The Time I Had False Bacon

We all know what bacon is, right?  Well “we” are a spoiled lot.  People in South Africa are supplied with a form of bacon that is the pygmy horse to our bacon’s black stallion:  similar in broad concept, but proportionally deformed and without the sweet kick of our scrumtrulescent strips.  It’s a glorified ham strip that apes the basic color and waves of proper bacon, but falls short on texture, taste, and optimal greasiness.  You might even hear a South African say that they like it, and prefer it to American bacon.  Even worse, you might be tempted to say something like “no, no, I like this, it’s just different, that’s all…”  Instead, explain to the poor soul that the wonderful properties of our mystery meat—bacon-wrapped dates, bacon hash, bacon brittle, bacon bits, bacon BACON—make it so that no other substance on this earth can properly be called by the same sacred handle. 

(Update:  I’m informed by an American acquaintance here that the SA bacon is not from the same juicy hog underbelly, but from leaner parts, begging the question—what do they do with that part of the pig?)

a nice cheap breakfast had in St. George's Anglican Cathedral cafe.  Note the weird meat

The Time I Got Kicked Out of South African Parliament

Tuesday brought the first real excitement of my work week.  I can now fairly claim that I got, if not quite kicked, escorted right out of Parliament.  You see, my friend Saranne works at a NGO called Idasa—a democracy watchdog group for the incipient free governments in South Africa and across the continent.  Her work entails reading about and sometimes attending parliamentary hearings (along with other governmental and political happenings, like the debate I went to later that day, and the annual French Embassy party I attended as the most under-dressed guy there).  By going into work with her this morning, I was given the opportunity to empty my pockets of all belongings and pass through a metal detector (twice), and take a seat at a Parliament Budget Committee hearing.  The room was a classy mixture of stately woodwork and technological sophistication that one would expect.  The delegates on the committee were introduced, and I sat in long enough to hear an Indian-South African man discuss the economic situation of the country, in relation to the president’s recent State of the Nation address.  He was factual and objective in dealing with the realities of the countries imports, exports, labor market, and infrastructure.  I truly was interested, though I felt my saturation point nearing as they started handing out the complimentary water bottles to all in attendance.  I took my souvenir and walked the wrong way out of the building.

There is a good rule of thumb in South African cities (maybe in any big city):  don’t go where there are no other people around.  This is exactly what I did though, at the innocent hour of 10 in the morning.  I headed up the Parliament street towards an incredible vantage point of the mountain, a beautiful old, stone catholic church (the oldest!) and a regal, but heavily gated, palatial estate.  In all honesty, I couldn’t even get a decent look at the palace from 50 yards from the first round of fence, so I focused my camera clicks on the church and sky and mountain.  After a few shots, I was semi-startled by the approach of a white, middle aged, serious looking policeman.  He asked what I was doing in the same way cops ask do you know how fast you were going back there.  I told him I had been to parliament, and wanted to snap some photos before being on my way.  He unwarmly informed me that “we’d” rather you not snap photos up here, and asked to see my pass (given on passage through security).  I was grateful to my cooperative pockets as I was able to present it quickly.  My enthusiastic obedience did not thaw this cop’s steel, though—his finger whipped towards what seemed the very quickest way out off Parliament street and “asked” me to leave.  I countered his non-query with my own—“I was actually hoping to go this way?”  So I walked, and he walked, down the Parliament road towards the city below.  I managed to shake him after a block or so (ok, he was the one that turned off), and continued my graceful exit, stopping to snap just a few more shots of some less significant buildings.

looking up Parliament street

further up Parliament, the building the committee hearing was held

the top of Parliament street. honestly, you can't even see the President's house due to the other buildings and palm trees

a striking spiritual monument, with a nice looking catholic church in the foreground

stairs for people, stairs for giants

The Time I Learned A Useful New Word

The things people say here!  There’s the dodgy train ride you might reconsider taking, or a hectic night out that existed on the spectrum of quite interesting to decidely epic—and potentially verging on the disastrous.  There could and should and probably will be an entire post on South-African-isms (once I’m better able to tease apart the English, Africaans, and 9 other native languages).  For now, I’ll stick with just a single word to help explain my very first work day in Cape Town—the word is “admin.” 

