After a crazy 24 hours traveling between point A (Stone Town, Zanzibar) and point B (Johannesburg), I thought it might be worthwhile to describe what the African version of travel can entail.
ON THE FERRY…
I boarded the ferry on Sunday afternoon, a high speed catamaran, slightly outdated (but top of the line for 1985) for the usually two hour trip between Stone Town and Dar Es Salaam (both in Tanzania). The weather seemed fine - it was sunny and steaming hot. Granted the water had been too rough for snorkeling earlier in the day, but really, there was no indication of eight to ten metre plus swells and gusting winds that awaited us anywhere near the city.
To start, the Zanzibar Town ferry ‘terminal’ is like a third world zoo. Hundreds of bodies pushing and shoving to get on board the boat…unwashed bodies…very sweaty bodies. The smell of curry and serious B.O. was compounded by extreme humidity and the hot sun. There wasn’t much seating, so people were just strewn across the cracked, dirty pavement. And the luggage situation was random as well – people had fridges, old tvs and random piles of outdated electronics equipment, though surprisingly no farm animals. After a hectic boarding where I managed to fight my way to a seat on the back deck, beside a particularly ripe smelling gentleman and a floor littered with Muslims, we were on our way. I was really enjoying the nice sunny weather for the first half hour…and then it got ROUGH. Huge swells, waves coming up over the boat, smashing in our faces – everyone and everything was drenched and sliding around precariously. The catamaran was slapping down hard into the water and rolling precariously from side to side. It was literally like being on a roller coaster. This being Africa, there was of course no life jackets on board – and the knowledge that if anything happened, no one would come to the rescue, and land was out of sight. People were vomiting everywhere – all over each other and the floors. The smell of vomit mixed with curry and BO was absolutely disgusting. I’m so glad I don’t get seasick. I’m fairly certain I was the only person on that boat not retching, but I was soaked and too busy making pacts with god that if he/she let me survive the boat ride I would be a much nicer person forever more to focus on bringing up my lunch. I really did not want to die on a sketchy boat off the coast of Africa, surrounded by strangers. The usually two hour boat ride took 4 hours and Freddy, who was picking me up in Dar told me that when he went to ask where the boat was the officials at the terminal were worried it might not make it. Needless to say, I have vowed to avoid all ferries in the developing world from now on. Actually, I will not be found on any small boat in stormy waters in less than a life jacket and wet suit.
ON THE CITY…
When we limped back in Dar nearly two hours late and spent, I was desperate to shower, being covered in salt and the smell of sick people. However it was not to be. The power was out for the entire city, which is a regular occurrence and the emergency generator was also broken. So despite my filthy state, we went for a nice dinner in hopes that it would be fixed in the meantime. Nope. So I used my ipod to light my way up the stairs to my room. Even though there is no hot water in Tanzania, I figured I would make do with a cold shower in the dark. Nope again. There was no running water either. And in the dark I couldn’t even open my suitcase to get my toothbrush and a bottle of water. I also couldn’t pack my suitcase for my 5:30 am trip to the airport the next morning. So, with no other options, I crawled into bed, poking around in the dark for the opening in the mosquito netting, fully clothed to sleep, smelling like god knows what…and to be dripped on like Chinese water torture by the disabled air conditioner. The lights came back on suddenly at 3 am, at which point they were the last thing I wanted to see.
ON THE AIRPORT…
At 5:30 am I was happy to see the power was still on, even though I continued to be without running water. At least I was able to SEE my suitcase in order to pack it.
Freddie dropped me at Dar Es Salaam International airport. Due I suspect to the Muslim leanings of the population, a number of security checks must be cleared the first of which is the terminal entrance. So I put my bags on the x-ray machine, which had large signage asking people to ignore the security staff’s bribe requests, and walked through – to find the security guy trying to loot my purse. I stood there watching (he didn’t realize I was) as he searched for my wallet and valuables. I then asked him what exactly he was doing. He was only mildly embarrassed at getting caught (he was actually probably more disappointed – he hadn’t yet found something to steal), saying ‘oh, this is yours’ and sheepishly handed it over. Luckily I had packed well and he didn’t find anything. This, I repeat, is the airport security.
I checked in and then promptly went through the wrong security check, which is easy to do when there is no signage in any language. I was a little nervous about clearing security since I had several large cans of bug spray (malaria requirement) and sunscreen stuffed in my bag. Not to worry, I cleared all three security checks with ease since they don’t even look at what’s in your luggage (unless it’s something they want personally). They did manage to dump my jewellery upside down in the x-ray machine, but luckily it all came out the bottom and could be found scattered on the floor underneath.
As I entered the gate I was grilled about my passport for more than ten minutes while an assortment of nefarious looking characters file past unquestioned. The officer held it up to various lamps and x-rays convinced it was a fake. Because really, I don’t look like a legitimate Canadian at all. Maybe he thought I was a Chinese spy…. I’d say perhaps he was concerned about the Middle Eastern stamps I gathered earlier in the year, but literacy isn’t big in these parts so I’m fairly confident he couldn’t read what they were.
As we sat waiting for the plane, another power outage struck leaving the entire airport in the dark. Luckily it’s not a busy airport and most people had already cleared security. So, sans power we finally boarded the plane. A large, piss drunk man in army boots (not to stereotype, but I’d put my money on him being Nigerian- they are as notorious here as elsewhere) was bothering everyone in the waiting area. I couldn’t believe they were going to let him on the plane, but was becoming less surprised by anything at this point. Once we’d all boarded and seated, there was a delay during which a group of soldiers and armed police got on board to haul off the drunk. Turns out he was some kind of dangerous criminal. Awesome. Luckily I was seated beside the former Tanzanian ambassador to Canada for the flight – an interesting man to talk to. Thank god because my mood was turning seriously foul at this point.
And THAT is a fairly typical travel in Africa experience. I wonder what adventures Namibia holds in December.
Lessons learned:
Hide your wallet and passport deeply in your belongings
Carry-on luggage only
Always carry toilet paper (there is none) and hand sanitizer
Be careful when buying anything – they will try to change the price when it’s time to pay. Also, count your change.
Nowhere accepts credit cards
Carry lots of USD because no one wants the local currency
Bring lots of extra camera batteries because no adapters seem to fit the outlets
Spend one night in a nice hotel…you have no idea how amazing a hot shower feels after days/weeks without one
Monday, July 25, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Tanzania: Dar Es Salaam & Bagamoyo
I walked off the plane at Dar es Salaam, capital of Tanzania, straight into a hot, muggy mosquito swarm - a malaria bearing welcome wagon. After being finger printed like a terror suspect, and exhausted from being jammed into a middle seat between two massive men for the duration of a four hour flight, I was glad to have a coworker picking me up in an air conditioned SUV.
Dar es Salaam turned out to be a pleasant surprise. I know my criteria has changed as increased exposure to the third world expands my horizons and obviously it’s not ‘nice’ like Paris or New York, but really…it’s not bad. It is a melting pot – Indians, Chinese, Muslims and Africans blend together, and what’s more, everyone gets along. Israel: take note. The people are genuinely nice; friendly and warm and the women dress beautifully. I love the traditional African costumes - the colours, the patterns, the head wraps…It’s such a nice, cheerful change from South Africa. The city itself is green and lush with vegetation – it smells like flowers, and the buildings are colourful. Tanzania is a former German colony, and the architecture is a real blend of Indian, Arabic and German colonial painted with Miami style pepto pink, mint green and purple. The traffic is crazy – think tuktuks weaving in and out of massive traffic jams, the city busses, called Dala Dalas – old, purple, hand painted and overcrowded to the point of tipping, and safari jeeps all jammed together in a seething, honking mess. As you head away from the CBD, goats, chickens and markets selling everything imaginable line the roadside.
