So . . . THIS is what they mean by "frontier town"

     In preparation for the trip, I did a little internet research about the town of Maun, which was the place in Botswana that I was scheduled to land.  The first thing of interest I learned was that Maun is pronounced mah-oooon, not rhyming with "fawn," as I had assumed.  That's a start!  Also, I found that Maun was frequently referred to as "a frontier town."
     Now, that's an expression you don't hear very often.  My mind conjured up "Davy!  Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier" and I thought they meant that Maun was out in the boonies, so to speak.  But what I learned when I was getting there is that it meant that Maun is sort of on a BOUNDARY between relatively civilized territory and relatively wild territory.  
     A native Botswanan gentleman I was sitting next to on the plane between Johannesburg and Maun told me that the Maun airport is one of the busiest in Africa--that is, if you're counting numbers of take-offs and landings and not if you're counting number of passengers coming and going.  There are loads of private planes at the Maun airport, continuously taking people into the deeper recesses of the continent, those areas that are pretty much inaccessible except by plane.  Maun serves as a prime location for getting started on safaris, apparently.   He also told me that the paved road that goes all the way to Gabarone is still quite the innovation.  He remembered when there were only dirt roads in and out of Maun.
     With all this pleasant (and useful!) information, the trip between the two African cities took no time at all.  The airport was unencumbered by those "jet bridge" things that normally sanitize your exit from a commercial flight, so we walked out into the bright sunshine, where I was immediately struck by a pleasantly pungent scent.  I encountered this smell several times in the weeks to come but never did learn what it was--must have some kind of tree or bush that smelt sort of lemony-sagey.  Very nice!

     My seat-mate friend obviously made the trip often, and he chivalrously guided me through customs.  I surely could have managed on my own, but he knew everybody and made it that much easier.  So, in just a few minutes, my passport was stamped, and I had my 90-day tourist visa, I found my bags, and there I was:  Maun International Airport!!
      The very first airport I've visited where burros, cattle, goats, and dogs wandered at their leisure.  It felt very friendly!

Botswana 101

     The loss of my iPad increasingly appears to be permanent.  This has caused me to have the weird sensation that the trip didn't exist.  As an old friend (whose camera was permanently embedded in her hand) once said, "If I didn't get a picture, it didn't happen."
     Well, that may be sort of funny, but it's nonsense of course, so I will try to paint a picture of the trip with words only for the time being and perhaps supplement the words later with either my found pictures or else other people's pictures.
     I think I should say a few words about how I came to be travelling to Botswana in the first place.
    As the most faithful among you readers know, last year I travelled to South Africa, and while I loved working with the animals and admired many of the people at the Project, I was troubled by the lack of interaction among people.  It appeared to my oh-so-politically-correct eyes that, while the institution of apartheid was obviously dead and buried, there remained a strictly-observed hierarchy in the races, and while I frequently was working side-by-side with local blacks, we never so much as made eye contact with one another.  It was like the two races lived in parallel, but yet definitely separate universes and that all possible power and privilege was still the exclusive prerogative of the whites.
    Now, I MUST add that in all fairness, this is not something that I as an American can afford to feel superior about.  After all, we Americans treated OUR indigenous peoples considerably worse than South Africa treated theirs.  The South Africans relegated them to legally inferior status;  we did that and much more by "simply" wiping virtually all of them out.
     I had heard that Botswana was different from South Africa in that since its independence in the 1960's, it has been governed--truly governed--by black presidents of unimpeachable integrity and statesmanship, and that as a result, the black majority population was truly empowered there and as a result, race relations were much easier.  I wanted to see if that was true.
     And a much more mundane reason, is that I had, through the intervention of a friend, become a devoted fan of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency novels.  I love these books! and they portrayed a country of such admirably easy peaceful human interaction, that I wanted to see if that was true.
     Mind you, I was only in Botswana for three weeks, and I saw only a small part of the country and met only a few of its citizens, but you know what?  From what I could see, IT'S ALL TRUE!

It's the old "Good news, bad news" routine

     The good news is that I'm home from Botswana, safe and sound for the most part.  But the bad news is that I've lost my iPad.  It's just an iPad, you say?   Yes, but it had the nearly 500 photos I took on it.  I'm just sick about it.
     Scott and I are still making calls trying to find it, but I feel less optimistic every day.  The last time I know I had it was at O'Hare, and one can only imagine how many things get lost there daily.
     The fall-back solution is to rely on the photos of my many cohorts at Modisa and the handful of photos I was able to email to Scott while I was there--something that was very difficult to do, because of the extraordinary demands on the weak WiFi signal in the midst of the Kalahari.  It will take me some time to collect these, so for now I will post a photo of Sirga, the super star of Modisa.  
     She is an 18-month old lioness who was raised from just a few days old by Val Gruener, one of the founders of Modisa.  She is astoundingly fond of him and plays and wrestles with him as affectionately as the sweetest housecat.  But Val has achieved something uniquely amazing with her.  She hunts just like a wild cat, strolling along with Val until she gets a whiff of prey and then sprints after it. She has been successful in her hunts on several occasions, but seeing her come back to Val after the chase--completely of her own volition--is a wonderful sight.
     There were lots of wonderful sights, and I hope to be able to post many of them, just as soon as my iPad comes home! 
     Check out Sirga's story here!  http://modisa.org/sirgas-story/ 

The clock, she is a-ticking, my friend

     Well, I don't have to tell YOU that time flies.  Going to Modisa seemed like a hypothetical possibility until just a few days ago, and when I found myself saying "I'm going to Botswana Wednesday," no one was more surprised than me.
     Up to last Thursday, I was focused like a laser beam--and a highly nervous laser beam at that--on the presentation I was giving at Nicolet College for their Creative Arts series.  I was invited to talk about Cambodia and the Elephant Valley Project, and that required a LOT of preparation, especially since it had to be in PowerPoint format, which I've never used.  
     This preparation required me to immerse myself totally in my photos and old blog entries from 2011, and Cambodia seemed much more real to me than Botswana as a result.
      Jack had sent me a boxload of the little wooden elephants carved by the mahouts at the Elephant Valley Project, and I gave them away in exchange for donations to the Project.  This turned out to be hugely successful, and it was thrilling to realize we had earned nearly $1000 to send to the Project!       

