Au Revoir Ile Maurice

Well, a few hours ago I passed the Equator again, I am officially back in the Northern Hemisphere. In a sense that makes me feel closer to home, but truth be told, I am now the farthest away from home on the West Coast of the US than I will be at any other point in this journey. Due to some satellite issues I haven’t been able to check my email, or really get online since we left Mauritius, so I have been out of touch, and delinquent in getting my blogs online. A lot has happened, but I want to describe my time in Mauritius before I discuss ship life. So, let’s start with some Mauritius background.

Learning about Mauritius in the Cultural Pre-Port and in Global Studies was great. It seemed like the perfect place for us to continue our voyage. It is the epitome of a cross-cultural nation. The island of Mauritius (or Ile Maurice, as they call it there) was an uninhabited island in the Indian Ocean until it was discovered by Dutch explorers. It was a lush and tropical place with few native animals. The most notable native species was the famous Dodo Bird. It was a large animal that was not particularly intelligent. It flourished on the island because it had no natural predators. Then the Dutch brought monkeys and other animals, and they hunted the Dodos and by the beginning of the 1600’s, the Dodo… well.. you know the old expression. “It went the way of the Dodo Bird.” It’s astounding how much industry and tourism dollars this small island nation eeks out of a bird that died out almost 400 years ago. The damned bird is on everything. Every cheap ashtray, beach towel, glass mug and t-shirt had a Dodo bird plastered all over it. If I were Dodo Bird, I would feel pretty exploited.

So, as I was saying… the Dutch colonized Mauritius and they brought a number of African slaves to the island, mostly from Mozambique and Southern Africa. Once the Dutch left, the island was taken over by the Portuguese, the English, and the French. It was an important stop for ships sailing around the southern horn of Africa on their way to India and the rest of Asia. The island was also renown for piracy, as the ships that stopped along their trade route made for easy targets. The pirates added to the cultural mix of the island and brought new animals and crafts to the island nation. Once the Suez Canal opened, and ships began to sail the northern route, Mauritius became less important as a trade stop. At this point sugar production became a main industry. When the English abolished slavery the colonists in Mauritius hired and imported indentured servants from India to work on the sugar plantations. The Indian population became a dominant cultural group as the country matured, and eventually became independent in 1968. The fact that there no cultural group that is native to Mauritius is fascinating. Every culture that is represented in the population is alien to the island, and as each new culture arrived, it blended into the existing melting pot. In many ways, Mauritius represents the antithesis of what we encountered in South Africa. Everything we came across on the island reinforced this concept of a “rainbow culture.” The currency (the Mauritian Rupee) has different governmental officials from the past in Mauritius. Each bill had a different gentleman, one was Indian, one was Dutch, one was African, and one of them even had a name that sounded Spanish, and he looked latino. How crazy is that? The entire week leading up to Mauritius, the students had a ton of exams, and everyone was really wiped out after a mentally and physically exhausting (yet exhilarating and wonderful) time in Cape Town. Everyone was looking at Mauritius as the “Spring Break” port. Kovila, our interport student, made a point of saying time and time again “Mauritius is more than just beaches.” I was hoping that our students would really take that to heart and have some wonderful cultural experiences on the island. However, it became increasingly more apparent as we got closer to the country that this was not to be the case. The vast majority of the students rented villas in the various beach communities and planned to party like rockstars for their time in port. Because tourism is now one of the main industries in Mauritius, it was all too easy to find cheap beach villas for the students to share. Because of very (very very) rough seas, our arrival in port was almost delayed by an entire day, and it seemed that every single student on board was bemoaning the loss of one of their two precious villa nights. In the end, Captain Jeremy was able to make up lost time, and we arrived in Port Louis by about noon, and the ship was cleared by about 1:30 or so. Then the students made a mad dash for cabs and were off to their rentals. Pulling into Port Louis was interesting. We haven’t arrived into a port in the middle of the day before. We’ve typically arrived in the early morning hours as dawn was breaking. In this case, we could clearly see the mountains of the island. Mauritius is a volcanic island, and in that respect it is a very young island. All along the landscape, there are jagged peaks and some intense rock formations looming over the port city. The other interesting thing about it is that the mountains, everything for that matter, was covered in green growth. Unlike Cape Town, which was a big city nestled at the base of Table Mountain, Port Louis, was not a very large city. Also, Cape Town opened up and welcomes us with a beautiful waterfront and adventure everywhere. My first impression of Port Louis, was that it seemed industrial and not very welcoming at all. That might have had something to do with the French Warship that was parked right in front of us. Go figure.
I decided to stick close to the ship for the port, and things were blessedly quiet, for the most part. That first afternoon, a bunch of the RDs decided to go for a walk and see Port Louis, the capital of Mauritius. The docks in Port Louis are arranged in a strange way. Large ships, like ours, are forced to dock on the far side of the port. Even though all the commercial and touristy areas were only 100 yards away across the water, there was no easy way to access them. We would have had to walk 45 minutes to get there because the bay weaves around. (I have one word for the port authority: bridge). Luckily the port area had a system of water taxis in place that brought us from the industrial side of the port to the commercial side for the nice fee of $1 (US). This seemed very convenient at first, but got to be pretty annoying b/c everyone is trying to save our dollar bills for India and Vietnam. In addition, the taxis were filthy, billowed thick black exhaust, and the people running the service kept moving the dock on us. You would leave the ship, and have to wander in search of the place where they pick-up and deliver passengers on the industrial side. Plus, the industrial side of the port was poorly lit, had many roaming stray dogs, and was crawling with some of the biggest cockroaches known to man. I also heard stories from many of the women on the ship who were “accidentally” groped by the water taxi drivers. But, they have a monopoly, so we all sort of put up with it. But I digress… So the RD’s decided to go for a walk in Port Louis. We got off the water taxi and consulted our guide books. We saw that the main market place was located nearby and we started to walk through the port city. We quickly came to realize that Port Louis was not the tourism center for this nation that bills itself as an island paradise. The city was filthy, looked extremely run down, and there were people selling random things everywhere. The most popular items seemed to be candles, Q-tips, and the asian equivalent of “Hello Kitty” items. Even though the signs all over the area were in French, and Hindi, and occasionally other languages, I was constantly reminded of Nogales and Tijuana Mexico. As we continued to wander, that image was only strengthened by what I saw. We eventually found the market, and walked among the stalls. The market was fun despite the heat and humidity. However, the people selling their wares were extremely pushy. I tried my polite lines, like “you have beautiful things to sell, but I am not buying today.” But these lines didn’t work, the vendors would just try to convince me to shop at their cousin/uncle/brother’s stall instead, or worse, follow me for a few minutes trying to put their item into my hands. It got frustrating. The interesting thing about the market is that I could find nothing that seemed unique to Mauritius, except for the ubiquitous Dodo Bird paraphernalia. Everything seemed to originate from China, India, or South Africa. They were selling curries, and pashminas, and African masks, and saris, and an assortment of things we all knew we would be seeing, perhaps more authentically, in the countries left to visit on our itinerary. I didn’t end up buying a single souvenirs in Mauritius, in fact I wasn’t even successful at purchasing postcards, so I warn friends and family that you shouldn’t be expecting any cards from Mauritius (my humblest apologies).

We wandered through the produce market, and that was really awesome. I wish I lived in a place with a huge open air produce market. However, when we walked through the meat market, I alternated between holding my breath and gagging on the odor of rotting meat flesh. Blech! We didn’t stick around there too long, but even despite the odor, it was interesting to see the animals being sold, and some even slaughtered right there in the market. Yikes!

We continued our stroll through Port Louis and walked through China Town, which was pretty darn small. On other side of China Town we discovered the Jummah Mosque, which is the second largest and oldest mosque in Mauritius. It was fascinating being there as it was my first visit to a mosque. The clerics were welcoming and allowed us to wander through portions of the building once we had removed our shoes. This surprised us, since we were wearing shorts, and some of the women had bare shoulders. We were a bit early for afternoon prayers, and decided to press on. We circled back through the sad streets of Port Louis and came upon a Hindu Shrine/Temple complex. It was ornate and beautiful, and we stopped and took some pictures (once again, after removing our shoes). The shrine had a fire walking pit/area that had fresh coals. I was envisioning a rite of passage ceremony, and hoping there would be a ceremony during our stay, and better yet, that we would be allowed to participate. We spoke with the man looking over the shrine, and he informed us that we were a week too late. The big fire walking ceremony had taken place one week prior, and that we would, indeed, have been able to participate. The next ceremony would not be held for almost another year. Just my luck. In my quest to try new things on this voyage around the world, how cool would it have been to add fire-walking to the list? On well, maybe in India!
As we walked back to the ship from the Hindu shrine, I noticed that all the buildings seemed to be made of concrete. I asked around and learned that almost every building in Mauritius is constructed from concrete because of the huge Cyclones that barrel through the region fairly regularly. Evidently a really bad one struck the island in the late 60’s and 70% of the island was under water, and it was about a month until electricity was restored. I suppose if that was my reality I would build out of concrete as well. We passed some folks putting up a building, and they were literally just pouring concrete into a mold. No hammers, no nails… nothing but wet cement and steel bar reinforcement. While this technique might make for strong buildings, they certainly didn’t look very appealing. None of the guidebooks I read were that kind to Port Louis and I was beginning to understand why. Many of the people I spoke with were clear in telling me that in order to enjoy Mauritius, I had to get out of Port Louis. I made a decision not to spend more time than necessary in the city. Once we got back to the waterfront, we learned that the one nice/touristy area in Port Louis was the commercial area across from the ship. The area is under the sweep of urban renewal as the city tries to pull in more of the tourist dollar (or rupee in this case). The new mall/hotel/casino complex was called the Caudan Waterfront and was very clean and western in nature. It was a relief after the rest of Port Louis. I felt a little guilty wanting to be in a resorty area. Being in comfortable spaces is not why I came on Semester at Sea, but I had really been expecting Mauritius to feel like a vacation getaway, and Port Louis was more like an assault on my senses. So, the waterfront was a welcome respite. The food court was most interesting. As I mentioned, Ile Maurice is a blend of the many cultures that have colonized the island, or been brought there for labor. This is also evident in the cuisine. We asked our interport student what was a native Mauritian dish and she laughed b/c there really isn’t a uniquely Mauritian dish. She said her favorite foods were Chinese and Indian. I spoke with some of the other S@S’ers and consulted my guidebooks and learned about 2 awesome restaurants, one Chinese and one Indian, and planned to do dinner at them both, but for a late lunch snack, I enjoyed a nice falafel. Yep, Mediterranean food in the south Indian Ocean. A little geographically inappropriate, but what the hey!