Freddie took me first to the fish market which lies on the harbor. It was already steaming hot by 9 am, so you can imagine that the smell wasn’t appetizing. But it was worth enduring to see the exotic tropical fish, caught on traditional wooden dhows, laid out for purchase– think orange, yellow and turquoise scales.
I enjoyed watching the fish mongers haggle, and the women carrying large buckets of fish balanced on their heads – now THAT is a talent. The water was crystalline turquoise and between the fish I have seen here so far and the colour of the ocean, I cannot wait to snorkel in Zanzibar!
To follow, we cruised around downtown Dar and saw the tourist sites– nothing terribly exciting. It’s a very political place full of embassies and international banks – obviously an African business hub. But I was charmed by the little things – the men selling coconuts and mangoes off the backs of their bikes, the tuktuk garbage truck, the nuns everywhere (this place is full of convents), the business men in their shiny polyester suits. We went for lunch at the Seacliff Hotel, which is one of the last vestiges of colonial culture in the city. It featured thatched roofs, black service men dressed all in white and a helicopter pad…but the food was good (well, as good as it gets for these parts) and it overlooked the Indian Ocean.
Later, we drove to the town of Bagamoyo , about 60 km up the coast. Bagamoyo is a modern day artist’s colony that happens to contain ruins of an Indian/German palace (the Old Boma) and centuries old slave quarters where prisoners were detained until shipped out to an unimaginably horrible existence in the new American colonies. A sad old tree with a chain suspended from it was used to hang uncooperative slaves. Today, it’s hard to imagine that so much violent suffering could have occurred in a place as peaceful as this – It is really imbued with a feeling of serenity.
The old, crumbling Arabic houses which line the dirt streets are so beautiful –they feature the most ornate doors and windows made from intricately carved local wood. Paintings hang randomly along the road where wild baby goats run freely amongst lush greenery and colourful flowers which scent the air. And the Muslim women wear robes of bright oranges, greens and golds, surrounded by little children so happy and carefree. I fell absolutely in love with this place.
What amazes me is how industrious the people are. They can load their bicycle full of wooden planks, brooms, baskets…massive loads, and somehow they are able to ride with all of it. And what doesn’t fit on their bikes, they balance on their heads. No wonder they all have amazing posture.
I also picked up my ticket for the ferry to Zanzibar tomorrow. I met the first Canadian I have encountered in a long time at the terminal – a smoking hot dive instructor from Ontario. Sadly, we were headed to different places, but we were happy to see each other as it helped alleviate some home sickness. Anyway, for me Zanzibar is a dream trip. It is somewhere I have always desperately wanted to visit, and in my mind is unimaginably exotic. Needless to say, I am thrilled!
Dar es Salaam turned out to be a pleasant surprise. I know my criteria has changed as increased exposure to the third world expands my horizons and obviously it’s not ‘nice’ like Paris or New York, but really…it’s not bad. It is a melting pot – Indians, Chinese, Muslims and Africans blend together, and what’s more, everyone gets along. Israel: take note. The people are genuinely nice; friendly and warm and the women dress beautifully. I love the traditional African costumes - the colours, the patterns, the head wraps…It’s such a nice, cheerful change from South Africa. The city itself is green and lush with vegetation – it smells like flowers, and the buildings are colourful. Tanzania is a former German colony, and the architecture is a real blend of Indian, Arabic and German colonial painted with Miami style pepto pink, mint green and purple. The traffic is crazy – think tuktuks weaving in and out of massive traffic jams, the city busses, called Dala Dalas – old, purple, hand painted and overcrowded to the point of tipping, and safari jeeps all jammed together in a seething, honking mess. As you head away from the CBD, goats, chickens and markets selling everything imaginable line the roadside.
Freddie took me first to the fish market which lies on the harbor. It was already steaming hot by 9 am, so you can imagine that the smell wasn’t appetizing. But it was worth enduring to see the exotic tropical fish, caught on traditional wooden dhows, laid out for purchase– think orange, yellow and turquoise scales.
I enjoyed watching the fish mongers haggle, and the women carrying large buckets of fish balanced on their heads – now THAT is a talent. The water was crystalline turquoise and between the fish I have seen here so far and the colour of the ocean, I cannot wait to snorkel in Zanzibar!
To follow, we cruised around downtown Dar and saw the tourist sites– nothing terribly exciting. It’s a very political place full of embassies and international banks – obviously an African business hub. But I was charmed by the little things – the men selling coconuts and mangoes off the backs of their bikes, the tuktuk garbage truck, the nuns everywhere (this place is full of convents), the business men in their shiny polyester suits. We went for lunch at the Seacliff Hotel, which is one of the last vestiges of colonial culture in the city. It featured thatched roofs, black service men dressed all in white and a helicopter pad…but the food was good (well, as good as it gets for these parts) and it overlooked the Indian Ocean.
Later, we drove to the town of Bagamoyo , about 60 km up the coast. Bagamoyo is a modern day artist’s colony that happens to contain ruins of an Indian/German palace (the Old Boma) and centuries old slave quarters where prisoners were detained until shipped out to an unimaginably horrible existence in the new American colonies. A sad old tree with a chain suspended from it was used to hang uncooperative slaves. Today, it’s hard to imagine that so much violent suffering could have occurred in a place as peaceful as this – It is really imbued with a feeling of serenity.
The old, crumbling Arabic houses which line the dirt streets are so beautiful –they feature the most ornate doors and windows made from intricately carved local wood. Paintings hang randomly along the road where wild baby goats run freely amongst lush greenery and colourful flowers which scent the air. And the Muslim women wear robes of bright oranges, greens and golds, surrounded by little children so happy and carefree. I fell absolutely in love with this place.
What amazes me is how industrious the people are. They can load their bicycle full of wooden planks, brooms, baskets…massive loads, and somehow they are able to ride with all of it. And what doesn’t fit on their bikes, they balance on their heads. No wonder they all have amazing posture.
I also picked up my ticket for the ferry to Zanzibar tomorrow. I met the first Canadian I have encountered in a long time at the terminal – a smoking hot dive instructor from Ontario. Sadly, we were headed to different places, but we were happy to see each other as it helped alleviate some home sickness. Anyway, for me Zanzibar is a dream trip. It is somewhere I have always desperately wanted to visit, and in my mind is unimaginably exotic. Needless to say, I am thrilled!
Friday, July 1, 2011
Two Months in Johannesburg...
For the past two months I have been living in Johannesburg, or perhaps I should say Sandton, since this neighbourhood appears to exist in its own little bubble. Why have I chosen the purported `world`s most dangerous city` as my temporary home, you are likely asking yourself. Well, mostly because we are on break from uni and I was offered a fantastic job by a mining company carrying out some corporate communications work. They have generously put me up in a lovely hotel for two months (having a maid is awesome, but I miss my friends in CT, must say) to undertake a number of projects. I love the CEO and many of the great people I have met here, but am finding the lack of professionalism and work ethic amongst a select few of my coworkers a bit of a shocker. Also, the weather in Cape Town is horrible this time of year and winter in Johannesburg is characterized by cloudless blue skies and decent temperatures. The only downside is the dryness of the air - no amount of moisturizer can make my poor Canadian skin feel human. Put it this way - I feel, and look, like Ashy Larry from the Chappelle Show.
