I know I was keeping you in suspense, but I have, in fact, safely returned from Africa.
I got in Friday (I think) after a whirlwind 27-hour jaunt from the summery Southern Hemisphere. The weekend was high energy, reconnecting with Jackie and James, seeing my soon-to-be new house at Tufts, missing a concert (there's a story there, one that I will certainly tell later), finally having a pint of Guinness with Chase, Graham and Jen, watching even what I consider to be an absurd amount of football and Studio 60 and Family Guy and Boston Legal (I don't care what you say, Caitlin, it's still a good show), indulging in a Destino's Cheese Steak (I didn't even stop at home, I went straight there from the airport) and mom's pasta and, yes, some Taco Bell, making many a phone call, notably to most of you, unpacking, laundry, and, eventually, some rest. Today is my first real down day since I got back, the snow outside an ample metaphor for my mood and the amount of motivation I have to do anything. This peaceful, tranquil New England morning broken only by the strains of iTunes blaring my new 'African Soundscape' mix, a collection of 16 songs which best embody my time in Africa (The Slip's "Nellie Jean" is currently playing).
My return, as I thought, has been bittersweet. I am so happy to be home again with my old friends and my old familiarity, but I already miss so much of what made my South Africa experience great: the people (there will never again be an assembly I will hold in such high esteem as those solid friends I made there), the experiences (not just cricket and wine tasting, I promise), the sights and sounds and smells and textures and all of the perceptions and all of the realities that South Africa is, is not and could be. These four months have been an incredible time and I hope I've been able to impart in some small way how great it has all been. I don't know if I've yet been able to come to terms for myself with all that I experienced, I know for certain I haven't been able to write it well enough to you despite my best efforts. I hope I have entertained you and perhaps even provoked some thoughts about the wider world for you. I also hope that some of you who are reading this will find your way to South Africa soon. It is truly an awe-inspiring, if damaged and transitioning place, one that is worth beholding for yourself. And if you ever want a tour guide, I'm in.
There are more entries to come here, or at least one more. When Dad gets back from Germany, he will tell you of his experiences in Cape Town and along the Garden Route. And, let me tell you, we should all hope to have experiences like his for ourselves, so don't miss that one.
But for now, this marks the end of this phase of the journey. The story will continue however. As most of you know, I enjoy hearing the sound of my own voice, so for any of you who care to indulge me, I will be continuing to blog in the coming weeks and months about life in America, my journey towards graduation and beyond, with a few careless thoughts on baseball and politics thrown in along the way. That blog will be at a different address: http://theory-in-practice.blogspot.com - log on there to follow Theory in Practice: A Pink Polo Production.
Thank you all for reading, and I hope to see and hear from you all in the near future.
Cheers.
---
One last note. If you're looking for different perspective on the South African journey, a couple of my friends have also been blogging along the way. So surf on over and read their now collected works.
Christine's "Apostrophe" - http://cmc421.blogspot.com
Adrienne's "South African Semester" - http://vanycrsa.blogspot.com
Totsiens.
04 December 2006
29 November 2006
Suddenly, 28 Hours.
Hello again.
Sorry for the lack of posts of late, I've been on dipsaluscious vacation with the patriarch (who should be guest blogging shortly) and have been away from the Internets. Mind you, there is much to discuss regarding the last two weeks of post-UCT South African experiences, and those will come along in due time. However, I may be writing those from the other side of the Atlantic. Tomorrow, at 2pm SAST, I'll begin my 30-hour journey (ughh...) home. By Friday at 1pm EST, I'll have a Destino's Cheese Steak in my hand as I make my glorious return to the shores of America, and the "g."
It's honestly quite hard to believe this experience is all coming to an end. It seems like only yesterday I was stepping off the plane here in Cape Town, wide-eyed, agog at the fact that I had made it all the way to Africa. It further occurs to me that I have done more in these 4 months than most people do in a lifetime, and I have only barely scratched the surface of the new South Africa. As Al says, that just means I have to come back.
For now, I am throwing myself into the events surrounding my departure, endless packing, driving back and forth to Tableview and hopefully later heading off to one last stop at the Kirstenbosch Gardens. I am, in essence, avoiding the harsh reality that the people and places I have developed a closeness with over these last months are about to scatter across the world. I wonder when the next time will come around that Caitlin and I will go for a lunch date at the Waterfront, or Christine and I will wander through a bookshop, or my little sisters, Dannie, Ali and Dubs will go for sundowners or off to the cricket at Newlands, or when Kevin and I will braai under the hot sun, burning to bronze as we munch on a boerewors. The truth is these and all the other wonderful people and places that I have encountered over these last months will live on, burned into my memory and helping to change my life for the better, and, unfortunately, never to be repeated in this way again. So, I live these last 28 hours in hopes of creating one more last set of new memories, when so many have already earned a special place in my heart.
So, with that, I'm off. Next time you hear from me, I'll be on the other side of the world.
Sorry for the lack of posts of late, I've been on dipsaluscious vacation with the patriarch (who should be guest blogging shortly) and have been away from the Internets. Mind you, there is much to discuss regarding the last two weeks of post-UCT South African experiences, and those will come along in due time. However, I may be writing those from the other side of the Atlantic. Tomorrow, at 2pm SAST, I'll begin my 30-hour journey (ughh...) home. By Friday at 1pm EST, I'll have a Destino's Cheese Steak in my hand as I make my glorious return to the shores of America, and the "g."
It's honestly quite hard to believe this experience is all coming to an end. It seems like only yesterday I was stepping off the plane here in Cape Town, wide-eyed, agog at the fact that I had made it all the way to Africa. It further occurs to me that I have done more in these 4 months than most people do in a lifetime, and I have only barely scratched the surface of the new South Africa. As Al says, that just means I have to come back.
For now, I am throwing myself into the events surrounding my departure, endless packing, driving back and forth to Tableview and hopefully later heading off to one last stop at the Kirstenbosch Gardens. I am, in essence, avoiding the harsh reality that the people and places I have developed a closeness with over these last months are about to scatter across the world. I wonder when the next time will come around that Caitlin and I will go for a lunch date at the Waterfront, or Christine and I will wander through a bookshop, or my little sisters, Dannie, Ali and Dubs will go for sundowners or off to the cricket at Newlands, or when Kevin and I will braai under the hot sun, burning to bronze as we munch on a boerewors. The truth is these and all the other wonderful people and places that I have encountered over these last months will live on, burned into my memory and helping to change my life for the better, and, unfortunately, never to be repeated in this way again. So, I live these last 28 hours in hopes of creating one more last set of new memories, when so many have already earned a special place in my heart.
So, with that, I'm off. Next time you hear from me, I'll be on the other side of the world.
07 November 2006
In CONGRESS, November 7, 2006
"We hold these Truths to be self-evident: that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed, by their Creator, with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.
That to secure these Rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just Powers from the Consent of the Governed, that whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these Ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its Foundation on such Principles, and organizing its Powers in such Form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness."
-Thomas Jefferson
Vote today.
That to secure these Rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just Powers from the Consent of the Governed, that whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these Ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its Foundation on such Principles, and organizing its Powers in such Form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness."
-Thomas Jefferson
Vote today.
05 November 2006
Election Picks '06: Getting Ready to Govern!
It’s the most wonderful time of (every two) years! Yes, it’s the midterm elections. This year, we have an extra added benefit: NOT LOSING. The Democratic Party, which in my lifetime has done just about everything it possibly can to lose elections, finally can’t screw one up. As we look forward to governing for the first time in 12 years, this cycle has been quite revolutionary. By my own count, no fewer than 11 seats in the Senate and 76 seats in the House were what I consider “in play” – that is to say that the recent polling is such that they are either toss up races or leaning ever so slightly to one side or the other. Having 30 House seats up for grabs is generally considered a lot. 76 is earth shattering. And, barring a major news event in the next 24 hours, the GOP is going to down one of its worst defeats since Watergate. Also, I have tagged some races as "Firewall Races." These are seats that a generally solid GOP strongholds but that have attracted media attention and extra money because of Democratic gains. These are races I consider bellwether districts which could tell the story of the Democratic landslide in 2006. So, as I sit here salivating over polling data, here is a write-up on races of particular interest.
SENATE
Massachusetts – D
Teddy Kennedy is gonna be pushing 50 years in the Senate soon. I like that thought.
Montana – D
Jon Tester makes every Democrat’s dream come true: winning a moderate seat back from the Republicans at the expense of one of their most powerful influence-peddlers.
Arizona – R
Firewall race. Hayworth (as I will talk about later) is in trouble which means every Republican except John McCain in Arizona is in trouble. Jon Kyl has managed to stay above the fray of the divisive immigration issue and I just have a really hard time imagining a man of his stature in Arizona politics and his influence in Washington losing even with the tide rising. However, if it looks like a landslide early in the evening across the country, Conservatives may desert him and he could be in trouble. Nonetheless, I still have this race in the GOP column.
Missouri – D
The Michael J. Fox ad had a huge effect nationwide and in Missouri in particular. You could not helped but be moved by this man, whom Americans have embraced as one of our best loved celebrities, clearly suffering at the ravages of a scary, largely misunderstood disease for which there may finally be hope of a cure. And you could not help but feel sick when the opposition trotted out those great men of science, Jeff Suppan and Kurt Warner, to speak for the anti-science, anti-progress Christian Conservative community and bash Mr. Fox for pleading with voters to not cut off avenues to an eventual cure for Parkinson’s. (Note: I am leaving Rush Limbaugh out of this discussion on purpose. His words were not even political discourse, just a sleazy smear attack, something he specializes in of course, but one which sank to even new depths.) In the furor that erupted after the ad, Jim Talent was left to scramble and consolidate support while not looking like a complete anti-progress buffoon, and Claire McCaskill will reap the benefit of his inability to do so.
Ohio – D
Mike DeWine, welcome to electoral oblivion. The NRSC pulled your funding almost two months ago. TWO MONTHS! You barely got out there after Labor Day, and the rug got pulled out from under you. Ohio isn’t just trending Blue this time around, it’s hemorrhaging GOP votes.
Pennsylvania – D
Rick Santorum is the biggest joke in American politics. His campaign was a punchline from the word go. I think Mark Foley could have moved to Altoona two months ago and gotten more votes than Santorum will. Bye Rick, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.
Tennessee – R
Harold Ford needed to shut his mouth on the New Jersey gay marriage decision. I’m not angry about it because I disagree with him – and Lord knows I do – but because he looked like a political opportunist who tried to leverage an unpopular issue. And then he dropped 5 points in a poll taken two days later and he’s still sliding. That race has been over for a week, Bob Corker wins easily, might even get to 55% in a race that was deadlocked, or he was trailing in, depending on how you read the numbers, 96 hours ago.
Virginia – D
Mark Warner’s Presidential campaign won’t be the only one to end in Virginia this month. The Warner/Kaine GOTV machine is going to put Jim Webb over the top and end George “I am not now, nor have I ever been a racist…except for that time I used a slur at a campaign event and was basically in the Klan in college” Allen’s run at the presidency.
Rhode Island – D
Lincoln Chafee had to survive attacks from the left and right for the last year while trying to cobble together the center in Rhode Island. These are people who voted for Buddy Cianci. Twice. Including after he served time in prison. Chafee was always an outlier, a moderate Republican in one of the most staunchly, working class democratic states in the Union. Anger at President Bush and Chafee’s links to his administration will put Sheldon Whitehouse in the U.S. Senate.
Connecticut – I
The thought of Joe Lieberman returning to the U.S. Senate makes me almost violently ill. He claims to be a member of the Democratic Party, but he has become bosom buddies with the President just six years after he and Al Gore defeated him for the Presidency. Ned Lamont has run an awesome campaign, coming from nowhere to shock the Democratic establishment and Joementum out of the nomination for the first time in 18 years. But Lieberman has consistently shown himself to be a political chameleon, changing his colors from red to blue as the situation warrants. Unfortunately, this means Bush and Company’s favorite “Democrat” gets another six years in the Senate. You will notice I have not included Lieberman as a Democrat in the final tally. He has to prove he still believes in the fundamental values of my party before I put a D next to his name again. If he wants to be a Republican, fine. But he better prove himself if he wants to be a full-fledged member of my party again.
New Jersey – D
Menendez over Tom Kean, Jr. Race shouldn’t even really be in play, but Tom Kean is running on the goodwill of his father and his solid work with the 9/11 Commission.
Maryland – D
Cardin. Easy.
Final Tally:
D – 50
R – 49
I – 1
HOUSE
Massachusetts ALL – D
The Massachusetts Congressional Delegation thanks you once again for sending them back to Congress. Even Steve Lynch.
California 11 – D
Firewall Race. This district was redrawn after the Gary Condit fiasco some years back to include more Democratic areas around Stockton. Even though the area is fairly consistently Republican, bad internals forced the NRCC to drop money into the Sacramento media market a week ago to try and hold this seat. It’s starting to look like the ads backfired and the growing landslide coming from the east coast may keep conservatives at home and turn central California blue for the first time in a long time.