Admin is what you take care of before you can do what you really want—things like paying bills, returning movies, checking email, maybe even grocery shopping.  I guess it might translate to “chores,” or perhaps “errands.”  There’s just a certain polished ring to “taking care of admin” that makes the tasks at hand sound more essential, more sophisticated.

So my first Monday here was what you might call an admin sort of day.  I got a tour of the neighborhood (called Newlands) from my friend and host Saranne (pronounced like the plastic wrap), and then was left to my very own devices.  I went for a run, then took a decent little walk to the commercial strip next door called Cavendish.  There I checked email, blogged, bought a plaid striped button down long-sleeve, had a fried fish and chips wrap, and then got back on a computer to Skype some loved ones for Valentine’s Day.  I walked quite a bit.  When Saranne got home from work, I walked a bit more in the Newlands forest, which is perched on the side of a mountain, with views overlooking the area south of city proper, and views underlooking a diverse canopy (of mostly introduced species).

Wednesday, incidentally, was another admin day—along with some further exploration of the area south of downtown Cape Town.  I visited the University of Cape Town campus and strolled the halls of both the science and the education departments.  The things posted in the ed school made me hypothesize that teachers (and teacher educators) were basically the same everywhere—or at least the techniques to motivate them.

So most admin I’ve attended to relates to my travel finances, itinerary, and maintaining contact with friends and family, though increasingly the tasks have taken a domestic turn.  Doing laundry and the dishes, cleaning “my room,” returning DVDs:  all signs of, if not an utter settling, a certain move away from being on the move.  It’s now undertaken on the basis not so much of when it’s needed but when it’s scheduled.  As of this writing, I’m still not so interested in having an admin schedule abroad.

Editors note: About a Blog

As mentioned a few posts ago, I have been exploring the diary-side of blogging since my trip started; I may have explored it enough.  It's a style of writing that has it's place, and works well in the "travelogue" sense--I do want people to know where I am, and read descriptions about how I've sensed and interpreted places and events.  However, I am wary of having it turn into an outlet for my most personal thoughts, or fodder best left for a therapist.  I also don't want to veer into the mundane tweet-realm, where I'm excited to mention the street corner where I stopped to tie my shoes and happened to step in some gum, which was blue, but came off surprisingly easily, and isn't that a blessing because they are my favorite shoes, and I especially like the bottoms of them...(was that 140 or less?).  I think we can all agree it's best to stay clear of TMI-territory.  

So, I hope to dial down the diary-transcribing, and instead do more interpretive sorts of things, that can still offer my personality and personal take on things.  (Not to mention the fact that once I leave Cape Town, assurances of internet access go down.)  You might expect more essays, captioned pictures, and anecdotes.  Still, expect the unexpected--at it's best, the blog will serve the (hypothetical) reader's purposes through my own (which is to write, and to amuse, and to share), so I will continue to search for the optimal and most interesting combination of voice.  Thanks for reading, you.

So this is Cape Town

13FEB2011 ~4:30PM

It's been 3 days since I've really had any time to write, or even be more or less by myself.  As expected.  I'll recap my days in CT in a sec, but first I must say that I've just been to the most awesome beach, ever (that I've been to).  Nags Head, NC is super fun; Tulum, Mexico is beautiful and chilled; but Big Bay Beach in Bluumberg township (sp?) was the most unique beach I've seen.  There was a sand bar of sorts that went perpendicular from the beach, and connects to a rocky little isle that was fun to scramble over and chill upon.  But by far the most spectacular feature was the view of downtown CT from the beach (right over top of the little isle), with the ever-present Table Mountain and adjoining peaks looming over all of it.  It's certainly exotic, and almost alien, the juxtaposition of the beach, ocean, isle, assymetrical mountain.  The spread of the city below the table and accross the bay does well to tie the vista back to the earthly imagination, while only adding a modern touch to the whole spectacle. 

So let's backtrack from right now.  I'm in a car headed back to the southern suburbs of CT, which are just around the left side of the mountain range that sits behind the city proper.  I'm passing a lot of commercial zones, highway junctions, and golf courses (note to self...).  I'm with Saranne, her friend Bee (Dutch), and Bee's dogs Josie, Quincy, and Pablo--all endearing in their mangy-mutt ways.  We met 4 other girls at the beach--Maria, Liz, Pooti, and Judy (with her baby, Kyla).  Together we walked on the beach, played with the dogs, swam and body surfed (the water was, um, refreshing) and just sat.