After my late lunch with the RD’s we headed back to the ship to wipe away the sweat of the afternoon. Later that evening, I returned to the waterfront and had dinner with RD Matt, Nurse Practitioner Brenda, Mental Health Pro. Arnie, Lifelong Learner Gary, and Professor Judyie. We were a varied group, but it was a lot of fun. We went to a nice Chinese restaurant, called Grand Ocean City, and ate lots of good food including some of the largest prawns I’ve ever seen. I drank so much Jasmine tea I thought I was going to burst, but I couldn’t help myself b/c it was so good. After dinner, we al strolled leisurely back to the water taxi. I decided to make it an early night and enjoyed the peace and calm of the nearly empty ship.

The next morning I joined RD’s Lesley, Matt, and Dan, for an S@S trip to the Southern part of the island. The whole island is only about 1870 square miles. It’s something like 65 miles long and about 45 miles wide (at their widest and longest points), so not a huge place to begin with, but you’d never know that when driving around because it seemed to take forever to travel around the island. Because of the big and sharp volcano mountains in the middle, all roads going in a huge circle around the island. Also, none of the sites to visit were near one another. But it did afford the chance to enjoy the breezes and see all the sugar plantations. We did eventually get to the interior area in the South to enjoy a day of adventure at a 30 acre forest preserve in the heart of the island. The preserve was located in an area called Chamarel and had stunning views. The volcanic mountain peaks are dramatic and jagged and the lush greenery crawls right up the sides. There were also bright green fields carved into the landscape. We learned that these were more of the ever-present sugar plantations that we saw literally all over the island, but there were also farms for some other local crops. There were a number of fires burning across the valley below us as well. We were told that the locals sometimes burn their trash, but more than likely they were burning their fields since the main harvests had already occurred. In the distance we could see where the valley descended to the water on the far side of the island. The main point of our trip to the South was to do an adventure challenge course complete with zip lines, suspension bridges, nets, and beams. It was a lot of fun, and actually pretty darn strenuous. I got separated from my fellow RDs but got to complete the course with Ron and Jane Wisner (Ron is “the Voice” on the ship and his wife Jane is the Dependant Children Coordinator). They are both fun and we laughed our way through the challenging course. I turned one of the implements into a zipline when it wasn’t meant to be and ended up caught, tangled in the ropes, hanging upside down, and bleeding. Fear not, my uncoordinated dangling booty was laughing the whole time. Many of the students with us got pictures of me hanging there flopping uselessly. I did manage to get untangled, but felt vindicated with Jane ended up the same predicament. Now Ron and Jane are not large people. So Ron flew down the zipline like a bullet, and I will admit I had a moment of terror. For a second there we all thought he might fly off the end of it and straight through the treeline and into the forest. Luckily, he held on tight and we all got out alive, though we were all filthy and covered with little scrapes and blisters. Lunch was a smoked marlin sandwich (unexpectedly yummy) and then we were off for an afternoon at the beach.
Lesley, Dan, Matt, and I played Hearts all the way to Flic en Flac beach (I learned I’m pretty rusty at Hearts). Flic en Flac wins the award for the funniest name town on the trip so far. It is actually a French bastardization of a Dutch name for the town which translates to Free and Flat Land. Flic en Flac is supposed to be a famous Mauritian beach area, but in recent years it has become run down and full of cheapo apartment/condo complexes and touristy bars and clubs. This is the place where most of our students rented villas for our weekend stay, which was immediately evident when we stepped off the bus and into a crowd of many of our S@S students. They were really only just getting out to the beach (at 1:45pm) because they had all been up late the previous night drinking, partying, and cavorting around. Grrrr. We RDs managed to ignore the students and enjoyed the water for a couple hours. While many parts of Mauritius did not impress me, I have to say that the beaches were lovely. The sand is clear and white and the water was some of the most amazing shades of icey blue. The water was also the perfect temperature, was refreshing and cool. Sadly, because of the recent cyclone that passed nearby, the water was still a bit churned up and supposedly not good for snorkeling. I borrowed Lesley’s snorkel, and eventually I found a huge patch of coral off the shore and swam among the fish for a good 30 minutes. I felt like I was inside of a huge tropical aquarium, and have never been so close to so many different species of fish before. They were swimming all around me and even seemed to nip at me on the places where I was scraped from the adventure course (piranhas??) The fish were some amazing colors and shapes and sizes. I even swam over one patch and caught sight of a huge eel. I moved away quickly and found a giant abalone shell opening and closing. There were bunches of sea urchins and others amazingly beautiful sites down there. And they said it wasn’t good snorkeling conditions! Eventually we all headed back to the ship to clean up. That night I dined with my friends Shayla, Lesley, Judyie, Brenda, and one of the professors Mary (the lady who wisked up Table Mountain). We ate amazingly good Indian food at a restaurant called Namaste. Mmmm… I am really taking a big liking to Indian cuisine, and may have to insert it into my stateside culinary rotation. We gorged on Rogan Josh, Tandoori Chicken, Tikka Masala, and other yumminess. And don’t even get me started on the rice… Mmm. After dinner we managed to roll ourselves onto the water taxi and back to the ship. I had to be back by 8pm since I was the RD-on-duty for the night. I spent the evening making my flight plans in India and checking my email. I had a blissful nights sleep and received no calls. I thought that meant everything was nice and quiet, but I was wrong. The following morning I found Dean Larry meeting with Mauritian police in Purser’s Square. I hadn’t been notified, but one our students was victimized in her beach villa and our administrative team was in the middle of responding. They did an incredible job, and again reaffirmed how glad I am to have such solid people on the voyage with me. It was not until later that I realized how serious that situation really was.

Dean Larry left to continue his work, and I met up with RD Mindy for breakfast. We dined with Nurse Brenda, and Prof Bianca & her partner Sue. Bianca and Sue were going to rent a car and drive around the island. They invited us, but Mindy and I had the urge to be beachy and snorkel, so we declined. Our main goal, was just to get the heck out of Port Louis! At the last minute one of the awesome students in my many clubs, Priya, decided to tag along with us. We quickly stopped in the market before grabbing one of the cheap island busses for the town of Grand Baie. The express bus only cost about a dollar and was nice and air-conditioned, a great way to travel through the sugar cane plantations. Mindy, Priya, and I agreed that the island had a lot more charm if you don’t spend any time in Port Louis (sad, but true). Grand Baie used to be a fishing village, but now it resembles San Tropez (well, what I imagine San Tropez to look like) with hoity-toity expensive boutiques, resorty hotels, and pretentious restaurants. The bay itself is really pretty. It’s not tremendously large, but was chock full of yachts and sailboats and all sorts of expensive rigs. Mindy, Priya, and I walked around the bay and then continued along the main highway out of Grand Baie to the smaller and more local town of Peréybère. The walk was supposed to be about 2 km and started out very pretty. But then we had to leave the beach, and were forced to walk along the more industrial highway area. We managed to find a path back to the water and walked along some private beaches until we ran into some rocks we couldn’t pass. We trespassed through someone’s yard and their front gate (security systems be damned) to get back to the main road. I had my guidebook out and in front of me the whole time in case we had to play “clueless Americans” if the homeowners discovered us (which luckily they did not). Thankfully we were stealthy in our 30 second criminal caper and did not experience the inside of any Mauritian prisons. We finished our trek North and found the Peréybère Beach. It was a nice little beach that was, indeed, full of locals, and had a number of little cafés, food stands, and shops along the water. We set down our towels and I went in search of some food. As I bought myself a little curry sandwich for lunch, out popped practically half of the staff from the ship, including Bianca, Sue, and Brenda. Evidently they all rented a villa up in Peréybère in order to avoid all the students who were down South in Flic en Flac. Literally 15 or so of my favorite staff folks and professors just appeared along the beach area for the day. We all swam in the water and basked in the sun and relaxed. So much fun.

As the afternoon sun started to fade, and it began to look like rain, Mindy, Priya, and I began to look for a bus. We finally caved and hopped in a cab for the trip back to the ship. It felt like an extravagance, but it really only cost us 500 Mauritian Rupees which worked out to like 12 bucks for the 3 of us to ride 30 minutes back to the ship. Plus, our taxi driver and his wife were quite nice and took extra effort to figure out how to drive us all the way back to the ship itself. When we arrived, they couldn’t believe how big the ship was. They literally parked the cab and got out to stare, mouths wide open, at the enormity of the ship. I realized how much I take our floating campus for granted. I was thankful for their reminder. We said our goodbyes to the cabbie and ducked into the ship. I cleaned up before heading back across on a water taxi for a last meal before our trip to India. I lost my staff friends and ended up eating dinner with a couple of my favorite students, Alex & Lydia at the Mauritian equivalent of a sports bar. It started to rain as we made our way back to the ship. We had about 20-30 students who were late for on-ship time, but luckily they were all there by about 15 minutes after the deadline.

It wasn’t until later that we learned that our students had caused a lot of damage in their villas. We heard reports from some of the students that they couldn’t believe how destructive their peers were. They were embarrassed at the behavior they saw, and the damage that had been caused, especially down in the Flic en Flac area where literally hundreds of our students had been staying, clubbing, and partying. We will be implementing a whole slew of new guidelines as we move on to the second half of our voyage. I guess the students really did take the Spring Break mentality into Mauritius, which I think is sad. However, despite what Kovila, the interport students said, Mauritius really did feel like it was all about the beaches. As I process my time on the island, I am not remembering Mauritius fondly. I wouldn’t call it a throw away port, but I don’t feel that traveling there has enriched my S@S experience. I don’t see it as a place I need to return, nor is it a place I would recommend for others to visit. My friend Dia, the Registrar, put it into perspective for me. She said that after being in a place like Cape Town, what port could we possibly have visited and not been extremely let down? We almost had to come to a place that allowed us all to decompress, and not feel too guilty for not exploring and really understanding the culture. In that respect Mauritius really was perfect. And my time there has really made me all the more excited for India. I can’t wait.

