As the sun sets on the Yokohama harbor, city lights glisten in the chilled evening air. They stand as a symbol of the modernization Japan has sought to achieve over the past few decades. It’s also a reminder of the fast paced world we will soon return. While initially the country was a welcomed relief, for being clean and orderly in comparison to the filth of Chennai’s streets and the constant nagging of the Cambodia’s exorbitant number of handicapped youth that we’ve become so familiar with, there was a longing that surfaced as I realized I was leaving that world behind. Once these next 12 days past, I would be sitting on the opposite side of the world freed from the realities that plague many corners of the earth.
I’ve been on a whirlwind world tour. 108 days, 14 countries, many friends made and many lessons learned. In January 732 other college students, some 50 staff and faculty, a dedicated international crew of nearly 200 and myself crowded the decks of the M.V. Explorer as we bid farewell to loved ones and a land we knew as home. What lay ahead was quite unknown, all that was certain was our eagerness to see the world.
After a night’s sleep of being rocked in bed by the sway of the ocean, I woke. I journeyed to the upper decks to greet the first rays of sun that brought light to my new home on the water. I remember how humbled I felt as I familiarized myself with the expanse of blue and a horizon undefined. Even on a ship accompanied by so many others, you begin to feel that your existence on this earth is little more than the mosquito buzzing in your ear. This was only the first day of a long ocean crossing, with nothing more than an ocean and a few gulls who had caught winds that landed them on our ship. Some days the water looks like glass that you could watch a pin fall on, others days the ship was struck with 40 foot waves as we made our way through the torrent waters of ocean storms. It’s moment like those that your realize that the real power lies not among humans but nature rather.
While on one hand you experience the smallness of your place in the world, the accomplishment of a circumnavigation highlights the confinement of all life on this earth. You realize that while rural life in the High Atlas Mountains may seem worlds away, we really are members of the same human family. And when you have the opportunity to meet people like Fidel Castro and Desmond Tutu who have had profound impacts on the lives of many, it makes the world feel a little smaller. They become neighbors, brothers and sisters rather than rulers and icons. From the AIDS devastated families of South Africa to the extravagant lives of those of us traveling the world; the world is all of ours. This is our small and fragile place, it’s our responsibility.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Vietnam
Sitting on a white sand beach resort in Vietnam, I feel like I could be anywhere. That guilt is returning. Even though it is so lovely, I’ve got nothing to do but read my sappy love story, I still can’t seem to rid myself of feeling guilty for the extravegance of my life. It doesn’t help to see the fully clothed Vietnamese scattered around the beach pushing the sales of gagety keepsakes. It looks the same in Mexico, Rio, Thailand…why do I get to be on this side of the deal? Is it wronge? Should I feel guilt?
Our process of getting here was great. Peter and I were on a wild goose hunt all over Ho Chi Minh City for the train station. Pete had it in his head that he was going to get on a train and head north for the two days that we had in Vietnam before we would fly, with a ship trip, to Cambodia. I think he was looking for a solo adventure but me, being the ever controling (or worrisome) sister that I am decided it would be better if I tagged along. I worry about my boys, I tend to forget that they have grown up a lot since I last lived with them…they are both young men. After a couple hours of walking an good half hour in a taxi and ultimately by the generous help of some 20-something(age) Vietnamese boys who gave us a ride on the back of their motorcycles, we made it to the train station. I didn’t decide until about 5 minutes before Peter boarded the that I was really going with him. Neither of us had brought much of anything because there was some ambivelence as to whether this was really going to happen. But we boarded the train anyways with little more than our swimsuits in our backpacks. I had no part in the researching of where this train might be going. I think Pete had heard about a pretty coast and we thought we might be able to do a beach sleep or something of the likes. The train ride was an adventure in its self and a great way to see the country side…shortly after we hoped on the muggy, non-airconditioned car we were befriended by a sweet Vietnamese women about my age. He english was elementary to say the least, but she was persistant about conversation, bless her. So we spent the next four hours in quizi communication with her. Bought her a train dinner and sat and ate dinner with her. We attempted getting some information from her about where we were going…if there would be places to stay and what not but that didn’t amount to much information. All we knew was the name of the stop that Peter had planned to get off at. The Lonely Planet book had stayed with mom and dad. As evening rolled around and the sun had set, I began to worry a little. All the stops that the train was making were just little platforms with little more than fields of crops surrounding them. The uncertainty didn’t sit quite as well with me as it did with Pete. This was just the adventure he had planned for.
It wasn’t until about 9 that we finally hoped off the train. There was a little station that instilled some hope in me that there might be some accomodations around. But as we emerged out of the station we were struck with a few groups of people around fires in front of what looked like local grocers offering the most basic of stuff, the rest was darkness. Ummmm, where were we? We immediately devised the plan of getting back on the next train headed south if things didn’t start to pan out. But of course we were quickly taken under the wings of some of the men sitting around the fire. They recognized our lighter skin and knew that we were surely headed beyond this point. They quickly, without asking called us a taxi. We weren’t sure this was what we wanted just yet…that might solve Peters adventure a little to easily. And as nice, helpful and hospitible people may be around the world there is alway an inkling of doubt in the help that a stranger offers. We walked a little beyond what immediately met us outside the station but found only more feilds. We return to the men and agreed that a taxi was what we needed. It was there within15 minutes or so. Peter and I were offered coffee and condensed milk as we waited. We got in the taxi, now uncertain of where it would be taking us. But the comfort of an airconditioned car, even at this late hour, was enough to calm me. We spent a good 30 minutes in the car, I think we assumed we were en route to the beach. But the beach wasn’t what our taxi driver had in mind. He dumped us out of the car in the center of some city, and managed to get quite a few dong (currency) our to the exhausted us who couldn’t find it in us to do any bargaining. By this time it was well past 10. We wondered the streets for a while half heartedly looking for a place to crash, while at the same time being slightly disapointed that were weren’t on some form of a beach like we had invisioned. Eventually we came across a hotel. We asked about a room but then decided to inquire about this beach we thought we should be near. Turns out we were on the right track. The two young ladies at the hotel, through map communication assured us that we could find some bungalow-type places to stay at Mui Ni Beach some 20km away. We decided to jump in another taxi and make our way there. Coconut Grove was the name of the place that the ladies had pointed out as a budget bungalow. We were thrilled has the taxi, driven by our female driver, pulled up infront of Coconut Grove. The last few km highend resorts brought us to the conclusion that this wasn’t some vacant beach that we were going to be able to camp on. Infact, the budget bungalow that the we were banking on turned out to be $110 dollars verus the $11 dollars that I thought. Lost a zero somewhere in my currency conversion. That surely wasn’t going to work. We wander down the way for a while longer until we found something that might work for our wallets…it was a bit of a stretch but we went for it anyways. Turned out to be a nice, family run bungalow resort with beach front property, a pool and free breakfast to boot. Wasn’t quite what we envisioned but it didn’t disapoint us either. We have definitely learned that flexibility is a key to successful travel. Have no expectations and its hard to be let down.
Sitting on a white sand beach resort in Vietnam, I feel like I could be anywhere. That guilt is returning. Even though it is so lovely, I’ve got nothing to do but read my sappy love story, I still can’t seem to rid myself of feeling guilty for the extravegance of my life. It doesn’t help to see the fully clothed Vietnamese scattered around the beach pushing the sales of gagety keepsakes. It looks the same in Mexico, Rio, Thailand…why do I get to be on this side of the deal? Is it wronge? Should I feel guilt?
Our process of getting here was great. Peter and I were on a wild goose hunt all over Ho Chi Minh City for the train station. Pete had it in his head that he was going to get on a train and head north for the two days that we had in Vietnam before we would fly, with a ship trip, to Cambodia. I think he was looking for a solo adventure but me, being the ever controling (or worrisome) sister that I am decided it would be better if I tagged along. I worry about my boys, I tend to forget that they have grown up a lot since I last lived with them…they are both young men. After a couple hours of walking an good half hour in a taxi and ultimately by the generous help of some 20-something(age) Vietnamese boys who gave us a ride on the back of their motorcycles, we made it to the train station. I didn’t decide until about 5 minutes before Peter boarded the that I was really going with him. Neither of us had brought much of anything because there was some ambivelence as to whether this was really going to happen. But we boarded the train anyways with little more than our swimsuits in our backpacks. I had no part in the researching of where this train might be going. I think Pete had heard about a pretty coast and we thought we might be able to do a beach sleep or something of the likes. The train ride was an adventure in its self and a great way to see the country side…shortly after we hoped on the muggy, non-airconditioned car we were befriended by a sweet Vietnamese women about my age. He english was elementary to say the least, but she was persistant about conversation, bless her. So we spent the next four hours in quizi communication with her. Bought her a train dinner and sat and ate dinner with her. We attempted getting some information from her about where we were going…if there would be places to stay and what not but that didn’t amount to much information. All we knew was the name of the stop that Peter had planned to get off at. The Lonely Planet book had stayed with mom and dad. As evening rolled around and the sun had set, I began to worry a little. All the stops that the train was making were just little platforms with little more than fields of crops surrounding them. The uncertainty didn’t sit quite as well with me as it did with Pete. This was just the adventure he had planned for.
It wasn’t until about 9 that we finally hoped off the train. There was a little station that instilled some hope in me that there might be some accomodations around. But as we emerged out of the station we were struck with a few groups of people around fires in front of what looked like local grocers offering the most basic of stuff, the rest was darkness. Ummmm, where were we? We immediately devised the plan of getting back on the next train headed south if things didn’t start to pan out. But of course we were quickly taken under the wings of some of the men sitting around the fire. They recognized our lighter skin and knew that we were surely headed beyond this point. They quickly, without asking called us a taxi. We weren’t sure this was what we wanted just yet…that might solve Peters adventure a little to easily. And as nice, helpful and hospitible people may be around the world there is alway an inkling of doubt in the help that a stranger offers. We walked a little beyond what immediately met us outside the station but found only more feilds. We return to the men and agreed that a taxi was what we needed. It was there within15 minutes or so. Peter and I were offered coffee and condensed milk as we waited. We got in the taxi, now uncertain of where it would be taking us. But the comfort of an airconditioned car, even at this late hour, was enough to calm me. We spent a good 30 minutes in the car, I think we assumed we were en route to the beach. But the beach wasn’t what our taxi driver had in mind. He dumped us out of the car in the center of some city, and managed to get quite a few dong (currency) our to the exhausted us who couldn’t find it in us to do any bargaining. By this time it was well past 10. We wondered the streets for a while half heartedly looking for a place to crash, while at the same time being slightly disapointed that were weren’t on some form of a beach like we had invisioned. Eventually we came across a hotel. We asked about a room but then decided to inquire about this beach we thought we should be near. Turns out we were on the right track. The two young ladies at the hotel, through map communication assured us that we could find some bungalow-type places to stay at Mui Ni Beach some 20km away. We decided to jump in another taxi and make our way there. Coconut Grove was the name of the place that the ladies had pointed out as a budget bungalow. We were thrilled has the taxi, driven by our female driver, pulled up infront of Coconut Grove. The last few km highend resorts brought us to the conclusion that this wasn’t some vacant beach that we were going to be able to camp on. Infact, the budget bungalow that the we were banking on turned out to be $110 dollars verus the $11 dollars that I thought. Lost a zero somewhere in my currency conversion. That surely wasn’t going to work. We wander down the way for a while longer until we found something that might work for our wallets…it was a bit of a stretch but we went for it anyways. Turned out to be a nice, family run bungalow resort with beach front property, a pool and free breakfast to boot. Wasn’t quite what we envisioned but it didn’t disapoint us either. We have definitely learned that flexibility is a key to successful travel. Have no expectations and its hard to be let down.
A taste of Thailand
Thailand. Land of beaches, elephants, Buddhism, prostitution and the most incredibly friendly people you may ever meet.
