Letter from the editor: August 2016

It was 6.30am and we were sneaking through the scrub single file, Nunu Jobe, Teagan Cunniffe and I. We had in sight a black rhino and her calf, and it was our goal to get as close to her as possible. We circled, stopping each time she and her oxpeckers might spot us. Then Nunu lucked upon a midden. This is where she would most likely head, he said. So we settled down close by to wait, the winter sun on our backs. Life felt wonderful.

Photo by Stuart Parker.

 
The mother ambled parallel to the hillside, and then began a slow curve down towards us. Next to the midden was a lone tree with a trunk like a woman tilting a provocative hip. The one-ton rhino was not heading to the midden – it was going to the most perfect of scratching posts. And five metres away from that was me, directly in her line of sight.

As she plodded on, her loudmouth lookouts set up an urgent cackle, which she roundly ignored. Until suddenly she didn’t, and in a nano-second five metres became three and then I could see the fibres of her super-precious horn. In that moment Nunu jumped in front of me, clapping hands and shouting, and the leathery juggernaut veered off to the side. So there are times I like it when a man comes between me and my nature. And there are times I don’t.

I used to have a morning ritual in Cape Town. I’d wake up at 5.45am every weekday and go for a run at Rhodes Memorial. I’d power up the paved road leading through the green grass and leafy oak trees that flanked it, marvelling at the lush assault of colour. I felt, being stuck in an office, that an eyeful of mountain calibrated my mood for the day.

When the Rhodes Rapist took up on the mountain, he took with it our peace of mind. Reluctantly, I switched to Rondebosch Common and other more public spaces, which invariably mean less nature. Security concerns are certainly not exclusive to South Africa – I have been robbed in Portugal, accosted in France, man-handled in Morocco. Neither are they limited to women travellers. But women experience vulnerability on a regular basis. All we can do is be aware and prepare where we can.

Women. Travel. Solo.

 
One thing that seems to safeguard travellers is tapping into a community of some kind. This is what Joonji Mdyogolo says in Women. Travel. Solo. on page 82. She is one of seven women, along with Nicole Biondi, who talk about their best trips and their smart strategies for travelling alone. There’s more: Melanie van Zyl journeyed alone to discover North West Parks’ hidden gems (page 88), and Kati Auld went to Doha, Qatar (page 98). Read these stories, plan your own trip, and plug into those around you, in the real world and virtually. Don’t let anyone steal your opportunities for beautiful experiences from you. Not one single moment!

Church of the Wild, by Scott Ramsay.

 
Also, don’t miss Scott Ramsay’s inspiring story Church of the Wild (page 72). I’d just make sure, whether you’re man or woman, to keep someone between you and the wild ones.

This month’s contributors

Steve Smith
The yin to the yang of his day job as editor of CAR magazine, Steve rides bicycles. He also writes books (a co-written autobiography of Ryan Sandes is the latest) somewhat better than he writes bios of himself in the third person. Read about his retro pedalling on page 94.

Nicole Biondi
Despite sharing the surname of a famous Italian swimmer, Cape Town-born Nicole can’t manage more than two lengths in the Sea Point pool. Something she is good at, however, is drinking red wine and travelling alone. Along with four others, she shares her top solo trips on page 82.

Giovanni Frescura
The award-winning Italian wildlife photographer is happiest when he’s immersed in nature’s silent spaces. He travels the world taking pictures – from the snowy northern reaches of Europe to the searing sands of Southern Africa. He headed to Iceland’s frozen tundra to capture the secret lives of Arctic foxes (page 66).

This story first appeared in the August 2016 issue of Getaway magazine.

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