Here There Be Lions

Coffee Bay

2009-07-15T21:58:00.000-07:00

Our last trip (an extra one since there was money in the budget left) was to Coffee Bay, a long six hour drive away. Most of it was through an area that had once been designated a “homeland” by the South African government, the former Transkei. This was where Ashwin had lived when he was very young. He described to us how every time his family wanted to cross the river separating them from the “real” South Africa they had to show a passport.

As we crossed the wide Kei river we didn’t have to show our passports but it did seem like we were suddenly someplace different, a step back in time. This area had been left untouched and unindustrialized for more than fifty years- ignored by a government which washed its hands of responsibility by declaring the area its own nation. Until 1996 there were only 19,000 telephones in the whole area, which held around 4 million people. This has meant that the Transkei is currently a combination of incredible beauty and incredible poverty.

Rolling hills were covered with tiny houses, many of them the traditional brightly colored mud huts with thatched roofs. Their brightly painted walls almost shone in the afternoon sun. A stark contrast to the wide open spaces of the rural areas, the tiny towns we drove through were crammed with people. Cars were bumper to bumper and the crowds of people doing errands or coming home from school were nearly shoulder to shoulder. We’ve probably driven through more than 50 of these tiny towns by now on our trips. Every one looks the same. The roads in and out are always dotted with people hitchhiking, their hands out or holding cardboard signs. I always wonder where they want to go and how often they depend on hitchhiking to get there. How often must they have somewhere to go and can’t get there? Or do they have no place to go, and they’re just trying to leave where they are?

As we drove farther into the Transkei the road got worse and worse, until it was dotted with so many potholes that Ashwin couldn’t avoid them, the van jolting and shaking every time we hit one. Finally we could see the ocean in the distance. Even though I knew where we going I was almost surprised to see the water, the green hills seemed so unlike the ocean side.

Our first view was driving down into the valley that made up the little bay. We were put in a little house on the side of a hill, where we could see the whitecaps of the stormy water and hear the waves crashing. After getting settled in we headed down to the main building for dinner. On our walk there we were surprised to find that the high tide had brought the ocean up so far that it had made a wide shallow river between us and the main building. Taking off our shoes we quickly forded the temporary river and went on to dinner. Outside a large fire was burning keeping away a little of the winter night chill.

The next day the rest of the group left to hike to see a nearby rock formation called the “Hole in the Wall” but I decided to skip in favor of a little walking around by myself with my camera. Taking both my cameras (though the large one’s battery sadly died soon) I explored the two beaches which made up the bay. The first, smaller beach was enclosed by large craggy cliffs. I spent time climbing up and over and through the closest cliffs, finding little passages and high edges where I could sit and watch the roaring water below.
I followed a path through the cliffs and sand dunes to the second bigger beach. The path left me on top of a high hill, I could see all the way down the curve of the white sand beach to where it was stopped by more cliffs. I walked down the hill through small trees twisted from the ocean wind. The beach was covered with children. I saw a few tourists and some surfers but mostly the beach seemed to have been completely conquered for the purposes of sandcastle building and playing soccer. I headed back a few hours later with a couple o shells in my pocket and many more pictures on my camera.

We forded the small river again that night and had dinner and drinks at the hostel. More people had arrived that night including some American students we knew from Rhodes. The next morning we walked along the beach and bought some things from the many local women who walked along the shore selling jewelry. Then it was back to our last month.

home today

2009-06-26T20:13:00.000-07:00

Heading home today. still have two trips to write about but I guess I'll have to do it in the states! for now it is goodbye..

Looking for Hobbits

2009-06-13T16:07:00.000-07:00

Our second to last trip was to a tiny place called Hogsback. Named after the three mountains or “hogs” that surround it, the little village is probably not what someone pictures when they think of South Africa. Thought to have possibly been the inspiration for the settings Tolkien describes in the Lord of the Rings, it was a place of rolling hills and dense forests. Everything was incredibly green and incredibly blue. It was the usual warm and sunny during the day but at night we felt how cold Africa could really get. Apparently during the colder months it actually snows much of the time. Everywhere was beautiful and I didn’t have trouble imagining this as the inspiration for Middle Earth. And whether it really was or not, the locals have certainly decided to capitalize on the story. Everywhere were places named after Lord of the Rings- like Hobbiton, and even The Ring Hardware Store!

The first day we went on a hike through the very old, very beautiful, indigenous forest. We first made our way up a high cliff to see the forest laid out below us enclosed by the three mountains. We also found a random bathtub, perched on the side of the cliff. It would definitely be a nice place for a bath, but a little odd all the same… We then headed down, into the forest we had looked at from above, to a tree marked off with a little gate around it. Ashwin, who had been coming to Hogsback since he was very young, told us the tree was eight hundred years old. After resting for a while in the shade of the ancient tree we moved on through the forest to the Madonna and Child Waterfall. The waterfall was lovely the water spilling from a high cliff to water pools at our feet. It had not rained that much, it hasn’t rained much in all of South Africa, but the misty downpour, steaming in the sun, was still impressive.

The way back was almost straight up, to the road at the top off the cliff. We ate lunch in a little restaurant, than separated, some heading back to the hotel, and the rest of us driving the forty five minutes to the place where we would go horse back riding. We rode across green, rolling hills for two exhilarating hours, watching the sun set over the mountains. Occasionally we let them run, and I felt the wind in my face as I tried to remember my long ago riding lessons.

The next day was quiet. The rest of the group took their turn at horseback riding and I walked around and enjoyed the remoteness. I also watched TV on an actual television for the first time in weeks. Our last day we stopped at a spot at the top of a cliff called, appropriately, the Edge. The view was amazing, you could see almost all the way to the ocean. At the Edge was also a series of outdoor sculptures, called the eco-shrine, created by a woman who lived there. The sculptures were lovely stone and mosaic abstract shapes, some of them forming frames for the view they overlooked. On some of the sculptures were set vibrantly coloured paintings meant to symbolize a connection between humans and nature. We stood and looked at the beauty around us, and as we walked back through the woods to the van, a group of monkeys started jumping from tree to tree above us.

Capetown (part 2: Dancing and Wine)

2009-06-06T15:14:00.000-07:00

Tutorial 2: Model Answers

I meant to get this second part of this Capetown two-parter up so much earlier but sadly actual school work has started to catch up with me.

