On the Vermont Bed & Breakfast

On the Vermont is a quiet bed & breakfast with four guest rooms just outside of the main town of Hermanus. Near to beaches and wineries, it’s a great location if you have rented a car to drive to attractions and restaurants.

Pauli prepares breakfast

The owners, Jan & Pauli, are two of the sweetest people in South Africa and they take excellent care of their guests, especially at breakfast. They serve up a massive homemade feast with so many choices, you couldn’t possibly try every dish in one sitting! They’re also enthusiastic concierges, too, so I didn’t need to crack a guidebook – Jan & Pauli filled me on on everything I needed to know about the area, from history to great restaurants in town to the best value whale watching cruises. And they were sweet enough to drop me off in town a few times and to take me to church with them. If you want a really local experience, definitely check out On the Vermont.

My room at On the Vermont

As for my room – it was clean, quiet and comfortable with a distant view of the sea. Everything was functional and very much like staying with friends. Jan & Pauli also place a great deal of importance on their handicap accessible accommodations, and there’s a lift just in case anyone needs it. Really an accommodating, peaceful, pleasant place to spend a view days and the WiFi is fast and free.

The Marine Hotel

As the only 5-star hotel in Hermanus, The Marine’s reputation for elegance preceded it, so I had high expectations for this 42-room boutique. It’s certainly the most storied of all the hotels in Hermanus and the place to stay for celebs and VIPs (Brad Pitt stayed here years ago – ooh la la!).

The Marine is perched, seriously, perched, on the cliffs overlooking Walker Bay. It’s so close you can whale watch from breakfast if you so desire. My room was sunnily decorated in yellows and peaches and had plenty of space for me to kick out some morning yoga before continuing my whale-watching and cliff-path-hiking endeavors. The bathroom was rather less modern than I expected, but that was the only design critique I could come up with.

After the view of the Overberg Mountains and proximity to Walker Bay and its whales, I found that the staff was the best part of the Marine Hotel. What service! What big smiles and helpful tips for seeing the sites! They couldn’t have been more helpful and obliging and I certainly appreciated the extra little nibbles they left on my pillow each night.

The Marine Hotel from the Cliff Path 

Though I didn’t patronize the on-site restaurants due to price, I did gorge myself on the extensive breakfast spread included in the room rate, and if the brekkie is any indication, I probably should’ve checked out Seafood and the other dining options in-house. YUM.

The lobby

I only stayed at the Marine Hotel for two nights but easily could’ve made a week out of it. Though elegant and luxurious, thanks to the staff it was still warm and friendly and a great choice for a visit. My tip: get a room with a sea view, no matter the cost. That’s the whole point! I had an interior room and it was fine, but I’d rather be able to open my window and wave to the whales.

Harbour House Hotel 

The Harbour House Hotel and the Marine Hotel bookend the main part of Hermanus, so restaurants, galleries and shops in between the two are within easy walking distance. For me, proximity to town is secondary to proximity to the water, and Harbour House’s views of the bay and the mountains are second to none. I could hear and feel the thunderous waves crashing on the cliffs from my bed.

Harbour House’s magical pool deck

Harbour House was designed as a thatched roof seaside manor house and maintains its old school charm despite modern renovations. HHH has the best infinity pool in town, though it was under renovation while I was there and too cold to swim in anyhow. In good or bad weather, the pool deck is one of the best spots in town to enjoy a glass of local wine while watching the whales frolic below.

Bright, airy & functional 

My room was modern and functional, with everything I needed and nothing extra. The huge freestanding bathtub was a toasty, relaxing bonus on a particularly chilly night. Lighty & airy, the room was simple enough that it didn’t overpower the gorgeous views just outside.

The property’s Mint Wellness Salon opened on the day I arrived, so I was treated to the very first massage ever given to a customer! And it was oh.so.good. Definitely check it out if you’re in town.. and say hi to Moses, one of the friendly folks at the front desk. He’s awesome!

Schulphoek Guest House

Just a smidge outside of Hermanus, I found Schulphoek Guest House, an understated, sophisticated property overlooking Schulphoek Bay – no, I can’t pronounce it either. Equally unpronounceable are some of the suite names: alikreukel and the name of my room, perlemoen, named for creatures indigenous the the Cape’s coastline.

Chocolate cupcakes in bed? Yes please.

The scent of locally grown lavender welcomed me to my modern room, which I’d come to expect would have a giant bathtub. (Nine out of ten rooms in South Africa had massive tubs and I loved it!)

The common area

Schulphoek is as warm and welcoming a place as I’ve ever stayed, and my host Petro made me feel like a long-lost friend come for a visit to her house. Communal dinner is served nightly for those interested for around $30, and it’s well worth it for both the food and the socializing. First, guests gather in the wine cellar to choose a tasty beverage from 12,000 bottles and then the magnificent, locally sourced supper is served. I had springbok with Jack Daniels sauce and a heavenly vanilla creme brulee.

Breakfast at Schulphoek 

Schulphoek’s menu incorporates the seasonal produce and catches of local farmers and fishermen in order to focus on sustainability. The menu changes every day according to what’s available, and I loved that! Community dinner was definitely my favorite part of the whole stay at Schulphoek.

The view from the common area

Like On the Vermont, you really need a car to stay at a place outside of town like this, otherwise taxis could get pricey. I can’t stress it enough – public transportation in South Africa is pretty much non-existent. As for me, I was quite satisfied to sit in the common room and take in the views of the bay, waiting for whales to swim in and say hello.

Hermanus Backpackers

Just about a 10 minute walk from the center of Hermanus is the cozy Hermanus Backpacker run by seasoned travelers Hayley and Braam. It has everything you might need from a hostel – good location, deals on shark cage diving, a pool, a community braai (BBQ), kitchen for self-catering and a very basic breakfast included.

One of the dorms

The WiFi isn’t free, so I had to spend more time at the cafes in town than actually at the hostel, but it was still a surprisingly quiet stay considering the lively, party-friendly atmosphere.

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Special thanks to all the hotels, guesthouses, B&Bs and hostels who provided a home for me in Hermanus. As always, reviews on Angie Away are my own.

It’s not that Cape Town wasn’t great, because it really was, but I felt I needed to get out of the city and its trappings to ponder the culmination of my dream and world travel and volunteering and turning 30, etc. And I don’t know about you, but I do my best pondering on the water, so I took a ridiculously expensive taxi* to the coastal village of Hermanus, about 90 minutes from Cape Town, to get some head space.

*Really enjoyed South Africa, but the public transportation is basically non-existent. Not an easy place to get around unless you have a rental car. 

The view in Hermanus

Hermanus’ whale statue – is that all there is? 

Hermanus (thankfully no longer known as Hermanuspietersfontein) is famous for the Southern Right Whales that are known to frolic in Walker Bay. I was told you could see the whales from the cliffs, but I was skeptical. The claim seemed like a too-perfect-ploy to lure tourist dollars into a tiny fishing town, so I wandered from my sunny room at the Marine Hotel to see for myself.

“Oh. Oh! There are whales!” I said, pointing out a shiny black fin to no one in particular as soon as I stepped onto Hermanus’ famous Cliff Path, which winds 12 km through the rocky region. Just in front of me, with no binoculars needed, I spotted a huge whale – the first I’d ever seen in my life – just waving a fin in the air, rolling around and enjoying the sunny day about 30 feet from the shore.

I was captivated by the dramatic cliffs, the kelp forests waving in the clear shallows below and of course, the slow-as-molasses marine life. Instead of returning to Cape Town in a hurry, I spent the next week wandering the Cliff Path, inhaling salty air and watching for waving whales.

When I grew tired of watching from shore, I boarded a whale watching cruise for a closer view. While slowly making our way across the protected bay, our captain shared a million interesting facts about the Southern Right Whales who live, mate and eat in Walker Bay from June to December. I had reached Hermanus at the tail end of the whale watching season and still saw dozens of very active whales. At the height of the season, whale-spotting planes report hundreds of whales in the bay at any given time.

Southern Right Whales aren’t the cuddliest or cutest of marine mammals, are they? 

Some Discovery Channel trivia on the Southern Right Whale:

• Female right whales can grow up to 49 feet and weigh some 47 tons.
• There are only about 10,000 of the species roaming the Southern Hemisphere.
• Right Whales can’t cross the warm waters around the equator because they have too much blubber and can’t disseminate the heat.
• Right Whales got their name because they’re the “right” whales to hunt.  As slow swimmers and dead floaters, they’re an easy kill for whalers.
• Right Whales live 90-100 years.
• The head of the Southern Right is large and covered with wart-like bumps called callosities. These differ in size and position and are often used to identify individuals.

Southern Right Whales are the only whales known to use their huge fins to catch the wind and effectively sail. 

By law, whale watching boats are required to stay 50m from the whales, but often the critters are curious so they pop up to say hello and sneak a one-eyed peak at the crowds assembled on deck.

A whale pops up to say hello 

Once I slowed down a bit, to a whale’s pace one might say, I began to feel a sense of peace about coming to the end of my official year on the road. I was still uncertain about what the next year would hold, but something about spending 10 days on the coast in the company of whales made me feel like everything would work out.

Tips for Whale Watching in Hermanus

1. You don’t have to do a whale watching cruise to see whales. Just show up between June and December and you’re almost guaranteed a sighting from the Cliff Path.

2. A cruise will give you a chance to get much closer to the whales and to take even better pictures, so don’t rule it out if you have some extra time.

3. Don’t rush it. The whales aren’t in a hurry and to fully appreciate them, you shouldn’t be either! Spend a few days in this cute town to feel the fishing village vibe.

So, have you ever seen whales in the wild? What’s the best place in the world to see them? 

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Underwater housing for Canon G12 – best electronics purchase of the year! 

