Making Friends

Our trip wasn't all about baboons and beautiful scenery. We also made some friends along the way (and not just the ones in Frankfurt).

This is Mike and Boris, the owner of the best bar on that side of the the Atlantic.

This is me and Boris and some other guy who's name I don't recall. I don't know what is happening here.

Morgan the bartender hard at work. Nice guy.

Mike being schooled about Rugby by this guy.

Me, Santa, and Erin. Erin is the one on the right.

Making friends with animals. It was a cute dog but no replacement for Sparky.

Me and a genuine Thoroughbred race horsey.

A crazy huge hairy many legged friend. The next day I awoke to find his little brother in my bed. Ahhh friendship.

We'll have more on the animal kingdom later. Here's a hint: It rhymes with Atari.

Did you see a sign outside that says dead lizard storage?!?!

Well this is sort of pointless since we're back now. A huge storm knocked out our internets and essentially de-blogged us. So we're back in the states but here are are a bunch of rad and not so rad pictures from the rest of our trip...

We got a car, Big Blue. She's the cheapest, crappiest, most lovable little car you'll ever meet.

Then we saw baboons. Everwhere.

We also saw penguins...

"Piss off. Don't take my picture. I'm hanging out in the bushes to avoid exactly that."

"You talking to me? I don't see anyone else here..."

waddle, waddle, waddle..."Is that guy taking more pictures of us?"

Then we went to the Cape of Good Hope, where the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic, both of which are wicked cold.

They don't care much about personal safety in South Africa. That's my shoe in the bottom of the frame. My foot was steady but my knees were shaking like nobody's bizzness.

Car park at the end of the world....

The cape...

Pete with his baboon thumper.

Can you spot the tourist in this picture?

What about this one?

Oh we went surfing in the Indian ocean. That's Mike tearing it up. No it's not.

Num Num. I Just went surfing and now I'm hungry.

BFFs? Yeah.

More to come if we get around to it...

Big Storm.

It stormed today. Like, a lot. A storm of biblical proportions. We were woken up because our house (on stilts) was moving. At one point we discussed where the best place to be when the place collapsed. We edited at the kitchen table until the roof started leaking then moved to the living room. I must say it was the most romantic edit session I've ever attended. We built a fire, drank some wine and got shit done. Not in a gay way though. It just had all the trappings of romance; wine, a fire, a storm raging outside, and 400 hours of footage from a depressed Pennsylvania coal town.

Before.

After. And for the next 20 hrs.

Leaky roof. Pete actually tried to stop the leak with gum. Mike had to remind him that MacGyver was just a TV show, not a documentary.

Pete has lost all hope now of ever finding Sparky. But he has found a new friend and I haven't got the heart to tell him I think it's dead.

Sparky Jr.!!!!!!!!

Day 3: No sign of Sparky.

Still no word from Sparky. Sparky, if you are reading this please come home. We have baboon meat and Mango Tango for you! PLEASE COME HOME!!!

Mike here. Pete's a little broken up about Sparky to really write. The perennial optimist, I think he's holding out hope that the little fella will turn up. I'm not so confident. If the storm that almost tore the village apart was any indication, out spotted friend is somewhere over the rainbow. Or, more likely, torn apart and eaten by the pride of baboons that the locals claim have been terrorizing the area.

Serving two purposes, I convinced Pete to take an extended walk on the beach, in the vain hopes that we might happen upon Sparky. Or at the every least take his mind off the disease infested mongrel. All we found was sand, rocks, more sand, nothing of interest and sand.

SPARKY!!??!

Pathetic.

After 4 miles on the beach, Pete kind of gave up and so we followed what we thought was a trail back to town. Pete, inconsolable, kept referring to it as a "trail of tears" when in fact it was a government protected nature reserve set aside for the nesting of the South African Oyster Catcher. A bird driven to the brink of extinction, apparently, by forlorn tourists aimlessly trampling it's habitat. When we finaly found a trail, marked by a very official sign suggesting we not be there we ended up at a horse ranch, which was very nice.

Real live thoroughbreds. Gorgeous. In weirdly humble situations, just hanging out being awesome. Apparently they race them on the beach every Tuesday. Why the hell not?

Everything was fine until we came across the individuals responsible for keeping an eye on everything; 3 very large, very territorial Rhodesian Ridgebacks. A dog not unfamiliar to New York (mostly because wealthy people think they look cool) but here are primarily employed to stop lions from eating livestock and dismember anyone stupid enough to wander on to your property.

At first they seemed quite receptive to our arrival, eager to chew our vital organs from our bodies. Luckily cooler heads prevailed and instead of an awkward encounter, Pete simply shot the poor beasts, which worked out well.

Still not sure where the pistol came from. Contrary to expectation and further testament to South African hospitality, instead of alerting authorities or having some other animal kill us, the propitiator, Michael, invited us to the horse races as his guests. He did this while mowing his lawn. Anywho...

Huge storm expected tomorrow and the next day. Hope the weather back home sucks. Just thought we'd throw in some amber waves of grain. Made us homesick. Sort of.