My time in Johannesburg has not been short on adventures, though it has been a little drama (and tequila…and wine…and champagne) packed for my taste. I think the laid back Canadian in me has difficulty with some of the cultural and mind set adjustments required when living here. One thing I do find endlessly amusing is the men – they seem to thrive on the drama almost more than the women do.
As with my life in Vancouver, I have brought along my knack for meeting the most random people to RSA. No Pauly Shore or Richard Branson run ins thus far (though I did sit behind Mandela`s grandson at lunch not long ago) but nonetheless...so far I have managed to end up mid-afternoon sauced at a polo club (and was more than a little unimpressed with myself when I woke up to find a British polo playing banker in my bed the next morning – damn you tequila!), at a pig farm in the middle of nowhere with two massive identical twin professional rugby players, fly fishing in the middle of the South African mountains with a random dachshund who decided to charge me from a cabin and much, much more. I also went to Polokwane once again, this time for my friend`s birthday which was another booze fueled weekend of bush and debauchery. The only downside was that some seriously pathetic South African girl was making snide remarks about Canadians at dinner the very first night (apparently we`re all stupid…interesting observation from a country party planner whose face looked like...a pig actually).
Excepting the above's rudeness, it’s actually a pretty good deal being a Canadian here. I have to say, I meet so, so many people because of my accent and pale skin. Sounds strange to say seeing as personally, I think we have one of the worst accents going, but genuinely I am perplexed at how many people want to hear me say certain words and listen to me talk. I suppose I have a bad track record of falling for men`s accents, so that`s probably the root of my paranoia. It seems like my name here is in fact “Canada”. At least that is what everyone calls me. I even went on a date with one guy who insisted on taking me to his friend’s family’s house because they wanted to see ‘a foreigner’. I suppose it keeps life interesting.
I am really excited for next week. I’m reverting to the life of the great unwashed traveler, heading for Dar Es Salaam in Tanzania and Zanzibar, which has always been one of my dream holidays. I can’t wait to snorkel with dolphins again, and am beyond excited for the photo opportunities presented by Stone Town and the spice plantations!
I`ve realized that I`m definitely not ready to settle down for the next couple of years at least. In fact, my travel bug is raging out of control. Maybe it's strange that someone my age doesn`t mind not bathing for days, and living out of a back pack…but it seems like as long as I have a camera and a laptop I`m pretty content for now. I`m still fairly bent on ruling the world at some point down the road, but am actually thinking I may take a different route then initially planned. I have decided that I am going to write and publish a book. Ideally I would like to pull together my photos and musings on my travels, though I know that may not prove interesting to anyone outside of my friend circle. If anyone has any good ideas for subject matter – let me know! In the meantime, the wanderer in me is already getting antsy and I need to FOCUS since I really do need to stay in Cape Town for a couple more years.
Next stop: Tanzania.
My time in Johannesburg has not been short on adventures, though it has been a little drama (and tequila…and wine…and champagne) packed for my taste. I think the laid back Canadian in me has difficulty with some of the cultural and mind set adjustments required when living here. One thing I do find endlessly amusing is the men – they seem to thrive on the drama almost more than the women do.
As with my life in Vancouver, I have brought along my knack for meeting the most random people to RSA. No Pauly Shore or Richard Branson run ins thus far (though I did sit behind Mandela`s grandson at lunch not long ago) but nonetheless...so far I have managed to end up mid-afternoon sauced at a polo club (and was more than a little unimpressed with myself when I woke up to find a British polo playing banker in my bed the next morning – damn you tequila!), at a pig farm in the middle of nowhere with two massive identical twin professional rugby players, fly fishing in the middle of the South African mountains with a random dachshund who decided to charge me from a cabin and much, much more. I also went to Polokwane once again, this time for my friend`s birthday which was another booze fueled weekend of bush and debauchery. The only downside was that some seriously pathetic South African girl was making snide remarks about Canadians at dinner the very first night (apparently we`re all stupid…interesting observation from a country party planner whose face looked like...a pig actually).
Excepting the above's rudeness, it’s actually a pretty good deal being a Canadian here. I have to say, I meet so, so many people because of my accent and pale skin. Sounds strange to say seeing as personally, I think we have one of the worst accents going, but genuinely I am perplexed at how many people want to hear me say certain words and listen to me talk. I suppose I have a bad track record of falling for men`s accents, so that`s probably the root of my paranoia. It seems like my name here is in fact “Canada”. At least that is what everyone calls me. I even went on a date with one guy who insisted on taking me to his friend’s family’s house because they wanted to see ‘a foreigner’. I suppose it keeps life interesting.
I am really excited for next week. I’m reverting to the life of the great unwashed traveler, heading for Dar Es Salaam in Tanzania and Zanzibar, which has always been one of my dream holidays. I can’t wait to snorkel with dolphins again, and am beyond excited for the photo opportunities presented by Stone Town and the spice plantations!
I`ve realized that I`m definitely not ready to settle down for the next couple of years at least. In fact, my travel bug is raging out of control. Maybe it's strange that someone my age doesn`t mind not bathing for days, and living out of a back pack…but it seems like as long as I have a camera and a laptop I`m pretty content for now. I`m still fairly bent on ruling the world at some point down the road, but am actually thinking I may take a different route then initially planned. I have decided that I am going to write and publish a book. Ideally I would like to pull together my photos and musings on my travels, though I know that may not prove interesting to anyone outside of my friend circle. If anyone has any good ideas for subject matter – let me know! In the meantime, the wanderer in me is already getting antsy and I need to FOCUS since I really do need to stay in Cape Town for a couple more years.
Next stop: Tanzania.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
South Africa: the good, the bad and the ugly
It has been a busy three plus months in South Africa, what with settling in, school and the drive to have as many adventures as possible in any and all downtime (a quest not conducive to weekend studying and essay writing). I genuinely feel like I live here and in my mind this country now qualifies as home.
It’s a funny thing – I had been planning my escape from Vancouver for years, ever since I moved back from Australia. The longer I stayed, the sadder I was. While beautiful, Vancouver has always left me feeling less than inspired - I always believed it a city great for other people but not for me. By leaving, I hoped to find… it’s hard to pinpoint… inspiration, adventures, history, a city with soul, a more organic environ. While ultimately my heart lies in Boston/NYC/Sydney, I have found something in Cape Town remiss in my world for quite some time. Now, I feel genuine pleasure every time I step outside. The beauty of the city, its organic-ness, the disorganized mess of colours, the lushness…and the sunsets make me feel excited about life. I think since my brother’s death I really lost my spark, and now I can feel it starting to filter back in – and it feels fantastic in the moments when it does.
In fact, it will be odd when I leave SA to once again live somewhere where organization and timeliness exist, where the internet always works, where making any phone call doesn’t cost a fortune, where the quality of food (including the five star restaurants) is once again decent, where you don’t have to worry about your security quite so much…that being said, this country is slowly getting under my skin and I find myself charmed by its physical beauty and many of the people I have befriended. I have certainly met some characters and had some amazing experiences. I often find myself thinking that I am really lucky to lead the life I do – being a free spirit is definitely under rated.