Arizona 05 – D
Firewall Race. J.D. Hayworth, until about a week ago, was one of the most recognizable, telegenic, and well-liked Conservative members of Congress. All of a sudden, he is within the margin of error to a relatively unknown Democratic candidate who is making hay off the now-marginalized illegal immigration issue and Hayworth’s inability to lead on the issue despite his vitriol and rhetoric on the issue. Instead of moving on legislation on the divisive issue, Hayworth and others used it for political gain and are now pushing it off the legislative agenda. Conservatives are deserting Hayworth in droves in response. This is another race in which the Democrats should benefit from GOTV and early gains, as even more Conservatives may decide to stay home. Don’t weep for Hayworth though, he will no doubt return to a very lucrative career in talk radio railing against the bleeding heart liberals. Only problem, we’ll be governing now…
Idaho 01 – D
Firewall Race. This race is a testament to how revolutionary this cycle truly is. The Idaho 1st is in play? Really? Yeah, really. People everywhere are looking for change, and good candidates like Larry Grant are stepping up to the plate and talking to people in plain English, about issues they really do care about, like Health Care, education, rural development, jobs, and the War in Iraq. Issues that can unite Americans, not divide them. (You know, I seem to remember hearing a phrase like that before somewhere…) The GOP strategy of division just isn’t going to cut it in the Mountain West anymore, or pretty much anywhere else in the country. People are tired of fending for themselves, they like their neighbors. Why not prosper together?
Wyoming AL – D
Barbara Cubin will lose this race because Gary Trauner, like Larry Grant, believes in fair government and a return to community values. Trauner also has a great campaign manager in Linda Stoval, a woman I worked with when I was Wyoming state director on the Dean campaign, and who was a great grassroots organizer, one of the best I worked with in fact. Also, CUBIN THREATENED TO SLAP A MAN IN A WHEELCHAIR. I just can’t make this stuff up.
Texas 22 – D
Tom DeLay’s old district goes blue as Delay gets ready to put on his orange jumpsuit. The voters here, while some of the most Conservative in the nation, will send a democrat to Congress thanks to DeLay’s reckless disregard for the American legal system and ethics in general.
Illinois 06 – D
The fact that anyone had the unmitigated gall to take potshots at Tammy Duckworth during this campaign was appalling. Of course, they did it to Max Cleland too, but this time it won’t stick and Henry Hyde’s old seat will be filled by a Democrat.
West Virginia 01 – D
Here’s an interesting one, a race with a Democrat facing ethical questions. Mollohan still wins this race, that’s how bad it is for the Republicans this year. Also, I don’t care what Jason Reifer says, no way Shelley Moore Capito loses WV-02.
North Carolina 11 – D
Heath Shuler does at the ballot box what he could never do in the NFL, win.
Florida 16 – D
Not even in the close comfort and total privacy of the voting booth will Floridians check off Mark Foley’s name on a ballot. I almost feel sorry for the Republican candidate in this race, who has to tell people to vote for an avowed child predator for Congress. But then I remember, they’re trying to govern.
Pennsylvania 07 – D
Curt Weldon, join Tom DeLay at the back of the line. Joe Sestak can thank the FBI and Weldon’s daughter’s dirty dealings for an electoral victory.
New York 03 – R
Firewall Race. If Peter King loses his seat early in the night (which is eminently possible with the hordes of voters coming out for both Hillary and Eliot Spitzer) it is going to be an even worse night for the GOP than we all could imagine. I still can’t bring myself to say he will lose, but it is a distinct possibility.
New York 19 – D
*SHAMELESS PLUG ALERT* Trippi and Associates fine advertising support of John Hall has helped him cobble together a slim lead going into the voting. Hall’s outspoken distaste for the Iraq debacle has garnered him a lot of support and should push him over the top and into Congress.
New York 26 – D
If there’s one thing worse than being Mark Foley this cycle, it’s being the guy who hid the child predator’s disgraceful and disgusting penchant for little boys from the American public. Tom Reynolds was that man. He was also the titular head of the National Republican Congressional Committee. It’s gonna be a bad night for him.
Connecticut 04 – R
Firewall Race. Chris Shays is in the same boat as Peter King. Moderate Republican, long-serving, well-liked. But we’ll see just how high the tide is rising early in the night.
Final Tally:
D – 244
R – 191
(D +41, 53 seat advantage)
GOVERNOR
Massachusetts – D
Deval Patrick FINALLY returns the Corner Office to the control of the Democratic Party. Patrick will make an outstanding governor for the Commonwealth and help right the ship in Massachusetts and return us to glory as the best state in the Union and a shining beacon of hope to the rest of the nation. Deval Patrick will also show his skills of walking on water, then turning that water into wine. But in all seriousness, he’s run a smart, principled campaign that connected with people on a fundamental level and he will make an excellent leader for the Commonwealth.
California – R
The people of the State of California are going to re-elect Arnold Schwarzeneggar governor of their state. Because once wasn’t embarrassing enough.
New York – D
Obama/Spitzer ’08? Is it too early to say that? … Please?
SENATE
Massachusetts – D
Teddy Kennedy is gonna be pushing 50 years in the Senate soon. I like that thought.
Montana – D
Jon Tester makes every Democrat’s dream come true: winning a moderate seat back from the Republicans at the expense of one of their most powerful influence-peddlers.
Arizona – R
Firewall race. Hayworth (as I will talk about later) is in trouble which means every Republican except John McCain in Arizona is in trouble. Jon Kyl has managed to stay above the fray of the divisive immigration issue and I just have a really hard time imagining a man of his stature in Arizona politics and his influence in Washington losing even with the tide rising. However, if it looks like a landslide early in the evening across the country, Conservatives may desert him and he could be in trouble. Nonetheless, I still have this race in the GOP column.
Missouri – D
The Michael J. Fox ad had a huge effect nationwide and in Missouri in particular. You could not helped but be moved by this man, whom Americans have embraced as one of our best loved celebrities, clearly suffering at the ravages of a scary, largely misunderstood disease for which there may finally be hope of a cure. And you could not help but feel sick when the opposition trotted out those great men of science, Jeff Suppan and Kurt Warner, to speak for the anti-science, anti-progress Christian Conservative community and bash Mr. Fox for pleading with voters to not cut off avenues to an eventual cure for Parkinson’s. (Note: I am leaving Rush Limbaugh out of this discussion on purpose. His words were not even political discourse, just a sleazy smear attack, something he specializes in of course, but one which sank to even new depths.) In the furor that erupted after the ad, Jim Talent was left to scramble and consolidate support while not looking like a complete anti-progress buffoon, and Claire McCaskill will reap the benefit of his inability to do so.
Ohio – D
Mike DeWine, welcome to electoral oblivion. The NRSC pulled your funding almost two months ago. TWO MONTHS! You barely got out there after Labor Day, and the rug got pulled out from under you. Ohio isn’t just trending Blue this time around, it’s hemorrhaging GOP votes.
Pennsylvania – D
Rick Santorum is the biggest joke in American politics. His campaign was a punchline from the word go. I think Mark Foley could have moved to Altoona two months ago and gotten more votes than Santorum will. Bye Rick, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.
Tennessee – R
Harold Ford needed to shut his mouth on the New Jersey gay marriage decision. I’m not angry about it because I disagree with him – and Lord knows I do – but because he looked like a political opportunist who tried to leverage an unpopular issue. And then he dropped 5 points in a poll taken two days later and he’s still sliding. That race has been over for a week, Bob Corker wins easily, might even get to 55% in a race that was deadlocked, or he was trailing in, depending on how you read the numbers, 96 hours ago.
Virginia – D
Mark Warner’s Presidential campaign won’t be the only one to end in Virginia this month. The Warner/Kaine GOTV machine is going to put Jim Webb over the top and end George “I am not now, nor have I ever been a racist…except for that time I used a slur at a campaign event and was basically in the Klan in college” Allen’s run at the presidency.
Rhode Island – D
Lincoln Chafee had to survive attacks from the left and right for the last year while trying to cobble together the center in Rhode Island. These are people who voted for Buddy Cianci. Twice. Including after he served time in prison. Chafee was always an outlier, a moderate Republican in one of the most staunchly, working class democratic states in the Union. Anger at President Bush and Chafee’s links to his administration will put Sheldon Whitehouse in the U.S. Senate.
Connecticut – I
The thought of Joe Lieberman returning to the U.S. Senate makes me almost violently ill. He claims to be a member of the Democratic Party, but he has become bosom buddies with the President just six years after he and Al Gore defeated him for the Presidency. Ned Lamont has run an awesome campaign, coming from nowhere to shock the Democratic establishment and Joementum out of the nomination for the first time in 18 years. But Lieberman has consistently shown himself to be a political chameleon, changing his colors from red to blue as the situation warrants. Unfortunately, this means Bush and Company’s favorite “Democrat” gets another six years in the Senate. You will notice I have not included Lieberman as a Democrat in the final tally. He has to prove he still believes in the fundamental values of my party before I put a D next to his name again. If he wants to be a Republican, fine. But he better prove himself if he wants to be a full-fledged member of my party again.
New Jersey – D
Menendez over Tom Kean, Jr. Race shouldn’t even really be in play, but Tom Kean is running on the goodwill of his father and his solid work with the 9/11 Commission.
Maryland – D
Cardin. Easy.
Final Tally:
D – 50
R – 49
I – 1
HOUSE
Massachusetts ALL – D
The Massachusetts Congressional Delegation thanks you once again for sending them back to Congress. Even Steve Lynch.
California 11 – D
Firewall Race. This district was redrawn after the Gary Condit fiasco some years back to include more Democratic areas around Stockton. Even though the area is fairly consistently Republican, bad internals forced the NRCC to drop money into the Sacramento media market a week ago to try and hold this seat. It’s starting to look like the ads backfired and the growing landslide coming from the east coast may keep conservatives at home and turn central California blue for the first time in a long time.
Arizona 05 – D
Firewall Race. J.D. Hayworth, until about a week ago, was one of the most recognizable, telegenic, and well-liked Conservative members of Congress. All of a sudden, he is within the margin of error to a relatively unknown Democratic candidate who is making hay off the now-marginalized illegal immigration issue and Hayworth’s inability to lead on the issue despite his vitriol and rhetoric on the issue. Instead of moving on legislation on the divisive issue, Hayworth and others used it for political gain and are now pushing it off the legislative agenda. Conservatives are deserting Hayworth in droves in response. This is another race in which the Democrats should benefit from GOTV and early gains, as even more Conservatives may decide to stay home. Don’t weep for Hayworth though, he will no doubt return to a very lucrative career in talk radio railing against the bleeding heart liberals. Only problem, we’ll be governing now…
Idaho 01 – D
Firewall Race. This race is a testament to how revolutionary this cycle truly is. The Idaho 1st is in play? Really? Yeah, really. People everywhere are looking for change, and good candidates like Larry Grant are stepping up to the plate and talking to people in plain English, about issues they really do care about, like Health Care, education, rural development, jobs, and the War in Iraq. Issues that can unite Americans, not divide them. (You know, I seem to remember hearing a phrase like that before somewhere…) The GOP strategy of division just isn’t going to cut it in the Mountain West anymore, or pretty much anywhere else in the country. People are tired of fending for themselves, they like their neighbors. Why not prosper together?
Wyoming AL – D
Barbara Cubin will lose this race because Gary Trauner, like Larry Grant, believes in fair government and a return to community values. Trauner also has a great campaign manager in Linda Stoval, a woman I worked with when I was Wyoming state director on the Dean campaign, and who was a great grassroots organizer, one of the best I worked with in fact. Also, CUBIN THREATENED TO SLAP A MAN IN A WHEELCHAIR. I just can’t make this stuff up.
Texas 22 – D
Tom DeLay’s old district goes blue as Delay gets ready to put on his orange jumpsuit. The voters here, while some of the most Conservative in the nation, will send a democrat to Congress thanks to DeLay’s reckless disregard for the American legal system and ethics in general.
Illinois 06 – D
The fact that anyone had the unmitigated gall to take potshots at Tammy Duckworth during this campaign was appalling. Of course, they did it to Max Cleland too, but this time it won’t stick and Henry Hyde’s old seat will be filled by a Democrat.
West Virginia 01 – D
Here’s an interesting one, a race with a Democrat facing ethical questions. Mollohan still wins this race, that’s how bad it is for the Republicans this year. Also, I don’t care what Jason Reifer says, no way Shelley Moore Capito loses WV-02.
North Carolina 11 – D
Heath Shuler does at the ballot box what he could never do in the NFL, win.
Florida 16 – D
Not even in the close comfort and total privacy of the voting booth will Floridians check off Mark Foley’s name on a ballot. I almost feel sorry for the Republican candidate in this race, who has to tell people to vote for an avowed child predator for Congress. But then I remember, they’re trying to govern.
Pennsylvania 07 – D
Curt Weldon, join Tom DeLay at the back of the line. Joe Sestak can thank the FBI and Weldon’s daughter’s dirty dealings for an electoral victory.
New York 03 – R
Firewall Race. If Peter King loses his seat early in the night (which is eminently possible with the hordes of voters coming out for both Hillary and Eliot Spitzer) it is going to be an even worse night for the GOP than we all could imagine. I still can’t bring myself to say he will lose, but it is a distinct possibility.
New York 19 – D
*SHAMELESS PLUG ALERT* Trippi and Associates fine advertising support of John Hall has helped him cobble together a slim lead going into the voting. Hall’s outspoken distaste for the Iraq debacle has garnered him a lot of support and should push him over the top and into Congress.
New York 26 – D
If there’s one thing worse than being Mark Foley this cycle, it’s being the guy who hid the child predator’s disgraceful and disgusting penchant for little boys from the American public. Tom Reynolds was that man. He was also the titular head of the National Republican Congressional Committee. It’s gonna be a bad night for him.
