'Twas a dark and stormy night (I ripped off that line from Marnie's incomplete pirate romance novel). Little green aliens spirited each member of the North American contingent of our illustrious group from our beds, up into their whirling spaceship. We were quite a sight in our dishabille (disheveled, half-dressed appearance). Gin, those orange juice cans you use as curlers went out of vogue back in the 70s -- how do you sleep in those things, anyway! Marnie, that skimpy little Victoria's Secret number just doesn't go with your fuzzy Donald Duck slippers. Take it from me, the fashion police, okay? And really, now, Snow, that green mud facial you had on was confusing our hosts -- they thought you were an alien wannabe (you scared the !@&#$% out of the rest of us). Chris looked like an Alaskan lumberjack in her bright red flannel longjohns -- we kept asking her about the drop seat. Well, let me tell ya, we were mighty frightened and confused as we were warped through time and space, but the aliens treated us nicely, gave us some really snazzy safari clothes to wear (thank goodness -- we would have died of embarrassment if Sam had to wear her Barnie the dinosaur pajamas the entire trip), and then dropped us aboard a pirate ship awaiting us near the Bermuda Triangle. Calm down, girls, the pirate was Adrian Paul, looking rakish in his thigh-high black boots, poet shirt open to the waist, tight breeches and wide leather belt from which dangled some fearsome-looking cutlasses. This being nearly the 21st Century, the pirate ship was actually a nuclear powered Stealth submarine. Quarters are pretty tight on those things, but there were berths for each of us. Each, that is, except one. Being the selfless, goodhearted creature she is, Theresa, not wanting us to inconvenience the rest of us, made the supreme sacrifice of offering to share a bunk. With Adrian. Funny thing, we never did see her again until we arrived on the South African coast. You couldn't have wiped that smile off her face for a month of Sundays.

In the meantime, our illustrious Aussie member, Vickie-Lee, out there on her cattle station in the rugged Outback, saddled up trusty ol' Skippy the Bush Kangaroo who hopped and bounded and skipped his way to Borneo, then Java, across Southeast Asia, down the Indian subcontinent, to Sri Lanka, then made a bounding leap to the beautiful Seychelles and Mauritius island, another bigger leap to Madagascar, then at last landed, with a very shaken Vickie-Lee still holding on for dear life, on sacred South African soil. Talk about being saddle-sore! Honey, that girl couldn't walk for a week.

But alas, let us not forget the travails, the trials and tribulations of poor, dear Nessie. That chick had been cooped up in Loch Ness for at least four centuries. She kept telling herself, "Girl, you need to get a life. All this scaring up the tourists is getting old." Oops, "auld" in Scottish. She spent a week preparing, taking care of last minute details, stocking up the fridge with TV dinners for her brood, watching an old Jane Fonda workout tape to get herself in shape, polishing her lovely greenish-grey scales to a radiant luster. The moment finally came. She opened the rusty portal to the secret subterranean passageway, gave a loving smooch to her hubby Elliot (Elliot Ness -- get it? Oops, that joke fell flat...), and was on her way, across the Irish Sea, out into the open North Atlantic, where she had to battle raging hurricanes, a run-in with an iceberg, and the overtures of an overly amorous blue whale who had totally lost his sense of direction but was enthralled at her sinuous, greenish, scaly beauty. Poor dear, she swam, and swam, and swam, not stopping until she reached the Canary Islands where she beached on an uninhabited stretch near Tenerife to rest and work on her tan. The seabirds mistook her for their favorite nesting spot and guano deposit – she was so pestered that she had to leave in a huff and head out to sea again. She managed to reach an outer island in the arid Cape Verde archipelago and at last had 2 days of R&R. Her tail and flippers were beyond exhaustion. Then, well rested, off she went farther into the South Atlantic until she at last reached the tip of South Africa. She came ashore at Cape Town, where all of our group, and a crowd of thousands, awaited her with a parade. The mayor gave her the keys to the city. She was on the national news. Mr. Mandela invited her to tea.

Once the receptions ceremonies were over, our South African adventure began.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

Your friendly roving reporter,

Tina

PART II

Note: co-writing credit for this and the remaining chapters of this saga goes to Sonja who plied me with valuable information.)

Following the excitement of Nessie's much-heralded reception (she had not had this much attention in several centuries, hidden down there in the murky depths of the chilly Loch, under grey and foreboding Scottish skies), and warm welcomes from throngs of her admirers in some of the 11 official languages of South Africa - Aangename kennis (Afrikaans); Dumela (Seshotho); Saubonna (Zulu) -- , we at last met our hostess with the mostest, Sonja, who had made elaborate arrangements to show us the very best that her country has to offer. Her fleet of stretch limousines awaited us at city hall. A specially equipped flatbed truck ("lorry" for those of you who speak the Queen's English) with misting spray was waiting for Nessie - most thoughtful of Sonja. We were escorted around this lovely old city for several hours of sightseeing at the Waterfront's Imax theatre and the Aquarium. We had time for some great shopping (Sonja kindly gave each of us a Platinum Master Card with a US$50,000 credit limit), and slaked our thirst with some good South African lager at the city's best pub.