Sunday evening after a nap we had a quick dinner at a Chinese/sushi place and walked down the block to a bar named Jo’burg. Some of Katie’s friends from Rhodes along with their friends from UCT (University of Cape Town) were there. So we all sat down at a long table with our drinks and talked. The bar was relaxing, with lots of wood and dark reds. Large comfortable booths rested along the walls under colourful pieces of art depicting old Johannesburg. The soft light from funky shaped wire lamps made the lit up the colors of the large murals, and the rest of the bar just enough. We sat and talked, getting to know each other, as a Rasta band played Bob Marley on the small stage in the corner.

Monday we all slept late. As we eventually all got of bed, sitting on the balcony drinking instant coffee we saw a large film crew setting up directly under us, outside our building. This apparently happens a lot in Capetown- the other day another crew had been filming up the street. We found out later this was for some sort of commercial. As all of us were fast running out of clean clothes we decided to take this day to go do laundry. Making a large circle around the wires and lights in the middle of the street, we lugged our clothes a block and left them with the nice ladies who said they could do it all for us. South Africa, we’ve found, is not a self service country. There are people who pump your gas, wash your clothes, someone even came in a couple of days ago to wash the windows in my dorm room! All this service can be a bit unsettling in its convenience, especially since it almost a black person doing the work. But it was, in fact, convenient and we left happy to have some time to explore Long Street.

The next day we had arranged for a visit to the US consulate in Capetown. We took a cab around the mountains through wealthy tree-lined suburbs, far into the outskirts of the city. Our cab driver pointed out Pollsmoor Maximim security prison, which is known for holding some of South Africa’s most dangerous criminals, and at one time Nelson Mandela. The sun was burning hot as we stepped out of the cab, people standing in line for visas looked tired and uncomfortable, holding up papers and hats to attempt to manufacture some shade. Turning we could still see the tops of the barbed wire fences of the prison. The consulate certainly didn’t seem lacking in security, after handing our passports in to the guard in front we walked through a metal detector and left all our possessions, bags, cellphones cameras, with them before crossing the courtyard to the main building. A diplomat met us, showing us into a sparse room with chairs lined up lecture hall style. He told us about South Africa, some warnings about safety (pretty much too late since we had already been there 3 months) and about what the consulate did. The most interesting was when he talked about himself. The life of a diplomat in South Africa seems very isolated. He pointed out the distance the building was from the city center, telling us the consulate had been located in the city until after 9/11 security concerns moved them far away. His house was in a designated area where he lived surrounded by other Americans. His children went to special schools specialized for international students and the children of diplomats.

When we got back we scheduled a tour of the townships as or guide at the embassy had recommended and we were picked up at 8:30 the next morning. Our first stop was at the District Six Museum. Our guide explained that District Six of Capetown had been a pretty successful interracial community, many of the people benefiting from their close location to the city centre. In 1966 under the Group Areas Act, more than 60,000 people living there were forcibly moved from the city to the Cape Flats- where most of the townships are located today. Almost the entire district was bulldozed but pieces were saved by former residents. Eventually they started a museum. On the outside wall next to the door a plaque reads “All who pass by remember with shame the many thousands of people who lived for generations in District Six and other parts of this city, and were forced by law to leave their homes because of the colour of their skins. Father, forgive us…”

We left the city and headed for the townships. Our guide at the consulate had been right, compared to Capetown the townships around Grahamstown were almost nice. At least most of the people had real (though tiny) houses. Many of the buildings we saw as we drove away from the wealthy city centre were shacks, their walls leaning in on each other. Our second stop was in the township of Langa, at a shebeen - or a bar- formerly places that sold alcohol illegally in the townships during apartheid. The tiny, one-room shack was furnished only with a few benches and a large barrel, where a woman was mixing the home made beer we had come to taste. Our guide told us that during apartheid the men from the townships would gather and drink this beer. It was now drunk mostly in traditional ceremonies. A bucket was filled of the white, foamy drink. It was passed around to each person, and we each took a sip. The drink tasted less like beer and more like fermented milk- definitely an acquired taste.

We were handed off for a while to another man who lived in the township for a short walking tour. We walked down narrow streets, lined with colourful shards of broken bottles. As we walked next to sand filled back lots enclosing broken down cars and lines of drying wash, I again didn’t feel comfortable. There’s a line between concerned interest and gawking tourism but I’m not sure where it is and I’m never sure if I’ve crossed it here. I brought my camera with me this time but was still hesitant to use it. I was glad our guide let us know us we were welcome to take pictures of children but to please ask first if we wanted a picture of an adult.

But no one seemed to be especially troubled by us stumbling around their neighbourhood like bewildered alien invaders. Not even when we walked into a home, led by our guide. Everyplace we visited was cramped, mattresses shoved next to beds, bags stored on top of each other in the rafters of the low ceilings.

Our guide took us up some steps to one apartment. Inside, the tiny front room, consisting of a sofa and a TV, merged with the kitchen, making one, almost as tiny, room. The floor was all bare tile. In the kitchen a woman was preparing something, and on the sofa, lay a man, all elbows and ribs, a thin blanket covering him. He was dying, I was sure. Anyone that thin would have to be dying. We thanked the couple and left, a little quieter than when we had come in.

Our next stop was at a traditional healer. The room, where the healer received people was itself fascinating, animal bones, pieces of plants, and even numerous lottery tickets were hanging from a web of strings tied to the low ceiling rafters. Shelves in the back held rows and rows of stoppered jars. Lit by only the light streaming in from the open doorway and a couple of candles, the whole place had an eerie quality. Despite that I got the feeling from healer and the place that it was more for the benefit of tourists. Jerica did buy a small jar filled with herbs that were supposed to ward off bad dreams..

Our last stop on our tour was in the township of Guguletu. The township is known best for Amy Biehl, the American Fulbright scholar, who had been working in the townships when she was killed by a mob in Guguletu in 1993. This would not be what we remembered most about Guguletu, however. We stopped in front of a small school, its outside walls covered in colourful tile. Inside a group of children, all no more than six years old, stood expectantly. They began to sing in Xhosa as we walked in. We watched, smiling at the unexpected adorableness, and as the song ended the children looked at their teacher, who nodded, giving the signal for them to all rush us, arms open for hugs. This was for tourists too of course, but we were all willing to take some pleasure in it. As we each picked up a child, with three more tugging to our sleeves, and made or way outside we were all laughing at the sheer enjoyment of dancing in the sun on a township street, with crowds of little kids.

After many waves goodbye, we left the school and the townships and headed back to the Victoria and Albert Waterfront to catch the ferry to Robben Island. The island is a beautiful place for a prison, with long beaches filled with penguins. The island seemed to have gotten a bit commercialized with buses filled with people and tour guides with a standard spiel. The tour guide in the prison, though, was a former inmate at the prison, there at the same time as Nelson Mandela. I didn’t get to find out why he had been there. We saw Mandela’s tiny cell, remarkable from the rest of the tiny cells going down the hall, only in that it had once been his, home for eighteen of twenty-seven years in prison.