Connecticut 04 – R
Firewall Race. Chris Shays is in the same boat as Peter King. Moderate Republican, long-serving, well-liked. But we’ll see just how high the tide is rising early in the night.
Final Tally:
D – 244
R – 191
(D +41, 53 seat advantage)
GOVERNOR
Massachusetts – D
Deval Patrick FINALLY returns the Corner Office to the control of the Democratic Party. Patrick will make an outstanding governor for the Commonwealth and help right the ship in Massachusetts and return us to glory as the best state in the Union and a shining beacon of hope to the rest of the nation. Deval Patrick will also show his skills of walking on water, then turning that water into wine. But in all seriousness, he’s run a smart, principled campaign that connected with people on a fundamental level and he will make an excellent leader for the Commonwealth.
California – R
The people of the State of California are going to re-elect Arnold Schwarzeneggar governor of their state. Because once wasn’t embarrassing enough.
New York – D
Obama/Spitzer ’08? Is it too early to say that? … Please?
03 November 2006
Ubuntu
I have just returned from a short trip to Port Elizabeth to visit the headquarters of the Ubuntu Education Fund, a non-governmental non-profit organization devoted to enriching the lives of the citizens of townships in PE. As you will soon read, it was easily the most wonderful, humanizing and deeply moving experience I have had in South Africa.
But what is ubuntu, you ask? Ubuntu is a not a concept, or a catchphrase, or even a way of life. It is, simply, life. It is an abiding belief in the idea the communities are strongest when they are united in helping each other. But words do not fully explain ubuntu. They cannot. One must experience it for oneself. You cannot know ubuntu until you know traditional life in South Africa. I encourage all of you to experience it at some point in our life. Here is a slice of that life, some stories from my journey yesterday, which I hope will deepen your understanding of ubuntu.
---
As the plane lands, I am met by Qonongile (the Q is a click, by the way), a project manager is the case management department at Ubuntu. On the ride in from the airport, through the interwoven neighbourhoods of PE, "Q" (for the sake of both pronunciation and spelling) explains what Ubuntu does, which are various programs ranging from educational development to HIV/AIDS prevention, treatment and counseling as well as dealing with the growing problems of orphans and victims of child rape in the townships. As we get closer to the Ubuntu office and enter the townships, I start seeing funeral parlors. Everywhere. Q explains that "business is booming." The death trade is growing because the HIV infection rate is above 40%. He further explains that it is the only business which is booming, as PE employment rates are 10%. That's EMPLOYMENT rates. In Port Elizabeth, they are experiencing 90% unemployment. No one has a job. No one can get a job. Political apartheid is over, but economic apartheid is real and it is having serious and damaging consequences to the community.
We arrive at the office and I meet Jana, an American who has worked at Ubuntu for 3 years now. She is one of the project managers, working across portfolio but mainly focused on education initiatives and working to provide resources to the 21 Ubuntu partner schools. She introduces me to Thembagazi and Phezi who are heading up the new Orphan and Vulnerable Children initiative, working both in schools and the community to counteract the destructive effects of children left without support systems, usually related to HIV/AIDS. They have five targeted schools, in which each has a main counselor who mentors classes on life skills and HIV prevention, while also acting in a rehabilitative and case management capacity, working with victims of orphanage, child rape and other similarly vulnerable problems. When we arrive at the B.J. Mnyanda school, the school day is over, at 12:30 in the afternoon, one of the many half days which are a growing problem in the South African school system, as teachers lack the funding, resources or will power necessary to teach primary school classes of 60 for an entire day. The children are still hanging around school, they have just received lunch, but they still stay. Many of them have no parents, live alone or with other children in the informal settlements and squatter camps near the school. For them, school is a refuge, a place where they can be safe, where they will be fed and cared for, not raped or brutalized or alone. These children want to be in school. We then move on to the Jarvis school, where another Ubuntu program has taken root. Here I meet the principal of the school who is so fiercely proud of what he has to offer the children. Literally brimming, he pulls me into the library, half-full with books, which Ubuntu has worked hard to secure for the children. He explains how he and other members of the community built the school by themselves after the original school and library was destroyed by the National Police during the 1976 Uprising, and how the library laid dormant, bereft of books until Ubuntu came along. He then whisks me into a computer lab where they have 20 working computers that children can learn computer skills on, and also integrate classroom learning into the information age. A class of 1st or 2nd graders was currently inside working on math problems and isiXhosa grammar and vocabulary. But this is not the proudest achievement for the principal. He then takes me to the small kitchen where lunch is being wrapped up. He says "I can feed all my students now." Until August of this year, the school only had enough funding from the federal government to feed grades Kindergarten through 4th grade every day of the week, with 5th through 8th grades being fed on alternate days. Ubuntu helped him and his students plant and cultivate a garden, and now all children are fed with a hot meal every day. For many of them, it is the only meal they will eat all day. Our final stop on the tour was an Ubuntu mentoring session, for which today's topic was gender identity. The words 'SEXUAL HEALTH" were writ large on the blackboard, and I watched as a class of 7th graders engaged with rapt attention their mentor who was asking them question about what they liked about being a boy or girl. The lecture was in Xhosa, so I only picked up a few things. Then suddenly, the entire class jumped up and broke into a song and dance that had something to do with loving their bodies, themselves and respecting each other. I leaned over to Jana and said, "If I go back and tell people that I witnessed 7th graders spontaneously dancing and singing in the middle of Sex Ed class, much less simply engaging so well with the topic, I am going to be laughed out of the room." Nevertheless, it happened. As the busy principal waves goodbye and we get in the car to leave, young children see me and surround the car shouting "Lungu! Lungu!" with bright smiles on all their faces. Lungu is Xhosa for white person. I give them all a smile and wave and they smile back, as Jana explains that not only am I a rarity in their lives, they are always so happy just to get a smile from someone, because so few adults care for these children. As we leave, they scurry back into the schoolhouse to learn and play and stave off the desperation around them for a few more hours.
After eating lunch provided by the Ubuntu garden (which grows some pretty tasty tomatoes, I must say), Chris and Tsepo, who were outreach coordinators, informed me that they were taking me to a workshop in the township. I envisioned a small community centre, with people seated in chairs around someone talking about empowerment opportunities or life skills. Not exactly. I found myself about 10 minutes later, after rather a harrowing minibus ride on the Uitenhage (WEE-ten-haig) line, sitting with 15 women and 5 men in the 8 x 10 living room of a tin-roof shack in the Chris Hani informal settlement, Sira removed a, shall we say, "anatomically correct" sex toy from a plastic bag and proceeded to make a demonstration on how to use a condom, then pointing to a chart made by Ubuntu volunteers with graphic depictions of different sexually transmitted infections. Again, the session was given in Xhosa, so I understood very little, but what I did understand was the reactions of the people. They were all interested, Sira and his female companion (whose name I unfortunately do not remember) were connecting with them on an individual level. Even the men, who I am told are usually very standoffish during such discussions were engaging and asking questions and taking note of the important nature of the discussion. This presentation is indicative of the mood of the community. They all know the danger that this fragile community is experiencing and they all know that the only way to start stemming the tide of these societal ills is to engage with the problems and work together, in the spirit of Ubuntu, to solve them.
From there, Tclabane, one of the directors, took me on a formal township tour. We started on Mendi Road, where he grew up, and moved toward Njoli, the centre of township life in PE. It was there that I ate a Smiley. That's shaved, boiled sheep's head by the way. I mostly ate the tasty part, the tongue. Tony Bourdain would be proud. From there we visited a monument to fallen activists in the struggle against Apartheid, and as we approached another major square near Mendi Road, Tclabane relayed his story of resistance. When he was 14, he attended an anti-apartheid rally there, as he arrived the Police came with their armored personnel carriers and machine guns and helicopter gunships and gave the crowd, literally armed with their voices, sticks and stones, 5 minutes to disperse. They started shooting in three minutes. Tclabane, luckily, escaped with his life, though many others were not so lucky. Everywhere you go, you hear stories like that. Of Steve Biko, the architect of black consciousness, who was brutally beaten to death in the Police Room 619 in PE in 1977. Of the Craddock Four (one of whom was Tclabane's brother-in-law), all political activists who were captured by the police and braaied alive on the beach while the police had a picnic. The senselessness, the brutality, the desperation of a policy designed to exterminate an entire race of people becomes very real and very pronounced when you walk through the streets of Njoli.
From there, Tclabane took me to where Ubuntu was born, a small shebeen (township bar) where Jacob Lief met "Banks" his co-founder. I sat and drank a cold beer in the small shack, sitting with men from the township and groaned along with them as the Proteas (the South African national cricket team) went down to defeat at the hands of the West Indies. I couldn't help but think, sitting in the same seat that Jacob did when he first came up with the idea of Ubuntu, that I was here for a reason, that I need to contribute something, that I want to be a part of something for more than just being able to say "I was there then." That I can make a difference in the lives of a community like Jana and Tclabane and "Q" and Chris and Tsepo and Sira and everyone else who makes Ubuntu what it is, who have built it from the grassroots and made it a beacon of hope for people who live in a place that hope left generations ago.
So, how was your Thursday?
But what is ubuntu, you ask? Ubuntu is a not a concept, or a catchphrase, or even a way of life. It is, simply, life. It is an abiding belief in the idea the communities are strongest when they are united in helping each other. But words do not fully explain ubuntu. They cannot. One must experience it for oneself. You cannot know ubuntu until you know traditional life in South Africa. I encourage all of you to experience it at some point in our life. Here is a slice of that life, some stories from my journey yesterday, which I hope will deepen your understanding of ubuntu.
---
As the plane lands, I am met by Qonongile (the Q is a click, by the way), a project manager is the case management department at Ubuntu. On the ride in from the airport, through the interwoven neighbourhoods of PE, "Q" (for the sake of both pronunciation and spelling) explains what Ubuntu does, which are various programs ranging from educational development to HIV/AIDS prevention, treatment and counseling as well as dealing with the growing problems of orphans and victims of child rape in the townships. As we get closer to the Ubuntu office and enter the townships, I start seeing funeral parlors. Everywhere. Q explains that "business is booming." The death trade is growing because the HIV infection rate is above 40%. He further explains that it is the only business which is booming, as PE employment rates are 10%. That's EMPLOYMENT rates. In Port Elizabeth, they are experiencing 90% unemployment. No one has a job. No one can get a job. Political apartheid is over, but economic apartheid is real and it is having serious and damaging consequences to the community.
We arrive at the office and I meet Jana, an American who has worked at Ubuntu for 3 years now. She is one of the project managers, working across portfolio but mainly focused on education initiatives and working to provide resources to the 21 Ubuntu partner schools. She introduces me to Thembagazi and Phezi who are heading up the new Orphan and Vulnerable Children initiative, working both in schools and the community to counteract the destructive effects of children left without support systems, usually related to HIV/AIDS. They have five targeted schools, in which each has a main counselor who mentors classes on life skills and HIV prevention, while also acting in a rehabilitative and case management capacity, working with victims of orphanage, child rape and other similarly vulnerable problems. When we arrive at the B.J. Mnyanda school, the school day is over, at 12:30 in the afternoon, one of the many half days which are a growing problem in the South African school system, as teachers lack the funding, resources or will power necessary to teach primary school classes of 60 for an entire day. The children are still hanging around school, they have just received lunch, but they still stay. Many of them have no parents, live alone or with other children in the informal settlements and squatter camps near the school. For them, school is a refuge, a place where they can be safe, where they will be fed and cared for, not raped or brutalized or alone. These children want to be in school. We then move on to the Jarvis school, where another Ubuntu program has taken root. Here I meet the principal of the school who is so fiercely proud of what he has to offer the children. Literally brimming, he pulls me into the library, half-full with books, which Ubuntu has worked hard to secure for the children. He explains how he and other members of the community built the school by themselves after the original school and library was destroyed by the National Police during the 1976 Uprising, and how the library laid dormant, bereft of books until Ubuntu came along. He then whisks me into a computer lab where they have 20 working computers that children can learn computer skills on, and also integrate classroom learning into the information age. A class of 1st or 2nd graders was currently inside working on math problems and isiXhosa grammar and vocabulary. But this is not the proudest achievement for the principal. He then takes me to the small kitchen where lunch is being wrapped up. He says "I can feed all my students now." Until August of this year, the school only had enough funding from the federal government to feed grades Kindergarten through 4th grade every day of the week, with 5th through 8th grades being fed on alternate days. Ubuntu helped him and his students plant and cultivate a garden, and now all children are fed with a hot meal every day. For many of them, it is the only meal they will eat all day. Our final stop on the tour was an Ubuntu mentoring session, for which today's topic was gender identity. The words 'SEXUAL HEALTH" were writ large on the blackboard, and I watched as a class of 7th graders engaged with rapt attention their mentor who was asking them question about what they liked about being a boy or girl. The lecture was in Xhosa, so I only picked up a few things. Then suddenly, the entire class jumped up and broke into a song and dance that had something to do with loving their bodies, themselves and respecting each other. I leaned over to Jana and said, "If I go back and tell people that I witnessed 7th graders spontaneously dancing and singing in the middle of Sex Ed class, much less simply engaging so well with the topic, I am going to be laughed out of the room." Nevertheless, it happened. As the busy principal waves goodbye and we get in the car to leave, young children see me and surround the car shouting "Lungu! Lungu!" with bright smiles on all their faces. Lungu is Xhosa for white person. I give them all a smile and wave and they smile back, as Jana explains that not only am I a rarity in their lives, they are always so happy just to get a smile from someone, because so few adults care for these children. As we leave, they scurry back into the schoolhouse to learn and play and stave off the desperation around them for a few more hours.