Mid-afternoon we all trekked up to the top of Table Mountain. It was so good to stretch our legs after our cramped quarters on the pirate submarine and we decided to forego the cable cars. We looked like a busload of annoying tourists in our brand-new safari clothes no self-respecting South African would be caught dead wearing, and with our new videocameras and One-Shots, taking pictures of the breathtaking views and the crashing waves. We then headed to the beach at Blouberg where we feasted on a mouthwatering "braai" (barbecue) of fresh-caught, enormous lobster (Tina was heard to mumble under her breath about cruelty to animals and the lack of veggie burgers in those southerly climes, but she was hungry enough to secretively gobble down at least 3 of the crustaceans. She always claims to be a vegetarian, not a GOOD vegetarian!). There were other exotic critters on the grill as well, like wildebeest burgers and zebra t-bone steaks (Tina made a mental note to contact the South African chapter of the SPCA later on, but she forgot). As the sun began to set in its russet and gilded brilliance, we all oohed and ahhed at how it splashed streaks on Table Mountain. An unforgettable Kodak moment. Nessie was in her glory, lolling in the waters at the beach and fishing for exotic marine life for her supper. The words of a Paul Simon song came to mind, "...under the stars of the Southern Hemisphere ... under African skies." It was a bit too cool to swim so we saved that for another day (little did we know what would happen the day we DID decide to swim...).

It took us a while to get accustomed to our respective Tower of Babel accents. It made for some interesting misunderstandings and bloopers, too. No one understood Marnie when she said, "Don't get your knickers in a knot," to Sam who was frustrated at not being able to crack open a lobster claw (not a lot of lobsters in the desert where she is from). Everyone thought they spoke normally and all the others sounded strange. Let's see, among others there were Gin's Texas twang, Marnie's and Nessie's highland/lowland Scots brogues, Sonja's and Vickie-Lee's twisted-tongue Aussie accents (we Yanks thought they sounded like they had a mouthful of chewing gum or had Crocodile Dundee's mum as their schoolmarm), and Tina's whose accent defies definition (she is like a chameleon for sounds and friends say she has this odd combination of a flat-voweled Northeastern accent mixed with a slight British one).

It was getting quite late and a bit chilly by the water's edge, so we boarded the limos once again and were taken to Sonja's picturesque fruit farm on several thousand hectares in the lush, rolling Ceres Valley, where we stayed the night at her palatial guest house. Nessie snored peacefully in the heated Olympic-size pool. Several of you, who shall remain anonymous, insisted they were sleepwalking, but we know from experience in Arizona that they might have been checking out for hunky farmhands. Looks like they came back disappointed, however, because they were all away at a festival some 50 kilometres away. We were served a sumptuous breakfast the next morning, garnished with the freshest, plumpest, ripest fruits, some of which we had never seen before on our respective continents. Tina put in an order for 100 cases of CERES juices to be sent to her son, knowing that would shut the little punk up for a while and she wouldn't have to pay outrageous prices for it at the local health food store.

Our special treat for the day was a drive in Sonja's fleet of LandRovers over hill and dale to her vast vineyards. A full report on who got totally plastered will follow.

To be continued.

Your roving reporters,

Tina and Sonja
 
 

PART III

The adventure continues. Another idyllic day of springlike temperatures and sunny skies, as we headed toward Sonja's world-famous Boschendal vineyards. Such a beautiful, well-kept setting, and vines heavy with plump, ripe grapes, as far as the eye could see. We were treated to a tour of the winery. Such heavenly wines - Chardonnays, Rieslings, Zinfandels, and her very special Bordeaux. We had great fun sitting there in the tasting room and being served vintage wine after wine after wine after wine - till we couldn't taste any difference any more!! ...hiccup... Shows how few connoisseurs there are in our group. Well, not all of us partook of the fermented stuff. Gin, Julia and Mary were having plain grape juice and clucking and spluttering like wet hens as they watched our demeanor go steadily downhill. Sonja introduced us to McDuff, the winery's beloved resident cat, who hangs out in the tasting hall and generally takes over (Snow learned the hard way that you can't sit on the cat's chair either, or you'll get a claw in your butt for your trouble!). McDuff and Cheetah became fast friends – we saw them purring cozily together in the back room but discreetly left them alone. In vino veritas, the Romans used to say, In wine there is truth. Well, the "ladies" under the influence starting telling some tales that would make a sailor blush, let me tell ya. We heard more details of Theresa's submarine rendezvous with Adrian than we really needed to hear (told you I would getcha, didn't I, Theresa, after you so publicly questioned my virtue!???). The vixen.

