The backwards aquarium

Here are pictures from shark diving. The one below is of the shark attacking the tuna head bate. It is up against the cage, the corner of which you can see. The cage was big enough to accomodate five divers at once.

The rest of the pictures are self explanatory. Sharks are terrifying-- I never want to see a dorsal fin like that whilst I am surfing or in the water not trying to bate sharks. The landscape shot is of Whale Cove, a place we stopped on the way to see the Southern (Bright or Rite, I am not sure) whale. Whales are predictably in this beautiful little cove, hanging out and mating. For some reason all South African tour guides know a lot about whale mating habits... It seems to be a a highlight for them to tell us exactly how many kilograms of ejaculated whale sperm go.... etc. etc.

I wish I had a few more shark pictures-- like me in the suit or something but unfortunately I don't. The little boat we embarked to sea on was rather like a toy duck in a the sea and I felt most sea sick. I lost my lunch several times over, even when I was in the water in the cage waiting to see sharks. Advise: I will not go to the maritime academy, I will take dramamine on next boat excursion.

Aloha!

I thought I would add this picture, it is my window's view. Not only a window though, I have quite a nice balcony as well. I fancy this will be a place for sun bathing when the season is right!

The weather has changed dramatically, kiss 75 degrees good bye and do not be forgotten that we are in the midst of winter. I wasn't privvy to the fact that when it rains in Cape Town, it pours.

Conversation with a South African:

me: oh, so glad I brought my umbrella

native: it won't work here, they go inside out in minutes. I swear the rain comes at you 90 degrees, wind and torrents of rain are more common than a baboon raid.

So on my continuing list of stuff: proper raincoat, surf gear, the skills to drive the car on the other side of the road in manual-- I might like to lease a car.

I need not much else.

The difference between reality and expectation has shrunk. This has quite a pleasing effect. It is much different not to be able to go alone somewhere-- my life in Santa Barbara was quite the opposite, freedom a given. It is quite harnessing to have to walk with a male escort and take taxis when in another country you might walk... At the same time, the things I feel jaded towards are a surprise, the chemistry of this country is greatly entertaining-- crime and poverty, childlike enthusiasm for life: uncanned, two worlds living a street apart, a town unionized by the power of liberalism... The dualities are striking and seem to be endless.

The fringe

Mood: highly stoked

Health: poor

Details: throat closing, headache, uncontrollable amount of snotty goo exiting through left nostril.

Other than that I am fine! Today was a great adventure, we started off quite early, before the sun was up at 7:30. The group was our two neighboring houses, most residents were barely awake and about half were quite unsteady from a night of socializing with the Norweigian discovered phenomenon: crackaling, a cheap sparkling wine which goes flat in about half a minute.

Anyway, away on the bus with an animated tour guide who had quite the background—a South African recruit (unwillingly) to a special armed unit instructed to take out thousands of members of a Communist party in Angola in the 1990’s. Keep an eye out for his book, Zulu Fox Trot, which will reveal previous quiet information about the slaughter.

First stop: Maiden point, a lovely view of the Atlantic. A warm wind blowing off the mountain, a fine day was in the making.

Next: Penguins! At Boulder Point I believe. Cute little guys, charismatic with strikingly human behavior. I should like to be a penguin of this sort—sunshine, swimming, a mate for life, anchovies…

Then: A stop in a township community called Ocean View. A town of colored peoples displaced by the apartheid. The homes were three story buildings. Cinder blocks painted various hues that looked much like Brooklyn projects. Laundry blew on lines and kids stood on the roadside to wave as our tour buses rolled in. We watched a program dedicated to helping kids from this area arise from the slums, stomping drug and gang related activities by dancing and singing. They were quite talented dancers that used American rap to break dance and choreograph dances much like MTV music videos. This was a little shocking for me. Why replicate this American music, idolize values not their own?? The people however are quite open about sexuality, the hostess to us referred to her husband as, “the man I sleep with.” Plus the glow of stardom is bright—strong Western influence exists here and it is quite appealing.

On to Cape Point, the most SW point of land in Africa. There is no way I could describe the awe of this place, pictures will suffice, but a visit to this most wondorous landmark is the only way to serve it justice. It is in a national park and some weird elk-equivalent animals roam as do wild ostrich.

I spoke with a friend about how tangible moving abroad now seems. Being here only a few days has made me understand why a person would move to a place such as this to live their life.

All things African until July 19th, 2009

In the beginning: Day 1, July 14^th, 2009

First times: no cell phone, no form of telling time (aside from my own keen interpretation of the sun’s movement across the sky--- it sets in the west, right?) longest duration away from family! And…. First time I feel the sense of adventure boiling from within me with uncontrollable vigor—on the cusp of a great adventure I am so ready!!