 On Electronics

Candid cameras. You don’t have to spend thousands of dollars on equipment to take gorgeous pictures, but you DO need to read your camera’s manual before you travel. And you know how they say if you want to be a good writer, you should read other good writers? The same applies to photography. Take a look at the travel photos you most admire and attempt to emulate them. I developed my style after a summer in Paris where I learned the techniques of great French photographers Henri Cartier-Bresson and Robert Doisneau.

For some modern-day inspiration, check out Kristin, Ken, Kirsten and Steve. After a while, you’ll develop your own style and be on your way to capturing priceless memories that your Facebook friends will drool over.

People ask all the time what camera I use, so here it is: the Canon G12 - only $399 on Amazon. I also invested in the underwater housing for that model so I can scuba dive, whitewater raft or just get up close and personal with great white sharks – all with the same amazing camera.

Other cameras I like: Olympus Stylus Tough | Jodi’s Olympus

iPhone love. I had a conversation a few days ago with a friend who’s planning to leave the digital camera behind in favor of just his iPhone. iPhoneography is legit, and with apps like Instagram, PhotoStudio and Diptic to jazz up your snaps, the iPhone (or even just the Apple iTouch) is an indispensable travel tool. There are even detachable lenses - which I’m ordering as soon as I get back to the US. Check out Aviators & A Camera for tips on shooting like a pro with your iPhone.

Diligent note-taking. Boy, that sounds glamorous, doesn’t it? Obviously you can do this on any number of smart phones, but I use my iPhone religiously for taking notes. I have details for every single day of my travels over the past year and a half, from big events to tiny details like the conversations I had with strangers on the bus or funny people-watching incidents. I’ve never regretted taking the time to jot down the day’s events. Many folks use Evernote, but the Notes function works fine for me so I’m sticking with it.

More than just a bookworm. I don’t leave home without my Kindle 3G but it’s not just my Jane Austen obsession fueling the attachment. This particular model comes with a lifetime WiFi connection, so you can check emails, Facebook or Twitter from the Kindle without paying a monthly service fee. Admittedly, the connection is slow and the functionality is not great, but it’s the perfect way to touch base when other network options aren’t going to work. For example, while floating up the Nile on a felucca very, very far from WiFi, I was able to respond to freaked out family back home who’d heard about riots in Cairo.

Coming soon? I met a guy at a hostel in Ljubljana who had a handheld SPOT Satellite GPS. This would’ve been the perfect addition to my RTW packing list, as all it takes is the push of a button to alert a preprogrammed email list of your whereabouts. WiFi isn’t needed since it’s satellite-powered, so no matter where you go, you can push out a notification letting everyone know you’re safe. Each time you send a notification, it records your coordinates so you could feasibly have a detailed map of every track and trail you’ve wandered over the course of your trip.  There’s also an emergency button so you can alert help from anywhere in the world. Really wish I’d had this!

On Travel

Booking. I use a variety of online resources to research flights and hotels, but if I’m in a hurry I usually stick with Kayak.com and TripAdvisor. I know – that’s hardly a groundbreaking tip! But those are my go-to staples. I’m planning a more detailed post in the future with all my cheap flight-finding resources and travel hacking tips… so stay tuned.

Planning. I used to dedicate countless hours to researching destinations prior to a trip, but I’m time-poor these days so often I rock up to a city and know absolutely nothing about it. On one hand, that’s great because the adventure unfolds in its own way without too much forethought. If I do have a bit of time before departure, I’ll pull up dozens of windows on my computer with information from Wikipedia, Fodor’s, Frommer’s and friends’ blogs to read on the plane or train. It’s easier than carrying a guidebook and reading up just before arrival helps me to hit the ground running.

The three questions I always ask at check-in. When arriving at a hotel or hostel, ask the concierge these questions:

1. What time is sunrise/sunset and where can I find the best view of each?

2. Where is the highest spot in town? (See below)

3. What is this area/town/country most famous for?

Get high ASAP. It’s not what you’re thinking! My first stop when visiting a new place is the highest possible viewpoint – a skyscraper, bell tower or mountaintop. It helps me get a sense of the place, to map out where else I want to go and to take pictures from a bird’s eye view.

Prague from the Astronomical Clock Tower – the best view in town, no? 

 On Safety

Ditch the money belt. These things need to go the way of the dinosaurs – straight toward extinction. I carried a money belt around in my suitcase for 9 months before finally ditching it. On top of the clunky awkwardness of the device, I often wear dresses and you just can’t get to that money without flashing your underpants to the cashier, you know what I mean? Instead of the money belt, now I use a wallet with a chain to attach to my purse or bag to prevent pickpockets from dipping in. I use a cute Vera Bradley Carry It All Wristlet and it’s served me well.

Keep multiple stashes in case of emergency. When I was pick-pocketed in Athens, I didn’t even cry. Yes, I was out $400 in cash and a couple of credit cards (and my student ID – dang!) were gone forever, but in another bag I had a bit of cash and cards for backup accounts – not the ones in my stolen wallet – so I never missed a beat and never was without money while awaiting my new cards and ID to come in.

I also have electronic scans in my email of the front and back of each credit card and form of identification, which came in very handy when I needed to contact each bank company to report theft.

Beware the sexy accent. All that ciao and Cheerio and spot-of-tea business is charming but dangerous. Someday I’m going to market Sexy Foreign Accent Repellant®but until I get around to it, just take my word for it.

On Money

Diversify accounts. I have a semi-complex cash flow system set up with checking accounts, credit cards and savings accounts at different banks for different reasons. When I travel, I carry my Capital One Visa card which allows me to make purchases abroad without charging an international transaction fee; I have a Fidelity account which I use to make fee-free ATM withdrawals, a PayPal Mastercard for quick access to profits there, and I have a Delta SkyMiles card for SkyTeam flight purchases (not that I ever seem to make any these days!).

Having several banks also helps if one card is lost or stolen or if the bank decides to freeze your account for whatever reason. (Sometimes it doesn’t matter if you alert them that you’re traveling, when a charge from Laos pops up, they stop all activity. Not cool if you’re trying to book a bus ticket!)

Having a variety of accounts gives me access to a variety of benefits of course, but it can get complicated remembering which accounts are connected, so I made a flow chart that I keep along with the scans of each card. (By the way, I’m a little OCD when it comes to list-making in case you hadn’t figured it out.)

Hats are my thing

 On Beauty

Wrinkle-free for free. Before my big trip, I used to breeze past the Duty Free section at the airport, but now you’ll find me there before every flight slathering on the most expensive face creams and luxurious hand lotions I can find. Think about it: if you’re taking a red-eye, why not put on a hearty sample of that $100-an-ounce regenerating serum and get some spa benefits while zooming over the sea in the middle of the night? It’s easy, it’s free and you look like you’ve had a facelift on arrival while the rest of the passengers look like puffy-eyed zombies.

Accessorize. I get asked all the time how I look so fabulous while traveling. First, thanks! I appreciate that! (What these folks don’t know is that the “fab” clothes I’m wearing probably haven’t been washed in two weeks… so it feels good to know I’m fooling everyone! Mwahahahaha!)

Generally, I choose a simple color scheme for clothes and then accessorize around it. I pack a mix of black, khaki and solid-colored separates and then a couple of inexpensive hats, sunglasses, scarves, earrings and bright necklaces to jazz everything up. When I get tired of the accessories, I just trade them out for cheap new ones and it’s like having a whole new wardrobe.

 On Packing & Luggage

I’ve written about What I Could Have Left Behind and What I’m Glad I Brought before, so I won’t go too much into specifics, other than to say now I have even less in my bag than ever before. You can buy everything you need on the road, so there’s really no reason to bring everything and the kitchen sink. (If you’re very, very particular about using a certain brand of shampoo, eyeliner, mascara, contact solution — then you may want to bring it.)

It’s true what they say: pack half the clothes you think you’ll need and twice the money.

Shoes. OMG. Shoes. Shoes (especially awesome ones) take up a lot of space, but aren’t really worth it because A. they rarely show up in pictures and B. comfort is paramount when traveling. I have a serious shoe rule: only 3 pairs allowed. (Four if there’s a gun to my head or a formal ball to attend.) I have Tom’s, sandals and tennis shoes most of the time. In Egypt, I decided to leave my tennis shoes at home and then was convinced by a sexy accent to hike Mt. Sinai — so I’ve added sneakers back into my shoe repertoire. If something comes up and you MUST have heels, you can always buy some – and then you’ve got a great souvenir to take back home.

Carry-on necessities. In my carry-on I have a little bag with essentials: a sleep mask, earplugs, extra headphones, Advil, a travel toothbrush, lip gloss and tiny moisturizer. I never unpack it, that way I never leave home without it.

Skip the backpack. I tried to be a backpacker, I really did. It lasted about 15 minutes and then I gave up and went back to just being myself – someone who likes a wheeled suitcase! I wish I could get by with just my Diane von Furstenberg rolling duffel, but it’s a bit too small and would take too much of a beating going around the world a few times, so I wound up with the Eagle Creek Twist – 65L. It’s a great size and very durable, however I have not once used the backpack straps. I think for a taller person, it might be more manageable, but from a short girl’s perspective, it just doesn’t fly.

Packing cubes for President. I swear by Eagle Creek packing cubes. As much as I still hate packing, with these babies I know where every single item of my bag needs to go and can be ready to rock-and-roll out in about 15 minutes. That’s all the time we have for today, but I plan to add to this list as I remember more tips. If they’ve been helpful, let me know and if you have tips to share with me, please do so in the comments. I’m always looking for ways to be a more efficient traveler!

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Eurail.com generously provided me with a first class pass (automatic for those of us over 26) valid for 10 days of travel within a 2-month period. I confess I’ve always been a bit intimidated by train travel and having now experienced Europe this way, I think I can fairly blame NYC for that. Confusing schedules, unpredictable route changes, delays and breakdowns made me quite content to stay on the island of Manhattan forever, thankyouverymuch. Europe by train was exponentially easier – even in countries where I didn’t speak the language.