It's actually felt like summer all day.  Of course, it IS summer here, but I guess I mean it had a summer feeling since getting ready this morning.  The dry, hot sun, the alternating warm winds and cooler breezes, the rented beach-house feel of the place I'm staying, along with the endless summer frame of mind that I've got (had) going on, all made for a relaxed, but somehow melancholic mood as I prepared for the day.  The wide-openess coupled with a certain sort of loneliness made me feel like I was inside the wisp of a childhood summer memory.  I suppose I'm a bit predisposed to feeling wary about the "summer M.O." without having some sort of exit strategy for it.  At it's heart, it contains a bit of danger, like it's something to spiral down into.  I guess there are worse ways to lose one's sense of time and place; I actually hope to explore them on future legs of the trip--so it's another feeling to which I'll need to accustom myself.

Last night there had been plans to go out dancing, but most of those involved were "fading" and then just were "chilled."  So after ostrich steak with Mandla (the roommate) and her boyfriend Rompedi (sp?), we shared some mojitos with a few guys that live a floor up.  Limes are a bit scarce around here, so I had to make them with lemon juice.  Not quite the same, but ever-functional.  I was a still bit tired, too, from the travels, and also from the shopping earlier that day.  Saranne took me to a mall where I got a cheap phone (~150Rand) and some clothes at a Marshall's type store called Pic N Pay--board shorts, pants, shirts, and a cap for about 300R (~$50).  Not too shabby!

Shopping happened only after I slept until about 11:30 Saturday morning.  I certainly was ready to crash Friday night, but not until we had visited Saranne's 4th year college cousin Jonothan, and hung out with his friends.  They lived near the UCT campus, and except for the accents and talk of exotic sports, I could have been in any 6-person college pad.  We smoked "hubbly" (definitely wrong spelling--but a hooka) and had some hot food from the Pic N Pay.  By the by, I may have started a minor revolution by weighing and pricing my own veggies in the produce section.

Friday evening began after meeting Saranne downtown at Idasa, the NGO where she works, about 5 blocks from the train/bus station.  We spent time together and alone in the downtown mall area, called St. George's Mall.  I got to use the internet, do a little shopping, and walk around a vibrant little section of town before we both sat down for a snack.

Tomorrow (Monday) I'll have the middle of the day completely to myself--I am eager to explore, research, and meet others under my own auspices.  I expect that CT orientation will start to segue into thorough CT adventuring...I can't wait.

FOB, in front of Idasa where Saranne works

could be any pretty side street downtown CT

Saranne (and me) at a snack spot

humped zebra crossing as the jokesters in the paper report it

beach, island, city, mountain

stranger in a strange land

Mac and Maggie! (inside joke).  They weren't with us

The harem I was with, plus Pablo the bassett hound

to do in (front of) the city

Where am I?

10FEB2011 (~3PM)
I am on a bus, seat 9, leaving Johannesburg, headed in the right direction, but not exactly according to plan.  I am due to arrive more quickly and more cheaply than the train that I had originally arranged, but with considerable less comfort and boozing.  Oh well.  It turns out that the train (and by proxy, the passengers) suffered from the storied plague of Africanitis.  I and many other passengers had already passed a decent amount of time before it pulled in--for instance, a coloured gentlemen (this is PC, I swear), headed to Kimberley with his sister and cute baby nephew had struck up a conversation with me.  Patrick was very sweet with me, his sister, and the boy, but he also at one point suggested I hold the young one.  By suggest, I mean to say, thrust into my apparently trust-worthy hands.  Initial shock subsiding--along with the slightest fear that he was going to leave me with the thing--the baby got a few knee bounces and smiles, but was handed back after he saw his mother walk away and started to cry.  I didn't take it personally--we had already bonded over a solid game of peekaboo when Patrick wasn't around.  I cat-napped as the train idled, but was shaken awake by Patrick (perhaps an hour after the train had arrived) who told me that the train was not in service, and we would have to take a bus.  Awesome.