Then several of us began to sing folksongs from our respective parts of the world. Sonja and Vickie-Lee gave us a rousing rendition of Waltzing Matilda. The Scots contingent sang something lively and totally incomprehensible in their ancient Gaelic tongue. Theresa gave us a heartwarming Lakota love ballad. And Gin grabbed an old guitar from the corner of the tasting room and belted out some really soulful Texas roadhouse blues – I thought the spirit of Stevie Ray Vaughan had come over her and possessed her—it was quite inspiring. That girl was amazing. Cheetah and McDuff finally ventured back into the room (smiling like Cheshires, I might add) and ended the jam session with a tearjerking rendition of the theme from the Broadway musical Cats (what else, right?). Tina spared the group the torture of hearing her sing -- that chick can't sing her way out of a paper bag - but she did some great storytelling about the group's forthcoming adventure on the remote South Pacific island paradise of Rarotonga, much to Lauren's excruciating embarrassment. After a walk in Sonja's splendid rose gardens, we again boarded the LandRovers and drove to a grassy hillside overlooking the sprawling vineyards, with a bubbling little stream for Nessie.

A grand picnic was spread for us. But before we sat down to eat, we were treated to a grand SURPRISE. Unbeknownst to us, Sonja had gone to great lengths to arrange for a special visitor to join us at the picnic. Onto a grassy clearing next to our picnic there landed her private Lear Jet. Lo and behold, who should step out of the plane but Michael himself. We were speechless. Then we all let out a collective cheer and greeted him effusively. Well, the excitement was too much for poor Nessie. She had not seen such a handsome sight in centuries. There was a huge splash and we saw her drop back into the stream. She had swooned. She was unconscious. Michael pushed his way through the crowd of us, sang her a traditional Cree swoon-healing chant, then proceeded to give Nessie mouth-to-snout (that's right, mouth-to-SNOUT) resuscitation. It was just like in those old fairytales we used to read as little girls. It wasn't exactly a kiss, but close enough. And it broke the spell she had been placed under some 400 years ago when, as a chaste and virtuous Highland clan princess, she had rebuffed the devious, amorous advances of a cruel Sassenach (English) warlord, who was also an evil warlock. So incensed was he at her refusal that he turned her into the sea-lizard we all know as the Loch Ness Monster. Mystery finally solved on that one! And you read it here first. Well. you could have knocked us all over with a feather. There was Nessie, in Michael's arms, no longer a fearsome creature of the murky depths, but rather a stunningly beautiful young maiden with long red hair cascading down to her knees. For those of you whose minds are in the gutter, let me make it perfectly clear that her greenish-grey scales were turned modestly into a radiant green-grey brocade gown, encrusted with rubies. Back then, the Scots only spoke the impossible Gaelic tongue so Nessie did not know a word of the oppressor's language (English) and Marnie ably acted as interpreter, relaying Nessie's heartfelt thanks to Michael for saving her from an eternity of scaring tourists. Our hero rides again. He had a typical "aww, shucks" look on his face. LUNCHEON WITH THE GODS Boy, we were ravenous with hunger by that time. But Sonja had yet another surprise up her sleeve.

Up the hillside rolled her silver Lamborghini, and out stepped one of South Africa's most famous and dashing actors, the tall, slender and handsome Henry Cele, who so memorably played the role of the great Zulu leader Shaka in the 1987 miniseries seen around the world. Y'all thought Michael looked good in a breech-cloth in Crazy Horse? You ain't seen nothin' yet, girls. Rent the video, is all I can say.