I'm just not going to say what relevance this slide had--you'll just have to guess.

     Around 200 people showed up at Nicolet on a night in which the projected low temperature was minus 24 degrees Fahrenheit!  How exciting to think that so many people in our little community would come out on such a night to talk about a few old elephants halfway around the world!  And everyone seemed to go home happy, so I consider the whole thing an unqualified success.
     But what an abrupt shift now!  I am scurrying to get packed and prepared.  There's not as much to do as with previous trips, because Africa has much better access to quality veterinary supplies than did Cambodia, and Mikkel from Modisa assures me that they have a first-rate veterinarian on call and are well-provided-for in that area.
     Also, I don't have any shots to get, because those I got for Cambodia are still up to date.
     I am also assured that at Modisa, they have reliable WiFi access, so I'm hoping that I will be able to keep my blog up contemporaneously, which will be something new.  So, you faithful friends and readers, you and I should be able to stay in touch with each other.  I'm going to Botswana on WEDNESDAY (March 5)!!!! 

M to M to M to M to M to M

     Some of you may be wondering why--after more than a five-month delay--I should suddenly complete the last two blogs from South Africa.

     The answer is simple:  I'm going back to Africa!  After much agonizing about whether I should go, whether Scott would like to go too, and where the destination should be, all indecision is now officially resolved:

     Scott is NOT going, but I am.  I am going to Modisa, near Maun, in Botswana, leaving March 5.
The title of this blog?  McNaughton to Mondulkiri to McNaughton to Moholoholo to McNaughton to MODISA (and with any kind of luck, back to McNaughton).  This time, it's LIONS!  Click here for more info from Modisa.

layover at Joburg

     My flight from Huidspruit arrived in Johannesburg more than five hours before my flight to Paris was scheduled to leave. Lots of time, and no relatives to share it with. So I decided to have a nice leisurely lunch. 

     The airport at Johannesburg is large and modern--lots of fast food restaurants. But I was looking for one where I could enjoy a sit-down and a drink. I found a place called Kegs and Aviators--sounded just fine.

     When I walked in, a loud roar arose from a crowd. Obviously, I was startled, not expecting quite so enthusiastic a greeting.  The guys at the door laughed and explained that two of the most popular football teams in South Africa were playing each other, and one of them had just scored a goal. 

     The patrons at the bar seemed to be pretty much equally divided among the two teams, and the histrionics of both the staff and the patrons was exciting. I was confused by this drone going on while the game was on. Sounded like distant mosquitoes--and lots of them--but I gathered it's some sort of horn that is blown pretty much continuously during African football games.

     Well, it was by the far the happeningest place I've ever seen in an airport! Maybe people are not restricted from entering airport bars like they are in the US, but these were undoubtedly FANS, certainly little different from Packer fans at their most rabid.

     Scott often scoffs at my method of ordering at a restaurant. By habit I always ask, "Could I have a xxxxxx, please?" Scott thinks that is ridiculously deferential; it is, after all, an establishment that is the business of serving its customers FOOD!   

     But when I ordered at this restaurant, the waitress firmly said "no." I smiled and said something to the effect, "Oh, you're out of that?" And she said "No, it's not NICE." When I looked puzzled, she repeated, more firmly this time, "It's not nice!" I relented and ordered what she agreed I could have. She was right-- it WAS nice!

Last Day in Limpopo (and Mpumalanga)

     After we reluctantly left Hlokamela, Mona took me back to the Otters Den to get my luggage and get ready for my long flight home.  I felt genuinely sad to leave Otters Den for--probably--the last time.  I will always savor the memory of that fabulous bridge swaying precariously under my feet and the lovely Blyde River flowing beneath.   Here I am, re-enacting the concluding scene of one of my favorite movies of all time, The Man Who Would Be King.  Be grateful that there is no soundtrack to MY photo, but take the time to enjoy this fabulous scene.  Click here to see it  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apfaDqcf2FA

      My farewell to the Otters Den was somewhat friendlier and less dramatic--PLUS, unlike poor Sean Connery, I lived to tell the story myself!

     Mona had one more place to show me before we went to the airport in Hoedspruit.  Knowing how much I admired the Blyde (pronounced BLI-duh) River, she thought I'd like to see the Blyde River Canyon, one of the biggest canyons on earth and the largest "green" canyon--green because it has lush tropical vegetation throughout. I simply had no idea there was anything so extraordinarily beautiful just a couple of miles from Moholoholo.  





    

       Mona and I walked up a trail following a small tributary to the Blyde where there was a pool.  A local family was picnicking there, and they had two of the most fetching little children ever.  The girls were trying to catch minnows in their swim goggles, and the parents kindly permitted me to take their  photos.  The setting was so idyllic--why, it reminded me of a shampoo commercial!





This photo is, I think, the best one I took the whole trip.  I love how the sunlight is reflected in the girl's face.

    

On the way back, I irrevocably broke one of my faithful sandals which had served me so well throughout my travels.  There was no point in hauling them home, so I threw them in the nearest garbage can, but not before taking a commemorative snapshot.

      And that was that!  Mona rushed me to the Hoedspruit airport barely in time for my flight to Johannesburg, we hugged good-bye, and I was on my way home.