Since departing Berlin on April 2 I’ve visited 8 countries, hit up everywhere from Bratislava to Bologna and Switzerland to Slovenia, taken countless photographs and met hundreds of amazing fellow travelers. Here’s what I’ve learned.

 Train Travel Pros

Time. The hours spent on trains are just more relaxing than hours spent on planes. The difference in vibe and allowance for electronics meant I went wild writing posts, editing photos and making lists on my iPhone — like the one you’re reading right now – while whizzing through lush yellow fields and past glistening lakes and mountaintop chateaus. Plus, Europe is relatively small and easy to get around, so after just a couple of hours of comfy downtime on a train, I’d find myself in the middle of a new city/country, fresh and ready to explore – not worn down to a hollow shell of my former pre-air travel self.

Time 2.0. Every train I’ve taken has been on time. Had I flown all these places, can you imagine how much of my life I’d have wasted sitting in airports, dealing with delays and going through security? (As I edit this post, I’m sitting in Stuttgart Airport for an unpleasant, WiFi-less three-hour connection to Barcelona.) And think of all the customs and immigration shenanigans you miss! Within the Schengen empire there is no passport control when travelling between countries. The only time I had to deal with entry/exit while training on this journey was from Ljubljana, Slovenia, to Zagreb, Croatia, because Croatia is outside Shengen jurisdiction but still inside Eurail pass benefits. It’s not as confusing as it sounds, I promise, and the entry/exit process was easy. It all takes place on the train – you don’t even have to do anything!

Sightseeing bonus opportunities. I don’t have all the time in the world to travel around – well, I sort of do, but I don’t have all the money in the world – so it’s nice to be able to slide in some extra countryside sightseeing while traveling from hub to hub. A benefit of this train travel experience: I’ve learned to stare out the window at passing lakes and castles while typing accurately on my computer simultaneously. My favorite journeys? Berlin to Prague and Milan to Lausanne were both breathtaking!

Train naps are the best. After about 20 minutes of gentle rocking on a train, chances are I’m cuddled up with my blankie and snoozing like a baby. I just made sure to set my alarm for 15 minutes before scheduled arrival so I wouldn’t miss my stop.

Freedom to go wherever you want. Once you’ve got your Eurail pass and a train schedule in hand, you can map out a strategy with a couple of hours at a cafe. The only barrier to ease of use is your own brain. (See Analysis Paralysis below.)

Mega-confidence booster. You might think I have this whole solo travel thing figured out, but truthfully I’m just as nervous as anyone rocking up to a new country. Each destination comes with butterflies and typically some confusion upon arrival. If there were a camera crew following me on this journey, there’d be a heap of footage of me wrinkling my brow and scratching my head as I tried to figure out what in the world ASFAHRT means or how to find my departure platform at Berlin’s massive train station. Once I did figure it out, I felt like a real world-conquering traveler, capable and independent and empowered. I could go anywhere I wanted, anytime I wanted. There was so much freedom! 

Train Travel Cons

Trying to cram a lot in. Europe’s relative itty-bittyness means everything’s so close you can almost taste the local delicacies of the next country from over the border, so every location on the map has an allure all its own. If I hadn’t had prior engagements – a social media consulting project with Berlin Tourism and TBU in Umbria – I would’ve planned my route much more sensibly. This time? I was winging it based on what looked close and fun on the map. Scenic route? Sure, I’ll take it. Overnight train? Why not, I don’t have anywhere else to stay! Of course the downside of such a rapid schedule is not really getting to know each place as well as I’d like but let’s be honest – I’ll be back to explore my favorites in more depth.

Analysis paralysis. They say if you don’t know where you’re going you’ll never know if you get there, and my current trip indicates to me that quote is alright. My brain hurts from analyzing train schedules and trying to figure out the best possible way to maximize the value of the Eurail pass. (After much head scratching, I finally determined that Wein is Vienna and Praha is Prague and Venezia is… ok, that one was a bit more obvious.) Sometimes I just had to make a decision without really weighing if it was the best way to use a day’s journey — and in the end, it all worked out.

First Class Air ≠ First Class Train. While the first class option was undoubtedly more comfortable than 2^nd class, don’t make the mistake of comparing it with first class on an airline. Only twice (in Italy) did I have a snack or drink offered to me during the ride. On some trains I think the only difference in 1^st and 2^nd class was upholstery. Even still, with my first class pass in hand I sure felt like a big deal with many leather bound books and an apartment that smells of rich mahogany.

Inconsistency. One thing that makes me bonkers as a traveler is inconsistency and since the Eurail network is comprised of dozens of different train companies in the  countries, each journey is bound to be different. Will this first class cabin require a reservation? Will the train make announcements about stops? Will there be food? Internet? A power plug? Air conditioning? Will they check tickets once or 15 times? The Type-A publicist that still occasionally tries to claw her way into my laid-back traveling lifestyle prefers consistency, but in the end it’s the surprises that make travel fun. Right? (And it’s actually not difficult to figure out the answers to any of those questions – IF you have the time to look into it in advance.)

No passport stamps. I’ve visited seven new countries on this journey and only have two stamps to prove it – my airport entry in Berlin and my entry/exit from Schengen-land. What if someone wants proof I visited Prague?! Oh, I guess I could just show them the pictures…

Mine are up on the Angie Away Facebook page – check them out here. (And click Like if you’re so inclined!)

I have much more Europe coverage on the way, but for now I hope you’ve enjoyed this little list. For more information on the Eurail – Italy Rail Pass, Eurail – Spain Rail Pass or other passes throughout the continent, click here. 

–Angie

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Disclaimer: My Europe train passes were provided by Eurail.com. As always, all photos, opinions and bad jokes are my own. If you’re considering traveling in Europe via train, check out the extremely helpful Eurail.com Facebook page or send them a message on Twitter. They’re happy to help and super friendly!

Blackheath Lodge 

Shabby chic and cute-as-a-button from corner to corner, Blackheath Lodge is a Pinterest board come-to-life. Located in homey Sea Point, the lodge has a small pool area, precious breakfast porch and blooming flowers overflowing from every pot and vase.

Decor only gets you so far though, so how did the rest of the property hold up? Breakfast was so delicious and tres gourmet with mini-quiches and baked yummies, and my room was big, bright and exactly what I needed after about 17 hours in transit. The cushy bathrobe helped me get comfy fast even though my luggage was missing somewhere in Africa, and the in-room DVD library provided me with some much-needed post-Kenya Robert Redford.

The staff was impeccable and worth noting, too. Antony and his team are endlessly smiling, helpful vessels of tips. It was Antony who encouraged cranky post-travel Angie to go for a walk at sunset even though I was exhausted from the journey and annoyed about my luggage being lost… but about 5 minutes from the property is the sea. And once I was there, meandering along the boardwalk, taking in the kelp forest and beating waves – I was refreshed by the salty air and excited to get to know Cape Town. Smart guy, that Antony!

After staying at Blackheath Lodge, it’s no surprise it was named by readers as one of Africa’s top 25 hotels. For information on rates, click here. 

An African Villa

From Blackheath Lodge I took a 10 minute taxi over to the Tamboerskloof neighborhood (and quickly learned that proper pronunciation would be just about futile in Cape Town) and checked into another design superstar and TripAdvisor Top 25 hotel – An African Villa. While the property is walking distance to quite a few sites, like famous Kloof Street, I still found that seeing Cape Town without a car (and South Africa, for that matter) would prove to be a real pain. I was not about to rent a car and drive on the other side of the road all by myself — I just wasn’t ready for that – so I hoofed it when possible and took taxis when necessary.

The property is a Victorian home from the late 1800s with 12 bedrooms, huge living spaces and the feel of a sleek, modern Africa. Colorfully painted ostrich eggs adorn glass vases, paper lantern animal heads grace the walls and shelves and shelves of books await research-happy travel writers. Button, Zip and Brandi (two dachshunds and a golden retriever) often greet visitors at check-in… and their owners are hospitable and warm, too, standing ready with maps and suggestions to make Cape Town feel like home.

The enormous kitchen and dining area is the scene for a yummy, hearty breakfast spread, cooked to order by a very smiley, kind staff. WiFi is free and there are computers and printers should guests need to print boarding passes or maps for exploring the surrounding area.

For information on An African Villa, click here. 

Alta Bay 

I started my Cape Town journey at the sea, moved inland a smidge to historic Tamboerskloof and then drifted up to the very foot of Table Mountain to Alta Bay, a very quiet 4-bedroom property in Higgovale, the residential hills just past the main town. Decor is very simple, clean and modern – a lot like how I might do my house up if I ever actually get one.

My loft bedroom was peaceful and surrounded by greenery, offering a pretty view of Cape Town’s sprawling metropolis below. Behind, and often hidden by clouds, was imposing Table Mountain. In addition to a huge soaking tub in the bathroom, my spacious suite had an equipped kitchen — always such a treat for me. I cooked a couple of nights and managed to get some work done while staying very low key. Thank goodness for free WiFi!

Owners Stephan and his wife were so helpful and keen to make sure my stay was perfect, and I know they did the same for the other guests who I never once ran into in three days. Alta Bay is a great spot to get away from the hustle and bustle of Cape Town while still being within 15 minutes drive. It’s tranquil, tucked away and superbly comfortable – and you can do your own thing since it’s totally self-catered.

Again, not having a car in this location was a bit of a pain, but I managed to hitch a ride and wander down to town by foot. It really wasn’t that far, but to do it every day would’ve been annoying.

For more information on rates, click here.

Greenways Hotel

Just over Table Mountain, which finally came out of the clouds after a week, I found Greenways Hotel, a boutique in an old home reminiscent of the English countryside. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I loved it so much. Located in Upper Claremont, Greenways is ritzy but comfortable. Definitely need a car to get here… or a taxi… or a ride from the super sweet owners who went out of their way more than once to show me the *real* Cape Town.