The ship docked in Lam Chabang a newly developed port about 80miles from Bangkok and maybe 15miles or so from Pattaya... Pattaya for those of you that may be following international news is where riots against the current Thai government took place only weeks after our departure. The riots caused for the postponal of a summit that was underway by the heads of Asia. Thailand has what seems to be an ever-changing political system with its constitution being rewritten ever few years over the past decade. But despite all the governmental strife, there is a King and Queen that the Thai people remain very, very loyal to. There picture is hung EVERYWHERE, and at 8 o’clock each morning people take time out of their day to pause while a song is sung to honor the country and the Royal family.
After traveling with the family in each port up until here, I decided it was time for a little Heidi time. I wasn’t necessarily looking to travel independently, just apart from the family. I think we all shared these feelings. My inability to identify what I want and make concrete plans doesn’t make me an easy person to plan with. It also seems, in comparison to our past voyages, that Internet and facebook has allowed people to really plan things out a lot more that in the past. Little did Peter or I know but there was a facebook page started way back in the summer for the Semester at Sea Spring 09 voyage. People started networking and organizing trips together then. All this to say, it’s been harder than I expected to meet people and plan adventures together. So, I accepted my fate as an independent traveler.
On our second day in Thailand I got up at the crack of dawn, 4:30am, a reminder of my crew days that seem oh so long ago. I hopped in a cab and proceeded to sleep for the next two hours as I was delivered to the airport. The taxi ride to the airport was almost as much as my flight (good thing the flight was a reasonable price) but really leaving at that hour taxiing was my only option.
I haven’t told you where I was headed, have I? I opted to head north to Chang Mai, the second largest city in Thailand but substantially smaller in size and much more manageable (though Bangkok is pretty decent for a city its size). I went with no plans but was hopeful of getting some hiking or backpacking in because Chang Mai is located in the foothills of some beautiful, luscious, green mountains. The hike never manifested, mostly due to my inability to decide…again. I’ve dealt with this moral dilemma since I took eco tourism last fall. The backpacker (hostel) I stayed at in Chang Mai and every tourist spot around the city offered these multiple day adventures that included hiking between hill tribe villages, rafting, elephant riding and the likes. They looked really well planned from their brochures and it probably would have been a great way to see the hill tribe people, the natural scenery and get to know some other travelers but I opted not to. Here is where this ties to the eco tourism class I took this fall. Firstly we were required to read a book for the class called “Rethinking Ecotourism and Travel” and secondly we had an amazing lady named Tammy Leland speak to our class. Tammy is the cofounder of a community based tourism company called Crooked Trails operated out of Seattle that runs trips in various parts of the world with a real emphasis on community involvement, where the experience isn’t just for the visitor but also the visited, as well as sensitivity. Tammy has a lot of time with particular hill tribe people around Chang Mai, and really made an effort to establish positive ties with these people so that she can bring travelers and facilitate meaningful engagements between the two groups. The travelers of Crooked Trail tend to have sought out this program because they are looking for a meaningful experience. During their stay in the village they are placed in a family, learn the traditional way and partake in traditional ceremonies. I am not naive and I understand to a certain extent Tammy has to push her business but she explained to the class how she experimented with one of these contrived package deal trips I mention earlier. She decided to be a participant on one and see how it was conducted and compared to the trips Crooked Trails offers. She reflected feeling really uncomfortable being part of a tour group that went into these remote villages where the people were trying to maintain their traditional ways of life. Often times the guides don’t know anything about the local people and the visitor care little more than getting their picture with the tribes people before they proceed to spend the evening drinking and being loud and disruptive. This scenario seems like much less of an exchange and more about exploitation. And while I know I would have likely had a great time this story was ultimately what deterred me. I feared being part of that anymore that I already do feel like I am, sometimes, just by nature of my association to Semester at Sea.
I mentioned the token picture above…. the need of travelers to capture every moment, to take the pictures of unique people, places or things. I made a challenge to myself this semester that I would do minimal photo taking and really make my focus be about my interactions and not so much what I can say I saw. Since not having a camera, I have noticed how much time people spend behind their cameras. The need to take a picture tends to interrupt precious conversation or detract from an actual enjoyment of a beautiful sunset. This in no way is a slam against cameras and taking pictures. I spent a good chunk of my time behind a camera on our last voyage and I am grateful for all the pictures I have and the moments I captured. Perhaps it is a privilege of someone who has already traveled the world that the need for compulsive documenting is less a focus; I have just felt so free and more present of a bi-product of not continually looking through a camera lens. (I’ve also had the up-and-coming photography of my brother Peter to steel from whenever I feel the need. Thanks Pete.)
So yeah, instead of hiking I just spent three days wandering the city and surrounding area. Treating myself to a cheap Thai message every now and again.
Here is a journal entry that logs some of my time…
I just walked out of a 1.5-hour foot massage, reflexology and pedicure (no polish). It was delightful. The ladies were sweet and the feet appreciated the extra love. It’s been a while since I’ve paid them any attention and a few months of travel, flip flop style. To put it lightly, they’ve seen a lot. My calves are incredibly tender right now. I don’t know if it is just from three days of pretty serious Chang Mai walkabouts or it has anything to do with climbing the 306-step stairway up to Wat Phra That Doi Suthep (temple a top a hill). Either way, they’ve gotten some work lately. This morning I woke up after a hard nights sleep. Hard in the sense that I was out cold…which was exactly what I needed. I ate the continental breakfast served at the Riverside Guesthouse where I stayed. Watermelon, wonder bread toast and jelly. I ordered a latte from the café next door. Coffee is huge here, they’ve got little coffee joints on every corner and I seem to think I need to try one at every turn too! (Its like I am trying to make up for lost time. The ships coffee is pretty bad, it tastes especially bad on the days when you see them replacing the plastic jug of brown liquid behind the hot water dispenser.)
After breakfast I walked 20 minutes through the business part of town to the train station to buy a ticket for and overnight train back to Bangkok that leaves this evening. I got 2nd class, air-conditioned top bunk sleeper train…. can’t wait to see what it is all about. I need to clarify what I meant by business area. Not men in suits, briefcase-carrying men. I guess I meant to contrast it to the tourist areas that cover Chang Mai and cater to the tourist demands. Rather, the street was lined with stores carrying linoleum roles, tile, baskets, reams of paper, metal hooks and every third shop or so had a food stand our front where it appeared breakfast (which looks just like lunch and dinner) was being served. It consisted of a medley of eggs, noodles, meats, sprouts and nuts.
On my return to the guesthouse, I took a more obscure way. I had the time to get lost, so I weaved my way back through narrow roads that only allowed the passage of walker and motorbikes. I happened upon a local food market with beautiful displays of fruits and veggies, most were varieties I could have never dreamt of in my wildest dreams. Prickly, spotted, purple…you name it, they grow. They pyramids stacking of the produce had me thinking back to the fruit presentation that the tias (aunties, ladies) at the crèche (daycare) did when we had our picnic party at the pool in Rocinha. Lots of credit for presentation. Strawberries are huge right now. Not in size but in quantity. They are everywhere! I’ve resisted until now in an attempt to avoid T.D, clinically called travelers Diarrhea (a well known phenomenon on the ship). But I think it might just be time to live on the edge. Maybe a pre 13-hour train ride treat. I‘ve substituted my sweet craving with a delectable indulge that merits a description here. It’s essentially a fresh made waffle made on a waffle iron in front of you. You get to pick what they mix into the batter. I chose raisins and banana. I think I’d be kidding myself if I tried to deny that they use condensed milk in the batter. There is no way they could taste as sweet as they do without it.
The ship docked in Lam Chabang a newly developed port about 80miles from Bangkok and maybe 15miles or so from Pattaya... Pattaya for those of you that may be following international news is where riots against the current Thai government took place only weeks after our departure. The riots caused for the postponal of a summit that was underway by the heads of Asia. Thailand has what seems to be an ever-changing political system with its constitution being rewritten ever few years over the past decade. But despite all the governmental strife, there is a King and Queen that the Thai people remain very, very loyal to. There picture is hung EVERYWHERE, and at 8 o’clock each morning people take time out of their day to pause while a song is sung to honor the country and the Royal family.
After traveling with the family in each port up until here, I decided it was time for a little Heidi time. I wasn’t necessarily looking to travel independently, just apart from the family. I think we all shared these feelings. My inability to identify what I want and make concrete plans doesn’t make me an easy person to plan with. It also seems, in comparison to our past voyages, that Internet and facebook has allowed people to really plan things out a lot more that in the past. Little did Peter or I know but there was a facebook page started way back in the summer for the Semester at Sea Spring 09 voyage. People started networking and organizing trips together then. All this to say, it’s been harder than I expected to meet people and plan adventures together. So, I accepted my fate as an independent traveler.
On our second day in Thailand I got up at the crack of dawn, 4:30am, a reminder of my crew days that seem oh so long ago. I hopped in a cab and proceeded to sleep for the next two hours as I was delivered to the airport. The taxi ride to the airport was almost as much as my flight (good thing the flight was a reasonable price) but really leaving at that hour taxiing was my only option.
I haven’t told you where I was headed, have I? I opted to head north to Chang Mai, the second largest city in Thailand but substantially smaller in size and much more manageable (though Bangkok is pretty decent for a city its size). I went with no plans but was hopeful of getting some hiking or backpacking in because Chang Mai is located in the foothills of some beautiful, luscious, green mountains. The hike never manifested, mostly due to my inability to decide…again. I’ve dealt with this moral dilemma since I took eco tourism last fall. The backpacker (hostel) I stayed at in Chang Mai and every tourist spot around the city offered these multiple day adventures that included hiking between hill tribe villages, rafting, elephant riding and the likes. They looked really well planned from their brochures and it probably would have been a great way to see the hill tribe people, the natural scenery and get to know some other travelers but I opted not to. Here is where this ties to the eco tourism class I took this fall. Firstly we were required to read a book for the class called “Rethinking Ecotourism and Travel” and secondly we had an amazing lady named Tammy Leland speak to our class. Tammy is the cofounder of a community based tourism company called Crooked Trails operated out of Seattle that runs trips in various parts of the world with a real emphasis on community involvement, where the experience isn’t just for the visitor but also the visited, as well as sensitivity. Tammy has a lot of time with particular hill tribe people around Chang Mai, and really made an effort to establish positive ties with these people so that she can bring travelers and facilitate meaningful engagements between the two groups. The travelers of Crooked Trail tend to have sought out this program because they are looking for a meaningful experience. During their stay in the village they are placed in a family, learn the traditional way and partake in traditional ceremonies. I am not naive and I understand to a certain extent Tammy has to push her business but she explained to the class how she experimented with one of these contrived package deal trips I mention earlier. She decided to be a participant on one and see how it was conducted and compared to the trips Crooked Trails offers. She reflected feeling really uncomfortable being part of a tour group that went into these remote villages where the people were trying to maintain their traditional ways of life. Often times the guides don’t know anything about the local people and the visitor care little more than getting their picture with the tribes people before they proceed to spend the evening drinking and being loud and disruptive. This scenario seems like much less of an exchange and more about exploitation. And while I know I would have likely had a great time this story was ultimately what deterred me. I feared being part of that anymore that I already do feel like I am, sometimes, just by nature of my association to Semester at Sea.
I mentioned the token picture above…. the need of travelers to capture every moment, to take the pictures of unique people, places or things. I made a challenge to myself this semester that I would do minimal photo taking and really make my focus be about my interactions and not so much what I can say I saw. Since not having a camera, I have noticed how much time people spend behind their cameras. The need to take a picture tends to interrupt precious conversation or detract from an actual enjoyment of a beautiful sunset. This in no way is a slam against cameras and taking pictures. I spent a good chunk of my time behind a camera on our last voyage and I am grateful for all the pictures I have and the moments I captured. Perhaps it is a privilege of someone who has already traveled the world that the need for compulsive documenting is less a focus; I have just felt so free and more present of a bi-product of not continually looking through a camera lens. (I’ve also had the up-and-coming photography of my brother Peter to steel from whenever I feel the need. Thanks Pete.)
So yeah, instead of hiking I just spent three days wandering the city and surrounding area. Treating myself to a cheap Thai message every now and again.