Love to all back at home. XOXO
-Drew

Captain's Dinner and Rough Seas

The last few days at sea have been rough. The seas outside of Cape Town were full of choppy waves, and because of cyclones north of Madagascar we’ve all been feeling it. The Captain changed our course and we hugged the coastline of South Africa as long as we could to try and find calm seas. Once we veered towards Madagascar, we were really moving. The cabin stewards had to go into the rooms on my deck and use special wrenches to close and lock the portholes just to make sure no water seeped in accidentally. They complained, but didn’t find much sympathy from me since my porthole is permanently closed (since I don’t have one). He he.

We’re all gearing up for the Sea Olympics which will be taking place the first day back from Mauritius. The events are wide ranging, and I will gladly describe them after the big day. My folks in the Aegean Sea will be donning green for the day. They have decided to name themselves the Ninja Turtles. Even though there are a ton of events, they are o excited that people filled every spot and I won’t be competing. That suits me just fine since I get to be a judge for the Tug-of-War, the Synchronized Swim, and the Lip Sync Contest. They should all be pretty fun to watch. Even though I bought a green t-shirt in Cape Town (for the Cape Town Springboks, local Rugby team) I don’t like it very much. I think I may be treating myself to a S@S t shirt tomorrow. I think it will be a more fitting uniform for the big day.

I was invited to my Captain’s Dinner this past week. It was quite the resplendent affair. I dressed up as fancy as I could in my black suit, with black shirt and silver tie. I was lookin’ pretty damn nice. I made a point of swinging past the Student Life Desk to collect a couple of compliments (b/c face it, we all like to get compliments). The evening began in the Faculty/Staff Lounge where we received cocktails and delicious hor d’ouerves. This dinner was attended by a few faculty, and a number of staff members. When we got to the dining room, I learned I was seated at the Captain’s Table. On one side was my friend Nurse Emily, and on the other was Phoebe Amante, the wife of one of my favorite professors David Amante (who led the protests on Apartheid Day and began the “Down with Drew” chants) Phoebe is also a sweet and funny lady. I was glad with my seat, especially once I learned that Emily had our friend Matt (the IT guy) swap my seat assignment before we sat down. Evidently Emily wanted better company, and I was happy to provide it. Captain Jeremy told us stories of his many many years as a Captain, and his life traveling the world. His new bride joined our ship in Cape Town and made her first public appearance at the dinner. She and the Captain were seated across from me. My guess is that the Captain is in his late 50s. His wife (Apple, is her name) on the other hand, cannot be more than 20 or 25 at most. Evidently she is a model in the Philippines. The two have been married for only 6 months, and this is her first time on the ocean. He seas were pretty darn rough that night, so I can’t imagine she was enjoying her trip very much. She wasn’t able to eat a single bite, and excused herself after 30 minutes or so in order to lie down. She seemed very nice, but had a green pallor thanks to the waves. I wish her luck adjusting. Even now, having gained my sea legs, I have felt a little green from all the motion of the ocean.

The dinner we were served was mouthwateringly awesome. We started with cantelope and Serrano ham, Next we had French Onion Soup, followed by an excellent Caesar Salad, and the main course of either perfectly cooked Beef Wellington, or Blackened Red Snapper (I had the Wellington, but got to taste the Snapper and both were great). Dessert was a Chocolate Brûlée. After dinner, many of uf moved back to the Faculty/Staff Lounge for after dinner cocktails. I purchased my first alcoholic beverage on the ship and got a Sambuca (I was thinking of you the whole time Dad). Then the staff members from dinner brought everyone down to the staff area on Deck 3 forward and the party continued on until late in the evening. I finally went off to bed at 2am.

The next morning was Global Studies Exam #2 for the students, which meant Staff Pool Party #2. Sadly, due to the rocky seas, the pool had been emptied. Grrrr… Wasn’t meant to be. Instead we sat on the deck and sunned ourselves without the students. I read some books and enjoyed the quiet… till they finished the exam. The last few days I have been reading a lot more. I’ve managed to finish 3 books, including the Alchemist. It was really great. I don’t remember who gave me the recommendation, but thank you! I have also developed a new addiction for Spider Solitaire. It is on the computer at the Student Life Desk and during my shifts I rarely take my eyes off the screen. Sadly, I learned I also have Spider Solitaire on my laptop. I may never power it down again!

Our arrival in Port Louis, Mauritius is going to be behind schedule. The storms in the Indian Ocean have made it so choppy that we can’t reach the speeds we need to get there on time. Initially we were going to be almost a full day late, but now it seems we’ll only be late by 4-5 hours. Everyone seems to be thinking of Mauritius like Spring Break. Even I am having a hard time planning beyond the beach and snorkeling. Ahh.. why fight it. We all need to relax a bit. Another week and a half from now and we’ll be reaching the halfway point in our voyage. It’s too depressing to think about, so I will choose to just end this update and head to bed. Mauritius awaits us tomorrow. Love to all at home.

-Drew

Sala Kakuhle South Africa

Back on the ship sailing slowly away from the African continent and feeling gosh darn sad to see South Africa sail away. Ok, it’s night time, so I can’t actually see Africa in the distance anymore, but you’ll forgive my rhetorical slip. We were supposed to leave late last night, but because of high winds we were still docked in Cape Town Harbor until 1600 (4pm in non-nautical time). It was an awful tease to look out the window and see such an amazing city but not be allowed to disembark and enjoy it for just one more day. But now here I am, back on the ship and stuck with the task of collecting me thoughts and typing them up in some coherent fashion. This feels particularly daunting for this port. How does one sum up Mother Africa in a brief blog entry. That’s the stuff nobel laureates and Pulitzer Prize winners are left to do. Nonetheless, I will try… after a quick pre-Cape Town recap.

Once I was cleared from my quarantine, I was able to hear about the Apartheid Simulation. Many students treated it as a game and did not take it seriously. Others took the whole thing so seriously that they felt hurt as a result. During the sit-in I described in an earlier blog, the students who crossed the protest group really felt affected by their privilege. There were a number of students who were so frustrated by the whole situation that they were reduced to tears. I don’t relish in their discomfort, but I knew that in a sense, it will facilitate their greater understanding of oppression as it exists in South Africa and the rest of the world. A lot of people were upset with the protestors because they were not punished for protesting, as they would have been in a real anti-Apartheid protest. The lack of real “teeth” to the simulation made protesting seem easy… or so the student monitors felt. In the end, Prof. Judyie Al Bilali, a woman I greatly admire, pointed out that protest really IS that easy. Eventually, a subjugated group will rise up and say “they can’t kill us all” and protest, regardless of the consequences. When she framed things that way, people began to see the simulation as more of a success. In the end, I think everyone learned a lot, and professors and students have referred to the simulation in conversations and lectures even days later. I’m still a little bitter that I missed so much of it. But, it meant I was healthy for Cape Town, and that’s what mattered most.

One of the joys of being let out of quarantine was that I got to hear Desmond Tutu lecture about the miracle of South Africa before we got to port. He told us that we are all awkward chickens learning to understand oppression and about the world. He encouraged us all to become eagles flying high above these issues and facilitating great change in the world. Later in that class we had a Q&A session with him. The humorous thing was that the questions didn’t really matter much. He would begin his answer referring to the questions, but each response would lead him on a journey where he told us about the history of the struggle against Apartheid and the reality the country now faced. I don’t ever remember meeting someone so deep, or so powerful a speaker, or such a key historical figure. Through his words, and the contributions from some amazing professors on-board I learned that South Africa truly is a miraculous nation. The scourge of Apartheid has left a sad mark on the country, but when the white regime finally ended in the mid-90’s there really should have been a bloodbath with the transition of power. There was such hatred, such oppression, and such anger that few would have been surprised to see civil war and violence in the streets. However, something entirely different took place. The people of South Africa aspired to something greater. Through the Truth and Reconciliation Commission the country began a long healing process. People admitted to the horrible acts that had been committed under Apartheid and were often granted amnesty. Everyone agreed that the past was over and that the whole nation needed to move forward. It is wholly unfamiliar from what we know in the United States where 150 years after the official end of slavery and the Civil War we are still left with cultural wounds and divides. There are literally freed black political prisoners living next door to their former prison guards. They are now friends and work together to forge a new South African reality. What we learned was that these examples are not exceptions, but rather the rule in South Africa. It was interesting to learn that this is a nation full of cultural divide. The white Europeans are mainly Dutch/Boer, but there is also a healthy dose of British and even Portuguese influence from their colonial time. There are Indians and Asian population centers in S.A., but the greatest diversity is in the black African population. South Africa has 12 official languages including English and Afrikaans (a Dutch variant). The other 10 are African languages including Xhosa (which I heard most in Cape Town), Zulu (which I head on safari), San, Tsutsi (which I am spelling wrong) and a host of others. Thus communicating is not always easy in this country. However the people here are now extremely proud of that heritage. Their new national flag combines the many traditions and cultures, and their new national anthem (which we heard as we left… more on that later) has sections in all sorts of different languages. It’s as if the whole country was reborn in 1994 with the first free elections. They started completely over and wiped the slate clean. The most astonishing part about it, is that everyone really bought into the concept of a new South Africa. Sure, there is still a tremendous disparity in the distribution of wealth, and living conditions, but the country is taking active steps to bring about change, and the people of S.A. are behind it all driving the changes. I wish we could wipe the slate clean and start over when it comes to many aspects of American culture. South Africa really provides a great example for the rest of the world in terms of reconciliation and moving forward after a very difficult time.

Sadly, the rich diversity is a new aspect to the formal traditions of the country b/c under Apartheid all blacks were treated the same (or mistreated, being a more accurate term). It was fascinating talking to the people in the port. In every conversation people talked about life after 1994, or after Mandela was freed, or after democratic elections. Everyone framed their new reality in a different way… but no one used the word Apartheid. It’s as if the reality was so painful that even having the word in their mouth, or hearing it aloud reminds one of that dark time. South Africa, while rich in culture, is not a wealthy nation. They also have an incredible problem with the spread of AIDS and HIV. The average life span of an American is 78.7 years. To contrast, the average South African lives only to 47 years. Such is the problem with health care in S.A. And this is the reality for almost all African nations. S.A. is lucky b/c it can afford to feed its people. No other country in Africa can produce enough food to feed its citizenry.