Greenways is so very green, sitting on 6 acres of well-manicured garden with politely trimmed hedges and properly flowering blooms. The 17 rooms and suites are very traditional, decorated with antiques and beautiful bedding, with a cigar bar, library and an elegant restaurant downstairs.

It might all be too posh if not for the effortlessly warm and welcoming staff at Greenways. I found myself lingering at reception a little longer than one should, just chatting everyone up for tips and suggestions. When I returned from my shark dive in Gansbaii, everyone crowded around to look at pictures and ask details. Of course it was a highlight of my year, so I was happy to oblige. In general, I found folks in South Africa to be some of the friendliest and most helpful anywhere I’ve been.

When not touring the local shopping haunts on my rainy, hail-covered birthday, I spent my time here in the massive bathroom at Greenways. That giant soaking tub was calling to me, and I washed my 20s away with a bubble bath. BTW, Greenways has amazing locally produced bathroom products and get this – the floor is heated. Unexpected, but kinda amazing!

I wish it had been a bit warmer when I was in Cape Town, because the pool area at Greenways is surrounded by fields and plants and just waiting for a lazy lounger like me to take over a chair. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite summertime yet… perhaps on the next trip.

For more information on Greenways, click here. 

Special thanks to all the hotels who provided a home for me during the last days of my 20s! As always, reviews on Angie Away are my own.

I was nearing the end of my year around the world, and my body, mind and soul equally felt the weight of the approaching finale.

When my luggage was lost somewhere en route to Cape Town, either in Nairobi, Addis Abbaba or Johannesburg, I was too tired to fuss about it. I gave the airline my information (and my passport – which I absentmindedly left at the counter) and made my way to the hotel where I watched Out of Africa for the first time. Having just come from Karen Blixen’s exact neighborhood in Kenya, promptly bawled my eyes out. It was all so real and profound and the saddest thing I’d ever seen… Ok, time for a breakdown.

My luggage eventually arrived a few days later, and after washing clothes and a spending couple of days alone, I was back in the game and eagerly (ok, I was rabid) looking forward to my 30th birthday plans. But first, my impressions of Cape Town…

Cape Town First Impressions

1. The very first thing I noticed: the roads! They were so… smooth! And there were no potholes! Or donkeys! Or traffic the likes of which could only be found in the 7th circle of Hades! Coming from Cairo & Nairobi, I was so relieved to be able to cruise down the road without having to hold on for dear life or feel like my molars were vibrating out of my jaw. I have to confess I didn’t necessarily expect that from South Africa, but Cape Town at least was a little more familiar in the highway department.

2. Capetonians do design very well! I stayed at several guesthouses and B&Bs, each with their own theme – from modern to antique to shabby chic, and I loved every peaceful minute. In Cape Town, I checked out Blackheath Lodge, An African Villa, Alta Bay and Greenways Hotel — more info on the properties later. My one consistent note from property to property? Almost every place I visited from Cape Town to Hermanus and back had a huge soaking tub in each room, and next to it, a sign that said “Please conserve water.” Huh?

Statues of FW de Klerk & Nelson Mandela down by the V&A Waterfront

3. While apartheid in South Africa officially ended in the early 1990s, there’s still racial tension beneath the surface that comes to light with a little poking around. I met so many people who were willing to talk about what life was like before and after apartheid and even went to a dinner with F.W. de Klerk, the president of South Africa when the forced segregation of black and white South Africans was abolished. I’ll talk more about it in posts to come because truly, I’ve yet to visit a place where racism and its effect on citizens was as fresh and painful and cloudy as I found it to be in South Africa.

4. What is this Table Mountain everyone keeps blathering on about? We were completely socked in with fog and rain the first few days, so I didn’t see a thing. Pffft. World wonder, my left foot.

All in all, Cape Town was surprisingly familiar and not at all difficult to adjust to. I even found Mexican food just down the road from one of my guesthouses… and sometimes all it takes for me to settle in is a taco or two, you know what I mean?

 Up next… Sharks, whales and penguins!

“You may have the universe if I may have Italy.” - Giuseppe Verdi

I’ve just spent an unexpected week in Bologna at Blogville, an innovative project dreamed up by Kash of Budget Traveller, Melvin from Travel Dudes and the Emilia Romagna Tourism Board. The concept of Blogville is to provide a home base where writers can pop in for a few days or more, make themselves at home, cook together and explore the rest of the Emilia Romagna region at leisure. The tourism board provides the accommodations, local ingredients in the kitchen and tours as a way of sharing the region with bloggers who might not get a chance to visit otherwise. (From my perspective as a former travel publicist, I think it’s genius and won’t be surprised to see other tourism entities and DMOs following suit in the near future.)

But how did I end up there? It certainly wasn’t in the plan. (Anyone else noticing a theme in my life? Plans are so 2011!) I woke up on my last day of scheduled Travel Bloggers Unite activities with no inkling where I might end up that night. Fortunately, TBU was chock full of last-minute plan-wingers like me, so in about 5 minutes it was determined that a rough-and-tumble pack of us would head north a few hours to Bologna, where we’d help Kash kick off the first night of Blogville. I expected to remain for two nights at the Art Hotel before heading to the Leaning Tower of Pisa or maybe Zermatt ski chalets in Switzerland or outer space, perhaps.

Two days passed and I was still in Bologna, lurking around Blogville and making friends with all the roomies. When Jodi & I were invited to crash at the apartment for a night or two, the housemates shuffled beds and made space for us in the loft above the living room. Never were squatters made more comfortable! But still I planned to leave in a few days…

I don’t know if it was the way the light streams over the uneven stones paving the street or the famous Italian hospitality or just the promise of a cozy bed surrounded by folks that get me… but it wasn’t a hard sell to get me to stick around just one more day.

Then another. And then somehow it became a week. Suddenly I was the Mayor of Blogville on FourSquare and the resident with the most seniority. Pretty ridiculous for someone who was homeless a few days prior, eh?

Blogville’s Master of the House, Nick, devoted himself to the revolving cast of roommates, taking us to all his favorite local spots. From the rustic bar jammed with communal tables where you bring your own picnic to the apperitivo joint with all-you-want couscous, tapas, finger sandwiches and tomato salad, Nick (a footballer/kind soul who could be Armani model – he’s exactly the kind of Italian guy you want to meet, you know what I mean?!) showed us Emilia Romagna not just from a tourism perspective, but with the pride of someone born and raised in the region. Unfortunately Emilia Romagna is sometimes overlooked by travelers in favor of silver screen star Tuscany, ancient Rome or Clooney hideaway Lake Como, but Blogville gave me the opportunity to explore this less visited Italian destination.

Bologna’s extensive historic foundations and current youth culture form a seamless juxtaposition, with miles and miles of arched porticos, centuries-old towers and the oldest university in the world founded in 1088. Bologna is effortlessly approachable while still radiating that distinctive Italian glow that puts a soft, mysterious fuzz on everything — even when you’re not drinking local wine.

It could be 1476 or 1732 or present day, but you get the feeling that Bologna’s character is unchanged throughout history.

So what did I do for a week in Emilia Romagna?

Gelato. Ferrara. Climbed the tower at Castella Estense.

Interview with Italian Cosmopolitan. Comacchio Eel. Sophia Loren.

Gelato. Bird-watching in the Po Delta. Bicycling in a skirt. #AngieWeighs.

Late-night girl talk with Legal Nomads. Instagram. Hashtags and #Kashtags. Press conference in the living room.

Gelato. San Petronio spa girl talk with one of Two Oregonians. Scusi? Babbedi Boopi. Gelato.

The warm Italian familiarity you hear about became second nature to everyone at Blogville. With up to eight people (some friends and some strangers) living in the apartment, sharing one shower (not all at one time – this isn’t MTV) and acclimating to a new environment and way too much food, we became a Bolognese family quite fast. The whole experience was effortless.

We cooked dinner together, coordinated shopping trips for huge blocks of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, chunks of mortadella and tiny bottles of aged balsamic vinegar, and shared tips on favorite destinations, gelato flavors (BOLOGNA RIDE!) and WordPress plugins. Given the often exasperating nature of 2012 so far, my time at Blogville was as rejuvenating as it was fun.

Thanks to Kash for the invite, to Nick for the brilliant glimpse at life in Bologna and to the Emilia Romagna Tourism Board for reaching bloggers in a completely new way.

As I said at the press conference, “I know I’ll come back to Emilia Romagna. I haven’t eaten everything yet.”

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Check out more Blogville coverage:

Two Oregonians

Runaway Jane 

We’ll return to Italy later in the journey… for now, back to our regularly scheduled programming and the next stop on the list: South Africa!

While I adored seeing lions, cheetahs, leopards, hippos and giraffes in the wild, and I will most definitely never be able to forget the snake-on-the-toilet incident or the plane-crash-that-almost-was, I think the children I volunteered with at Compassion center KE-755 will be my most cherished memory from my visit to Kenya.

The Adopt-a-Slum effort that came from my time in the slum hopefully will help me to make a difference in their lives after they all had such a profound effect on mine. To learn more, click here. 

For now, it’s wrap-up video time. You get a high-five if you can guess the soundtrack before you play the video!

Game-time decisions and general indecision have characterized 2012 so far, and mostly that’s been a good thing. I ended up at the Blogville apartment because of a snap decision and it turned out to be a great one!

But not everything has been rosy. I don’t know how to describe this year other than to say it’s been a bizarre run with a lot more tough times than I’m used to sprinkled with some wonderful, shining moments. Here we go…

Times Square with the very tall @RachelDanae of @TheJetSisters

Highs

• After months of praying & planning, I finally launched the Adopt-a-Slum program, my plan to help 30 families in Kenya change the course of their lives. As of today, we’ve raised almost $400, so there’s only $2,600 more to go. I would be forever in your debt if you’d donate… even $5 is helpful!

