Our tour guide shocked me today by claiming Galicia, the northwestern part of Spain where Vigo is located, was first settled by Celts from Ireland. She painted a vivid picture of kilt-wearing, bagpipe playing Celtic/Spaniards.
But I was totally skeptical. Especially after I asked her how these Irish Celts reached Spain.
"Ships," she claimed. Then she took us to an old manor house with a large garden, private chapel and archaeological museum, but only allowed us to tail her through the gardens while she pointed out plants from other countries that have thrived here. We were not allowed to visit the interior of any of the buildings where we were assured we'd find evidence of ancient celts in Spain.
Not satisfied, I started doing a web search after we reboarded the Sky. The Celts originated, not in Ireland, but central Europe along the Danube and radiated out from there. No Irish celts arrived by sea. They migrated into Spain and throughout Europe on foot and replaced the Neanderthals that used to live in the region.
I can see I'll need to do more investigating about this when I get home, but for now, I won't have nightmares set to the screel of Spanish bagpipes.
Here's the DH's photo montage of our day in Vigo:
It's a very pretty, clean city with a nice mix of old and new architecture. The sky threatened rain all day, but politely waited until we were back on board the ship to drop its liquid sunshine.
One more Spanish port and then we're headed to France!
"The air soft as that of Seville in April, and so fragrant that it was delicious to breathe it." Christopher Columbus
Columbus has fallen out of favor in the US it seems. In fact, none of our onboard lecturers can say anything good about him other than that he was a fairly decent navigator, despite never knowing where the heck he actually was. But in Seville, he's still counted a hero who helped put the kingdom of Spain on top during the age of European exploration and expansion in the 15th century.
The Viking Sky actually made port in Cadiz, a fascinating city originally built by the Phoenicians and later occupied by the Romans. We've been here twice--sounds terribly spoiled of us, doesn't it?--so we decided to branch out into the countryside to visit Seville this time. We joined the "Seville on Your Own" tour which meant Viking would bus us to the city, let us roam free and then pick us up at a designated place and time for our return trip.
The road to Seville runs through about 115 km of relatively flat land with hazy distant mountains to the east. It's been so long since we've seen arable land, our Iowa-upbringing made us heartily approve the agriculture activity we drove past. There were fields of wheat, cotton, olive groves and vineyards.
Seville itself is a charming collection of ornate buildings, home to a Great Cathedral and Alcazar, once a Moorish fortress and now the king's palace. Those were the two sites we most wanted to visit, but they were closed because the king was "doing something" in both venues today.
Royalty can be so inconsiderate sometimes, can't they?
Anyway, we went with Plan B, which turned out to be lovely. We took a taxi to the Museo de Bellas Artes and spent our afternoon enjoying El Greco, Murillo, Velasquez and Zurbaran. I'm not as familiar with the work of these Renaissance artists as I am with those from Northern Europe, so it was a delight to discover them in person. It's one thing to study a painting online, another to stand before a wall- sized triptych.
It was a wonderful experience and we felt very comfortable wandering the city. There are myriad squares where street artists prop up their easels and I didn't see a single homeless person or anyone begging.
Another nice change.
I used to be confident to wander when we travel. Constantly remaining in the "ship's bubble" of pre-planned excursions has dulled that confidence somewhat. Today was the best of both worlds. We could do what we wanted in Seville and linger as long as we desired instead of being hurried along trying to keep up with the group. But at the same time, we were returning to a Viking bus that was guaranteed to wait for us to come back to Cadiz.
"Round up the usual suspects." ~ Police Captain Louis Renault
Not really Rick's Cafe, but even 80 years after the iconic movie, this gin joint still packs 'em in!
Casablanca still calls to mind unrequited love and old time Hollywood glamour. Yes, I'll confess it. The DH and I watched the movie on the TV in our cabin before we arrived in this Moroccan port. Our guide Azizz made sure we got to see the latest version of Rick's Cafe. Even though we know it's not the real one, we still enjoyed seeing the latest incarnation in our drive by. Some of the other passengers on the Sky made reservations to eat there, but our excursion focused on the very real King Hassan II mosque.
Known as the Mosque on the Sea, this incredible structure was completed in less than a decade using local artisans and builders for the ornate interior and exterior mosaics.
Since we knew we were making an inside visit to the mosque, we made sure to dress conservatively. Azizz told us that women weren't required to cover their heads unless they wished. I'd brought a scarf, so I wore it. I may not share the Islamic faith, but it costs me very little to honor their tradition for the length of time I visited their house of worship. After all, they were flexible enough not to consign me strictly to the women's section of the building. It's located on the second floor, a wrap around balcony behind a screen that will hold 5000 female worshipers.
Azizz says they spoil their women. They are not required to pray in the mosque. When the call is heard five times a day, they may make their ablution and prayers at home.
Inside the mosque, we removed our shoes and walked stocking-footed on the light pink carpet. Azizz gave us a primer on the order of their prayer service. The imam recites a prayer, which is repeated by those gathered, starting in standing position.
Eventually, with successive prayers, the worshippers end up kneeling with their foreheads on the ground. After prayer, the imam delivers a 20-30 minute sermon and the service is concluded.