Ok, so I laid all that heavy stuff on you… now let me bring things back a bit. I roused my sorry butt out of bed at 6am in order to see Africa appear on the horizon. I went out on Deck 7 just before the sky started to get some color in the distance. Watching the sun rise over Cape Town and Table Mountain was one of the things I was told to do by everyone who has ever done this voyage. I’m so thankful for their advice b/c it was well worth it. A lot of folks had the same idea and came out to see Africa welcome us. However, we were all in for rude awakening. It was freakin’ COLD out there. And the big gusts of wind did not help matters at all. I lasted about 2 minutes before ducking into the Faculty/Staff Lounge. That was a great idea b/c the huge windows gave us the best views, in a warm room, and by standing on the chairs we could see right over the cold shivering student heads outside the windows. Ahhh… the little perks really are the best. From my warm perch w/ all my staff friends we saw the sun rise over Table Mountain, and over Africa. It began as a dull green, then a warm pink, and fingers of orange stretched over the sky as the port city slowly came into view. It was a very dramatic arrival to say the least, and an awesome way to begin my African experience.

My first impression of Cape Town (or Kaapstad, in Afrikaans) was that it feels incredibly European. The Dutch and English influences are undeniable. My Lonely Planet guide books said that I would constantly be asking myself “I’m in Africa?” and it was accurate on that point. I was constantly pinching myself to remember I was in Africa. Our ship was docked in the Victory and Albert Waterfront which is a very wealthy area of the city that has undergone urban renewal in the last few years. As a result we were in the center of everything. We stepped off the ship and were essentially in the middle of huge outdoor mall, restaurant zone, bar/music scene, craft market, and hotel complex. Everything was clean and beautiful and picturesque with Table Mountain in the distance. Suffice it to say, we were ideally situated, and publicly displayed. It was quite funny to walk past and see random tourists stopping to photograph our ship as it sat in the harbor. And this happened for our entire stay.

Immigration was easy, and handled by the ship so little needed to be done. We had a diplomatic briefing from the US State Dept. reps who told us all about how wonderful South Africa is, and gave us even more info about the troubles currently facing the country, and a few travel tips to keep us safe. Later we were officially welcomed by the governor of Western Cape, the state in which Cape Town lies. Gov. Ibrahim Rasoul came on board and delivered a nice address about the world having solidarity with South Africa, and we as individuals having solidarity with South Africans as we explored Cape Town and the rest of the country. Before the ship was cleared I got my first glance of Desmond Tutu’s wife Lea. She has the same spritely spirit as her husband. They were so cute as they saw each other and embraced for the first time in a few weeks. She was in traditional African dress, but on her feet were a pair of bright lavender Crocs. Now THAT really made me smile (especially since I was wearing mine!). Lea is joining us here in Cape Town and will stay with us for the rest of the voyage.

Once the ship was cleared, it took a while to get off since the narrow gangway was off of Deck 5. I quickly ran and sold my S@S trip to Robben Island to RD Mindy and met up with Nurse Emily for a birthday celebration outing. Emily’s 30th birthday was the day we arrived in Cape Town, and even though mine was about 5 weeks prior, I saved my big celebration to coincide with our arrival in Cape Town. We joined a group of students and took a 20 minute drive out of the city to Sky Dive Cape Town. Long ago I decided I would celebrate the end of my third decade by hurling myself out of a plane. Thanks to Yas Djadali a friend, UCI colleague, and previous S@S RD for the inspiration, and being my guinea pig. While I was terrified by the idea of skydiving, the reality was really not bad at all. The establishment was well run, their gear was obviously well cared for, and the staff was meticulous about everything they did. I felt perfectly safe as I prepared for my jump. You’ve heard of those skydive companies that make you go through a 3-4 hour course before you jump? Well, that’s not Sky Dive Cape Town. All the instruction I received was delivered in the 30 seconds before I was hurtled out of the plane. Emily and I were put in our harnesses, duct taped our digital cameras to our wrists, and walked out to a tiny miniscule itty bitty little twin engine prop plane. Up walked two skydivers fresh from their last jump. We squeezed into the plane (no larger than a phone booth on the inside), and took off. In the air, I learned my jump partner was named Jean. He told me to sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight. It wasn’t until we were up in the air that I really began to freak out. Yes, the scenery was amazing, with the South Atlantic Coastline, farmland, and Table Mountain & the Cape of Good Hope in the distance. But with each foot we climbed higher into the air, my level of anxiety climbed as well. Oddly, I was more calm than I am before any major rollercoaster ride. The butterflies in my stomach matched the ones I get before a job interview or a big exam. Emily, however, got a kick out of the fact I started to sweat once we reached about 8,000 feet. That’s when it occurred to me that I just paid 1,250 Rand ($175) to jump out of a perfectly good plane. What was I thinking?!? But by that point, I was committed (like… to an asylum). As I said, about 30 seconds before our leap, Jean hooked on to me and told me that when the door opened, I should swing my legs out the door, throw them under the plane, rest me head back against his shoulder, cross my arms over my chest and let him do the rest. That really was the extent of my instructions for the whole experience. Once we hit about 11,000 feet and then the door opened. There was a single jumper who squeezed in with us at the last second, and he was gone before the door was even fully open, and then it was my turn. I turned on my camera, swung my legs out the door, and then… I was flying.

It’s tough to describe the sensation of a skydiving freefall. I expected it to be a terrifying feeling, but nothing could be further from the truth. The Earth doesn’t feel like it is rushing up at you. There is no sense of impending doom. I felt like I was floating in the air, as if I was an angel. I hope this doesn’t sound hokey, but while I was floating, it occurred to me that I was about as close to God as I could ever hope to be. There was an utter sense of peace. Ok, enough schmaltzy philosophy. Suffice it to say it was amazing. I remember feeling the cool air pushing past my face and that my mouth went instantly dry, and that even though I was whooping and hollering at the top of my lungs, I could barely hear anything but the sound of the wind in my ears. Jean pulled the rip cord after about 45 seconds and we were snapped up by the huge purple and green parachute. At that point, Jean and I floated for about 4 or 5 minutes down to the ground. As we floated, we talked about how lucky he was to do this for a living, and the parts of Africa I was seeing beneath me. He even let me take the steering reins (not sure of their technical name) and taught me to steer, and take us into some cool spins and loops, and other maneuvers. Again, I’m surprised to say that I was not afraid when we moved and twisted. It felt safer and smoother than any rollercoaster I’ve been on, despite the fact that it was probably far less safe. Jean seamlessly steered us to the landing site back at the Sky Dive Cape Town compound. Since I was far taller than he was, I had to raise my legs into the air as he landed us. I trotted a few steps, but ended up on my butt in the sandpit landing area. Jean unhooked himself, shook my hand and was gone in an instant to pick-up a new parachute and catch up with his next jumping partner. I stood by and watched Emily’s landing about 30 seconds later. We went back inside the bunker and chatted with the students who were preparing to go up for their jumps before catching the van back to the ship. The entire rest of the day, and well into the next, Emily and I had the biggest shit-eating grins on our faces (pardon the expression). In the two hours following the jump, I just kept saying “wow” to myself both out loud and in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing the whole experience had been. You know, I thought that skydiving was one of those life-goals that you do once, and then cross it off your list. But, I can completely understand how people think of it addictive. I’d love to be able to tell Mom & Dad that I won’t ever do it again, but… I’m pretty sure that I’ll be going again sometime in the not-too-distant future. Hell, I’ve heard folks planning skydiving adventures in Mauritius and Honolulu. You never know… (sorry Mom & Dad).

Once we got back to the ship, I walked around the port area for a little bit and explored the waterfront mall, and the shops nearby. The port area really is breathtaking. All the Dutch and European architecture with the African influences, and Table Mountain in the distance changing colors as the sun set over Cape Town. Every few minutes was like a new post card view. For some meteorological reason there is often a layer of clouds that covers the top of Table Mountain and visibly spills and moves over the side. It’s fascinating to watch. The effect is called the table cloth on Table Mountain (for obvious reasons). It enhanced the view a lot. Adding to the postcard effect was the sounds of a traditional African singing group performing in the port area. I was glad to have a whole week there. I returned to the ship to the ship to meet up with a big group of staffers to head into Cape Town for a birthday dinner with Emily. We all met up in Purser’s Square and were preparing to head out, when a group of students came back on the ship. They were practically dragging one of our female students who was completely wasted. Mind you, it was only 7:45pm and she was already obliterated. The students who brought her back to the ship weren’t even the people who had been drinking with her. They had just been the good Samaritans that made sure she got home safe. Our group had to wait while this woman was transported to the hospital (she turned out to be fine later). Since the entire medical team was planning to go out to dinner with Emily, it changed our plans a bit. Eventually, we all made it out to Long Street, which is a main thoroughfare in downtown Cape Town. It’s a strip that has loads of restaurants, bars, nightclubs, and shops. We ended up going to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. As you might imagine, the South African take on Mexican food is quite unique. Nothing tasted particularly authentic, and the strawberry margaritas that I shared with a couple faculty members were… hmm… interesting? We agreed that they just threw some frozen strawberries and tequila in a blender and served it up. While the food wasn’t superb, the company was, and a fun time was had by all, especially the birthday girl. Emily and I talked non-stop about skydiving, and everyone was chatting about the safaris we were all about to embark upon. Afterwards, we checked out a couple bars. One was called Cool Runnings and had a reggae Jamaican theme, and the other was an Irish pub. It was funny to me that I traveled around the world and didn’t actually seeing anything of the true culture during my first night in Africa. I eventually broke away from the group and checked out a liberal part of the city closer to the waterfront. I met up with a couple of students from the ship and explored a few more establishments. What I learned was that South Africans are very much like Americans in the way that they socialize. I was also struck by the fact that the places I went had almost exclusively white clientele despite the fact that 77% of the country is black, and another sizable chunk of the population comes from various parts of Asia. Cape Town, as the Mother City of Africa, is considered one of the most liberal. It is a center for music, the arts, and the gay capital of all of Africa. In the end, I really just felt like I was in any old bar back in the states, which was comforting, but at the same time a bit of a let down.