• My impromptu flight back to the US required a layover in Dallas and I didn’t mind a bit because the lovely La La La Lauren met me at the airport for an overdue catch-up. Aside from my family, LJ is my anchor to normal life back home, and I just couldn’t do without her bulleted emails and funny HeyTell messages to keep me going.

• I spent a gorgeous week in NYC with my baby sister. She had a huge (HUGE HUGE HUGE) audition so of course I wanted to be there for moral support. When she wasn’t auditioning, we tried to get rush tickets to Once, the smash hit Broadway show which church friend (AND JUST ANNOUNCED TONY NOMINEE – AHHHHHH!) Elizabeth stars in, but it wasn’t meant to be. Instead, we watched the Hunger Games on opening weekend (May the odds be ever in your favor!) and had lots of dinners and coffees with former Weber Shandwick colleagues, roommates and church buddies. I love NYC and I miss it and I might live there again one day. There, I said it.

• While I dreaded attending the Travel Bloggers Unite conference in Umbria, Italy, because I’ve just spent a bit too much time dissecting the blogosphere this year, the whole event ended up being a blast. Avatars came to life (sounds creepier than it is) and I finally put faces with Twitter handles and websites to folks I’d been following for years. I learned a ton from speakers The Planet D, Career Break Secrets, The Aussie Nomad, Inside the Travel Lab, Legal Nomads, Ken Kaminesky, Aviators and a Camera and so many more that I can’t begin to remember. It was such a treat to chat with other folks who completely understand the ups and downs of long-term travel and to learn tips about running this show as a business more effectively in the future. There are so many interesting, talented travel bloggers out there and I just felt like TBU was a big group hug and a sigh of understanding from people who totally get me. It was an altogether exhausting week, but also such a refreshing time!
• Check out some of these folks: The Road Forks, Two Oregonians, Budget Traveller, Fevered Mutterings, Virtual Wayfarer, The Travel Hack, Time Travel Turtle… oy, the list goes on. Start here and when you’ve read them all, I’ve got about 50 more friends to tell you about!
• FWIW, it’s a good thing we stayed up late dancing several nights in a row; that was the only way to burn off the never-ending buffet of pasta, gelato and other Italian delights. I’m thinking of changing my site to AngieWeighs.

• Before the conference, I was invited to explore Rome like a local with HouseTrip.com. From a late night Vespa race through Roman ruins to Viator’s Gladiator school to food tours with Context Travel and more gelato than you need to know about, I can say I spent 48 hours doing Rome the way it should be done. And the HouseTrip apartment where we stayed? Best view in Rome, hands-down. I could’ve hit the Colosseum with a rock from my bedroom window, real talk.

• Between my social media consulting gig with the wonderful folks at Berlin Tourism and TBU in Italy, I had several weeks to kill and all of Europe to see. Eurail.com hooked me up with a flexible global pass, so I’ve been choosing destinations as my whims allow, traveling from Berlin (so much history) to Prague (my new favorite!) to Vienna (so grand!) to Bratislava (mehhh) to Venice (oh the romance!) to Rome (VESPAS!) to Bologna (so refreshing). Train travel is much easier and more fun than I expected – why can’t it be like this everywhere?! I have four more journeys left on my pass, so keep an eye on Angie Away on Facebook for more photos from the journey.

Living “Roman Holiday” with HouseTrip in Rome

Lows

• All this jet-setting and subsequent story telling might make my life look glossy and shiny and without problems, but this year has been pretty emotional behind the scenes. I’m admittedly not great at sharing the stuff going on in my heart, but Reflections from the Road is where I deviate from that… so thanks for bearing with me as I share the fire alarms and freakouts from the past few months. Obviously we dealt with my brother accidentally setting himself ablaze in January (he’s doing so much better now!) and me feeling rather ill in Jerusalem/Amman/London. Since that, my grandparents had a small house fire and lost one of their dogs to complications from smoke inhalation. A close family friend committed suicide. The headmaster at my school in Jacksonville was murdered on campus by a just-fired teacher. My aunt was diagnosed with skin cancer. My dad came down with pneumonia.

• And my dog died. Sheila was a rescue pup we got from Jacksonville Sheltie Rescue. She was estimated to be about 2 years old when we got her, and we’ve had her 15 years, so she was a sweet old girl. She lived a wonderful life once we adopted her, overcoming a fear of men and a scaredy-cat nature to become a happy-go-lucky country dog who loved us all very much. I’d just spent a few weeks at home in Florida so I did get to spend some quality time with her just before she passed. And I was fortunate to be snuggled up in bed with Rae in NYC when we got the call that Sheila had died peacefully and with mom by her side, so we cried together.

Sheila Marie Orth

Lessons

• God is still working even when I’m not paying attention. I’ve been so blessed over the past few days to find common ground with fellow travel bloggers and to strengthen friendships that have come together over thousands of miles and splotchy WiFi connections.

• Skip the US Passport Office. I can confirm that adding extra pages to the passport is not fun when done stateside. Despite making an appointment, I spent several hours in the NYC office just waiting, waiting, waiting, and then I had to do the same thing the next day to pick up the new inserts. It was a hot mess. If I hadn’t been so nervous about my lack of pages (I only had a few stamp spots left) I would’ve just visited the US Consulate in Berlin, but I didn’t want to get myself into trouble.

• Expect the unexpected. With four rocky months of 2012 behind me, I’m praying the rest of the year smoothes out a bit!

Gelato overload in Italy with Kash

What’s Next

We can make our plans but God determines our steps. Proverbs 16:9

• The next 60 days are going to be packed as I wrap up my Eurail adventure with visits to Switzerland, Croatia, Slovenia, Spain and a last grand hurrah in London, my home away from home. Once I get back to Florida, I’ll be in full-on sister support mode as Rachel graduates from high school. Cue panic attack. She’s still a 4-year-old curly-headed kid in my mind!

• This summer, I’ll be transitioning from full-time to part-time travel, spending more time in my own hemisphere as I pursue public relations, social media and blogger freelance projects, speaking engagements and partnerships. Travel will still be my focus, I’ll just be doing it more strategically!

• Gelato detox. I’m not eating anything once I get back to the US.

So what do you think? Has 2012 been crazy for you, too? Is there any other country in Europe I should visit before I depart?

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Maybe someday I will do something that can eradicate poverty on a global scale. But for now, I want to take a small step. Help a few people. Make a teensy difference.

So here’s the plan: I call it “Adopt-a-Slum.” Through the local staff at Compassion, we’ve identified 30 families who live in the Ngong Hills slum whose kids are part of the Compassion* program. Instead of short-term assistance, I want to focus on improving their lives for good.

The first step is to give the parents an opportunity to make a decent living. During my visit to the slum, I watched as moms and dads bent over at the waist, digging in a landfill next to their homes for scraps of food to sell to farmers for livestock.  It’s filthy and full of disease and there’s obviously no room for the thought of a better future. There’s no other job they could get without education or running water or clothing. But I want to help them change that circumstance by providing seed funding to start a small business of their own.

Chopping veggies with a woman from the slums who started her own business

I spoke with the staff at Compassion and several families have received one-off donations from sponsors in the past, using the cash to start their own vegetable stands or food carts. Going from lowly trash digger to respectable food seller is not just a physical financial boost, but also a mental one. With parents actively engaged in commerce in the neighborhood, the children are able to dream bigger than the slum. Even if the parents never want to leave, with Compassion sponsors and the Adopt-a-Slum effort, the kiddos at the center will have the freedom to imagine a better life. A life outside poverty, where eventually they may be in a position to make a bigger difference locally than I ever could from afar.

So how much does hope cost?

How much will it take to give a family the chance to start a small business in a slum in Kenya?

Just $30.

Right. That’s about a week’s worth of lattes or one NYC brunch to give someone hope that life isn’t just something to survive. That someone out there cares about hungry babies and dirty little feet and is standing with them in solidarity. I was floored when I learned just how little it would take to change lives.

The second step is to buffer the families with a small cash injection for several months worth of supplies while they get the business up and running. Shoes for the kids or a pan to cook with. Blankets for the winter. Grain, oil and sugar. Remember, they live in shacks made of bits of tin and fabric, so any improvement that can be made is most certainly dire and necessary. I’m budgeting around $70 per family for supplies for a grand total of $100 each.

For $3,000, we can change an entire community of some of the world’s poorest citizens for the better. It’s such a small goal and so attainable – I can’t help but think more people would get involved if only they knew how simple it was.

Now, I haven’t had time to set up an official foundation, so this is going to be a very ragtag operation. If you trust that I’m not some Madoff-like money-snatcher (and I’m totally not!), then I’ve made it really easy to donate via the PayPal button below – my account is ang1113@aol.com. (PS – you don’t have to have a PayPal account – credit cards are accepted, too!)

Rest assured, every cent will be sent directly to the Compassion center for use in the Adopt-a-Slum project and I’ll be happy to show all receipts anywhere you like. The first $225 is coming from me!

If you’re wary of sending cash this way, I totally understand. You can make a tax-deductible donation to the center by calling 800-336-7676 or you can mail a check to the following address:

Compassion International
Colorado Springs, CO 80997-0002

Just indicate that the donation should go to Compassion Center KE-755 in Ngong Hills, Kenya, and I will ensure that the funds are directed into this particular project.

If this type of outreach isn’t your cup of tea, but you want to help in some way, check out a couple of my other travel blogger friends (Backpacker Becki, Tourist 2 Townie, A Little Adrift, Passports with Purpose) in their efforts to change the world. Or sponsor your own kiddo via Compassion for just $38/month.

It’s really easy to change a life with the change in your pocket. And if you could see me right now, you’d know I’m begging for it.

So what do you think of Adopt-a-Slum? Do you have questions? Can you help?