We got up early again the next day, this time for a day of slightly guilty pleasure. We were picked up, along with a few others, at 8am for our tour of the winelands around Capetown. A beautiful drive through the district of Paarl led us to or first stop, the Fairview Estates. A beautiful mansion, set among rolling green hills, with the high grey mountains as backdrop, the estate was very much a contrast to where we had been the day before. There was even a small pen where goats were climbing and munching grass comfortably, in keeping with one of the brands of wine sold at the estate- Goats do Roam. After a brief look at the winery we were handed a list of wines and told we could pick any six to try. None of us knew much about wine, but it was fun to try and pick out the flavours on the descriptions and compare one to the other. We stood at a long wooden bar staffed by many knowledgeable bartenders who filled or small wine glasses and answered or questions. Remembering our guide’s instructions to us, we carefully swirled the glass each time we ordered something different. As we sipped we snacked on the row of cheese samples in the other room, also made at Fairview.

Relaxed and happy already with three more estates still to visit we headed to Franschhoek for our second estate. We sat outside this time, under the shade of the trees with the mountains behind us. A woman brought out a six wine bottles and explained each one as she poured us a series of small glassfuls. We made our way through our second six and got back in the van for the short drive to our next estate. At this estate, which apparently specialized in pinotages, we sat at a sleek black bar as our guide poured us each wine himself. A few wines through, he stopped us, telling us this wine was to be drunk at lunch and leading us out to the patio. After lunch, we finished tasting the wines and left for our last stop, an estate in Stellenbosch. We took a tour of the winery, where we saw how what were grapes move from wood barrels through giant stainless steel equipment. Then we sat down on a long bench for our last wines of the day. We drove back with the late afternoon sun, a day well spent.

On Friday we split up a bit, each going to spend our last day in Capetown how we wanted. Scott and Katie had rented a car and took a few people with them to drive down the coast to Cape Point. Other people walked around or did last minute packing. I decided to see the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. The fifteen minute cab ride alone was beautiful, as we made our way around the mountain and through twisting tree-lined streets. Leaving my cab to pick me up in two hours, I walked through the small courtyard entrance to a breath taking view. The gardens are placed right at the foot of Table Mountain, with paths winding through brilliant green grass and strange, vivid flowers. I walked up, from the cacti, to the shade loving flowers, to the trees that had existed in prehistoric times, to finally a large grassy lawn where I sat down and enjoyed where I was. On one side I was enclosed by the mountain, the bright sun making it just a grey silhouette. And on another side I could look out and see the city, and the ocean, spread out and glinting behind it.

Tutorial 2: Model AnswersTutorial 2: Model AnswersTutorial 2: Model AnswersTutorial 2: Model AnswersI got back just in time for happy hour across the street and for our last night in Capetown.

Capetown (part 1: Mostly About Sharks)

2009-05-12T15:16:00.000-07:00

My first sight of Capetown was at night as we drove down the twisting highway through the mountains that surrounded it. It came into view and all I could think was, this is no town. This is a sprawling, sparkling beauty of a city. The lights went on in all directions until they stopped, at the deep blackness that could only be the sea. This was what happened to a city when it had room to spread out.

We couldn’t enjoy it quite yet, though. First there was the minor hell of returning the rental cars to get through. At a strange airport in a strange city, we were of course immediately lost. We finally managed to get rid of the cars, (which we had seriously considered at one point just ditching in a parking lot and making stupid Imperial Car Rentals go try to find them themselves) got picked up by the shuttle to our hostel, and were driving up Long Street by 1am.

Our first impression of this street that would be our home for nine days was pretty much pure insanity. Every building was lit up and crowded, the streets were swarming with people. Music was blaring, people were shouting, the cars were bumper to bumper. We got out in a daze. After six hours of driving ending up here seemed like a dream. Our shuttle driver had given us our keys, so we unlocked the heavy wooden door and made our way quietly up the stairs to our rooms. Katie, Lindsey, Liz, Scott and I shared a room – with Luke, who was only staying for three days then going to Mozambique, on a mattress on the floor. Nouria, Jerica and Sheneita were downstairs and shared the room with three other girls.

Before bed, we stood for a moment on the large wraparound balcony that gave us a view of most of the street. Directly across from us one of the clubs was packed, loud music pumped from its open widows and its own balcony was full of people. We could hear everything from the window of our little room, but we were so tired I don’t think any of us cared.

We slept late. Our tired bodies only waking up when the intense sunlight coming through our window, and transforming our room from bedroom to sauna, became unbearable. Outside it was not much better but we were distracted by our first site of Capetown during the day. In the sun we could see Long Streets white Victorian architecture enclosing small crammed together shops and restaurants. Towering above it all, against the blue blue sky was the wide flat cliff of Table Mountain.

The next morning Katie Scott Liz and Luke left to hike up Table Mountain. The rest of us, having no real desire to hike up a mountain in the heat, decided to take the cable car up at a later time, and instead went to the beach. Because it was by a city and not more isolated, as we had begun to get used to, this beach Clifton Beach, was more commercialized and crowded then we were used to. It was still beautiful, though. The mountains surrounded us in the distance, the sand was white, and the water was crystal blue and directly from Antarctica. It was so cold I could step in for less than thirty seconds before my feet turned numb.

The next day we celebrated Easter Sunday by going shark diving. We were picked up a little after 5am, the sky only just beginning to transform from black to that early morning dark blue. The van was full of other young people whose idea of a good time was also to get up at 5am to go swim with sharks. The ride was long, around two hours. I nodded off for a while and when I woke I could see the sun, just rising, burning red over the mountains. We stopped at a little building and got of the van, stretching and yawning. We paid, signed our life away on a few forms, ate a small packed breakfast, heard a few facts and instructions and then were off to the bay to get on the boat.

The boat was not small, but it was not big either. Especially with a large group of hopeful shark divers crowded on board. We all found a seat for the ride out to open water, though. I sat near the rail, enjoying the bright sun and the still slightly misty feeling of the morning air. The ocean was calm, but the boat rode high in the water bouncing rhythmically up and down. I saw signs of seasickness on some people, including some of my friends, and I was glad that my dad had somehow associated bumpy rides and turbulence with “fun” when I was little.