Here is a journal entry that logs some of my time…
I just walked out of a 1.5-hour foot massage, reflexology and pedicure (no polish). It was delightful. The ladies were sweet and the feet appreciated the extra love. It’s been a while since I’ve paid them any attention and a few months of travel, flip flop style. To put it lightly, they’ve seen a lot. My calves are incredibly tender right now. I don’t know if it is just from three days of pretty serious Chang Mai walkabouts or it has anything to do with climbing the 306-step stairway up to Wat Phra That Doi Suthep (temple a top a hill). Either way, they’ve gotten some work lately. This morning I woke up after a hard nights sleep. Hard in the sense that I was out cold…which was exactly what I needed. I ate the continental breakfast served at the Riverside Guesthouse where I stayed. Watermelon, wonder bread toast and jelly. I ordered a latte from the café next door. Coffee is huge here, they’ve got little coffee joints on every corner and I seem to think I need to try one at every turn too! (Its like I am trying to make up for lost time. The ships coffee is pretty bad, it tastes especially bad on the days when you see them replacing the plastic jug of brown liquid behind the hot water dispenser.)
After breakfast I walked 20 minutes through the business part of town to the train station to buy a ticket for and overnight train back to Bangkok that leaves this evening. I got 2nd class, air-conditioned top bunk sleeper train…. can’t wait to see what it is all about. I need to clarify what I meant by business area. Not men in suits, briefcase-carrying men. I guess I meant to contrast it to the tourist areas that cover Chang Mai and cater to the tourist demands. Rather, the street was lined with stores carrying linoleum roles, tile, baskets, reams of paper, metal hooks and every third shop or so had a food stand our front where it appeared breakfast (which looks just like lunch and dinner) was being served. It consisted of a medley of eggs, noodles, meats, sprouts and nuts.
On my return to the guesthouse, I took a more obscure way. I had the time to get lost, so I weaved my way back through narrow roads that only allowed the passage of walker and motorbikes. I happened upon a local food market with beautiful displays of fruits and veggies, most were varieties I could have never dreamt of in my wildest dreams. Prickly, spotted, purple…you name it, they grow. They pyramids stacking of the produce had me thinking back to the fruit presentation that the tias (aunties, ladies) at the crèche (daycare) did when we had our picnic party at the pool in Rocinha. Lots of credit for presentation. Strawberries are huge right now. Not in size but in quantity. They are everywhere! I’ve resisted until now in an attempt to avoid T.D, clinically called travelers Diarrhea (a well known phenomenon on the ship). But I think it might just be time to live on the edge. Maybe a pre 13-hour train ride treat. I‘ve substituted my sweet craving with a delectable indulge that merits a description here. It’s essentially a fresh made waffle made on a waffle iron in front of you. You get to pick what they mix into the batter. I chose raisins and banana. I think I’d be kidding myself if I tried to deny that they use condensed milk in the batter. There is no way they could taste as sweet as they do without it.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
India in a nutshell.
This was a journal entry I am using for the sake of time. Hope it’s of some redeeming value and not just a rant…
Crickets, roosters, birds, cars in the distance, something resembling a gunshot, far off chants, the murmur of voices, fish splashing, boats on water, running water, the wind weaving amongst the palm leaves are all sounds of this morning here on the Backwaters outside the small town of Alleppey. All this as the stillness that was, has been brought to life as the sunrises over rice fields that are back dropped by mist-hidden palms. Across the water are more palms standing tall as children make their way to school.
Kerela (the province), in the midst of a rather male dominated India has emerged as a matrilineal society where not only are women educated and literate to the same degree as men (91% literacy in Kerela versus the 48.3% in the rest of India) but as its title goes—everything is passed through the mother. This may not seem like anything to fascinating but you have to remember that this is a country where there are still an unsettling number of cases of female infanticide.
An elder women just past our boat, her cloths worn dirty by numerous days of use. She pulled a stick from a palm tree and proceeded to pick at and clean her teeth. It looks as though this is an enjoyed part of here morning routine.
Kerela referred to as the Venice of the East, is known by its residents as “Gods Own Country,” and I think we are quickly discovering why. After a doted on flight from Chennai to Kochi, the newly paved streets and relative to Chennai, manageable, were a welcomed change from my only memories of India from our past visits here. The people have been nothing but friendly. Seriously people seem genuine, gracious and this radiates through their magnificent smiles and twinkling eyes. When we boarded the “houseboat” (I cringe each time I say that word…I think it is a form of denial, I hate admitting that I’ve spent my time in India house boating—but I’m pretty confident that its on its way to being so much more than just that) we were adorned with leis of jasmine, handed fresh coconut juice straight from a coconut and a plate of fried plantains. My guilt of this experience is more or less a continuation of what I feel about Semester at Sea in general. My privilege allows me to “cruise” this world, leaving my comfort zone only when desired, while in the mean time I am able to live extravagantly. Then I proceed to consider myself cultured for seeing people live differently than myself. But I’m searching for a way to come to terms with this gap in standards of living. After all these kids we pass bathing in the murky water, the couple who paddled by in their wood carved, rice filled canoe radiated complete satisfaction. Maybe they know something that I don’t, in fact it’s pretty evident they do. My goal is to learn from the smiles, actions and interactions I have in the coming days. With the hope that it will not only make my time on the ship better (I’ve struggled finding a place I feel myself, which has left me unhappy—a feeling that then perpetuates guilt as I am after all, GOING AROUND THE WORLD) and ultimately something I can carry with me for the rest of my life. I am hopeful for sure and feel good about things as these next few days are due to be meditative by nature.
Meditative it was. Our days on the house boat were lovely. Our only really task was to be ready to eat three amazing meals a day prepared for us by our cook Apachy.
In old Fort Kochi, the boys and I spent a night and day exploring this old fishing town…
I was eager to jump out of bed at the earliest hour that seemed reasonable today. For our stay last night at the Taj Mahal, a rather low-end-home stay, sans a/c or mosquito netting, left something to be desired…most notably a good nights sleep. I was delegated to a mat the floor due to the fact that I was the one who finally gave into staying here as our friendly but rather pushy taxi driver Salim declared it a respectable place on the terms that it was family run, “ They have child, good people!” he assured us. The boys sleep on twin beds that were a precious 3 feet closer to the fan, that although it was just circulating the muggy air, it was a hot commodity and more for the assurance that it was “trying” to make our sleep more comfortable, that actually doing anything. But alas, we made it through. And despite how I might sound my moral is high, I am sticking to the A.P.I (assume positive intent) that our Executive Dean Les McCabe has so adamantly stuck in out brains. Because after all, I am in India!
I am sitting now on a rock piling watching Fort Kochi come to life as crows flock around the lungi (skirt wraps) adorned men as they bring in their fishing nets that have been collecting fish from these murky brown waters all night long. They sky is becoming a hint of orange as we await the sun and another warm day on the Southwestern coast of India. We are going to go research a yoga class for today as well as map out our route for ferrying into the new town to sari shop, see a movie and ultimately make our way to the International airport of Kochi. So farewell as I embark on another uncomfortable sweaty day on crowed streets with dirty feet but forever grateful for this experience made worthwhile by the smiling and wonderful people that we meet.
16:22pm
Now, we’ve managed to make it this far through the day, still alive and shopping strong…At least the boys are. I am quickly expiring. I’ve just attempted to tuck myself away in a coffee shop “COFFEE BEANZ” that the boys and I found as a nice refuge last night with its blasting air conditioning. We also migrated to one earlier today in a different part of town. SO as I come in here this afternoon, my first moment of solitude (if you can call it that, this is India after all) and I am recognized not only by the employees here from yesterday but also by a man who saw Peter, Mike and I at the other location this morning AND the man who runs the adjoining bookstore. They all flock and greet me. I wish I could be more excited to see them or receptive in the least, but I am not. I am hot, tired and agitated. I do my best to give them a smile but quickly defer conversation by pulling out my journal and pen. And here I am.
Crickets, roosters, birds, cars in the distance, something resembling a gunshot, far off chants, the murmur of voices, fish splashing, boats on water, running water, the wind weaving amongst the palm leaves are all sounds of this morning here on the Backwaters outside the small town of Alleppey. All this as the stillness that was, has been brought to life as the sunrises over rice fields that are back dropped by mist-hidden palms. Across the water are more palms standing tall as children make their way to school.
Kerela (the province), in the midst of a rather male dominated India has emerged as a matrilineal society where not only are women educated and literate to the same degree as men (91% literacy in Kerela versus the 48.3% in the rest of India) but as its title goes—everything is passed through the mother. This may not seem like anything to fascinating but you have to remember that this is a country where there are still an unsettling number of cases of female infanticide.
An elder women just past our boat, her cloths worn dirty by numerous days of use. She pulled a stick from a palm tree and proceeded to pick at and clean her teeth. It looks as though this is an enjoyed part of here morning routine.
Kerela referred to as the Venice of the East, is known by its residents as “Gods Own Country,” and I think we are quickly discovering why. After a doted on flight from Chennai to Kochi, the newly paved streets and relative to Chennai, manageable, were a welcomed change from my only memories of India from our past visits here. The people have been nothing but friendly. Seriously people seem genuine, gracious and this radiates through their magnificent smiles and twinkling eyes. When we boarded the “houseboat” (I cringe each time I say that word…I think it is a form of denial, I hate admitting that I’ve spent my time in India house boating—but I’m pretty confident that its on its way to being so much more than just that) we were adorned with leis of jasmine, handed fresh coconut juice straight from a coconut and a plate of fried plantains. My guilt of this experience is more or less a continuation of what I feel about Semester at Sea in general. My privilege allows me to “cruise” this world, leaving my comfort zone only when desired, while in the mean time I am able to live extravagantly. Then I proceed to consider myself cultured for seeing people live differently than myself. But I’m searching for a way to come to terms with this gap in standards of living. After all these kids we pass bathing in the murky water, the couple who paddled by in their wood carved, rice filled canoe radiated complete satisfaction. Maybe they know something that I don’t, in fact it’s pretty evident they do. My goal is to learn from the smiles, actions and interactions I have in the coming days. With the hope that it will not only make my time on the ship better (I’ve struggled finding a place I feel myself, which has left me unhappy—a feeling that then perpetuates guilt as I am after all, GOING AROUND THE WORLD) and ultimately something I can carry with me for the rest of my life. I am hopeful for sure and feel good about things as these next few days are due to be meditative by nature.
Meditative it was. Our days on the house boat were lovely. Our only really task was to be ready to eat three amazing meals a day prepared for us by our cook Apachy.
In old Fort Kochi, the boys and I spent a night and day exploring this old fishing town…
I was eager to jump out of bed at the earliest hour that seemed reasonable today. For our stay last night at the Taj Mahal, a rather low-end-home stay, sans a/c or mosquito netting, left something to be desired…most notably a good nights sleep. I was delegated to a mat the floor due to the fact that I was the one who finally gave into staying here as our friendly but rather pushy taxi driver Salim declared it a respectable place on the terms that it was family run, “ They have child, good people!” he assured us. The boys sleep on twin beds that were a precious 3 feet closer to the fan, that although it was just circulating the muggy air, it was a hot commodity and more for the assurance that it was “trying” to make our sleep more comfortable, that actually doing anything. But alas, we made it through. And despite how I might sound my moral is high, I am sticking to the A.P.I (assume positive intent) that our Executive Dean Les McCabe has so adamantly stuck in out brains. Because after all, I am in India!
I am sitting now on a rock piling watching Fort Kochi come to life as crows flock around the lungi (skirt wraps) adorned men as they bring in their fishing nets that have been collecting fish from these murky brown waters all night long. They sky is becoming a hint of orange as we await the sun and another warm day on the Southwestern coast of India. We are going to go research a yoga class for today as well as map out our route for ferrying into the new town to sari shop, see a movie and ultimately make our way to the International airport of Kochi. So farewell as I embark on another uncomfortable sweaty day on crowed streets with dirty feet but forever grateful for this experience made worthwhile by the smiling and wonderful people that we meet.