Sadly, there is no music involved. It's hard for me to imagine worship without it.
Azizz & an ablution station
Then we were taken to the lower level of the mosque where the ablution stations were located. Before going up to prayer, the faithful made "small ablution," symbolically washing their hands, face, mouth, eyes, and feet.
I hope you'll take a minute and watch the DH's montage. There are lots of close up photos of the exquisite embellishment that adorns all surfaces in the mosque.
Our tour continued through the city to a small souk, then to the "new" Old Medina. Moroccan houses traditionally are plain and boxy from the outside, with few windows and unremarkable doors. Inside, they often have open-to-the-sky courtyards and are opulently beautiful. According to Azizz, because of the lack of obvious ostentation, people of all economic strata can comfortably live near each other. It's considered bad form to flaunt one's wealth.
We'd just driven past His Majesty's palace, a place that lives up to its name. "What about the king?" someone wanted to know.
Azizz grinned. "It's good to be king!"
I really enjoyed getting to know Azizz. He told us that when the rest of the Muslim world was experiencing an "Arab Spring," nothing happened in Morocco. They are Suni, not Shiia.
"Islam Light," Azizz says. He emphasized that, as People of the Book, Muslims share the same God as Jews and Christians. He made many protestations of friendship to the west which I believe to be genuine. Morocco simply wants to be left alone when it comes to a struggle between other monotheistic religions. That made me feel hopeful until we walked past a bookstore and I noticed a book displayed prominently beside gold-leafed Korans.
It was an Arabic translation of "Meine Kampf," complete with a photo of Hitler on the cover.
I'll never believe in book banning, but it's a shame this one still finds a readership.
"Traveling-- it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.”
― Ibn Battuta
Morocco is our last African country on this trip. I'm not sure what I expected, after the arid, water-starved Atlantic island chains. I was pleasantly surprised by the riot of blooming trees and shrubs.
The first stop on our tour included a cable car ride to the top of one of the northly Atlas mountain chain. This was only a couple hundred meters above sea level, but deep in the interior of Morocco, the mountains soar to over 4000 meters.
The fort wasn't open for us to explore, but it made a nice backdrop for our camel photo.
Correction, the three beasts available were dromedaries, which means they had only one hump. Camels have two.
As you're probably aware, I'm not a shopper, but I have no resistance to paying a local for chance to take a photo. (This calm dromedary was nice to pet, too.)
Some members of our group opted to ride one of these gentle creatures, but the DH did it in Saudi Arabia back in 2022. Since he's a good horseman, he had no trouble with mounting a camel. Staying on as the dromedary stands is a mini-rodeo because they raise up in stages, tipping the rider violently forward in the first part. The DH stayed on back then, but the uninitiated could easily tumble off head first!
Then another local with a month old goat in his arms offered the dear little thing to me to hold. What a sweet baby! The DH took this shot and then the goatherd offered to take a picture of both of us with the kid.
When he did so, another man with--of all the nasty things--a snake scurried over and inserted himself into our photo, dangling the snake next to the DH. Our goatherd was still snapping pictures while I objected to the encroachment. I won't post those pics, because I was making a very unhappy face. We paid the goat's owner because we had a verbal agreement with him.
Then the snake man tried to extort money from us since we had a picture of him and his reptile. We both said "no" and started walking away, but he kept haranguing us. Then I remembered my Egyptian training when our guide to Luxor taught us how to stop an importunate vendor.
I extended my left arm, palm out toward him in a "stop" gesture, and said in my Anti-Shopper voice, "La-la-la!"
He turned tail and practically ran from us, looking for easier pickings. FYI, la-la-la means emphatically "NO!!!!" in Arabic.
In case you're wondering if I insulted all the local people around us, the DH saw a man with his wife and two children watching the exchange. When I broke out the La-la-la hand, he smiled and nodded his head. Evidently, it's the way everyone handles pushy salesmen in Agadir.
The next part of our tour involved a walk down a shopping district to view an important mosque from the outside. That's the minaret in the distance. Then a stroll through a local market where vendors offered fresh produce, flowers, fish and beef hanging in uncut haunches from hooks in the ceiling. After that another mosque we could take photos of from several angles, but not venture inside (that's coming up in Casablanca for us) and then after general clamoring from most of our group, a second stop at the shopping district pictured above.
What I loved about it is the purple jacaranda blooming along the clean-swept sidewalks.
I'm sure there must be an alure about shopping that I can't quite comprehend. Everyone else seems madly excited about it. Once I've purchased things to take home to our family, I'm terrifically done with the process.
Can anyone explain the siren call of shopping to me?
Hope you enjoy the DH's images from our day in Agadir!
April 22, 2025 Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Canary Islands
"Strong sweet potato!"~ Canarian saying that means he is a liar and 'liquefied' person
This was our first visit to the Canary Islands, another strand of volcanic pearls in the North Atlantic. This one considers itself attached to Spain, much like our own Hawaiian Islands are a part of us. It is a jaw-droppingly gorgeous place and we saw only the tiniest slice of it in our four hour tour.
Sunrise over Tenerife. The scarecrow-ish looking tree is a Dragon palm.
