We decided to try out look seeing them in Shamwari Game reserve in Port Elizabeth a two hour flight from Cape Town.
The big 5 was coined by big-game hunters and refers to the five most difficult animals in Africa to hunt on foot: the lion, the African elephant, the Cape Buffalo, the leopard and the rhinoceros, either the black rhinoceros or the white rhinoceros.
Unfortunately, the big five are among the most dangerous animals on the planet so as such they have been hunted aggressively with huge reductions in their numbers of late.
For those of you that don't know alot about them as I didn't before the trip here's a small animal lesson on each:
The Lion (Panthera leo) is a large carnivorous feline of Africa and northwest India, having a short tawny coat, a tufted tail, and, in the male, a heavy mane around the neck and shoulders.
The African elephant (Loxodonta Africana) is a very large herbivore having thick, almost hairless skin, a long, flexible, prehensile trunk, upper incisors forming long curved tusks of ivory, and large, fan-shaped ears. There are two distinct species of African elephant: African Forest Elephant (Loxodonta cyclotis) and the African Bush Elephant (Loxodonta africana).
The African Buffalo or Cape Buffalo (Syncerus caffer) is a large horned bovid. It is the most dangerous of the Big Five, reportedly causing the most hunter deaths.
The Leopard (Panthera pardus) is a large, carnivorous feline having either tawny fur with dark rosette-like markings or black fur. Leopards are the most difficult to acquire hunting licenses for and are often difficult to hunt due to their behavior and their nocturnal feeding habits. Leopard hunting usually overlaps several weeks of baiting.
The Rhinoceros is a large, thick-skinned herbivore having one or two upright horns on the snout. In Africa, there are two distinct species of rhinoceros; the Black Rhinoceros (Diceros bicornis) and the White Rhinoceros (Ceratotherium simum). Both of these species have two upright horns on the snout.
This was the first time we had gone game driving at it certainly is exciting the first time you start to head out into the bush in a small jeep with a fully loaded gun on the bonnet of the car just in case you have any difficulties. Our first ride started at 4.30pm just after we arrived from an hour's taxi from the local airport. It was lashing out of the heavens but we were determined to see what we could find...
I’ve always wanted to visit and always knew I would. Landing in Cape Town was with mixed emotions. I could feel the sense of history around. If ever a fascinating country be, this I knew from my pre-study was one of the best from which I could further my education.
It was the land of two oceans: Atlantic and Indian. It was at the very southern tip of the massive continent with neighbours such as Namibia and its famous jagged dunes, Bostwana with the incredible rich diversity of the world famous Okavango Delta. . Zimbabwe and a batter and bruised people with one of the world’s longest reigning despots, to the east Mozambique and its beautiful coastline and last but not least tribalism personified in the mountain men of Lesotho with their incredible Drakensberg Range and the brave Zulu tribes of Swaziland. It was the land where the Dutch and Portuguese set up early colonies. With the Dutch deciding that the Cape should be set up as a farm for its Dutch East India Company exploits to offer its sailors a resting point and an opportunity to search for hidden gold and diamonds. Then in 1806 the British had their time as overlords and encourages its expansion by soliciting the Boers (Dutch, Flemish, German and French settlers) to take plots of lands and build a thriving communities. Conflicts as we know ensued and with despicable Berlin conference of 1848 the crude lines that divide many tribes unfairly across the continent and which lead to the current map we have of Africa was unfairly drawn.
Going from the airport to the Cape was a sad moment. The famous “Cape Flats”shanty towns where tens of thousands of disadvantages black south African’s were hoarded into stuck out like a sore thumb on the horizon. They gnawed at me and insulted everything good in the world. As our taxi speeded by they reminded me of the other such camps of deprivation I had seen before: the slums of Rio and the horrible disease ridden sardine like shacks of Mumbai. This time a different country, but the same old story. I had seen it before and knew it well: inequality, rapaciousness and apathy of the grossest form. All 7 deadly sins were visceral and very much alive. However, as a i studied an old women holding a small dusty dog beside her shack I reminded myself tha this was not the time for introspection. I was conscious while acknowledging the indigenous peoples’ plight and the tremendous social, economical and racially fueled fight they still had on their hands and the false dawns once promised after Mandel’s reign, I was on my honeymoon. There would be another time to think of such issues and I would have time to see my own interpretation of the balance truth of how things for the different demographics in this complex society actually was.