After eating lunch provided by the Ubuntu garden (which grows some pretty tasty tomatoes, I must say), Chris and Tsepo, who were outreach coordinators, informed me that they were taking me to a workshop in the township. I envisioned a small community centre, with people seated in chairs around someone talking about empowerment opportunities or life skills. Not exactly. I found myself about 10 minutes later, after rather a harrowing minibus ride on the Uitenhage (WEE-ten-haig) line, sitting with 15 women and 5 men in the 8 x 10 living room of a tin-roof shack in the Chris Hani informal settlement, Sira removed a, shall we say, "anatomically correct" sex toy from a plastic bag and proceeded to make a demonstration on how to use a condom, then pointing to a chart made by Ubuntu volunteers with graphic depictions of different sexually transmitted infections. Again, the session was given in Xhosa, so I understood very little, but what I did understand was the reactions of the people. They were all interested, Sira and his female companion (whose name I unfortunately do not remember) were connecting with them on an individual level. Even the men, who I am told are usually very standoffish during such discussions were engaging and asking questions and taking note of the important nature of the discussion. This presentation is indicative of the mood of the community. They all know the danger that this fragile community is experiencing and they all know that the only way to start stemming the tide of these societal ills is to engage with the problems and work together, in the spirit of Ubuntu, to solve them.
From there, Tclabane, one of the directors, took me on a formal township tour. We started on Mendi Road, where he grew up, and moved toward Njoli, the centre of township life in PE. It was there that I ate a Smiley. That's shaved, boiled sheep's head by the way. I mostly ate the tasty part, the tongue. Tony Bourdain would be proud. From there we visited a monument to fallen activists in the struggle against Apartheid, and as we approached another major square near Mendi Road, Tclabane relayed his story of resistance. When he was 14, he attended an anti-apartheid rally there, as he arrived the Police came with their armored personnel carriers and machine guns and helicopter gunships and gave the crowd, literally armed with their voices, sticks and stones, 5 minutes to disperse. They started shooting in three minutes. Tclabane, luckily, escaped with his life, though many others were not so lucky. Everywhere you go, you hear stories like that. Of Steve Biko, the architect of black consciousness, who was brutally beaten to death in the Police Room 619 in PE in 1977. Of the Craddock Four (one of whom was Tclabane's brother-in-law), all political activists who were captured by the police and braaied alive on the beach while the police had a picnic. The senselessness, the brutality, the desperation of a policy designed to exterminate an entire race of people becomes very real and very pronounced when you walk through the streets of Njoli.
From there, Tclabane took me to where Ubuntu was born, a small shebeen (township bar) where Jacob Lief met "Banks" his co-founder. I sat and drank a cold beer in the small shack, sitting with men from the township and groaned along with them as the Proteas (the South African national cricket team) went down to defeat at the hands of the West Indies. I couldn't help but think, sitting in the same seat that Jacob did when he first came up with the idea of Ubuntu, that I was here for a reason, that I need to contribute something, that I want to be a part of something for more than just being able to say "I was there then." That I can make a difference in the lives of a community like Jana and Tclabane and "Q" and Chris and Tsepo and Sira and everyone else who makes Ubuntu what it is, who have built it from the grassroots and made it a beacon of hope for people who live in a place that hope left generations ago.
So, how was your Thursday?
01 November 2006
Home
November has come in Cape Town, and as I sit staring at Devil's Peak out my bedroom window on a delightfully mild late spring morning, I am instantly aware that countdown has begun. I have only 30 days left here in Africa. 30 days. When I was packing up for a semester, I honestly never thought the finality would set in this quickly. I have started to feel at home here, that happened one day about a month ago, right after coming back from Namibia. I realized, as I was walking to 7-11 down the street that I wasn't just a visitor here, that I have become part of this place and it had become part of me. It was not about doing the tourist stuff anymore, or feeling like I was drifting breezily through a foreign environment. It seems sort of silly, but I feel like if someone stopped and asked me for directions in my neighborhood, or asked for a recommendation on dinner or some fun place to go, I could give a genuine perspective not parroted from a guidebook or similar hearsay. I am by no means a Capetonian, yet, but I am also not a tourist. I am more a transplant, much as I have been my entire life. Growing up in Gloucester with what locals consider a funny last name (i.e. not Italian, Portuguese or Finnish) I have always been sort of an outsider, for better or worse. Here it's not my name, more my accent, that sets me apart. The difference here is that though I am immediately identified as an outsider, the people here make that distinction for the purposes of inclusion, not exclusion. The new South Africa, as I have said earlier, is a society on the brink; it could go either way, towards inclusion and prosperity or exclusion and chaos. If the people are any indication, the winds of change are blowing in the right direction, in my opinion. To have experienced them, and experienced this place at this moment in time and become a small part of it has been so enriching to my soul. I have made so many memories in my time here, most of which I have relayed to you. Now, in these last 30 days, I am excited to have even more new encounters in this place which I have come to call home.
23 October 2006
The Kidnapping
I am filled with dread at the banging on my door.
"Your birthday came early," Kevin barks at me, "Get out of bed. Now."
It is 8:30 Saturday morning. For the last week, as the weekend and my birthday crept closer, the anxiety and terpidation grew in earnest. I had been informed earlier in the week that my birthday plans were "taken care of" and that I needn't worry.
Now, if you know me, you'll know I hate surprises. I was always the kid (Sorry Mom and Dad) who crept around two or three weeks before Christmas to find what would be waiting for me under the tree. I could wait to use the new video game, or team jacket, or even guitar, I just hated having to wait to find out what gifts were ahead.
Flash forward to this week, when my entire house was informed of the fate that awaited me, and they always demeured slightly when I would try to pry the information out of them. That is until Wednesday night, when I had a horrific thought.
"Oh no...adventure sports."
I had it in the back of my mind that Kevin would think it very funny if I was brought to a location some weekend morning and told that my bungy jump was already paid for, and that I better walk out on the platform and jump. To a person, when this thought came to my mind and I asked my friends whether this was to be my "present," they each smiled wryly and told me to "wait and see."
By Saturday morning, as Kevin knocked on my door, I was frantic. Could they really be forcing me to chat death against my will?
We piled into the Al van for the journey around 9:00. Nervous, shaking, and sick to my stomach, I was plotting my escape, just in case.
We stopped at a McDonald's (my first African McDonald's experience...it's exactly the same) for breakfast before setting off on the next leg of our journey. I got a double cheeseburger and chocolate shake to settle my stomach. My friends tried to lighten the mood by stealing a birthday crown from a children's party happening simultaneously in the Playland. Despite forcing a few smiles, I was still trying to figure out how bad it would be to jump out of a moving van on the M3 Freeway and hitchhike to a more secure location.
As we left McDonald's I thought my fate was sealed. I had accepted the fact that I was going to be forced into a bad situation.
And then we took a quick left into the Steenberg Wine Estate in Constantia.
All along, they had me fooled, and all along they planned a day of wine tasting and culinary delights for me.
We ended up tasting the full array of vintages at Steenberg. They had a delightful red blend (Nebbiolo, Syrah, Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc and Merlot) called Catherina, which I picked up for my mom. They're Methode Cap Classique Sparkling Wine was also very good, as well as their Loire Clone Sauvignon Blanc. Unfortunately, their soil composition left a bit to be desired in their single varietals, most notably the Cab Sauv, which left a lot to be desired. But the beautiful location on a warm spring day with excellent company more than made up for the unsteady collection of wines.
From there we set off for Hout Bay for a delicious lunch of fresh seafood. I had my first taste of Kingklip, the local whitefish, which was prepared in my favourite style (deep-fried) and served with chips. Kingklip is interesting, meatier than haddock or sole, but still having a very good texture for everyday eating.
After lunch we made one more stop at Groot Constantia, the oldest vineyard in Africa, founded more than 300 years ago. They have apparently been living off that reputation ever since, because the wines were certainly lacking in quality. Add to the mix a boorish, snotty, uncaring staff and you have a recipe for wine tasting disaster. The flavours were all over the palate, no concentration. The oaked Chardonnay in particular felt like I was licking the inside of a charred barrel. Their shiraz and sauvignon blanc/semillon blend were each passable (especially the white blend, which I enjoyed again later that evening) but that was not enough to make the R20 cover charge worth it. Nonetheless, we all had a grand time in the decadent setting, and we got to keep the wine glasses, which is good since we're running out of things to eat and drink out of in our house.
After waking up with immense sensations of dread and despair, the day turned out to be one of my best so far in Africa. A perfect capstone to my 22nd year.
What will year 23 bring? Stay tuned we'll find out together.
"Your birthday came early," Kevin barks at me, "Get out of bed. Now."
It is 8:30 Saturday morning. For the last week, as the weekend and my birthday crept closer, the anxiety and terpidation grew in earnest. I had been informed earlier in the week that my birthday plans were "taken care of" and that I needn't worry.
Now, if you know me, you'll know I hate surprises. I was always the kid (Sorry Mom and Dad) who crept around two or three weeks before Christmas to find what would be waiting for me under the tree. I could wait to use the new video game, or team jacket, or even guitar, I just hated having to wait to find out what gifts were ahead.
Flash forward to this week, when my entire house was informed of the fate that awaited me, and they always demeured slightly when I would try to pry the information out of them. That is until Wednesday night, when I had a horrific thought.
"Oh no...adventure sports."
I had it in the back of my mind that Kevin would think it very funny if I was brought to a location some weekend morning and told that my bungy jump was already paid for, and that I better walk out on the platform and jump. To a person, when this thought came to my mind and I asked my friends whether this was to be my "present," they each smiled wryly and told me to "wait and see."
By Saturday morning, as Kevin knocked on my door, I was frantic. Could they really be forcing me to chat death against my will?
We piled into the Al van for the journey around 9:00. Nervous, shaking, and sick to my stomach, I was plotting my escape, just in case.
We stopped at a McDonald's (my first African McDonald's experience...it's exactly the same) for breakfast before setting off on the next leg of our journey. I got a double cheeseburger and chocolate shake to settle my stomach. My friends tried to lighten the mood by stealing a birthday crown from a children's party happening simultaneously in the Playland. Despite forcing a few smiles, I was still trying to figure out how bad it would be to jump out of a moving van on the M3 Freeway and hitchhike to a more secure location.
As we left McDonald's I thought my fate was sealed. I had accepted the fact that I was going to be forced into a bad situation.
And then we took a quick left into the Steenberg Wine Estate in Constantia.
All along, they had me fooled, and all along they planned a day of wine tasting and culinary delights for me.
We ended up tasting the full array of vintages at Steenberg. They had a delightful red blend (Nebbiolo, Syrah, Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc and Merlot) called Catherina, which I picked up for my mom. They're Methode Cap Classique Sparkling Wine was also very good, as well as their Loire Clone Sauvignon Blanc. Unfortunately, their soil composition left a bit to be desired in their single varietals, most notably the Cab Sauv, which left a lot to be desired. But the beautiful location on a warm spring day with excellent company more than made up for the unsteady collection of wines.
From there we set off for Hout Bay for a delicious lunch of fresh seafood. I had my first taste of Kingklip, the local whitefish, which was prepared in my favourite style (deep-fried) and served with chips. Kingklip is interesting, meatier than haddock or sole, but still having a very good texture for everyday eating.
After lunch we made one more stop at Groot Constantia, the oldest vineyard in Africa, founded more than 300 years ago. They have apparently been living off that reputation ever since, because the wines were certainly lacking in quality. Add to the mix a boorish, snotty, uncaring staff and you have a recipe for wine tasting disaster. The flavours were all over the palate, no concentration. The oaked Chardonnay in particular felt like I was licking the inside of a charred barrel. Their shiraz and sauvignon blanc/semillon blend were each passable (especially the white blend, which I enjoyed again later that evening) but that was not enough to make the R20 cover charge worth it. Nonetheless, we all had a grand time in the decadent setting, and we got to keep the wine glasses, which is good since we're running out of things to eat and drink out of in our house.
After waking up with immense sensations of dread and despair, the day turned out to be one of my best so far in Africa. A perfect capstone to my 22nd year.
What will year 23 bring? Stay tuned we'll find out together.
16 October 2006
Keepin' It Light, Keepin' It Fresh (The "Oh, right, I have a blog!" Edition)
It's been a while. But it's good to be back. I'm still feeling the after effects of both what (in my best estimation) was a bout of giardiasis, as well as the medication. N.B. Unless it's a life or death circumstance, avoid metronidazole at all costs. It's a serious drug that's not at all fun. But anyway, here's how I've been keeping busy in between doctor visits and bouts of anxiety.
- I've been to a couple cricket matches at the beautiful Sahara Park Newlands since last we spoke. The stadium itself, as Kevin described it, is very colonial with its ornate pavilion a playground for the Capetonian elites sitting just in the shadow of Table Mountain looming at long off. Also, cricket is probably the most wonderful, relaxing sport in the world short of, say, lawn bowling. You can show up after work, sit down on a lawn, occasionally get up and grab a beer or a boerewors, come back and nothing has happened. I'm slowly exposing my fellow interstudy counterparts to the regal sport, and I think some of them are getting the hang of it. Most of the time, however, when the action happens, and a cheer erupts from the fans gathered, they will slowly turn their heads and ask, "So...uh...what happened?" Trust me, explaining the leg before wicket rule is complicated when the other person has even a vague understanding of the laws of the game. Imagine then trying to explain this to Kevin, who is generally on his fourth or fifth Bosun's Bitter by the time such a question comes up. Nonetheless, a fun time is always had by all.