16:22pm
Now, we’ve managed to make it this far through the day, still alive and shopping strong…At least the boys are. I am quickly expiring. I’ve just attempted to tuck myself away in a coffee shop “COFFEE BEANZ” that the boys and I found as a nice refuge last night with its blasting air conditioning. We also migrated to one earlier today in a different part of town. SO as I come in here this afternoon, my first moment of solitude (if you can call it that, this is India after all) and I am recognized not only by the employees here from yesterday but also by a man who saw Peter, Mike and I at the other location this morning AND the man who runs the adjoining bookstore. They all flock and greet me. I wish I could be more excited to see them or receptive in the least, but I am not. I am hot, tired and agitated. I do my best to give them a smile but quickly defer conversation by pulling out my journal and pen. And here I am.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
South Africa
Lets see if I can follow through with my goal of posting a little more frequently, I promise to give it a concerted effort. Life on this ship just doesn’t slow down, maybe it has something to do with the fact that we are chasing time as the earth spins or maybe it is all that I am trying to fit in out of fear that I might miss something meaningful. If it isn’t classes, it’s Logistical pre-port and if not that, its an optional evening seminar offered by our amply qualified and dynamic faculty, staff, senior passenger and even students. All I know is I always feel like I’m running from one thing to the next, with little time to sit down and write a simple journal entry or an email to friends. That my friends, is my sorry attempt at an excuse. But really my main concern is my sanity with seems to get a little kooky if I don’t get a little downtime by myself. So my attempt to remedy this is by waking myself up early enough to enjoy the decks without them being swarmed by girls in bikinis and guys sitting pretty contently amongst them as they realize all the potential
of a 3:1 ratio. I usually opt to spend the time jogging back and forth the decks as I can only handle so much of the “workout room”. Our mornings at sea are something spectacular if you are willing to be an early bird. We are privileged to watch the sun rise and sit in quiet as I awe in amazement of the totally expansive ocean that surrounds me.
I’m going to try an abridged version of our time in Cape Town, as I know myself all to well. If I don’t get these words on the screen now, I won’t get them done…cause I will get caught up in all I talk about above. But the past five days in Cape Town and the 4 before that in Namibia have definitely just caught up to me. I can’t imagine how the people who have full nights (that translates as, Party Hard) on top of full days even function.
Peter and I slept out side on the front deck of the ship the night before our arrival into CT so that we could have front row seats to watch the arrival into the Harbor with Table Mountain as the backdrop. But alas this view was far from a reality as we were woken abruptly by the repeated blast of the ships foghorn…and to discover that our sleeping bags we drenched by the thickness of the fog. We called it a night and headed to our cabins. This same fog had us moving at a crawl and delayed our arrival into the city. This sort of change in schedule has little affect on those of us who haven’t taken any time to make plans.
So fell asleep in the writing process the other night, but I am…
…Back again, and much more awake. So, South Africa. Such a special place to me. As many of you know I have spent time in South Africa before, mostly in the capacity as a native participant in a program from my high school called Hands For a Bridge, HFB for short. HFB is a program that started out by sending Roosevelt High School students to a Black Township in Cape Town, South Africa to partake in a cross cultural exchanged aimed at bridging differences by arts and dialogue. I went both in high school as a student and then in my “gap year” as an assistant of sorts to the teachers as well as having a logistical role. All this to say, there is a reason I have returned…I feel alive in this place. The people, despite a tumultuous history are compassionate, their music vibrant and the land a sight to be seen.
The Apartheid Government (a white dominated government), literally meaning apartness, of South Africa that existed up until 1994 when Nelson Mandela was released from 31 years in prison was a horrific part of South Africa’s past. Black South Africans were designated to what were known as Black Homelands during these years, similar to what we might call a reservation. They were only allowed to travel outside of these “homelands” with a passbook and only at certain hours of the days…that was only the beginning of what life was like for blacks during the apartheid era.
Its because of the inspirational leaders that rose out of the apartheid struggle, namely Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu and Steven Biko, that South Africa was able to avoid a complete civil war that many African countries faced as they fought for independence from their European colonizers. I like to believe that some of the countries success is also part—in-partial to the process known as the Truth and Reconciliation Commission that occurred in the years following the fall of the apartheid government. This was a process that encouraged white perpetrators of crime that occurred during apartheid to step forward to apply for amnesty from those that they had committed the crime against.
My South African experience this time was very much different than that of my last two visits. While before I was staying in the black township of Langa or the colored township (a term used for people of Malay descent) with a host family, this time the ship (where I slept) was comfortably located in the very modern and somewhat exclusive Cape Town Waterfront, surrounded by high-end shops and restaurants.
Day One:
Took a taxi to the base of Table Mountain where two other lady friends and myself made the roughly two hour hike to the top…It was a steep climb but the low clouds made the temperature very reasonable, while at the same time limiting our view. The top was surprisingly cold for an African summer day but the Bengueles winds bring those cold temperatures from the waters off of Antarctica. We opted to take the rotating cable car down rather than blow out our knees.
That evening a new found friend Kelly and I got dressed up and took a taxi to the neighborhood of Camps Bay. From what I hear it resembles many of the coastal towns of South California, to say the least a lovely stretch of restaurants and bars along beautiful white sand beaches. Kelly and I did a progressive dinner, stopping at three different places for appetizers, drinks and dessert. This was a lovely evening and really the first time on this trip I have spent a day without one of my family members.
We then taxied to Long Street, which was the place to go for the nightlife. We entered into one club and stayed just long enough to bust our moves on the dance floor, leave everyone in awe and then decided we were just to darn tired for anymore of it.
Day Two:
Funny enough the first half of today was much like the previous day, except for that I was with my family. For starter though it is important that you are informed of the marvelous latte I had. Once you hear what it is, you will all say…”How Heidi.” Here I go, a Nutella Latte or hot chocolate. What they do is lather the inside of your cup with Nutella, and I mean lather, then they add your choice of drink to it. It was absolutely delectable and such a treat to be able to order it off of a menu rather than trying to concocted it when none of your roommates are looking. So if you are ever in South Africa, look for a lovely café called Melissa’s.
So it was another day of hiking Table Mt…At the top we sat ourselves at a picnic table and pulled out the fresh chapatti rolls, cheese and salami we had packed up with us and had a delicious lunch. Today the view was totally free of clouds and allowed for us to get a good sense of our location. After a few chocolate desserts that mom had stashed in her bag we took the cable car down. From the base of the cable car we walked all the way to Camps Bay through the neighborhoods of houses perched on bluffs overlooking the Atlantic. We spent just enough time at the beach for Peter and Michael to do a quick dip before we had to hail a cab to take us back to the waterfront where we met Siyabonga for dinner. Siyabonga is a friend of mine from my HFB years. He is 26 and working to get a teaching degree. He currently lives in Guguletu in a makeshift home that he constructed out of scraps of wood and tin. It was really nice of him to journey to the waterfront to meet us. It is a bit out of his way and a long ways (figuratively) from the life his leads. I was happy that we could treat him to dinner and appreciated having him remind that this sort of evening out wasn’t the norm for most South African… in fact, it is very much the exception. And despite some of what might have been Sinicism, it was quite clear that he was pleased to be there.
Day Three:
The family hired a cab driver for the day, a nice Malawian who has relocated here, named Tony. We met him at the waterfront at 9am and headed out to Stellenbosch and the wine lands. Stellenbosch is a beautiful old settlement in the foothills of the Hotten Tot Mountains and very much a tourist destination these days. We rented sweet mountain bikes with cushy seats and did a 20km or so ride along a country road-passing vineyard after vineyard. The scenery was beautiful, the temperature reasonable but hot and it just felt so darn good to be back on a bike. It was another picnic lunch for us under a tree next to a pond. On our ride back we made sure to stop at a few wineries and did a little tasting…For those of you that know my family you might be able to imagine what I joke that was, but fun none the least. Every single Hoff-Mckee had a sip or two…that’s a big deal since mom usually acts so disgusted at the sight of any alcohol and Michael is after all a young 17 year old. Guess the ‘rents have accepted a few things in their days of going through two teenagers and seeing them come out all right. Hooray!
After our ride we met back up with Tony and had him take us to LEAP: School of Math and Science. This is where Siyabonga is doing his student teaching. LEAP is really a fascinating story. It was started by a man by the name of John Gilmour with the purpose of helping township students in these subject areas but ultimately has the goal of getting them into universities. Here is a little statistic that might help you understand the need for such a place. Out of 800 students graduating from Langa township in 2003 I believe it was, only 500 who passed the exit exam and of those 500 only 5 had score high enough to get them into a university, and from that 5, none could get into a university to study math or science. So as you can see there is a real need for a school that will produce successful students in these subjects. In 1990 at its birth, LEAP was a support organization or after school program that brought black students to a prestigious white dominated Jesuit High School where they were tutored and given computer and lab privileges. In 2003 LEAP had gained enough momentum and the need was ever present so they evolved into a full-fledged school. The idea of this school wasn’t to create a pathway out of the townships but to created successful individuals who are committed to the betterment of their communities. The students who will attend LEAP are admitted on the basis of their work and value ethic. The spots at LEAP are highly contended for due to the fact that the quality of education there far exceeds that of what they get in the public township schools thus providing them with better chances of making it further. More than being just a school LEAP focuses on what they call Whole-Person Development. LEAP is set up with the stated intention of intervening in the lives of adolescents. The Life Orientation classroom is the space where the students develop a sense of internal structure and capacity to manage and overcome life and academic pressures. There is also the Social Responsibility Node that states that LEAP acts as a centre for a wide range of opportunities and activities created to enable people from all South African communities, as well as other countries, to meet and actively engage with one anther.
As you can hopefully a special place, doing great things. They are actively trying to share their experiences and successes with other South Africans, in the 5 years since it was started they have already opened three different schools serving three different townships.
I’m so thrilled that Siyabonga was able to be connected to LEAP, it is clear that he is passionate about his work there and also clear that he depends on his network their like you would a family.
Day Four:
Peter and I along with about 7 other students and professors decided to sign up for a 1/2 Marathon in Simons Town about a 45 minute drive from Cape Town. We hired a cab to take us to Observatory to pick our race packets and then deliver us to Simons Town where we would stay the night. Harold our cab driver was a tattoo laden, witty and dynamic man. Once a resident of District Six a once flourishing colored township within the city limits of Cape Town, Harold had quite a story with yet another tragic but hopeful degree of the South African experience. As a 7 year old in first standard (1st grade) Harold decided school wasn’t for him. His mother was dead and his dad working long hours to keep the large family afloat didn’t have the means to keep him accountable in going to school. Harold took to the streets begging for money. From there he was picked up by police and sent to a juvenile detention center where he spent his life until the age of 18. I didn’t get a very clear picture of what life was like there but he alluded to the grimness of his time there. But he got an education. Upon graduating there he went into the Navy where he served for 9 years. After serving he returned to District Six and lived for a few years before the Apartheid government began relocating its residents to the townships of the Cape Flats hidden behind the backdrop of Table Mountain and out of the sight of white Cape Townians. It is in a colored township that Harold raised his three children and still lives some 30 years later. His children seem to have done quite well and from his prospective live quite comfortable. As for Harold and his wife, well, they still drive taxis in order to support themselves at the ripe age of 70.
Simons Town is a quant little coastal town, with a few shops and restaurants. Pete and I checked into our hostel and then met back up with the group of SASers for a pre race meal or pizza and pasta.
Day Five:
We woke up at 5am, pinned on our numbers, ate a banana and headed to the start line. The doubt began to run through my mind at this point. What ever made me feel like I was ready for such a run. The extent of my working out the past two months has been a few laps on the deck and a half hour on the Stairmaster here and there. I had to remind myself that I have never trained for these things, so why did it matter now. Besides what better way to see a place that running alongside its people, through the hills and along the coast at sunrise. I mean really, it couldn’t be too bad. Plus, if you train I believe you can’t complain and there is more expectations. This sort of spontaneity legitimizes a sore post race body and what not. Ha. So I am happy to say I am a PowerAde Peninsula 1/2 marathon finisher. It feels good, but my body…not so much.