The next morning I took tings a little easier. I allowed myself to sleep in a bit, and then wandered into the port area to see if I could get out to see Robben Island. I heard a nasty rumor that all tickets to Robben Island were sold for our stay in the port, and I was worried I would miss out, but lo and behold, I bought the last ticket for the last ferry the day following. I shopped around for some postcards, and other knick knacks until I met my friend and fellow staff member Shayla, and a few of my students from the People of Color group. We all agreed to head over to Long Street and check out Greenmarket Square. Greenmarket is like a flea market/artisan fair/craft area where folks can buy souveniers. I wandered around a bit at the market, and also in the Pan African Market, where they sell goods from all over Africa, but decided I didn’t want to buy anything unless I had a connection with what I was buying. So I decided to hold onto my money. Shayla, and one of our students Anna, and I decided to treat ourselves to lunch in a nice restaurant overlooking Greenmarket Square. At the Butcher’s Block (that was it’s name) I enjoyed a lunch of chips (French Fries) and Ostrich Steak. The steak was pretty darn good. It tasted a lot like beef, which surprised me since I assumed it was going to taste like chicken (afterall… doesn’t everything?). After lunch and walking around, we split into a couple of groups. One of the students, Nicole, and I took a cab over to the District Six Museum. During the 60’s when Apartheid took off in South Africa, the government forced all of the citizens from an area of Cape Town to pick up and move out of their homes b/c they were in District Six, a desirable location near the waterfront. The residents were forced to move to Cape Flats, which is where the townships are located, in an economically depressed area. The museum chronicles the businesses, families, and community that existed in District Six before the forced relocations. It also describes the process of forced removal. Sadly, after the government razed all of the buildings in the area to the ground, they didn’t actually develop large sections of the razed land. Since the end of Apartheid, the government had assisted many previous residents to return to District Six. The museum does a great job at conveying the emotion behind the whole ordeal. I know I was affected by everything, and I know Nicole, and some of the other students we met there were as well.

I came back to the ship, and relaxed in the Faculty/Staff Lounge to play a few hands of cards with Beth, my boss. Then she and Melanie, the Asst. Director of Student Life headed off to dinner. I met up with RD Tom & his partner Emily, IT guy Matt, and his wife Renee (who flew to Cape Town to meet up with us) and nurse Emily. We all agreed that we didn’t feel up for venturing to Long Street or doing anything too crazy with our evening. Instead we walked around the waterfront looking for a relaxing restaurant and some nice African jazz. Unfortunately, since it was Saturday night, most places were really full. We finally found a place called City Grill that was open, and serving some interesting foods. It turned out that the place was amazing. Inside, we saw a few faculty members, including Bianca Murphy & her partner Sue (love them!). My dinner with these fun friends was a real Cape Town highlight. We were there until after 11 b/c we just had so much fun. The three bottles of South African wine probably helped to make things funnier for all. The meal was also fantastic. I had an appetizer of Holoumi cheese, which is a goat cheese that is grilled and served with fruit. It tasted like a cross between mozzarella sticks and saganaki flambé (think Greek food). It was pretty good. Tom and I both had an African animal skewer for our main course. The animals on the skewer were impala, kudu, ostrich, and warthog. There was also a sausage made from springbok venison. It was so much fun tasting these different animals knowing I would be seeing them the following days on safari yes, I realize how morbid that sounds). Even the vegetarians at the table tasted the kudu when we raved about it. I hadn’t ever heard of kudu before, and certainly have never seen it served in the states, but let me tell you, it is officially the best tasting animal ever. (For the record, it is a large antelope/deer animal with beautiful twisting horns). My dessert was a Cape Town treat of Dutch Bread Pudding. It was just so-so. But I really don’t know what could have compared after dining on kudu.

The next morning, I woke early and joined an S@S trip to visit the black townships. These areas really emphasize the disparity of wealth in the country. We were told that the people who live in the townships welcome our presence there. Our being there helps highlight their situation, brings them tourist dollars, and gives them a chance to learn from us as we learn from them. These are communities that go to great lengths with very little. We were told that even though they have so little, the residents do not seek handouts. We were warned against giving away food, or candy, or money to the children we encountered because they would grow to expect that from visitors to the townships. Instead, we were told to interact with the children and other residents, to learn from their way of life, and to share our lives with them as well. Our guide Jimmie told us that most of the residents in the townships spoke some English, but the predominate language of the area is Xhosa. There are 11 or 12 official languages in South Africa, but Xhosa was spoken most in the Cape Town area. Xhosa, much like the other tribal and native languages of the area uses a lot of clicks and tongue-knocking noises that are integral parts of the language. The X in Xhosa is actually sounded by clicking your tongue on the roof of your mouth. It took a lot of practice to just be able to say the word “Xhosa,” but I was glad to be able to master pronouncing a few words and names by the end of the day.

We first drove through Khayelitsha Township, which is one of the youngest in Cape Flats, and saw small homes and shanties built from cardboard, wood, corrugated steel, and whatever other supplies could be located. Many of the homes had electricity by way of single wires coming into the houses. They had makeshift windows, and other small amenities, but not running water. Each small section of houses shared one tap. Residents had to go to that tap and then bring water back into their small homes. The day was dreary and rainy which seemed to suit the atmosphere of the neighborhood we passed through. But I began to notice things as we passed people on the streets. They would stop and wave to us, especially the children. They were glad to see us in their neighborhood. I had expected to encounter people upset over their circumstance, or depressed for their status. But on the contrary, they were joyful. Yes, they recognized that their situation needed improvement, and they (individually, and as a community) were taking those steps together, and fighting for their rights. But there was no “woe is me” mentality. It was uplifting. One of the most interesting things I learned was that it’s only during the last 5 years that the government in South Africa has allowed for the roads in the townships to be included on maps of the area. Until that point, visitors were directed away from the townships, and knowledge about them was limited. The roads themselves are actually well paved and kept up by the government, so it seemed all the more strange that they would be ignored when putting together maps. We passed a large graveyard full of headstones, and our guide Jimmie told us that funerals in the townships were grand affairs. People would live in small shanties, but they always set aside large amounts of money to pay for elaborate funerals. When someone dies, it is the expectation that their family members will have a large gathering and serve a lot of food, and then they also have to pay for a huge funeral procession, a grave site, and an expensive headstone. There are even funeral societies who attend all of the funerals, almost as if they were social events, in order to honor those who have passed on. Jimmie told us that due to the ravages of HIV and AIDS, there are many deaths, and many funerals each weekend. It was pretty morose to think about, but interesting nonetheless.

We passed a small cross on the ground which honored the life of Amy Biehl. She was a young white student from the United States who came to South African in the early nineties in order to fight Apartheid. Being a white woman in the townships at that time of racial anger and hatred was not safe, and as a result she was stabbed to death by a group of black residents who did not know of her work to support their struggle. In the tremendous spirit of reconciliation, that we learned is so strong in South Africa, her parents asked that her daughters killers not be punished. Instead, they asked that a memorial be put in place, and a museum and cultural center was developed to further support the positive changes in the South African community. I tried really hard to put myself in the position of Amy Biehl’s parents, and to think if I would have been so forgiving. I’m sad to say I don’t know that I could have done the same thing, but it was another example of the miracle of South Africa’s transition from out of Apartheid.

We moved on to Gugulethu Township where we met a sangoma, or what we might call a witch doctor. His “office” was a large dark barn/warehouse full of animal skins, and bones, and herbs, and plants. It was also pitch black inside, in order for him to commune with the spirits of his ancestors. He was not there for very long because he was called away on an emergency of some sort, but our guide Jimmie explained the sangoma’s role to us. Even though many of the residents in Cape Flats are Christian, and have medical doctors in the Western tradition, almost everyone also has a sangoma of their own. They go to this person to fix what ails them, from stomach problems, to gossiping too much, or even to fix up a love potion to convince someone to fall for you. Some sangomas even interpret the future by reading the entrails of slaughtered animals and other signs. Thankfully, we didn’t witness any of these rituals. It was pretty interesting stuff, but I couldn’t imagine taking a medicine created in that room. It just felt unsanitary, and I was acutely aware of my western biases. One thing I found of great interest, was that among all of the tribal idols, dried herbs, and desiccated animal carcasses, there were condoms. In at least 4 or 5 places in the room, condoms hung among the other tools of the sangoma. HIV and AIDS has ravaged the population in South Africa, and I was really glad to see that even the sangomas preach safe sex.

We walked through Gugulethu Township for a bit and saw the progression of housing. Gugulethu is older than Khayelitsha, and many of the houses have solid foundations and more sturdy walls. By and large, they have electricity, and plumbing, though oftentimes it is rudimentary. We saw the schools, which were each sponsored by different companies, and they seemed to be functioning well. We also saw some community centers for recycling and water treatment. Along many of the streets, we passed little home businesses. They were each run out of flatbed trailers parked in front of people’s homes. There were many devoted to hair braiding and styling, and others for medical treatment, more sangomas, and some selling fruit (all imported from other areas, as no fruit is grown locally). We saw where the government had recently built small apartment style buildings, and how the community was working to make use of the space. While we walked we encountered many residents who offered friendly greetings, and were greeted by a lot of children. They were the friendliest children I have ever seen. They were fascinated with cameras and seeing their pictures appear on the screens. They would pose and smile, and gladly offer hugs. They explored out pale white skin, and strange stringy hair, and just seemed to be full of life and laughter. There was no common language, as they spoke almost no English, and we certainly knew no Xhosa, but we all managed to communicate pretty well anyways.

Jimmie stopped our group and bought some township beer for us to sample. It is brewed in the townships and is a staple drink for residents. It has no alcohol content, but it made from fermented grains. He brought it over in two large containers that looked to be shiny new paint gallon containers. The beer looked like a thick white frothy milky mess, and had a mass of bubbles on the top. He picked up one of the containers and showed us how to taste it. First you blow the bubbles out of the way, and then take a big sip. I was the first brave soul to try it, and I have to tell you it was some of the nastiest stuff I’ve ever encountered. It was like a cross between skunky stale beer, and sourdough bread. And it was thick, and you could see chunks of stuff floating in it. Everything in it was organic, and it was safe to drink, but I cannot imagine drinking a large glass of it. Ugh. A few of the folks in our group said it tasted sweet, and they enjoyed it…. uhm….. not me. But as Jimmie pointed out to us, our purchasing the beer, was yet another way for us to give back to their community, and made them all the more glad for our presence. I also think they enjoyed watching us cringe and make faces as we enjoyed their murky brew. Jimmie brought us to a community and craft center where we met a group of artisans who had learned the art of pottery and using a kiln, as well as metal working. They were in turn teaching these skills to others in the townships, so they could go out into industry and be skilled laborers and earn a better income. The goods produced were also sold for more income in the townships. We learned that the center also did programming for children to teach them about the world, and engage them in activities to keep them occupied and educated. The people in the center were so friendly and their crafts were really ingenious as well.