Virgin Atlantic Flight: I have here, in my private flying cubicle, a celebration at hand. I have have turned 21 early, as I venture across the Atlantic (not a virgin trip however) and continue far southward to the bottom of the dark continent. A gin and tonic sits aside its watery companion on a small tray table unfolded near my elbow. I clank them together, cheers. Anthony-John is helping me today. His accent so proper and eyes so blue I cannot help but be disarmed by the professional charm of my, well, servant. Alas, this is the long awaited beginning of a magnificent and defining journey. It is here I shall unravel the tale of my travels in South Africa in real time.

As I read a John Grishamm novel (perfect plane reading!) I drifted away from the captivating romance of a directionless but smart and beautiful bartender and her sucsessful domestication of Jeff/Nicholas into the perfect partner in crime, specifically pursuit of tobacco litigation. Right, I drifted away. And thought of my expectations of South Africa—what do I expect to see and do. Who will I meet? What are some ground rules I can lay for myself now, on the cautious side, before I revise them, possibly more liberally.

I scrawlled a few ground rules but found them to not only sound stupid, but be stupid. For instance, “no surfing with sharks” or “no losing stuff.” Stupid because, they are not, obviously, avoidable by written contract. In good form, I shall vow to use my best judgement and not find myself in a preventable situation too sticky to walk away from.

I must, sady, depart the lap top. Abort mission because food is arriving, in courses. I am not sure where we are, somewhere over the midwest, but in this soaring air tube, I’m as far away as Mars.

Day 2: July 15^th

My condition has worsened slightly since last documentation. The virgin flight seemed to be over before it started, a solid 7+ hours of sleep, followed by nausea on the way down. Which resulted in vomit, which was little more than coffee and water. I landed in Heathrow, went to the virgin club for several hours, took a shower, drank much fluids, ate a decent breakfast and had an amateur judo-chop massage. Since then I have strolled the halls, considered a day trip to london (would have cost me like 80 dollars, just for the transit) bought Day Nurse for my cold, read my John Grisham, looked for my friends, pondered getting wasted numerous times, and enjoyed the multilingual, chaotic airport bustle. Now I sit, on the better side of security, attempting to get online by using user names like: Jsmith with the same password for the hot-spot sites. Sad that it can’t just be free. I suppose I could go to duty free, buy a bottle of Glen Livett and call it a day. Only because the ad caught my eye do I write that, and as Ihave learned , good advertising is supposed to create an instantaneous craving for that product.

My attention wanders, the fact that the laptop is open doesn’t mean much. I scribble here and there, content with my many hours here. The new terminal looks rather like a toy factory. The H-beams are exposed, the electrical components of the elevator are bare, little decoration adorns each floor. As I rode five floors up to arrivals from the underground trolley (Piccadilly Line!) I felt as though I might be Charlie, in the great glass elevator. If I were Charlie, I would wonder what business the Pakistani family riding up with me, had with Willy Wonka. He is a mysterious man, that’s for sure.

Attention wayning further. I am interested in a drink. Trusty nalgene has come with me, it may be time to test the asethetic quality of London airport water. Speaking of water, I was milling aorund doing nothing when I was approached by a woman, clip-board in hand near a 3 metre high water well replica I had failed to notice. The woman launched into her “would you like to donate” speech. This special well had a circular play structure attached to a wheel and pulley that brought ground water up from a well deep bellow ground. It was a device implemented several places in Eastern and Southern Africa operated passively, when children played upon it. That is as exciting as cake being nutritionally equivalent to spinach. A fine invention, playful and integrative. I am sure it has draw backs, limitations for sure, but a good idea non the less!

Day 4 or 5: I flew through so many time zones that I missed large parts of several days, so now I am quite unsure of what day of the trip this is.

Capetown excursion today. With a large group of Ida Cooper’s darlings (Ida being the wonderful caretaker/ take-no-crap grandmotherly coordinator of our housing) I went by train to the city center of Capetown. The crowded and loud streets were not unlike New York—hot dog vendors, flower stands, a wealth of merchants set up under tents, in contrast to all-bronze human statues adorning street corners perhaps, young African children danceed traditionally and sand and played instruments. We walked through a park with beautiful gardens that was also a stretch of government buildings and museums. We passed the church, which could have been mistaken for any in Europe, where Desmond Tu Tu became arch bishop of the Anglican church. After this we had lunch at a café, fresh tasty food served by courteous black waiters and baristas. Finally we piled into mini-van taxis, not a common practice for whites of Capetown at all. Unlike America, the idea is to squish as many people into the car as possible for economy. In true African style we fit 17—not bad, but I saw ones filled with what could have be 25.

Now I sit in my bed, freezing this ice-box chamber on the 8^th floor of this twin tower. Little dazed from the time change, but quite, quite happy to be here. I think already I am adjusting to a different pace of life—laid back, not easily offended, jovial, compassionate—describe the likes of Capetonians.