Rubies of the Rubaiyat

O come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the rest is lies;
The flower that once has blown for ever dies.

You gotta love old Khayyam. The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam is the original paen to pleasure. Omar was a Persian poet who celebrated life between 1048 and 1131. He was into quatrains ... funky little self-contained stanzas ... whole and rich images of magic that rarely follow a sequential tempo or tenor. That said, the coastline of South Africa - the Cape, Garden Route, Sunshine Coast, and Transkei - forms a disparate series of topographic and cultural quatrains. Coasts and quatrains? Just what in the hell is that kook babbling about now?

Metaphoric lunacy aside, the past three weeks have been among the best in my life. The southern shores of the continent are unspoiled, spacious, and remarkably diverse ... a slice of poetry and paradise that eludes proper conveyance. I'll save the personal details and observations for a future conversation. If we do rendezvous someday, remind me to tell you about the monkey incident.

How long, how long in infinite Pursuit
Of This and That endeavor and dispute?
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

Translation: rather than despair over recent portfolio woes, crack open a bottle of vino. I suggest a nice South African merlot. Or maybe a vintage Boone's Farm. The following story is for my brother - stockbroker - future kidney donor, Christophe: Art collector Ethel Scull, sixty-seven, was fined $1,000 after pleading guilty to making 1,208 telephone calls in one week in January 1988 to her financial advisor, Charles Lewis. She made the calls - 485 in one day - to complain that she lost money in the October 19, 1987, stock market crash as a result of his bad advice. In reality, she had made $300,000. Cool moe dee. Investment advice for Christophe courtesy of Homer: Si possis recte, si non, quocumque modo rem ... If possible honestly, if not, somehow, make money.

One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,
One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste -
The stars are setting and the Caravan
Starts for the Dawn of Nothing - O, make haste!

The caravan to the well of life here in South Africa is called the Baz Bus. Travel made easy. A ticket from Cape Town to Johannesburg is roughly $120, has an unlimited number of stops, no expiry date, and drops you off at the hostel of your choice. Highlights of the journey included:

Plettenberg Bay - Garden Route Backpackers - tennis court, swimming pool, video library, oaken hot tub beneath the stars, deer on the lawn, monkeys in the forest, and surly baboons patrolling the driveway. The primates and I tangled.

Mossel Bay - sleeping in the Santos Express, a genuine train that's 'parked' on the beach with all the cabins facing the sea.

Oudtshoorn - spelunking in the cango caves (stalagtites, stalagmites, and helictites measuring over 9 meters), kamikaze mountain biking, and the crestfalling news that I exceeded the 75-kilo weight limit for ostrich riding. Sorry folks, these birds don't carry the fat kids.

Knysna - Wildside hostel - serenity atop the sand dune; located 20 meters from the water and 2 kilometers from anything else.

Riding from George to Knysna on the Choo-Tjoe steam train and bragging to anyone who'd listen that my pa's a railway man.

Cinsa - Buccaneers Backpackers - rustic cottages nestled on the hillside overlooking the river, lagoon, and Indian Ocean; 15 km of unspoilt coastline; free surfboards, darts, and billiards; a climbing wall; swimming pool; floodlit volleyball court; bohemian cafe ... six dollars a night. Reputed to be one of the best hostels in the world.

Port Elizabeth - staying up until 5:00 a.m. so I could watch cartoons and celebrate Valentine's Day with Underdog, Hong Kong Fuey, and Captain Caveman.

Jeffrey's Bay - the legendary Super Tubes wasn't going off but there was a nearby waterfall with cliff diving and fun with cables. From 50 feet up, you grasp a pulley with handles and glide down into the river like a drunken albatross.

Bloukrans - a big bridge

Coffee Bay - a remote scenic wonderland with precipitous crags, pristine sand, and wet dream surfing conditions. It was unreal ... green forested hills to the south, white cliffs to the north, a faded Levi's sky overhead, absolutely no humans in sight, and 3 - 5 foot swells. The best surf of my life. Transcendent solitude.

