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.
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