I'm game if you are: The Cirle of Life in Gauteng

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One crammed travel pack and a sleepless night.



Broken by a whirring hum from the lounge…then a low pitch groan from the eerie night…and a short swift swish of guttural dragging from the bedroom. My safari had begun and the garage door opening, curtains cast aside and static bike were the animals



The time arrived to depart and to wind down from the coiled spring I had become. Bleary eyed and awake at 2:30am, I declared rise and shine it’s spin bike time!



Checking the weather in Johannesburg, I anticipated temperature and altitude highs as per the webcam views. Johannesburg, I discovered, was as high as Denver in the USA, at nearly 1800 metres above sea level! Great, that means I will be swimming worse than ever there…..



With sheets changed, Hotel Onepoto was readied for family visitors in my absence as per my open invite. Leaving in the silence and darkness of 4am with my parental taxi chaperones, we were fast and on time for a 5am check in alongside miners and suits. ‘So you are dressed for business class’ says Dad I suspect with a hint of sarcasm. Indeed, looking like I had stepped off the pages off a Kathmandu catalogue. I may not be on business but I have class!



After shouting them a coffee for their time and effort of getting me to the airport, and some weeping tear ducts, it was straight through the customs checkpoint in the fast lane, and up to the Qantas lounge to make the most of my privileges over breakfast.



Not quite to par of the Star Alliance lounge I have once experienced once before, I sipped my cappuccino fervently but passed on the wine and spirits.



Which was more than I could say for Aaron Cruden, All Black boot and front page news of the day. The unruly behaviour of a drunken night out in Auckland resulted in his missing the flight to Santiago and onwards to Johannesburg, where I was headed. Unlike him, I turned up and boarded my flight with plenty time to spare. Yes, it is possible.



Before one could say ‘show me the way to the FRONT of the plane’ like a (second time) business class snob, I was settled into my 737 seat and got to know Ms Butel the manager and Preston the IT professional from Auckland.



We talked travel tips, the chance of knowing such and such with Ms Butel and soon enough we arrived in Sydney to glorious weather, frantic interactions with a guy whom declared ‘why go to Jo’burg, ha! Waste of time’ and eventually the endless smorgasbord breakfast and wifi of another club lounge



The lounge demographic was my stereotypical Sydney impression all the way. Quarter million dollar deals being lost, loud mobile phone chats and knowing glances of ‘get me a coffee now!’ across a crowded patisserie table.



Then on to another plane and this time seated next to a lovely retired plastics manufacturer on his 5^th photographic visit to Africa. In between eating, discussing travel plans and the bubble of Western life, we recalibrated our watches and settled down, side by side like two initially comfortable sardines in uncomfortable declining capsule beds. Preston, back in Premium economy at about 1000NZD less than my return package from Auckland, was non-complaining in a reclining wide seat (so I guess that’s thumbs up for a future Africa trip Dad?)



The food, the music, the magazines…what more does one need when you have Time, Who and Australian Men’s Health, the latter being a humorous if sparing insight. I snoozed most of the 14 hours, with the mechanical horse of a bed barely helping to alleviate inevitable back pain from doing nothing.



I have a business proposal for Qantas – employ a masseur or physiotherapist with strong arms and get your customers a real massage in-flight! Mechanical engineering in this case could only muster a predictable and light robotic lump sliding up and down my middle back, not intuitively, that I had a better massage from the turbulence. Such first world problems…



The arrival at Jo’burg was quiet for one of the largest airports in the world! Perhaps they have all moved to Browns Bay I mused, but that joke was lost on ol’ Max the retiree from Melbourne.



Together we headed to the customs point and collected our bags. Assigned to entry no. 25, the young officer greets me ‘so how are you’? Very well I said. To which he said ‘and what were you doing just now?’…getting my passport out of my backpack and looking sideways…and so this means what I wondered. Suspicious or just curious at the Kathmandu advert that had walked in front of him.



