In the beginning: Day 1, July 14th, 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 15th
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 8th 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.
No comments:
Post a Comment