My Life is Awesome

Disclaimer: none of these photos were taken by me. They were either purchased, googled, or stolen from my companions.

I am so exhausted. It's the kind of exhaustion that comes from running on no more than 4 hours of sleep at a time, adrenaline, and pure, unadulterated happiness. It started with the start of SWOT week. I've heard several variations as to what SWOT stands for (Study Without Teaching; Study, Work, or Travel), but for universities that have an entire month allocated for final exams (in every country except the USA), it's the week-long break between classes and the beginning of exams that students are supposed to use to study.

Naturally, the Intl Studs decided to travel instead.

We took a trip to Storms River, the town associated with tourist activities in Tsitsikamma National Park. The area is absolutely beautiful, on a wave-beaten rocky coast with iconic mountains to the north. It's very lush and green, with many springs and frequent enough rain making it an ideal spot for tree farms and a source for a water bottling company, which is kindof interesting because…

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Fun Fact: Storms River and the streams in the area are all dyed brown from the natural tannins in the plants of the area. So pretty much it means that the water all looks like strong tea or coffee. It's a little weird at first, but you get used to it. Even the ocean is stained brown at the mouth of the river.

Our encampment waiting in Grahamstown

We arrived at about half past 1 AM on Oct. 27 after the longest 4-hr bus ride ever during which our POS bus played loud more-than-slightly racist standup comedy sketches and weird PG-13 movies. As if it wasn't enough that the bus was two hours late and forced us to wait in the cold wind and rain.

Still, we were in good spirits as we were picked up by people from our hostel. There was William, the driver that the hostel regularly uses, who wore a sparkly silver-sequined fedora (always), assured us that he loved us, he loved God, and that "safety is first." However, I'm pretty sure he was a little drunk haha. Nonetheless, his driving that night and throughout the trip was impeccable, and never once did I doubt his skill. He was one of the many locals we met that were simply super cool. We were also picked up by Yolande (sp?), the coolest mom you will ever meet who was staying at the hostel with her 12-yr old daughter. They were celebrating her daughter's birthday in style with bungee-jumping, sky-diving, and other outdoors adventures. She had volunteered to come help drive us since we couldn't all fit . The next night, she would pay for me to get sufficiently sloshed at the hostel bar even though all the rest of the IntlStuds were in bed. More on that later. Just know that she was freakin cool.

These are the guys that work at Dijembe Backpackers, the place where we were staying: Severiano (Sev) and Gerhard.

Sev (Left) dishing out the Milk Tart Shots, Gerhard (right) dishing out the smiles

Sev is a local guy, half-Scottish and half whatever the hell he feels like. He helps with the river tours and keep Dijembe running. He is secretly a neat freak and not-so-secretly an adrenaline junkie, cajoles guests to sign up for activities, tinkers with electronics, and generally shows off like the cocky SOB that he is. I kinda like him.

Gerhard is your typical skateboard bum who doesn't want to have a real job and just wants to live his life, carefree. He is a knife appreciator; he recognised my Buck knife and said that it reminded him of his uncle with quite the collection. His passions include listening to other peoples' stories and telling his own, dicking around, and making inappropriate comments. A pretty awesome dude.

Jess spending some sun time w/ us

Baria and Gemma, snuggling

The other regulars include Brad, the owner, who borders on the edge of creepy once in a while but is overall a pretty chill guy; Helena, the German woman who, like many others, got "stuck in Storms River" when she fell in love with the place and has been there ever since; three beautiful horses Baby, Baria, and Gracie and a pony named Smeagol; three spunky dogs Tiger, his son Achmed (named by Sev for the Dead Terrorist), and an adorable little spaniel Jess; Patches the cat; at least two maids who make delicious home-style food and keep the hostel in tiptop condition among others.

So back to the first night. We got there at about 2 AM, and after a couple rounds of Lemon Drops (a sugar-coated lemon slice with a shot of vodka. Suck, Shot, and Slice.), which I abstained from due to having just barely recovered from a cold, we went straight to bed. We all agreed in the morning that it was the best night's sleep we have had in ages. It's sad when the bed in a hostel is better than the bed one has been sleeping in for the past few months. The next day, the group split up, five going mountain biking, the other five, myself included, laying around in the sun for the morning, getting sunburnt, doodling in henna, bantering with the staff, then going horseback riding in the afternoon.

