The blog post you thought would never come

Well friends this is an extremely old post that I wrote about three weeks ago, but due to the SIT center's blockage of blogspot and just coming off a week in my rural homestay with no electricty or running water this is the first time I've had the chance to post it. Soooo I'll catch y'all up (if you're even still reading this) for now and post another one in a bit :).

It seems a century has passed since I last wrote—I’ve trotted off to Argentina and back, stopping in Jo’berg for some good ole bush, braii, and shebeen, meeting some amazing South Africans along the way, before I began my SIT program. I meet my SIT group at the airport and it was like I was in two different countries—most of the activities I had already done were strongly advised against and our program director goal was to lead the group into SA slow and steady, an existence I found hard to adjust to after complete freedom. Our two days in Jo’berg were spent at viewing the Holocaust Museum, Soweto (where Winnie Mandela and Desmund Tutu still reside), and Constitution Hill. The open artistic design of Constitution Hill—a building and branch of South African government designed specifically to uphold the extremely progressive constitution—is striking and moving. It houses not only a symbolic balboo tree for justice, but tributes to freedom fighters and AIDS victims alike, and a policy that any citizen can address the Constitutional Court appeal or not. Though I know most of the history that the panels in the Apartheid museum, I was amazed to learn that a huge casino (which you can see atop the reflection garden hill) was its creator—built on land that was auctioned off to big business for the best philanthropic project. The result is an emotional shattering museum, made all the more haunting by television footage from the 1970s and 80s, and heart stopping propaganda films and rally cries.

My fellow SITers are overall amazing—they have not only a wealth of travel experience and intelligence, but are also considerably more adaptable than I ever credited a group of 22 Americans being. Moreover, I’ve already found a partner to voyage to Mozambique with after the program ends. Yebo! We traveled on a beautiful route through the Drakensburg mountains to reach Durban and all my mates were introduced to the city by the sea—or the party city as most South Africans know it. After going out to one too many club before I met with the group I’d contracted a really nasty cold and an ear infection to boot, so once we got to Durban I saw the SIT doctor who prescribed me oodles of antibiotics, while continually saying, “It may be tempting but don’t sleep with us, just don’t!” over and over again. Afterwards we had a blind drop off in Durban, where I and two other group members got the chance to interview both a private doctor and a pharmacist who had extremely interesting views on the state of health care in South Africa, one of which involved a planned extermination of the poor through the ‘failure’ to distribute anti-retrols on the part of the government. Private and public healthcare in this country are indicative of the economic disparity as a whole, or as my doctor put it, “the first and third world that lives here.” After a lovely dinner on Florida Road a hip restaurant named Bean Bag Bohemia, some of the dinner went out for drinks with university students who had given us a “safety and security” talk earlier in the day. They turned out to be a complete riot and danced us half off the roof of the club we ended the night at—Sky bar. Aptly named, Sky bar has one of the most amazing views of Durban I’ve seen, complete with a VIP room full of free cocktails that our new admirer DJ Chinaman (“he’s got a NICE car,” says every girl you mention his name to) a select few girls into ;).

Friday night we moved into our homestays, which was so relieving. My family is absolutely amazing. I’m now dubbed Oweto Zwane by my lovely 16 year old sister, Fundo, Oweto meaning “Ours” in Zulu. My mama is a school teacher in the rural area, teaching classes of 60-70, with students ranging from 15-85 and my baba is a construction worker. We live on Buckingham Road in Cato Manner with a beautiful view of the entire township, informal settlement and all, our two dogs Prince and Mercy pacing continually for scraps outside. We have a helper Auntie Rose, with the most amazing laugh, who only speaks Zulu and is forcing me to get my clickin on as well. My ubhuti, Muntu, is crazy about science and soccer and is going to force me to learn so many house and rap songs by the time I leave that the umbrella song won’t be no thing. Muntu accompanied me on minibus trip to the beach and a stroll around town on Saturday, leading me and another student around like a pro as we swung in and out of vendors stalls. My usisi, Fundo, is incredible—I’m amazingly luck to be sharing a room with such a lively, funny, intelligent person. Not only has she begun to teach me the hottest South African dances, but we’ve talked intensely about religion, the glass ceiling (or lack there of according to some) for South African women, informal settlements, her brother who died in political action in the apartheid, virginity testing, and the jail system here (which she has another brother in). Though we went to three hours worth of very spirited Mass where she served as an usher, she told me that when she finishes grade 12 she’ll be an atheist. She’s also fasting for Ramadon to help out a friend. Cool girl to say the least. Notably the most intense and interesting prayer at church was one for the people of Zimbabwe—with mixed reactions from the crowd. Days here are EARLY, everyone in the family gets up at 5am and the TV and radio are automatically turned on and kept on for the entire day. The neighborhood is instantly alive with gogos hanging out the wash and children playing magaloba (a reverse limbo) in the car park before they move to the gameroom to buy 25 cent lollies and play a round of pool. One is constantly traveling from door to door to visit, where high decibels welcome you, and some of the most beautiful children come to hang on your legs. Come night, no one is out, safe the men gambling in the lot, gates locked, families eating chicken and beans in front of their favorite SA soup opera “Generations.”

