Last weekend, I had the extraordinary opportunity to get my ass kicked by nature in Africa, and I absolutely loved it. God bless bravery, because I almost bailed twice.
After a relaxing Friday evening at home (I haven’t had a free night in weeks, so I kind of forgot what that’s like – i.e., terrific), several other volunteers and I rose early to begin Sandboarding Saturday. With a few obvious exceptions, sandboarding -- in case you were wondering -- is pretty similar to snowboarding… which, of course, I’ve never done. Midwestern girls like myself don’t have much mountain access, if you know what I mean. Thus, bring on the wipe-outs. In my mind, it wasn’t a matter of IF I would eat sand, but how MUCH. Still, it was time to leap out of my comfort zone again, redefining my mental and physical limits.
Becky, Dave, Stephanie and I arrived at the office of our adventure guide shortly after breakfast, and while waiting for our boards and boots to be loaded into the van so we could head north to Atlantis (no, seriously, the dunes are actually called that), we found out that the four of us would be joined by about two dozen leggy blondes from Norway – poor Dave, haha. Now enter our fantastic guide Lourens, a simultaneously ambitious and laid-back adventure-dude from South Africa, who was incredibly excited to have four Americans who would speak to him in English, not give up sandboarding after a handful of tries/climbs/falls, and would later follow him running into the Atlantic Ocean, fully clothed and covered in sand, only to be chased down by a ferocious, whistle-toting lifeguard who claimed we were quite obviously ruining a kite-surfing competition (and thus simultaneously risking our lives). Fantastic fellow. The Norwegians just watched.
Before all that happened, however, I actually learned to sandboard – and I wasn’t half bad! Climbing to the top of the dune, strapping on your board, and then being asked to “just jump up and turn” the first time was intensely intimidating, to be honest, as you do nothing but FLY down the dune at what feels like a ridiculous speed, like maybe you're Goose and Maverick. After giving up the whole “I think I’ll just sit up here another minute and look at this incredible view,” in addition to experiencing the first epic accidental barrel-roll, you suddenly realize that falling down is half the fun, and the adrenaline rush you get plummeting towards your friends at the bottom, literally zooming down the white-hot sands, makes every crash-landing and slow hike back up the dune totally worth it. By the end, I was able to board from top to bottom without completely biting it, and that, my friends, was an excellent feeling. We finished off the afternoon by climbing up and sliding down as a group, butts-to-boards like really sleek snow sleds, and hopping back in the van to cool and rinse off at Bloubergstrand beach (where we had our previously mentioned run-in with the kite-surfing fun-police).
While most of us returned to the home-base wind-whipped and ass-kicked, Dave and I decided our day wasn’t finished. Within a half hour (because if we had waited any longer, I would have said “forget it”), we had showered, changed, and thrown back a peanut butter sandwich, so it was time to head out again and tackle Lions Head. Part of the Table Mountain chain surrounding Cape Town, Lions Head towers over Clifton Beach, Camps Bay, Signal Hill, and the entire city center, providing an excellent view of just about everything and anything as the sun sets on the horizon. Why on Earth did we NEED to go that particular evening, following a full day of extreme sport? Good question, rafiki, but I have an even better answer. The night prior was a full moon, of course, and we didn’t want to miss the chance to see the sun set and moon rise simultaneously from either side of the impressive and daunting rocky peak.
Let me tell you… it was worth the achy limbs and tank of sweat lost hustling up that thing (and by “hustling,” I mean marathoning, as we kept an incredibly brisk pace the entire way up, finishing in under an hour, so as not to miss the day’s “big finale”) – I honestly don’t think there’s a better ocean, sky, and cityscape view in all the world. To reach the top, you follow a dirt and rock foot path which coils around and around the mountain, giving you spectacular views of the city and ocean with each new encircling. This proceeds the real challenge that awaits you twenty minutes from the top – an absurd obstacle course of rocks, metal ladders, and chains which you must drag yourself up in order to ascend to the crown. It’s all glory from then on, however – as you glance around at the other crazy people who braved the climb, resting a minute to catch your breathe, you suddenly take in the glittering sea, hazy Robben Island, and billowing clouds washing over the mountain around you. That breath you just caught is now trapped in your chest, the view is so amazing. Only a few minutes after we reached the top, the sun sank into the ocean to our left, while the tiny lights of the city began blinking on to our right.
I’d put up pictures, but in addition to it not doing justice to the spectacles described, each minute on the internet here is charged by the megabytes used, so… it’s going to cost me one zillion Rand. Perhaps some other time, ja?
Other hikers popped bottles of champagne as we marveled at the huge, lazy orange moon that rose to the left of Table Mountain. I couldn’t help but notice that it climbed the night sky at a far more lethargic rate than we had just scaled Lions Head, but at the moment, I really couldn’t blame it. It had been a long day, and I haven’t been more exhausted in a long, long time. The climb down was slow and steady, lit by dozens of tiny twinkling head lamps, and followed by a humongous helping of home-cooked macaroni and cheese. Just what the doctor ordered.
On Sunday, we did nothing but hang out at Muizenberg beach and meet up with friends for a light picnic and live music at the beautiful Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens (the Cape Town “Ravinia”). It was a nice way to round-out the weekend and recharge our batteries for the week, and holy smokes did we need it. That Saturday beat my day-hike of Kilimanjaro, for sure… but not the Monday that awaited me. Little did I know, Miss Sarah was to become the substitute teacher for 40 South African kindergarteners… and oh yeah, she lost her voice five minutes in. Now that's a workout.
I’ll leave you now to imagine me wildly directing miniature Afrikaans- and Xhosa-speaking children with nothing but hand-signals and meaningful teacher-faces… for four straight hours. I am invincible. Oh, and exhausted.
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