It was great because the horses were just hanging out in the yard prior to our ride, so we got to hang out with them. Since I was the smallest person, I rode on Smeagol, the plucky grey pony who made up for his size in spunk and attitude. Apart from an incident when me speeding Smeagol up a hill spooked Gemma's horse and we both ended up on our bums and when Gemma's horse quit on her and rolled over her leg (no permanent injuries, thank goodness), it was a beautiful sunny jaunt through the woods, led by Brad, who was slightly judgemental at our lack of experience and vigour. After our nature ride, we were given the option of continuing through the township to a trail by the freeway. A few of the group were pooped, so only Anna and I continued. There were two kids on our ride, so I switched out Smeagol for Tracy (I think?), a beautiful almost-black gelding. We slowly rode along the tree farms, Sev on foot leading the pony, appreciating the gorgeous sunset. After spending almost four hours on the back of a horse, I was surprisingly not sore and full of energy when I made the most epic entrance at Dijembe, confidently trotting in on the back of a horse. Too bad the only photos from the day of me are on my short little pony :P.

After a delicious braai, we shot the breeze around the fire with the young German volunteers also staying there and hung out at the bar. Brad needed to make a liquor run to the township tavern to restock the bar, and on a whim, Wout, Bec, Merel, and I hopped in the back of the truck and went with him. The township in Storms River can barely count as a township. There is still poverty, and the living conditions are not as good as the nice villas and cottages in the town, but most the roads are well-paved, and according to Sev, the crime rate is almost nonexistent, which is believable. Apart from the quite drunk creeper who almost immediately approached me, proclaimed that he liked me, came on to me (I assume; I couldn't tell, it was slurred and half in Afrikaans), and tried to grab my arm, I didn't feel threatened at all. Also, those guys really know how to shoot pool.

Sadly enough, I'm completely sober in this pic

We got back, and the group headed to bed. I had stayed behind with some of the other guests and was chatting with Yolande, Camilla the Danish girl (Hey Nick, she goes to university in Aarhus!), and the female half of a honeymooning couple when Sev impishly locked the doors of the bar to keep all of us inside. I protested, siting my lack of cash and my date with the bungee cord in the morning and a desire to not be hung over while hanging upside down, but Yolande insisted. She gave me some sketchy looking white powder which turned out to be Grand-pa, a South African staple of crushed aspirin and caffeine which will apparently get rid of any hangover if taken before bed, and then paid for two glasses of wine and three Springbok shots.

Yeah. I woke up still a little drunk in the morning. I was a little nervous about jumping 216 meters with a headache, but thank goodness for South African Time, which runs slower, for I had a couple hours to recuperate. By the time Deike, Chloe, Bec, and I got the bridge, I was nervous about the drop but at 110% enthusiasm. We were joined by three German girls who looked terrified but seemed to appreciate the nervous energy and Yolande and her daughter, who were doing the jump for the second time after originally coming to watch and keep us company but then deciding that they couldn't be left out of the fun.

Bloukranz Bridge, World's Highest Bungee Bridge

Guys, it was So. Awesome. Check out the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8usYKAuOiYs. I look like a pro. Except strung out on coke. I was so nervous, but I knew the drill already because four of our group had already done the jump during spring vac. They had a DJ playing pumping music, a cool bunch of guys working the ropes who seemed confident, and a setup that didn't let you look over the edge until you got to your turn to jump. The worst part was the 218 meter catwalk alongside the bridge to get to the platform in the middle with wire grating that gave a little underfoot. I danced around the entire time; Deike and I are probably were in every person's video, rocking out and booty shaking in the background. I was the first of our group to go and determined to set a good example. I was surprised that when I got to the edge and looked down, I thought to myself "Oh, that's pretty," not "Holy Shit." It didn't even look real, more like a picture from National Geographic. I had no concept of how far down it was, even though I knew it was the world's highest bungee bridge. It was the initial split second when my toes left the concrete and I felt myself naturally tip head first that my heart went to my mouth and I had to hold my breath to keep myself from panicking. After the first bounce, which my eyes were shut tight for, I opened my eyes, felt the rush of adrenaline from escaping death and gave my best WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-Hoo! When I heard the amazing echo, I had to do it again and again. I arched my back to look around at the the distant ocean and the surrounding mountains and marvelled at the river of coffee below. There might be taller bungees from structures, but the man, I don't think they could possibly be more beautiful. I came back up exhilarated and enthusiastically reassured and cheered on the other jumpers. Aaaaaaand destroyed my newly-recovered voice. It's just gone now.

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We got back midday, and I joined a few of the group as well as two Dutch girls to zip line. It was great fun, and I was still hopped up from the bungee, but the experience was a little short-lived, with only 8 cables across a canyon formed by the river. Still, the views over the waterfalls were great, the staff lively and friendly, and the company good.

