Why Swaziland? Because it's there.

The sign said, “Mahamba.” The road looked more like a dirt track for logging trucks than a thoroughfare to an international border. The rain had picked up, it was nearly dusk, and the red clay road looked like it could send our car sliding into the forest. Obviously, we abandoned the N2 and turned down the unnamed road.

Ten harrowing kilometers later, we found ourselves at a border post between Swaziland and South Africa. The differences between the countries was immediately apparent; South Africa had multiple customs officers and computerized systems. Swaziland had a lady with a large notebook. We had an uneventful crossing, and headed off into the very dark Swaziland night. When we finally arrived at our farm cottage, we discovered the cause of the darkness: very inconsistent electricity supply. We watched while the electrical transformer blew itself up, sending up blew sparks and then shuddered on again, giving us just enough electricity to cook a late dinner and fall into bed.

We woke up in time to say hello to the large peacock who had come to see what we were having for breakfast - farm fresh eggs and milk - and goodbye to the man with the machete who had guarded our cottage overnight. Then it was off to see Swaziland. Or more accurately, off to buy Swaziland. We were staying in the Malkerns Valley, which has some lovely craft boutiques, all supporting the local community, especially women and people with AIDS. People were so warm, and the racial tension of South Africa isn’t as formidable a presence in Swaziland, making for a relaxed day. We bought pretty things, ate lunch at the Finnish Consulate, which looked suspiciously like an art gallery and cafe, and hiked to a waterfall.

The next day, the prospect of running through pineapple and sugarcane fields even enticed Natty to join me on my run. Unfortunately, we had been warned to watch out for snakes, so we spent as much time staring at our feet as we did admiring the lush fields. After saying goodbye to our peacock and our guard, it was back to Durban, another stamp added to our passports.

Breakfast at our cottage.

Oh, Paul Simon!

Incredible performance space.

Cycads and sugar cane.

Lunch at Finnish Consulate. 

Mind you, this was in the middle of nowhere.

Traditional Swazi huts.  Different from the pointy Zulu thatched huts. 

Our peacock.  He was scary. 

We ran here.

The farm.

More farm.

These put our mean Middletown wild turkeys to shame.

National soccer stadium.  Doesn't exactly compare to the World Cup venues here. 

Swaziland's Olympic training complex. 

Enough said.