Mexican restaurant.  I have been craving Mexican food for about 3 weeks, but it is one type of cuisine that is not readily available outside of North America - even without cheese, my fajitas were fabulous.

The next morning, we drove our little rental car to the Israel-Jordan border.  As you cannot drive Israeli rental cars into Jordan, we had to park the car in the adjacent lot and walk through the border to catch a taxi on the other side to Petra.  We had packed a smaller bag for our 3 nights in Jordan and left the bulk of our luggage in the trunk of the car, in reliance on some advice from our hotel the night before that the parking lot was very safe.  We hoped they were right!

We were getting ourselves mentally prepared for a lengthy interrogation and crossing process, but none materialized.  The Israeli border guards were very friendly (though we were not impressed with the hefty exit tax).  We couldn't help but remark on how much easier it was to cross into Jordan from Israel than to cross from Jerusalem into Bethlehem - no wall here.

When we arrived on the Jordan side, the guards asked if we had a GPS with us; we did, as I brought it in my knapsack in case of theft from the rental car (the rental insurance did not apply to our GPS unit).  Upon discovery of this little item, I was whisked away to the police station in the border.  Mark was left to continue with the entry formalities.  He later told me that one of the guards had told him, straight-faced, that I would not be permitted to enter Jordan, but that Mark could just leave me there and pick me up after he finished his travels in the country.  He of course refused - or so he claims - but it turned out the guard was kidding.  I meanwhile was brought to about three different offices.  In each place, the man behind the desk and the mountain of cigarette butts - it appears the national pastime in Jordan is smoking - would turn the GPS on and off, ask me if I was travelling alone, and apologize for the delay.  In the end, we were admitted GPS and all to Jordan amidst a chorus of additional apologies for the delay.  US Homeland Security might want to take a trip to Jordan to learn some border crossing etiquette.

After negotiating a taxi for the 2 hour drive to Petra, we arrived at our hotel to find the owner in a yelling match with a Russian tourist.  We were a little perturbed, but it turned out the tourist was the nightmare and the owner a delight - we spent several hours in the lobby of the hotel drinking tea with him and chatting.


Petra itself was incredible.  I've seen the photo of the Treasury with the canyon walls on either side many many times while planning the trip, but seeing it for myself was spine-tingling.  On the first afternoon in Petra, we hiked for several hours through the ruins and up into the hills surrounding the main valley, where more ruins can be found.  On the second day, we hiked up to the Monastery - 800 steps - and were able to take in the views of the entire Arava desert all the way into Israel.  We met other travelers along the way, and generally had a wonderful stay in the land of the Nabataens.  After 2 days, our hotel owner kindly arranged a cheap minibus to Wadi Rum, and we were off to our night with the Bedouin.

I have struggled somewhat with this post, given the strong feelings about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict among virtually everyone I know.  So, I'm going to just try to relate exactly what we did over the past few days without inserting any editorial content on either side.  Hopefully this way I will avoid offending anyone, because I really have no desire to get into debates via the computer on this particular topic.

On our second day in Jerusalem, we visited the Western Wall, the holiest place for the Jewish people situated directly beside the Temple Mount, which is the third holiest place in the world for Muslims (actually, technically the Temple Mount is the holiest place for Jews, but according to their religious laws they are not allowed to set foot upon it so instead pray at the adjacent wall).  The famous Dome of the Rock was built over the stone on Temple Mount that is said to be the place where Mohammad ascended to heaven.

Here is all I would like to relate about this experience.  I was incredibly moved watching the Jewish faithful praying at the Wall; often they were standing in circles praying in unison with one another.  I was equally moved watching the Muslim faithful standing in circles praying in unison by the Dome of the Rock and the adjacent al-Aqsa mosque.  More than anything, however, I was struck by the similarity between the people outside the Temple Mount and within the walls of the Temple Mount, and that Mark and I had to wait in a very intrusive security line up before we were allowed to move between the Wall and the Mount to witness these very, very similar scenes.

After some more sightseeing and errand-running in the old city (clean laundry, finally!), we sat down for dinner at a cafe near Jaffa Gate.  We happened to meet two Americans who were traveling through Israel and Jordan together, and who asked if we had been to "Palestine" yet, meaning the West Bank near Jerusalem.  We hadn't.  Of course, as soon as they left, we turned to each other excitedly and said: "Let's go to the West Bank!"