- Spent last Saturday night at the Grandwest Casino in Goodwood, north of town. The vast expanse of the gaming hall itself is staggering. I've spent a lot of time here in Africa feeling disoriented and turned around, but this was not an African disorientation. It's that Americanized, purposeful, "Please empty your wallets" disorientation which those of us who have been to Foxwoods or Mohegan Sun or the entire city of Las Vegas know very well. Nonetheless, the casino itself is quite posh and entertaining, with not just the gaming pavilion, to take advantage of but also more than ten top-flight restaurants and several nightclubs for you to enjoy when the money runs out. Ashley - who spent most of the evening making friends all around her at the slot machines with her, shall we say, effusive and effervescent displays - and I decided to make a quick stop in the Jackson Hall bar after the evening's gaming was done. So there I was, wearing my proudly South African K-Way fleece, well-worn jeans and sneakers hitting the dance floor. Alone - with Ashley. I don't think I could have looked more awkward, White and American if I tried. Literally, to a person, everyone in the bar turned and looked at the dance floor when we hit it and started getting, what can only be referred to as, "jiggy." Possibly even "jiggy wit' it." Very soon, some of fellow taverngoers decided to join us. I choose to believe they were awe-inspired by my superior dance moves. That, or they were trying desperately to drown out my incredibly awkward dance moves and move me off to the side.
- Which reminds me of one final encounter I should probably relay to you, dear reader. As I was walking back from the boerewors stand last Friday during the Cape Cobras match with the Warriors at Newlands, one of the ushers approached me, with a big grin on his face and asked me if I had seen the movie "Hitch." He actually thought I was the King of Queens himself, Kevin James. This, of course, is only because I am still goatee-less. Nonetheless, I immediately cracked up laughing, as, though the thought had not yet occurred to me, the usher was pretty dead on. So, if the whole politico thing or the chef thing doesn't work out in the long run, perhaps I can fall back on celebrity impersonator. In Africa. I just have to work on the whole White man overbite thing...
Cheers.
- I've been to a couple cricket matches at the beautiful Sahara Park Newlands since last we spoke. The stadium itself, as Kevin described it, is very colonial with its ornate pavilion a playground for the Capetonian elites sitting just in the shadow of Table Mountain looming at long off. Also, cricket is probably the most wonderful, relaxing sport in the world short of, say, lawn bowling. You can show up after work, sit down on a lawn, occasionally get up and grab a beer or a boerewors, come back and nothing has happened. I'm slowly exposing my fellow interstudy counterparts to the regal sport, and I think some of them are getting the hang of it. Most of the time, however, when the action happens, and a cheer erupts from the fans gathered, they will slowly turn their heads and ask, "So...uh...what happened?" Trust me, explaining the leg before wicket rule is complicated when the other person has even a vague understanding of the laws of the game. Imagine then trying to explain this to Kevin, who is generally on his fourth or fifth Bosun's Bitter by the time such a question comes up. Nonetheless, a fun time is always had by all.
- Spent last Saturday night at the Grandwest Casino in Goodwood, north of town. The vast expanse of the gaming hall itself is staggering. I've spent a lot of time here in Africa feeling disoriented and turned around, but this was not an African disorientation. It's that Americanized, purposeful, "Please empty your wallets" disorientation which those of us who have been to Foxwoods or Mohegan Sun or the entire city of Las Vegas know very well. Nonetheless, the casino itself is quite posh and entertaining, with not just the gaming pavilion, to take advantage of but also more than ten top-flight restaurants and several nightclubs for you to enjoy when the money runs out. Ashley - who spent most of the evening making friends all around her at the slot machines with her, shall we say, effusive and effervescent displays - and I decided to make a quick stop in the Jackson Hall bar after the evening's gaming was done. So there I was, wearing my proudly South African K-Way fleece, well-worn jeans and sneakers hitting the dance floor. Alone - with Ashley. I don't think I could have looked more awkward, White and American if I tried. Literally, to a person, everyone in the bar turned and looked at the dance floor when we hit it and started getting, what can only be referred to as, "jiggy." Possibly even "jiggy wit' it." Very soon, some of fellow taverngoers decided to join us. I choose to believe they were awe-inspired by my superior dance moves. That, or they were trying desperately to drown out my incredibly awkward dance moves and move me off to the side.
- Which reminds me of one final encounter I should probably relay to you, dear reader. As I was walking back from the boerewors stand last Friday during the Cape Cobras match with the Warriors at Newlands, one of the ushers approached me, with a big grin on his face and asked me if I had seen the movie "Hitch." He actually thought I was the King of Queens himself, Kevin James. This, of course, is only because I am still goatee-less. Nonetheless, I immediately cracked up laughing, as, though the thought had not yet occurred to me, the usher was pretty dead on. So, if the whole politico thing or the chef thing doesn't work out in the long run, perhaps I can fall back on celebrity impersonator. In Africa. I just have to work on the whole White man overbite thing...
Cheers.
06 October 2006
Explaining the Radio Silence
Some of you already know this, but for those who don't, get ready to laugh.
I, Michael David McGeary, have contracted African Death Sickness, otherwise known as parasites. Where, how and when these little invaders mounted their campaign on my indoor kid body, I'm not entirely sure, though I have an inkling it may have happened in Namibia. In any case, for about the last ten years, I had been feeling run down, like I was hungover for an extended period of time. Finally, after consulting doctors yesterday, it was decided I should be put on a strict regimen of Ciprofloxacin and Metronidazole to try to kill off whatever is making me feel this way.
In any case, dear reader, that's why you haven't heard from me in while. I'm going to a cricket match this afternoon, though, so I'll bet you hear something about that.
I, Michael David McGeary, have contracted African Death Sickness, otherwise known as parasites. Where, how and when these little invaders mounted their campaign on my indoor kid body, I'm not entirely sure, though I have an inkling it may have happened in Namibia. In any case, for about the last ten years, I had been feeling run down, like I was hungover for an extended period of time. Finally, after consulting doctors yesterday, it was decided I should be put on a strict regimen of Ciprofloxacin and Metronidazole to try to kill off whatever is making me feel this way.
In any case, dear reader, that's why you haven't heard from me in while. I'm going to a cricket match this afternoon, though, so I'll bet you hear something about that.
30 September 2006
The Greatest Game Ever Played
I had the great fortune to stumble on a wonderful event which took place in Cape Town this afternoon. It was, in fact, the World Cup Final.
But Mike, you moron, you'll say, the World Cup Final was played in Berlin, a few months ago, and though South Africa will have the World Cup, it won't happen until 2010.
Well, I don't appreciate the "moron" comment, thank you very much, but you didn't let me finish. I, along with Caitlin from my house, some of the Highstead House girls, and the birthday boy (Yankee fan), saw Russia take on Kazakhstan in the Homeless World Cup final in Grand Parade this afternoon. The Homeless World Cup, for those who may never have heard of it, is an annual event, held to raise awareness about global poverty and homelessness in an attempt to curtail the growing number of people in the world who go without shelter on a daily basis. The Homeless World Cup is a much different even from the recently-passed World Cup in Germany. This event is much more informal, but with the same competitive atmosphere. For these players, who, to a man, are homeless, this game was not simply an exhibition for a great cause, it was for them, perhaps, their greatest achievement, something they could take pride in, amidst lives of hopelessness and despair. When Russia finally triumphed 1-0 in the tense, fifteen-minute battle (The Homeless World Cup, I should mention, is played with Street Soccer rules: 4-a-side, much faster pace, smaller concrete pitch, boards instead of out of bounds plays, no tackling), the goalkeeper sank to his knees and openly wept - he had allowed only 9 goals in the 13 games Russia had played, and won, over the course of the last week. Players from both teams embraced. There was a palpable sense of joy amongst all in attendance; Russian, Kazakh, South African and every other nationality alike, we all stood, cheered and danced in the celebration. It was truly a great day all around.
But I have no doubt, that each player on that field, every person in the stands, the organizers of the tournament, each of us who witnessed the joy and the pride of the sport today would trade it all to end poverty, and end homelessness. Events like the Homeless World Cup highlight these problems in a world which all to often forgets about the least of its brethren, and help us envision a world better for all of us.
But Mike, you moron, you'll say, the World Cup Final was played in Berlin, a few months ago, and though South Africa will have the World Cup, it won't happen until 2010.
Well, I don't appreciate the "moron" comment, thank you very much, but you didn't let me finish. I, along with Caitlin from my house, some of the Highstead House girls, and the birthday boy (Yankee fan), saw Russia take on Kazakhstan in the Homeless World Cup final in Grand Parade this afternoon. The Homeless World Cup, for those who may never have heard of it, is an annual event, held to raise awareness about global poverty and homelessness in an attempt to curtail the growing number of people in the world who go without shelter on a daily basis. The Homeless World Cup is a much different even from the recently-passed World Cup in Germany. This event is much more informal, but with the same competitive atmosphere. For these players, who, to a man, are homeless, this game was not simply an exhibition for a great cause, it was for them, perhaps, their greatest achievement, something they could take pride in, amidst lives of hopelessness and despair. When Russia finally triumphed 1-0 in the tense, fifteen-minute battle (The Homeless World Cup, I should mention, is played with Street Soccer rules: 4-a-side, much faster pace, smaller concrete pitch, boards instead of out of bounds plays, no tackling), the goalkeeper sank to his knees and openly wept - he had allowed only 9 goals in the 13 games Russia had played, and won, over the course of the last week. Players from both teams embraced. There was a palpable sense of joy amongst all in attendance; Russian, Kazakh, South African and every other nationality alike, we all stood, cheered and danced in the celebration. It was truly a great day all around.
But I have no doubt, that each player on that field, every person in the stands, the organizers of the tournament, each of us who witnessed the joy and the pride of the sport today would trade it all to end poverty, and end homelessness. Events like the Homeless World Cup highlight these problems in a world which all to often forgets about the least of its brethren, and help us envision a world better for all of us.
27 September 2006
A Scintillating Success, Waiting to Happen
Those were the closing words of the 7th Steve Biko Memorial Lecture given last evening in Jameson Hall here at UCT by Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu. I was lucky enough to be in attendance with about 1,500 other members of the UCT community, and (apparently) a Danish Princess - which was a running joke throughout the proceedings. Tutu spoke, in his own colloquial and eloquent fashion, for nearly an hour, linking the promise of the new South Africa to the black consciousness movement of the 1970s, of which Steve Biko was a leading proponent. He was, at one, lofty and mundane, speaking of the ideals set forth by Biko and his teachings, whilst also speaking of a need for the people of this country to take pride in their surroundings, going on for a good minute or two about the sad state of the South African public service, and littering in the cities. Tutu struck a particular chord in speaking about the mundane details of life, however. The prelate made the point that the Apartheid regime, which for so long had created an initmate sense of fear and terror within the African communities of this nation, still, in the long hangover since 1994, breaks the spirit of those people in many ways. He advocated a sort of citizenship re-education, teaching those who were oppressed under the ancien regime to take pride in their communities again and play key roles in their stewardship. For Tutu, all is not lost, however, as he referenced, briefly, Peter Gabriel's tribute song to the memory of Steve Biko, saying that when the South African police brutally tortured and assassinated Biko, they thought they could "blow out his candle," annihilate his memory and influence on the African community. But, as Tutu - and Gabriel - proclaimed, you cannot blow out a fire. The wind will catch it and the flames reach higher. Tutu's fervent hope is that the winds of change will blwo through this country, and lift the spirits - and communities - of this great nation higher and higher.
22 September 2006
The Other Side of the Mountain
::HOOOOOOONK!!!:: "Get out of the way! Do you want to die?!"
Going to the beach is supposed to be relaxing. And when we were in Camps Bay this afternoon, it was relaxing. Beautiful mediterranean scenes: angry Atlantic waves crashing on the white sand beaches, visions of beautiful people gathered at one of South Africa - and the world's - best strips for sunbathing, cool breezes, games of chess and football going on around us, and the hot African sun keeping us warm.
Flash forward to the Cape Town Minibus Transit Terminal. As CJ Cregg once said to Albie Duncan on West Wing, "Have you ever been to the Moscow Circus? No? Well then I have no frame of reference in which to describe to you what you're about to see." Picture if you will minibuses, stretched across the top of the train station downtown, literally hundreds, maybe thousands of them, each with a different destination, and a different hawker trying to get fares. "Sea Point! Heidelberg! Mowbray! Wynberg!" The cacaphony is deafening. You are disoriented trying to differentiate between the screams, the hooting, the whistling, the grind of the engines. In the close and confined space, minibuses whiz past going too fast for the road. In the scene depicted in medias res above, poor Ashley from our group was nearly run down by a speeding minibus amidst the confusion. You must find the right bus in all of the chaos, then be prepared to be scrunched in with 16 or so people who are about to become your closest friends for the short ride up to Mowbray, in our case.
In any case, we made it home, perhaps a bit more tired than when we left. But I have never been to the beach and then come home thinking I need a scotch. Our voyage today has certainly changed that. But, ah, we are in Africa, these are the experiences you cannot have anywhere else. The relaxation and the chaos all in one short afternoon spent on the other side of the mountain.