Remember that article in Cowboys and Indians magazine where Michael thought it so funny that someone had referred to him as "that Indian god" after watching him in SWCH? Well, there we were with not just one, but two, gods in our midst. We all thought we had died and gone straight to heaven. We all sat down to an amazing array of South Africa's national dishes, showing the wondrous cultural and multiethnic diversity of this country. We tasted a staple Zulu dish called Putu Pap. According to Sonja, "It's a type of white cornmeal boiled to a stiff porridge. English and Dutch South Africans adopted it also over the last 200 years, and it is eaten as a breakfast, or as a starch dish for those BBQ's (braais). It can be cooked to three different textures : - sloppy, which is usually how one has it for breakfast with milk and sugar, or butter and sugar melted in it. Or it could be cooked 'stiff' - most of the tribes eat it this way as a meal with their meat as it has a 'doughy' texture, and pieces can be picked up in your fingers, kneaded and pressed into a ball and eaten with a piece of meat. The other alternative (the ONLY way I will eat it!!!) is called 'Krummel Pap'. It has a 'crumbly' texture, much like large breadcrumbs, and we eat it at a 'braai' with a tomato and onion sauce over it. It is an acquired taste, and most foreigners HATE it." That was certainly true -- few of us could choke it down. We tasted Afrikaans (Dutch decent) vegetables (Sonja says, "everything has butter and sugar in it!!! And green beans are ALWAYS boiled to a pulp with potato, onion, and lots of pepper, again finished off with butter and a little sugar stirred in"). Other dishes included ones borrowed from the Malay people who were brought there as slaves almost 300 years ago, including 'Boboti' - a lightly curried meat dish: the precooked, minced, and seasoned meat is baked in a bed of milk, egg (and the ever-present sugar!) until the egg mixture has solidified. And of course we had to try Afrikaans 'Rusks'. Basically a very hard biscuit that came from the pioneer days when bread could not be kept fresh, so left over bread was cut into thick sticks and baked in a very low oven till it became rock hard. We were shown how to 'dunk' it in our coffee (to soften it a bit) and eat it -- pretty messy, but good. Vickie Lee and Sonja had a heated argument over who raises the best mutton (Tina was cringing and yearning for a veggie burger again), the South Africans or the Aussies. We also enjoyed a wide variety of Indian curries. Dessert was a tempting Afrikaans milk cake, made for us by Sonja's own delicate little hands. Well, we all got stuffed. Oops, that has a naughty meaning for those of you who speak the Queen's English. Okay, we all ate too much, we pigged out, okay? After lunch, Michael and Henry held court, seated on two rocks, as we sat on the grass. Illeanna had to be forcibly restrained AGAIN at the sight. Fortunately, Rachel had been pumping iron in preparation for just such an event and was able to wrestle Illeanna from harm's way.

Cheetah stretched out on the grass immediately in front of the two actors, effectively forming a security barrier. Her growls and roars were enough to scare us back into good behavior. Michael and Henry spent an hour, taking turns telling us stories. Henry enthralled us with tales of great Zulu warriors, particularly the great Shaka Zulu, and with folk stories from various other South African peoples. Michael charmed us with his Cree legends about Wesahkaychak, the mischievous trickster, and with his gentle smile and ready humor.

Well, it was time for our heroes to leave. Henry graciously signed autographs (Lauren, I can't believe your boldness in asking him to autograph your tummy!!) and told us he is currently filming another Shaka movie (this is true, I found it on the Internet - David Hasselhoff is producing it.). He left in the Lamborghini. Michael bade us his fond farewells (not fond enough for the adoring young princess Nessie who had stars in her eyes) and headed back to Ohio. Or so we thought....

To be continued....Coming up next: tribal culture, a jewel heist, and a most special event. Stay tuned.

Your roving reporters, Tina and Sonja

(without Sonja this report would not have been possible)

PART IV

After our delightful tour of the winery and our unforgettable luncheon with Henry and Michael -- and still overwhelmed at Nessie's transformation --, Sonja decided to fly us to the city of Durban where we walked off our big picnic luncheon. Durban is the home of the great Zulu nation. It also has quite a large Indian (meaning from India) population and is famous for having the best curries outside of India. We toured the spice market in the late afternoon -- such new and exotic aromas! To repent for any unworthy thoughts some of the ladies may have had during the luncheon experience, Sonja took us on a tour of the beautiful Hindu temple there (it is definitely a tourist MUST). After 30 minutes of chanting OM, the sinners among us felt forgiven. We went on rickshaw rides, too. We attended a rugby match - the national pastime. Quite an exciting game, too -- Tina was reminded of a bumper sticker she once saw back home: Give Blood – Play Rugby! We enjoyed a late dinner at Durban's finest Indian restaurant, eating at least 20 varieties of curry. We flew back to Sonja's palatial country estate where we fell into our beds, happy and utterly exhausted.

Next morning we rose refreshed, at the crack of dawn. After a very hearty breakfast, we headed up the East coast, stopping at Hermanus - a wonderful old whaling town (of course no more whaling is done!). It has developed into a beautiful quaint town, very 'arty' and with a 'New Age' flavor. (We even found some old 'hippies' left over from the 60's and 70's there). After a tour of the old whaling museum, we went diving for crayfish, then took a break to sit on the 'Point' and watch a school of Southern Right Whales sailing past! By that time we were ready for lunch, so we headed inland to Oudsthoorn to visit an ostrich farm (stopping on the way to go spelunking briefly in the Cango caves). At the ostrich farm we sampled ostrich steak, ostrich rump roast, and ostrich egg omelets (Tina was finding NOTHING she could eat in that country!!). For some fun and frolic, the farmhands saddled up some of the enormous birds. Gambling was fast and furious. Gin, Mary and Rachel proved themselves to be champion ostrich jockeys, but cityslickers Lauren and Tina disgraced themselves royally by falling off the darned critters on only the second lap (fortunately nothing much was wounded but their pride). The race was televised on national television, South Africans ROFLTAO at this motley assortment of women tourists looking so stupid atop those feathered fiends. We became quite the popular topic of conversation, showing up on their version of Entertainment Tonight and similar shows.