Random behaviours of inquisitive locals persisted some more. Am African lady handed a colleague at the arrivals concourse a piece of paper, then, the male recipient held it close to his face and sniffed steadily on the scent. An Australia guy and I locked eyes in observing this, to which we both thought’ did that really happen?’. It did. “Whatever floats your boat” he replied. I laughed, a lot.



This continues. Collecting my bags and not having to deal in ANY immigration paperwork, I stopped to ask the young man at the info counter where to get the GauTrain. The first thing he replied was ‘are you a cyclist? It turns out my top was the cue…looking me up and down which I am getting accustomed to as a sign of curiosity. Breaking out of the Kathmandu mould, it was a K Mart special.



Having my eyes on everyone just in case I got mugged pulling out my Rands, I bought my ticket for about 30NZD return to Sandton and within minutes a train arrived at the two track station. Boarding and chucking the bag in to a compartment I slammed my backside down next to two very manly South African guys. One had been to the Rugby World Cup in Auckland and loved us, the second was so head extended and sarcastic about the perceived versus actual risk of being mugged it became an entertaining conversation.



The areas to avoid were clearly marked en route, and arriving I met problems with my card access at the exit. Queuing up, Beyonce served me with a temporary card to get out of the station. I never knew she lived in Johannesburg.



Taking the now combined advice of these 2 and a by standing African lady’s advice, I dragged my roller pack 500 metres across dishevelled pavements and road works to the second hotel in the Radissun Blu chain, Sandton.



Perhaps letting my guard down a little, I headed as instructed past ‘2 robots’ (intersections with traffic signals!) to the local supermarket for some Kruger park snacks before sunset. As dusk arrive on my return walk so too did the obscenities, under 200m from the Radissun doors. “f%$#@ white sh*t go %$#@@& yourself!” called out an African man, reminding me of my safety spectrum warnings and fortunately it ended at that. I won’t be pushing my luck!



A night at the Radissun was worth every cent and every ‘scent’ emanated from the 3 story gym and 25m lap pool, Jacuzzi and spa therapies complex. It was the perfect jet lag cure! After knocking off 2.5km at 1800 metres altitude I felt quite impressed, retiring quickly. Morning dawned and it was time to flush the DVT risk away and hit the gym and pool again, with far reaching views from the rower and treadmill. Sadly, I returned to discover that there was a water cut so that chlorine small and half soaped hair had to be fixed other ways. I was spun some burst pipe story, dowsed my head with 200mL of chilled bottled water and paced it out to the GauTrain, eventually connecting to the airport.



The queues were incredibly long but efficiency reigned. It was Heritage day and colourful saris and fabrics wrapped elegantly on men and woman filled the airport. Davey Crockett even shepherded the plane off the allotted tarmac space wearing an animal fur headband sans Survivor Africa!



Arriving at Mpumalanga (Kruger International Airport). Hans, impossibly Afrikaans in his accent, met me and we travelled by minivan, via White River and Hazyview, to reach Hippo Hollow, all the while chatting about the numerous Nigerian illegal and legal migrants to this nation, his attitude towards it, the corrupt employment practices (plans to frame or murder this or that person) and how South Africa will wallop the All Blacks come 2015! Trust rugby to be topical; we recalled in gritty detail the recent match between us and them early in September, and how his wife had heard all about the shenanigans of Aaron Cruden. News travels almost as much as I.



Settling into Hippo Hollow, the delicate Kini helped me to my room, and the organising lady from reception did the 3 day itinerary run-down, beginning with elephant riding. Warned about exiting the 24 hour security guarded gate after dark, I got a mixed reply on how to deal with wandering 300m up the road to a trading post, and some roadside stall holders I spotted selling the famous regional avocados about 200m further.



Like moths to a flame the stall holders latched on quickly and before one could sell me pawpaw, the next 2 wanted a sale as well. I ended up spreading myself between the 3 men’s wares and with a firm ‘no’ to more, was on my way back to spot some elephants, charming and immense creatures. We touched, massaged, rubbed, fed and mounted them at Elephant Whisperers for a final walk on sunset. I learned a lot and suffice to say when I was told to dismount by grabbing around the waist my hands did not fit over Lindiwis gut. Turned out I was to cuddle my young guide.