We stopped maybe twenty minutes out, in an area known for its migratory birds and near an island with a large seal population. If we had just kept going eventually we would have hit Antarctica. As soon as we stopped and the first piece of bait, tied to a rope, was thrown over the side, a shark was spotted. This was apparently pretty unusual, usually they had to wait a little for the sharks to find them. This one, I guess was eager. We scrambled to the side of the boat, grabbing for cameras that weren’t out of their cases yet. The shark was beautiful, small for a great white, which still means it could probably have eaten me in about two bites. I most clearly saw its fin, slicing through the still water, just like in the movies. We were ready and looking around now, and more started coming. Some tried to attack the bait, making enormous splashes, so large that in all the foam and angry movement I could only get glimpses of grey fins.

Then I got to go in the cage. I had put a wetsuit on, which was making me slightly cold and damp. The cage was tied to the boat, all the way submerged in the water except for a little room for our heads. I dropped into the cage to join the four other guys already inside and moved to the edge, grabbing the inside rail. We waited, staring, for a shark to come near the bait. When the captain saw a shark he would yell “down!” and we would lower ourselves completely underwater, our eyes straining to see the shark swim past. I often didn’t see the shark underwater- despite the weight belt that had been dropped over my shoulder, I still tended to float up a bit, and I wasn’t always looking in the right direction! But then I saw it. We submerged and there was a great white shark swimming right towards me. It’s its mouth I remember. It was like staring into some enormous dangerous, living piece of machinery. A mouth that could break any of us in two without a thought. We had been warned to keep our hands and feet inside the cage, not because they might become food but because a shark could press up against them when swimming by, and the scales could scrape us. I hadn’t thought of that much while in the cage, but at the sight of that mouth I checked my hands and feet and found myself moving back a little. And not, I think, because I was worried about scrapes.

Between the shock of the cold Indian Ocean, the amazement at having an up close experience with a shark, and the simple enjoyment of being in the water in a beautiful place on a beautiful day, I was feeling pretty happy when I finally climbed out of that cage. I spent most of the rest of my time on the boat, lying on the bow in the sun, occasionally holding things for seasick people as they threw up over the side, and spotting more sharks. We headed back after almost four hours, the sharks starting to lose interest and most of us content. The total at the end of the day: 7 individual great white sharks. The smallest 2 meters (about 6.5 feet) the largest 3.5 meters (about 11.5 feet).

Road Trip

2009-05-05T14:20:00.000-07:00

I’m updating! Here is the first week of April break- Capetown will come soon…

After finally getting our rooms packed up and everything stored in padlocked rooms, we left Grahamstown around noon on what was probably one of the hottest days of the semester. Opening the windows as we drove down the highway only managed to blow more hot air on us. It was a relief to pass through Port Elizabeth and get closer to the coast and the cooler sea air.

We got to Jeffreys Bay in the late afternoon. Our hostel was called “Island Vibe” and set right on the beach. Made up of a bunch of low, wood buildings it was crowded with other vacationing backpackers. We had a small dorm room that we shared with three other people. We didn’t do much there, just relaxed, enjoyed the beach and celebrated our first day of vacation.

We drove off the next day, all of us a bit tired from a fun night, toward Tsikimma National Forest and Djembe backpackers. Arriving in the evening we were given most of the run of a large cabin, down the road from the main building. I was happy to sleep in the large open loft with its wood panelled walls and garreted roof. It was rainy that night but we made the short walk to the main building for a drink. We sat around the outdoor fire, still burning in the drizzle.

The next morning we were up around nine, and packed around ten. We said goodbye and drove the twenty minutes to Storms River and the world’s highest bungy jump. The bridge over the narrow gorge was certainly high and the gorge was definitely deep. We said farewell to Lindsey and Shenita as they strapped on their harnesses, promising to tell their mothers they loved them if they died, and made our way to the view point. From where we stood, looking at the platform balanced right in the middle of the arch of the bridge and under the road, everything looked tiny. The people were indiscernible, just movements in the shadow. The first person jumped, and the cord looked like a piece of string. Like the dolls tied to string that I used to launch from the backs of chairs in pretend bungy jumps. Yes I remember I used to do that. I sometimes got bored of playing dress up with my barbies.

I had brought my new camera with me, so I used the zoom to look for our friends. They were some of the last to go, falling straight, the cord loose and trailing behind, until suddenly, it snapped and their bodies hurtled up again, and then down, until they were just softly swinging upside down, in the shadow of the gorge.

After that excitement we went back a little further into the Tsikimma forest to go on a ziplining tour through the canopy. Standing on platforms at the tops of such huge ancient trees was amazing. And the ziplining wasn’t bad either!

After lunch we headed again for the coast, to the small beach town of Knysna. We stayed in a small house down the road from the quiet downtown. Filled with shops and restaurants, the town and waterfront reminded me a little of a beach front version of Old Town, Alexandria. And behind the more expensive stores, in the parking lots of the supermarkets, the large Rasta community of Knysna has their vending stands. Bob Marley t-shirts, knitted caps, jewellery and herbs of all kinds are in plentiful supply here. Jerica made friends with a rasta named Brother Charles. His dreads falling past his waist, he would smile showing the gap where his two front teeth used to be, and tell us the healing properties of the herbs he was selling.

After two nights in Knysna we left for a small beach house right outside of Mossel Bay. Probably the nicest place we stayed at, we had the whole upstairs to ourselves including a large tv and a kitchen. We walked up the road to the beach which was incredibly beautiful in the early evening light. A small river ran into the ocean- over the bridge running across it the sun was setting, and opposite, over the water the moon had just risen. We drove into the city to pick up some food and wine, and used the barbecue area (or braai area as we call it here!) to make dinner of hamburgers and sausages.

The next morning we had planned to go shark diving, but we had been warned by the very nice owner of our beach house that no sharks had been spotted in a while. So, not wanting to waste a trip, we decided to cancel and wait until Capetown. We drove over to the Cango Caves near the town of Oudtshoorn instead. Carved out of the side of a chain of mountains, the caverns were beautiful, and hundreds of millions of years old. They reminded me very much of the Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, although I think some of these formations were even older. Walking out on the observation deck after our tour I noticed the mountain across from us dotted with forest fires, sending white smoke into the blue sky.

By late afternoon we were driving away from the caves and, finally, toward Capetown.