We headed up around the northern border of the neighboring country of Lesotho, into the Eastern Free State. From there, we headed into an area called Phuthaditjhaba, and there we visited an Ndebele town simply called Qwa-Ndebele. Here we learned a bit about the intriguing Ndebele culture, and took photos of their beautifully painted homes and their brightly colored costumes. The women there take great pride in painting their houses brilliant colors, in intricate geometric designs, like nothing we had ever seen before. Our resident artist, Marnie, was moved and inspired. She wanted to study this style in greater detail and left with her head full of ideas for new paintings for the fan page.

We continued to drive north and deeper into Qwa-Zulu. We were made to feel very welcome by the local Zulu people. Sonja describes them as "so proud and strong, and just have a certain 'something' about them." The local Zulus immediately gave us all names (they do that with anyone they meet: after a short time they've picked up on something about your person, or personality, and bingo, they're calling you something in Zulu! For some reason they called Sonja "Mozelani" which means something like 'Sleepy', or 'Relaxed'! Tina was called "Writes Too Much." Some gossipy wag tipped them off about Lauren's infamous Alaska incident so her nickname came to be "Droopy Drawers." And Theresa was honored with the authentic, traditional Zulu name of "Hot Tamale."

Next to the local hotel is an authentic Zulu village where we spent several fascinating and educational hours learning from elders about Zulu culture. To our delight, Michael showed up in a very dusty Land Rover and joined us. He asked many questions about their traditions and stories, and drew insightful comparisons between Canadian First Nations legends and theirs. He was an apt pupil. As evening drew nigh, we sat around the fire and the simmering Pap pots while the Zulu men taught Michael some of their finest traditional war dances - he saw some similarity with Grassdance, his specialty, which is also a celebration of victory in battle. He picked up the dance steps immediately - he is such a natural, as we saw in his visits to Alaska and Australia. We too tried to learn some of the Zulu women's dances while attempting not to disgrace ourselves in front of him. We were truly honored to meet King Goodwill Zweletini, who presented Michael with a leopard skin headdress and apron; leopard skin is reserved for royalty in the Zulu culture. Michael was most deserving of this rare honor. Cheetah was counting her blessings that it was leopard skin, not cheetah skin. Michael had to leave again, so we said our farewells, thinking we might not see him again. Poor Nessie was stifling her tears. We retired to our quarters and slept soundly.

At the crack of dawn next morning we were awakened from our slumber, told to get dressed (our safari clothing was smelling pretty "ripe" by then), piled into Land Rovers and were taken off into the 'bosveld' for some early morning game viewing. The sun wasn't even up yet, but just as it peeked over the horizon we found ourselves in a clearing where we were served a much-needed mug of coffee and some 'rusks' to dunk (messily) into it. Then we were taken to the best spots to view giraffe, Nyala, Blou Wildebeest, and of course - white rhino! We got up quite close to the animals with the game rangers in attendance. Several hours later we arrived at another clearing where breakfast was cooking -- we were ravenous by that time! Guess what, more of those damned rusks and pap again...Rachel was heard to ask where she could find a good bagel and lox, but the locals didn't know what the heck she was talking about.

No time to dilly dally - we were off to Swaziland - luxury accommodations in the Royal Swazi Spa where we were pampered like royalty. Great shopping and ethnic markets all over. We ALL had to purchase the colorful cloth that makes up the Swazi national dress and we had to learn how to wear it!!! At last we could take off those smelly safari clothes the aliens had kindly given us. We looked a bit incongruous with our Swazi wraps and our hiking boots. There are two ways of draping it for the women (make sure you haven't got holes in your undies!!!) and the men wear it slightly differently. (Sam was heard to whisper, Hmmmm, Michael would look pretty good in it too!! Tina promptly bought a length of it to send to him.) Swaziland also has some of the most beautiful scenery!

Back to the spa to freshen up. From there we drove back into South Africa and were taken on a most unique tour of Sonja's vast and highly secret diamond mines. The incredible karats that have been mined there!! Security is very tight everywhere on the grounds. But unbeknownst to the rest of us, one of our members, who will remain anonymous, turned out to be an expert safe cracker. The theft went unnoticed until the next day. Sonja was devastated but did not want to accuse her guests of the deed, and did her best to keep up a cheerful face. It was all over the national news about the heist. Who dunnit?