As we passed the towns, and I started to stare at the beautiful Table Mountain one last thought entered my minds as we left the poor behind so quickly. It was that of one of my hero’s ( Professor Muhammad Yunus) dreams - that maybe some day my childrens children’s children would only have to see such poverty in a museum - museum’s of poverty. No longer real in the world. Just relics of a past brutal immature time when man had shrieked some of its essential responsibilities to look after the planet and each other. No more slums, shanty towns or favellas. World Peace. The eradication of poverty as we know it on the earth. (You can learn more about Professor Yunus, his pioneering work on micro-banks and why this eminent Bangledeshi received his Nobel prize, here). As I stared at the unusually beautiful chunk of rock that gives Cape Town such a dramatic setting I quietly smiled to myself, and was content, that with men like Muhammed Yunus and the mighty Mandela, life was beautiful, and I thanked God I was now about to explore one of the world's most beautiful cities with my equally beautiful new wife!
It's kind of hard to describe the happiest day of your life so far.I'm not even going to try. I hope this video here and these small section of photos give you a feel for what it was all about.
As we sat in the Jury’s hotel reception room 5 minutes away from Dublin airport munching on some chips, crisps and chicken sandwiches the night before the 9.20am flight the next day to London and onto Paraty, Rio the scene was set and the protagonists with varying degrees of travel experience insitu in high spirits. I love that feeling just before you are about to go travelling. It was here again. After receiving a warm heartfelt best wishes phone call from my godmother who finished with a “look after your mother” I sat back and took a moment to ponder on the momentous journey that was about to unfold and the loved ones who were coming along for the ride. For me the journey would consist of: Dublin-London-Rio-Paraty-Ilha Grande-Rio-Buenos Aires-Cape Town-Port Elizabeth-Johannesburg-Port Louis- Paris-Dublin. A generous 5 weeks off work and 6 countries to traverse. For the others 1 week which would consist of Waterford-Dublin-London-Rio-Paraty-Rio-London-Dublin and the final leg back down the road to Waterford.
Munching into a well cooked chicken breast with some chips was my beautiful mother. Omnipresent in my life and forever with me where ever I go. This time she was coming with me. With two flights in her life, on both occasions to England ( to visit her sister and her sister’s family) this was the biggest trip of her life, bar none, and probably always would be. She was nervous but excited. My father had never flown before. Eventhough he would argue that he flies in the cold waters of Tramore everyday of the week as he dives, floats and breast strokes in the cold south eastery waters of Ireland. A great man about to go on (at least physically) a great journey: an turas fada. Calm, collected but also excited I enjoyed knowing that he was about to experience a wonderful trip that I hoped would give him many new colours to dip into when painting pictures of the soul. Normally one to travel inside. He was about to go outside. I knew, more than anyone else, he would probably be the main benefactor from the experience. Having got lost already using the lift in Jury’s to find his room I smiled to myself knowing that this was going to be unforgettable for my Dad and for all of us.
My brother Joseph, his wife Eleanor and their beautiful all singing all dancing daughter Ellen were next. All experienced veteran’s of the air with countless miles racked up after numerous trips to the US and Europe. However, this trip would be completely different to any they had been on before. It would be late 30’s in temperature. They would have to manage a country where not a lot of English was in use and also the food would be a lot more different than probably anything they had experienced before. Whether they would enjoy it or not I wasn’t full sure.
Then to make up the final elements of the travelling party was my childhood friend Bryan Walsh and his lovely wife Gillian. Both had been to Brazil with me before for the carnival and both where making a big sacrifice of leaving their two children for a week to come and be present at my wedding. Something I will always be grateful to them for. The Walsh’s a bit like Joseph come from the modern Irish travelling generation, as I did, that had been blessed to see the world. This trip for both of them would be a walk in the park. With a couple of books and a glass of wine once we left London they’d drift off to sleep on the plane as if they had caught the train from Plunket station in Waterford to Heuston station in Dublin.