To make a longer story into just the facts--well, here they are:  as a crowd of ex-train passengers stood outside and stared at a single bus, I wandered over to some guys that looked like they might be on a trip like mine.  Turns out they were from Swaziland, and had driven to JoBurg, wanted to catch the party train down to CT, and then fly back east in like 5 days.  Together, we had our tickets exchanged for a cheaper bus ticket, and finally hopped on.  All in all, it (and the ensuing 20 hour bus ride) was lesson number one of perhaps many in going with the flow.

In the bus I still got to see the land, which was one of the intentions of taking at train down.  There was a loop of some Fela Kuti-sounding music going for a while.  Eventually I switched on my iPod, took out some snacks, and tried to interpret the scenery, and the true beginning of my trip.  I've had less of a feeling today of "what am I doing" and more of one like "where am I?"  I've only ever been to Central America and Mexico (outside of the US), and in certain respects this place might be compared to Mexico, especially...though the comparison mostly breaks down after some reflection.  JoBurg--the outskirts anyway--seemed modern, clean, fairly busy...and very black.  Young too.  I had been warned at the train station by an African Mama not to exit the building, but the people I saw all seemed like people anywhere--they looked like students, or working men, or mothers and children.  My taxi driver had told me that some people were just desperate, and ready to take advantage of those they thought better off.  I'll stick to that advice, but I look forward to learning more about how people are similar or different here than anywhere else in the world.

~8PM
The music has passed the time well, as well as/in spite of fitful, semi-upright sleep.  I tried out the new Iron & Wine album (thanks Jamie) called "Kiss Each Other Clean."  I was a little disappointed with the first go round, but he definitely deserves another listen.  On the other hand, Yeasayer ("All Hour Cymbal"), Broken Bells, and more Dark Was the Night were great for this long road trip.  I'm not looking forward to the day the music died, which I expect will be sometime in tomorrow's early morning.

11FEB2011
I didn't have music much after the sun rose, but I did have scenery.  About 250 km (180 miles?) out of CT, the bus started to approach and then pass through some amazing mountain passes.  I suppose this was the flip side to the boring Nevada-like landscapes.  It was incredible, and then opened into farming and wine valleys, along with a quaint little town.  The rest of the way to Cape Town was completely tolerable because of this scenery, and the increasing amount of civilization. I would arrive at the downtown CT bus station by 9:30AM, and a new leg of the trip would open up.  Cheers.

just a bit after sunrise, looking west

 

a view through the dirty windshield

a view of Johannesburg from the taxi into town from the airport

...via Munich, of course

09FEB2011

Though it's barely begun in the EST, it's lunchtime in Munich.  I'm writing from a corner coffee shop very close to the train's drop off point (Hauptbahnhof Central Station).  Let me tell you how I got here.

The plane landed in complete fog, such that I thought we were still high up when the wheels touched down...like, whoa!  So my prediction of when I'd see the sun rise in flight was off by maybe an hour, but I timed it well anyway.  It seemed like the whole plane was finally asleep around 11:30 EST last night, and I curled up on my two seats and slept alright.  I woke up to a dark and cozy, quietly humming plane, and looked out the window to see the horizon just barely aglow in front of the plane.  From that vantage, and from that of another window off the opposite aisle, I watched as the horizon brightened and broadened, and a sleep orange/red light crept westward.  the plane was headed right into the unrisen sun, and it was incredible.  I have to say the Tramidol I had taken before going to sleep added something as well.
            
  *                    *                  *

With help from Rolf, the German-American fellow behind me, I entered the airport, stored my big bag, used the internet, and tried to get info on my last boarding pass.  The airport seemed quaint at first, but between the two terminals there was a beautiful and modern (and commercialized) atrium--certainly impressive.  The Germans seem to have a way with organization and design--who knew!  I bought a day pass for the train, and took a small bag with me onto the "DB," headed into Munich proper.