All that travel kind of wore us out and the temperatures were getting unseasonably hot. Sonja flew us back near Cape Town to Sandy Bay. Now, little did we know this beach's unique reputation. Maybe Sonja just wanted to show us the local color. Well, our color was red, first from maidenly blushes, later from sunburn. You see, it is one of the country's few swimsuit-optional beaches. Well, far be it from us to look. We all put dark shades over our eyes and found ourselves a less frequented end of the beach. Except for Sam, who was checking out the hunky lifeguards. She thought she had died and gone to heaven, or at least to the set of Baywatch. She was eyeing this tall blonde one, batting her eyelashes and using her best Arizona accent to attract his attention - quite successfully, I might add. All we know is that we lost sight of her and a search and rescue team was sent out to find her. She was most indignant when they did.

Mary ventured into the water and started swimming with the dolphins. We had to have another lifeguard rescue her. She should have taken off those dark shades -- those were no dolphins. They were sharks!!!

Well, who should happen to show up, wearing bright Hawaiian shorts, but our friend Henry. Turns out he is a champion surfer and gladly offered to give us lessons. The waves were perfect -- reminded us older members of that 60s flick Endless Summer. We had varying degrees of success, but Gin was a natural at surfing, as if she had been doing it all her life. Lauren, meanwhile, paddled out to a rocky ledge -- and lo and behold, who did she find there but her old flame from our Arizona trip, her dear Pancho, who had been shipwrecked when his one-man sailboat that he was sailing around the world sank in a storm off the dangerous Cape. He was pretty waterlogged. It was fate, destiny, Kismet (Lauren: that's an inside joke!!). She decided to stay and nurse him back to health. We did not see her after that, so we hope she will send us a postcard and we wish her well! But what do we tell her grieving husband and crying kids?

To be continued.

Coming up in the last and final chapter of our saga: the jewel heist mystery solved; a grand safari; and a very special evening. Hope you are enjoying our (very fanciful) story. All in good fun! If we have accidentally left any names out, please excuse us. It is not intentional. Probably the aftereffects of all of Sonja's vintage Chardonnay. Your roving reporters, Tina and the wonderfully helpful Sonja

PART V - CONCLUSION

FINAL SIGHTSEEING

After our visit to that shocking beach, Sonja took us to Johannesburg. There were numerous other sights and delights she wanted to show us, but we were running out of time. She mentioned wonderful theater, dance and ballet that would have been of great interest to Michael, but these will have to wait for another visit. She arranged for us to take an escorted trip to the well-known Soweto township, where we visited a 'Shebeen' for some great jazz and a sumptuous dinner of African food (Pap again, and chicken feet in a gravy! Tina was now convinced that country had NOTHING for her to eat and was getting very hungry for some tofu and bean sprouts.)

SAFARI

After dinner, we drove to Sun City where we had luxury suites at the famous 'Lost City' Hotel. After a restful night's sleep, we were driven by bus for a special treat, a unique hot air balloon flight out over the Pilansburg nature reserve, savoring an exquisite champagne breakfast up in the clouds!! That got us into the spirit for one of the highlights of our trip, a visit to the famed Kruger National Park. We entered from the Malelani Gate on the Southern side and spent three incredible days driving (in our fleet of Land Rovers) north, staying over at camps like Skekuza, Letaba, and Punda Maria on the northern point. Here we saw every sort of exotic animal (our safari guides weren't bad either...), and some truly remarkable and unforgettable sights. Well, little did our dear Cheetah know that she would meet the man of her dreams there, the head of a group of cheetahs, named Simunye ("unity" in Zulu). It Was love at first sight. She bid us farewell and stayed on with Simunye, the two of them heading off to make some unity of their own, discreetly of course.

It was quite a safari, but our adventure was not over yet. Sonja insisted we view one of the wonders of the world. We boarded her private jet and flew out of South Africa to the north of Zimbabwe to see the wonders of Victoria Falls. We were taken on helicopters for a bird's eye view of the falls. For those who have seen the Grand Canyon or Niagara, this was a similar experience, not to be missed!

Back to Sun City in South Africa where we rested a bit, dusting off our now quite ripe-smelling Swazi wraps. Then came the real highlight of our visit, on our last evening in South Africa.

A GRAND CULTURAL EVENING

We were invited as special guests to that city's indoor Superbowl. In time with our visit was the Annual South African Music and Dance Spectacular, showcasing some of Southern Africa's finest performers. We were ushered to the luxury sky suite where we dined on lobsters and Sonja's wines. They even thoughtfully flew in Gardenburgers from the States for the starving Tina, who by this time had lost far more than those fabled 12 pounds Marnie is so jealous about. Sonja was rather embarrassed at our now dusty, muddy Swazi wraps so she kindly gave each of us, as a souvenir, a length of Zulu cloth in the colors of the South African flag. They matched our sunburns. We looked divine.
 