A Good Time in the Middle of Nowhere

2009-03-29T12:41:00.000-07:00

Our third weekend trip was to the Ganora farm in what’s called the little Karoo. The Karoo is desert land that covers a major portion of South Africa. The little Karoo is the smaller, semi-desert area, about three hours from Grahamstown. The farm was beautiful, surrounded by rolling hills covered alternately with tall grass and huge cacti. It wasn’t near any other house or town for miles. Just sheep. Lots and lots of sheep. And many dogs, all Jack Russell terriers which would often follow us wherever we walked. Two of us each shared a comfortable room that had been converted from a horse stall. After arriving around five, we had dinner in another converted barn, in front of a stone fireplace. Outside it was so dark and clear that we could see the milky way. We lay on our backs in the darkest part of the driveway and just stared up for a while, spotting shooting stars. We went to sleep early and one of the dogs slept on my bed.

The next morning after breakfast and a visit to the pet owl and meerkats, we went on an extremely long but mostly enjoyable hike through the canyon that made up part of the farm. Although South Africa is going through one of its worst droughts on record, the farm had just gotten a little rain so we ended up walking through the river that ran through the canyon a lot and getting entirely wet and muddy. The rain also filled up the small rock pools in part of the river, so Alice and I stopped and went swimming for a bit. The inside of the canyon was beautiful with steep rocky walls covered by flowers and bushes. We could hear baboons, on the very tops of the walls, calling to each other with hoots and barks. When we looked up we would see them for quick moments running across the cliff face.

After our hike we drove a short distance to the Brewery, where the owner brews and sells his own beer. We were still sweaty and muddy from the hike so many of us just took our shoes off and walked in barefoot, to sit down at tables in a small green backyard. We were served a delicious lunch of different kinds of cheese, meat and bread. And of course, beer. I’m not much of a beer drinker, but the beer I had, which the owner said was brewed with a little honey was probably the best I’ve ever tasted

We then made a short stop at the little town of Nieu-Bethesda (not much like the US Bethesda) and at the Owl House. Owned by a woman named Helen Martins who went a little crazy living isolated in the tiny town and began to obsessively decorate her house, turning it into a piece of art. Sculptures surround the house, mostly of people, many of nativity scenes. There are also many of owls, as the name suggests, and small shelters constructed from green glass bottles. The inside of the house was all color. The window glass was all different colors, each room carefully painted in red, or yellow or green. Huge mirrors in the shape of the small old-fashioned hand mirrors hung on many of the walls.

We went back to the farm and most of us rested for a while. That evening we were shown the many, many fossils that had been found and collected on the farm, all older than the dinosaurs. We learned that while we had been hiking we could have quite possibly walked past a few 350 million year old fossils. The karoo is apparently one of the few places in the world where fossils this old are discovered and the farm is often visited by scientists and researchers. Many of the fossils discovered are in museums throughout Africa. I was most impressed by the man who showed us the fossils. He had apparently discovered most of them himself. He had no formal training, I think, he was not a scientist or a professor. He just, as he said, had a “knack” for spotting a fossil when most of us would see a rock. He went through the fossils showing how one was a piece of jaw, another the impression of leg bones. As soon as he showed us we saw it, but I have no idea how he managed to see that jaw in the ground in a pile of rocks.

The next morning we walked to a couple of the caves where we could see cave paintings by the San people and the Khoi. We then said our goodbyes to the farm owners, and to the dogs, and started the drive back. We stopped on the way at a national park and walked up the high cliff face to get a view of the Valley of Desolation. I don’t know why it was called that. The valley was in fact quite beautiful with a large lake and a small town in it. Not very desolate at all.

Next week is the end of term and April break! We will be driving up the Garden Route to Capetown…

Two Worlds, One Week: World 2 Amasango

2009-03-17T11:52:00.000-07:00

Walk down High Street, past the cathedral, past the traffic circle and you come to Grahamstown’s now closed rail station. Past the old stone station and the one engine of an antique train sitting in front of it, down the unused tracks is a small building with a barbed wire fence around it. The Amasango School looks like any of the other slightly ramshackle houses in the area. The only distinguishing feature is the small white van with “Amasango Career School” printed on it.

This Monday was the second time Alice and I had visited Amasango. The first time, last week, had been a bit of a bust. Not realizing the school day ended at 2:00 we came too late in the afternoon, as school was ending. We still met some of the kids and walked around a little bit, but it had obviously been an incredibly stressful day and everyone there looked exhausted.

We arrived at 12:30 and were fairly randomly directed to a third year classroom. The year which a child is placed in is determined by education level, not age, so it was not exactly the typical age group of third grade students. Their ages ranged from 10 to maybe 14 or 15, maybe older. It was their “playtime.” The teacher had finished lessons for the day and the students were free to play in the classroom. Some of them were drawing, on scraps of paper with pencils or writing pens. Others were playing cards with a deck that seemed to have six black eights. The older students sat in the back talking and laughing like most students everywhere do when given the chance. Some children just sat, their exercise books still sitting in front of them. Two were asleep, with their heads on their desks. Alice and I didn’t really know what we were doing, so we just plunged in.

I sat with two of the smaller boys as they showed me what they were drawing. One of them was very interested in drawing houses. Or one house, really. A square with a flat top and sloped sides with a door in the middle. Inside he drew one bed and cupboards, outside a waterspout and a long row of steps leading to the door. I asked where he lived, and he told me the Eluxolweni shelter, the other boy got up and led me to the door to point out the brown brick building on a hill across from us. The shelter for street children is where most of the children who come to Amasango live.

I met many other students, tried, (and mostly failed) to remember and pronounce their names. I’m not going to attempt to spell any of them. The older students were amazed I didn’t know Xhosa, and I told them they would just have to teach me. I don’t think I am going to be a very good student, although I do know ‘molo’ means hello and ‘unjani’ means how are you?

It was as I attempted to explain where England was to one of the older boys, while simultaneously trying to think of the right thing to say to the girl who looked at my wavy hair with jealousy and asked why it was so soft, and right after trying to help one of the younger ones with a math problem, that I realized how inadequate I was for this job. What these kids really need are ten more teachers, counseling, and school rooms stocked with school supplies. Instead they get some college students.

I am out of my depth, but so is everyone who works here. Jane, the teachers, the staff, the security guard who sits all day in the doorway of the school office. Thursday we will be coming at 8:30 in the morning. I plan to bring some books, and a map, to show everyone where England is.

