Trip to South Africa, Part 2 – Shark Diving

Ξ June 26th, 2010 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Travel |

Wednesday started a little later and relaxed, with coffee and a drive into Cape Town on a mission to find “Swimming Costumes” (Bathing Suits) – the one thing we had both failed to bring, and considering the beautiful weather and the idea that we should go cage diving with Great Whites the following day, seemed to become reasonably important. We stopped in at Quay Four and ate a kilogram of prawns (seriously, that’s what is said on the menu) and drank enough beer to make my head pound a little less. From there it was on to the airport to pick up Andrew. There is something very strange about sitting in an African city, in which you are somewhat a tourist, and a native, but defiantly not a local, and waiting at the arrival gate for a friend. Also, it is pretty tricky to spot a slightly-built black guy, who likes to wear dark browns and blues, in a crowd that is a little less homogenous as Tampa. However, we did indeed find him, and took him back to Jacqui’s for a fantastic meal of fish and beer and even more Malva pudding.

Thursday I woke up at 3 am, three hours after going to bed, and tried to wake Rob up. By 4:30 we were on a pitch dark road through the mountains to Gansbaai to go do something completely stupid. We somehow made it to breakfast at Shark Diving Unlimited by 7:30… alive. We got the usual lecture of don’t feed the sharks your hands, and then headed off on a boat with 18 other lunatics in wet suits so used, they were no longer fit for use for humans. Rob chatted up a cute Aussie girl while I ate a tasty cheese and tomato sandwich and reminisced about my childhood by washing it down with Creme Sodas (in the correct green color) and Appletizers, which are brilliant! I also tried to talk to some of the folks puking over the side to take their mind off the sea sickness, but I think it just came across as smug when I went back for my second cheese and tomato.

The shark diving works something like this: A metal cage of about seven feet deep, three feet long and ten feet long is lowered into the water and strapped to the side of the boat while a guy in a lot of rubber throws buckets of blood and fish heads into the water: mmmmm, delicious – the smell did not help my heaving companions, but it may have added to the chum. Then, everyone still able to stand, hangs on to the side of the boat and watches for the first shark. The experience is completely bizarre, because you know that it is supposedly pretty safe, but that if something goes wrong you will be dead, or at least walk and talk funny the rest of your life. More over, you are having to listen to New Zealanders trying to psych themselves up even more in one ear, and Americans, South Africans a Greek puking some barely palatable scrambled eggs and toast ad nauseam out the other.

When the first shark arrives there is a much greater sense of “wow, maybe the water is too cold, you know, and the salt is bad for my skin, and…” and then Rob grabs you and tries to rush into the water first. However, the anticipation was allowed to build nicely as we were the last group of five sent into the water. You have only a mask and a weight belt, and are packed into the cage side by side in a row. The idea is that the sharks are swimming all around the boat, and when the dive master sees one coming around, he yells “down, down, down!” and you all hold your breath and drop below the surface. Please try and keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times, unless you think the sharks aren’t getting enough primate in their diet. Then right in front of you is a Great White. It doesn’t seem real at first, but something defiantly changes in your brain. The freezing cold water you’ve been floating in no longer even registers and you’re not even afraid. Everything has been replaced by a kind of awe or fear or super sharp sense of survival that is not the adrenaline based, heart pumping sensation I expected, but rather a warm feeling of amazement and surreal feeling of being safe only a few feet in front of something that would be more than happy to suck your delectable blood out of a hole it had just created in your torso.

Each group of five was allowed two, 20-30 minute stints in the blood and killer-fish infested ice water. To describe this as something one would pay for to any rational human being would sound like lunacy, but humans have some sort of weird need to have controlled fear inducing situations for entertainment. This might be from some sort of hormone that we build up to help us get away from a sabertooth tiger or something, but now is no longer really used. It may build up and cause mental illness or weight gain or even bad breath. It is clearly worse in some than in others: Rob said of the experience “It was cool, but I just wished one had really attacked the cage, you know?” No… no I don’t.

By the time I had driven the 3 hours back to Hout Bay, I was exhausted and was now starting to form blisters on my feet from driving. We made it back just in time to shower, change, grab Andrew (who had spent the first half of the day getting an exclusive tour from Jacqui, and the rest hiking around Cape Town) and head off to dinner with my cousin David. He met us on a main road near his house, claiming it was too complicated for us to find our way through the winding roads to his place. He would probably have been right, but his daily commute is worth it. He and his wife Tanya live in an amazing home with a view of the city and a house so tastefully decorated that it was sickening. We were fed fantastic wines and one of the best meals, restaurant or otherwise, we’ve had. That boy can cook! David had also invited one of his friends and his girlfriend to the dinner as well to dilute us no doubt. The guy turned out to be a folly artist who had been nominated for oscars for movies like 300 and Robin Hood! I spent most of the night catching up with David, who is unbelievably easy to get along with and like, and I almost like no-one so that is high praise. After rice pudding, coffee, tea and some more wine, it was time to let the adults go to bed, so David helped push our micro-machine up the driveway (it had become significantly more difficult to drive with the addition of a third passenger) and we headed back to Jacqui’s for the night.