At the table with the usual sounds of a busy hotel in the air I took a moment to think to myself as myriad images came to the fore. I grabbed at them and help to one. It was gratitude. Gratitude for getting to this stage in my life with so many loved ones beside me. Gratitude for being lucky enough to be marrying such a wonderful women: Camila Montilha de Morales, soon to be Fitzgerald. Gratitude to be so privileged in life to be able to do the things I was about to do while Hait’s castrophe still roared and the plights of so many people’s silent and unheard cries rose to the heavens with no one to hear with no one to hear nor defenders in sight. Here I was muching chips, crips and chicken with the most important people in my life getting ready to go to Rio. I felt extreme contentment and happiness.
Approximately 24 hours later we were outside our hotel the Rio Othan, on Copacobana, listening to the waves, sipping on some agua de coco and caipirinha’s and saying hello to my good friend Robbie Griffin who had made his way down alone the day before from Dublin. To my surprise, everything had gone smoothly and there was no issues. My mother’s asthma had not played up and neither was the heat causing her any problems. My dad had enjoyed the trip and was enjoying the foreign surroundings of the beach and all the little peculiarities that the new local had to offer.
Like an expedition to the Himalayas Mam and Eleanor had planned well. At least a years planning went into their bags. And I’m sure my mother had gone on many trip to Clonmel and Kilkenny with my wonderful Aunt Una (who I’m sure had her part to play in making all plans were double checked). My brother had walkie talkies ready for all to use. My father bought his first pair of prescription shades and half a pharmacy and half a swimming pool was with us. Thankfully, the flights went well, and we all got to the beautiful Atlantico Avenue, Copacobana, and our lovely hotel the Rio Othan, with enough time to spare to have some tasty steak and onions washed down by a coconut water. We all sat there taking in the beautiful beach and happy that we had arrived. There was a lot to do the following day and Rio as all who have been there know has much to offer.
Christ the Redeember or as the locals call it O Cristo Redentoris the iconic statue of Christ that towers over the city. It stands 39.6 metres (130 ft) tall and 30 metres (98 ft) wide. It weighs 635 tons , and is located at the peak of the 700 metres (2,300 ft) Corcovado mountain in the Tijuca Forest National Park overlooking the city. It is one of the tallest of its kind in the world and the Fitzgerald family was very impressed when we paid it a visit.
Besides the beauty of the vista from the top, which is one of the best I have ever sceen we also got a chance to visit the tiny tiny church at the heel of the statue. Most visitors don't even know it is there. I pointed it out to my father who promintly gathered the trops in probably the smallest church any of us had been in to say a decade of the rosary in Irish. I’m pretty certain it was probably the only decade of the rosary ever said there in Irish. It was a forever moment to remember. Afterwards we gently descended down the newly created escalators and then made our way to do some shopping and try find my Dad a pair of sandels.
That night we all went to a churrascariaor Braziliansteakhouse. Churrasco is the cooking style, which translates roughly from the Portuguese for 'barbecue'.Camila and I had planned carefully and we were all booked into the best one in Rio: Porcao, or the big pig! The word barbeque for Irish people conjurs up an image of back gardens, spits, charcoal, burgers, sausages and chicken wings. For the more adventurous it might mean marinated chicken breasts, scallops, monk fish, squid and some quickly flipped mackerel. For the Brazilian’s it’s very very different. Picture a huge salad and sushi table 4/5 meters in circumference with lots of exotic cheeses, pastas and vegetables with a generous offering of Japanese style foods and cheese breads. This is the starters offered with local Gurana drink, coconut juice, soft drinks and wines. Next you get a picture of a cow divided into over 13 cuts. You also get 2/3 waiters, per person! On your table, like a beer matt, you have a green piece of cardboard on the front and red on the back. When you flip it to green, you are giving a signal to the waiters to come at you as quick as possible with as many meets as possible for you to eat. When the signal in red, it mean’s leave us alone, to try digest what we had eaten. And so on and on it goes. Plate after plate. Dish after dish. Drink after drink. But the cow is only half the story! Then comes the chicken, all sorts of fishes and they don’t call it the Big Pig for nothing. Lot’s of bacon on offer and lot’s of fillers like melted mozarella cheese, empanadas, onion rings, fried banana fritters and chips all a mere nod and a wink to a waiter away. Churrascaria’s are built for international rugby teams that haven’t ate for days. They are built for gormandisers of meat who delight on salty, perfectly cooked, slivers of tender rump or picanaha steak that’s juices are just as nice as the meet itself. They are unforgettable food and drink marathons. If ever I was on death row and a I was asked what would be my last meal. A churrascaria standard all inclusive menu in the Big Pig, Rio, would be my unanimous choice.