The Canary islands got their name from the ancient Romans, who believed they'd encountered islands inhabited only by "large dogs." Hence, the "Can" part of the place name refers to "canines," not the songbirds. Roman ruins have been excavated on the islands, one of which still boasts an volcano which erupted as lately as 2021.
Later however, when the Spanish arrived in the 15th century, they found neither dogs nor Romans. Instead, a blond, blue-eyed people group called the Guanches had been fruitful and multiplied there. Laura Lovelock, one of our onboard lecturers, posits that the Romans used the islands as a prison and dumped its prisoners from North African Berbers there. With no shipbuilding or navigation skills, they couldn't possibly leave or even stay in contact with humans on the other islands.
The Guanches built step pyramids and practiced a form of mummification (not the Egyptian manner) before interring their dead in remote caves. The living changed their quarters depending on the time of year--caves in the cool weather (not in the same place as their departed loved ones and in huts by the beach in warm months.
Our tour took us to a lovely little botanical garden with plants and trees from all over the world. Sadly, the offerings from the US were several species of cacti! Looks like they could've included a flowering dogwood or two. But it was still a restful ramble along the narrow pathways.
I hope you'll enjoy the Dh's photo montage at the end of this post, but I wanted to share a pic our friend Debra took of us unawares in the garden. She said she couldn't resist catching me with my yellow umbrella.
Our guide today told us that even though their climate is lush and green, they don't have a lot of actual rain. Certainly not like the "frog-strangling" downpours we experience in the Ozarks. Instead, she described frequent mists, what she called "horizontal rain."
When we lived in Seattle, I told the DH it was as if God took care of us as if we were Boston ferns with little sprits of moisture several times a day. It was easy to spot folk who didn't live in Seattle. They were the ones carrying an umbrella. Locals were happy with the damp and if we went a week with no rain, they'd get antsy.
As beautiful as the islands are, we didn't feel completely welcome. At the first photo stop of the day, there was graffiti etched on the garden wall saying, "Tourist Go Home!" Later, before our guide let us off the bus in a market area for "shopping free time," she admitted to us there have been public demonstrations against so many property owners choosing to become AirB&B's instead of providing long term rentals for locals.
Our guide also said the Canarian laws favor tenants to the point that it takes two full years to evict for non-payment.
No wonder landlords choose to turn their property into short term vacation homes.
One last question for you to ponder, because I'm stymied by it. It's about the large dogs the Romans reported. I've got an idea, but I'd like to hear yours.
April 19, 2025 Mindelo, Sao Vincente Island, Cabo Verde
Rats don't dance in the cat's doorway. ~ African Proverb from Cabo Verde
In 2022, Mindelo was the first African port we'd ever visited. It seemed odd to me that it is considered an African country since it was colonized by the Portuguese in the 15th century, a time when no people lived in the 10 island chain. But once the Europeans moved in they brought Africans to serve as slaves. When slavery was banned, the Portuguese abandoned their flailing farms. No wonder Cape Verdeans choose to self-identify as African.
We were in the grip of the Omicron Covid outbreak, so when we reached Mindelo after 12 days at sea in 2022, we were grateful to be allowed to make landfall. However, we had to stay in our Viking bubble, no independent exploration, and almost no native Mindeloans came out of their homes to greet us. It was like visiting a ghost town.
Today the town was bustling with street markets and the roads clogged with traffic.
Our guide, Bea, told us the sidewalk stalls are actually illegal because they don't pay taxes like the merchants who have stores. The islanders frequent them because their prices are lower. It's a difficult problem because without taxation, the government can't provide services like education and de-salination plants. But if you have a family to feed, it's hard to ignore that fact that you can put more food on the table for your children by using the illegal stalls. When the police decide to enforce the law, the sidewalk sellers sprint away, abandoning their product in their wake.
Goats seem to be the only hooved animals on the island. They will eat anything...
We discovered quickly that we were taking the same excursion we'd been on in 2022. Our drive through the fertile heart of the island revealed that the farms there were much browner and less productive than they'd appeared three years ago.
At our next stop we met Bea's family at the beach--her husband, son and the young deaf girl who is their ward. Bea says she fell in love with her when she met her on another island. There were no services to help the girl there, so her mother agreed for Bea, who is a teacher when she's not guiding, to take her back to live with Bea. What a lovely person she is.
And speaking of lovely people, our friend Marie happened to be on this excursion with us. She's in our sea day Bible study group!
Last Sunday was Easter, and though we were at sea, we did have some church! Brian and I sang for both the Catholic mass at 8am and the Non-denominational service at 10am. The Star Theatre was packed both times as we praised God together. Even members of the crew whose schedules allowed it came to join in. It was a wonderful day!
"Once there were 10 islands scattered in the sea..."~ Eleanor Stanford
Ms. Stanford goes on to describe islands where no one lived. There were no goats on the hillsides, no sound except bird calls in the ravines. Then the Portuguese landed their sailing ships in 1456. They saw the islands as staging areas for reprovisioning other vessels, and later, for colonization and holding African slaves waiting for the ship that would take them to the New World.
