It is either slightly disconcerting or enormously flattering when you arrive at a hotel for the first time and the receptionist greets you by name. In the case of my arrival at the Rapid Waters Hotel (and I use all three of those words advisedly) 29km outside of Potchefstroom, it could only be the former. [Continue]

(First published in The Weekender, August 2007) THE air was crisp, the ground soggy as I tumbled through the open doors of the rickety yellow bus, onto the muddy pavement. I looked around. An empty warehouse behind me, some houses in the distance. No sign of human life. I was 9000km from home and about [Continue]