Two Worlds, One Week: World 1 Amakhala

2009-03-17T11:40:00.000-07:00

Our second weekend trip was to Amakhala game reserve, about an hour from Grahamstown. I had had a late Friday night spent dancing at one of the clubs with some of my classmates from political science who were all feeling a little celebratory after finishing an essay. The club, Slipstream, was having a supposedly “indie music night” but it was more like an ‘American music from the 80’s night’ which was also good. Music in South Africa can be a strangely touchy and racialized subject, actually. The music that is usually heard in clubs or blasting from a student’s open window is very different from the music usually heard in America. Not that its not American, most of the music is- but hiphop and rap which are often heard in clubs in America are still considered “black” music and only the “black” clubs and bars play it. Clubs and bars that are more frequented by white people play techno and often old American songs that were popular in middleschool. We Americans, not being picky, will go to any of them, although sometimes we have had trouble getting white South African friends to go with us. No one admits they don’t want to go to a black club, they just say its in a bad neighborhood or its ‘dodgy.’ Slipstream, seems to not have as much of a reputation for being either black or white, but to attract more of the offbeat crowd.

Any ways I didn’t really want to get up early to charge my cameras and pack but I dragged myself out of bed and we arrived at Amakhala in early afternoon. This huge lodge was no backpacking hostel. A huge white house with a living room and five bedrooms was all for us. I got a beautiful room to myself with flowers on the pillows and a white claw bathtub in the bathroom. We walked up a little path to the building that held the dining room and we were served lunch. Then our ranger came and picked us up in an open jeep and we took a three hour drive through the park. I can’t name or count the animals we saw. We saw a herd of giraffe hanging out with zebra, we saw a mother and son white rhino and an extremely rare black rhino- only 3,000 of them exist in the world. We saw two cheetahs lying in the grass. It was an amazing experience.

When we got back we went to dinner and then downstairs to the tiny room that had been converted to a pub to hang out with the other rangers and the owner of the lodge, Bill. Sitting in the little room, surrounded by animal head trophies (most of which I think were killed for overpopulation reasons or found dead- but still not the decorations I would have chosen) and leafing through the scrapbook one of Bill’s granddaughters had made for him, I started to feel like I had stepped into some completely different reality. A version of South Africa, with ‘high tea’ and black servants that had existed long ago, and some people had just decided to stay in. I looked at the photo of Bill in his highschool uniform in the 1940s, pictures of the gamepark fields covered in flowers and at the old man, sitting at the bar, drinking his gin and water. It would be so easy, I thought, to never leave here. To sit in this bar every night, and go look at beautiful animals every day.

We all somehow managed to get up the next morning for a 6am boat ride down the river where we saw monkeys, gorgeous birds, and a humongous lizard, and then a drive over to the lion side of the park. The lions were being shy though, so we didn’t see them, but after everything else we hardly felt disappointed. I didn’t want to leave, but as we drove out of the gate I was glad. Even Alice couldn’t stay in Wonderland forever.

Elephants!

2009-03-09T07:39:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we took a day trip to Addo Elephant Park, about an hour away from Grahamstown. An American we met named Wren who got a scholarship to go study music all over the world, rented a car and drove us over. Not sure what we would see as it was the middle of the day, not considered the best animal watching time, we drove quietly through the main gate and rolled down all the windows. We immediately spotted a couple animals: a kudu (an antelope/deer type animal) hanging out by the side of the road, a meerkat, some warthogs, a big pretty bird of some kind.

Coming to a turn in the road we were lucky enough to decide to turn right, because only a few minutes later we came on one of the watering holes which was surrounded by elephants! They are amazing to watch, so graceful. I read later in the brochure how elephants are contacts animals, they like to touch each other, and it seemed very true, they were always constantly grouped together, always aware of the other, in what seemed to be a very caring way.

One of them so wanted to get to the rest of the group that he had to cross the street, through and in front of the dozen cars that had stopped to watch the elephants and right in front of our car! It was wonderful, you don’t truly realize how enormous an elephant is until it strolls in front of your car.

By the end of the day my list of animals seen consisted of elephants, kudu, warthogs, zebra, red hartebeest, leopard tortoise, meerkat, ostrich, big bird thing and either buffalo or a big cow. Not bad for about three hours. This weekend we go on an overnight trip to another game reserve. Maybe we’ll see a lion…

Weekday Things

2009-03-09T07:31:00.000-07:00

Since its been a while I’ve split this into two posts- but if you just want to know about the elephants just skip this one!

I’ve been in South Africa for four weeks now. A routine is starting to come together of usually morning classes, walking into town to do whatever errand I need to do, and sometimes to have lunch with someone and in the evening either doing work or going back out for a drink or ice-cream or whatever.

Thursday Alice and I met with Jane Bradshaw, the woman in charge of the Amasango School, the place where we will be volunteering. I was incredibly impressed by her. I know what liberals aren’t always received happily here but you could tell Jane was the real thing. The kind of person you can’t believe can possibly be able to do what she’s doing, but you’re so glad she does. The kind of woman who started this branch of the Amasango school pretty much on her own and has been running it ever since, dealing with stories of homelessness, drug addiction and teenage pregnancy. Who no matter what she does often sees kids immediately drop out when they go back to mainstream school. But who still couldn’t help choking up when talking about her worry for one of her volunteers who had gotten very sick that day and had to be hospitalized. She cheered up after talking about it though, and after a piece of the Madhatter’s carrot cake, and Alice and I arranged a time to go down to the school next week just to see the place and figure out where we would best fit.

Thursday night a group of us went to the Old Gaol for open mic night. As the name suggests the Old Gaol was converted from a jail- its now a backpackers lodge and bar. Through two big double doors there is a large front room with tables and to the side a smaller room with couches and the bar. A side door in the large room leads to the large stone courtyard. The wind rustled between the stone and I looked up and there were stars coming out behind the clouds. Its was still early, Nouria planned to sing and wasn’t sure when to come, so there was no crowd yet. Just a group sitting around a hookah and a few others leaning over guitars. The only light was the few lit lamps on the set up stage and the cigarettes hanging from most people’s mouths. Stairs up the side of the courtyard led to a balcony in front of a row of cells that have been converted into little bedrooms. Some of the students from the Netherlands are staying in them and one of the students, Milou, let us see her cell. It was much nicer than you would imagine, with a large bed and bright orange walls. Not much in the way of windows though… I sadly forgot my camera but I am definitely going back some time and taking some pictures.

Beach Weekend

2009-02-24T08:24:00.000-08:00

This Friday Ashwin took us on the first of the four trips arranged by the international office around South Africa. We went to Cintsa, a town on what’s called the Wild Coast of the eastern cape. The area is known for its undeveloped land that holds lots of animals and hard to access beaches. We stayed at the Buccaneers backpacker lodge, about two and a half hours away (more if you get slightly lost as we did). Most of the route consisted of steep hills, some of it was on road that was hardly paved. Eventually we bumped and shook our way up into a compound of small bungalows. Our little bungalow had 4 rooms, a large main room with kitchen, two small bedrooms and a bathroom. Vines and flowers grew all over the walls and every morning we woke up to the noise of a monkey jumping on the roof.