The Cape Verdeans earned their freedom from Portugal in 1975, but the citizens can still obtain Portuguese passports which allows them to travel and work freely in the EU. However, our guide today told us no one goes to Europe unless they want to work. He likes playing more, so he works as much as he wants on the island, and plays when he doesn't.
The gig economy is alive and well in Africa. (Even though they were can claim dual citizenship with a European power, the islanders consider themselves part of Africa.)
We started off with a walk around the Praia city center. I say walk. It was more a forced march. He didn't stop for anything except when he saw some friends sitting outside a restaurant lingering over their lunch. He pointed out public buildings in a perfunctory way. Any time I wanted to take a photo, we fell terribly behind the rest of our group and had to scramble to catch up.
With my lung issues, I don't hurry worth a darn.
We knew he was ahead of us somewhere because we could still hear him talking on our QuietVox devices, earpieces that allow us to hear our guides even if we become separated from them, though they cannot hear us. Finally, more than half a long block from our "leader," I lost my patience in front of the Presidential Palace (No, he didn't even stop there, though we hear through our QV's that it was perfectly okay for us to take a photo of it. Some places, like Kenya, don't allow photography of official residences.) As he kept striding on, I drew a deep breath, and shouted, "Will you please STOP?"
As a classically trained soprano, I can make myself heard over distance. Ask my kids.
He froze.
All apologies, he simply hadn't taken the trouble to look back to see his group straggling along in clumps of two's and three's, in a long trudging trail. After this, he was much more aware of what was happening with we unhappy few who'd been assigned to him.
The historical museum we should have seen was closed due to Good Friday. Fair enough. I'm glad there are still places in the world that honor this holy day. We saw a procession reenactment of Christ carrying His cross, followed by singing worshippers.
This video is from my friend Karla. I wasn't quick enough to get my camera up to record the one we saw, but there were similar processions all over the island.
Then we hopped back into our smaller 22 person bus/van. Our next stop was a Portuguese fort, high on a hilltop. Once they had begun colonizing the islands, they attracted the attention of Barbary pirates, so the fort with its many cannons was built to deter raids.
The elevated location also offered glimpse of what Cape Verde used to be. There is a deep, rich valley which used to have a river running through it. Fruit orchards, strawberry beds, and sugar cane were strewn through the ravine and climbed the walls of the steep valley in terraced fields. It was the most green we'd seen since setting foot on Santiago.
The rest of the island looks like a scene from the outer circle of hell--all rock and sand and desiccated grasses and scrubby trees. However, our guide, who strangely never gave us his name..., says it will all green up again once the "rainy season" starts in July. They are hoping for two months of rain.
Rainy season used to last four months.
When we visited a different Cape Verde island in 2022, we were told the islands are suffering from a desertification effect due to the prevailing winds of the ever expanding Sahara. There wasn't a cloud in the sky the day we visited, but a yellowish haze covered Ilda Santiago, small particles of dust and sand, the breath of the desert being swept across the Atlantic.
On our last stop, we walked a curved lane called "Banana Street" lined with not with banana plants, but Unesco protected homes. At the end of the curve was a historic Catholic church that had been built by the Portuguese in the 15th century. It was a simple structure, but was adorned by painted tile and an embellished painted ceiling in a prayer alcove.
And home to a risque story about a renegade priest who had 12 wives and many, many children. He was never recalled from his post, but when he died, he was denied burial inside the church proper. His posterity still gather to celebrate their big, forbidden family.
As we headed back to the ship, I was thankful for something that happened on this excursion. Or rather didn't happen. At the Portuguese fort, we had to traverse a rocky, uneven patch, stepping over larger boulders to reach the old ruin. I lost my balance and very nearly went tail over tea-kettle. If not for the DH's steely grip on my arm, I'd have suffered a very bad fall and landed on sharp rocks. He was in mid-step over a boulder when I first began to go down, so I don't know how he kept me upright, balanced on one leg as he was. But I'm ever so thankful he did!
April 14, 2025 Latitude 00*00.0 N Longitude 00*00.0 E
"Pobody's nerfect on Null Island" ~ Benjamin Errett
We're in the middle of six consecutive days at sea. For us, it's pure bliss. We love sea days. We can do anything or nothing with equal lack of guilt. But some folks on board get a bit antsy. Fortunately, our arrival at Null Island broke the hypnotic waves.
Don't let the graphic fool you. Null Island lives up to its name. It's literally nothing.
Of course, there is no such thing as Null Island. It's a pinpoint on the equator about equidistant from Gabon to the east and Ghana to the north. There's not a speck of land at those 0/0 coordinates. Not even a buoy marking the spot. (To be fair, there used to be but it kept being stolen.)
Water churned beneath the Sky's bow as the captain executed a 360 degree turn at the 0/0 coordinates.
But the non-place is surprisingly important. It's the starting point for all navigation using latitude and longitude. It's also, by a quirk of technology, a repository for myriad corrupt data. All sorts of computer errors end up assigned to these coordinates.
Go figure. (I sort of expected to find a floating island made up of all the mate-less socks that go wandering from the dryer!)
Null Island was fascinating to me because my dad would have found it so. He loved maps. When we went on our previous world cruise, I left my atlas with him and he followed our progress in it each day. He taught me to read maps as a kid and let me serve as navigator for our family camping trips. (Surprisingly, he didn't take the post from me even after I led us over the Big Horns on Highway 14A back when it was just a set of gravel switch backs!)