*This organizational link will ensure that the funds are properly distributed to real people with real issues – but I should mention the effort is in no way sponsored or endorsed by Compassion. I’m operating independently to raise the funds and am donating them to these folks via the Compassion organization and its local staff.

************FUNDRAISING UPDATE*************

$225    Angie O

$50       Liz O

$50       Alex B.

$100    Jo Ellen G

$25      Andrea

$50     Darla D

$500 – 5 families

$30     Jane W

$30     Karla H

$30    Blake & Gabi C.

$30    Mary C.

$30    Anita M.

$30   Jamie M.

$50   Simon F.

$30   Rachel P.

$30   Robert J.

$50   Michael T.

Here are a couple of shots I whipped together to tide me over until my next post about Kenya. Stay tuned – that one’s near and dear to my heart and I can’t wait to share.

PS – Oh yeah, check out my guest post “Fiji in Four Words” over at LandLopers today!

Isola Maggiore, Umbria

Dish No. 1 from last night’s eight course Italian chef faceoff

The Trevi Fountain in Rome at midnight – photo courtesy of Deb & Dave at The Planet D 

The view from my HouseTrip apartment in Rome

Pre-dinner showtime in Umbria

Teaching kiddos in Kenya 

I didn’t know when I was chatting with Sammy about volunteering that I’d be able to visit a nearby slum, where many of the sponsored kids live. I’ve visited some destitute, impoverished spots in Bolivia, but had never been to a slum. After having been to this one in the Ngong Hills area, I did some research and found that almost 1 billion people live in slums around the world.

Though I was entering with the pastor of the nearby church, I still had to meet in advance with the slum boss (like the mayor, but with no real legislative power) to be granted safe passage. After about a 20 minute walk from the Compassion center, I met the boss, he eyed me curiously and eventually nodded to indicate I was allowed in.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about what I’d see inside.

Slum residents gather bits of spoiled food to sell

As I mentioned, years ago I had the opportunity to work with street kids in Bolivia. This forgotten sliver of the population has been abandoned by their families. Many have been subjected to severe physical and sexual abuse, and to escape, they’ve flocked to the sewers around the city. To cope with the emotional wounds, hunger and hopelessness, kids as young as 8 can be found huddled together in the putrid, damp caverns beneath street level, often with their faces buried in plastic bottles of toxic glue. The fumes have a numbing affect on the brain. The kids don’t know another way to cope. I cried all night after my first trip to the sewer.

Poverty isn’t new to me, so why does it still feel like a fresh kick in the gut every time?

Ngong Hills Slum 

This particular slum in the Ngong Hills is home to a few thousand people, but it’s by no means the largest in the area. That distinction belongs to the massive Kibera, which is closer to the city center and a great deal more frightening to visit from what I hear.

As in Kibera, homes for entire families are made of little more than scraps of metal and bits of fabric. They certainly aren’t protected from cold or heat. A stream of raw sewage runs through the development. Children wander the narrow, muddy corridors without shoes. Parents spend the day hunched over at the waist in the adjoining dump – yes, where everyone else leaves what they don’t want – searching for scraps fit to sell farmers for their pigs. They might make a dollar a day. There’s most definitely not enough food to go around. Given the origin of the word slum is the Irish phrase ‘S lom é meaning “a bleak or destitute place,” the only word to sum up the situation is hopeless.

There is no other way for these families. There is nothing more to aspire to. There is no pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. There is no “try harder.” There is no escape.

One of the homes I visited 

There are no official statistics to report about survival from this dot on the globe, so I can’t say for sure how many people live in this Kenyan slum or what their income is (if they even have an income) or how many are affected by HIV or how many die from starvation or preventable disease. It feels like the government has said, “What’s the sense in counting kids who probably won’t live to see adulthood and who don’t have a hope of leaving this place for something better?” It’s almost like the people in the slums don’t exist.

Conducting a home visit for one of the Compassion kids

As I wandered around the slum with the pastor from the church up the hill, I struggled to keep my discomfort at bay. It’s not that I felt like I was in danger, though how could I blame anyone there if they’d taken the chance to steal from me or hurt me in some way? I’ve never had a truly hungry belly so I can’t say if the tables were turned that I wouldn’t want to snatch the $500 camera hanging around the neck of some girl who probably throws away more food in a day than I’d have the chance to eat in a month.

How do you react when invited into a home that wouldn’t qualify as a livestock shed in your own world? I tend to get very quiet, focusing on playing with the kids. Lots of smiles and warmth and quiet understanding. But that feels so inadequate.

How could I ever find the words to convey how unjust it is that I was born where I was born, not wealthy at all by US standards but rich as a king in the rest of the world?

The best I could do was hug the kids and pretend like my stomach wasn’t churning from the stench, squeeze the dirty hands of the mothers who have no other options and thank each family for allowing me to share their lives for just a day.

On the way from one dwelling to another, I met a little boy whose face was covered in a patched-up, bloody bandage. I found out he’d been hit by a reckless motorcycle driver. He basically lives in a fetid, germ-filled garbage dump. What chance does he have of healing successfully and without infection?

I met a mom who rescued an abandoned baby someone had left to die in the dump. She lives in the slum in a shack. A shack would be an upgrade, actually. But she took in the baby as her own even though it meant less food for her and less food for her own kids.

Where’s the escape route for children born in the slum?

 Thought about taking this little cutie home with me 

As I visited the various parents of the Compassion kids, asking about the welfare and development of their little ones, taking notes for each child’s file, I began to fill up with emotion. Rage that starvation and disease happens so openly when there’s plenty to go around. Sadness that so many people are just plain unaware of the daily struggle to survive in the Third World. And finally, resigned determination. Determination to do something to help these families.

But doubts crept in. This is a huge problem, obviously way bigger than this one slum in one country. I can’t solve world hunger. Even if the families had thousands of dollars, they wouldn’t know what to do with it. I had to find a way to help on their terms.

As I walked through the squalor, and smelled the rotting trash heap and open sewage, I plotted.

I don’t believe throwing money at poverty is the solution. You know what they say about giving a man a fish vs. teaching a man to fish. I want to teach the families of the slum to fish… in a sense. And I want to do it through a very fast, very inexpensive effort called Adopt-a-Slum.

If I’m traveling the world and not making a positive impact, I’m convinced I’m just a waste of space on this earth. So I’m putting my energy (and funds) where my mouth (blog) is and going for it. With a minimal (and I really mean MINIMAL!) financial investment, I believe we can change 30 families’ lives and put them on the road to a successful future.

Want to know how? Click here.

What I didn’t expect was that it would be so challenging to find places willing to take on a volunteer.

I encountered numerous reasons why volunteering abroad wasn’t as easy as I thought; either I wasn’t around long enough (which I understand – kids need stability), or I needed a background check and an extensive interview process or I had to pay hundreds if not thousands of dollars for the privilege of volunteering. There were so many obstacles in the way that despite my heart’s desire to serve around the world, it wasn’t until my visit to Kenya that I finally had the opportunity.

Fortunately my experience was worth the wait and I have been eager to share it with you for so many months! I wanted to get all my ducks in a row first because I know you will want to help… now that I’m ready to go, I want to introduce you to the kids at Compassion Center No. 755 in the Ngong Hills, Kenya.

While I was planning my RTW trip, a friend in Atlanta introduced me to Sammy, a Kenyan man living in Nairobi and working for Compassion International. (You may remember I stayed with his family while in Kenya.) Sammy set me up with the center nearest to his house, and I spent my days doing a variety of administrative tasks, doling out lunch and snacks, conducting home visits, walking to schools and conducting interviews with the kids’ teachers on their development, nourishment, behavior, etc., and the best part – teaching classes and playing with the kiddos!

Compassion is an organization I’ve been associated with since 2005, when I went on my first short-term mission trip to Bolivia. It was there in Santa Cruz that I was first exposed to extreme poverty. Since that first visit, I’ve been back to Bolivia twice, and I’ve sponsored a little girl named Issett since she was about 7 years old. (Best $38/month you could ever spend, I guarantee!)

I taught a class one morning to these kiddos, who are very motivated by candy

Through Compassion, sponsors around the world are connected to a child in one of 26 countries. You can pick a kid for any number of reasons – I know a lot of folks choose one with the same birthday. Then you exchange letters and send small gifts, like stickers or pictures of your family.

While it takes very little effort to maintain the relationship over the years and the miles, those letters are a lifeline for the child – a hope that someone, somewhere cares and wants the best for them.

Part of my job in Kenya was to read through and sort all the letters from the sponsors to the children and then to help distribute everything when the kids arrived. Even though I’ve been exchanging letters with Issett for years now, seeing all those other sponsors pouring themselves into the lives of these kids, even from afar, had me in tears every day.

1.2 million kids sponsored through Compassion are given food, education and medicine

At the Compassion center in Kenya, the same feelings I had in Bolivia came rushing back. Sadness and desperation and rage that there isn’t some way to make the whole world see this. Shame at the times I’ve wasted food and money and energy on trivial things. Helplessness knowing no matter how hard I try, I can never help them all.

 The kids of No. 755

The part about volunteering in the third world that always amazes me is that kids are kids, no matter if they have a little or a lot. These precious little ones make due without toys or new clothes or running water or decent shoes, but they have the same spark you see from kids back home. And being a part of the Compassion program has given them a hope many in their situation don’t have. As I was organizing their files, I saw that many dream of growing up to be doctors, lawyers and teachers.

As I’ll show you in the next post, having the freedom to even dream up a vision like that is miraculous given where these kids come from. The kids at Compassion are the lucky ones, if you can imagine, as many of them have a sponsor.

A shining spot of hope in a very hopeless, helpless existence.

On the way to a hearty lunch after class

When I went to Kenya and started posting pictures of the precious kiddos, I heard from you – How can I help? What can I do? The first step was providing the Compassion center with some much needed supplies. Several readers donated and I matched it, so we had around $200 for pencils, pens, markers, paper, erasers, glue sticks, scissors and a couple of soccer balls. These days, it can cost that much just to outfit one kid back home with the necessary supplies for school, but that small amount purchased more supplies than those kids have seen at once in their lives.