After our walk through Gugulethu, and our visit to the community center, we moved on to Langa Township, which is the oldest of the townships in Cape Flats. The homes were more established, and had more and better amenities, and resembled more of a neighborhood as might be recognized back home. Being Sunday, our first stop in Langa was to attend a church service. We stopped off at the Langa First Baptist Church and could hear the sound of a church choir finishing their song as we got off the bus. We made our way inside in time for the reverend to take the stage and begin his sermon. The church was really one large warehouse full of pews, but it was packed in there. The congregation moved from their pews and squeezed in order to make room for us, and I sat back and listened to the sermon. The preacher was full of energy and his sermon sounded very daunting and dark. He was shouting the entire time, and it sounded as though he was using threats of fire & brimstone, but his words were all about God’s love. It was odd to have such a loving message delivered in such a powerful but angry tone. He switched from Xhosa to English back and forth at will, so it wasn’t very easy to follow, but the congregation loved it. Sadly we didn’t get to hear anymore music. We stayed about 30 minutes, and it seemed that the preacher was only just getting started on his sermon. On our way to the bus, I saw en empty can of Tab Cola. Remember Tab? Well I commented to a student that I didn’t know they still served Tab in Africa. Her response was that she had never heard of Tab. I polled a few more students, and none of them had any idea what I was talking about. Wow, am I old!

We drove on in Langa to a restaurant and community center area called Lelápa. Lelápa is run out of the house of our hostess whose name was Sylvia. Sylvia told us that during the last 30 years she had expanded her home and created the restaurant to serve the community and cater to guests like us. She told us stories of the townships, and about the work she does in the community and about the visitors she has had from around the world. She was so funny, and such a motherly figure. Her business employs young men and women from the townships and also gives them the opportunity to learn a trade and give back to their community. Sylvia was so fun and made us all laugh telling us that Americans and Europeans had their lived judged by the clock and by time. You have to look at your watch to know if you say “good morning,” “good afternoon,” or “good evening.” But in Xhosa you simply say “molo.” She had a bunch of other examples that really did make it obvious that westerners always do seem to be in a big hurry. The meal that she and the women in her kitchen prepared for us was amazing. There were at least 20-30 dishes of all sorts of African delights for us to sample. All manners of vegetables and meats. Nothing was too foreign, other than some ostrich, but I had never tasted any of it cooked the same way. Most of the foods were vegetarian, but all of it was good. End there was a lot of it (and you know that made me a happy man). All my friends can rest assured that even on other continents, I am still a human garbage disposal. As we ate our lunches, we all chatted about our impressions of South Africa and how much we were enjoying ourselves, when suddenly four young men arrived to perform for us. They began to play marimbas and drums, and to sing for us. They were absolutely astounding. One would begin each song on a marimba, and then a second would join with a different rhythm and then a third, and then the drums would add, and then they would begin to sing. I began to smile and move with the music because I couldn’t help myself. It seems to me that it must be impossible to listen to music like that and not be jubilant. The performers looked as though they were having a great time, and I know those of us present were loudly appreciative. They performed for about 30 minutes, and let the students participate some as well. The meal and music was an unexpected and uplifting way to end our visit to the township. As we were about to leave, Sylvia came back out and before we could thank her, she did something that really humbled me, she thanked all of us. She earnestly thanked us for choosing to come to the townships, and for experiencing their lives, she thanked us for taking our experience away and sharing it with others, she thanked us for sharing our lives with her and the other residents. She explained that our visit created work for her and the people who worked with her, and that in turn our business let them go and spend money in other areas of the township, and thus everyone benefits. Now, I am a pretty sentimental guy… I own that. And I have to say that my eyes were misty most of the time I spent in the townships, and for a lot of the time in Lelápa as well. The entire morning was just incredibly overwhelming to the senses, but in such an amazing and wonderful way. On my way out, I bought a beautiful African drum from Sylvia and Lelápa, and while I know I could have bought it cheaper elsewhere, I was glad to have contributed to what they had there.

After leaving the townships, I returned to the ship and then ventured to the big Sunday Green Point Market which is held in the parking lot of one of the rugby stadiums. Sporting venues, and the tourism industry are gearing up for the World Cup which is coming to South Africa in 2010. It will be the first time such a huge world sporting event will take place on the African continent. The parking area was full of stalls with some amazing wares. I walked through and the vendors were pouncing. Any time you paused they would try and sell you something or convince you to take a good look at what they were offering. I quickly became adept at engaging them in friendly conversation, while politely declining their offers. Eventually I found a few items to purchase. Many of the items are similar one stall to the next, but I saw a woman who had tall giraffes that seemed nicer than the rest. I asked a tourist I passed how much she paid for her 3’ wooden giraffe and she was proud to have paid only 120 Rand. So I engaged the nice woman in conversation and we eventually haggled and agreed on a price of 90 Rand for one that was even larger and had a very sweet face on it. The whole time we were smiling and having fun with our banter. Another vendor sold me two figurines of a man and woman. He told me the story of the figures, which he said came from Malawi. I am not 100% sure that his story was true, but it was entertaining, and he really did give me a good price for them (40 Rand). My final purchase of the day was a large batik (painted and waxed cloth) that depicts 7 African women with baskets and jars on their heads. It is full of bright colors and patterns, and was just the most beautiful one I saw my entire day. The woman selling the batiks flirted mercilessly with me when I arrived at the market, and when I returned we had so much fun “arguing” over a price and talking about her items, and my time in Africa. Bartering in South Africa was such a better process than in Brazil. In Brazil, I felt as though I was being cheated or swindled through the process, there was no joy in it. But here in Africa, it was a conversation, a friendly and playful dance that we did. Oftentimes, I bartered with people and we couldn’t agree on a price, but that was OK. We both enjoyed the conversation and moved on. It was so refreshing after Brazil. Also, I finally realized that as long as I know my limit for what I’ll spend on any given item, and don’t allow myself to be bullied (or bully myself) into spending more than that, I walk away happy, even without a sale. In the following days, I would barter for items on behalf of students, and helped them to enjoy the process as well. It’s always more fun to buy and barter with other people’s money. I know I saved the students a lot, and also helped many of them to actually engage the vendors in a real conversation. I think I’m just about ready for some big time shopping in Asia.

After I returned my new purchases to the ship, I caught the 5pm ferry to Robben Island. On the ship I met up with Roberto, our Puerto Rican student on the S@S voyage. He and I enjoyed a VERY rocky wet trip across the bay for about 30 minutes to get to the island. On the island we were loaded into a bus and driven around. The guide told us about the island, which was once a leper colony before it was a prison for black African men. Only black African men were imprisoned on Robben Island. Whites and women were put elsewhere in the country. We saw the rock quarry where Nelson Mandela worked every day for so many years of his imprisonment. We passed the Robert Sobukwe house, where Sobukwe was held apart from the other prisoners after he “incited” the protests that led to the Sharpeville Massacre. We saw the small village on the island that used to house all of the guards and their families. It is still inhabited today, but now the residents are both former guards and former prisoners from Robben Island. They live literally side-by-side working to make sure the memory of the oppression is not forgotten or repeated. We saw a small mosque that was used by the Islamic prisoners on the island, and the small church that was used as well. Eventually we entered the prison itself and were led on a tour by a former inmate. Our guide’s name was Sparks and he was a contemporary of Nelson Mandela, and was also imprisoned for political crimes after he joined the militant wing of the African National Congress as a student. He decribed conditions where many men were put into large rooms without beds or sufficient clothing. He described the official policies that had Asian and “colored” men wearing long sleeves and pants and receiving jackets and shoes, and a sufficient ration of food. Black prisoners were given only short sleeved shirts and shorts, and no shoes. This was all they were allowed to wear, even during the winter when there was no heat provided, nor windows to their cells. The black prisoners were also given about ½ the amount of food that the Asian and colored prisoners were. The guards originally placed the political prisoners in with the general criminal population assuming that the general criminals would make the political prisoners forget their goals, but instead the political prisoners, like Mandela, activated the general criminals and made them accomplices in the political struggle. Eventually they separated out the most political prisoners, like Mandela, and put them in solitary cells. Mandela managed to write a manifest during his time on Robben Island, and hid it each evening behind a large tree in the yard. Eventually he had a colleague sneak a copy of the book out of Robben Island. Afterwards, it was published around the world telling all about the situation in South Africa. Once Mandela became President, he named his friend who snuck the manuscript out of Robben Island the Minister of Transportation b/c he was so adept at moving things around. I thought that anecdote was pretty humorous. Like my visit to the townships, being on Robben Island, such an important place historically, was humbling. On my way back to the ferry Roberto and I had a penguin encounter. There are few animals on Robben Island. Robben is actually the Afrikaans word for seal, and there were a few of them around, but there were penguins everywhere. They were not exactly domesticated, but had seen enough people in their time that you could get pretty close and snap a picture before they disappeared into the bushes. The ferry ride back at 8pm was even bumpier and wet, and pretty frickin’ cold, but still a fun way to travel. Once back on the waterfront, I treated myself to falafel and Greek fast food. Then I headed back to the ship to pack for my safari which left at 4am the next morning. Ugh!