My map of our travels done in art class. My goodness, there are lots of "fiddly bits" in the South Pacific and the Canadian arctic!
You may be wondering what people do on board during sea days. There are lots of options, but here are our favorites: Bible study at 9 in the Explorer's Lounge, Art class at 10 (I also sometimes sneak in at 2 if I'm seriously working on something), passenger choir. We also like to watch the enrichment lectures on our TV in our cabin (which is how we learned about Null Island!)
My latest compulsive art piece. My biggest challenge is knowing when it's done.
We also enjoy the thelassotherapy pool in the spa and afternoon tea in the Wintergarden.
A cello & violin playing. Delicious treats and hot tea. How very civilized.
We'll continue to enjoy our sea days...especially since the number of them is dwindling swiftly as we head north to Europe and the end of our cruise on May 6th!
“By all accounts the Angolan people, the great majority of them poor, illiterate and living in isolated villages or urban slums, carry out their civic responsibilities with great dignity and patience. The two voting days in Angola are another confirmation that anyone who mouths the cliché that Africans are not ready for democracy is simply ignorant of the facts. African politicians, however, are a different matter.”
― Karl Maier, Angola: Promises and Lies
Before we left the US, we planned for Angola. Specifically, we planned not to go ashore, but we still had to have CDC Yellow Fever waivers, at quite an expense, that explained why we couldn't take the live virus vaccine. Of course, my FOMO syndrome kicked in, but I promised my doc I wouldn't risk the area. Yellow fever is endemic here and they're experiencing a flare up right now. All it would take is one mosquito bite, and evidently, I am delicious.
Once we reached Luanda, we realized there were other reasons why it was just fine for us to stay onboard the Sky. First there was the armed guard stationed at the end of the gangway.
That was new.
All the ship's excursions had police escorts. That wasn't such a surprise. We had police escorts in Semarang to get us through the insane traffic in time to visit distant Borobudur. But in Luanda, our friends who went ashore had armed police escorts to visit the beach. Or the mall. Or any of the other excursions.
Evidently kidnapping foreigners for ransom is a popular business model here.
We learned later that it happens in South Africa, too. Josh Sullivan, a pastor from Tennessee, was abducted at gunpoint on April 10th near Port Elizabeth, one of our previous stops. So far, we haven’t heard whether a ransom request has been made. Pastor Sullivan had finished his schooling in the Xhosa language and was getting ready to plant a church among that people group. Please pray for him and his family.
But even though the sole of my foot didn’t touch Angola, I still wanted to learn more about the country. The history sounds familiar. Inter-tribal warfare followed by slave trading, colonialism, a fight for political freedom from the European power followed by decades of civil war while various factions duked it out for supremacy, and finally political corruption and poor governance.
Enter the discovery of oil.
When the Norwegians struck oil in the North Sea on Christmas Eve 1961, there was great rejoicing. The government set to work putting all those oil dollars to work for its people, creating excellent infrastructure, education, health care and a cradle to grave safety net. The median income is $4166 per month.
Oil has made Luanda one of the most expensive cities on earth. A small condo in a good area costs the equivalent of $6800 a month. The gap between the have’s and have not’s make the US gap seem like a rounding error. The median income in Angola is $27 a month. A woman's life expectancy is 65 years. Men can only look forward to 52 trips around the sun.
As we sailed away, I once more felt equal parts gratitude and guilt. The accident of my birth in the US has made my life so much easier, safer and more predictable than many around the globe. I did nothing to deserve it. It was gifted to me by God's grace and by virtue of the geography surrounding my family.
I heard one speaker say it was a mistake to believe the people of Africa are unhappy in their poverty. Having lots of things doesn't guarantee happiness. Relationships and family mean more.
Jesus said something similar. In Luke 12:15, he told his disciples, to “Watch out and guard yourself from all types of greed, because one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”
I agree with that. I also think $27 a month can't help but lead to despair.
"Man is the head of the family, woman the neck that turns the head." ~ Namibian proverb
Our guide today was Barbara, a Namibian of German ancestry and part of the 6% white minority in the country. She says it's a peaceful society with no racial tension or internal strife. Since many places in Africa have a history of or ongoing civil unrest, it's unique in that.
Among the black population, there are many different tribes and language groups. There are even three tribes who live completely off the grid with no contact with others. They do a smattering of planting, hunting and gathering and move to other areas as the rainy or dry seasons dictate.
Barbara says the going rate for a wife is 6 cows. That's down from the 11 cow bride-price in South Africa. In an interesting twist, in Namibia a man may have as many wives as he can support, but the first wife chooses the second, the second picks the third, and so on...
Our excursion took us to Flamingo Bay, a very exclusive stretch of beach where normally there are 56,000 flamingos. However, it's mating season, and the favored mating grounds are 150 km away. There were only a few birds still on the beach, the elderly, the injured, etc., who couldn't make the trip. But we got a fairly close view of them and enjoyed watching them unfurl their wings to expose the black and pink feathers. Otherwise, they were very pale because they don't eat brine shrimp. They eat plankton.