We checked with our hostel owner on the current security situation, and the next morning set off very early to the checkpoint separating Jersusalem (outside) and Bethlehem (inside).  While everyone uses the term "checkpoint" to describe the massive security complex separating Jerusalem and Bethlehem, the term is not really appropriate.  After parking the car, we walked through 5 layers of security, caged walkways, barbed wire, and a 20 foot wall guarded by multiple surly Israeli army guards - all of which were passable to us only because of our foreign passports - and arrived in the West Bank.  One of the Americans we had met the day before lived in Germany when the Berlin Wall was in place, and said it reminded him exactly of that.  There was an army of taxis waiting for us on the other side, and we bartered with a driver, Hamed, for his services for the day.  With that, we were off to Bethlehem.

Hamed was awesome.  He pointed out all the different landmarks, the Jewish settlements, the brand new wall that surrounds them and runs along the border of the West Bank etc. etc.  In Bethlehem, we visited the Church of the Nativity, where Jesus was born in the manger, and at the same time took in the bullet holes on the side of the church remaining from the Israel-Palestinian standoff in 2002.  I should mention at this point that Hamed had already introduced us to his cousins, sat down to have some traditional mint tea, and told me all about his 6 kids, the eldest of whom is starting college next year - I had read about Palestinian hospitality before we left, and so far was definitely not disappointed.

We were not content only to visit Bethlehem while in the West Bank - it is a pretty common destination for religious tourists, but we were also there to see Palestinians and how they live - so we asked Hamed to take us to Hebron, about 35km south of Bethlehem and home to some of the most contentious Israeli-Palestinian issues outside of Gaza.  He asked us if we would mind if his cousin came along for the ride, as he was looking for a car and they are much cheaper in Hebron.  So, off the 4 of us went.

Hamed's cousin, Khaled, was a very welcome addition to the group as he was a PhD who had just returned from Indiana, of all places, where he had been teaching on a grant.  We were able to ask them all sorts of questions, from the building of the wall 8 years ago (something neither Mark nor I had understood until we actually saw it - literally a 1000km 8 foot wall that surrounds the entire West Bank and totally controls the flow of Palestinians in and out of Israel under an expensive and time consuming permit system), which government issued their ID cards, how they manage to get visas to travel abroad when there are no consultates in the West Bank and they need a permit to get into Jerusalem even for a day, to what holidays their children get from school and whether Opels or Hyundais are better suited to life there (he was car shopping, after all).

Despite our firm insistence on paying, our two new friends treated us to an amazing falafel and hummus lunch at their favorite spot in Hebron.  Then, we went on to the Ibrahimi Mosque.  This was one of the most interesting sites I've seen in Israel.  It is accepted by both Jews and Muslims as the tomb of Abraham and Sarah.  Thus, there is a single building over the tomb that has been split into two sections: a mosque and a synagogue.

To enter to mosque, we had to walk through 3 different security checkpoints manned by Israeli soldiers.  It was the first time in our lives that someone had point blank asked us if we were Christians.  Once in the mosque, we encountered a small skirmish between Israeli soliders and the custodians of the mosque - the soldiers had been sent to remove an apparently inflammatory poster from the interior of the mosque, but the custodians could not find enough rubber mats to lay down in the prayer room so that the soldiers could walk through with their boots on.  Maybe the scariest part of the day was when the Israeli solider, whose machine gun was inadvertently pointed at me, tripped on the step to the prayer room; Mark assured me that the safety was on, but more ridiculous accidents have happened!

After visiting the mosque, our two guides sent us over to the Jewish side of the building so we could visit the synagogue.  I say "sent" because the road on which we were walking was not open for our Arab guides to walk - only Jews, soldiers and foreigners.  We again were subjected to security procedures and the bizarre "are you Christian" questions.  As with the Temple Mount, I was struck by the similarity between the Jewish prayer circles and customs and what we had just seen in the mosque.