In South Africa, the people are both a blessing and a curse. I could write a lot of exceedingly unflattering things, observations conceded by most every expat and foreigner I meet, save those who come from even worse environments– but have also made some wonderful friends here and would hate to ever offend them by making sweeping generalizations that, while widespread, do not in any way, shape or form apply to them. I will however say this: living here has made me incredibly proud to be Canadian/German/Australian, and I am grateful to have been raised in the culture(s) that I was. In the eyes of the world, we might be polite pushovers, but I’ll take that over some of the shocking attitudes of entitlement, total disregard for basic manners and desperate social climbing that I bear witness to on a daily basis living in the Western Cape. But I digress…I should highlight my travels more and the societal disappointments that exist less.
I am recently returned from a sojourn up north, to the provinces of Gauteng and Limpopo, as well as a safari at the Pilanesburg game reserve. The safari was undertaken with my most colourful Vancouver friend, Jen and her sidekick Brad. Familiar faces were a welcome sight and it was nice to hear Canadian accents again – it has been a while, and there aren’t many of us in this country. We went on a camping safari, meaning that while we had a guide who did our cooking, driving etc, we had to erect and sleep in tents. I half expected a bushman Afrikaaner with guns and an unintelligible brogue, but our guide was in fact Scottish, with a full blown Edinburgh accent and pasty complexion to match. During our stay we were lucky enough to spot lions, rhinos, hippos, giraffes, zebras, elephants and a leopard, as well as various lizards, birds, turtles and antelope and springbok like animals…and a monkey with sky blue balls. The highlight was a sunset drive in the open safari truck – watching the sun go down over the spectacular scenery was breathtaking. I really cannot do it justice beyond saying that everyone should go on a safari at least once. There is something so tranquil about being out in the middle of the African wilderness, no other humans around for miles…surrounded by nature and animals – and knowing that you are in their territory. It’s a very peaceful experience.
Following the drive and a tasty braai prepared by our Scotsman, Jen and I headed off for some skinny dipping. While in the water, we could hear strains of house music coming from the woods…unexpected to say the least. Curiosity aroused and lit by a full moon, we followed the music until we found the source: not African drummers but rather a hilarious, green hooch swilling South African weatherman, straight out of the movie Anchorman (I swear), who invited us to celebrate St Paddy’s Day with him. Even in the wilds of Africa those of good Irish stock are enjoying a drink … Of course we obliged, and things were soon messy, with the camp guards asking us to shut it a number of times. When we finally returned to our tent two hours before the 5 am wake up call, I was at least tired enough that I could sleep through the animal noises coming from the sleeping bag beside me (Jen’s snoring, not a lion).
We also spent some time in Pretoria, a city about which I can’t find much exciting to say - it's a bit of a throwback. We ended up at the city’s nicest hotel thanks to Brad’s points, right across from the historic Union buildings – the location of the RSA government. For the most part, Pretoria is verging on the dilapidated. A shame really, because you can tell it was once a beautiful city. The entire CBD is considered unsafe for whites (it’s Zulu territory), and Jen and I unsuspectingly ended up in the city’s most dangerous neighbourhood while having dinner one night. We definitely had the feeling something was off, and when our driver came to fetch us, he basically herded us into the car as quickly as he could before speeding away. We also enjoyed partying Hatfied Square, the centre of the city’s nightlife. It’s a pretty fun area, a big square surrounded by maybe 30 restaurants, clubs, pubs and bars – in between which you can walk freely with your drinks. A good, if slightly tipsy time was had by all until our driver failed to show up at 2 am when it was time to head back to the hotel. In SA there is no such thing as hail-able street taxis, nor is there really any public transportation (unless you want to get on a minibus where if you aren’t murdered, you’ll be mugged).
We also visited Johannesburg for a couple of days – I was intrigued by ‘the world’s most dangerous city’ moniker. We hired a local driver who works for a CBS news correspondent Jen knows (figuring this would buy us good access), and were treated to a tour of Hillbrow (apparently SA’s most dangerous neighbourhood). As a white, you can only go in the daylight, you best not get out of the car, and you do not under any circumstances get caught taking photos. The area was featured in one of my favourite movies of recent times, District 9. It definitely felt scary and shady, and the Nigerian drug dealers were indeed plentiful. We also toured Soweto, including a rip off lunch on Vilakazi Street and a stop by Nelson Mandela’s former home, Winnie Mandela and Desmond Tutu’s current homes, and a drive by of Mandela’s residence in Houghton. I spent the rest of my time in Sandton and Melrose Arch – both nice areas very much in contrast to the burnt out war zone feel of the Johannesburg CBD.
The other highlight of the trip, and one I highly recommend anyone who comes to SA undertake, was a trip to The Ranch, a resort just outside of Polokwane. For those who saw and liked my lion photos – this is where they were taken. It’s a fantastic spot, situated on a game reserve, with semi–tame and wild lions, as well as lots of babies, which are too cute for words. Their squeaky little roars are the funniest noises…there were also some baby hyenas on hand, and apparently I just missed baby tigers. The Shearer family were excellent hosts – such nice and hospitable people, and activities included muddy off-roading in a rainstorm (it was nice to see a Land Rover being put to proper use and not just for yuppie transportation), and seadoing at a lake side cottage that looked like a scene straight out of Muskoka. Unfortunately, I managed to flip the seado. Fortunately, it still worked, though my pride was a little damaged. I also spent the night in a luxury tent by a rushing stream, including an ice cold swim in the morning (very Canadian) – which means that I have now slept in tents four times in my life – three more then before I came to Africa. I must also say, regarding Limpopo and Johannesburg - before coming to SA, I envisioned that my friend circle would include people of all colours; it is the supposed rainbow nation after all. But in the Western Cape there is a fairly defined separation between ethnic groups. In Gauteng and Limpopo, the same does not apply and everyone intermingles as a normal society – it was nice to actually spend time with some awesome black people.
Another stellar outing: A couple of weekends ago, I went on an overnight camping trip with an international contingent to Kogel Baie (Pronounced Cool Bay), a stunning, surfer friendly beach on the Atlantic coast en route to Hermanus. Our group included three Dutch (I love the Dutch, such down to earth, laidback people), two Americans, two Canadians, and two South Africans. Despite the howling winds which deposited a lot of sand in our braai, it was amazing. The sand was white powder, the stars were out in full force, the crashing waves were soothing to fall asleep to, and there were phosphorescents in the water! Every time we jumped in a puddle or even took a step in the ocean, it lit up with bright yellow sparkles that flew around our feet. It literally felt like being in a video game where every step we took was infused with magic. It was beyond cool – it blew my mind! Unfortunately in the morning I was the first riser and decided to take a walk on the beach – it looked deserted for miles. But once I had trekked maybe two km down the way I was harassed by drunk, coloured men. It’s a sad fact of life here that no matter how beautiful a vista is you cannot enjoy it alone (even in the middle of nowhere) and that your safety must always be your first priority.