Then we drove into the desert between an avenue of palm trees 11 km long. A local businessman had lost his son in an accident on that highway. In his grief, he decided to plant these palms in his son's memory. (Unfortunately, we were unable to get a good photo of these rows of tangible evidence of a father's pain. They are a beautiful memorial. The roads are ...what's a charitable way to say it?...an opportunity for Africa to give us a massage. No way to get our phones to focus as we jiggled along.)
Our destination was a place where we could access Namibia's famous sand dunes.
It's hard to walk on inclined sand. Your feet sink in with each step and you slide back a bit. Surprisingly, we were able to make it more than half way up the largest dune. But then I realized this was a "bear went over the mountain" moment. All we'd see from the top is more sand dunes. Time to take a "made it half way up" win.
According to our resident geologist, the Namibian dunes are the product of the erosion of the African escarpment that rises from sea level. They are constantly shifting and there is one that actually has a star shape because of the changing prevailing wind.
We've seen so many weird and wonderful things on this trip. This was yet another. We are so very blessed.
"Diamonds are a girl's best friend and dogs are a man's best friend. Now you know which sex has more sense.” — Zsa Zsa Gabor.
Luderitz was a complete surprise to me. It was as if someone had airdropped a Bavarian village into the Namibian desert. The town is filled with German-inspired architecture. It's clean and with not a smidge of graffiti (which to me, says civilization louder than just about anything.)
The harbor is not very big, but the town has evidently gotten tired of being passed by. Persistent fog makes cruise ships cancel when tender operations are too dicey. Luderitz cleared a berth for us in their small commercial port, so we tied up neatly.
We were going to visit Kolmanskop, a ghost town left over from a diamond boom, but diamonds were not the first thing Europeans and Americans were interested in here. In the 1800's, there were huge deposits of guano from the African penguin colonies on the coast, which provided a prime ingredient in making gun powder.
Diamonds were discovered just lying on the sand in the desert in 1910 and suddenly no one wanted to mine guano anymore. (Can we blame them?)
The town of Kolmanskop was born to house the miners and it sprang up quickly. After barracks for single miners, houses for those with families were built and the owners of the mine had opulent homes constructed for themselves there as well. The town had its own theatre, library, bowling alley, tea room, bar, and dance hall (where church was held every other Sunday!) The hospital in Kolmanskop boasted the first x-ray machine in the southern hemisphere.
However, that was not an altruistic gift from the mine owners. It was part of the security routine to make sure the workers weren't sneaking stones out in their shoes, watches, cassette tapes, or personal orifices. I can't imagine how many rads the miners suffered through during those screenings, whether they were guilty or not.
Initially, the diamonds were mined by having the workers lie on their bellies shoulder to shoulder and crawl together along the sand, picking up the blueish/white uncut stones. Most of them were one to two carats. Their quota was a can of diamonds a day, which they could easily do at first. Later, they could only manage a matchbox of stones in the same time. It was time to dig into the earth.
However, the deeper they dug, the fewer diamonds they found. That's because the deposit of gems was alluvial in origion. Ancient rivers deposited the diamonds on the desert when it was covered by river beds. The gems were all in the sandy surface.
So with the mine playing out, so did the town. People upsticked and left, with the last families leaving in 1956.
I would've hated to be the last ones out. How sad.
It's also a problem a lot of small towns face. If the economy is relying on only one company, it's always a recipe for disaster.
Tomorrow, we'll be sailing along the Skeleton Coast (so named for the whale skeletons and shipwrecks that dot the shore) to Walvis Bay.
"No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. They must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.” ~ Nelson Mandela
I believe that's true.
When #1 Daughter was a very little girl, we worked with the youth group in our church, so our kids got to know all the teenagers there. Andre was a great favorite with them because he was always so sweet to our kids. One day on the way home from church, #1 Daughter piped up from the backseat.
"Momma. Andre is different than us."
"Oh?" I asked, wondering what was coming.
"Yep," she said. "He's got really curly hair."
After 27 years in prison on Robben Island, Nelson Mandela became the first Black African president of South Africa. It was a seismic shift, aided by the courage of F. W de Klerk, the last head of state during the time of white-minority rule, who worked with Mandela to begin dismantling the hateful policy of apartheid. Making the society fully equal takes time, unfortunately. It requires hearts to be changed and that doesn't happen by governmental decree.
Education is one key. Schools are nominally desegregated but a survey in 2022 showed that 70% of white students are in a white only school. 96% of blacks are in an all black school. Language is another divider. Some schools are taught in English. Some in Africaans. And some are still taught in tribal languages.
Which do you think will yield the most opportunities to its graduates?
Today we took the tram up to the top of Table Mountain, the iconic land formation that looms at 3500 ft above sea level over the cape. It's more accurately a mountain range that shoots up dramatically and then ranges over miles and miles around the shoreline.
Our time on top allowed us to enjoy some great views. One of the things I encourage you to look for in the harbor below is a flat round island. That's Robben Island, where Mandela was held prisoner for 27 years.
On the way back to our ship, one of our fellow cruisers asked our guide, who was white, why there hasn't been more progress in race relations in SA. Her answer was that they've only had 30 years since apartheid was dismantled. They've made strides in changing how the government works.