After a lovely dinner prepared by Gemma (she was head chef of the three dinners we cooked and did a marvelous job. I had missed good home-cooking), the group hung out at the bar. Ashley insisted that she wanted to go the tavern after hearing about our adventure the night before which she had missed due to a delayed bus. After the rest went to bed, Sev and Gerhard took Simon, Deike, Ashley and I to the tavern. Sev paid for all our alcohol (including the worst tequila of my life; I retched a little), Gerhard and the locals taught Simon what it looked like to get trounced at pool, and Sev's friends taught Deike, Ashley, and I how to dance to African music properly. Good times to be had by all. We walked back under a cloudless night sky with a ripe full moon. I rediscovered how it feels to run while drunk. Amazing.

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The next day was river tubing. Sev and another river guide (Jacques was his name, maybe?) took Wout, Ashley, Bec, Deike, Celine, and I as well as the Dutch girls and a travelling Spaniard from the hostel down Storm River's tiny rapids in individual tubes. The day was overcast, and it rained quite a bit, but we were wet anyway, the forest and the river were stunning, so we agreed that that had been the best way to spend a rainy day. My short stubby little arms struggled a little to keep up, but I muddled through. The wetsuits kept us warm enough on the river, but once we were out it was quite cold. Dijembe's wonderful hot monsoon-style shower felt really good afterward, as well as the provided hot chicken stew for lunch, which I ate like a starving madwoman. The rain wasn't letting up, so the group, along with an Italian-Brazilian diving instructor/lawyer living in Australia that we adopted, stayed in and watched movies in front of the fire all night.

The next day, we were due to leave on a bus at 16h00 but the bus company called us in the morning and told us it was delayed until 4AM the next morning. We weren't too pleased to have to stay awake all night, but Dijembe said it was no problem for us to just hang out until then. I don't know about the others, but I was secretly a little happy for an excuse to stay. Although the day was rainy again, we decided to make a group trip to the national park for a light walk around to check out the suspension bridges and the coast, which I hadn't seen there. Ten of us piled into William's chariot plus the Brazilian and a ridiculously tall Swiss man that we also adopted. It was a cramped trip, but we laughed and joked the entire way. The national park is gorgeous. We were at the mouth of the river, where all the tannin stains the ocean brown and makes kinda grody looking foam.

All these are Chloe's

There were some gorgeous views, and I did a little off-road exploring climbing around cliffs and up a waterfall. We took our sweet time, meandering about on and off the path, but when I got back I was devastated to discover that my trusty knife had unclipped from my waistband. 1 km of trail and my knife was floating about in the middle of it somewhere. I kept my head and sprinted back to the end of the trail, where I knew I had slipped a little while climbing around. Out of sheer luck, it was right where I thought it was, in the middle of the bushes off the trail next to the waterfall. If I hadn't had gone to find it, it probably would have been lost forever. As many people know, that knife is completely irreplaceable to me, and it definitely would have ruined my trip for me if it had been lost. Luck has been on my side though, and I got a rush of joy and energy as I sprinted along the slippery composite board path. I didn't even twist my ankle! We got back to Dijembe, made dinner, and settled down to watch a few movies. Celine, our Frenchwoman, had never seen Chocolat before, which we thought was a travesty and sought to remedy.

We got dropped off at the gas station that the bus comes to at about 3:30 AM. At half past 4, we figured the bus was just late as usual. The local police were friendly and talked to us, and we were with a local guy who was quite chatty. I think he was there to make sure we got on the bus safe. Yeah. Too bad the bus never came. We kept calling the bus company, and at about 7:30 someone finally answered and told us that the bus had just completely bypassed our stop. Bastards. We had dozed outside the gas station, on the concrete, in the cold for a couple hours by then. We were pissed as hell, but the good trip and the fact that the gas station wasn't so bad and we felt safe kept us from going into a blood frenzy. The local found us a transport guy who took us to Grahamstown for 200 Rand (a steal! esp. since the van was nicer than the bus we would've taken), and we all stumbled back to our dorms for a shower and some much needed rest.

All in all, the best vacation of my life. I don't think I've ever experienced that much perfect happiness in such a long time. I have been truly blessed. Now, I'm staying in bed, resting my voice, and trying to forget that I have three exams next week that count for the majority of my grade. Wish me luck! I've been having so much of it, it seems impossible that I could have any more. Hope I'm wrong :P