After a long goodbye to JL and Melbourne, I board my SAA flight and land 14h later in Johannesburg, South Africa; tired and stale, but in good spirits. I'm ready to experience something new, and the prospect of traveling through Africa for the next two and a half months has me excited. I'm greeted in the arrivals hall by my cousin VY who has magnanimously agreed to put me up for the duration of my stay in Africa on the condition that I take on the role of short-order cook and also prepare a healthful smoothie every morning, something that I'm only too happy to do. For the next two weeks, VY, her visiting sister NY (cousin #2), and I hang out and sample what Pretoria and Johannesburg have to offer. We go to restaurants and art shows, visit pop-up markets and go on city walk tours. They are gracious hosts whom I repay with mediocre food and bland smoothies though they suffer this silently.

During this time I solicit travel advice from VY, who is as seasoned as they come. Together we sketch a solo three-week road-trip through South Africa so that I may finally see the country properly. I had been to South Africa twice previously, once in 2009 and again in the beginning of 2014 as a stop-over after Namibia. Both times I failed to stumble outside the wine region and I was determined that this time I would see the country. It was decided that I would rent a car (that 67 horse power beast you see above) and drive 1,800km along the Garden Route hitting a few of the surfing hotspots along with way, then make a detour in-land into the Karoo before catching a train from Durban back to Johannesburg.

The South African travel itinerary

Having driven the entirety of Australia's East Coast, part of the West, and the only chunk of the Northern Territory that matters, I've come to develop an appreciation for the joys of road-tripping. In my opinion, there's no better way to see a country. It affords you maximum flexibility to come and go as you please and fosters an appreciation for your surroundings in a way that air travel can never match. A full tank of gas, a goody bag of confections and savories, an iPod with the right mix of sing-a-longs and new music to keep things interesting, a map, and you're set. Pedal to the metal, rubber to the road, let's go. First stop: VicBay.

July 24, 2014

After making more excuses than I care to admit I've finally gotten my shit together and gone surfing! While planning this SA road-trip it occurred to me that maybe I shouldn't include so many surfing destinations. After all, what if I didn't like it?

Well I needn't have worried as I really enjoyed it. Everything from the "bowtie cold" 17 Celsius water(1), to the constant struggle against the rising tide, to the mouthful of salt-water that inevitably makes its way down your throat. It's all worth it for those few precious moment where you manage to right yourself onto your board and coast on the swells. I loved it so much that I extended my stay in Victoria Bay by two extra days so I could get in a few more lessons with Chad, my surfing instructor.

(1) When it's "bowtie cold", your dick shrivels up into a knot, and your two nuts, along with your freezing knot make up a bowtie. I learned this from the 60 year old surfer who ran my hostel

Chad: surfing instructor, board repairman and all around cool dude.
Above: view of Victoria Bay at sunset.

There's something undeniably appealing about the whole surfing culture. Like waves against the rocks, it threatens to slowly ebb away any commitment to responsibility you've worked so hard to establish with the promise of eternal sand, sun, and the thrill that comes with mounting that next big wave. One can't help but be drawn to the idea of spending endless summer days riding the surf, free of any worries bar the ever-present threat of The Great White Sneak Attack.

View of Victoria Bay. The point upon which the waves break is on the far right. I spent my time in the shallows riding foamies on the far left.

On the latter, surfers have a wary respect for the ocean's apex predator. Chad would tell me stories of seeing an 11-foot hammer head jump completely out of the water as if it were trying to escape. "If a fucking hammer head is jumping out of the water, imagine what's fucking chasing it bru! I made like Jesus and fucking RAN across the water eh!" This healthy respect for sharks has served him well over the years as he's still in possession of all of his limbs.

For those that are thinking "what could you know about surfing culture? You've barely been surfing a week!" Trust me, take a year off and the headspace you get into knowing you've got fuck-all in terms of responsibilities will put you half-way there. Hang out with Chad and Damon (Chad's 19 year old, "bitches" obsessed brother) for a few hours hearing them wax on (hehe) about performing "helicopters" and "kurrupt flips", and catching "macaronis" in Mantawi or "supertubes" in J-Bay and you'll find yourself caught up in it too.

Damon: "Your mum!"

My only regret in all this is not taking up surfing sooner. To think that I could have been catching waves in Australia this entire time... As someone once told me, "time and tide wait for no man". If you want it, go for it. Glad I did, even if it was late.