It will take longer to make the changes that must come from within human hearts.
“I’m not chubby, I’m just a little fluffed up. – A penguin’s excuse.”
South Africa has a wild history--tribal wars before Europeans showed up, trading posts established once they did, colonialism by Germany, then Britain, settlement by the Boers (who started as Europeans and created their own unique people group that actually went into a lop-sided war with Britain which amazingly lasted 3 years), the grinding time of apartheid, and finally its dissolution with the election of Nelson Mandela as the country's first Black African president in 1992.
But today, we focused on a different kind of wild--African penguins.
These hearty little birds don't head for Antarctic. They remain along the African coast all their lives, nesting in underground burrows and braving the seal-infested waters to hunt for their food.
Our excursion took us to Boulder Bay to visit a colony of these snappily dressed little birds. There's no sexual dimorphism in penguins. The ladies wear tuxes too, but the poor juveniles are grey puffy creatures who look miserable as they molt. Kind of like human teenagers who grumpily deal with all the changes in their bodies as they go through puberty.
We also saw rock hyraxes. They are small, rodent-like creatures, but according to our guide, they are more closely related to elephants than rats.
I'm more than a little dubious about that.
Anyway, hope you enjoy the DH's montage of photos. This part of South Africa is visually stunning--majestic highlands rising from the waves!
PS. A word about the choir and band that visited the Sky to perform for us. There was a young girl whose heartfelt voice made me weep as she sang the solo in a song called God Bless Africa. The choir was organized to keep these kids from hanging out on the street and it is obviously a huge a success. They were poised and musical and full of joy!
"One cannot resist the lure of Africa." ~ Rudyard Kipling
Our last game drive was a longer 8 hour affair that almost didn't happen. The wind and weather was against us and for several hours, the Sky was unable to make it in to her berth at Port Elizabeth. But in the end, we left for our day at the Amakhala Game Preserve a little after 10 am, instead of 8 am.
This park is home to the Big 5 and the only one we hadn't seen were elephants. I was delighted when Monde, our driver/guide, pulled off the game trail to an overlook from which we could see a trio of elephants playing in a mud hole. There were two adults and a juvenile, but they all enjoyed the wallow. The only thing I could've wished was that we were closer. Thanks to our cameras, we could zoom in a little, and it was okay. After all, we wanted a real experience. These were elephants living wild, not zoo residents or rescue stock. It was best that we not stress them by being too close.
We also learned the difference between white and black rhinos. It has nothing to do with coloration. It's about their mouth shape. White rhinos have the flat lips of a grazer. They eat with their noses to the ground and couldn't lift their massive heads to eat leaves from bushes if they wanted to. Black rhinos have a clever upper lip that allows them to forage in the bush. I wish we could've seen Amakhala's rhinos. Since there are lions and cheetahs in the park, they haven't had their horns cut off. Monde said the rhinos are one animal they don't put trackers on lest poachers somehow hack the system. The guides also don't report rhino sightings on their radios, though they share all other animals locations with each other.
Our list of sightings have grown. We added black-backed jackals, blessbucks, kudu, oryx, and several other antelope species whose names have escaped me. But let me tell you, there is something majestic about seeing a mixed herd of prey animals bolting across a plain.
They have reason to be fleet of foot. There are seven lions and six cheetahs roaming and hunting freely in the reserve. We didn't see any of the lions because they'd killed a baby giraffe the day before and wouldn't need to hunt for several days. Lions are great at conserving their energy.
We did manage to see three male cheetahs. These three are brothers of the same mother, otherwise, they'd be leading solitary lives. Only siblings seem to hang out together once they reach maturity. The three we saw were lean and hungry as compared to the two cheetahs who were lounging just on the other side of the tall fence separating Amakhala from the neighboring park. The two neighbor cheetahs had recently made a kill and their distended bellies showed they'd gorged themselves. Monde said the two opposing groups occasionally smack at each other by the fence, but can't really reach through. They just like to make sure the other cheetahs don't invade their "turf."
Hope you enjoy the DH's photos from our last game drive. It was a majestically beautiful park and we have been so blessed to be able to see it.
Inkwenkwezi ~ "Morning Star" in the Xhosa language.
If you think the name of this game park is daunting, you don't know the half of it. The Xhosa language incorporates three different "click" sounds in place of various consonants. Unless you're raised with it, I can't imagine how long it would take to sound conversant. But it makes for a beautifully unique language.
I have to be honest. This was not my favorite game park. First, we were subjected to a 30-40 minute bump and meat-grinder of a ride in the 4 X 4 through a dense forest that thumped us up and down hills and dales, after being warned we wouldn't see any animals here.
Finally, we reached a relatively level savannah type topography. There were herds of antelope, but all were so far away, even with my camera on zoom, I couldn't get an idea what sort of creatures we were seeing.
However, I was willing to forgive out driver/guide when he drove us into the separately fenced off section where their pride of lions lived. We didn't see the females, but were told they'd killed a giraffe yesterday that had wandered too close and leaned too far into their enclosure. The lionesses had pulled the hapless giraffe over the fence.
