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Foreign Correspondence: A Revelation Upon a Visit to the Halfmens Trees

I glanced down at my cup of boiled river water. My coffee would be brown before I even put the grounds in.

That morning, I had awoken in a sandy sleeping bag, greeted by the sun rising over the chain of mountains before me. Not to mention the growing chatter of 30 or so other students who had also sniffed out breakfast.

Such was camping down Orange River. And after a long day of rowing, we would sleep on South African sand one night and on Namibian shores the next, with no tents — just an endless sprinkling of stars overhead. It was like being in one of those 360-degree planetarium exhibits, but without the stuffy room and nasal monotone of the docent.