Pick a pic

So I've finally started putting some of my snapshots on this big ole web; check em out if you're so inclined...
http://www.flickr.com/photos/9905591@N06/

Indolent Otter

My sincere apologies; this blog post is going to be a monster. Due to estrangement from internet for the last week, events seem a bit of a blur. Our last full days in Cape Town were spent combining a portion of the winelands with a visit down to Simon’s town to visit the infamous jackass penguins, indigenous to South Africa, a trip to the archives office, and shop, shop, shopping. Groot Constansia, most famous for it’s desert wine which Jane Austin said had, “healing powers a disappointed heart,” is well know to most tourists and guidebook reviewers vacationing in cape town. The wine tastings (as at all the vineyards) were extremely reasonable---5$ a person, but the hoards of obnoxious tourists would deter most except the true die hard Austen fan. What better (or more irnonic) way to read Sense and Sensibility than while ruminating with a “Grand Constance,” a sweet desert wine with the highest alcohol content a proper lady would dare to down. The weather in the Cape Town was absolutely horrendous—more than a few South Africans bitterly proclaiming it the worst they’d seen in years. Arguably the most tragic result of this was the scene we whitnessed at Simon’s town—hundreds of adorable innocent jackass penguins being pelted flat into the costal roughage by sizable hail. The cute little birds only could only look up in amazement at the stupid Americans far away from any rocky shelter snapping copious amounts of pictures of them. Later that night those very same Americans found refuage in a beautiful Cape Malay restaurant set with a view of the city the poshest restaurants would kill for and notably fantastic samosas and curried prawns. Joseph the owner sat with us an hour and spun us the tale of his life and the founding of the restaurant and hotel underneath, just in time for a huge convention of Malaysian diplomats to roll in. Joesph proved invaluable to the trip however, by showing my dad how to put the manual in reverse the South African way—shove it to the right into fifth and slam it down till the reverse lights come on. Our last morning in Cape Town we made two stops, a South African record store and the famous Pan-African Market. Filled to the brim with three stories of rented stalls, goods from all over Africa are placed in front of you by vendors eager to give you “special weekend price,” “pretty lady price,” and “bad weather price.” Modou Mboup, a transplanted Senegalese Art dealer bargained with my parents (and eventually sold) a beautiful abstract Elephant carving which he gave them a “special price because it was his daughter’s birthday” and nudgingly told my dad of the trip to Senegal he planed in which his first and second wife would meet and he would hopefully score enough art to afford a third wife. FYI: He gave me his business card if any of you lucky lady readers are interested....

After our encounter with Modou, we made our way to the Cape Winelands and enjoyed a delicious lunch and wine tasting at Blaauwklippen—by far my favorite vineyard of the tour. Though the cabernet sauvignon was to die for a nine year old boy stole the show. He was the most excited taster of the bunch, hurridly pushing to the counter to get another glass of Merlot, and by his fifth glass he was weaving in and out of Balthazar and Methalusa (the biggest bottles of Rose the vineyard possesses), he embarked on a thrilling rendition of, “I can see clearly now the rain is gone,” hitting all the high notes in a charming Afrikaners drawl. After visiting a couple more barrels; we (especially I, who drank my parents leftovers) were effectively sloshed, and we stumbled our way to Hermanus for wale watching the next morning. Our night in Hermanus was one of the coldest I have ever spent, but I provided a great comrade for the B&B owner who told me that just because I was sleeping alone, like she, an extra hotwater bottle would find its way to my bed.

The next day we started the morning off with some wine to steel us against scouring the cold coast for dolphins and Southern Right Whales; of which we caught some beautiful sightings. For a late lunch we stumbled upon a town Sunday lunch which we were lucky enough to attend due to a cancellation—the food and company were superb. We ate a traditional Afrikaans four course meal and met half the town who communicated more with their smiles of wonderment than the limited English they possessed (and our non-existent Afrikaans). Knysna and Tsitsikamma National parks provided extraordinary and refreshing hiking trails for us later on. The freaking adorable otter you see pictured was on the beach at Tsitsikamma, indolent as could be, providing able time for me to shoot a good twenty pictures which still produce an automatic “awwwww” from me. The Garden Route (which both of those parks were along) is breathtaking; the most mountainous and rugged terrain paired with beautiful coastline and brightly painted cement houses.

Addo Elephant National Park was our next stop, indulging both my mom’s elephant fixation and my meercat adoration. Early the next morning, after making it through the 5am road obstacles on the way to the Airport, we boarded a plane to Jo’berg to make our way to Honeyguide Safari.