Going to the beach is supposed to be relaxing. And when we were in Camps Bay this afternoon, it was relaxing. Beautiful mediterranean scenes: angry Atlantic waves crashing on the white sand beaches, visions of beautiful people gathered at one of South Africa - and the world's - best strips for sunbathing, cool breezes, games of chess and football going on around us, and the hot African sun keeping us warm.
Flash forward to the Cape Town Minibus Transit Terminal. As CJ Cregg once said to Albie Duncan on West Wing, "Have you ever been to the Moscow Circus? No? Well then I have no frame of reference in which to describe to you what you're about to see." Picture if you will minibuses, stretched across the top of the train station downtown, literally hundreds, maybe thousands of them, each with a different destination, and a different hawker trying to get fares. "Sea Point! Heidelberg! Mowbray! Wynberg!" The cacaphony is deafening. You are disoriented trying to differentiate between the screams, the hooting, the whistling, the grind of the engines. In the close and confined space, minibuses whiz past going too fast for the road. In the scene depicted in medias res above, poor Ashley from our group was nearly run down by a speeding minibus amidst the confusion. You must find the right bus in all of the chaos, then be prepared to be scrunched in with 16 or so people who are about to become your closest friends for the short ride up to Mowbray, in our case.
In any case, we made it home, perhaps a bit more tired than when we left. But I have never been to the beach and then come home thinking I need a scotch. Our voyage today has certainly changed that. But, ah, we are in Africa, these are the experiences you cannot have anywhere else. The relaxation and the chaos all in one short afternoon spent on the other side of the mountain.
Mass Hysteria and Confusion: The UCT Grading System and You
Not to toot my own horn here, but I did get my history paper back this morning and the first class mark was sitting there for me to read in all its glory. Never in my life have I ever more ecstatic to receive a 77 on a paper.
That's right, a 77. Under South African grading, that's first class. In the U.S., that translates to an A+. This further proves my theory that the way to excel in college is to follow the following rubric:
1) Pick paper topics on incredibly esoteric topics that no one knows anything about (In this case, migrant labour on Natal and Louisiana sugar plantations in the period 1900-1920).
2) Do very little research
3) Write essentially a well-worded treatise about how there is no research on the subject
4) Receive your high marks.
Anyway this whole system is still hard to comprehend. In other news, you fail at 50. Except you don't fail, you just don't receive a "duly performed" certificate, or DP, which means you can't take the final. And then you fail. But that's not what I'm concentrating on this bright, beautiful Cape Town morning. At least not until I get my politics paper back. Oy...
Until then, I'm going to enjoy my 77, bronzing under the sun, reading 'Absurdistan' by Gary Shteyngart (Thanks, Christine!), and taking a lazy afternoon.
That's right, a 77. Under South African grading, that's first class. In the U.S., that translates to an A+. This further proves my theory that the way to excel in college is to follow the following rubric:
1) Pick paper topics on incredibly esoteric topics that no one knows anything about (In this case, migrant labour on Natal and Louisiana sugar plantations in the period 1900-1920).
2) Do very little research
3) Write essentially a well-worded treatise about how there is no research on the subject
4) Receive your high marks.
Anyway this whole system is still hard to comprehend. In other news, you fail at 50. Except you don't fail, you just don't receive a "duly performed" certificate, or DP, which means you can't take the final. And then you fail. But that's not what I'm concentrating on this bright, beautiful Cape Town morning. At least not until I get my politics paper back. Oy...
Until then, I'm going to enjoy my 77, bronzing under the sun, reading 'Absurdistan' by Gary Shteyngart (Thanks, Christine!), and taking a lazy afternoon.
20 September 2006
Congratulations, Massachusetts
The death was announced last night, across every city and town in the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts, with resounding force, of the politics of the past. Deval Patrick and Timothy Murray are the nominees of my party for Governor and Lieutenant Governor. Patrick didn't just win, he blew away a venture capitalist with an insane amount of money and TV airtime and a popular, incumbent Attorney General. To say this achievement is earth-shattering does not do it justice. A lot of thanks go out to people like Peter Dolan and the Progressive Democrats of Masschusetts, who found Patrick and took him under their wing, making him a political superstar. An African-American civil rights lawyer from Chicago, who began campaigning 18 months ago with little more than the change in his pocket and some fresh ideas about direction for our Commonwealth, garnered half of the votes cast in last night's tally. To the people at the Patrick campaign, I salute you. You did for progressive politics what a lot of us on the Dean Campaign started and could not finish. You have truly lived the dream so far and put yourself in position to change Massachusetts for the better for a very long time. And, for the first time since the debacle of 2004, you have made me, personally, proud once again to say that I am a Massachusetts Democrat.
The fight is on now, however. Kerry Healey and the Republicans will be formidable opponents as they have every intention on keeping the Corner Office, their last vestige of power in the Commonwealth, which they have held for 16 years. The next seven weeks will be a bruising test of our, and Patrick's, resolve. But it is a fight that will make Patrick stronger as a person and, eventually, a Governor, and one that we democrats intend to win.
The fight is on now, however. Kerry Healey and the Republicans will be formidable opponents as they have every intention on keeping the Corner Office, their last vestige of power in the Commonwealth, which they have held for 16 years. The next seven weeks will be a bruising test of our, and Patrick's, resolve. But it is a fight that will make Patrick stronger as a person and, eventually, a Governor, and one that we democrats intend to win.
17 September 2006
Beautiful Desolation: The Namibia Tour
I have, in fact, returned alive from eight wonderful days in the Namibian desert. There are so many stories to tell, so many experiences to relate, so many sights I have yet to comprehend. The immensity of the place, the vastness really inspires an almost zen sense in you, of being alone amidst creation, and part of it. I think it would be impossible to relate the entire experience to you in one post, and I will probably write more comparing Namibia to South Africa and beyond over the rest of my 10 weeks here. For now, what I can give you is a snapshot. Throughout the tour, I kept a journal of my experiences and thoughts, the sights and sounds. That journal is reproduced, in its entirety, below. I tried to do it in a Bill Simmons-esque, running diary fashion over the eight days, so it takes the form of my thoughts from one moment to the next without a whole lot of conclusion. Be forewarned, this is a VERY long post. It is raw and unedited. You are lucky to be getting the reproduced version, as it is a little hard to read my low-tech chicken scratch, especially when riding along in a VW Microbus on Namibia's gravel roads. Anyway, here is the diary. I hope you enjoy it.
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FRIDAY, 8 SEPTEMBER
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2300 - We arrived in Windhoek this evening to a cloudy desert sky. Just my luck, the one time in my entire life that I go to the desert, it rains. As we pulled into the gate at Hosea Kutako International Airport, so 50km to the west of the capital, the dying sun poked through the clouds as it fought its losing battle against the desert night. We drove out into the desert in a minivan, shepherded into Windhoek by a minibus driver named Corrie, and watched the increasingly reddening orb as it fell beneath the distant mountains and night fell across the vast expanse. We arrived at the Cardboard Box hostel just after nightfall to a brewing happy hour of American emigres and a gaggle of fellow travellers. We met Per, a Swede, who can only be described as "on a mission." Having spent 2 1/2 years in Australia, Per and some other random friends he has met along the way are driving a Land Rover from Cape Town to Sweden. (Google "cruisingcontinents.com" for more information). It makes our National Lampoon's-esque journey look like a walk in the park. He will traverse about every war-torn area in the world - including, but not limited to, Uganda, Sudan, and the Middle East - before returning home to Stockholm. Also, as I mentioned earlier, we ran into a bunch of American college students just getting started on their program at the University of Namibia. Spent a good deal of time talking politics and development with them (and college basketball, as a few of them went to Chapel Hill, and I, of course, am an avowed Duke Blue Devils fan) over more than a few Tafel lagers, the finest Namibia has to offer. Amazingly, I'm looking forward to tomorrow's early wake-up call as I settle in for a night's rest. To explore the vastness of this country will be quite an adventure, I'm sure. To see places and experience things I otherwise never would, nor of which I have never even conceived. The differences, the 180-degree turnabout from anything in my consciousness, that is what makes this moment, this journey so special.
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SATURDAY, 9 SEPTEMBER
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0945 - We are officially off the beaten path. Having met our guide, Andre Blaauw of Foxtrot Tours, this morning at the backpackers, we journeyed south from Windhoek on the route to Sesriem and Sossusvlei. As our red minibus rolled down the B1, we left behind the last vestiges of civilization and began traversing the savannah. Guarded by mountains on each side, the paved road, soon to be a novelty was long and straight only the occasional undulation. We made a brief stop at Rehoboth (I wanted to take a picture in my "Why Not Us?" t-shirt and send it to Red Sox Color Commentator Jerry Remy, but alas, there wasn't time) to pick up supplies (Beer). As I write this entry, we are on the C24 gravel road, having left pavement behind as we wind our way throught the mountains towards Sesriem and our stop for the evening. The vegetation is growing a bit sparser now, and the smell of desert dust fills the air.
1130 - "Road to Nowhere" by the Talking Heads comes over the stereo. A little on the nose, don't you think?
1135 - "I bless the rains down in AAAAAAAAAAAAA-frica..." Yeah, so that happened. Kevin's a pretty awesome DJ.
1215 - We take a journeyman's lunch of roast beef sandwiches amidst the towering Naukluft mountains. These sentries guard the semi-arid savannah we've been driving through all morning from the Namib Desert, which at 85 million years old, is the world's oldest, according to Andre. We're climbing the switchbacks now, on our way into the sand seas, where life itself is endangered by nature on a daily basis.
1520 - We are now settled in at Sesriem Campground. Wiled away the day's heat in the pool, lounging with what sounded like Angolan Portuguese as well as some other Capetonians. With the heat dissipating, we are headed to Elim's Dune for an evening hike. As we enter the Namib-Naukluft Park on the Sossusvlei Road, we can the vegetation, or lack of it, changing rapidly from savannah into desert. We should see an even more marked change at Sossusvlei tomorrow, but Elim's Dune, red and off in the distance, should be a good introduction.
1645 - "CAN'T STOP! CANNOT STOP!!! AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" That's the sound I make when I run, full bore, down a giant sand dune. I made the hardest 1km (not vertical) of my life all the way to the top, and despite spending about 10 minutes trying not to vomit, the view was astounding. We all sat in wonder and awe as the beautiful desolation lay out before us. Each of us, to a man, asking, "Where are we, and how in hell did we get here?" We all know the answer now: "This is Africa, and by sheer force of will."
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SUNDAY, 10 SEPTEMBER
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0600 - One night of camping down, we set out for Sossusvlei in the pre-dawn Sunday morning calm. Managed to survive the night relatively comfortably and without animal or insect interaction. Moonlight on the dunes creates an ethereal fog, painting the landscape in a grey mist as the night begins its transfer of power to the day.
0640 - Still on the Sossusvlei Road. As we move west, the dawn begins to break over the dunes. The grey pallor of moonlight has given way to a host of hues; reds, pinks, fiery burnt orange and faint blue. The day is at hand now.
0820 - The heat of the day is already gathering as we continue on from Dune 45 to Deadvlei and Sossusvlei. Running (and falling...and getting up and running and falling again) down Dune 45 was quite the experience. I almost wish I had skis and could have carves my way down the virgin, ephemeral surface. As we leapt and - Kevin's word here - "pranced" down the duneside, the incredibly carefree nature of the moment gripped me. It was like being 5 years old at O'Maley School with Kate and Patrick rolling down the hill while our moms walked the track. Though I came up literally covered in red dune sand, and I had absolutely no desire to walk back up and try it again - both marked departures from my youthful adventures - here I was, in Africa, marvelling, both at nature in 360 degrees, and in the hindsight of my own journey here.
1045 - Never has there been a more appropriate name than Deadvlei. The clay bed, surrounded by the tallest dunes in the Namib is quite literally bereft of life. The most eerie sensation was hearing the chirping of birds, signs of life with dead, 900-year old, standing trees. Our own existences questioned in a place where life is not meant to thrive.
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MONDAY, 11 SEPTEMBER
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0730 - We set off for Swakopmund under the glow of yet another beautiful desert dawn. Spent one last fun night at the campground, discussing issues of import. At one point, we began talking about Steve Biko and "Cry Freedom." Andre became interested in our conversation, asking bluntly, "Do you believe everything you see in movies?" We all demeured slightly, knowing Andre's personal history: educated at Stellenbosch - the outpost of Afrikaner nationalist thought, first language of Afrikaans, retired special ops for the South African Defense Forces under the apartheid regime. The conversation moved along haltingly at first, each of us hoping it would be civil. In the end, it was that and also enlightening as Andre gave us a perspective on apartheid that is missed in both U.S. educational circles as well as UCT, the academic bastion of the anti-Apartheid movement. And while I do not agree with his conception of the movement being, in his words, "overblown," I do agree that, in America at least, the issue was largely misunderstood because of misinformation in many circles. Andre spoke of his best friend in the military who was a Black African, and shot dead standing on the line right next to him. Apartheid did breed deep division to be sure, but interestingly, in Andre's words, it also bred a quixotic sense of commonality of being part of a bad situation.
0830 - We are continuing up the C19 towards Solitaire. The grit of the gravel roads begins to settle in my nose and throat. I'm definitely looking forward to our apple tart stop in Solitaire, because as much I am loving this trip and this place and want to take it all in, I'd rather not choke on it!