Upon exiting the synagogue, Hamed and Khaled motioned for us to join them where they were sitting.  A friend of theirs owns a shop nearby the mosque.  Khaled translated for him as he told us all about the Jewish people who live in the center of Hebron and the effect on local businesses who were no longer able to operate because of street closures required by Israeli soliders for the safety of the Jewish residents.  Then he invited us into his house to show us around.  On the roof of his home, he showed us the view of the Ibrahimi mosque, where we had been moments before, and joked that Abraham was his neighbor, so he could never leave this house.  Then, almost without warning, he started trying to tell us about the Goldstein massacre that occurred in that very mosque about 15 years earlier on Ramadan (I think you can look it up on Wikipedia - I had the benefit of reading Lonely Planet before we left so had at least a minimal knowledge of the shootings).  The man got goosebumps all over, started shaking and then cried as he tried to explain carrying his friends' and their childrens' bodies from the mosque.  I have to admit that I also cried - it's very rare for a grown man to have that kind of reaction in front of you.

After completely unnecessarily apologizing profusely for his lapse in control, he lead us, Hamed and Khaled downstairs where we drank tea and he told us all about his life with the shop.  And this is where it was so confusing.  Moments earlier, he had been using strong language to describe his hatred for the Jews that live in Hebron (despite my urge to disabuse him of some incorrect statements in his excitement, I kept silent as this was obviously not the place for a debate).  Now, he was telling me about his Jewish friends who he still gets to see sometimes on day passes from the West Bank.  He called over George, the Israeli security guard who is posted at a checkpoint outside of his shop, and the guys were talking and laughing like old friends; George is an impressive guy who speaks Arabic, Hebrew, English and Russian, and he clearly is friends with all of the people around him who he's supposed to be watching.

After our very memorable visit, the four of us returned to the taxi.  We reminded Khaled that he still hadn't looked for his car, so we stopped at a few dealerships on the way back to Bethlehem - no luck, unfortunately.  The two men finally dropped us off back at the Jerusalem checkpoint.  I felt quite emotional saying goodbye to them after they had been so unbelievably kind to us during the day.  We got into the line of people winding their way through the cages and under the massive wall, and cleared Israeli security generally without issue.  Before we knew it, we were safely back in beautiful old Jerusalem.

We talked a lot about what we had seen in the West Bank that night.  It was a shocking experience, particularly having to walk through the security in the "wall", and seeing Hebron left us both feeling pretty dejected about the hopes of ever reaching a solution that satisfies both groups.  
As we finished a beer at our favorite Jaffa Gate spot, we heard a lot of hooting and hollering inside the bar.  We crept inside to find an Arab man and an Orthodox Jewish man dancing together, hand in hand, to 80s music.  They and everyone around them were having a great time, laughing and dancing up a storm.

What a day.

P.S.  You may be a little confused about the title of this post.  My dear mother (in-law) was concerned about a few things about our trip.  Okay, a lot of things.  But one of the things that most worried her was our time in Israel.  Thus, we would like to apologise to her for going to the West Bank when she specifically warned us not to, but would also like to remind her that we are now perfectly safe, were perfectly safe the entire time we were there, and that we bought her a lovesouvenir from Bethlehem that we know she will love :)

After a 24 hour + slog to Tel Aviv from Livingstone via Johannesburg and Zurich, of all places, I was Grumpy (with a capital G).  But, as Mark and I are all we've got, I sucked it up through the rental car process until we got on the road from Ben Gurion airport to Tel Aviv.  Then we met Jonathan, our GPS system (aside: we always name our GPS systems - it makes it much easier to blame them when things go wrong.  "Rita" guides us in our car at home.  In South Africa, we had a hilarious South African-accented GPS voice ("Keep right.  You've got to keep something!") who we called Winnie.)


Jonathan was a maniac.  This may have been because Tel Aviv streets are in.sa.ne., but I prefer to blame Jonathan.  After we got into the city, these are the directions he would give:  "After 100m turn right.  Then turn left.  Then turn right.  Then turn left.  Then turn right, then left, then right.  Then keep straight."


What the f***?


We eventually found our guest house after navigating a rabbit warren of one-way side streets. At this point, I needed to lie down for a while.  Mark set off to scope out the city, after I warned him many, many times not to get lost.  Miraculously, he didn't.


We wandered into north Tel Aviv, where on the recommendation of our guest house owner we went for a non-tourist (read: 1/2 price) seafood dinner.  The meal was just fantastic, but the important thing to report is the most succulent and tender calamari that Mark and I have ever tasted; absolutely nothing like the deep fried rubber bands you get at home.


