203 - “Wild” Encounters And Storms River Mouth (Eastern/Western Cape, South Africa)
AFTER ADDO ELEPHANT NATIONAL PARK, we went south along the coast of Eastern Cape to the Storms River Mouth area. We spent two glorious nights camping on the ocean (Storms River Mouth Rest Camp), lulled to sleep by the incessant crashing of waves. Not even an abundance of tourists can spoil that place. Go.
The area is famous for the Otter Trail, a stunning five-day/four-night hike along the coast. Not doing this hike is one of my biggest regrets in South Africa. Huts on the trail are booked long in advance and self-camping is not allowed. Upon arrival, we discovered there were seven open spots for the following day. Unfortunately, we weren’t prepared. We’d just purchased perishable food items and needed at least a day to ready our gear. In retrospect, that was a terrible excuse. We should’ve gone for it. That was all kinds of stupid fucking dumb.
Anyone can do part of the first section leading to a magnificent oceanside waterfall. We spent a few hours taking it in. The place is incredible. And while I showered beneath the frigid waters of the falls, gazing out to sea, I realized our colossal error in passing up the trail. A dastardly seabird agreed, pilfering our bag of nuts/raisins to punish us. Dirty bastard.
At night, we sat on the jagged rocks staring out to sea and sipping cheap, delicious South African wine while watching darkness slowly blanket the coastline. All this to the sound of ardent lesbians (it was someone’s birthday) raging like rock stars around the cabins behind us. They were having so much fun, it almost made me wish I was a lesbian.
After Storms River, we traced the coastline, then hung a right at George and headed north to the city of Oudtshoorn, the ostrich capital of the world. One can purchase just about any part of ostrich anatomy for consumption (ostrich meat is delicious) or otherwise. (Feather duster, anyone?) We found a pleasant caravan park in which to pitch our tent, operated by an amiable older gentleman more than happy to tell us about the area. It seems friendly folk in the hospitality industry (in any country) are becoming scarce. Oh, the irony.
The next morning was ridiculous. No excuses. We showed up at the Cango Wildlife Ranch to experience the thrill of our very own “Wild Encounter.” I deserved to get my ass kicked. Can’t blame Leslie on this one. My idea. My shame.
I’d read you could frolic with cheetahs, tigers, and lions, and even cage dive with crocs. I knew the potential for cheesiness was high, but I couldn’t resist the urge to touch those majestic furballs. So, when I read about Cango, I thought it might be worth a shot. They created a Cheetah Preservation Foundation in 1988 and seemed to have their shit together. Most of the big cats on hand were all rescues and unable to survive in the wild, though a select number of cheetahs were eligible for rehabilitation and release. I knew it was a glorified zoo, but still thought spending a few moments up close would make the setting tolerable. Wish in one hand, shit in the other… plop.
Though hesitant, we signed up for a guided tour of Cango. Our small group included only adults. You’d think without kids, our guide would’ve skipped the “Welcome to the long-lost city of Bullshitusdonavia, where you’ll discover strange and wonderful beasts” routine. Nope. I’ll give her credit. She pulled it off with a straight face. The same can’t be said for me. She was new and clearly wanted to nail it. Can’t fault her for that.
We saw some interesting animals (pygmy hippos, lemurs, crocodiles, white lions, white tigers, rare bush pigs, meerkats, etc.), but I’ve never been a fan of zoos. I realize they’re vital as teaching instruments, but no matter how you slice it, wild animals should be in the wild… grunt.
This did not bode well for our “encounter.” We ignored our instincts. And, if you’re going to go for it, you might as well go all in. We paid for the cheetah and baby white tiger experience. First to the cheetahs. I’d assumed we’d be accompanied by experienced trainers or wildlife experts, as opposed to, say, teenagers. What happens when you assume?
I barely remember what happened. I do recall lots of stress, not from being near the animals, but from the high-intensity quasi-photo shoot that ensued. While I was attempting to acquaint myself with Chester Cheetah, the chaperones (i.e. children with authority) kept urging me to smile, look up, look here, and the like while snapping photos with two different cameras (one of them mine).
Chester started licking my hand, but I guess this was flirting with death. The action was summarily quashed by Johnny Teenager. Snap. Click. Smile. Get-the-fuck-out! Awesome. I do remember stroking Chester and discovering his entire body reverberating from robust purring. And their eyes are spellbinding. So big. So alluring. It makes you want to curl up and take a nap with the furry fuckers. The aura was dispelled a tad when I watched them devouring raw donkey meat. Breakfast of champions.
We were then shuffled off to the white tiger cubs, where we repeated the rushed, meth-addled experience. After it was over, it took a moment to emerge from the fog. One hundred dollars well spent… or not. We did get free printed photos to relive our “Wild Fucking Encounter… Grrrrrrrrrrrr” for many years to come. It could’ve been incredible. I blame myself. I should’ve stood up and screamed, “All right, kids. Cut the shit. I don’t give a rat’s ass about photos, so knock it off. I just want to sit here and pet these magnificent muther fucking kitties while savoring the moment. I signed a release, so let them tear my face off if they want. I’m not four. I’m a big boy. Fuck off!” Next time.
My headshots for a Mentos commercial… The Freshmaker!