After the race, the rest of the family with Tony our cab driver from the previous day met up with us and we continued on our way down the coast toward the Cape of Good Hope.
We stopped at Boulder Beach, which is a hot spot for Jackass Penguins, called that because of the sound they make that is similar to that of a donkey-Jackass. Its true, penguins in Africa…kind of weird.
Headed back to the ship after a good day and waved good by to Africa.
We have gotten word lately that my grandma my dad’s mother is in need of a major heart surgery, It is really hard to be away right now, particularly for my dad who wishes so dearly that he could be there as support for his family as well as be part of the processing process. I think we will see how things unfold before he or any of us make a decision about heading home. May your prayers be with her. We have also been struck by the sad news that my uncle Dick, a jovial and sarcastic good-hearted man passed away after a month of battle with bladder cancer.
of a 3:1 ratio. I usually opt to spend the time jogging back and forth the decks as I can only handle so much of the “workout room”. Our mornings at sea are something spectacular if you are willing to be an early bird. We are privileged to watch the sun rise and sit in quiet as I awe in amazement of the totally expansive ocean that surrounds me.
I’m going to try an abridged version of our time in Cape Town, as I know myself all to well. If I don’t get these words on the screen now, I won’t get them done…cause I will get caught up in all I talk about above. But the past five days in Cape Town and the 4 before that in Namibia have definitely just caught up to me. I can’t imagine how the people who have full nights (that translates as, Party Hard) on top of full days even function.
Peter and I slept out side on the front deck of the ship the night before our arrival into CT so that we could have front row seats to watch the arrival into the Harbor with Table Mountain as the backdrop. But alas this view was far from a reality as we were woken abruptly by the repeated blast of the ships foghorn…and to discover that our sleeping bags we drenched by the thickness of the fog. We called it a night and headed to our cabins. This same fog had us moving at a crawl and delayed our arrival into the city. This sort of change in schedule has little affect on those of us who haven’t taken any time to make plans.
So fell asleep in the writing process the other night, but I am…
…Back again, and much more awake. So, South Africa. Such a special place to me. As many of you know I have spent time in South Africa before, mostly in the capacity as a native participant in a program from my high school called Hands For a Bridge, HFB for short. HFB is a program that started out by sending Roosevelt High School students to a Black Township in Cape Town, South Africa to partake in a cross cultural exchanged aimed at bridging differences by arts and dialogue. I went both in high school as a student and then in my “gap year” as an assistant of sorts to the teachers as well as having a logistical role. All this to say, there is a reason I have returned…I feel alive in this place. The people, despite a tumultuous history are compassionate, their music vibrant and the land a sight to be seen.
The Apartheid Government (a white dominated government), literally meaning apartness, of South Africa that existed up until 1994 when Nelson Mandela was released from 31 years in prison was a horrific part of South Africa’s past. Black South Africans were designated to what were known as Black Homelands during these years, similar to what we might call a reservation. They were only allowed to travel outside of these “homelands” with a passbook and only at certain hours of the days…that was only the beginning of what life was like for blacks during the apartheid era.
Its because of the inspirational leaders that rose out of the apartheid struggle, namely Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu and Steven Biko, that South Africa was able to avoid a complete civil war that many African countries faced as they fought for independence from their European colonizers. I like to believe that some of the countries success is also part—in-partial to the process known as the Truth and Reconciliation Commission that occurred in the years following the fall of the apartheid government. This was a process that encouraged white perpetrators of crime that occurred during apartheid to step forward to apply for amnesty from those that they had committed the crime against.
My South African experience this time was very much different than that of my last two visits. While before I was staying in the black township of Langa or the colored township (a term used for people of Malay descent) with a host family, this time the ship (where I slept) was comfortably located in the very modern and somewhat exclusive Cape Town Waterfront, surrounded by high-end shops and restaurants.
Day One:
Took a taxi to the base of Table Mountain where two other lady friends and myself made the roughly two hour hike to the top…It was a steep climb but the low clouds made the temperature very reasonable, while at the same time limiting our view. The top was surprisingly cold for an African summer day but the Bengueles winds bring those cold temperatures from the waters off of Antarctica. We opted to take the rotating cable car down rather than blow out our knees.
That evening a new found friend Kelly and I got dressed up and took a taxi to the neighborhood of Camps Bay. From what I hear it resembles many of the coastal towns of South California, to say the least a lovely stretch of restaurants and bars along beautiful white sand beaches. Kelly and I did a progressive dinner, stopping at three different places for appetizers, drinks and dessert. This was a lovely evening and really the first time on this trip I have spent a day without one of my family members.
We then taxied to Long Street, which was the place to go for the nightlife. We entered into one club and stayed just long enough to bust our moves on the dance floor, leave everyone in awe and then decided we were just to darn tired for anymore of it.
Day Two:
Funny enough the first half of today was much like the previous day, except for that I was with my family. For starter though it is important that you are informed of the marvelous latte I had. Once you hear what it is, you will all say…”How Heidi.” Here I go, a Nutella Latte or hot chocolate. What they do is lather the inside of your cup with Nutella, and I mean lather, then they add your choice of drink to it. It was absolutely delectable and such a treat to be able to order it off of a menu rather than trying to concocted it when none of your roommates are looking. So if you are ever in South Africa, look for a lovely café called Melissa’s.
So it was another day of hiking Table Mt…At the top we sat ourselves at a picnic table and pulled out the fresh chapatti rolls, cheese and salami we had packed up with us and had a delicious lunch. Today the view was totally free of clouds and allowed for us to get a good sense of our location. After a few chocolate desserts that mom had stashed in her bag we took the cable car down. From the base of the cable car we walked all the way to Camps Bay through the neighborhoods of houses perched on bluffs overlooking the Atlantic. We spent just enough time at the beach for Peter and Michael to do a quick dip before we had to hail a cab to take us back to the waterfront where we met Siyabonga for dinner. Siyabonga is a friend of mine from my HFB years. He is 26 and working to get a teaching degree. He currently lives in Guguletu in a makeshift home that he constructed out of scraps of wood and tin. It was really nice of him to journey to the waterfront to meet us. It is a bit out of his way and a long ways (figuratively) from the life his leads. I was happy that we could treat him to dinner and appreciated having him remind that this sort of evening out wasn’t the norm for most South African… in fact, it is very much the exception. And despite some of what might have been Sinicism, it was quite clear that he was pleased to be there.
Day Three:
The family hired a cab driver for the day, a nice Malawian who has relocated here, named Tony. We met him at the waterfront at 9am and headed out to Stellenbosch and the wine lands. Stellenbosch is a beautiful old settlement in the foothills of the Hotten Tot Mountains and very much a tourist destination these days. We rented sweet mountain bikes with cushy seats and did a 20km or so ride along a country road-passing vineyard after vineyard. The scenery was beautiful, the temperature reasonable but hot and it just felt so darn good to be back on a bike. It was another picnic lunch for us under a tree next to a pond. On our ride back we made sure to stop at a few wineries and did a little tasting…For those of you that know my family you might be able to imagine what I joke that was, but fun none the least. Every single Hoff-Mckee had a sip or two…that’s a big deal since mom usually acts so disgusted at the sight of any alcohol and Michael is after all a young 17 year old. Guess the ‘rents have accepted a few things in their days of going through two teenagers and seeing them come out all right. Hooray!
After our ride we met back up with Tony and had him take us to LEAP: School of Math and Science. This is where Siyabonga is doing his student teaching. LEAP is really a fascinating story. It was started by a man by the name of John Gilmour with the purpose of helping township students in these subject areas but ultimately has the goal of getting them into universities. Here is a little statistic that might help you understand the need for such a place. Out of 800 students graduating from Langa township in 2003 I believe it was, only 500 who passed the exit exam and of those 500 only 5 had score high enough to get them into a university, and from that 5, none could get into a university to study math or science. So as you can see there is a real need for a school that will produce successful students in these subjects. In 1990 at its birth, LEAP was a support organization or after school program that brought black students to a prestigious white dominated Jesuit High School where they were tutored and given computer and lab privileges. In 2003 LEAP had gained enough momentum and the need was ever present so they evolved into a full-fledged school. The idea of this school wasn’t to create a pathway out of the townships but to created successful individuals who are committed to the betterment of their communities. The students who will attend LEAP are admitted on the basis of their work and value ethic. The spots at LEAP are highly contended for due to the fact that the quality of education there far exceeds that of what they get in the public township schools thus providing them with better chances of making it further. More than being just a school LEAP focuses on what they call Whole-Person Development. LEAP is set up with the stated intention of intervening in the lives of adolescents. The Life Orientation classroom is the space where the students develop a sense of internal structure and capacity to manage and overcome life and academic pressures. There is also the Social Responsibility Node that states that LEAP acts as a centre for a wide range of opportunities and activities created to enable people from all South African communities, as well as other countries, to meet and actively engage with one anther.
As you can hopefully a special place, doing great things. They are actively trying to share their experiences and successes with other South Africans, in the 5 years since it was started they have already opened three different schools serving three different townships.
I’m so thrilled that Siyabonga was able to be connected to LEAP, it is clear that he is passionate about his work there and also clear that he depends on his network their like you would a family.
Day Four:
Peter and I along with about 7 other students and professors decided to sign up for a 1/2 Marathon in Simons Town about a 45 minute drive from Cape Town. We hired a cab to take us to Observatory to pick our race packets and then deliver us to Simons Town where we would stay the night. Harold our cab driver was a tattoo laden, witty and dynamic man. Once a resident of District Six a once flourishing colored township within the city limits of Cape Town, Harold had quite a story with yet another tragic but hopeful degree of the South African experience. As a 7 year old in first standard (1st grade) Harold decided school wasn’t for him. His mother was dead and his dad working long hours to keep the large family afloat didn’t have the means to keep him accountable in going to school. Harold took to the streets begging for money. From there he was picked up by police and sent to a juvenile detention center where he spent his life until the age of 18. I didn’t get a very clear picture of what life was like there but he alluded to the grimness of his time there. But he got an education. Upon graduating there he went into the Navy where he served for 9 years. After serving he returned to District Six and lived for a few years before the Apartheid government began relocating its residents to the townships of the Cape Flats hidden behind the backdrop of Table Mountain and out of the sight of white Cape Townians. It is in a colored township that Harold raised his three children and still lives some 30 years later. His children seem to have done quite well and from his prospective live quite comfortable. As for Harold and his wife, well, they still drive taxis in order to support themselves at the ripe age of 70.
Simons Town is a quant little coastal town, with a few shops and restaurants. Pete and I checked into our hostel and then met back up with the group of SASers for a pre race meal or pizza and pasta.
Day Five:
We woke up at 5am, pinned on our numbers, ate a banana and headed to the start line. The doubt began to run through my mind at this point. What ever made me feel like I was ready for such a run. The extent of my working out the past two months has been a few laps on the deck and a half hour on the Stairmaster here and there. I had to remind myself that I have never trained for these things, so why did it matter now. Besides what better way to see a place that running alongside its people, through the hills and along the coast at sunrise. I mean really, it couldn’t be too bad. Plus, if you train I believe you can’t complain and there is more expectations. This sort of spontaneity legitimizes a sore post race body and what not. Ha. So I am happy to say I am a PowerAde Peninsula 1/2 marathon finisher. It feels good, but my body…not so much.
After the race, the rest of the family with Tony our cab driver from the previous day met up with us and we continued on our way down the coast toward the Cape of Good Hope.
We stopped at Boulder Beach, which is a hot spot for Jackass Penguins, called that because of the sound they make that is similar to that of a donkey-Jackass. Its true, penguins in Africa…kind of weird.
Headed back to the ship after a good day and waved good by to Africa.
We have gotten word lately that my grandma my dad’s mother is in need of a major heart surgery, It is really hard to be away right now, particularly for my dad who wishes so dearly that he could be there as support for his family as well as be part of the processing process. I think we will see how things unfold before he or any of us make a decision about heading home. May your prayers be with her. We have also been struck by the sad news that my uncle Dick, a jovial and sarcastic good-hearted man passed away after a month of battle with bladder cancer.