Later that day we made the miscalculation of taking the train from Stellenboch to Cape Town – a mistake that lead to my first real run in with crime (other than the world’s stupidest car accident). The trains here are disgusting – full on ghetto and not a wise choice for whites in groups of smaller than 5. We were three, girls, white and with large bags…so probably asking for it. As soon as we hopped on the train I had the feeling it was a very bad idea, and sure enough not ten minutes into the ride one of our group was mugged. The muggers, who had the dead eyes of drug addicts and took off into a township as soon as the doors opened, only escaped with a new blackberry. Still, it was incredibly unsettling, and made the next hour of the train ride extremely tense as we wondered what other criminals might get on the train at each township stop.
One afternoon after class I went down the coast to see a wild penguin colony with a population of thousands in the most picturesque setting imaginable. They really are the cutest. One was holding his head up in the wind with a look of sheer ecstasy on his little face as it ruffled his feathers. Others were chilling in their penguin dens watching the humans watch them. They waddle along, always on the verge of tipping forward yet miraculously never do. I have always adored penguins with their unique personalities, and I was charmed.
Another weekend we made the trek to Crystal Pools, a local baboon infested cliff jumping destination up the road from the Strand. It’s an exhausting hour plus hike up a mountainside in the hot sun to reach the pools, but well worth it. Along the way you pass a number of baboons who are completely unphased by humans, and in fact regularly attack. They are incredibly intelligent, recognizing and targeting bags that may contain food – hence you must cover all bags with towels to prevent attack. The pools are an ascending series of five, with fresh, icy mountain water for swimming (filled with tadpoles and frogs) and rocky waterfalls that you can climb. I have to say, despite my fear of heights, scrambling up waterfalls and giant rocks in my bikini was amazingly fun. I only managed to jump off the lower cliffs, leaving the 50 metre plus cliffs to the brave souls and show offs.
I have begun volunteering one afternoon per week with a small scale United Nations sponsored initiative –the Kayamandi Literacy Project, where we help township elementary students with their spoken English and reading. I was nervous at first – I have never felt an inclination towards teaching and it can feel daunting when a group of 12 children and their assistant are sitting there staring at you. However, the work is really satisfying, and the children are charming, with distinct little personalities that shine through (I’ve never been the most maternal, so I don’t spend much time with kids). It can be hard to get them to focus, the girls especially want to play with your hair (they aren’t used to the smoothness of white hair) and jewellery, and the little boys all compete for attention. I feel sad for these kids and really want to help them rise above the lots they were born into. They are after all the future of SA and this country has a long way to go before equality is widespread.
Through this activity I now recognize that I have led such an incredibly privileged life. I was spoiled rotten as a child, spending my summers in Europe and having almost every toy I could imagine, and probably never really appreciated any of it. Yet despite my upbringing, I thought that I understood the world. But between my travels in the Middle East, South America and here I realize that I didn’t understand anything – and I haven’t even been to India yet! It’s strange – sometimes when I’m in these areas, I almost feel as if I’m on a movie set – that it can’t be real, and that real people cannot actually live in this way – it MUST be staged. What kind of a life could that be? As we drove through the township back to Stellenbosch it occurred to me that the old LV purse in which I carry my school books is probably worth more money then many of these people see in even ten years. And at that moment I felt deeply ashamed and a little ridiculous.
Last weekend was particularly interesting. On Friday I joined a group of international students for an escorted trip into two famous Cape Town townships (you DON’T go there without a local) – Gugulethu and Langa. These townships are rife with history – famous anti apartheid protests, killings and whatnot. It is sickening what the government here did to black people. They treated them more as animals than humans – it is no wonder that this country now faces the crime problems that it does. We visited various community spots including an arts centre, walked through the streets, and a drove through the business areas where we saw the witch doctor (sangoma) supply shop and the various sheds that form the central marketplace of township life. We also went into one of the homes to meet an elderly lady, and saw how she lived in shockingly cramped, smelly (but typical) quarters. And yet she kept it impeccably tidy. She answered our prying questions about life in Langa, and we learned about the white families of the desperately social-climberish Constantia neighbourhood who hire these women at a young age to raise one to two generations of their children, while paying them a pittance. And then, when they are no longer needed or reach retirement age, they are given a severance of something ridiculous like R100 and sent on their way. No pension, no gratitude for the years of service. Nothing. This is indeed the type of thing that is very difficult to swallow. But the night finished on a high note with an excellent dinner at the famous Mzoli’s Grill restaurant, a massive, smoky tent filled with the music of African drums and the only place in the township where whites (tourists mostly) and blacks can be found intermingling and happily chowing on the best braai I have had in South Africa. It was a fantastic and thoroughly enjoyable experience that felt really authentic. An amazing place, though perhaps a little daunting to get to due to its township location.
I also spent a great day with my friend Luke, who took me on a tour of many places I have yet to see in the region – despite the hurricane force winds(we estimated 70 km/hour). Our outing included the scenic drive to Chapman’s Peak (all I can say is wow!), and a turn in the antique shops of Hout Bay and Noord Hook, as well as some stellar ice cream and a leisurely stop in one of the area’s wine farms where I drank all of my wine and his as well. We attempted to visit a really beautiful beach, but I literally got sand burn from the wind, so this activity was short-lived. I also enjoyed dinner at my favourite Cape Town eatery which is always a treat, the Side Walk Café perched high on the side of Table Mountain, and one of the very few restaurants (actually only the second so far) that rivals the quality of food we enjoy back home.
I’m sure I’m missing a million stories, but have been too busy with school to update regularly. In future I will make a better effort at regularity and save myself the effort of writing 5,000 word updates!
It’s a funny thing – I had been planning my escape from Vancouver for years, ever since I moved back from Australia. The longer I stayed, the sadder I was. While beautiful, Vancouver has always left me feeling less than inspired - I always believed it a city great for other people but not for me. By leaving, I hoped to find… it’s hard to pinpoint… inspiration, adventures, history, a city with soul, a more organic environ. While ultimately my heart lies in Boston/NYC/Sydney, I have found something in Cape Town remiss in my world for quite some time. Now, I feel genuine pleasure every time I step outside. The beauty of the city, its organic-ness, the disorganized mess of colours, the lushness…and the sunsets make me feel excited about life. I think since my brother’s death I really lost my spark, and now I can feel it starting to filter back in – and it feels fantastic in the moments when it does.
In fact, it will be odd when I leave SA to once again live somewhere where organization and timeliness exist, where the internet always works, where making any phone call doesn’t cost a fortune, where the quality of food (including the five star restaurants) is once again decent, where you don’t have to worry about your security quite so much…that being said, this country is slowly getting under my skin and I find myself charmed by its physical beauty and many of the people I have befriended. I have certainly met some characters and had some amazing experiences. I often find myself thinking that I am really lucky to lead the life I do – being a free spirit is definitely under rated.
In South Africa, the people are both a blessing and a curse. I could write a lot of exceedingly unflattering things, observations conceded by most every expat and foreigner I meet, save those who come from even worse environments– but have also made some wonderful friends here and would hate to ever offend them by making sweeping generalizations that, while widespread, do not in any way, shape or form apply to them. I will however say this: living here has made me incredibly proud to be Canadian/German/Australian, and I am grateful to have been raised in the culture(s) that I was. In the eyes of the world, we might be polite pushovers, but I’ll take that over some of the shocking attitudes of entitlement, total disregard for basic manners and desperate social climbing that I bear witness to on a daily basis living in the Western Cape. But I digress…I should highlight my travels more and the societal disappointments that exist less.