The next day, we set out for Jerusalem.  Jonathan got us completely turned around in Tel Aviv - at one point we drove the car into a damn fish market and people were yelling at us to get out - but luckily with the help of an old fashioned map and a grumpy Israeli man I managed to navigate us out to the highway.  We realized upon arrival in Jerusalem that I had booked us a place in the Old City, which, while beautiful and historic, is also banned for non-resident cars.  So, after a sweaty 20 minute luggage haul over cobblestone streets, we arrived at our hostel.


The first day, we walked along the city walls and visited the holiest place in the world for Christians, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, place of Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection (and location of my crisis of faith, which necessitated many minutes talking to each other outside the chapel - don't want to bore you, but happy to give more details via email).  We were enchanted by the Old City.  We got lost about 50 times that first day, but every new street in the rabbit warren of alleys is a new discovery and can bring something shocking (e.g. stumbling onto the stations of the cross - we only realized because of the 100s of bus group tourists in bright hats or fluorescent vests taking copious amounts of pictures - vests?  come on now).


One thing that was not quite enchanting upon first inspection was our accommodation.  I had booked us into the "bungalow" at a highly rated hostel at a very cheap rate.  I had also patted myself on the back for doing so.  When we arrived, the man at the front desk asked us if we knew what a bungalow was.  "Of course" we replied, thinking it was some kind of one floor cottage.  "Great," he said, and lead us up an interminable flight of stairs until we arrived on the roof of the building.  At this point, Mark looked at me with excited anticipation, as he assumed the roof area was our terrace.  The clerk then lead us down a small flight of stairs with two plastic sheds in front of us.  I naturally assumed we would turn a corner at some point to get to our room.  Instead, the clerk opened the padlock on the first plastic shed - I'm talking tool shed, the kind you would construct from the Rubbermaid kit in your backyard for your actual tools - and showed us to our lovely mattresses, side by side on the floor (of a frigging tool shed).  The best was a guy who was on the stairs above us, who said "wow, I thought they used that to store supplies."  "Apparently they also use it to store people," I replied.


But here is the best part - what a sleep!!  Yes, it was a pretty cold desert night, but sleeping outside on a rooftop with a beautiful rooftop view of Jerusalem, the Temple Mount and the Mount of Olives (pictures I've seen a thousand times in the news) and the sound of the call to mosque and church bells was unforgettable.  We were woken early by roosters and calls and bells, but fell back to sleep easily under the morning desert sun.  Despite the interruptions, one of the most peaceful and memorable nights we've had on this trip.  Who would have guessed a plastic tool shed could be so wonderful? 

[Forgive my somewhat abbreviated and not all that well edited postings on the remainder of our time in Africa after the Delta.  If you are interested, I'd love to have a drink with you upon our return and tell you about all of the amazing people and places we saw.  However, we have arrived in Israel, have just spent our second day in the Old City of Jerusalem and I am literally brimming with observations and thoughts about this incredible place, so I'd like to get Africa finished with to bring everyone up to date on our current travels.]

After departing the Delta, we got on the overland bus (yet again) to travel to Kasane and Chobe National Park.  After our dismal showing for safari in the Delta, our hopes were not high for animal sightings in Chobe...boy, were we wrong!  We embarked on a river cruise through the park - equipped, of course, with a fine selection of local beers in a communal cooler - and 3 minutes into the trip our captain announced that he could not guarantee that we would see any animals, and there were NO REFUNDS if we didn't.  Mark did not seem pleased at this announcement.  However, literally 5 minutes into the cruise we came across a herd of elephants, with calves and all, playing on the riverbank.  A short while later, we were treated to a group of hippos, which were just hilarious to watch...those bad boys need a serious trip to Weight Watchers first and the dentist second ;)  They lie with their bodies completely submerged in the water with only their little heads sticking out of the top.  Then, they stand up and one is just shocked to see the size of them!  The rest of the cruise involved a multitude more hippos, more elephants, impala, kudu, crocodiles, lizards etc., all of which we saw from the unique perspective of the water.