St. Francis Bay - questing along the coast in the purple Vibe Van searching for decent off-season waves. Location filmed in the "Endless Summer."

To go tangential for a bit ... St. Francis Bay brings to mind St. Francis Xavier. After long arduous efforts to master the language of the 'heathen Japanese', Saint Francis Xavier reported to the headquarters of his Jesuit order in Europe that it must have been devised by Satan to prevent the teaching of the Gospel to the natives of that island empire. Oh please. Japanese rocks. In what other language would you find a word like bikuni which means nun-prostitue? St. Francis was lucky he wasn't proselytizing in the Transkei, home to the Xhosa. Their language is inhuman. I have never heard anything like it. Half the sounds are produced by clicking the tongue off the roof of the mouth. Delightfuly unusual. There is a Xhosa proverb that clickingly states: Music unleashes the beast in man and makes him dance. So does gin.

Ah, fill the Cup: - what boots it to repeat
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
Unborn TOMORROW and dead YESTERDAY,
Why fret about them if TODAY be sweet !

A question for old Khayyam: Can time still slip underneath our feet if one is bouncing upside-down while tied to a bungy cord? Such metaphysical profundities haunt me. Anyways, the world's highest bungy jump is from a bridge spanning the eastern and western capes of South Africa. A 216 meter drop that would make even the fearless Wile E. Coyote gasp. The freefall is sensational, the pre-fall is freakifying. A clear morning, you gaze out over the waves as they bind your barefoot ankles together. To brace yourself, you recite a little William Blake: He who binds to himself a joy / Doth the winged life destroy / But he who kisses the joy as it flies / Lives in Eternity's sunrise. Time to kiss the joy.

Since you are ankle-chained more securely than Hannibal Lecter in transit, you must hop toward the edge. A few feet from the precipice, you assume the fitting crucifix position with arms rigidly raised to the side. The heart-flutter feeling comes when the assistants grab your arms and carry you close enough so that your toes linger in space. Head held high, an energetic countdown, and the moment of truth ... soar into eternity's sunrise. Boing.

You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse
I made a Second Marriage in my house;
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

Do you worship at the temple of reason or party in the palace of passion? Do you prefer Descartesian discourse or dancing in Epicurean gardens? Apollonian or Dionysian? Timely questions as the season of carnival draws nigh. The 'carnival' celebrated in Catholic lands is actually an adaptation of an ancient trance-rave-whoopdeedoo, the Festival of Dionysus, which in turn was adapted from the still older Haloa and Thesmophoria, two of the fertility festivals of the mother goddess Demeter.

Many believe CARNIVAL comes from the Latin CARNE LEVARE - the putting away of flesh prior to Lent. Brainwashing balderdash. CARNIVAL comes from the Latin CARRUS NAVALIS - cart of the sea. This was a boat-shaped vehicle on wheels used in the processions of Dionysus ... these ship carts, carri navales, making reference as they did to Dionysus' fabled underwater retreat in the grottos of the sea goddess, Thetis, from which he emerged at festival time, were accompanied by musicains and dancers of both sexes, skimpily clad or nude. They continued to be pulled through the streets in European festivals until the later Middle Ages, and today have their less nautical and less naughty counterparts in Mardi Gras floats. Hmm ...

Finalmente ... I'm heading north tomorrow into the enchanted Drakensbergs (Dragon Mountains). Take care of yourselves, enjoy whatever version of carnival you celebrate, and dance like an untamed beast.

- bonding with gravity ... Kevin

P.S. A few years ago Indonesian Foreign Minister Mochtar Kusumaatmadja told University students that Indonesians waste too much time chatting, holding parties, and sitting on the toilet. He noted: If you go to the toilet, do not sit there too long. That is not necessary. That kind of attitude is not what Indonesia wants. Good advice ... you freak. Could 'excessive toilet sitting' be a driving force behind the recent US economic slowdown? If so, please get off your asses .