Central and South America, while quite far from home, always felt like I was still in the neighborhood. Was it that it was in the same time zone, that it still was called "America," or that you could theoretically walk from my house to wherever I was? I dunno. But it never felt like I was really "away" as the Brits say.

Now I feel quite away. The bottom end of Africa. A continent I've never been to that also happens to foster mental images of wildness and danger. After six months, I'm finally way out there.

"Two things really make me mad about this."
But not without some problems. I mentioned before that South African Airways made me buy a useless ticket out of South Africa for proof of onward travel. This despite my possession of a confirmation of bus tickets out of the country. Two things really make me mad about this.

The tickets were refundable. "Fully refundable," they said. I could go to any South African Airlines office and get my money back. But after flying across the Atlantic Ocean and trying to get my refund, I'm told "Oh, no sir." Tickets can only be refunded at the office or agency that issued them. You'll have to go to our office in Sao Paulo, Brazil.

"Americans are never a problem."
Yeah. I was told I'd need to return to South America to get my money back. The people here in South Africa were also a bit peeved at the Brazil people for making me buy an extra ticket. "Americans are never a problem," they said. Passport control never asks Americans for proof of onward travel, and if they did the bus tickets would be quite sufficient.

So after some pleading, we put in motion the four-week process of refunding a ticket without going to the issuing office. There were forms in quadruplicate and presentation of passports, but supposedly things are happening. I suppose I can always dispute the charge with my bank.

"I never needed the plane tickets to start with."
I alluded to the second thing that makes me mad. I never needed the plane tickets to start with. Just for fun, I handed the passport control guy my bus ticket confirmation rather than the plane tickets. I was ready to show the plane tickets if necessary, but I wanted to see what would happen.

He didn't even look at the bus ticket. Just stamped me right in, no questions asked. I asked, though, if the bus tickets would have been sufficient if he'd checked them. "Oh yes," he says. "We only ask Americans for onward travel if they appear of say something odd, but these bus tickets are just fine." Right. If only he could have been with me in Sao Paulo the night before.

"All the mother tongue here."
How odd to hear so much English. There are apparently 11 official languages in South Africa, be everyone in the cities speaks English. And after six months in Latin America, it's weird to hear. The best part is going into bookstores where the English books are more than one shelf in the corner. All the mother tongue here, baby.

But oddly when entering a hotel or cab or store I still catch myself formulating the appropriate Spanish for the encounter. I've yet to accidentally say anything in the wrong language, apart from the "Como?" I said to an airport security guard who thought I was German and told me in that language to spread my arms and legs. I wish I could remember the German for "Spread your arms and legs." That would be interesting to know.

"Till then I'm un-jetlagging."
Dad and brother arrive tomorrow morning. Till then I'm un-jetlagging and walking around Cape Town's impressive waterfront. It's pretty much a giant outdoor mall, but a decent place to kill some time.

I know the entries haven't been all that adventurous for some time now. But some serious travel should be commencing soon. For those who are still with us, hang in there.

And by the way, if Toto's still wondering... it does rain in Africa. I saw it this morning.