Back in September, on a 22-hour stopover in Lusaka, Zambia between safari and Vic Falls, we met a fellow American named Anthony. He sat with us for coffee for a grand total of 15 minutes telling us a few stories about his year motorcycling through Africa. He also mentioned that his favorite spot, "the most beautiful place in the world," was on the Wild Coast in South Africa. As it ended up, that place was Lubanzi, which is only a four-hour walk from Bulungula and our obvious second stop on the Wild Coast.

We weren't really sure what to expect of the walk from Bulungula to Lubanzi. We only knew that if you follow the coastline, you'd eventually find it. After our traumatic taxi experience, we decided to play it safe and hire a guide - a 19-year-old boy from the village - to lead the way. And, after making the trek, we were glad we did. There are no established trails and the chosen route took us along the beach, up hills, across rivers and through pastures. It is definitely doable on your own (again, just follow the coastline), but was nice to just be able to enjoy the moment and the amazing views and we were also more than happy to support the local economy. We had packed light knowing we would have to carry all our stuff with us and our guide nicely offered to carry my backpack, leaving me with Brendan's pack and Brendan with the big bag. The help was amazing and let one of us (let's be honest, Brendan) avoid carrying two bags, but we found out the hard way that if a stranger carries your stuff for a four-hour hike, it will probably end up smelling like him. The walk was gorgeous, and guide or no guide, smelly back pack or no smelly back pack, it's totally the best way to travel the Wild Coast.

We arrived at Wild Lubanzi Backpackers and were treated to a welcome beer - the first of many during our stay - and took a look at our new home. We didn't get far on the tour when we saw a somewhat familiar face. Anthony from Zambia, the reason we went to Lubanzi, was back at the lodge for a second stay! And we could see why. Lubanzi is strikingly beautiful. The lodge is set on a high cliff, overlooking not only the beach and ocean, but also sheer cliff faces on the other side of the valley. In the morning, we could see whales breeching and dozens of dolphins playing in the surf from the picture window in our room. It's unreal and immediately comfortable all at the same time.

But, the best thing about Lubanzi is the people. It runs like one big, dysfunctional family. The owners, Aiden and Rahel, live on property and have built the lodge one room at a time. It seems like they've purposefully kept it small, quiet and off-the-beaten-path enough to maintain an intimate vibe (as much for them as the guests). You have to work to get here and if you're not willing to or want to be catered to once you're there, it's probably not for you. Along with Aiden and Rahel, the lodge-family included two volunteers, Kyle and Kelley, Anthony and Cashew and Carab, two huge Rhodesian Ridgebacks that have the run of the property. We helped out in the kitchen, picked herbs and veggies in the garden, grabbed ourselves beers (marked down on a ledger, of course) and settled in to the slower pace. A few days later, a Polish couple who had also been recruited by Anthony joined us at the lodge and brought the rain with them.

It rained for days with no relief, leaving me, Brendan, Marta and Maciek stranded at Lubanzi with no way out. The roads were too muddy for their car and the ground was too soggy for us to walk. It definitely sounds worse than it was. Lubanzi is a great place to be stuck. We had good food, good company and, despite the clouds, a pretty good view of paradise. We got out and walked the village when we could. We played Brandy Dog - a game that we will definitely be bringing back to the states with us. And we drank a lot of beer. So much, in fact, that we ran out and the guys had to make a daring run to the shebeen in the rain. Even though they nearly got the car stuck and had to carry three cases of beer uphill, through the mud for 20 minutes, it was a successful mission. Until we drank it all that same night. Trying to make sober fun, we set up a sheet, hooked up the projector and popped some popcorn for movie night. All-in-all, we had a fun lock-in for three days, but the four of us were getting antsy.

Our chance for freedom came the morning after movie night. The skies cleared for a few hours, long enough to make the roads somewhat passable for Marta and Maciek's small rental, and they were nice enough to let us hitch a ride. As soon as we were out on the main roads, the skies opened back up. We drove for two days and over 1,000 kilometers and there was not one break in the rain. There were "waterfalls" everywhere - sheets of water coming down the cliffs to the road and down the other side. It was so bad, that a bridge on the road we were driving washed away - less than an hour after we had crossed it. Luckily, Maciek is an excellent and cautious driver - and he and Marta are wonderful company. We kept ourselves entertained with good conversation (mostly about travel and food), made a few stops and found our way to Plettenburg Bay where Brendan and I threw in the towel and bought tickets on the night bus to Cape Town. Mary had told us that the weather at home was sunny and with seasonal depression disorder setting in hard, we needed to get there fast.

We pulled up in Cape Town at 10am the next morning, just as the first rain drops were falling on the city. If we weren't so tired, we would have cried. Maybe I even did. It turns out, the rain had been some of the worst in the Eastern Cape's recent history. Roads were washed away (our bridge had actually made national news), villages were cut off from food and people were stranded. We considered ourselves extremely lucky to be back on somewhat dry land with family and our hearts went out to those still on the Wild Coast.

Even though our excursion to the Wild Coast was cut short, it was well worth it and lived up to its name in more ways than we could have imagined.

Outside of spending time with Mary in the Mother City, our South Africa agenda had one major detour - a three week trip up the Eastern Cape to the Wild Coast. Like its name implies, the Wild Coast is relatively untouched and untamed. It falls between Port St. John and East London and consists mostly of small villages and long stretches of some of Africa's most beautiful coastline. The Xhosa tribe has been living in the area for centuries and the culture and way of life has remained relatively unchanged over the years. Our plan was fairly loose - get out to the coast and hike north from village to village until we were ready to turn around. And, with two months of traveling Africa under our belts, we were up for an adventure.