So jet lag finally hitting me, I sagged into bed after a delicious trout and roast vegetable combination for about 12NZD at the on-site restaurant, ready for the 5am rise the following day. Our guide Stefan picked myself up to join two Australians at just after 5:30am. The sun rose over a burnt landscape of controlled fired fields soon after, us speeding along at the maximum 50kph limit. The air was brisk, and blankets over the knees appreciated!



The sea of land rovers at the gate to the park suggested we would be in for long 45 to 60 minute wait at 6am, however pre-arranging and being with a guide instead of a private vehicle meant we had barely been 10 minutes and were off in search of the big 5. Just under 5 minutes into the park we saw the long gracious giraffe neck glistening in the early sun and bronzed landscape in such light.



The stillness was not to last as after 5 minutes more we met our first herd of elephants, one estimated to be up to 5 tonne and definitely taking big granddaddy’s photo at a distance. Meandering over the road they swung their tails nonchalantly as our and 5 more vehicles just stayed put. Serene, but understandably worried given the event of about a fortnight ago when someone was mauled at Kruger



The number one rule of never exiting the vehicle was violated once on our visit. Creeping along the Sabie River, we spotted congregating vehicles. This usually meant ‘possibility’ of a leopard or lion…there are many ways to interpret possible! Impalas needed no introduction as they are I was told the McDonalds of South Africa. So this idiot in an Audi gets out of the passenger seat just as said leopard crosses out from the scrubby bush to the ‘rest area’ by the river, just 10 to 15 metres away. Then his driver gets out and they casually swap seats with an audience of about 20 vehicles. Hopefully someone got a photo or the number plate as clearly these folk had no idea what their permits read!!



The big 5 became almost 15 in the end, with impala, waterhog, waterbuck, giraffe, white rhinoceros, hippopotamus (alive and nearly dead), lion, leopard, elephant, wilderbeast, baboons drinking at the waterholes, antelope, miniature springbok of unknown description, geckos that were blue, large lizards, various birdlife and vultures around every bone shaking dirt road and stomach lurching troughs we powered on through. The post lunch slump set in after we stopped for a second visit at Shukuza camp (a flash remote camping spot with it’s own airfield) and as well as the animals, we all seemed to catch a moment of zzzz’s broken on the afternoon viewing by cries of ‘hog!’ or ‘giraffe’ or ‘idiot getting out of his car!’



I guess some people are game.



Stefan and his lovely Afrikaans accent bid us farewell after an intensive educational day on such diverse topics as animal lifestyle, vital park statistics, rutting and mating behaviours. In contrast to the monogamous, committed and mournful antelope, the baboons can be as promiscuous as they wish, as alpha males leading a pack of, I seem to recall, mix with up to 50 females and several other animals mixing at a slightly smaller ratio.



Before the cultural showcase of Africana started for dinner, I went for a stroll up town to Hazyview. It’s a small village of petrol stations, dirt footpaths, littering, copious avocado and mandarin sellers (3 former whom I met the day before) and white locals feeding you hellish stares as though I was crazy.



Stefan said it was ok, I managed to catch a lovely sunset without my dead camera from all that shooting today, and meet Donald from Sabie, a friendly gent with smooth black skin and bright white eyes. And he knew where Auckland was!



Staying awake barely for the show, it was typical in so far as it used the old trick of using the foreigner for dancing horrendously, all the while as the stars of Boney M and the lead performer Lenny Kravitz (and his amazing dreads) urged us to celebrate our collective love for each other and tip. The technique worked, and after a heavy dinner of spare ribs, maize meal and beans I was hopeful of a sleep dreaming about the ever presenter crickets, bright stars and functional wifi connection



Waking up early for another tour was easy, as with sunrise around 5:30-5:45am and sunset around 6:30pm there is plenty of daylight.