 

We were enthralled at the variety of styles of music and dance in the evening's program. We heard styles of music we never knew even existed. The evening began with 3 Afrikaans (white Dutch) groups who sang their typical 'Boeremusik' -- this is kind of a mixture of bluegrass, German 'Oompah' band sounds, and Dutch folk music, with a lot of accordion used. After a big round of applause, other groups took the stage in turn. We enjoyed listening to folk music from various ethnic groups from around South Africa and neighboring Namibia, Lesotho and Zimbabwe. Particularly unique was an a cappella group who sang songs punctuated with the Xhosa "click" sound that thoroughly mystified us. We tried to pronounce it but only ended up choking ourselves. What a wonderful mix of sounds and instruments and dances. Some of this was what is called Township music. Tin guitars, saxophones and trumpets combine into a wonderful mix of jazz. Even more haunting, however, was the traditional music with its amazing, complex, multilayered harmonies and rhythms set to drumbeats and traditional string and wind instruments. Their languages sounded so joyful and poetic. It was quite an experience for all of us.

The master of ceremonies came onstage and announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special surprise for you this evening. Please welcome the ambassadors of South African music, Ladysmith Black Mambazo!!" Sure enough, this famous ensemble took the stage. Some of us remembered first hearing them on Paul Simon's Grammy Award-winning CD Graceland, from around 1986. Never have we heard such beautiful harmonies as theirs. It was an honor to be in their presence. They sang 5 different songs. Then the announcer went up to the microphone again and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is truly an evening of surprises. Please welcome to our stage the one and only Paul Simon!!!" The applause was deafening. Paul Simon and Ladysmith's reunion! They sang some of the most memorable songs from the Graceland CD like the title song, Under African Skies, and Homeless. We all had goosebumps - it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Then Paul Simon himself stood before the microphone and said, "You all have seen on national television some of the adventures of an international group of women tourists who came here at the invitation of South Africa's millionaire patroness of the arts, Sonja. You saw the throng of thousands welcoming Nessie to Cape Town. You saw them in the ostrich races. You have been following their adventures on the nightly news. Well, the ladies are here with us tonight and we would like to invite them onstage for our final number. Ladies, please come on down!!!" Well, we just about gagged on our Wildebeest shish kebabs and Pap when we heard that. We each gulped down some of Sonja's vintage Riesling wine to give us "Dutch courage" and quickly headed to the stage in our new Zulu cloth wraps. The crowd cheered us as we reached the stage. But Chris, our good Alaskan, is not accustomed to wearing dresses in that cold and rugged state. She tripped and off fell her Zulu wrap! But she was dressed underneath in her trusty red flannel long johns. Paul Simon and Ladysmith started into Tina's favorite song from their CD. We ladies were caught up in the joy of the moment and simultaneously began to dance. We danced in unison, we danced with grace and abandon, a combination of highland reels, square dancing, jingle-dress, and a Rockettes-chorus-line thing. Chris danced so vigorously that the "drop seat" on her long johns unsnapped open. The rotund sight was caught live on national television. She will never live down the embarrassment! We hear someone sent her husband a videotape. He had to be taken to the shock-trauma unit, poor guy.

We kicked up our heels like crazy...And there is where the trouble began. We were wearing our worn-out, dusty hiking boots beneath our wraps. Under the bright stage lights, as Paul Simon sang the song "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes," the crowd gave a huge gasp. Unbeknownst to us, diamonds were indeed encrusted into the soles of our boots! How they sparkled and shone! The secret police handcuffed us and hauled us backstage for interrogation. In the meantime, Paul and the boys kept singing. The press was filming our predicament. But what we all figured out was that, when we visited Sonja's diamond mine, new asphalt had just been poured on her warehouse floor. A clumsy worker had tripped on the soft new floor and spilled a tray of her diamonds. We did not notice, although we felt something hard and crunchy under our boots. The asphalt and diamonds stuck to our soles. We were set free. But the number of diamonds on our boots were carefully counted. It came to only a fraction of what had been stolen. So the mystery remained. WHO DUNNIT???

Marnie had asked to be excused for a moment. The announcer said, "Ladies and gentlemen, our very special surprise for you all is a special performance by a world-renowned dancer, choreographer and actor who is in our midst to study our traditional dances. I give you Mr. Michael Greyeyes and the Plains Cree Powwow Ensemble!!!" The crowd went silent as the ceiling opened above the stage and in hovered Marnie's trusty little tartan spaceship. In a beam of light, out stepped none other than MG himself in full grassdance regalia, accompanied by a group of Cree dancers and drummers. No one in South Africa had ever seen such artistry. He was given a standing ovation. We managed to see him backstage and wish him well before he departed for Tanzania and Uganda. Princess Nessie was openly crying her lovesick heart out.