We’d planned on visiting an ostrich farm after Cango, but were so disenchanted by the prospect of another tourist trap, we bagged it. Instead, we drove north and did a loop through the Swartberg Pass and back to Oudtshoorn. On the way, we bypassed the Cango Caves, reputed to be lovely. One look at the hordes piling in was enough to dissuade us. We just felt like drivin’, ya dig?
Come the morning, we left Oudtshoorn, but not before remembering to inquire about a “meerkat experience” organized by Grant McIlrath, the world’s foremost meerkat expert. You can’t just show up. You must arrange in advance, and it ain’t so cheap (approx. $90 per person). It was the “advance” aspect that discouraged us. We sent a few texts to the number provided in the Lonely Planet but failed to receive a response. Reluctantly, we moved on. Missing the meerkats would be the second-biggest regret about my trip to South Africa. Who the hell goes to Oudtshoorn and skips the meerkats? Assholes. That's who.
I often speak of “regrets” about the roads not taken during our Africa adventures. The truth is, we were enjoying each other’s company so thoroughly, nothing else mattered. We were together. We were happy and content. We were free…
“I’ve always said that I’m easily pleased, but hard to impress. Storms River Mouth, along the Eastern Cape, was one of the few places that left me wanting more – it was simply love at first sight. I could have easily spent days, if not weeks, spellbound – getting swept away by the sights and sounds of the ocean swells.
Regrettably, we didn’t partake in the five-day hike along the Otter Trail, but we did manage to spend an afternoon completing the first stage, along the coastline to a lovely waterfall. The Otter Trail is extremely popular and the park recommends making a reservation well in advance. On a whim, we inquired about cancellations and were pleasantly surprised. Several openings were available, but we’d have to depart the next morning. With not much time, we weighed the pros and cons. In the end, we decided against it. We were up against the clock and feeling unprepared. In retrospect, we could have pulled it off with a little extra effort. Sigh…
Regardless, I still feel lucky to have had two nights there. Side by side, we watched the waves break with our coffee in the morning and wine in the evening. We talked. We laughed. We listened to lesbians sing. I was in good company and it was bliss – pure bliss.”
Leslie Peralta, “In Good Company (Storms River Mouth)” — Soledad: Notes From My Travels
“Few experiences in life have left me feeling more ridiculous than when I walked out of the Cango Wildlife Ranch in Oudtshoorn. I wanted to smack myself. I wanted to pummel Rich. I wanted to ring the necks of every half-wit teenage employee within the facility. I also wanted a refund.
I am fascinated by most wildlife, especially cats – big cats (not the kibble eating kind). Lions, Tigers, Cheetahs, Leopards – they’re amazing. When Rich told me that we could get up close and personal with these furry friends, I was skeptical. I usually shy away from these types of activities, but after reading about Cango, specifically their Cheetah Conservation Foundation, I was cautiously optimistic. It seemed that if I wanted to have an encounter with these animals, this would be the best place to do it. Sure, it might be a little cheesy, but I could handle that in exchange for 15 minutes of playtime.
When we arrived, we were grouped with a handful of adults and given a guided tour of the grounds. I enjoyed watching the Pigmy Hippos, Lemurs, and Flying Fox’s, but I could have done without our guides Disney Land display. If we were part of the 12 and under crowd, I’d be all for it, but that was not the case. In fact, I’d be willing to bet I was the youngest one there (besides our guide). That seems to always be the case, no matter where I go.
After completing the tour, we coughed up the cash, and headed to the back. We both opted to spend time with adult Cheetahs and baby White Tigers. The Cheetahs were first. It’s hard to put into words just how amazing they are. They’re incredibly gentle, purr when you pet them, and have the most mysterious big black eyes. I wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with them.
All was going well for the first minute or two, but alas, all good things must come to an end. The ‘keepers’ swept in and we were lost in flurry of activity. Young, obnoxious little boys, snapping photos left and right, barking orders at us – and just like that… it was over. Next was the White Tiger cubs. The same whirlwind ensued, but primarily around Rich. I sat there, hovering over a little one while he drank. To be honest, I think they took one look at Rich and thought ‘jackpot’. All you have to do is glance at the photos below. He struts in there looking like Fabio with his pearly white smile and coiffed mane – it’s an advertisement in the making. Sorry, Rich… you know it’s true. I bust up every time I look at them.
We walked out of there, feeling slightly confused about what just happened. Our senses were overwhelmed…and not in a good way. Without talking, we both knew exactly what the other was thinking: did we really just drop $100 on that? The answer is yes. Yes, we did.
We were hoping the experience would be enjoyable and educational, but in the end it was a glorified photo shoot. No matter how you toss it, we still had the chance to be around them, so it wasn’t a total loss. Hopefully, with enough feedback, they swap out the kids for qualified professionals. With a few tweaks, it has the potential to be something truly special.
Oudtshoorn happens to be the Ostrich capital of the world, with farms surrounding the city. We intended to visit one, but after our Cango experience, we were feeling a little dejected. We needed to get away. The next morning we hit the open road, making a loop through the Swatberg Pass. The sun was shining, scenery stunning, and we were smiling. For an afternoon, all was right with the world.”
Leslie Peralta, “Here, Kitty-Kitty” — Soledad: Notes From My Travels