Early in the morning, me and 39 bleary eyed students met in the Union around 4:30am. On my way there I picked up everyone’s passports and then we were off to the airport. We picked up our Tour Operator, Manfred, who traveled with us for the entirety of our trip. Normally, the T.O. handles all the details and logistics of the trip. But Manfred was, in a word, useless. We made our way to the airport and hopped on a British Airways flight from Cape Town to Durban, the second largest city in South Africa. I‘ve never flown British Airways before, but what an awesomely cushy airline. We got full breakfasts and everything. We arrived in Durban and jumped on a tour bus for a city tour. However, almost all of the students promptly fell asleep and all we really saw of the city was a shopping area located near the city Aquarium. We wandered around and wasted 3 hours before we could board the shuttles out to the game reserve. I appreciated being able to relax a bit, and I got my first glimpse, and picture of the Indian Ocean. Durban is an remarkable place. It is a lot more stereotypically African than Cape Town, and also a lot warmer and more humid, since it is about 1,000 miles NNE of CT. The predominate cultural group of that area was English (as opposed to Dutch) and Zulu. Our safari was supposed to concentrate on the Zulu culture, but that aspect wasn’t actually present. Around noon we jumped into three minivans for the 3 hour drive North of Durban to the Hluhluwe-Umfolozi Game Reserve (Hluhluwe is pronounced shloo-shloo-wee). The area around and North of Durban is called KwaZulu Natal. When it was “discovered” in the 16th century by European colonialists, they found it close to Christmas, and a friend of the main explorer had the name Natale, thus they named the South African state Natal, and the name still remains today. However, with the end of Apartheid, the Zulu nation began to assert more influence on the politics of S.A. and more specifically in the Natal region. It is only within the last decade that the area has again been called KwaZulu which literally translates to Zulu land. I was a little sad to hear that for so long the legitimate name of the area was hidden. I thought of it only as KwaZulu. The landscape of KwaZulu and the African veldt, or savannah was not a lush tropical jungle, nor a dry deserty area like the Serengeti. It actually seemed pretty similar to some of the Californian landscape when you move away from the coast, just with wild African animals roaming about dining on one another. As we arrived at the game reserve, we drove through the gates and immediately saw a pack of impala. I was so excited. We spent our three days overlooking a river at the Sontuli Tented Educational Camp in the deepest sections of the Umfolozi part of the reserve. Sontuli is the Zulu word for Lion, and supposedly there was a 16 lion pride that lived right around our camp. I dreamed of evenings in my rustic tent listening to lions roaring. But, that didn’t end up being the reality.

We arrived at the camp and met our guide/host Kopus (pronounced Kwe-bus). He was a white Afrikaaner around 40 years of age. He had an asst. named Adele, also white, and then a staff of people who worked for him, all Zulus who grew up near the area. Zomora was his main guide and provided a lot of context for the trip, and info on traditional Zulu culture later in our safari. We also met a host of other men who made the camp run, and Mama Chef who cooked our meals while at Sontuli. On our way into the reserve we passed herds of impala, warthogs (which really do look like Pumbaa from Disney’s The Lion King), African buffalo, herds of zebra, and even saw a black rhino and a giraffe way in the distance. It was incredibly cool. Once we got to camp, Kopus let us know that we were indeed in the middle of a reserve, and that we needed to keep our wits about us at all times. He pointed out that our camp had no fences, and that we needed to keep a light on and stay with a buddy whenever possible. As if to prove his point, a large female hyena walked through our camp and right past our camp fire as he was speaking. Luckily we were all gathered on the eating terrace getting the camp rules. It was already dark at this point, so we could only barely make out the form of the hyena until Zomora projected a spotlight onto her and she scurried away. Later that evening, a huge red moon rose over the hills in the distance, and seemed to be a good omen for us all. The camp was described to us as being rustic, and rustic it surely was. There were no frills at this site. The students were put in 5 large 8 person tents that had bunked beds in each. I on the other hand was labeled the “teacher” since I was the trip leader and the only non-student adult. Thus I, and Manfred, were each given our own large elevated A-frame huts with huge thatched roofs. They were so neat, and had two sets of beds in each. I didn’t even have to share, and had an awesome view of horizon from my balcony. We had a small camp fire that evening and everyone tucked in pretty early since we had an early wake up call for our first game drive.

5:30am came way too early. We woke to a quick breakfast of coffee/cocoa and biscuits before loading the minivans for our morning game drive. Before we left Kopus scolded us for a good 20 minutes. Evidently one of them men using the student restrooms left a tap running all night long, and as a result the camp was without water, which meant no showers, and the toilets would not flush. This evidently was a big problem, and Kopus made sure to tell us that his staff would have to spend all morning pumping water from the river instead of on their other duties. I have to admit, I wasn’t happy for the wasted water, but I also didn’t appreciate being scolded as if I was a five-year old. Eventually, we got in the minivans and drove into the reserve. A few of the students were upset, and rightfully so, that we were not in open 4x4’s as our trip description had dictated. However, the minivan drive turned out to be pretty good as well. As we drove in the early morning light the savannah came alive and we saw many of the animals I mentioned, but closer and in larger numbers. We saw a lot of impala, which really are elegant animals, and zebras, which looked extremely cool walking through the savannah. There were more buffalo, and huge vultures ready to pick apart leftover prey. We saw blue wildebeests which are strange lumbering animals that seem awkward and oafish. The entire morning we hoped to see elephants or lions. We willed them into existence, and pleaded for them to charge out of the bushes… but to no avail. Later we came back to camp and had a hearty breakfast before a quick nap. Early in the afternoon we did a walk down the river and saw some buffalo in the distance. Zomora led the group brandishing a rifle in case any large dangerous animals decided to investigate our group. We found an area that resembled Pride Rock from the Lion King and sat for a spell while Kopus and Zomora regaled us with stories of the bush, and about animal tracking and animal behavior in the wild. Kopus taught us some fascinating things about how animals have evolved to man, and even to tourists in the reserves. Cheetah will use tourist jeeps as a hunting blind when chasing their prey, and leopards drive game onto slippery paved roads to cause them to fall. We learned about elephant families and how they teach their young what it means to be an adult elephant. Zomora told us more about the Zulu tribe and Shaka, the most famous king of the Zulu. Zomora told us about the current king who wields a fair amount of power himself. It seems that the man has 28 wives, and takes a new one each year. He also rules over all KwaZulu and meets regularly with the Governor of Natal in order to partner around how South African laws can work to benefit the people of the area. The Zulu king is the only member of the tribe who is allowed to wear leopard skin. Also no women may look directly at the king, not even his wives. The reign is passed from father to son, but not necessarily to the first son. The Sangoma (witch doctor) for the king is considered a wise counselor, and he will decide for the king which son is the most worthy to lead. Pretty interesting stuff.

Once we returned to camp, a friend of Kopus, named Zama, came to talk with us about wild dogs. These are truly wild and ferocious dogs that are predators in the reserve. Mind you, these dogs are nothing like Fido and Rover at home. They are bloodthirsty killing predators. However, they are also endangered. Zama’s work in animal preservation was very interesting, and he even let the students play with the radio tracking instruments and learn a little experientially. Once Zama left, I took a much needed nap. I could feel the students getting on my nerves, and I was getting grouchy, so I knew I was in dire need of sleep. I was glad to get the chance to catch some midday Zzz’s. By the time I woke up there was water and a few of us, me included, took much needed showers. In the evening, 4x4 jeeps arrived and we loaded in at dusk for our evening game drive. Our driver was a Zulu bushman named Tom who was very stern. He drove us into the reserve and we prayed we’d see the big 5 (lion, leopard, elephant, buffalo, and rhino). Pretty quickly we saw some a crocodile in the water of the river far away. We also saw zebra and impala, and a buffalo, but saw very little else as we drove along. We went long stretches of time without seeing anything but a few rare birds that didn’t impress us much. The one animal we saw constantly were herds of impala. It got to the point where we were calling them herds of ‘bait’ and willing a lion or leopard to come along and eat them! But, no such luck. Kopus was in my jeep and he told us that impalas have a nickname. They are also referred to as Nafi’s, or NAFIs which stands for “Not Another F*cking Impala” because they are just SO prevalent. We were able to see some of the big buffalo and wildebeests up close, but really didn’t encounter much else. One of the guides had a good eye and spotted an African python off to the side of the road. Duncan, the guide, stopped his jeep, jumped out and grabbed it up and brought it over to the jeep for everyone to touch. The thing must have been 6 feet long. It even managed to take a quick nip out of Duncan’s neck before he let it go (no worries, no damage was done). Just before we started to head back to camp, we stopped near a watering hole and saw five female hyena lurking in the distance. They are really sulky looking creatures with manic spots on their backs, hunched bodies, and blackened faces. We all agreed that they indeed looked like the Disney versions of hyena from the Lion King. We drove about 20 feet from the watering hole when we encountered two of the hyena from the group. They had closed in on us and began to circle the jeep and snarl a bit. The jeeps are very high off the ground, but it was unnerving to have an animal that could easily rip me to shreds two feet from me, and only barely out of reach. They did not like us in their area, especially once they realized we were not going to be an easy meal. Eventually they moved on, and we got back to camp. In talking to the other groups, no one really got to see any lion or elephants, though one group came upon a huge rhino a little ways outside of out camp. We all gorged on game stew and grainy/potatoy cakes called Pap and then roasted marshmallows over our huge campfire. Most of the evening was spent playing games around the fire, like Psychiatrist and Mafia, and telling ghost stories. A few smaller groups started some raucous games of “I Never” and Truth or Dare. I avoided those groups, but Kopus and Adele joined one, and I was embarrassed for them all. Kopus was an odd fellow. We learned that South African humor does not translate well to Americans. He would tell jokes, or make comments that he obviously thought were funny, and it was like you could hear crickets b/c none of us got it. This happened constantly. He also used some pretty inappropriate humor. He made remarks about Mexicans being lazy and trying to cross the border into America as a means to poke fun at two Mexican students who are on the voyage. They are both fun guys and laughed with him and did not take it personally. We also had a student with us named Senkei. She is a Taiwanese student who grew up in Japan. He could not pronounce her name so he called her Sushi for the whole safari. He also poked fun at her saying Chinese people would eat anything on four legs except a table. I know many of us were floored he would voice such a comment. Senkei was not pleased and made it clear, more than once, that she was not Chinese, but Taiwanese, and Japanese. Kopus also made references about women being inferior to men. Adele responded with jokes about men, but I would have preferred that none of the comments were made at all. It was interesting walking the line between wanting to say something to Kopus about how inappropriate his comments were, and accepting the fact that he was not an American, and not a member of our S@S community. I was also acutely aware that we were in a dangerous place, and he was essentially our lifeline. Not someone you want to piss off. In the end, I was proud that many of our students found their own voices in challenging his comments as they happened. I talked with them individually about how they felt, and tried to support them in the moment.