FOND FAREWELLS, AND UNSOLVED MYSTERY

At last came the moment to bid our fond adieu to our generous new friend Sonja for all she did for us. We all left a piece of our hearts in her beautiful adopted country and we dream of returning again for another adventure.

- Marnie and Princess Nessie boarded the little spaceship and headed back to Scotland where Nessie began the bureaucratic paperwork of reclaiming her castle and lands. The place was in total ruins, so she will have to rebuild. But the princess, if nothing else, learned patience in her four centuries under the evil Sassenach warlock's spell, so another 400 years rebuilding the place is nothing to her. This time she will put in modern conveniences, like a satellite dish and a Jacuzzi. Marnie offered to paint the place in Ndebele-inspired colors and began to offer interior decorating advice. They will probably turn the place into a bed and breakfast. After seeing her beloved sister safely back in Scotland, Marnie boarded her little spaceship and went home to Canada, to the arms of her faithful husband. Just one question for you immortals -- what is your secret for staying so young despite being over 400 years old? Oh, NO!!!! Don't tell me it is Haggis! I would rather grow old and wrinkled!!

- As you all know, Cheetah has stayed behind at the Park. She and Simunye have furnished their cozy new den and are making beautiful music together. She reports that their first litter of darling, cute, fluffy little fur balls may be on its way. Someone back home in the States is meowing mournfully for her.

- Ain't no way Vickie-Lee was gonna saddle up ol' Skippy the Bush Kangaroo and be hopped and banged and jumped (oops, that did NOT come out right!) all across India and Southeast Asia and back to the Outback again. That girl's posterior assets will stay black and blue for at least six more months. She had two choices, either to sell ol' Skip to a dogfood cannery, or to let him loose in Kruger National Park. At Tina's vociferous protestations, she chose the latter. She went home to Alice Springs and her adoring hubby via Qantas.

- Chris decided to take the long route home. She was offered free passage on a seafaring crab boat that was headed from the Cape eventually up to Alaska where it was planning its annual run for king crab. Being a good adventurous Alaskan, and a tough cookie to boot, she decided to go along. She signed on as ship's chef and nurse. So, if they get sick on her bad cooking, she can nurse them back to health. (I kid you not, I have a dear friend who worked like that on a king crab boat off the coast of Alaska for 2 years. I went to high school with her.) Her hubby and kids will have to wait about six months to see her. At this rate, it will be winter when she gets home. Then again, it is ALWAYS winter up there anyhow!

- The remainder of us went home to North America on South African Airways, to our respective husbands, lovers, and/or significant others and our kids who were pining away for us (yeah, right, more like -- yippee, Ma ain't around to nag us. Party time!!! This is cool!!). To rest up for our next adventure, which yours truly is sincerely hoping Marnie will write because I have writer's cramp. All of us left, that is, except three of our distinguished members. AND THEREIN LIES THE UNSOLVED MYSTERY OF THE DIAMOND HEIST.

Was it Theresa, who secretively sneaked away in the middle of the night to rendezvous with Adrian on a brand-new, supersonic submarine pirate ship? Pirates are few and far between in this day and age, and they don't find the gold doubloons and ducats they did 300 years ago. So where did the money come from to buy this mega-million dollar ship? Last we heard, they were headed toward Rarotonga.

Was it Lauren, who had already left our group to join Pancho? It was no coincidence that she "found" him on that rocky ledge near the swimsuit-optional beach. Rather, it was pre-arranged, carefully and calculatedly. Was he really shipwrecked? No one knows for sure. But we found out that she bought him a luxurious yacht that once belonged to Onassis. She's an accountant, for pete's sake, so unless she embezzled millions, how else might she have gotten the money to buy such a ship? Rumor has it (actually, Lauren – the blabbermouth - spilled the beans herself) that they too are headed to their new thatched bungalow on Rarotonga. I have it on good authority that a certain Adam is captain of the ship. Could this be a menage-a-trois? Shocking.

Or was it Tina, who mysteriously disappeared, abandoning her Latin lover and the CERES-juice-starved kid? The Wall Street Journal and the Financial Times of London both reported today that a mysterious, anonymous, and fabulously rich woman (beautiful too after transforming herself with expensive plastic surgery -- a few nips and tucks and general maintenance) with an odd-sounding name had just bought herself her own island country. Rarotonga. Which she has renamed Tinatonga. Rumor has it that Henry Cele likes tropical islands....

Stay tuned for our next adventure. Our love to all the wonderful people of South Africa for sharing their kindness, their culture, their music, and their food with us (we will forego the rusks and that nasty Pap stuff next time, though), and for the memories that will stay with us for many lifetimes to come. Thanks also to Michael and to Henry for sharing part of our visit. We hope to see you again soon. Hope you all enjoyed the story. Nice comments welcome. Nasty comments will subject you to being placed in a most compromising situation in our next story!!!

Love to all,

Tina and Sonja