It was a food education the Fitzgerald family won't forget and for and all in 50 euros for 2 hours and and as much food as you could eat great value. I can’t wait to go back… From Porcao it was a taxi back to the Othan Palace, early to bed, to get ready to catch the bus the next day for the beautiful sleepy town of Paraty!
While going back through some of my old posts I found a draft I had half written on Las Rambles when I lived in Barcelona. Here is is with a few snaps.
Las Rambles is by far Barcelona's most famous street. It's a bit like Grafton street come Moore street on speed. Imagine a road twice as long and twice as wide as Dublin's premier shopping street with the local fervor and edge of Moore street. Think of the countless processions of people along Istanbul's Istiklal Caddesi and all the colour and life of Copenhagen's Strøget. Colour abides, noise envelops and movement is as constant as the waves that hit Tramore bay in my home town on a cold blustery day in December.
There are two ways to access this street. One is from the impressively rejuvenated port area to the south of the city and the other is to the north off Praca Catalunya. I study in a school close to Passeig De Gracia, just off Catalyuna and often find myseld walkng down the street that way before I get the turn off for Barrio Gothica, El Borne, and home in Vila Olmpica beside the fantastic Arc De Triomf and Parc Ciuadella Vila.
The moment you stand outside Cafe Zurich, the eponymous Swiss drinking hole that faces Ramblas you can feel you are about to enter a living breathing pulsating capital thorough fair. At the top of the street is a metro stop and lots of youth loitering around the entrance waiting for friends or loved ones, or selling cheap cans of Estrella beer for 2 euros a can if they can get it or more than often 1 euro if you laugh at their original overture. Once you get past the first few meters the fun begins. On any given days as you walk down the 3km you get to see local tourism paraphernalia sellers a bit like Connolly's back home. You then get a large number of "Hola" magazine and book sellers and more than a fair share of small restaurants and beer sellers.
Fun to walk down but BEWARE it is infamous for pick pockets and DANGEROUS at night.
There is nothing quite like having a nice meal, in a really hip restaurant, on the 13th floor of a hotel looking down on the busy Bosperous as you watch boats of all shapes and sizes, their lights, like reflecting pin pricks in the river, dancing in competition with the pall of stars over a jet black Turkish sky. Especially, if the restaurant is as cool as, Vogue.
What I like about the Bosperous at night is the sheer business of the river. There seems like a constant parade of ships up down and across. Then you have the beautiful minarets on the horizon announcing Islams presence all around and then you have the thousands of local fishermen on bridges and on the river's side chatting to each other and swishing their hooks overhead.
Last night I met a very nice gentleman called John who works for Microsoft for the Middle East and African region (MEA). He told me a little about his fascinating life and what it's like to live in Istanbul for 3 years. John, has 5 children, 2 from a previous relationship from his ex-wife, two that his current Turkish wife had from a previous relationship and one that they had together, a 3 year old girl.
John told us all about the kamikaze culture of the car drivers here; the calmness and tranquility that the Bosperous gives to so many locals at night, the fear that the country is going to experience another earthquake soon, the fact that there is little or no Irish community in Istanbul for him to hang out with, the huge appetite that Turkey has at a grass roots level to join Europe, while the current political leadership seems to be slowly steering itself to the Arab world.