I am recently returned from a sojourn up north, to the provinces of Gauteng and Limpopo, as well as a safari at the Pilanesburg game reserve. The safari was undertaken with my most colourful Vancouver friend, Jen and her sidekick Brad. Familiar faces were a welcome sight and it was nice to hear Canadian accents again – it has been a while, and there aren’t many of us in this country. We went on a camping safari, meaning that while we had a guide who did our cooking, driving etc, we had to erect and sleep in tents. I half expected a bushman Afrikaaner with guns and an unintelligible brogue, but our guide was in fact Scottish, with a full blown Edinburgh accent and pasty complexion to match. During our stay we were lucky enough to spot lions, rhinos, hippos, giraffes, zebras, elephants and a leopard, as well as various lizards, birds, turtles and antelope and springbok like animals…and a monkey with sky blue balls. The highlight was a sunset drive in the open safari truck – watching the sun go down over the spectacular scenery was breathtaking. I really cannot do it justice beyond saying that everyone should go on a safari at least once. There is something so tranquil about being out in the middle of the African wilderness, no other humans around for miles…surrounded by nature and animals – and knowing that you are in their territory. It’s a very peaceful experience.
Following the drive and a tasty braai prepared by our Scotsman, Jen and I headed off for some skinny dipping. While in the water, we could hear strains of house music coming from the woods…unexpected to say the least. Curiosity aroused and lit by a full moon, we followed the music until we found the source: not African drummers but rather a hilarious, green hooch swilling South African weatherman, straight out of the movie Anchorman (I swear), who invited us to celebrate St Paddy’s Day with him. Even in the wilds of Africa those of good Irish stock are enjoying a drink … Of course we obliged, and things were soon messy, with the camp guards asking us to shut it a number of times. When we finally returned to our tent two hours before the 5 am wake up call, I was at least tired enough that I could sleep through the animal noises coming from the sleeping bag beside me (Jen’s snoring, not a lion).
We also spent some time in Pretoria, a city about which I can’t find much exciting to say - it's a bit of a throwback. We ended up at the city’s nicest hotel thanks to Brad’s points, right across from the historic Union buildings – the location of the RSA government. For the most part, Pretoria is verging on the dilapidated. A shame really, because you can tell it was once a beautiful city. The entire CBD is considered unsafe for whites (it’s Zulu territory), and Jen and I unsuspectingly ended up in the city’s most dangerous neighbourhood while having dinner one night. We definitely had the feeling something was off, and when our driver came to fetch us, he basically herded us into the car as quickly as he could before speeding away. We also enjoyed partying Hatfied Square, the centre of the city’s nightlife. It’s a pretty fun area, a big square surrounded by maybe 30 restaurants, clubs, pubs and bars – in between which you can walk freely with your drinks. A good, if slightly tipsy time was had by all until our driver failed to show up at 2 am when it was time to head back to the hotel. In SA there is no such thing as hail-able street taxis, nor is there really any public transportation (unless you want to get on a minibus where if you aren’t murdered, you’ll be mugged).
We also visited Johannesburg for a couple of days – I was intrigued by ‘the world’s most dangerous city’ moniker. We hired a local driver who works for a CBS news correspondent Jen knows (figuring this would buy us good access), and were treated to a tour of Hillbrow (apparently SA’s most dangerous neighbourhood). As a white, you can only go in the daylight, you best not get out of the car, and you do not under any circumstances get caught taking photos. The area was featured in one of my favourite movies of recent times, District 9. It definitely felt scary and shady, and the Nigerian drug dealers were indeed plentiful. We also toured Soweto, including a rip off lunch on Vilakazi Street and a stop by Nelson Mandela’s former home, Winnie Mandela and Desmond Tutu’s current homes, and a drive by of Mandela’s residence in Houghton. I spent the rest of my time in Sandton and Melrose Arch – both nice areas very much in contrast to the burnt out war zone feel of the Johannesburg CBD.
The other highlight of the trip, and one I highly recommend anyone who comes to SA undertake, was a trip to The Ranch, a resort just outside of Polokwane. For those who saw and liked my lion photos – this is where they were taken. It’s a fantastic spot, situated on a game reserve, with semi–tame and wild lions, as well as lots of babies, which are too cute for words. Their squeaky little roars are the funniest noises…there were also some baby hyenas on hand, and apparently I just missed baby tigers. The Shearer family were excellent hosts – such nice and hospitable people, and activities included muddy off-roading in a rainstorm (it was nice to see a Land Rover being put to proper use and not just for yuppie transportation), and seadoing at a lake side cottage that looked like a scene straight out of Muskoka. Unfortunately, I managed to flip the seado. Fortunately, it still worked, though my pride was a little damaged. I also spent the night in a luxury tent by a rushing stream, including an ice cold swim in the morning (very Canadian) – which means that I have now slept in tents four times in my life – three more then before I came to Africa. I must also say, regarding Limpopo and Johannesburg - before coming to SA, I envisioned that my friend circle would include people of all colours; it is the supposed rainbow nation after all. But in the Western Cape there is a fairly defined separation between ethnic groups. In Gauteng and Limpopo, the same does not apply and everyone intermingles as a normal society – it was nice to actually spend time with some awesome black people.
Another stellar outing: A couple of weekends ago, I went on an overnight camping trip with an international contingent to Kogel Baie (Pronounced Cool Bay), a stunning, surfer friendly beach on the Atlantic coast en route to Hermanus. Our group included three Dutch (I love the Dutch, such down to earth, laidback people), two Americans, two Canadians, and two South Africans. Despite the howling winds which deposited a lot of sand in our braai, it was amazing. The sand was white powder, the stars were out in full force, the crashing waves were soothing to fall asleep to, and there were phosphorescents in the water! Every time we jumped in a puddle or even took a step in the ocean, it lit up with bright yellow sparkles that flew around our feet. It literally felt like being in a video game where every step we took was infused with magic. It was beyond cool – it blew my mind! Unfortunately in the morning I was the first riser and decided to take a walk on the beach – it looked deserted for miles. But once I had trekked maybe two km down the way I was harassed by drunk, coloured men. It’s a sad fact of life here that no matter how beautiful a vista is you cannot enjoy it alone (even in the middle of nowhere) and that your safety must always be your first priority.
Later that day we made the miscalculation of taking the train from Stellenboch to Cape Town – a mistake that lead to my first real run in with crime (other than the world’s stupidest car accident). The trains here are disgusting – full on ghetto and not a wise choice for whites in groups of smaller than 5. We were three, girls, white and with large bags…so probably asking for it. As soon as we hopped on the train I had the feeling it was a very bad idea, and sure enough not ten minutes into the ride one of our group was mugged. The muggers, who had the dead eyes of drug addicts and took off into a township as soon as the doors opened, only escaped with a new blackberry. Still, it was incredibly unsettling, and made the next hour of the train ride extremely tense as we wondered what other criminals might get on the train at each township stop.
One afternoon after class I went down the coast to see a wild penguin colony with a population of thousands in the most picturesque setting imaginable. They really are the cutest. One was holding his head up in the wind with a look of sheer ecstasy on his little face as it ruffled his feathers. Others were chilling in their penguin dens watching the humans watch them. They waddle along, always on the verge of tipping forward yet miraculously never do. I have always adored penguins with their unique personalities, and I was charmed.