There were things to do, we wanted to go to the game park and see elephants but there was a large group visiting and everything was booked. We’re still getting used to the South African laid back approach. Just because you say you’d like to book something to one person on staff tonight it doesn’t mean that he’ll automatically tell the person working tomorrow! So we just spent all our time that weekend, alternating our time between the beach, dinner, and the bar. Not a bad weekend.

In Pursuit of Peace and Reconciliation

2009-02-18T03:56:00.000-08:00

Saturday morning we all managed to get up in time for the tour of the townships that the international office had arranged for us and any other international students. Our tour guide’s name was Mbuleli Mpokela. I remember this because I got his card- not really a card- just squares of paper with “Mbuleli Tours” printed on them. Mbuleli came from the townships himself and seemed to have worked his way up, creating this tour business by himself. Dressed in a leather jacket with a little engraved nametag, he had an obvious pride in his Xhosa heritage and history.

I purposefully didn’t bring camera, even though most people on the tour did. I was just a little uncomfortable taking pictures of poverty like it’s a tourist attraction. We already were on a tour though, so guess I was already treating the townships somewhat as a tourist attraction, so that might have been kind of hypocritical of me.

We started at a building called Settlers Monument. On top of a hill overlooking Grahamstown, we had already been inside the monument a few times for orientation events. The monument was built in the 70s to honor the achievements of the English speaking settlers in Grahamstown. We didn’t go in, instead Mbuleli pointed us to the remains of a fort still standing in front of the monument. In 1819, he told us, the Xhosa people gathered to fight the English who had settled on their land. Many English were killed but eventually many more Xhosa were. The remains of the fort, 3 cannons that were used to fire on the attacking Xhosa, had been left as a memorial to the English who died in what was called the battle of Grahamstown.

We drove into one of the townships only a little ways before we stopped at a hill again, this one overlooked the brightly colored tiny houses and shacks of the townships. In the center was a small circular monument, stairs going up the front and the back. This place, our guide told us is called Egazini, where most of the battle took place and most of the Xhosa lost their lives. We climbed the stairs to the top of the monument. It had been raining and a pool of water lay over most of the words etched into the stone on the floor, In Pursuit of Peace and Reconciliation the people of Grahamstown united to build this memorial to the warriors and soldiers who died on 22 April 1819. It looked sad all alone on the hill in the morning mist, especially compared to the huge building and “living” monument (as the settlers building is called) we had just left. I wondered how many people know what the monument commemorates or that it even exists.

We got back in the van and kept driving. We passed tiny houses and dirt roads. Cows and dogs eyed the van from the side of the road. A man in a suit, holding a briefcase in one hand and his tie in the other walked slowly along one of the paths, past the kids playing in the dirt, toward one of the tin roofed houses. Mbuleli says these tin roofed houses are much better than the old ones made much of mud but he points out many of the longer thinner houses that have been neatly divided in two by different colors of paint. Houses that are painted two different colors, he explains, are houses where the two families living there do not get along. Most people, seemed glad to see us waving as the van passed.

We passed the hospital, dedicated to the treatment of tuberculosis and AIDS. On one of its walls is painted, “We Care, Do You? United In The Fight Against AIDS and TB.” We passed piles of trash along the street. We passed a huge billboard that says “If You Don’t Register You Can’t Vote.” We pass churches, many of them full of people. Because everyone who can find a job only has time for work all week, Mbuleli explained, Saturdays have been dedicated as funeral days.

We drove up a hill on which many of the houses were built on top of old graves. We stopped for a moment and Mbuleli took us to the home of an old women who has lived there for a very long time. She spoke a little English, but we really only had to say one word to communicate- Obama.

We stopped at a building that used to be a prison and is now an art studio for local artists. The word Egazini is painted on the front above a mural showing the Xhosa and the Battle of Grahamstown. We walked around and looked at the works, many of which were prints made by cutting intricate designs into pieces of wood and using a large printing press to transfer the design to paper. While we were there Mbuleli also introduced us to two women from the ANC who had been holding a rally for the women of the township nearby There is a lot of talk about the elections in Grahamstown but after hearing Mbuleli and these women speak there seems to be a split between the poor and more wealthy parts of Grahamstown. Most of the people at the university are really disgusted by the corruption in the ANC and are planning to vote for COPE or “anything but the ANC.” The people in the townships don’t seem to see it quite that way though. Throughout our tour Mbuleli described how the ANC had built homes, and helped get water and electricity and indoor plumbing to a lot of the townships. There is still incredible poverty and the ANC may be corrupt but a lot of people still remember when it was worse.

Our last stop was at another house in the township, where we served a traditional Xhosa meal by a middle-aged lady with white dots painted around her eyes. The meal was simple and very good, and there was plenty of it, it must have taken her all day to prepare that much food. I don’t remember the Xhosa names of any of the foods, many of them pronounced with the impossible click sounds, but there were dumplings and a spinach/broccoli cheese thing and beans.

It was a strange, sad, warm place to visit. When we left for the twenty minute trip back to campus it was raining hard, but at Rhodes is was only cloudy.

I might not be in Chestertown Anymore

2009-02-15T04:44:00.000-08:00

It was a long and hard struggle, but I am signed up for classes. I am –I hope- now taking journalism 2 History of SA media, which I pretty much managed to just force my way into. Wander around an academic department long enough looking lost and helpless and eventually someone will take pity on you. Also Political Science 3 which consists of one term course called Thinking Africa and the second term is International Relations. Along with those is our required course just for Washington College students, which gives me a full load, since the poli sci class is 3rd year which in SA counts as 8 credits. I had to drop the English courses, ironically the easiest ones to get because that was too heavy a course load.

But that was not the fun part of Friday.

Friday night was the last night of orientation week and there was a street party on one of the main streets in campus. It had started to rain by the time we got there and the huge crowd of people danced and shivered in front of a full concert size stage flashes lighting up dancers to the end of the street for moments. I could feel the street shake a little from the music and the dancers. It was too wet too stay for very long so we walked into town, trying to get into one of the local clubs, but as all of Rhode’s was out, the line was too long and we ended up at what has already become the usual, the Rat and Parrot.