0930 - Well, I can officially say I went on Spring Break in the Tropics as we pass the sign marking the Tropic of Capricorn. Pretty much, it's just a sign in the middle of the desert with nothing (and I mean, NOTHING) around. Still, a milestone nonetheless.
1415 - "Is that my shin sticking out?!?!?! AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!" Luckily, it wasn't, but, indoor kid that I am, I managed to roll a 4x4 ATV on my left leg while on the dunes between Walvis Bay and Swakopmund. Only superficial damage, but I did needed to be driven back by our guide. Before the accident, we got soem amazing views of the sand seas with the ocean in the background...at 60km/h. My mom's gonna kill me.
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TUESDAY, 12 SEPTEMBER
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1030 - On the road to Hentiesbaai and the Damaraland after a fun night in Swakopmund. In a stunning twist of fate, our fellow interstudy friends who are also travelling in Namibia showed up at the same bar we were at last night. Without email, cell phones or communication of any kind, we somehow knew to find each other at a certain time, in a certain place. Just goes to show, fate will always bring good people together, even in farflung, ex-German colonial outposts. Dinner at Cape to Cairo restaurant was excellent last night as well. I had an excellent kudu steak in mushroom sauce. The choices on the menu showed off the best African cuisine had to offer. We got to share appetizers like fried crocodile, orix in blue cheese sauce and Nigerian-style meatballs. Quite the fete culinaire!
1230 - There are some times Andre stops the minibus and says, "We're here," and we all respond "Uh...we're where exactly?" Just now, we stopped at a "rest area" (read: picnic table in the desert) just short of the Brondberg, Namibia's highest peak. There is literally the mountain and then NOTHING as far as the eye can see. After a quick stop, and toss of the new NERF football we found - miraculously - in Hentiesbaai, we were off again. But, it is becoming increasingly clear that nothing encapsulates the Namibian experience more than the phrase, "We're here."
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WEDNESDAY, 13 SEPTEMBER
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1350 - We are on the Halali Road inside Etosha National Park. We aren't supposed to be able to see any animals in the heat of the day. Of course, that means we have already seen legions of springbok, zebra and orix. Oh yeah, and about 20 elephants. We haven't even gotten to the campsite yet! This, after last night sleeping - or, in my case, not sleeping - in a dry river bed in the Damaraland with elephants all around us to be heard, though not seen. Etosha is flat, barren and hot. And yet, as we have already seen, full of life.
1910 - Writing by the light of the braai tonight in Halali Camp. We are all marvelling - and I know I'm using that word a lot, but still, we are marvelling - at the immense luck we've had today. In the space of 90 minutes, in the heat of the day no less, we saw all the animals I already mentioned, plus giraffes, wildebeest and even MORE of everything else. Andre even admits that what we lucked into today is part of the magic of Etosha. Many hot days like today, you won't see anything with the animals taking shelter from the hot African sun. And yet, here we came, unannounced and drove right into a herd of elephants drinking at a water hole, sunning themselves, then thundering majestically, if haltingly, across the plain. It is sights like this one, of nature in full array, in its element that makes Namibia, wild and untamed, worth every moment.
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THURSDAY, 14 SEPTEMBER
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0952 - Lions. That is all.
1330 - How is it that I've only been here a day and I'm already getting desensitized to animals? We were just sitting at the Namutoni watering hole literally surrounded by impala and zebra and kudu, and after sitting for just a few minutes, we all just looked at each other and said "Well, it's slow here, let's get back on the road." Never before would I have considered such a scene "dead." But, you know, I've now seen lion and elephant up close and personal. That's gonna change my perceptions. We're taking the afternoon and driving through the Great Etosha Pan, the clay bed of an ancient sea, formed ages ago and dead for centuries. It should bring an interesting change from game viewing, a reversion back to the desolation of Deadvlei.
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FRIDAY, 15 SEPTEMBER
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0940 - We have been very lucky so far here in Etosha. But then you have days like today. It's a little warmer and that seems to be keeping the animals out of sight. We did get a treat last night with four rhinoceros at the Halali watering hole, so we have now seen all of Etosha's big boys. Still, despite the lack of animals this morning, the relaxing drive is a fitting close to our visit here.
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SATURDAY, 16 SEPTEMBER
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0900 - As we roll down the (paved, thankfully) road towards Outjo and Windhoek, our voyage is officially at an end. We had one more 'Etosha Magic' moment last night. We thought we would take a leisurely stroll to the watering hole and watch the sunset one last time over the Etoshan expanse. Sure enough, jsut as we were getting ready to leave, 20 elephants descend under the red, dying sun for a quick drink. Just when you think you're having a slow day! I am excited to return to Cape Town, despite still having one paper due Monday afternoon which is conspicuously unfinished. This trip has put a lot in prespective for me. Rest assured, I am still an indoor kid. My thought, upon waking up this morning in our rather cramped tent was, "Ah ha! I survived." I will not necessarily miss that part, nor the fact that I have showered in five days, nor shaven in nine. My left leg is shredded, and my feet are blistered from wearing shoes without socks for eight days. I'm getting pretty tired of the strains of "Rooi Rok Bakkie" and other Afrikaans pop music. Seriously, I honestly cannot believe anyone would like it, but Andre seems to be a pretty big fan. But then I remember dawn at Dune 45, roaming with elephants, wandering through the desert and all the other wonderful parts of the trip (even quad biking...you know, up to the 'almost breaking my leg' part) and realize I wouldn't trade a minute of it for a shave, shower or proper bed.
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FRIDAY, 8 SEPTEMBER
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2300 - We arrived in Windhoek this evening to a cloudy desert sky. Just my luck, the one time in my entire life that I go to the desert, it rains. As we pulled into the gate at Hosea Kutako International Airport, so 50km to the west of the capital, the dying sun poked through the clouds as it fought its losing battle against the desert night. We drove out into the desert in a minivan, shepherded into Windhoek by a minibus driver named Corrie, and watched the increasingly reddening orb as it fell beneath the distant mountains and night fell across the vast expanse. We arrived at the Cardboard Box hostel just after nightfall to a brewing happy hour of American emigres and a gaggle of fellow travellers. We met Per, a Swede, who can only be described as "on a mission." Having spent 2 1/2 years in Australia, Per and some other random friends he has met along the way are driving a Land Rover from Cape Town to Sweden. (Google "cruisingcontinents.com" for more information). It makes our National Lampoon's-esque journey look like a walk in the park. He will traverse about every war-torn area in the world - including, but not limited to, Uganda, Sudan, and the Middle East - before returning home to Stockholm. Also, as I mentioned earlier, we ran into a bunch of American college students just getting started on their program at the University of Namibia. Spent a good deal of time talking politics and development with them (and college basketball, as a few of them went to Chapel Hill, and I, of course, am an avowed Duke Blue Devils fan) over more than a few Tafel lagers, the finest Namibia has to offer. Amazingly, I'm looking forward to tomorrow's early wake-up call as I settle in for a night's rest. To explore the vastness of this country will be quite an adventure, I'm sure. To see places and experience things I otherwise never would, nor of which I have never even conceived. The differences, the 180-degree turnabout from anything in my consciousness, that is what makes this moment, this journey so special.
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SATURDAY, 9 SEPTEMBER
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0945 - We are officially off the beaten path. Having met our guide, Andre Blaauw of Foxtrot Tours, this morning at the backpackers, we journeyed south from Windhoek on the route to Sesriem and Sossusvlei. As our red minibus rolled down the B1, we left behind the last vestiges of civilization and began traversing the savannah. Guarded by mountains on each side, the paved road, soon to be a novelty was long and straight only the occasional undulation. We made a brief stop at Rehoboth (I wanted to take a picture in my "Why Not Us?" t-shirt and send it to Red Sox Color Commentator Jerry Remy, but alas, there wasn't time) to pick up supplies (Beer). As I write this entry, we are on the C24 gravel road, having left pavement behind as we wind our way throught the mountains towards Sesriem and our stop for the evening. The vegetation is growing a bit sparser now, and the smell of desert dust fills the air.
1130 - "Road to Nowhere" by the Talking Heads comes over the stereo. A little on the nose, don't you think?
1135 - "I bless the rains down in AAAAAAAAAAAAA-frica..." Yeah, so that happened. Kevin's a pretty awesome DJ.
1215 - We take a journeyman's lunch of roast beef sandwiches amidst the towering Naukluft mountains. These sentries guard the semi-arid savannah we've been driving through all morning from the Namib Desert, which at 85 million years old, is the world's oldest, according to Andre. We're climbing the switchbacks now, on our way into the sand seas, where life itself is endangered by nature on a daily basis.
1520 - We are now settled in at Sesriem Campground. Wiled away the day's heat in the pool, lounging with what sounded like Angolan Portuguese as well as some other Capetonians. With the heat dissipating, we are headed to Elim's Dune for an evening hike. As we enter the Namib-Naukluft Park on the Sossusvlei Road, we can the vegetation, or lack of it, changing rapidly from savannah into desert. We should see an even more marked change at Sossusvlei tomorrow, but Elim's Dune, red and off in the distance, should be a good introduction.
1645 - "CAN'T STOP! CANNOT STOP!!! AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" That's the sound I make when I run, full bore, down a giant sand dune. I made the hardest 1km (not vertical) of my life all the way to the top, and despite spending about 10 minutes trying not to vomit, the view was astounding. We all sat in wonder and awe as the beautiful desolation lay out before us. Each of us, to a man, asking, "Where are we, and how in hell did we get here?" We all know the answer now: "This is Africa, and by sheer force of will."
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SUNDAY, 10 SEPTEMBER
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0600 - One night of camping down, we set out for Sossusvlei in the pre-dawn Sunday morning calm. Managed to survive the night relatively comfortably and without animal or insect interaction. Moonlight on the dunes creates an ethereal fog, painting the landscape in a grey mist as the night begins its transfer of power to the day.
0640 - Still on the Sossusvlei Road. As we move west, the dawn begins to break over the dunes. The grey pallor of moonlight has given way to a host of hues; reds, pinks, fiery burnt orange and faint blue. The day is at hand now.
0820 - The heat of the day is already gathering as we continue on from Dune 45 to Deadvlei and Sossusvlei. Running (and falling...and getting up and running and falling again) down Dune 45 was quite the experience. I almost wish I had skis and could have carves my way down the virgin, ephemeral surface. As we leapt and - Kevin's word here - "pranced" down the duneside, the incredibly carefree nature of the moment gripped me. It was like being 5 years old at O'Maley School with Kate and Patrick rolling down the hill while our moms walked the track. Though I came up literally covered in red dune sand, and I had absolutely no desire to walk back up and try it again - both marked departures from my youthful adventures - here I was, in Africa, marvelling, both at nature in 360 degrees, and in the hindsight of my own journey here.
1045 - Never has there been a more appropriate name than Deadvlei. The clay bed, surrounded by the tallest dunes in the Namib is quite literally bereft of life. The most eerie sensation was hearing the chirping of birds, signs of life with dead, 900-year old, standing trees. Our own existences questioned in a place where life is not meant to thrive.
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MONDAY, 11 SEPTEMBER
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0730 - We set off for Swakopmund under the glow of yet another beautiful desert dawn. Spent one last fun night at the campground, discussing issues of import. At one point, we began talking about Steve Biko and "Cry Freedom." Andre became interested in our conversation, asking bluntly, "Do you believe everything you see in movies?" We all demeured slightly, knowing Andre's personal history: educated at Stellenbosch - the outpost of Afrikaner nationalist thought, first language of Afrikaans, retired special ops for the South African Defense Forces under the apartheid regime. The conversation moved along haltingly at first, each of us hoping it would be civil. In the end, it was that and also enlightening as Andre gave us a perspective on apartheid that is missed in both U.S. educational circles as well as UCT, the academic bastion of the anti-Apartheid movement. And while I do not agree with his conception of the movement being, in his words, "overblown," I do agree that, in America at least, the issue was largely misunderstood because of misinformation in many circles. Andre spoke of his best friend in the military who was a Black African, and shot dead standing on the line right next to him. Apartheid did breed deep division to be sure, but interestingly, in Andre's words, it also bred a quixotic sense of commonality of being part of a bad situation.
0830 - We are continuing up the C19 towards Solitaire. The grit of the gravel roads begins to settle in my nose and throat. I'm definitely looking forward to our apple tart stop in Solitaire, because as much I am loving this trip and this place and want to take it all in, I'd rather not choke on it!
0930 - Well, I can officially say I went on Spring Break in the Tropics as we pass the sign marking the Tropic of Capricorn. Pretty much, it's just a sign in the middle of the desert with nothing (and I mean, NOTHING) around. Still, a milestone nonetheless.
1415 - "Is that my shin sticking out?!?!?! AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!" Luckily, it wasn't, but, indoor kid that I am, I managed to roll a 4x4 ATV on my left leg while on the dunes between Walvis Bay and Swakopmund. Only superficial damage, but I did needed to be driven back by our guide. Before the accident, we got soem amazing views of the sand seas with the ocean in the background...at 60km/h. My mom's gonna kill me.
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TUESDAY, 12 SEPTEMBER
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1030 - On the road to Hentiesbaai and the Damaraland after a fun night in Swakopmund. In a stunning twist of fate, our fellow interstudy friends who are also travelling in Namibia showed up at the same bar we were at last night. Without email, cell phones or communication of any kind, we somehow knew to find each other at a certain time, in a certain place. Just goes to show, fate will always bring good people together, even in farflung, ex-German colonial outposts. Dinner at Cape to Cairo restaurant was excellent last night as well. I had an excellent kudu steak in mushroom sauce. The choices on the menu showed off the best African cuisine had to offer. We got to share appetizers like fried crocodile, orix in blue cheese sauce and Nigerian-style meatballs. Quite the fete culinaire!