When asked about Ireland. He dreams of living in West Cork, Baltimore but feels that the economic recovery in the country will probably take a decade if not longer to reaslise itself. John, was a colourful character full of interesting facts and stories. He kindly brought Camila and I to the water's front after our meal where we walked at midnight along the coast as we visited smoking tea shops, bought popcorn and candy floss, and tried our best to converse with the locals. We watched the fishermen laughing and chatting incessantly as the water bounce and flicker as the moon sent it's beams crashing off the top of a giant mosque beside. Young adolescents dotted on the grass in the local park, playing guitars, dancing and kissing. It was easy to see why John loves Istanbuls so much and why he is proud to now call it his "home".
I’ve just come from Cairo were I was staying two days to do some work with the local recruitment team. The traffic was as bad as ever (the worst I’ve ever seen, bar India). The pyramids majestic and imperial as I glanced at them through a slow moving taxi. The crimson alabaster horizon descending on the water of the Nile as it twinkled and shimmered beside Cairo tower. White soldiers in their black berry hats as ubiquitous as I remembered.
On this occasion I had the good fortune to have a lovely dinner with 4 of my Muslim colleagues from Egypt. The trip will be memorable for the open and candid conversations on far ranging topics and one very interesting conversation in particular where I learned some interesting facts about Islamic faith:
1. Muslims refrain from eating meat where the animal has not been slaughtered with all the blood removed from its body. They believe the cleansing of the blood from the carcass removes unhealthy toxins that should be avoided for a longer life.
2. When getting up at 4am for the first prayer of the day, which normally last 3 minutes, they get extra “credits” if they wash their face in cold water before they return to sleep.
3. A Muslim man can have many wives. My taxi driver had 4.
4. A Muslim man can marry a Christian woman. However, a Muslim woman can only marry a Christian if he agrees to convert to Islam. She is forbidden from converting to Christianity.
5. Muslims in Egypt think that the Libyan accent is very swave and sexy.
6. Muslims vehemently believe that God is God; Mohammed is his prophet, they should travel to Mecca once in their life time and also they should be generous to the poor.
7. The wearing of traditional head garments is optional but often influenced by parents and grandparents.
8. There is little or no Sunni Muslims in Egypt.
These people were the perfect hosts and introduced me to a treasure throve of foods from Lebanon, Turkey and Egypt, the most of which I have forgotten the name of. They bought me sugar cane drinks and beer and told me all about the local music behemoths and latest up and comers. A great night out and I look forward to more like that in the future.
On this occasion I got the chance again to go face-to-face with the inimitable Tutankhamen mask. This time like the last time there wasn’t as many tourists around and I had a very good informative local guide to myself that I paid a very well worth 10 euros for one hour. After looking at Tutankhamen’s beguiling chairs, urns, weapons, jewellery and pottery (and despite a guard shouting “stop that photo” to a tourist beside me who had tried to take a photo of the mask with his iPhone) the time I spent looking at the riches of the young King’s tomb, in his sarcophagus chamber, was quite and tranquil with only a few others around. As I studied the mask and stared unflinchingly into its eyes a calmness and happiness entered me. I felt as if I could have stayed there happily for hours, days or even eons. Calmness pervaded the air, as if the air itself was leaving off some noble scent that allowed me magically time travel. I have been very lucky to travel as far and as wide as I have. For the minute or two I stood silent looking at the mask I transported myself to other locations I have been and that have imprinted themselves in my mind as clear as a deep inscription in an Ohm stone that has stood the tests of time. I looked deep inside and what came out were memories of the Pantheon when the air from the main chamber hit my eye as I peered through the main door at night. The first approach to Machu Pichau early in the morning as the condor flied overhead; the women and their fragile silk sewing machines of Luang Prabang; the dancing with local Chinese on a cold Friday night in Beijing in a small remote square beside the Shangri-La hotel. Many of these moments came back to me while looking at the mask. Like the treasure all around I couldn’t help but feel that like Tutankhamen and I had something in common that words could not express - and, written not in hieroglyphics, Greek, Latin, English or Arabic but with the ink of the rambling vagabond spirit.
When Adidas marketing executives came up with their “Impossible is Nothing” campaign they must have got their inspiration from this sun blasted rich state of glamour and glitz on the Arabian peninsula. The local incumbent ruling tribe spear headed by its leader Sheik Mohammad’s imagination has gone into over drive. Where his brother and father have finished he has boldly taken up the baton and on behalf of the United Arab Emirates nationals propelled his new country onto the map of the world with incredible speed and ostentation.