The next morning, we awoke at 5:00am on our last day in the savannah and loaded all of our gear back into the minivans. We said our goodbyes and took a group photo. Then we hopped in for our final drive slowly out of the reserve. We encountered herds of Nafi’s and loads of zebra, and then we got lucky. We had giraffe in our path. We saw a number of them as we made the drive through the reserve. They really are elegant creatures. I was glad to see them up close. As we got close to the gates of the reserve, we got another treat. There were three very large, and very sedate black rhino sunning themselves in a large meadow right next to the road. The minivans all stopped and we got the chance to snap a few more pictures. My minivan was the last to leave the gates of the reserve, and just beyond the gate we encountered 3 more giraffe by the side of the road. We stopped and watched as two of them flirted and musked one another. Musking is when the animals rub their necks against each other in an attempt to seduce and pass along their scent. It must have been effective, because soon enough, we were witnessing “giraffe porn” (as one of the students called it). In order to provide them with a little privacy, we drove on to Durban.

In Durban we wasted a bit of time, and I bought a couple of CDs of traditional and contemporary South Africa music. Then it was another cushy British Airways flight, and a short bus trip back to the ship. After cleaning the savannah off of me, I met up with a few RDs and we went off in search of some authentic African cuisine. We tried to get a reservation at Mama Africa’s and the African Café, two well know African restaurants, but both were booked. We ended up at Marco’s African Place. I dined on Crocodile and Warthog. (sidebar: Crocodile is not yummy, at all. It’s got a strange texture, an odd flavor, and lots of fatty deposits in the meat. I really wish I had ordered more kudu instead. Boo!). One of my colleagues, Matt, ordered a “Smiley” for his appetizer. The Smiley turned out to be a sheep’s head. It looked absolutely ghastly. You could see the teeth and the tongue sticking out of its mouth, and it still very much resembled the original animal, just dried out and cooked. Matt opened the eye, and popped out the eyeball and ate it. I swear everyone thought he was going to vomit on the spot, but he was a real trooper. And I thought I was adventurous! After dinner, everyone went out to catch some African jazz, but I headed back to the ship for my night on-call. I was worried it would be a sleepless night dealing with drunken students. The previous few nights had been full of issues, and Beth prepared me for the worst. However, the fates were with me, and I didn’t receive a single call. Yipee!

My final day in South Africa began with mail delivery. I received all sorts of wonderful notes from my folks and sisters, and an awesome postcard and note from my friends & colleagues Leigh (and Darin) and Yas. Thanks, friends! They provided some info of life at home and some useful Cape Town tips. My favorite package was a whole slew of notes, drawings and kind wishes from all my friends back in Mesa Court. I was so glad to get notes, and some of them really made me laugh. A quick shout-out to Cherine who’s simple note “buy me things –Cherine” had me actually laughing out loud. Thanks to you all!

After reading my mail over breakfast, I met up with RDs Matt and Dan for our trip up Table Mountain. The mountain looms 1088 meters or 3,627 feet over Cape Town Harbor. It was a beacon of hope for Nelson Mandela and the other prisoners on Robben Island, but also provides the best vistas of the city and surrounding area. Most people take the huge funiculars on the cableway that shoots almost straight of the side of the mountain. It really is a monolith that has sheer rock faces, a true sight to behold. We three decided to hike up the mountain (I was such a naïve idiot to attempt this). None of the trails up Table Mountain are easy, but we at least took the most straightforward route up the Platteklip Gorge. They tell people that unless extremely fit, you should first attempt to walk down rather than up. The guide books estimate that it should take about 2 ½ hours to climb down. But, no. I had hubris on my side, as did my companions. We left at 10am, as the sun was it strongest, and began our hike. Matt, being the young whippersnapper that he is led off and set a very fast pace. It became apparent to me pretty quickly that the trail really was almost straight up. It was actually less of a trail and more of a huge looming staircase, where each step was a huge boulder at a sharp incline. Quickly Matt tired out, and slowed a bit. After about 40 minutes, we had climbed ¼ of the way up, and I was really feeling it. I was glad I wore sunscreen and had water with me but I was breathing hard and started to regret my decision to climb. Dan, being wiry and athletic set a nice steady pace and was out of sight in no time. After about an hour or so, I hit a wall. I began to feel sick, knew I was beginning to feel heat stroke, and couldn’t get my heart rate to slow down. By this point, I was about halfway up the mountain. If I could have called a cab I would have done so in a NY minute. I had visions of needing to be airlifted off the mountain because I was seriously not sure I was going to make it up. I let go of all my pride and was just filled with fear. I could feel my heartbeat in my neck hear it pounding in my ears and all I could think about was my Dad and his recent heart troubles I was worried I might keel over right there. Matt was great, and hung back with me, and played it off as if he was in need of rest. Since I was stuck needing to go either up or down, I dug into my reserves of energy and decided to head up, but I also knew I needed to give myself as much time as I needed to make it up the mountain. I’d climb for about 5 minutes or so, and then I’d stop and find a bit of shade and rest of five minutes (sometimes longer). I was able to appreciate the views a bit more, and slowing down let me slow my heart rate down a bunch as well. I also got the chance to meet other climbers. I met a fun couple of Indian gals from London who were agonizing over the climb as much as me. I met a couple of young guys from Australia who also were taking it very slow and didn’t know what they got themselves into. So, in the end I felt better for being in good company. It didn’t even bother me when I was passed by a few 50-60 year old ladies, and an older S@S professor who seemed unfazed by the climb. (Ok, so I was a little peeved, but I was more focused on survival at that point). I was sad to discover that the climb actually got to be more difficult as we got higher and higher up the mountain and into the gorge itself. We met many S@S students along the trail, most of whom had already climbed up and were headed back down. Their encouragement was much appreciated as I climbed. After a little over 2 hours, I popped out of the gorge onto the top of the Table. It was a bit anticlimactic, because the trail just suddenly ends along a paved path, and you’re surrounded by people who took the cable car up to the top. They couldn’t seem to understand why I looked so disheveled and pale. Matt had arrived at the top about 10 minutes before me, and Dan evidently made it up about 30 minutes earlier. We all wandered around up top and appreciated the amazing views all around Cape Town and for hundreds of miles. I was reminded of the view from the top of Corcovado Mountain in Rio because I felt like I could see everything from up there. I quickly made my way to the restaurant and café area where I drank down two bottles of water, had a ham & cheese sandwich, and relaxed in the shade for a bit. While the hike felt like torture, I rallied back pretty darn quick and was able to enjoy myself up top. I met up with our Librarian Erin (a fellow Wahoo) and one of our professors, Robin O’Bryan, and we swapped stories about Cape Town and S@S before I found met back up with Dan & Matt for our trip back down the mountain. We had discussed rappelling down the side of Table Mountain. It is the longest commercial rappel in the world, and would have made a great end to my time in Cape Town, but it was bit more expensive than we thought. Plus, once you rappelled down, you had to hike back up the mountain to get the cable car back. There was no way on God’s green Earth I would consider that again. So we paid the fee and rode the cablecar down. It was worth every single one of those 60 Rand. As I rode down the cable car, I mentally reconsidered my plans to climb Mt. Fuji in Japan, or to run a marathon, or do an Iron Man. Some goals are just better left to others.

After the my near-death experience on Table Mountain (ok, so maybe I’m being a little dramatic), I jumped in a cab with a couple students and went back to Greenmarket Square. I had a few more purchases I wanted to make. I was able to quickly find a mahogany rhino, and a couple of masks. I really wanted to find a couple of authentic African masks for my walls at home. I looked around and talked to the different vendors and eventually decided on two South African passport masks. These masks were used when members of one tribe wanted to cross the territory of another tribe. They would need to carry and wear the passport mask in order to have safe passage through that territory. They are beautiful masks and very imposing. The vendor and I really haggled over the price for a while. I ended up paying a little more than I wanted, but I could tell he was also not pleased at how cheap he was selling them to me. In the end, I got both of the masks for 270 Rand (about $39). With all my purchases complete, and almost all my Rand spent, the students and I hopped in one of the Cape Town minibus taxicabs. These little minivan taxis stop at spots around the city and take up to 15 passengers and drop them off wherever is needed. It only cost us 4 Rand each, much better than the 50 Rand cab fare we would have split for the same ride. I ran into the mall at the waterfront, and quickly bought myself a green t-shirt for the Sea Olympics (the Aegean Sea color is green) and grabbed a quick dinner of pizza and chips. Next I sat and wrote out 30 postcards lickety-split and threw them in the mail before running back to the ship to welcome back our students at on-ship time. Most of our students made it back right on time. We had a few drunk students stumble up to the ship and a few students who threw some attitude at us. But for the most part, things went pretty smoothly, and we eventually got a good system in place. It is always more difficult to get folks back on board when the gangway is on Deck 5 b/c the stairs are very narrow, and can’t handle too many people at once. Once on-ship time arrived at 2030 (8:30pm) we were only missing about 10 students, and they all ambled up within the next 15 minutes.

As a final farewell treat, the Khayelitsha Township Choir came on board to give us a concert in the Student Union. We had a packed house, and these singers amazed everyone present. Their music was spectacular. Their songs had simple lyrics, but layered with melodies and singing parts, and evoked such emotion. The singers also danced as a group as they sang and expressed so much through their singing. The best part was that they were really committed to their music and looked like they really enjoyed performing. We learned that the group of about 30 singers are all students from the township. They practice in the evenings and compete with other community-based music groups. Last year, they placed second in the most prestigious competition in the area. They are hoping to win it all this year, and I sincerely hope they do too. Listening to them sing, I had a huge smile on my face the entire time. In the end, we all stood as they sang the South African national anthem with its multi-lingual lyrics. Again, I admit that my eyes were wet thinking back over my trip and listening to the moving music of the township choir. This will be one tough port to beat. The choir sang their way off the ship and we pulled up the gangway. I’m glad my camera was able to catch a bit of their singing as they exited so I can remember them. It was the most fitting and beautiful farewell I could have imagined. RD Mindy and I walked out on 7th deck and looked over Cape Town and mused about how far we’ve come already, and how many more wonderful places we will be visiting in the coming weeks. I went to bed a very tired, and very happy man.

Sorry for the long long long blog entry. But with a country as culturally rich as South Africa, it was destined to be a long entry. If you stuck with me, thank you. I wish love to everyone back home.
XOXO

–Drew