Culture Shock

2009-02-12T14:56:00.000-08:00

It rained yesterday. An unsteady, indecisive rain, that came and went and made everyone walk around with their eyes on the sky waiting for the next shower to raise their hoodies. At night the rain finally decided to become a downpour. The wind rattled outside and it got so chilly I closed my window for the first time all week. A little cold rain was worth it though, because today was beautiful, sunny warm and breezy. I walked into town and bought a muffin from a little coffee place, that is also an outdoor bar at night (I’m pretty sure almost any place that serves food in Grahamstown is also a bar) with a pretty open courtyard with wooden benches.

So far the culture shock has been less a shock and more of a creeping wave. There aren’t really any huge things so far, just a lot of little things to get used to. The 7 hour time difference, the 10 rands to a dollar, seeing a monkey run across the road as we drive in to town.

The biggest culture shock has come the past few days attempting to register for classes. I have been at it for two days now and so far the only class I’ve managed to sign up for is English. Since I am an international student, I have to go through the international office to sign up for classes. First I tell them what classes I’m interested in and they give me letters for the heads of those departments for them to sign to confirm I have met with them and we have agreed on a certain course. So I’ve spent the past two days walking from the English department to the Political Science department to the Journalism department trying to just find the people I’m supposed to talk to. At Poli Sci I was told the head of the department would not be in until Friday and apparently the expert on South Africa left so it would not be possible to take a course simply on South African politics (! How do you not have someone to teach about your own country?) At journalism I emailed the Head in charge of academics who referred me to the person in charge of their international students who referred me to their person in charge of third years and I still don’t know who to talk to! I do have English now though, two ‘papers’ or sub-courses which should make up one full course, Post colonialism and New Literature. Tomorrow I attempt poli sci and journalism again…

More creeping culture shock was this night. One of the orientation events was the screening of a movie and I found it rather illuminating. Not the movie itself really- a crime/action movie, called Jeruselema, locally produced and acted, very much like any action movie in the US- but the student audience’s reaction to it. Here, watching a move, the divisions between black and white seemed most apparent. The movie focused on an anti-hero who rises from hijacking cars to becoming the biggest slumlord in Hillbrow. The loud laughs and often cheers from the black members seemed to reveal an empathy for the life shown on the screen of poverty and crime that whites could not understand. There were loud laughs and nods when on screen the hero’s soon to be teacher tells him what he does for a living. The hero says “so you’re a hijacker?” the teacher replies “I like to think of it more as affirmative repossession.” There were cheers when the hero, money starting to come in from hijackings carries a tv into his tiny house for his family. We watch and we try to understand but we’re not in on the joke, not me, not any of the white faces in that audience.

Déjà vu

2009-02-08T14:46:00.000-08:00

The next morning we walked into town. Like Chestertown, and perhaps every small town around the world, Grahamstown has pretty much one main street called High Street on which almost all the shops and restaurants are located. Everything seems more colorful, though, lots of light pink brick and white paint and green everything. Grahamstown is much busier too, especially at night. We stopped at the local supermarket chain called Checkers, and I was pleasantly surprised at how well stocked with American products it was, including shelves of American shampoo and conditioners and even Heinz ketchup! And of course everything is extremely cheap. At ten rands to a dollar a 300R cell phone costs 30 dollars. I have a feeling this could be dangerous. Even if everything always seems like a bargain, eventually those bargains add up! We ate lunch at another rather strangely decorated restaurant- this one had an, as Nouria described it “tastefully racist,” American cowboy and Indian theme. The burgers were great though.

Sunday night was, well… weird. A jazz night had been organized as one of the orientation events but before we went our RAs or ‘wardens’ as they’re called here told us to dress up and all meet in the common room early. Then all the boys from another residence came over and we randomly paired up. My ‘date’ was nice enough but a first year like all the students that aren’t international right now and more interested in talking with old highschool friends. It was a strange déjà vu like experience, like going through freshman orientation all over again except this time with alcohol. I went home early deciding that once was enough for awkward first year mingling, but of course most of this week is going to be these orientation type activities so I’ll just have to see how it goes…

Getting Here

2009-02-07T11:54:00.000-08:00

Getting the internet to work is a rather lengthy process here so I decided to start writing anyway so I don’t forget anything in the meantime…

After about 19 hours of traveling from DC to Johannesburg to Port Elizabeth, our little group arrived at the hotel in Port Elizabeth around 10:00 at night on Friday. Too tired to walk over to the beach we sat in the little courtyard, dipped our feet in the pool, and tried to take in the fact that we were sitting under palm trees in 60 degree weather, in Africa. Saturday morning we walked across the street to the beach, which was absolutely beautiful. We played on the rocks and I had to agree with everyone, I could have just stayed there the whole five months. But instead we only had an hour and then Ashwin, the resident helper and guide for WAC students came to bring us to Grahamstown and Rhodes University.

South Africa is not a country of huge SUVs and minivans, mostly compact little white vans are seen on the roads and quite a few old style hippie VW vans. So when Ashwin came he came in a teeny tiny van with a teeny tiny cart/trailer thing hooked behind it. Now everyone had done a fairly good job of packing light (even me!) but 5 months is a long time and of course all our luggage did not fit in the teeny tiny cart Despite the awesome tetris like attempts of the hotel porters to make it all fit, one of my bag’s one of Katie’s and one of Scott’s had to stay behind. Everything was dropped off though, and I was impressed that not one piece of our luggage got lost.

We were quickly registered and placed in our separate residences. I am in Hobson Hall, room 38. It is a single and kind of adorable. There is a large desk, a bookshelf, a bedside table, a very roomy closet with shelves, and one side of the top of the dresser lifts up into a mirror making a little vanity. And in the corner across from the bed, a SINK! Whoever thought of putting sinks in dorm rooms was a genius. My large shuttered widow faces the front of the building and looks out onto one of the many streets running through campus, it’s a useful spot for friends still without cell phones to shout up at.

After getting settled a little we met Ashwin for dinner at a strange little restaurant decorated to look like an Italian bistro with huge black and white photos of mostly American movie icons on one wall. The food however, was buffet style and mostly South African, which from what I can tell consists of a lot of meat and cheese. It was Scott’s 21^st birthday so we stopped by the most popular student hangout called the Rat and Parrot, a constantly crowded English-style pub, to celebrate and get a feel for Grahamstown nightlife, which with the drinking age at 18 and alcohol incredibly cheap, is definitely a little livelier then Chestertown.

two and then fifteen hours

2009-02-05T08:24:00.000-08:00

two hours till we leave for the airport. My bags are packed, but not quite closed- I have a feeling that will be the hard part. I am imagining the warm of the summer sun but having trouble believing it is really out there somewhere...