Factoring in the ultra-slow broadband connection, I edited photos, packed and checked in with the electronic world before Ed arrived, the Nordic/ German guide extraordinaire from Vula tours. His company for the day, tourism volunteer Debbie from Melbourne (living in Plettenberg Bay) made herself known and after sharing the horror of the leopard video, we were off on a magical mystery tour of the highlands of the Drakensberg mountain range.



First up, Ed laid down the rules. ‘There’ll be no talk of religion, sex or politics on this trip’ he tells us, clearly serious. Maybe Ed had reason to eliminate these topics. But within minutes of leaving the hippo’less Hippo Hollow, we 3 clearly liberal minded and informed people had started on chewing the fat on the AIDS epidemic, the variation in condom size not offered by the regular pharmacies, the sad plight of a German backpacker whom contracted AIDS in her promiscuity and the ensuing court case whereby the African male pleaded something along the lines of ‘I had a shower so could not impregnate her’. Ignorance or cultural belief, the debate continued.



Ed informed us of his many girlfriends and his broken heart before his current wife came along, of 27 years. Dancing was his thing, without the effect of smoking or drinking to skew his judgement. Beauty was deeper than that outside, bless him for saying this. ‘What about us two beauties’ I said…then we got onto blonde jokes….African obsessions with big backsides…..then I told the only physiotherapy joke I knew involving a golf ball….then we got off the bone shaker of a dirt road (through the mining centre of this region) to reach the Rondavels where all this chitter chatter became relevant!



The mountain range is mainly sedimentary rock and very similar to what I have seen in Katoomba (NSW) near the Blue Mountains, the Grampians and parts of South America. Quite dissimilar to NZ however. As we approached we got the commentary from Ed on the significance in African belief



The 3 humps represented 3 wives. Wife #1 was to breed with and be friends with once that relationship ended. The wife #2 was to have 8 children with at least, so mainly used as a breeding relationship. By this stage, wife #3 could enter the scene as wife #1 and #2 had had enough of the man’s behaviour they did not care an ounce for his third attempt, so wife #3 was meant to be the younger pretty one, a trophy wife! Hence apparently the 3^rd Rondavel was meant to be one half of the chest of a (younger) maiden, as the American tourist say, ‘perky’. African superstitions or just sedimentary rocks?



We then wound down the escarpment past Berlin Falls, Gods window and stopped to have lunch at a lovely café named Pankoek (Pancake), famous for pancakes and various African cuisine. I opted for the local coffee brew and some trout, and the 3 of us engaged in civilised conversation of safe topics for the duration. After lunch we headed up to the Pinnacle where Aretha Franklin greeted us at the ticket gate, and we paid our 10 Rand pp to have a lovely view of the valley.



Heading back to Mpumalanga, we deviated through Nelspruit and discovered how cheap whiskey was, whilst I got ready to jump out and catch the check in time cut off, being that we got caught slightly short. Some story was spun to me about being on stand-by to which I declared ‘I had a ticket paid for!’ and this could not be true. Ed did some talking with the airport manager and after some ‘computer gliche’ quickly righted itself, all of us were on the flight back to Jo’burg.



I sat next to Morgan Freeman (aka Scotney) whom looked like he recently had a Botox injection into his lips when he was not fighting against the poaching problem in Kruger. I have not seen such anatomical phenomena since my last, and the last, fishing trip with Dad



By 5pm I was walking out of the airport, hustling to the train with confidence, and settled into the same hotel as before by 6pm. Being sedentary for the last few days, I hit the gym, and was soon followed into the vacant spin bike studio by Usain Bolt, a lithe gent with normal shaped lips. He stationed himself behind me by 2 bikes, clearly gaining good viewing of my non-African yet nicely shaped posterior. Sweat was pouring off me and testosterone from him, it was pheromone city. But sadly Usain had not taken his steroids that day, nor cared for my brand of oestrogen, that he only lasted 5 minutes whilst I did 40 thanks to iTunes! Ending with a swim afterward with an overweight and poorly stroked Denzel Washington and it was time for dinner, winding down, and to do it all again tomorrow from 6am.



Viva La Madagascar!

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