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.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
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!
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