As I worked with the staff and spent time with the kids, I asked a ton of questions. What are your immediate needs? How can people back home help? What would it cost to change a life?

I firmly believe if people only knew how easy it was to completely change the course of a child’s life, there would be far fewer hungry bellies in this world.

I’ve got a very easy plan to give 30 families a new start, but I need your help. First though, a tour of the slums where many of the kids from Compassion No. 755 live.

Want to help? Check out the details here.

Along those lines, I found a quote from Karen Blixen, author of Out of Africa, who I became very close to during my trip to Kenya… well, as close as you can come to a long dead writer… and it summed up the plane incident and several other dramas from my year of travel.

All sorrows can be borne if you put them into a story or tell a story about them.

After I posted my recap of the crash, I started feeling rotten because despite the plane incident, I had such an amazing visit to the Masai Mara. Everything about it was perfect except for the last few minutes on that prop.

So I wanted to leave everyone with some happy images – definitely GO to the Masai Mara. Go on a Kenya safari. And even take small planes to get there… just, you know, beware of storms!

Morning on the Mara

Off-roading with my wonderful guide Willy from &Beyond

Heading back to camp before the storm comes

Searching for leopards

Remembering the Masai Mara with a safari self portrait 

Up next… the main reason I came to Kenya!

I gripped my armrest. Mud sloshed over the plane. I couldn’t see 10 feet. Out the tiny window, the savanna was going through a spin cycle, wind and rain whipping where there once was an endless swath of green grass and bright sun.

I panicked. I prayed. And yes, my life flashed before my eyes.

The pilot continued his foolish tear down the runway, but I had a gut feeling we weren’t going to take off.

Conditions weren’t right for anything but disaster.

I don’t know much about the science behind how planes fly, and I attempted to look it up just now so I would sound smart, but whatever, I don’t do physics, ok? (Section 27, Article V of the Travel Blogger’s Code – No Physics) And it doesn’t even matter. Anyone with half a lick of sense knows you need lift and thrust to get into the air, and at that moment, we didn’t have either. No, we had eight terrified passengers, a madman at the controls, a mucky, slick airstrip, several inches of heavy precipitation and blustery wind swirling all around us.

And hyenas.

As the pilot sped toward takeoff, our little aircraft fishtailed left, then right, then left, then right, hydroplaning back and forth, never maintaining a straight path. We’d skid all the way to the left edge of the dirt track only to correct and go back the other way. Carry on bags were sliding all over the cabin. I kept expecting the pilot to decelerate and wait the storm out, but instead he pressed on, determined to fly. Anyone – seriously, anyone – could see it was impossible… and reckless and dangerous and stupid. If we managed to get off the ground, I knew we’d be coming right back down. And possibly not in one piece.

So what did I think about when I thought I might be in my life’s last moments?

-I sent up a quick prayer for help and thought I might be on my way to heaven a lot sooner than I expected. I’m not afraid to die because I know where I’m going when I do, but I was pretty concerned about not dying and suffering some painful injuries.

-I remember thinking that if I survived the inevitable crash – either from flipping us end-over-end, breaking the wings off and exploding in a fireball or from wind slamming our airborne plane back down to the ground – there was a chance I’d also have to survive a secondary fight when animals came looking for supper in the wreckage. You know in some carnivorous circles, travel blogger is considered a delicacy!

-I wondered if I had cell service out there and who in the world I could call for help.

Hey, Mom. Yeah, it’s Ange. So don’t freak out, but uh, I’m upside down in a burned out plane. Where? Um, the Masai Mara in Kenya. It’s a nature reserve. Yes, yes there are wild animals. No… there isn’t really an address per se. Well, there aren’t any roads. What’s around me? Uh… a herd of elands. Elands, you know, they’re like antelopes. No, not the small ones – you’re thinking of Thomson’s gazelles. These are bigger, with horns. You know what, nevermind. I’ll call you later.

-I thought about how certain relatives would gloat at my funeral that they were right about this “solo female traveling around the world” thing being a bad idea.

Totally called it! I knew she would end up dead! Girls just can’t travel alone.

-I also thought, in what could have been my last moments on earth, about how this whole experience would make a darn good story for AngieAway.com if I lived to tell the tale. See? I was thinking of you! Don’t you feel loved?!

The dirt runway – well after the rain stopped

We approached the end of our taxi at full ready-to-takeoff speed and as I predicted, never had a chance of becoming airborne. Instead, we overshot the runway – yes, without ever attempting to slow down – and began to rotate out of control, around and around and around, enough times that I couldn’t count. (Not that you could reasonably expect me to count how many times my out-of-control bush plane spun into the African savanna.)

The real tragedy here, since obviously a ‘real’ tragedy was avoided, is that we quite possibly disrupted any number of migrating gnus from their peaceful grass eating. Tisk, tisk. What would PETA think?

The view from where I sat 

Back to the out-of-control spinning into the wilderness… I reflexively put my hands on the metal ceiling above me, hoping maybe I could brace myself and prevent a head injury if we ended up flipping. Our high speed certainly made it feel like a possibility.

I don’t know how far we got from the airstrip – outside the window really looked like a blurred, foamy, green and brown spin cycle – but suddenly, finally, we stopped.

I don’t think I was breathing. No one on the plane said a word.

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The pilot flipped a few switches and turned the plane back toward the runway. We bumped across the grass in silence. It felt like it took a long time to get back. I still couldn’t see much out the window for the storm raging around us. My heart was shaking me it was beating so hard and my eyes were gaping portals of terror. (Is that dramatic enough? Y’all, I was FREAKING out.)

Finally, we made it to our original starting place and the pilot turned off the engine and propellers.

He turned around to address us all for the first time, and with no hint of irony in his booming, thickly accented voice said,

The plane cannot take off.

OH REALLY, YA JACKWAGON?!

I sat there with my jaw on the floor as he lifted the door and hopped out to examine the runway. Once he was out of the plane, I turned around to the other seven passengers and said, “Is anyone else here totally freaking out?”

The German lady in front of me, I kid you not, said, “I’ve never been in a small plane. It’s all so exciting!”

WHAT?! Nein, nein, nein, Frau Crazy Brains! This is not an amusement park ride! Incredulously I explained that careening out of control is not normal.

Two Kenyan guys in the back piped in, “Yes, he is a very good pilot. He saved us all.”

I’m sorry, but wha??? A good pilot wouldn’t have attempted such a takeoff in the first place. I certainly wasn’t going to give him a pat on the back for saving our lives when he’s the one who tried to kill us to begin with.

Three curious Masai in a worn out pickup truck pulled alongside the runway, the apparent emergency salvage crew in case our second attempt failed. Obviously, since I’m here to tell the tale, we did eventually take off and make it back to Nairobi, after the storm passed and after another scare in the air. (This post is already too long – ask me about it in person!)

Everyone cheered once we were finally airborne – except me. I was holding the armrests way too tightly to bother with clapping.

A rainbow and relief 

AFTERWORD

A few days later, I reported my discomfort with the incident to the airline and was told the pilot is ex-military with several thousand hours of flying experience — but sadly he’s not a good communicator.  They very much regret he was not able to reassure all the passengers as the events unfolded. I was even refunded for that leg of the flight. But I would never fly with them again. You just let me know if you’re planning a trip to Kenya and I’ll be happy to share the airline with you.

So, how do you define a plane crash? Does this count a little bit?

In 48 hours at the reserve, I’d taken enough safari photos to slow my hard drive down to a loud unproductive whir, so it was time to head back to Nairobi to get some work done. I was dropped off at the private airstrip near my camp for a 4-minute hop on a 12-seat plane to the next camp, where we’d pick up a few more guests and fly back to the city.

Full disclosure: I’ve never been a huge fan of prop planes.

As a publicist for The Bahamas, I had to book small private planes often to get from island to island, so out of necessity, I’ve grown accustomed to them. Still, every flight on a prop for me is filled with a few extra prayers and some covert armrest gripping.

There’s something about the minivan-sized cabin, and actually seeing all the dials and knobs in the cockpit and looking over the pilot’s shoulder that makes me, well, a little bit anxious. I prefer the jumbo jets where, if not for an occasional glimpse out the window, I’d never really know I was hurtling through the air in a fancy metal tube at several hundred miles per hour thousands of feet above the ground. It’s not natural.

On a big jet, it’s more like an extended wait in a large room of people all facing the same way, drinking small plastic cups of apple juice and wearing seatbelts in chairs that are just a little too small and a little too close together. In a jet, you never see the cockpit or the pilots. You’re just up and down and on your merry way. Those pesky prop planes remove all the barriers that give the comforting illusion of not-actually-flying.

Again I repeat: the Mara River is not a swimming hole!

En route to our first stop a few minutes away, we flew low enough to see the hippos and crocodiles in the Mara River. Out the opposite window, I noted the familiar ominous clouds that had swept over and drenched me my first day at the reserve. We touched down easily at the next stop, just a red strip of rich soil in the midst of vast plain, but the storm was approaching fast.

We’d have to book it if we were going to beat it. 

The two additional passengers we’d stopped to pick up were running behind schedule. Across the grass we could see their open jeep kicking up dust as it raced to meet the plane. Two ladies loaded their luggage and boarded as quickly as they could, but it was too late. The heavy rain at the edge of the clouds was upon us and the wind began to whip.

Much like it had my first day in the Mara, the torrent approached so fast there was no preparing for it. We would most certainly be delayed, as everyone on God’s green earth knows you don’t mess around with bad weather in small planes. I didn’t mind… with no connections to make, a 10-15 minute delay in the name of safety was no big deal.