Another weekend we made the trek to Crystal Pools, a local baboon infested cliff jumping destination up the road from the Strand. It’s an exhausting hour plus hike up a mountainside in the hot sun to reach the pools, but well worth it. Along the way you pass a number of baboons who are completely unphased by humans, and in fact regularly attack. They are incredibly intelligent, recognizing and targeting bags that may contain food – hence you must cover all bags with towels to prevent attack. The pools are an ascending series of five, with fresh, icy mountain water for swimming (filled with tadpoles and frogs) and rocky waterfalls that you can climb. I have to say, despite my fear of heights, scrambling up waterfalls and giant rocks in my bikini was amazingly fun. I only managed to jump off the lower cliffs, leaving the 50 metre plus cliffs to the brave souls and show offs.
I have begun volunteering one afternoon per week with a small scale United Nations sponsored initiative –the Kayamandi Literacy Project, where we help township elementary students with their spoken English and reading. I was nervous at first – I have never felt an inclination towards teaching and it can feel daunting when a group of 12 children and their assistant are sitting there staring at you. However, the work is really satisfying, and the children are charming, with distinct little personalities that shine through (I’ve never been the most maternal, so I don’t spend much time with kids). It can be hard to get them to focus, the girls especially want to play with your hair (they aren’t used to the smoothness of white hair) and jewellery, and the little boys all compete for attention. I feel sad for these kids and really want to help them rise above the lots they were born into. They are after all the future of SA and this country has a long way to go before equality is widespread.
Through this activity I now recognize that I have led such an incredibly privileged life. I was spoiled rotten as a child, spending my summers in Europe and having almost every toy I could imagine, and probably never really appreciated any of it. Yet despite my upbringing, I thought that I understood the world. But between my travels in the Middle East, South America and here I realize that I didn’t understand anything – and I haven’t even been to India yet! It’s strange – sometimes when I’m in these areas, I almost feel as if I’m on a movie set – that it can’t be real, and that real people cannot actually live in this way – it MUST be staged. What kind of a life could that be? As we drove through the township back to Stellenbosch it occurred to me that the old LV purse in which I carry my school books is probably worth more money then many of these people see in even ten years. And at that moment I felt deeply ashamed and a little ridiculous.
Last weekend was particularly interesting. On Friday I joined a group of international students for an escorted trip into two famous Cape Town townships (you DON’T go there without a local) – Gugulethu and Langa. These townships are rife with history – famous anti apartheid protests, killings and whatnot. It is sickening what the government here did to black people. They treated them more as animals than humans – it is no wonder that this country now faces the crime problems that it does. We visited various community spots including an arts centre, walked through the streets, and a drove through the business areas where we saw the witch doctor (sangoma) supply shop and the various sheds that form the central marketplace of township life. We also went into one of the homes to meet an elderly lady, and saw how she lived in shockingly cramped, smelly (but typical) quarters. And yet she kept it impeccably tidy. She answered our prying questions about life in Langa, and we learned about the white families of the desperately social-climberish Constantia neighbourhood who hire these women at a young age to raise one to two generations of their children, while paying them a pittance. And then, when they are no longer needed or reach retirement age, they are given a severance of something ridiculous like R100 and sent on their way. No pension, no gratitude for the years of service. Nothing. This is indeed the type of thing that is very difficult to swallow. But the night finished on a high note with an excellent dinner at the famous Mzoli’s Grill restaurant, a massive, smoky tent filled with the music of African drums and the only place in the township where whites (tourists mostly) and blacks can be found intermingling and happily chowing on the best braai I have had in South Africa. It was a fantastic and thoroughly enjoyable experience that felt really authentic. An amazing place, though perhaps a little daunting to get to due to its township location.
I also spent a great day with my friend Luke, who took me on a tour of many places I have yet to see in the region – despite the hurricane force winds(we estimated 70 km/hour). Our outing included the scenic drive to Chapman’s Peak (all I can say is wow!), and a turn in the antique shops of Hout Bay and Noord Hook, as well as some stellar ice cream and a leisurely stop in one of the area’s wine farms where I drank all of my wine and his as well. We attempted to visit a really beautiful beach, but I literally got sand burn from the wind, so this activity was short-lived. I also enjoyed dinner at my favourite Cape Town eatery which is always a treat, the Side Walk Café perched high on the side of Table Mountain, and one of the very few restaurants (actually only the second so far) that rivals the quality of food we enjoy back home.
I’m sure I’m missing a million stories, but have been too busy with school to update regularly. In future I will make a better effort at regularity and save myself the effort of writing 5,000 word updates!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Settling into South Africa
I’m closing in on three weeks in South Africa Vancouver
I spent an excellent last weekend with an old co-worker for whom I always had a soft spot – Stuart Marchant - and his awesome wife Elaine. They picked me up on the Friday afternoon, and we drove through the countryside and the rolling farmlands of the Western Cape , including townships, rainbow villages where the Cape coloured people live, to the seaside town of Langebaan
Anyway, I digress. As well as it being great to see my old friends, the weekend involved way too much really good wine and port. Here the wine drinking starts at lunch, continues through dinner, and ends as a night cap. And the wines are absolutely incredible! We ate at some great beachfront restaurants, and I finally got to run into the ocean…it was damn cold! I also had the most South African Sunday imaginable, including watching morning cricket (my new crush Woakes plays for England
I had a really good weekend this week as well. After classes finished on Friday, I went with some classmates to the nearby town of Paarl Cape Town Cape Town South Africa
The next night I went to a braai in Constantia thrown by a former Alaskan co-worker which also turned out to be quite fun – had some good conversations, made a couple of new potential hiking friends…drank some good port…and was mesmerized by the greasiest mountain of meat I have ever seen. Then one of my new friends (yay, it feels good to use that word) picked me up relatively early so we could get a decent nights sleep for a 6 am sunrise hike up Lion’s Head. But unfortunately a good night’s sleep was not in the cards, as at 3:30 am the entire block was woken by the sound of screaming chainsaws. I thought gangsters were trying to cut down the security gate, but turned out that half a tree fell down in the middle of the street sometime after midnight and the city (god knows how they knew) brought in a big truck and a crew with chainsaws at that ungodly hour. Keeping in mind that a.) this is some obscure, low traffic side street, and b.) nothing in South Africa
Everyone, young and old goes to church here – it is a very Christian society. So, I decided to take my friend up on his invite to attend service. Bearing in mind that I have only been to church twice in my entire life, I wasn’t sure what to expect. It was mostly in Afrikaans, so I just copied what everyone else did and it made for an entertaining morning. It’s the first time I have sung in a non karaoke bar in a very long time. We next drove through the larger scale and far more dangerous shanty town Kayalitsha on the way back to Stellenbosch – I believe the population is more than two million. This place is really intense –shacks upon shacks crammed in really tightly – some even have second floors. I think it’s quite dangerous to stop and take photos, so I didn’t. One thing that quite impressed me however, is how colourful the shacks are. They are literally a rainbow of sorbet tones. I think it demonstrates that people, no matter what their living conditions, can really take pride in their homes…and somehow the colour imbues a sense of optimism and happiness with their lot. Another interesting sight on the side of the highway was finally seeing the police hard at work (a rare/non existent thing in SA)). They were busy herding, manhandling and prodding stray cows that wandered out from the streets of the township onto the freeway. Seriously – you see the most random things happen along the side of the road in this country – I love it. Nickel also provided entertainment in the form of field stories from his medical work in Namibia
My most disturbing run in of the week happened when I was washing my hair yesterday. A GIANT, hairy yellow rain spider appeared out of nowhere, dangling right in front of my face. I screamed and ran out of the shower. I thought about trying to drown it, but it was so big it never would have washed down the drain. So I had to trap it in a glass. I couldn’t rest comfortably knowing that thing was in the house with me.