Namibia
Stretching some 400km x100km the sand dunes of the Namib-Naukluft National Park stand as a good reminder of the power of nature. Yesterday Peter and I accompanied by my roommate and friend Dylan (a girl) spent the day traveling by Yamaha 4x4s known to us as dune buggies, to the remote location of Sandwich Harbour. Sandwich Harbour is located some 70km from Walvis Bay our port town and accessible only via beach and dunes. We had two dunes buggies for the three of us and our outstanding guide Moses. Peter and Dylan took turns driving one and I took the passenger seat in Moses buggy and drilled him with questions about the fascinating natural history of Namibia as well as getting his take on southern African politics. For a young African man from a rural village and no university education he was wise beyond his years. By the end of our day with him I was both totally mesmerized by the intricate workings of mother natural as well as plagued with a killer head ache from all that my brain had absorbed (information and direct sunlight) over the last 9 hours. I can only hope that in some form I can try to transcribe some of what had me totally captured.
First it is necessary to imagine glaciers in Africa, which in 100-degree heat wasn’t easy for us. These glaciers that are of importance for the sake of my story were once located in what is now the Kalahari Desert located in today’s Botswana and the northern part of South Africa. With the recession of these glaciers the massive sandstone the existed underneath slowly was ground down into sand. In the form of sand it was then blown and washed into the Orange River basin and carried all the way out to the rives mouth at the Atlantic coast. Here the sand built up and was then blow north by the Beguiles (sp?) Current, thus beginning its build up along the Namibian coast.
Little life is apt for such a climate but the few flora and fauna that have managed to survive have made vital adaptations that enable their survival. Ants and beetles have adapted by having longer legs that allows them to be even a millimeter more removed from the scorching sand. It is said that this millimeter can decrease the temperature exponentially. You find little vegetation that has learned to retain well the precious water that falls infrequently on the dessert. One of these plants is the !nara, pronounced with a click of the koikoi language. The !nara comes in both female and male plants, the female ones produce a potent fruit. The pollination uses the wind to spread the love. This plant is so well conditioned for such a desolate place we were able to see a 500 year old !nara plant that had roots that stretched some 40-50 meters. The age can be determined by movement of the dunes (it is estimated that the dunes move roughly 10cm a year) that in turn exposes the roots. Not entirely sure on the processes but Moses seems confident on the aging.
These dunes offered something entirely different that my previous experiences with the profundity of nature. I don’t know if its the absence of “vegetation clutter“ if you will that leaves you with a quite simple beauty of the yellow sand and blue sky or if it is the unfathomable fact that these mammoth dunes that span as far as the eyes can see are made up of itsy-bitsy particles of sand but I do know that I was entranced in a way that I haven’t been before. So utterly impressed with yet another earthly phenomenon that seems so…out of this world.
First it is necessary to imagine glaciers in Africa, which in 100-degree heat wasn’t easy for us. These glaciers that are of importance for the sake of my story were once located in what is now the Kalahari Desert located in today’s Botswana and the northern part of South Africa. With the recession of these glaciers the massive sandstone the existed underneath slowly was ground down into sand. In the form of sand it was then blown and washed into the Orange River basin and carried all the way out to the rives mouth at the Atlantic coast. Here the sand built up and was then blow north by the Beguiles (sp?) Current, thus beginning its build up along the Namibian coast.
Little life is apt for such a climate but the few flora and fauna that have managed to survive have made vital adaptations that enable their survival. Ants and beetles have adapted by having longer legs that allows them to be even a millimeter more removed from the scorching sand. It is said that this millimeter can decrease the temperature exponentially. You find little vegetation that has learned to retain well the precious water that falls infrequently on the dessert. One of these plants is the !nara, pronounced with a click of the koikoi language. The !nara comes in both female and male plants, the female ones produce a potent fruit. The pollination uses the wind to spread the love. This plant is so well conditioned for such a desolate place we were able to see a 500 year old !nara plant that had roots that stretched some 40-50 meters. The age can be determined by movement of the dunes (it is estimated that the dunes move roughly 10cm a year) that in turn exposes the roots. Not entirely sure on the processes but Moses seems confident on the aging.
These dunes offered something entirely different that my previous experiences with the profundity of nature. I don’t know if its the absence of “vegetation clutter“ if you will that leaves you with a quite simple beauty of the yellow sand and blue sky or if it is the unfathomable fact that these mammoth dunes that span as far as the eyes can see are made up of itsy-bitsy particles of sand but I do know that I was entranced in a way that I haven’t been before. So utterly impressed with yet another earthly phenomenon that seems so…out of this world.
Our new friends...
The pictures below are from in and around Imlil a town in the high Atlas Mountain where the Berber people live. The Berber are the people native to this part of the world and lived in these lands long before the spread of Islam.
It was such a treat to escape the bustle of Marrakech and see an entirely different pace of life...
The boys and I conveniently ran into three other guys who looked just about as lost as us as we wandered the streets of Marrakech in search of the Grand Taxi Station. I thought we were enough of an eyesore with our bright jackets and big backpacks but I am happy to say, I think they took the prize. They were loaded down with skis, boot, backpacks and the likes. It was quite apparent that these guys were headed toward the mountains as well. These three Austrian gentlemen in their mid to late 20’s, Joe, Stefan and Alex became our loyal companions and comedic relief for the next 24 hours. Together we found the Grand Taxi Station, commonly referred to as Bab-er-Rab. It was no more than a parking lot with a rickety fence, on the out skirts of town in the middle of a huge field that was a combination of grass and trash.
We were able to negotiate down to 300 DH for the six or us, roughly $37 dollars for and 1.5 hour drive. That was six of us full sized bodies and all the luggage I spoke of packed in an old Mercedes. It was a tight fit to say the least. Our driver was Simone. A toothless, middle-aged man who in the end proved to be truly delightful man. It took us a little while to feel good about our decision as we ran out of gas within the first 5 minutes of our trip. We thought surely it was a scam as Simone took off with little explanation. A few of us got out of the car to stand guard as we sat in the middle of a bustling Marrakech with skis and bags practically hanging off the car. But Simone was back within a few minutes with gas in hand and we were on our way. Simone was impressive (or lucky) with his ability to drive on handed on some of the most windy, knuckle whitening, ungaurdrailed roads I think I have ever been on…all the while he was able to keep us smiling with his unwavering effort to communicate to us with his French but more successfully his body language. The views were spectacular. The steep and rocky hillsides were scattered with herders and their sheep and goat. Upon our arrival into Imlil we unloaded our bags at the Café Aksoual, a dark and chilled hostel that our friends were staying at. They had won us offer (we decided to stay the night) with their use of the English language, their combined school studies of recreation, high school geography, exercise science and special education, and the fact that they were looking to have an adventure as well. And adventure we did. We set out to explore the hillsides and villages around us. The fog was dense and laying low which made for a mystical afternoon as we walked past donkeys (mountain taxis) adorned with beautiful tapestries, veiled women working the gardens and the occasional herder…all the while hearing calls to worship sung from the minarets of the local mosques. Muhammad a Shepard we came across was perched on a rock up a small river gorge. When turned the corner he came into sight. His legs were crossed under his floor length brown wool coat with pointed hood. He seemed just to be sitting, pondering life. What else do you do in a place where cars, electricity and running water are all next to none? Around him was a plethora of sheep. I admired his contentness as he sat an apparently watched as the fog rolled in and out of the valley. I wonder what consumes his thoughts? Life seems so simple, so practical; the direct benefits are seen of all actions. It’s hard to imagine a life this way. When Muhammad eventually saw us he began to approach while gesturing with his hands to his mouth and pointing in the direction of a far off village. Will a little persuasion to our Austrian friends we convinced them that Muhammad was a decent man and our following him would lead to something good. We traversed a hillside following him until we arrived at his home. It was a cold cement structure with little in it. He took us past the bathroom, kitchen where to women were squatted on the ground washing dishes and preparing food and then into a living room where he then left us for the next 5 or 10 minutes. We had no idea what exactly we were doing so we sat quietly and waited. Muhammad returned shortly with a basket full of walnuts, which he promptly dumped onto the cement floor. He then proceeded to sit down next to them with a scrap of metal in his hand that he used to deshell the walnuts. I sat down next to him and helped sift out the nuts from the shells. When all the nuts where ready and the Moroccan mint tea served we sat around a small coffee table and shared this meal with our new friends. We were so amused with how graciously this old man took time from his day and welcomed 5 strangers into his home. This is a theme so common around the world. It has me wondering what I can do to be a more hospitable person. I wonder if it is that as American we really are less hospitable or if our pace of life that doesn’t accommodate “taking unscheduled breaks” from our busy lives. Who knows?
After an hour or so in relative silence filled with smiles and gestures the three Austrian, Mike, Peter and I bid farewell to Mohammed and made our way back to our hostel. Back the hostel we sat next to the fire and learned an Austrian card game with a deck of 32 cards, one being the Welei, the Queen who was a pig, the bartender and the bartenders’ brother. Can’t say I ever fully understood the game but it was a fun activity that distracted us as we tried to stay warm and pass the time until dinner.
Dinner was prepared for us by the man who ran the hostel. It consisted of couscous, a vegetable soup and copious amounts of bread. When it was ready the six of us, adorning all of our warmest cloths and hats, made our way to the table down stairs. The table was situated around the fire but the large cement room didn’t retain the heat well so we played musical chairs and rotated seats every few minutes. Dinner was filled with more sharing of our lives and we developed our plan from them to “couch” with us in the Northwest. To couch, referring to couch surfing-a relatively new phenomenon that is done via the Internet, was a term that these boys really enjoyed using. They are avid outdoorsmen and so, the Northwest and the activities that abound there are part of their vocabulary and knowledge. It was fun to be able to talk to people in this small mountain village in Morocco about Mt. Baker, Squamish, and the Gorge. Those are just a few of the hot spots they want to hit when they embark on their couching adventure. If you boys are reading this, we are anxiously awaiting your arrival!
It was such a treat to escape the bustle of Marrakech and see an entirely different pace of life...
The boys and I conveniently ran into three other guys who looked just about as lost as us as we wandered the streets of Marrakech in search of the Grand Taxi Station. I thought we were enough of an eyesore with our bright jackets and big backpacks but I am happy to say, I think they took the prize. They were loaded down with skis, boot, backpacks and the likes. It was quite apparent that these guys were headed toward the mountains as well. These three Austrian gentlemen in their mid to late 20’s, Joe, Stefan and Alex became our loyal companions and comedic relief for the next 24 hours. Together we found the Grand Taxi Station, commonly referred to as Bab-er-Rab. It was no more than a parking lot with a rickety fence, on the out skirts of town in the middle of a huge field that was a combination of grass and trash.