The pilot must’ve assumed or heard via his headphones that the storm would pass quickly, because he proceeded to close the door, flip switches and turn dials in preparation for takeoff, despite the squall swirling around us and shaking the plane with the gusts. As he taxied from the unpaved boarding strip to the unpaved runway, where I expected we’d sit and wait out the storm, a shrill alarm sounded from the cockpit.

Traffic! Traffic! Traffic!

I tensed and braced for impact, but looking over the pilot’s shoulder, I saw there was another small plane parked in front of us. Whew! It was just the radar indicating something in our path.

No big deal. Inhale, exhale. Release the death grip on the armrest.

The pilot didn’t say a word as we boarded or even as we were preparing to take off, but that’s not terribly unusual for a ride on a small plane. Everyone already knows to buckle up, right? Thank goodness I did.

Since I wasn’t expecting to take off until the storm passed, I was mighty surprised when the pilot positioned the plane at the head of the runway and without announcement, accelerated rapidly… almost as if he was going to attempt a takeoff in the middle of the storm. He wouldn’t… would he? 

He would. And he did.

I didn’t have time to protest. Even if I’d demanded to disembark, where would I go? I was on a flooded dirt track in the middle of a Kenyan game reserve. There was no waiting area, no check-in counter, no baggage claim, no phone, no taxi, no bench. Just a savanna full of hungry 700-lb. cats, some raging mad water buffalo, 20-foot-long crocodlies and a massive storm. How’s that for rock and a hard place?

The runway had turned to slick mud, flooded with several inches of rain. I sniped “You can’t be serious!” as the pilot gunned the gas pedal (I assume there’s a gas pedal…) and sped toward takeoff, attempting to lift the plane into the sky.

I gripped my armrest. Mud sloshed over the plane. I couldn’t see 10 feet. Out the window, the savanna was going through a spin cycle, wind and rain whipping where there once was an endless swath of green grass and bright sun.

I panicked. I prayed. And yes, my life flashed before my eyes.

Want to know what happens next? Tune in for Part 2 on Monday! 

(To enhance your Angie Away safari experience, click on the video below, queue up the background music and then scroll through the photos. It’s like being inside my head!) 

Cheeky zebras

Just a few days old

Crikey! Look at that massive croc on the bank of the Mara River!

10 more reasons to skip an afternoon dip in the Mara River… Hungry, hungry hippos!

A pretty local scans the grass for snacks – the Lilac Breasted Roller

A bushback… I think. I get all the antelope types mixed up.

African Crowned Cranes – one of the first reports I ever wrote in school

This hyena reminds me of Ed from the Lion King, who reminds me of my dog Sheila, who just died last week at the age of 16 =(

A herd of impala keep an eye on the forest

One of the big 5, the buffalo is a force to be reckoned with in the Masai Mara Reserve

The Western White Bearded Wildebeest, aka the gnu – come to the Masai Mara between July and October to see the spectacular wildebeest migration, a show like none other on earth!

It’s the circle of life. And it moves us all. Through despair and hope. Through faith and love. ‘Til we find our place. On the path unwinding. It’s the circle…. the circle of….. LIFE.

The wildest critter of all at the border of Kenya & Tanzania

So which of today’s photos was your favorite? And are you ready to go on safari now or what?!

What about the other big cats of the savanna – the leopard and the cheetah? 

They’re much sneakier, far less abundant and thus harder to spot. Luckily, I had my secret safari weapon – Willy, my guide from &Beyond Kichwa Tembo.

A leopard hides at the edge of the forest

The first leopard Willy took me to was hard to spot at first, as she was dipping in and out of the trees at the forest edge. We came upon her in our open safari 4×4 just as a wicked storm was creeping across the plains.

Awaiting the storm 

She paid us no attention instead monitoring the horizon for prey, predators and maybe even lightning.

Who knows what goes on in a leopard’s mind?

Within a few minutes of spotting her, the storm overtook the 4×4 and soaked us to the gills. It was exhilarating! And freezing. She slipped back into the forest during the deluge.

As we struggled to see anything in the driving rain, I made out a huge shape coming from the forest and sputtered, “It’s a HIPPO!” No one else was quite as bowled over as I was, watching the unwieldy beast trot through the rain and across miles of grass. Hippo photos to come later…

A gorgeous cheetah taking a break from hunting in the savanna near the Kenya-Tanzania border

After drying out, devouring a delicious pan-Africa dinner back at Kichwa Tembo and dreaming about hippos and warthogs and monkeys sneaking into my tent all night, I rose before sunrise to meet Willy for Day 2 of my Masai Mara safari adventure. I’d seen leopards and lions, so it was time to go on a cheetah scavenger hunt.

Of course Willy knew exactly where to find the rare, elegant big cats, so we high-tailed it toward Tanzania, quite a few miles away through the Masai Reserve.

Cheetahs run 70-75 mph. WHAT?!? I get nervous driving that fast.

We came across this gal at a lull in her hunting schedule, as she didn’t seem too keen on picking off nearby zebra or antelope. To my surprise, the other creatures in the area kept a watchful eye as she stalked across the plain, probably toward a couple of her precious babies tucked away in a grassy hill, but they never outright ran away.

They stood in small groups, like middle school girls at recess, feigning indifference and pretending to be interested in chewing grass when really they were instinctively listening for an indication that this cat was about to go for a healthy 70 MPH sprint.

Which, let’s be real, if I was a baby antelope and there was a cheetah, leopard or lion within a 2 mile radius, I’d be running for the border even if the cat was asleep! Come to think of it, I’m probably the slowest runner I know, so I wouldn’t survive long as a lower ranking member of the African food chain.

Fortunately for the prey at that moment, the cheetah was not interested in a meal.

Despite their speed, cheetahs aren’t the apex predators of the neighborhood. They usually avoid a struggle for food, surrendering kills to a hyena rather than risking injury. Anything that causes them to lose the speed advantage could mean death by starvation.

The one thing I missed during my trip was a glimpse of any big cat babies. It’s probably for the best because I would’ve turned into a squealing puddle of girl… have you ever seen pictures of baby cheetahs? The stoniest cold heart would melt at the sight. There is an upside to NOT seeing them, however.

I have a great excuse to go back.

So which big cat of the Masai Mara do you like the most? Cheetahs, leopards or lions? And have you ever seen the cubs in the wild?

Now it’s time for the “mane” event… the “pride” of the Masai Mara… The African Lion! 

One of my favorite shots all year

I couldn’t believe how quickly my guide Willy from &Beyond Kichwa Tembo was able to spot lions hidden miles away in the tall savanna grasses.

Willy on the lookout 

Even more surprising to me was how close we were able to get to all the wild animals on the Mara, but the lions especially. None seemed bothered in the least that there were a couple of trucks full of people driving around their habitat. They slept, hunted and frolicked without regard to the voyeurs.

Four lionesses napping in the grass

Less surprising than the proximity of the animals and Willy’s talent for spotting them was my obnoxious humming the Lion King soundtrack for hours on end while on safari. Those Disney animators got it right, folks! Simba, Nala, Mufasa and even Scar came to life right in front of me.

Two brothers snacking on some tasty zebra leg

Most big cats, like leopards and cheetahs, live a relatively solitary life. Lions are a notable exception, instead grouping into prides of 10-15 and dividing responsibilities among them. Females bear the majority of the hunting burden while the males protect the pride and the territory.

A male and female lion resting under a tree

Lions spend up to 20 hours a day sleeping and resting, devoting the remaining time to hunting, lovin’ on each other & protecting their territory.

 Simba!

When on the move, lions communicate to the rest of the pride by roaring. A lion’s roar can be heard up to five miles away.

A lioness picks up a light baby warthog snack – as Willy calls it, “lion sausage”

Lions hunt all throughout the day, but usually go after big game at night. Hunting together increases success, but even still, hunts are only fruitful 50% of the time.

A fish-eye look at the pride 

Lionesses resting near a pond full of hippos

Group hunting allows African lions to capture big meals like wildebeests, zebras, buffalo, small elephants, rhinos, hippos and giraffes. Smaller bites like mice, tortoises, warthogs, antelopes and even crocs are on the menu, too. More than 50 percent of a lions diet includes scavenged food snagged from other carnivores.

A nomad wandering

Mature male African lions have a thick mane of brown or black hair around the head and neck. That’s how you can tell the wily young kittens from the wise old cats.

A roar almost in progress

Lions once roamed parts of Europe and Asia and much more of Africa. Today, they’re mostly confined to sub-Saharan Africa and a forest in India. To help preserve lions in this region, check out the Lion Conservation Fund.

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While on safari, I managed to get some Discovery Channel-worthy footage with my point-and-shoot cameras, if I do say so myself. Check it out, and listen close… you might be able to hear me singing “I just can’t wait to be king!”

We’ve learned about Masai giraffes and now it’s time for a photo safari with… the African elephant.

I loved getting up close to the elephants of the Masai Mara. We must’ve seen 50 at a time just wandering the savanna at their own leisurely pace.

The African elephant largest living earth critter. 

Elephants are regal, aren’t they? I was so excited every time Willy, my guide from Kichwa Tembo, would drive us near a herd. And there were so many precious elephant babies in the Masai Mara, huddling close to their mothers in most cases… but a few wandered off like the little guy above.

African elephant society is a matriarchal family affair made up of about 10 individuals. 

Hide & Seek 

Poaching has wreaked havoc on elephant populations in the last century. Prior to an international ban on ivory trading in 1990, the Africa elephant population decreased from 1.3 million to 600,000. Kenya’s elephant population  declined by 85 percent between 1973 and 1989.

Elephants are some of the smartest creatures in the animal kingdom, mostly due to a very large brain. “An elephant never forgets” is a saying for a very good reason!

Check out some video I took of the Masai Mara elephants, and listen to some gorgeous music I recorded the staff at Kichwa Tembo singing one night. It’s infectiously cheerful!

Coming soon… Lions!