*                      *                   *

Munich itself is an interesting place.  Seems fairly multicultural, with ethncities of all stripes interacting on every block.  The train ride into the city passed some normal (familiar?) looking houses, stores, farms, and industrial areas.  There was loads of graffiti on almost every concrete surface along the tracks, and not most of it very well done.  I wonder if and how people and authorities draw the line between art and vandalism...
Now at the coffee shop, I'm planning to walk east towards the city center (Marienplatz).  I had thought a few days ago to find some couch surfers in the area, and hit them up for a city tour.  I failed at that, though it's just as well--one of my goals everywhere I go will be to test my theory of common courtesy, talking to strangers as needed, or as not needed.  I'll also very much enjoy finding my own way, stretch my legs out a bit, listen to music on the hike, and feel cold weather for the last time in a little bit.

*                     *                        *

Quick summary of Munich--did a lot of walking.  I have pictures of some very old buildings mixed in with some very new enterprise; some befriended Americans at the Hofbrauhaus beer hall; and the large city park near the unversity known as the English Gardens.  I am officially exhausted--and I can attest to the fact as of this writing that I remained more or less in this state for another 4 days.  Avita zein!

much better in person, half-asleep, nose pressed against a tiny window

in the downtown center of Munich (Marienplatz)--can you spot the mime?

English Gardens--you can walk your dog here

taken from the other side of the cathedral as the last shot

I was sure not to drink alone, so I asked to sit with Noemi, Lisa, Scott.  Got free hunks of pork leg from Lisa.  Delicious.

Hofbrauhaus--so authentic

an interesting art giant on my walk around town

Bloggin from another Login (country)

Hello world!  I've started a trip to other realms, and want to share my thoughts along the way.  This was, in fact, why the blog was started.  I've been keeping a journal for the past couple of days, and will continue to do so (I'm not carrying a laptop).  I'm going to see how it goes with posting these slightly more personal looks (as in, this is my life we're talking about!).  I'll be looking for more direction with what I share, but I figured I'd start by sharing something that is mostly directionless.  Bon voyage.

08FEB2011
Listening to the same airplane spiel...in German (is spiel a German word?).  The inside of the plane does not seem so huge, but I think I'm missing out on like half of it.  The wing is right beside me, though, and it is massive.  This boat is supposed to take me over the Atlantic, so I guess bigger is better...

The easiest leg of my journey is over.  Ahead of me, besides oceanic turbulence, are language barriers, customs questions, and just the unknown.  It's the unknown I'm after, in a way.  But of course it's the unknown that frightens me.  I am not after fear, per se, so a necessary goal of this trip is to acquaint myself with the unknown...of course, the actual unknown things I will become familiar with, but also just the very idea of the unknown--a comfort with it that I've felt before but not sure that I've upheld in the past 2-3 years.

The question of WHY has been on my mind ever since I bought my ticket, barely a month ago.  What am I after?  How did this idea crystallize, exactly, in my head?  I'll ask (myself) again--what really are my motivations?  Am I looking for something?  Am I proving something?  Is it being done just because I can?  Just because I said I would?

             *                   *                    *

Travelogue in brief:

• awoke at my parents house to change, trees coming down (so garage can go up--which it should be by the next time I'm there)
• gathered documents, had an esteemed visitor (I miss you Katy), tackled Wal-Mart with mother (again), and seen off by mom and dad
• @ Dulles--Harry's bar, 2 drinks and a bison burger.  Made a list of all my packed items
• boarded Lufthansa--Gemans!--for Munich around 7PM EST
• (another) dinner. and tea!  around 8:30PM EST
• watched "The Other Guys" on the back of some other guy's seat.  Also a neat episode of "Known Universe"--WILL we find aliens?  WHERE could they be?  WHAT will they look like? eh

             *                  *                    *
The time is 11:12 PM EST--still dark outside.  Not sure where we are, but expect the sun will rise soon--another hour?  People are sleeping--I'm not going to get a good one in, might try another nap, but would like to see the plane flying into the rising sun if I might
Music:  Dark Was the Night compilation.  "Train Song" with Feist; "So Far Around the Bend" by the National.  All of the album--great music for gettin-someplace/no place

             *                  *                     *

No, I'm not testing myself.  I'm not getting found either.  I'm just getting lost, and seeing how it feels.  The fear that I'll lose myself is the first and very natural feeling of letting go, I suppose.  Expecting some sort of release is silly.  Expecting change--wise.

Good place to end it:  stay tuned for thoughts from the Old World :)

free with purchase of (international) plane ticket