There are lists of lists of world’s firsts in Dubai and the Sheik has no plan in stopping any time soon with the world’s largest playground: Dubailand and the “world” project well under way.
However, on the flipside, Dubai has grown fast and furiously and from what I can see it is experience its fair share of growing pains with Abu Dabi and its hegemony of power beginning to question the speed and manner in which its sister city has grown so quickly. The recession has come in many ways at a good time for the city and the over inflated economy has begun to come back to some sense of reality and normality of late.
Arab culture is rich and fascinating and I have enjoyed my time here immensely. It has been interesting to study the local Emirati people from the lens of tourist and to wonder about how life for these people who constitute only 20% of Dubai’s 1.4 million people must be. There wealth is obvious and their desire to be modern and innovative is carefully woven with their strong beliefs in their faith and their desire to delicately preserve their nomadic desert heritage and religious Islamic fervour and devoutness.
A bit like Shanghai there is a palpable taste of opportunity in the air and the hot sun that beats down with oppression at mid day at well over 35 degrees seems to remind that with hard work and inspiration man can conquer the desert and that fortunes are to be made for the bold and the brave. As with all emerging markets that hold such cities of opportunity its culture is evolving quickly and tradition and modernity are getting to know each other in many clashes and embraces. Rich business men each day are seizing countless opportunities, spreading the word of capitalism and getting rich. While the drum beats of inequality and culture divides is silently but steadily heard with every brick that is laid by an underpaid, overworked, construction worker from Pakistan, India or Bangledesh that toils in well over 45 degrees of heat at mid day.
Acknowledging what is happening across all the social strata in the city ads to the alluring complexity of the city that demands understanding and questioning and also repect. Since coming here I find myself constantly quizzing taxi men and waiters that I have had the chance to meet about their interpretation of Dubai life. The replies have been wide and varied. With most being appreciative of the opportunities they have received compared to working in their home countries and others counting the days until they leave. A lot have mentioned the fact they can earn good money and the fact that the country as being “secure” as being some of the main motivations for being here. Others complain about strict traffic penalties, high rental costs and “apartheid” like tendencies from the local Arabs on the negative side.
I am here on a trip with Microsoft to the region which includes a whistle stop tour of Cairo and Istanbul. Of late I have been asked to take some sourcing project management responsibilities for Middle East and Africa (MEA) and I am down here to learn from the local recruitment and HR teams and get to know them and the market they operate in.. The region comprises of all the African continent, the Gulf as well as eastern Mediterranean. Our main hubs of activity are in Dubai, Israel, Cairo, Nairobi and Johannesburg and spreading out from these locations are teams that look after a lot more of the smaller markets that constitute all the other countries in the region. It will take years to understand the region to the level of detail I would like and to build the relationships I need. This trip is a good start.
Luckily, I have had the opportunity to fly in and spend the weekend here before doing my meetings on Monday and Tuesday. Taking the excellent on-off city “Big Bus” tour guide has been my introduction to the city and it represents very good value for 20 euros for 24 hours with a lot of free admission and a boat ride across the creek at Deira all thrown in for good measure. I’ve also had a chance to visit the “Lost Chambers” and the “Aqua Adventure” park in the newly opened Atlantis hotel which sits imperious at the top of the first Palm island situated in close proximity to the world famous Burj Al Arab. I’ve also visited some amazing hotels for lunch and dinner. I have never in all my travels seen so many incredible, lavish hotels. 5 stars are the norm here. My taxi driver informed me that on the trunk of the Palm alone that they are planning thirty three 5 star hotels all in the space of a couple of kilometres! For those who enjoy luxury and pampering this city, by far, offers the best range of hotels the world has to offer in such high concentration. So far the stand out ones I have had a chance to visit have been: Jumeriah Beach and Dubai Marine.
I’m looking forward to coming back again. Who knows what “world’s firsts” will be added to the Sheik’s list by the time I get here. With Abu Dhabi successfully launching the first F1 race and having announced the coming of the Louvre and Guggenheim museums their brotherly rivalry seems to have only started!