I’ve also decided I am not anywhere near being ready to drive in this country, where they rip down the shoulders of the highway as if it were just another lane, going 120. So instead, I have bought my first bike in eons. The first day or two were pretty wobbly and embarrassing, but I’m actually getting used to it. Though I feel like a ridiculous dork with the basket I just had attached. Unfortunately I need it for my text books. Maybe I’ll buy some streamers for the handle bars and a glitter saddle next.
I have to say that we have the most spectacular sunsets here – really mind blowing. And to see the black silhouette of the African trees and Table Mountain
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Western Cape, South Africa
Approaching the end of my first week in South Africa
Stellenbosch, my home town, is really more of an outer suburb of Cape Town South Africa Napa or Sonoma South Africa Strand . In and around Cape Town there is also Clifton and Camps Bay
The people here are generally a good looking bunch – think Aryan in the extreme. Blond hair, dark tans, blue eyes, all fit and really tall– you don’t see anyone overweight or out of shape. And the accent is obviously kryptonite (for me at least). Focusing on school might be difficult - I'm finding the men very distracting. They dress differently to back home – more relaxed and preppy. In fact, it is so casual that half the time people don’t bother wearing shoes in the city. In restaurants, in grocery stores, walking down the city street, at the Uni…apparently shoes are not a requirement here – no shoes, no worries – you will still receive service.
There is a black population as well, though their area of town is a township called Kayamandi. I believe it has around 40,000 residents, and looks exactly as they do in movies. Think tin shacks, crushing poverty, filthy. After traveling through the Middle East I have to confess that it does not shock me like it might had I just left Canada Cape Town
The main language is actually Afrikaans, which is a Dutch hybrid of sorts. Thankfully, because I know a fair amount of German I can often read Afrikaans. But speaking it, especially the pronunciations, will be tough. They use that guttural throat sound that Canadians struggle with. I have picked up a few phrases already and hope to have a decent command of the language within six months. In the meantime, luckily Stellenbosch University Germany
There are some other differences as well. Sleeping with mosquito nets in a must for me. Having a ‘domestic” or as we would say ‘a maid’ is taking some getting used to. I’m scared I’m going to develop some filthy habits once I adapt to someone always cleaning up after me. The quality of things such as food – especially produce – is much lower, and for somewhere that is supposed to have so much seafood, there is no fish at the grocery store. This makes me sad. Also bank fees, cell phones and internet are WAY more expensive than in Canada
The weather is for the most part spectacular. Sunny, blue skies and hot. Though the sun is perhaps a little too intense a times. Lots of sunscreen, sunhats and even a sun umbrella Asian-style are de rigeur. One thing that is surprising is the wind – it’s actually hard to wear sunhats because they generally get blown off your head. The wind is intense, as in it can blow a full grown person over. Apparently in winter it rains solidly for two months straight, even more so then in Vancouver
I have made some new friends – only a few South Africans, but that is starting to change. I’ve also hooked up with some really nice Germans. I’m trying to avoid too many foreign students as the whole purpose of me being here is to experience ZA culture. There are a ton of Americans at the Uni, which is disappointing… but no Canadians to be found anywhere. I have to say, South Africans love Canadians. I'm mobbed by people when they hear me speak. I haven't had this much attention since I lived in Australia. Secretly, I kind of like it *blush*. And contrary to the rest of my travels, no one has asked if I'm Chinese, Japanese or Jordanian. I’ve joined a few societies, including photography, the UN, dance and wine, so expect to meet more locals through those. I've also met up with a friend of my former CEO Ron, who's family owns a game reserve north of Johannesburg. I'm planning a trip up there to meet the animals and play with the baby lions. I can't wait! We went for dinner last week with some friends of his that own wineries out in Somerset West. After a fantastic dinner at one of the local vineyards we went to their house on top of the mountain. There was a full moon and the house was set on a vineyard. You could see the lights of Cape Town and Stellenbosch, and the two oceans spread out below. It was...basically...magical. Yes, I like it here very, very much.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Jordan – Amman, Petra, Madaba, Jerash and Mount Nebo
Beyond a doubt, the culture shock is a little overwhelming at first. While there are nice (ish) areas in western Amman Jordan
One thing I was amused by is the Jordanian’s widespread posting of cheesy portraits of their King in random places. At a gas station, at the bakery, road side, taped to the rear windows of their cars…large portraits of the man crop up everywhere. And they always look like they were taken in the 1980s. This seems like something a tyranic dictator would force his people to do, although apparently he is far from that.
Forget finding an obvious restaurant or café for dining either. There are some rusty little potential food preppish type places here and there, but nothing obvious – no signs, or menus displayed. I was worried I was going to need to survive off of stale cookies from the filthy convenience store that sold everything from sheep’s heads to, well, stale cookies.
The amount of garbage littering the road sides is shocking – even in the middle of the desert. Apparently there is a strong wind that blows it around the country from the city. But I would be highly surprised if there is any organized garbage collection service. Not with this much strewn on the ground. When you see it blowing around the desert, it’s really quite sad. And then you see the street animals picking through it, scrounging for dinner morsels, which is even more sad.
I was stuck with a chain smoking Jordanian local driver for my three days – he was full of unintelligible stories about his dislike of Russian prostitutes and how ‘welcome’ I was (as long as I tipped him largely). They drive like lunatics in Jordan
Touring Amman Petra
The road to Petra Petra village) I received my own private Bedouin guide whose parents were Bedouins who had lived in Petra
Anyway, regarding Petra Petra Petra
I also went on my first camel ride. I know it’s touristy, but why not? I can’t think of a better place to do it. Sitting on the hump puts you so high in the air – not the most comfortable. Getting off is difficult as well. But the camels are so sweet – they have the longest eyelashes!
I have only one complaint about Petra
The drive back to Amman
Other activities in Jordan included a trek to Mount Nebo
Last up was a trip to the old Roman city of Jerash Ephesus
At Jerash, there was a young Muslim family with two children shadowing us during the tour, and he pointed out to me how the parents held their children. When the woman carries a child, she holds its head to her heart as this increases the bonding experience. But when the father carries a child, he holds them away from his heart, as the children are not supposed to develop such closeness to their dad. I found this interesting. Perhaps this is none of my business, but I think that more discipline should be used towards children over here. The boys are allowed to run wild – badly behaved, rude, spoiled…total hellions. I don’t mean to generalize, but over and over I have seen it, as have other travelers I have met. A good spanking is needed by many.
I'm not sure what my ultimate opinion on the Jordanian people is either. To be honest, I don't think they are the most trustworthy. I wish so badly I could understand Arabic.I'm sure I would have heard some pretty ridiculous comments. They are friendly with an edge of sinister-ness, and they constantly have their hands out begging for tips - for the tiniest little thing. Considering what the Dinar is worth, this is pretty cheeky. Such blatant greed is truly sad. Nothing, not even a smile, is for free over here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)