Totally nerdy lawyer aside that I think only my friend Liv will be interested in (thanks for your message girl, will email properly soon):  in the middle of the Chobe River is literally an expanse of grass that looked like nothing when we were there and is only a few acres in area.  In the dry season, apparently the place is literally teeming with all kinds of animals and is a major tourist draw.  Because of its value to the tourist industry, it was the subject of an International Court of Justice proceeding that I remember learning about in law school - Namibia and Botswana both laid claim to the island, which lies at the convergence of the borders of those two countries and Zambia.  Eventually, Botswana won because the depth of the channel separating the island from mainland Botswana was shallower than the depth of the channel separating it from Namibia.  Makes sense, I guess??

The day after our wonderful cruise on the Chobe River, we headed to the Kazalunga, the border crossing between Botswana and Zambia.  On our way to the office, we noticed literally hundreds of semis lined up on the shoulder of the road.  After making it through the office, we found out why:  to cross the border between Zambia and Botswana, you must take a ferry across the Zambezi River.  There are only two boats, and they can accommodate 1 semi per trip (the ferries are real buckets of rust, and they can barely fight the current of the river to get across to the other side).  There are probably only 30 trips per day, but tourist and private vehicles get precedence for boat space.  So commercial transport of goods across the border can be halted for weeks at a time while the trucks wait for customs clearance and passage across the river.  The same goes for the Zambian side of the border.  Of course, the truck drivers are paid by the mile, not by the hour, so I can imagine the cross-border routes are not exactly prized by the poor souls who have to sit beside their truck for weeks on end.

Zambia was awesome.  We spent 3 days in Livingstone, and had an amazing time.  We traded stuff with street vendors for souvenirs (2 awesome masks in exchange for 1 used headlamp - not too shabby), sampled local restaurants, bungee jumped and, probably most importantly, visited Victoria Falls.

As frequent, ad nauseum, visitors to Niagara Falls, Mark and I were not particularly excited to visit Vic - we thought if you'd seen one waterfall, you'd seen them all.  But Vic was incredible.  It was the end of the rainy season, so the Falls were at their absolute maximum power.  As you approached the falls, there were more and more touts trying to sell you rain jackets.  We figured a little mist never hurt anyone, so continued on to the famous "Knife's Edge Bridge" across the Falls canyon in just our shorts and t-shirts.  Whoops!  The "mist" was more like upside down torrential rain - we were totally soaked and dripping wet and laughing like kids.  We played in the Falls area for hours, hiking all over the place.  One way we definitely knew we were in Africa and not in Niagara Falls: a sign beside the lip of the falls warning visitors to be careful of water surges WHEN TRYING TO WALK ACROSS THE RIVER [ABOVE THE MOST POWERFUL WATERFALL ON EARTH].  Whaaaaat?  Mark found out later that many, many tourists die each year at Vic trying to walk across the river when it is low during dry season by stepping into what looks like shallow water but is actually a deep channel.  Have the Zambian park authorities heard of these things called fences??

So, this draws to a close our time in Africa.  We are absolutely in love with everywhere we visited (even the Delta, really), and cannot wait to return to this place.  Namibia was the perfect introduction to independent travel in Africa, and Botswana and Zambia only added to our urge to explore more places.  I'm telling you, if you've ever considered Africa as a destination - DO IT!  You will not be disappointed!

P.S.  Mark has requested that I clarify our bungee experience.  I did indeed dive off of the Zim-Zam bridge with only an elastic band around my ankles, as did Mark.  However, while my experience ended there, my brave and daring (and handsome - are you happy now, honey?) husband also jumped off the bridge feet first for the gorge swing - an equally intense free fall ending in a wide swing across the Vic Falls canyon.  So, point Trudell.

P.P.S.  We have awesome video of the bungee experience - as soon as I get somewhere that will let me plug in my usb drive or use the CD-ROM drive (incredibly difficult everywhere since SE Asia), I will try to upload that along with many, many overdue photos from India and Africa.

And now...Sha

So, Mark and I were pretty much dreading joining an overland camping tour group to go through Botswana.  Unfortunately, unless you have unlimited funds or are well equipped with a 4x4 and extensive camping equipment, we learned that Botswana was pretty much out of reach for us without the group.  So, we sucked it up and joined a Gap Adventures tour that had started in Capetown and was heading through Botswana into Victoria Falls before heading south through Botswana and S. Africa.