Unfortunately, our over-confidence was immediately tested (or punished). After a 13 hour bus ride from Cape Town to Mthatha that we shared with the one-and-only crying baby in Africa, we had a choice to make. Pay for door-to-door shuttle to the remote lodge OR spend far less and get a night at the lodge free by taking a local taxi? With our experience and obvious expertise in the world of matatus, dolla dollas and minibus taxis combined with our general cheapness, we gladly took the local taxi option. We walked to the long-distance taxi stand thinking, "We got this." What we found at the unmarked stand to Bulungula (our final destination) was at once unfamiliar and terrifying and made the broken down minivans in Kenya and Zambia look like limos. A small truck (think Ford Ranger) about 15-years-old but worn well beyond its years with a rusted-out camper-top loaded to its breaking point with metal fencing, giant bags of grain, rice and flour and other purchases necessary for life in the sticks stood before us. The tailgate was open, revealing a perimeter of unfinished 2x4s that were to be our seats for the two hour drive and four "windows" that were covered with plastic, blocking light and fresh air. Trying to be good sports, and simply out of other options, we climbed in. For the next hour, we waited for the taxi to "fill up" which, in African terms, apparently means 12 people for every 4x6 space. When everyone was in - me, Brendan, and 10 not-so-small Africans, we had a panic attack. "We need to get out! We need to get out now!" Our desperate cries went unanswered as the truck started up and headed out.

For the next 2 hours, Brendan and I dealt with things in our own ways - I closed my eyes and went through list after list of what I'm thankful for and Brendan attempted to zen out and think of anything besides his bruised, swollen ankle (a Cape Town hiking injury) buried under everything. The entire trip was over unpaved, uneven roads and with every bump the roof buckled under the weight of its too-heavy load. It felt nothing short of being smuggled into or out of a country, without the hope of freedom or opportunity on the other side. And then it started raining.

Long story long, we made it. Fortunately, it was all a means to a beautiful end and walking down the final stretch of road to Bulungula (the taxi would only take us so far and dropped us off out of sight of the lodge or any landmarks) almost made us forget the pain of the journey. Until we discovered that our bag was being held hostage by our new bag lock. We borrowed a hack saw from the lodge so Brendan could cut our way into clean clothes and before we passed out, we vowed to never to use locks or give ourselves too much "experienced travelers" credit again.

Now about Bulungula... It's a small lodge - a collection of the local huts or rondevals and a common area - set on a low cliff overlooking a private stretch of beach with white sand and deep blue water. The beach is lined with rolling hills and jagged cliffs, feeling more like the Scottish highlands than Africa if not for the warmer weather. There are no locks on the doors and no crime in the village. The only reason you have to close your door at all is to keep the lodge dogs and village goats from wandering in. But, they were smart enough to install Dutch doors (bottom and top opens separately) so we could lay in bed and look out the open top door to the ocean and horizon during the day and the stars at night. And, even without A/C in the rondevals, the clay bricks and cool outdoor air made for perfectly comfortable naps and nights. The simple life is a good one.

We had no agenda and no check out date, so we took it slow. Reading, walking the beach, lounging, eating traditional Xhosa food (which consists mainly of rice and pretty tasty meat stews), napping and chatting with other guests. When we needed a little activity, we went canoeing on the Xhoha river, wandered around the village and visited our first local shebeen (bar).

The shebeens are interesting places, for sure. On one hand, it's exactly as you'd expect - a structure of sorts with people drinking and making merry inside. On the other hand, it's a completely foreign experience. Men and women sit on opposite sides of the room, usually on mats on the floor or stools fashioned out of boxes. When we arrived, we were offered our choice of 1 liter or 14 liters of the local maize beer. Slightly terrified of the paint-bucket sized beer (that literally comes in a paint bucket), we opted for a liter, which promptly was served in a rusty tin can. Luckily, everything at the shebeen is community property, so the locals helped us finish every drop. We bar-hopped over to shebeen number two which thankfully served delicious, hot Carling beer from a bottle and hosted a rowdier crowd, dancing to tunes coming out of a patron's cell phone. I tried my hand at African dance, but needed a few more tin cans before I could match the moves of the locals. Brendan and the other men looked on and laughed at us from their side of the room.

Our favorite day was an early one. We woke up at 4:15 for sunrise (east coast means sun rise is much more brilliant than sunset) and headed out to the beach with the lodge dog, Kila, at our side. We found a spot on a dune over some low tide pools and watched the world wake up. We were completely alone except for the rising sun, the moon and Jupiter (huge and bright next to the moon) and a lone fisherman out on the rocks getting an early start to the day.

We headed back to our room around 5:30, fully expecting to pass out, but were so energized from the sunrise that we packed a bag and headed down the far side of the beach to check out more of the village and surrounding area. We walked to the edge of the point, about an hour from the lodge to a secluded (or so we thought) beach. We set up camp, read and relaxed until a gaggle of curious village girls came down to check us out. We hung out with them for a bit, trying our best to communicate (the Xhosa language is by far the hardest we've come across - anytime there is an X, it's actually a clicking sound) and entertained each other with photos. Eventually, our stomachs got the best of us and we headed back, only to run into a few local fishermen with a fresh catch of crayfish (basically lobster with no claws). We bought two and took them back to the lodge for breakfast. I don't even remember what we did for the rest of the day, but the morning was something special.

Appreciative of our time at Bulungula, but ready to move on, we arranged to meet a local guide the next morning for the 4-hour trek to the next village over, Lubanzi.

Wild Coast Part II

The Wild Coast