 

Trip to South Africa, Part 1 – The Saga Begins

Ξ June 26th, 2010 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Travel |

Our first stop on our travels was meeting a Bible college professor of Archeology who was flying to Tennessee to meet his sweetheart. I somehow managed to convince him that we were good, god-fearing Christians who also believe that Muslims should be buried alive, and he offered to take us as his guests to the Delta Sky Lounge in Atlanta. After a few free drinks, our host excused himself, remarking that he “can’t have too many bud lights or I’ll get a ‘lil light myself” and took off leaving the open bar at our mercy. So when we finally boarded our flight, Rob and I both completely passed out from the exhaustion brought about by the constant lifting and putting down of heavy cocktail glasses.

When I finally came round, I discovered Rob pleasantly chatting to our neighbor, a South African DJ who lives in Texas, but goes back to SA once or twice a year for business. The young man seemed completely reasonable the entire trip and fairly informative. However, his camel-like approach to drinking water had both upset the flight staff due to his constant pinging for hydration, and had begun to irk both Rob and I as he was on the window and we were center and aisle, and the incessant trips to the bathroom to deal with the massive amounts of fluid were requiring us to constantly get up and down. In the method perfectly naturally to sociopaths, his normality slowly faded away after he had gained our trust and the entire situation ended with his final two hour long, zealot-like sermon on the benefits of Vitamin D. Short of raising the dead, he claimed it can cure anything with enough units, whatever those are, and although he couldn’t explain one metabolic process, he claimed he had being studying Vitamin D for years… clearly this man was a axe murderer on the way to yet another blood bath in some small African village.

We arrived in Johannesburg safely and decided to get another few drinks before the flight to Cape Town, which proved to be an excellent idea. After a short nap, we arrived in Cape Town, rented a car and headed off to Hout Bay. Driving on the wrong side of the road, in a manual with the gear shift on the left was not really a problem. Neither was the fact that it was completely dark, nor where the incredible winding roads with no railings to prevent you from a spectacular, fiery cliff-side death should you decide to venture off the side. It was however the matchbook, tin can, three-liters-of-fury Hyndai Atos’ miniscule power plant that required you to form the head of train made of extremely pissed off Cape Townians who would have to follow us up the hills on one lane, no-passing roads while the Atos begged in first gear to be driven into the bay.

Our host for the duration of the Cape Town stay was Jaquci, a completely mad lawyer my father had been partners with when we lived in SA. She lives in a ridiculous house set into the back of Table Mountain, overlooking the whole of Hout Bay. The entire property was so unbelievably beautiful that we hardly noticed the suicide driveway and early morning thatchers, who would be banging bales of straw, sining and shouting obscenities at Jacqui’s half-mad Staffie-Pitbull mix, Max, through the safety of the sliding glass doors, at 8 am every morning. Jacqui and her son Chris greeted us that first night with beer and Malva pudding and custard (about which I had completely forgotten) and cheerful conversion even though it was past 12 on a school night.

The next morning Rob and I took our aluminum death trap down through Chapman’s Peak to the Southernmost tip of Africa. The Peak has some of the most amazing views I’ve ever seen while avoiding fiery-death tumbles. Down at the tip, we went out onto the rocks to look for muscles and oysters in the pools while avoiding getting my new Monopoly branded sweet-kicks Reeboks wet. Rob refused to left me stop to take photos of a baboon on the way back as I think he had some sort of traumatic experience with them on another of his travels, which he refuses to speak about, but which I love to speculate over. We did stop to kindly not run over a group of ostriches, in return they let us photograph them.

Tuesday night we spent with Jacqui and Chris who took us to a Portuguese restaurant where we dined out on prawns and calamari fit for a king. Jacqui paid for everything, made sure everyone had enough to drink and even provided the entertainment. Chris and I were happy to talk nerd with his newest colleague from America, also named Chris. Rob kept Simpewi (Jacqui’s downstairs tenant) occupied by daring tales of travel and food, and we all left feeling overly satisfied. Chris then proceeded to take us out to a little hole-in-the-wall bar in Hout Bay, whose name fails me at the moment, which was run by a supposed ex-girlfriend or something. We continued the unbroken spree of drinks even past the bartender’s departure to take some unfit-to-drive patron home. Chris was then kind (or presumptuous) enough to step in as bar tender to ensure the drink would continue to flow. Fully incapable of anything else at this point, everyone went home to bed, except for myself who began working.