1230 - There are some times Andre stops the minibus and says, "We're here," and we all respond "Uh...we're where exactly?" Just now, we stopped at a "rest area" (read: picnic table in the desert) just short of the Brondberg, Namibia's highest peak. There is literally the mountain and then NOTHING as far as the eye can see. After a quick stop, and toss of the new NERF football we found - miraculously - in Hentiesbaai, we were off again. But, it is becoming increasingly clear that nothing encapsulates the Namibian experience more than the phrase, "We're here."
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WEDNESDAY, 13 SEPTEMBER
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1350 - We are on the Halali Road inside Etosha National Park. We aren't supposed to be able to see any animals in the heat of the day. Of course, that means we have already seen legions of springbok, zebra and orix. Oh yeah, and about 20 elephants. We haven't even gotten to the campsite yet! This, after last night sleeping - or, in my case, not sleeping - in a dry river bed in the Damaraland with elephants all around us to be heard, though not seen. Etosha is flat, barren and hot. And yet, as we have already seen, full of life.
1910 - Writing by the light of the braai tonight in Halali Camp. We are all marvelling - and I know I'm using that word a lot, but still, we are marvelling - at the immense luck we've had today. In the space of 90 minutes, in the heat of the day no less, we saw all the animals I already mentioned, plus giraffes, wildebeest and even MORE of everything else. Andre even admits that what we lucked into today is part of the magic of Etosha. Many hot days like today, you won't see anything with the animals taking shelter from the hot African sun. And yet, here we came, unannounced and drove right into a herd of elephants drinking at a water hole, sunning themselves, then thundering majestically, if haltingly, across the plain. It is sights like this one, of nature in full array, in its element that makes Namibia, wild and untamed, worth every moment.
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THURSDAY, 14 SEPTEMBER
----------------------
0952 - Lions. That is all.
1330 - How is it that I've only been here a day and I'm already getting desensitized to animals? We were just sitting at the Namutoni watering hole literally surrounded by impala and zebra and kudu, and after sitting for just a few minutes, we all just looked at each other and said "Well, it's slow here, let's get back on the road." Never before would I have considered such a scene "dead." But, you know, I've now seen lion and elephant up close and personal. That's gonna change my perceptions. We're taking the afternoon and driving through the Great Etosha Pan, the clay bed of an ancient sea, formed ages ago and dead for centuries. It should bring an interesting change from game viewing, a reversion back to the desolation of Deadvlei.
--------------------
FRIDAY, 15 SEPTEMBER
--------------------
0940 - We have been very lucky so far here in Etosha. But then you have days like today. It's a little warmer and that seems to be keeping the animals out of sight. We did get a treat last night with four rhinoceros at the Halali watering hole, so we have now seen all of Etosha's big boys. Still, despite the lack of animals this morning, the relaxing drive is a fitting close to our visit here.
----------------------
SATURDAY, 16 SEPTEMBER
----------------------
0900 - As we roll down the (paved, thankfully) road towards Outjo and Windhoek, our voyage is officially at an end. We had one more 'Etosha Magic' moment last night. We thought we would take a leisurely stroll to the watering hole and watch the sunset one last time over the Etoshan expanse. Sure enough, jsut as we were getting ready to leave, 20 elephants descend under the red, dying sun for a quick drink. Just when you think you're having a slow day! I am excited to return to Cape Town, despite still having one paper due Monday afternoon which is conspicuously unfinished. This trip has put a lot in prespective for me. Rest assured, I am still an indoor kid. My thought, upon waking up this morning in our rather cramped tent was, "Ah ha! I survived." I will not necessarily miss that part, nor the fact that I have showered in five days, nor shaven in nine. My left leg is shredded, and my feet are blistered from wearing shoes without socks for eight days. I'm getting pretty tired of the strains of "Rooi Rok Bakkie" and other Afrikaans pop music. Seriously, I honestly cannot believe anyone would like it, but Andre seems to be a pretty big fan. But then I remember dawn at Dune 45, roaming with elephants, wandering through the desert and all the other wonderful parts of the trip (even quad biking...you know, up to the 'almost breaking my leg' part) and realize I wouldn't trade a minute of it for a shave, shower or proper bed.
07 September 2006
Big Pre-Namibia Changes
I decided I didn't want to shave while I was on safari.
So, for only the third time in ten years, that happened.
Enjoy, see you when I get back.
06 September 2006
Things I Miss, Volume 1: iTunes Music Store
Biggest problem with having megabyte-driven internet: I can't download music.
I mean, I can't. Kevin did it for the new RJD2 album and it cost him about $50. And as much as I want the new Audioslave and, next week, John Mayer albums no way I'm paying like that.
So yeah, if someone wanted to send me a care package with those CDs (God, how archaic is that? A CD!), I might greatly appreciate it.
I really didn't have anything else to say, I'm basically just trying to do anything but either A) study for tomorrow's "Third World Politics" test or B) keep compiling my sociology paper.
P.S. On the subject of sending me cool things, Jill Habig is today's all-star friend. She sent me her textbook from Bordeaux Wine School and included a map I can put on my wall. Cool things like that are always appreciated.
I mean, I can't. Kevin did it for the new RJD2 album and it cost him about $50. And as much as I want the new Audioslave and, next week, John Mayer albums no way I'm paying like that.
So yeah, if someone wanted to send me a care package with those CDs (God, how archaic is that? A CD!), I might greatly appreciate it.
I really didn't have anything else to say, I'm basically just trying to do anything but either A) study for tomorrow's "Third World Politics" test or B) keep compiling my sociology paper.
P.S. On the subject of sending me cool things, Jill Habig is today's all-star friend. She sent me her textbook from Bordeaux Wine School and included a map I can put on my wall. Cool things like that are always appreciated.
Brain Dead
I think I need a vacation. From my vacation. This can't possibly be a good situation. Luckily, I'm getting one starting in about 48 hours (ahem...see below) and that flight to an old colonial outpost in the middle of the desert cannot come fast enough. I spent the last hour or so here in Beattie lab staring at largely blank pages of "writing" about sociology. And that's for one of the two classes I actually enjoy. I have already written two papers in the last week and found out yesterday I may have done one of them incorrectly (though that's starting to look like miscommunication with the TAs more than anything else). I have had zero cultural experiences in the last two weeks here. Since Knysna, all we have done is work, and occasionally pop down to Obz or Claremont for a couple pops where I nearly pass out from being so overworked and overtired. We have, all of us, been wading through academic minutiae in our particular subjects. Spring has even sprung here and I can barely enjoy because I'm doing too much work.
Don't get me wrong, apart from "Third World Politics" (which I put in quotation marks and will continue to until we talk about the third world...or even politics) and the inadequacies of the library (another rant for another time) I'm still having a ball here. But didn't all my friends who went abroad do a lot more work on their tans than in a textbook, or go to museums or meet interesting local people and have interesting cultural experiences?
Oh well, like I said, in 48 hours I'll be in Namibia free from all of the stresses that international universities can bring. And right in the middle of all of the stresses being stared down by a lion who thinks I look tasty can bring.
I can handle that.
Don't get me wrong, apart from "Third World Politics" (which I put in quotation marks and will continue to until we talk about the third world...or even politics) and the inadequacies of the library (another rant for another time) I'm still having a ball here. But didn't all my friends who went abroad do a lot more work on their tans than in a textbook, or go to museums or meet interesting local people and have interesting cultural experiences?
Oh well, like I said, in 48 hours I'll be in Namibia free from all of the stresses that international universities can bring. And right in the middle of all of the stresses being stared down by a lion who thinks I look tasty can bring.
I can handle that.
04 September 2006
Namibia. It's on.
That's right boys and girls, in just four short days I will shuffle off for foreign shores yet again as I embark upon a spring break odyssey to Namibia. Matt, Kevin, Mark and I will be taking a private safari, hitting all the highlights. Here's our itinerary so you can get jealous. (I realize I make you jealous a lot. Rest assured, I'm perfectly okay with that.)
Day 1: Fly from Cape Town to Windhoek and overnight in a hostel.
Day 2: Begin our safari tour by traveling to Sesriem, home of a huge canyon and right near...
Day 3: Dawn at Dune 45, Sossusvlei. For the uninitiated, that is apparently the spot where heaven and earth meet the rising sun. (Not my description, totally ganked from some travel diary online. But I can't wait to see it.) Then travel to Swakopmund for an afternoon of sandboarding and/or quad biking. My roommates may skydive. I, of course, will not.
Day 4: More of sunny, seaside Swakopmund (That's where Angelina Jolie had Brad Pitt's baby, by the way - not that I care, I just thought you might...though Angelina Jolie is really, really hot) before setting off back towards Windhoek on the way to Etosha National Park.
Day 5: Arrive at Etosha, proceed to see/get eaten by lions, rhinos, elephants, water buffalo, etc.
Day 6: More animals and camping.
Day 7: Even MORE Etosha!
Day 8: One last game drive through the herds of wildebeest sweeping majestically across the plain before returning to Windhoek for our flight back to Cape Town.
So I'd say that's an action packed week. I'll work on getting some pictures up when I get back. Pretty sure you'll want to see those.
Cheers.
Day 1: Fly from Cape Town to Windhoek and overnight in a hostel.
Day 2: Begin our safari tour by traveling to Sesriem, home of a huge canyon and right near...
Day 3: Dawn at Dune 45, Sossusvlei. For the uninitiated, that is apparently the spot where heaven and earth meet the rising sun. (Not my description, totally ganked from some travel diary online. But I can't wait to see it.) Then travel to Swakopmund for an afternoon of sandboarding and/or quad biking. My roommates may skydive. I, of course, will not.
Day 4: More of sunny, seaside Swakopmund (That's where Angelina Jolie had Brad Pitt's baby, by the way - not that I care, I just thought you might...though Angelina Jolie is really, really hot) before setting off back towards Windhoek on the way to Etosha National Park.
Day 5: Arrive at Etosha, proceed to see/get eaten by lions, rhinos, elephants, water buffalo, etc.
Day 6: More animals and camping.
Day 7: Even MORE Etosha!
Day 8: One last game drive through the herds of wildebeest sweeping majestically across the plain before returning to Windhoek for our flight back to Cape Town.
So I'd say that's an action packed week. I'll work on getting some pictures up when I get back. Pretty sure you'll want to see those.
Cheers.
02 September 2006
Jon Lester
Some thoughts this morning on a matter of grave concern from back home.
A lot of you know how seriously I take the Boston Red Sox. I am lucky enough to be a Bostonian, through and through, and the Red Sox provide me with 162 days of joy, consternation, blood, sweat and tears every spring, summer and fall. It consumes all of us in Boston, a part of our lives that only religion and family can match for those 162 days.
But all that is silent now, unimportant in the face of the diagnosis last night of lymphoma for Jon Lester.
I awoke early this morning in Cape Town to the sad and, frankly, horrifying news. To be 22 and having to stare down cancer must be unbelievably frightening. Luckily, the form of cancer Lester has been diagnosed with is eminently treatable, and, thanks to the incredible "luck" of a minor car accident a week ago, it was caught early. Despite the fact that baseball is the least important part of his life right now, Jon's teammates are already encouraged that Jon will rejoin them next spring in Fort Myers and be able to return to his status as a rising star in the major leagues.
Whether Jon Lester wins another game, or strikes out another hitter with that nasty moving fastball of his are not important, however. He is about to face down his worst, most fearsome enemy. And just like he does every fifth night for the Red Sox, I have full confidence that this is a battle Lester intends to win.
Red Sox Nation (both Cape Town and Boston chapters, as well as all the others around the globe) are pulling for you Jon. Be well.
---
Support the fight against cancer for Jon Lester and the thousands of other children and adults stricken each year, go to www.jimmyfund.com and make a donation today.
A lot of you know how seriously I take the Boston Red Sox. I am lucky enough to be a Bostonian, through and through, and the Red Sox provide me with 162 days of joy, consternation, blood, sweat and tears every spring, summer and fall. It consumes all of us in Boston, a part of our lives that only religion and family can match for those 162 days.
But all that is silent now, unimportant in the face of the diagnosis last night of lymphoma for Jon Lester.
I awoke early this morning in Cape Town to the sad and, frankly, horrifying news. To be 22 and having to stare down cancer must be unbelievably frightening. Luckily, the form of cancer Lester has been diagnosed with is eminently treatable, and, thanks to the incredible "luck" of a minor car accident a week ago, it was caught early. Despite the fact that baseball is the least important part of his life right now, Jon's teammates are already encouraged that Jon will rejoin them next spring in Fort Myers and be able to return to his status as a rising star in the major leagues.
Whether Jon Lester wins another game, or strikes out another hitter with that nasty moving fastball of his are not important, however. He is about to face down his worst, most fearsome enemy. And just like he does every fifth night for the Red Sox, I have full confidence that this is a battle Lester intends to win.
Red Sox Nation (both Cape Town and Boston chapters, as well as all the others around the globe) are pulling for you Jon. Be well.
---
Support the fight against cancer for Jon Lester and the thousands of other children and adults stricken each year, go to www.jimmyfund.com and make a donation today.
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