It’s raining in Africa.

Just chillin' at happy hour at the Wilderness National Park.

Somehow, that just doesn’t seem right. Here we are, on vacation in one of the most arid places on the planet, and it is raining in the Wilderness National Forest, situated on the edge of the Indian Ocean.

We spent the night in a log cabin suspended on stilts above a natural wetland that looks as though it could be the Florida Everglades except for the fact that we’re hemmed in on two sides by low costal mountains.

Yesterday, we spent most of the day on the N2, also known as the “Garden Route,” because it courses through South Africa’s prime agricultural belt across the bottom of the country. Though much of this boundless place is parched beige, there are giant, verdant patches of corn fields and pasture for sheep, ostrich and cows. . .made possible thanks to strategic irrigation.

Though along the way we have seen compact tracts of shanty towns–desperate ghettos of jobless poor who live in tiny structures cobbled together from scraps of corrugated metal and salvaged material of all types–for the most part this does not feel like a third world country. Quite the contrary, you get the sense that progress is being made here in a place that the rampant, global economic meltdown appears to have bypassed.

The road is absolutely excellent, smooth and wide, embracing high speeds. After two days unleashed on the roads in South Africa, I am finally comfortable driving on the left, though I carefully negotiate each turn and lane change thoughtfully. It’s become clear to me that even at 60, this challenge is making me a better driver. Alan Beardon, our host here with his wife, Toni, cautions me, however, that my real challenge will come after I return home. He says that is when I’ll need to exercise true caution because I could easily find myself on the wrong side of the road back in California.

The view from the deck of our log cabin on stilts in the Wilderness National Park.

This wildlife refuge is just an overnight stop on our 800 km trip to Addo Elephant National Park not far from Port Elizabeth in the Eastern Cape. We’re all excited about the prospect of viewing herds of these giant animals in their natural habitat instead of through bars.

Truth is, though, I’m still a city boy at heart. Our cabin abuts a small stream and a vast marshy area, where no doubt countless numbers of slithering creatures make their home. Before going to bed, above my protests, Ellen insisted on keeping one window open, even though there are bird nests all around the building.

In the middle of the night–1:45 a.m. to be exact–I heard a scratching sound near the window. “Ellen, there’s something in the room,” I whispered. “No there isn’t,” she groaned. And, of course, there was complete silence except for the chatty house martins in the eaves. It took hours for me to fall back asleep.

We’ve caught up here with the Beardons who are traveling in another car and have brought along their mathematics colleague, David, who is here for an extended stay to work on a text book with Alan that will be published in England by Cambridge Press. David’s wife, Susan, arrived in time from Cincinnati to make our tour of wildlife preserves.

Life is sweet. . .Ellen and I enjoyed a beautiful picnic lunch on the grounds of a beautiful winery called Constantia Oitsig, not far from our home base near Cape Town.

At times, coordinating three couples is akin to herding cats, but we carry on with Toni as our cruise director. For dinner during our evening in Wilderness, we ate at Sails, a restaurant in a hotel overlooking the beach. A young man named Lennox is our “waitron,” coined by some well meaning, politically-correct nudnick with the aim of creating a gender-neutral title for restaurant wait staff.

I told Lennox that in America we use the title “server,” and he seemed a bit offended for his American brothers and sisters in hospitality.

For R 79, about $12, the three males in the party ordered “eat-all-you-can” pork ribs, which were actually quite nice except for the way the meat was cut. . .tiny bones were a nuisance at the tip of the rack. We each ate two helpings, a smoking’ deal in any currency, especially for such tasty, smoky barbecue.

If you detest airports, may I suggest you avoid London’s Heathrow.  This is the most passenger-unfriendly of any aerodrome on the planet. Ellen and I faced a nine-hour layover here during our trip to Cape Town, South Africa, which extended the time of this odyssey to truly monumental proportions.  Cumulatively. the three flight segments and the London Layover will result in total transit time of 35 hours. . .I think.. .it’s hard to be sure after passing through so many time zones.

The main problem with Heathrow is the place is mammoth.  The distances that must be traversed on foot between the gates and terminals are simply ridiculous.  And, from an aesthetics perspective, this place is a monochromatic wasteland, devoid of sense or style or visual relief.  You are required to navigate miles of bland corridors, void of color and sound. . .all you see are the backs of other travelers hurtling to their next gate or the inevitable collision with Immigration and Customs at the border.

The single blessing of our forced encampment at Heathrow was a reservation for six-hours in a Yotel “cabin”.  Yotel is a unique hostel modeled after economy rooms designed for Japanese businesspeople.  It is a 100-square-foot room with a double, hospital-style bed that retracts to create more space.  On the far side is a glass enclosed compartment for an all-in-one lavatory, sink and shower.  There is a built-in television, drop-down desk and a folding chair hanging in a slot in the wall.  The room’s electronic controller offers six different lighting choices, including violet uplighting above the wall opposite the bed.

Heathrow is one of a number of Yotels being installed at major airports around the world, and this one is in the bowels of Terminal 4.  At about 1 p.m., checked in at a window at a very minimalist entrance and were directed to our cabin down a dimly lit passageway reminiscent of a nuclear submarine.  We retracted the bed and went to sleep almost immediately. . .after I checked my email using Yotel;s WiFi.