Honeyguide is a surreal experience; when you get there a guide in a truck is waiting for you to take you town to catch the “game drive” you’re already late for. You are escorted to a jeep with a guide in the tracker (who sits at the front of the car with a spotlight to search out animals once it gets dark). After cocktail break about half way through our first four hour night drive we drove through a herd of about 400 buffalo and saw three lioness and a cub at a watering hole. A typical day at Honeyguide, the staff will explain to you, starts with a 6am wake up call (drums beating), coffee delivered to your tent and a 6:30am game drive. You get back about 9:45am and are greeted with a huge breakfast. Next you take an hour bushwalk accompanied by your guide (who carries a gun in case any of the beautiful beasties come out) and come back to a delicious three course lunch with white wine paring at 2:00pm. After a nap or another cocktail, you start of for your four hour night game drive and come back to an even more decadent three course dinner (comparable only to the meal I ate earlier this summer at Nomi) complete with red wine parings or any other drink you might desire. You stay in out-of-Africa-style tents surrounded by the bush—literally a elephant ate some leaves of the top my tent and a monkey pissed on the copy of a “A Problem from Hell” I left on my end table. I’ll leave you to conclude the verveet’s politics. Our three day stay was incredible—you get to know all of the staff and fellow guests intimately and meet some of the most interesting people from all over the world. As un-cliché as it can sound, by the end they were like family. Our tracker and guide, Devance and Craig respectively, were some of the loveliest most down to earth people I’ve ever met—I’m even meeting up with Craig and his sister in Jo’berg when I return from Argentina. Not only did we see leopards, zebra, elephants, giraffe, bushbabys, sirle, hyena, eagles, cheetah, wildcats, rinos, steenbuck, and kudu to name a few, but I got to see the happiest my parents have been in a while. Ernest Hemingway once said, “The world is a fine place and worth fighting for.” After only a brief time here, I have to say, I believe it.

Smokin' Judas!

After leaving Sunday at 6:30am we arrived safe and disoriented in on Monday at 8:00pm in Durban. The flight was one blur of broken sleep and 600 pages and the strangely poignant sensation (one I didn’t particularly feel on the way to Australia) that I was hoping over the equator.

Hair Salons (Hair n’ More, Black Dog, Chickies, to name a few), candy stands, and whistling public taxi drivers filled my brief view of Durban as I went in search of a comprehensive city map. Catching an afternoon flight, we sped over to Cape Town in a two hour package of turbulence and rented car.

From the highway, Cape Town was a life-sized economic Lego set; a rainbow of tin, cell-phone trailers, and cellular wires form shanty towns which morph into government built Mandela houses, and shift to the "Beverly Hills" of cape townships, as one of our cabbies called them, circling around the electrical plant before an abrupt end at district six. The city bowl, laying at the base of Table mountain, is constructed with colonial-victorian facades and palm tress, suburbs complete with self employed car watchers. On the rim of the city bowl calls to prayer sound from the Malaise districts.
The next morning we were told to take advantage of a clear day; a two hour hike up Platteklip gorge to the top of Table Mountain proved to be an extraordinary introduction to the cityscape.

As I stood at the look out point, I was shrouded in the hazy 'tablecloth,' a cloud that perpetually surrounds devils peak except on the most clear of days. Seventh Sealesque local fable says that Boor Jan van Hunks agreed to a smoking contest with a stranger on the slopes, and after six long days won—only to find that the stranger was the devil himself. Mr. Hunks was abruptly swept up in the puff of sore-loser smoke, the trail of which lingers around Table Mountain.

A lovely afternoon at Kirstenbosch National Bontanical Garden was complete with another 3 hour hike up skeleton gorge and a sighting of a neighborly gang of mongoose! Curry and samosas at Bo-Kaap Kombuis Malay Restaraunt completed our first glance of the cape peninsula.

~a

From Corn to Cape...

Its funny how easy it is, surrounded by worldly possessions, to reconcile oneself to one piece of luggage for five and a half months. Packed and planed, printed and proofed, I’ve pushed my necessities into my pack and am ready to board.

Bloomington, was full of hello-goodbyes, frantic and sweet, and puppy ears, and to do lists.

Now, I say, bring on that 26 hour plane flight! Equipped with apple reading material and a camera manual to master, driving to O’Hare, flying to NY, skidding through customs, fueling in Dakar, proudly presenting my golden visa in JoBerg, and finally gliding in to Durban will scarcely faze me.

Adventuring with my parents for the next three weeks is booked with wineries, villas, a drive on the Garden route, the Addo Elephant rest Camp, and two tented safaris. Suffice it to say that though it won’t be woman vs. wild, I’ll be content to see a family of meerkats and hang with the baby white sharks.

I’ll leave you with the images of my home and Blo/No (as the inhabitants lovingly refer to it) to contrast later with the rhino/giraffes/leapords/elly-fants and table mountain.

Sala kahle, 

Alyssa