We were able to negotiate down to 300 DH for the six or us, roughly $37 dollars for and 1.5 hour drive. That was six of us full sized bodies and all the luggage I spoke of packed in an old Mercedes. It was a tight fit to say the least. Our driver was Simone. A toothless, middle-aged man who in the end proved to be truly delightful man. It took us a little while to feel good about our decision as we ran out of gas within the first 5 minutes of our trip. We thought surely it was a scam as Simone took off with little explanation. A few of us got out of the car to stand guard as we sat in the middle of a bustling Marrakech with skis and bags practically hanging off the car. But Simone was back within a few minutes with gas in hand and we were on our way. Simone was impressive (or lucky) with his ability to drive on handed on some of the most windy, knuckle whitening, ungaurdrailed roads I think I have ever been on…all the while he was able to keep us smiling with his unwavering effort to communicate to us with his French but more successfully his body language. The views were spectacular. The steep and rocky hillsides were scattered with herders and their sheep and goat. Upon our arrival into Imlil we unloaded our bags at the Café Aksoual, a dark and chilled hostel that our friends were staying at. They had won us offer (we decided to stay the night) with their use of the English language, their combined school studies of recreation, high school geography, exercise science and special education, and the fact that they were looking to have an adventure as well. And adventure we did. We set out to explore the hillsides and villages around us. The fog was dense and laying low which made for a mystical afternoon as we walked past donkeys (mountain taxis) adorned with beautiful tapestries, veiled women working the gardens and the occasional herder…all the while hearing calls to worship sung from the minarets of the local mosques. Muhammad a Shepard we came across was perched on a rock up a small river gorge. When turned the corner he came into sight. His legs were crossed under his floor length brown wool coat with pointed hood. He seemed just to be sitting, pondering life. What else do you do in a place where cars, electricity and running water are all next to none? Around him was a plethora of sheep. I admired his contentness as he sat an apparently watched as the fog rolled in and out of the valley. I wonder what consumes his thoughts? Life seems so simple, so practical; the direct benefits are seen of all actions. It’s hard to imagine a life this way. When Muhammad eventually saw us he began to approach while gesturing with his hands to his mouth and pointing in the direction of a far off village. Will a little persuasion to our Austrian friends we convinced them that Muhammad was a decent man and our following him would lead to something good. We traversed a hillside following him until we arrived at his home. It was a cold cement structure with little in it. He took us past the bathroom, kitchen where to women were squatted on the ground washing dishes and preparing food and then into a living room where he then left us for the next 5 or 10 minutes. We had no idea what exactly we were doing so we sat quietly and waited. Muhammad returned shortly with a basket full of walnuts, which he promptly dumped onto the cement floor. He then proceeded to sit down next to them with a scrap of metal in his hand that he used to deshell the walnuts. I sat down next to him and helped sift out the nuts from the shells. When all the nuts where ready and the Moroccan mint tea served we sat around a small coffee table and shared this meal with our new friends. We were so amused with how graciously this old man took time from his day and welcomed 5 strangers into his home. This is a theme so common around the world. It has me wondering what I can do to be a more hospitable person. I wonder if it is that as American we really are less hospitable or if our pace of life that doesn’t accommodate “taking unscheduled breaks” from our busy lives. Who knows?
After an hour or so in relative silence filled with smiles and gestures the three Austrian, Mike, Peter and I bid farewell to Mohammed and made our way back to our hostel. Back the hostel we sat next to the fire and learned an Austrian card game with a deck of 32 cards, one being the Welei, the Queen who was a pig, the bartender and the bartenders’ brother. Can’t say I ever fully understood the game but it was a fun activity that distracted us as we tried to stay warm and pass the time until dinner.
Dinner was prepared for us by the man who ran the hostel. It consisted of couscous, a vegetable soup and copious amounts of bread. When it was ready the six of us, adorning all of our warmest cloths and hats, made our way to the table down stairs. The table was situated around the fire but the large cement room didn’t retain the heat well so we played musical chairs and rotated seats every few minutes. Dinner was filled with more sharing of our lives and we developed our plan from them to “couch” with us in the Northwest. To couch, referring to couch surfing-a relatively new phenomenon that is done via the Internet, was a term that these boys really enjoyed using. They are avid outdoorsmen and so, the Northwest and the activities that abound there are part of their vocabulary and knowledge. It was fun to be able to talk to people in this small mountain village in Morocco about Mt. Baker, Squamish, and the Gorge. Those are just a few of the hot spots they want to hit when they embark on their couching adventure. If you boys are reading this, we are anxiously awaiting your arrival!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Marrakech Part 2
Morocco-Marok
What a fantastic time I had in Morocco. To be honest my expectations were low as we arrived into Morocco a day late after being held up at Gibraltar, where we were trying to take on oil, because of really rough seas. Our stay there had been shortened from four days down to three. This shortness of time in combination with the 12-year-old Heidi’s memories of Morocco from our first voyage didn’t have me to optimistic about any genuine Moroccan experience. I am quite please with the degree to which I was mistaken. The three days that Peter and Michael and I explored were some of my best days of travel…some for no particular reason and other moments will likely become apparent shortly. The ship dropped us in Casablanca, the largest city in Morocco. We made a straight b-line to the train station to catch a train to Marrakech a city located inland that capture more of the traditional cultural and religious practices that characterize Morocco. Mike and I packed ourselves into a cabin, consisting of two bench seats facing one another, with five other passengers. I was thrilled to have the company of three generations of a family…a 7month old baby boy, his mother and grandmother. The efforts of all of us in the car to keep this bundled baby smiling really created a special atmosphere for me. These women who may have looked different to me by their dress soon reminded me of the universal task of childrearing and no matter how different people may be, the stages of life and how we cope with them are all very similar. They loved their little guy like any other good mother would. We also learned the significance of sharing ones food particularly when you are in a confined space, as watching someone eat isn’t considered well mannered…solve that problem by giving everyone food! Another one of those things that I feel the rest of the world has figured out that enhances a sense of community even among strangers.
Our arrival into Marrakech was a good reminder to us of our ignorance linguistically. With no Arabic and maybe one word of French to get by with, navigating became a little harder that it had proven to be in Spain. But have no fear; it only took a little time for us to refine our body language and interpretation skills of French. And I guess I can give credit to the numerous people who (for whatever reason were able to identify us as Americans…weird?!) came to our rescue with a little English assistance. With no real agenda to achieve our ability to take things as they came was really to our advantage. The boys and I enjoyed our hours of strolling and people watching as we headed in the direction of the old town, or Medina as these areas are called throughout the Muslim world. We often questioned if this sort of purposeless movement throughout a place was not using our time as wisely as we could have, it sometimes seems that in order to really see a place it is important to hit the hotspots but we decided that each step we took shed some story of this ancient city, its people and their ways. Having Peter and Michael by my side allowed for great conversation. It’s truly a treat having their company and their perspective on things. They both offer a great comedic relief and reminder of our fortunateness to the sometimes-perplexed Heidi. The walls that lined it and the all that roused the senses marked our entrance into the Medina. The streets turned to alleyways lined with small shops of spices, dates, fresh fruits to cell phones and ipods. If it weren’t for the occasional booth of modern electronics it seems these streets would have been pulled out of the distant past as men and women or traditional garb, the daily prayer echoed throughout and although chaotic, time seemed in no way rushed. All alleyways led to the main square that was filled with snake charmers and trained monkeys doing tricks.
We ran into some Semester at Sea students and despite some hesitation on my behalf the boys convinced me that it would be good for us to branch out and get to know some people. My hesitation has to do with my fear of the potential detraction of others’ ‘and ours time due to our pure power of numbers. Besides a little too much volume in our restaurant it proved to be a great time. The hookah bar followed for another authentically Moroccan experience.
It is dinnertime now but the best is yet to come. The next morning we ventured into the High Atlas Mountains for a spectacular adventure, stay tuned please.
What a fantastic time I had in Morocco. To be honest my expectations were low as we arrived into Morocco a day late after being held up at Gibraltar, where we were trying to take on oil, because of really rough seas. Our stay there had been shortened from four days down to three. This shortness of time in combination with the 12-year-old Heidi’s memories of Morocco from our first voyage didn’t have me to optimistic about any genuine Moroccan experience. I am quite please with the degree to which I was mistaken. The three days that Peter and Michael and I explored were some of my best days of travel…some for no particular reason and other moments will likely become apparent shortly. The ship dropped us in Casablanca, the largest city in Morocco. We made a straight b-line to the train station to catch a train to Marrakech a city located inland that capture more of the traditional cultural and religious practices that characterize Morocco. Mike and I packed ourselves into a cabin, consisting of two bench seats facing one another, with five other passengers. I was thrilled to have the company of three generations of a family…a 7month old baby boy, his mother and grandmother. The efforts of all of us in the car to keep this bundled baby smiling really created a special atmosphere for me. These women who may have looked different to me by their dress soon reminded me of the universal task of childrearing and no matter how different people may be, the stages of life and how we cope with them are all very similar. They loved their little guy like any other good mother would. We also learned the significance of sharing ones food particularly when you are in a confined space, as watching someone eat isn’t considered well mannered…solve that problem by giving everyone food! Another one of those things that I feel the rest of the world has figured out that enhances a sense of community even among strangers.
Our arrival into Marrakech was a good reminder to us of our ignorance linguistically. With no Arabic and maybe one word of French to get by with, navigating became a little harder that it had proven to be in Spain. But have no fear; it only took a little time for us to refine our body language and interpretation skills of French. And I guess I can give credit to the numerous people who (for whatever reason were able to identify us as Americans…weird?!) came to our rescue with a little English assistance. With no real agenda to achieve our ability to take things as they came was really to our advantage. The boys and I enjoyed our hours of strolling and people watching as we headed in the direction of the old town, or Medina as these areas are called throughout the Muslim world. We often questioned if this sort of purposeless movement throughout a place was not using our time as wisely as we could have, it sometimes seems that in order to really see a place it is important to hit the hotspots but we decided that each step we took shed some story of this ancient city, its people and their ways. Having Peter and Michael by my side allowed for great conversation. It’s truly a treat having their company and their perspective on things. They both offer a great comedic relief and reminder of our fortunateness to the sometimes-perplexed Heidi. The walls that lined it and the all that roused the senses marked our entrance into the Medina. The streets turned to alleyways lined with small shops of spices, dates, fresh fruits to cell phones and ipods. If it weren’t for the occasional booth of modern electronics it seems these streets would have been pulled out of the distant past as men and women or traditional garb, the daily prayer echoed throughout and although chaotic, time seemed in no way rushed. All alleyways led to the main square that was filled with snake charmers and trained monkeys doing tricks.
We ran into some Semester at Sea students and despite some hesitation on my behalf the boys convinced me that it would be good for us to branch out and get to know some people. My hesitation has to do with my fear of the potential detraction of others’ ‘and ours time due to our pure power of numbers. Besides a little too much volume in our restaurant it proved to be a great time. The hookah bar followed for another authentically Moroccan experience.
It is dinnertime now but the best is yet to come. The next morning we ventured into the High Atlas Mountains for a spectacular adventure, stay tuned please.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Marrakech
hi mom and dad. greetings from marrakech. made it here on the train today about 2:30ish...have opted to stay here for the night and try to make a day trip to the mountans tomorrow. we hear it is only an hour and a half to Imlil from here. Spen t the afternoon wondering the streets and finally made it into medina (the old town° with small qlley way, venders of all sorts of spices and the square where the three of us remember being before...the snake charmers and trained monkies still draw the crowds. ran into some SASers who pointed us in the direction of a Riad(Les Yeux Bleus); Riad is a bed and breakfast like place; probably a little on the high end for us but we opted for it since it was already turning to night and we were ready to have bags off our backs. the keyboard here makes it challenging to write so this letter is going to suffice as a brief blog post as well. Hope Casablanca was lovely and where ever you end up tomorroz night is a good time. We may even be back at the ship tomorrow night so as to avoid the student rush on the train and in the ship lines on thursday. let us know where you are off to. Lots of love. ps wish i knew french o arabic...i feel quite helpless; more later.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
To all my loyal blogsters...an adequate update from the Atlantic crossing and our days in Spain is on its way...its got to be out by tonight as we will already be in Morocco tomorrow! Today we are bunkering ( taking on fuel) in the midsts of a NWesque rain at the Rock of Gibralter. Some of you may get a kick out of this, you know who you are..."Straight of Gibralter (pause) straight, straight, Straight of Gibralter." So, until then...Peace.
p.s. if any of you feel so inclined to be sending me updates on your lives, the best way to do it is send me emails at hmhoff@semesteratsea.net this is an address I can check for free...facebook, hotmail, gmail and the likes all require us to use up our precious and limited internet minutes.
p.s. if any of you feel so inclined to be sending me updates on your lives, the best way to do it is send me emails at hmhoff@semesteratsea.net this is an address I can check for free...facebook, hotmail, gmail and the likes all require us to use up our precious and limited internet minutes.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Getting to the ship. Home for the next 108 days.