But the two males were on display for us. They are white lions, which means their manes are blonde rather than dark. After viewing the herd animals from such a distance, I was surprised that we were driven so close to the lions. When I asked our guide why they seemed unconcerned about how close we were to them, he explained that as long as we remained in the 4X4, the lion perceives us as one creature and a big one at that. However, we're not considered a threat, so they ignore us.
Please enjoy the DH's montage to see these two big cats!
Hope you enjoy the DH's collection of primates from our day at Monkeyland. It's not far from our second South African port, Durban.
This section of eastern SA is still very tribal. Zulu culture is alive and well, including buying a bride with 11 cows. Our guide explained that if someone was walking along the road barefoot on a Saturday, they were probably going to "church." By that, she meant the gatherings that celebrate animism and ancestor worship. As we passed the small shanty towns in the countryside, we noticed the little cylindrical column houses with thatched roofs in the back yards. This is the place where the men of the family can go to talk with their ancestors and get the departed's advice and help with their plans.
If someone in the township becomes ill, they are likely to visit a "traditional" medical person instead of going to the public hospital, which is seen as too expensive. They seem to have great faith in the poultices and teas prepared by these shamans.
Apartheid has been abolished since the early '90's, but education is still segregated. As we've learned in the US, separate is never equal.
(Quick note about the small antelope who lived in Monkeyland. It's a duiker, a very small, shy creature who loves the forest, not the open savannahs. You'll see one in the montage.)
I'm playing catch up today. Here's the DH's montage of photos of our exciting game drive from our Richard's Bay port of call. The experience was full of wonder. The music the DH used is a loop of singing from the kitchen staff at Bonamanzi. The women greeted us with singing and smiles as they welcomed us to their very special place.
Democracy is the art and science of running the circus from the monkey cage. ~ H. L. Mencken (And that's my last political thought for the day...)
Today we visited Monkeyland. To be honest, it was not my first choice. All the big game drives had been booked before we had an opportunity. This was the only excursion left that featured a chance to see some animals.
It turned out brilliant!
Monkeyland is a rescue mission, a sort of retirement home for primates who've got a sad history. Some had been stolen from the wild and sold as illegal pets. (Never a good idea. Monkeys can be bad tempered and the bacteria under a primate's fingernails guarantees that even a scratch from one can be dangerous!)
Some had been abused and we saw one poor fellow whose long tail had been docked.
Others had been kept in small zoos all over the world which have subsequently been closed. Since they've all lived in captivity, this fully fenced and electrified enclosure of several hectares is the equivalent of monkey-heaven.
Our guide explained that they host both Old and New World primates. One of the best ways to spot the difference is that primates from the Americas have prehensile tails they can use to grip as if it was a fourth hand. No African monkeys do.
The New World refugee above with the mohawk above was bottle raised in Brazil and still really likes humans. Whenever guests tour the park, he leaves his regular troop, and follows from the safety of the canopy to study us and creep down close enough to hear us speaking to him. However, like all the other primates in the park, he was careful not to come within reach.
There were several subspecies of capuchin monkeys. This little acrobat on the low wire checking out the offerings on his feeding station is an aptly named "golden capuchin.
You may recall that I was disappointed over missing the lemurs on Madagascar. Several of our fellow guests had visited Lemuria Land there and reported having lemurs climb on their shoulders and be very friendly.
I wasn't after that sort of interaction. The lemurs here in Monkeyland were still wild enough to remain a respectful distance from us, but curious enough in a simian way to want to look at us as much as we wanted to see them!
There are several kinds of lemurs other than this ring tailed one. Our guide called one subspecies "Panda" Lemurs because they are all black and white. The DH included a couple pics of them in his montage!
The howler monkeys above are the largest of the species in the park. The black one is the male, the orange-brown one is female. All the males in the park are neutered because the park is focused on rescue, not breeding. But if they were to have a juvenile howler, it would be colored like the female even if it was male. The black color only comes with maturity because the little guys would be too vulnerable to predators if they showed up as dark as dad.
The monkey in the foreground looking over her shoulder at me is a spider monkey, so called because of her overly long legs and arms. She's unique in not having an opposable thumb.
There are about 7 different species at Monkeyland, but there's no rivalry or fighting between the troops. For one thing, they don't have to forage because they are fed regularly at several different feeding stations across the park. It's a large area and ranges up and down several hills. (In fact, our walk was quite a challenge to me because of the long ascending pulls made more tricky by lots of stones and tree roots snaking along the the ground.) But because there's plenty of space, none of the monkeys feel pressed by the others.
There is, however, a pecking order. As you can see, the larger monkeys eat first. The three howlers and the spider monkey have claimed the feast first. The lemurs will descend when its safe to do so, followed by the smaller capuchins and vervets.
But no one will go hungry. Even if there isn't a fresh offering of fruits, there's plenty of natural food available to them in the "Hidden Forest." They just might have to graze a bit while they leap through the canopy.
One final bit to share. Our guide told us that all animals are colorblind, with one exception. That explains why the markings that look as if they'd stand out starkly to us (giraffe's mottled coats or the zebra's stripes) do work against their predators.
Anyone care to guess which animal can see colors as well as we can?