We’re on the ship! Hard to believe that this will be home again for the next four months. Well, I shouldn’t say again, as this is a newer and improved version of the S.S. Universe Explorer that we sailed on the previous 2 voyages. Improved it may be but that also means we will be spending a little more time orienting ourselves and getting a feel for the new layout. And so you know, the ship we are on is M.V. (motor vehicle) Explorer, which I may also refer to as the “great white mother” at times. Explanations for such a name will make sense as the voyage continues.
Let me just play out the last 48 hours of Hoff madness to get the five of us packed and ready, to Florida, and on the ship.
We had a 6:05am flight out of SeaTac on Wednesday morning, January 14th. This meant that we ideally would be leaving our house at 4am hopefully getting us to the airport by 4:30 and in good time to unload our ungodly amount of luggage (aka: crap), make our way through security and board our flight. And I must say, I was quite impressed with what we managed to pull off. Although it wasn’t quite our goal, it was pretty darn punctual for our perpetually late mentality. So, Wednesday was spent around the house packing bags and prepping the house for potential renters or sitters while we are away. This means Mom magically had to make vanish numerous pile of clutter that, hence the name, cluttered our house. I wish you could have all seen our house between the hours of 3pm and 3am, it underwent a total transformation. My contribution to the whole production was an activity I have come to really enjoy when I find myself at my parents house: it’s cleaning the fridge. A bit disturbing at times, seeing as it requires quite a bit of throwing out food that has seen better days (my mother has a hard time parting with such items), but by the end when you can actually navigate through what remains, its a true sense of accomplishment. So that’s what I spent, not kidding, a good three hours on. Dusting as well…anyone who has lived with me or visited my various dwellings may be pleasantly surprised that I possess such ability; I know my parents certainly were.
So by the time the fridge was clean, bookshelves and windowsills dusted it was nearing midnight. We had some late night visits from special family members, namely my cousin Heather and moms brother, David and a dear childhood friend Allison. Their presence brought somewhat of a calming atmosphere to our rather uncalm push to get out the door. Once they left, I managed to finalize my packing festivities and take a short snooze for a mere half hour before it was 3:45am and time for us to be loading our gear into the car and on our way. This might help you understand the immense amount of stuff we decided was necessary to travel with us…it required us to take two cars to the airport in order to get all our luggage and our rather generously sized selves there. This also meant subjecting one more loving person to such an early wakeup call. But we seem to have done something right over the years because we had plenty of gracious offers from our wonderful network of family and friends. The two lucky winners of such an honor were, Janet Lawer a good family friend and my uncle David (whom I mention earlier). Us kids, meaning my brothers and I decided it would be in our best interest to drive ourselves to the airport and so we did, meeting the rest of them in the departure drop-off at SeaTac. Our drive consisted of the somewhat delirious me being reminded by my smart-arsed brothers that I should stay between the lines (luckily I won’t be driving for the next four months), listening to “Leaving on a Jet Plane” a remixed version by Slightly Stoopid, and being somewhat in disbelief that we are actually doing this voyage again. I feel so privileged as a sister to be spending this time with these boys, as I have somewhat accepted that this could potentially be one of the last family trips we take as our nucleus of five.
So we made it to the airport, on our flight, to Atlanta, to our next flight and finally into Miami by 4:30pm EST. Here we lugged out baggage from baggage claim onto a cart outside where we loaded it onto the AVIS shuttle, and then unloaded it at AVIS. At AVIS we picked up a Kia minivan (that I reserved! If I seem to be boasting about some minor involvements I had in this whole production…well, I am! These are my baby steps toward adulthood that I seem rather intent on avoiding. So I have to mention the when the come along) and threw everything inside the van. Only to take off to navigate the streets of Miami during rush hour. After a lot of well intentioned yelling, map reading and calls to our friend Helen we finally made it to Helen’s home in Pinecrest—a suburb about 15 miles south of Miami. Whew. Helen is a friend of ours from our Fall 98 voyage. She has twin 4 year olds, Sarah and Jaden, who do their best to keep her busy... We ordered in pizza and spent the evening with them.
Thursday morning was spent at Costco, Ross, tjmaxx and Starbucks getting our last dose of American consumer culture before we do our best to leave it behind in the coming months. Costco was necessary to get browning mixes for any birthdays that might need to be celebrated while aboard the ship as well as a few other items that we deemed necessary. The others stores were intended to provide us with some formal wear for Michael…as he is growing at a nice clip as well as ever improving on his savvy sense of style. You may ask, “why is such formal attire necessary?” The answer to that is the one formal event of the ship, known as the Ambassadors Ball…a festive gala of sorts.
Okay, I can imagine if any of you are even dedicated enough to be reading this still, you must be entirely board out of your mind. So with that I will wrap it up fast…I guess all you need to know for now is that we have made it onto the ship. The next few days we will be slowly making our way to the Bahamas where the students and remaining passengers will be boarding on the 19th. It is then that classes will start and the whole things really get in gear. For now, its time designated for relaxing and kicking back…so that I shall do. Thanks for your amazing attention span. I love you all.
Let me just play out the last 48 hours of Hoff madness to get the five of us packed and ready, to Florida, and on the ship.
We had a 6:05am flight out of SeaTac on Wednesday morning, January 14th. This meant that we ideally would be leaving our house at 4am hopefully getting us to the airport by 4:30 and in good time to unload our ungodly amount of luggage (aka: crap), make our way through security and board our flight. And I must say, I was quite impressed with what we managed to pull off. Although it wasn’t quite our goal, it was pretty darn punctual for our perpetually late mentality. So, Wednesday was spent around the house packing bags and prepping the house for potential renters or sitters while we are away. This means Mom magically had to make vanish numerous pile of clutter that, hence the name, cluttered our house. I wish you could have all seen our house between the hours of 3pm and 3am, it underwent a total transformation. My contribution to the whole production was an activity I have come to really enjoy when I find myself at my parents house: it’s cleaning the fridge. A bit disturbing at times, seeing as it requires quite a bit of throwing out food that has seen better days (my mother has a hard time parting with such items), but by the end when you can actually navigate through what remains, its a true sense of accomplishment. So that’s what I spent, not kidding, a good three hours on. Dusting as well…anyone who has lived with me or visited my various dwellings may be pleasantly surprised that I possess such ability; I know my parents certainly were.
So by the time the fridge was clean, bookshelves and windowsills dusted it was nearing midnight. We had some late night visits from special family members, namely my cousin Heather and moms brother, David and a dear childhood friend Allison. Their presence brought somewhat of a calming atmosphere to our rather uncalm push to get out the door. Once they left, I managed to finalize my packing festivities and take a short snooze for a mere half hour before it was 3:45am and time for us to be loading our gear into the car and on our way. This might help you understand the immense amount of stuff we decided was necessary to travel with us…it required us to take two cars to the airport in order to get all our luggage and our rather generously sized selves there. This also meant subjecting one more loving person to such an early wakeup call. But we seem to have done something right over the years because we had plenty of gracious offers from our wonderful network of family and friends. The two lucky winners of such an honor were, Janet Lawer a good family friend and my uncle David (whom I mention earlier). Us kids, meaning my brothers and I decided it would be in our best interest to drive ourselves to the airport and so we did, meeting the rest of them in the departure drop-off at SeaTac. Our drive consisted of the somewhat delirious me being reminded by my smart-arsed brothers that I should stay between the lines (luckily I won’t be driving for the next four months), listening to “Leaving on a Jet Plane” a remixed version by Slightly Stoopid, and being somewhat in disbelief that we are actually doing this voyage again. I feel so privileged as a sister to be spending this time with these boys, as I have somewhat accepted that this could potentially be one of the last family trips we take as our nucleus of five.
So we made it to the airport, on our flight, to Atlanta, to our next flight and finally into Miami by 4:30pm EST. Here we lugged out baggage from baggage claim onto a cart outside where we loaded it onto the AVIS shuttle, and then unloaded it at AVIS. At AVIS we picked up a Kia minivan (that I reserved! If I seem to be boasting about some minor involvements I had in this whole production…well, I am! These are my baby steps toward adulthood that I seem rather intent on avoiding. So I have to mention the when the come along) and threw everything inside the van. Only to take off to navigate the streets of Miami during rush hour. After a lot of well intentioned yelling, map reading and calls to our friend Helen we finally made it to Helen’s home in Pinecrest—a suburb about 15 miles south of Miami. Whew. Helen is a friend of ours from our Fall 98 voyage. She has twin 4 year olds, Sarah and Jaden, who do their best to keep her busy... We ordered in pizza and spent the evening with them.
Thursday morning was spent at Costco, Ross, tjmaxx and Starbucks getting our last dose of American consumer culture before we do our best to leave it behind in the coming months. Costco was necessary to get browning mixes for any birthdays that might need to be celebrated while aboard the ship as well as a few other items that we deemed necessary. The others stores were intended to provide us with some formal wear for Michael…as he is growing at a nice clip as well as ever improving on his savvy sense of style. You may ask, “why is such formal attire necessary?” The answer to that is the one formal event of the ship, known as the Ambassadors Ball…a festive gala of sorts.
Okay, I can imagine if any of you are even dedicated enough to be reading this still, you must be entirely board out of your mind. So with that I will wrap it up fast…I guess all you need to know for now is that we have made it onto the ship. The next few days we will be slowly making our way to the Bahamas where the students and remaining passengers will be boarding on the 19th. It is then that classes will start and the whole things really get in gear. For now, its time designated for relaxing and kicking back…so that I shall do. Thanks for your amazing attention span. I love you all.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
this blossoming blog is on its way...
As the days near before this departure of yet another "voyage of discovery" my anticipation heightens. I am eager to see what this experience will provide for the now 23 year old me. The significance of this blog is more for my personal process than anything else, although I appreciate all of you who have decided, at least for the mean time, that this is worth your while to read. My hope is that with this blog, I will spend more time processing my experiences and subsequent emotions... As many of you know, I have been fortunate enough to have had this experience before and envision this one being even more impactful than the previous two. That said, I am doing my darndest to keep my expectations to a minimum. Having done Semester at Sea twice its somewhat challenging to consider a new role for myself on the ship, as an actual college student. School! yikes.
Dad has posted a hourly countdown to our departure on the fridge, as if the tension isn't running high enough in the house already. With Michael (my youngest brother, still in high school) trying to wrap things up with his teachers, taking finals, and starting his online running start courses, to my mom, Ann, wrapping up her medical practice and handing it over to the woman who will be covering for her while we are away, to dad Dale who is frantically trying to find work for his three employees to carry on the Hoff Construction name while he is away (this is proving to be a bit of a challenge in this suffering economy)...I assure you we will all be much happier campers when we are out of the house and on our way to SeaTac. Then there is Peter and I, who are just passing the time until we leave. Peter and I are both done with Fall Quarter at our respective colleges and now just in limbo until we take off. We are doing our best to step up and help around the house by recognizing things that need to be done, running errands and tutoring Michael through this final week. But the frenzy of the other three still seems to be cramping our laid back, playful lifestyle we've grown to know in these past few weeks.
But if dad's countdown is correct, we just have 41hours of this chaos left.
Stay tuned for more exciting adventures...for the meantime, I'm off.
Dad has posted a hourly countdown to our departure on the fridge, as if the tension isn't running high enough in the house already. With Michael (my youngest brother, still in high school) trying to wrap things up with his teachers, taking finals, and starting his online running start courses, to my mom, Ann, wrapping up her medical practice and handing it over to the woman who will be covering for her while we are away, to dad Dale who is frantically trying to find work for his three employees to carry on the Hoff Construction name while he is away (this is proving to be a bit of a challenge in this suffering economy)...I assure you we will all be much happier campers when we are out of the house and on our way to SeaTac. Then there is Peter and I, who are just passing the time until we leave. Peter and I are both done with Fall Quarter at our respective colleges and now just in limbo until we take off. We are doing our best to step up and help around the house by recognizing things that need to be done, running errands and tutoring Michael through this final week. But the frenzy of the other three still seems to be cramping our laid back, playful lifestyle we've grown to know in these past few weeks.
But if dad's countdown is correct, we just have 41hours of this chaos left.
Stay tuned for more exciting adventures...for the meantime, I'm off.
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