Ladies and gents, a quick note from a mildly bashful world traveler:
I love South Africa. Now, I believe my opinion on everything, from public transportation to the quality of food to the English language is entirely biased by the fact that I've spent most of a year in absentia from most of these things... but WOW. Cheese and wine? Ham sandwiches? Dare I say, chicken burrito and nachos? Oh, and busses/trains that have schedules that are actually followed, and coffee shops that serve cute little lattes in cute little mugs, and (wonder of all wonders) menus and street signs that I can actually read!!!
Yes, friends, yours truly, the seasoned, hardened world traveler who would rather sleep in a bed that smells slightly of cat than pay $2 more for a nicer hotel room... has been ever-so-slightly (ok, head over heels) charmed by the wonders of modern cities. With slight embarrassment, I admit, I have been drinking aforementioned lattes at least 2x a day, sitting in little window fronts watching people with a little voice providing commentary inside my head: "Wow, so that's what a fashionable person looks like (mental note: boots and tights)" and "Look at all the white people (mental note: can't say that out-loud anymore)!" and "I wonder how long I can sit here before they kick me out (mental note: yep, 5 more minutes)?"
So, yes, I'm very much enjoying my time in S Africa. After a week spent in Johannesburg, hanging out with a girl I met while working in Greece, I flew down to Cape Town and have been absolutely eating up this adorable city and surrounding suburbs. (About that flying, lest you think I'm getting lazy [or, more generously, classy] in my old-traveling-age, I DID try the bus and the train first, only to find out they were sold out of economy class train tickets -- I will take the economy class back to JoBurg -- and flying was actually CHEAPER than sitting on a bus for 19 hours. Which after the 36 hour bus-ride-from-hell that was my trip from Malawi just wasn't going to happen.) So, back to what I've been doing in CT, I spent a day wandering around the bookshops, cafes, and fish-and-chip-eries of Kalk Bay a lovely seaside town, after visiting the penguins (cute!!!) down on the coast. I spent another day on a lovely wine and cheese tour of Stellenbosch and surrounding areas, accompanied/led by one of my best Couchsurfing hosts ever, a lovely woman names Svea. who I stayed with for the past few days. Another day I wandered around the Botanical Gardens (I am going to make the best old person, I've decided, since I already have such a love for little manicured gardens with information tablets and knitting and tea and going to bed early after watching the evening news and well balanced meals and sweaters...) and Cape Town center and waterfront. Which brings me to today, a day to be spent looking at the nice view from my new CSer's place and planning my assault on Table Mountain tomorrow (to be completed by cable car if I can't find anyone to hike with me). Saturday I start that 27 hour train ride back to Joburg, and Monday...
I leave to come home!! Friends, marking my 13th month-i-versary, I shall be embarking on a more-than-24hour long trip to return to the USA (via Cairo). I'm excited, nervous, unsure what to expect. and a number of other emotions I can't seem to pin down. My former WT companion Em has given me a little insight as to what to look forward to, since she did this a few weeks back, but I can honestly say that I expect the experience of being back and seeing all you wonderful people to be like nothing I've done before... and I'm super-stoked to get it underway. I knew that as soon as I bought a ticket, those few weeks back in Malawi, I would be extremely focused on my departure date (honestly, I don't know how WTK held out for so long after knowing when she'd be back)... and it's true, I've been struggling to maintain a connection to this world-traveler thing since knowing that I'd be leaving this lifestyle (a hiatus, not permanently, of course) in less than a month. I figured, well, if it was going to be over so soon, why not NOW... and kept figuring that. My final month was split into such clear sections, and so few of them... that it was so easy to focus on that ending sequence of trips before The Flight...
But anyway, here we are. I'm almost finished with this stage in my travels, I'm excited to see all of my friends and families... and I'm relieved that I have another adventure planned only a month after I get back. Because I can't see myself settling down quite yet (surprise surprise), and think it's about time that I give the states some of this wanderlust energy. Plus, I'm going to gain like 12 kilos eating everything I haven't seen in over a year, including sushi and American breakfast, and I'm going to need this long-ass bike trip to work it all off.
I'll be embarking on a rather ambitious series of phone calls when I get home, so if you want to be on the list, drop me an email with your number since I don't have any anymore!
Lots of love, and see you on the flipside...
WT Scott
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Another blog post? I must be bored :)
A bit of news from Malawi (yes, I'm still in Malawi):
Next time I have a speech or other sort of oral presentation to practice, preferably in a foreign language, I now know that all I need to do is buy a bus ticket.
Which is really quite ingenious, and I'm surprised it hadn't occured to me before -- but trust those budding Malawian preachers to come up with all the best ideas.
See, as I was riding the bus the other morning -- the bus, mind you, that I had gotten up at 6am to catch, the bus that was destined to take me to Lilongwe, the capital of this wonderfully pretty country -- a young man stood up, a very well dressed man (by Malawian standards), in a gray suit, clutching a rather ratty looking book with no cover. Before I even knew what was happening, the Peace Corps (PC) volunteer sitting next to me cut himself off in mid-sentence and bowed his head, causing me to look around curiously and notice all the other bowed heads on the bus. Which brought my attention back to the rather interesting spectacle of the well-dressed man standing in the aisle, holding on to the backs of two seats so as not to go flying through the bus, who had chosen just this moment to switch from the local, national language of Chichewa into his obviously second language, English, and lead the whole bus in a God-fearing prayer.
Assuming this would be it -- one prayer, asking God to save us from the maniacal driving tendencies Malawian's in charge of large public transportation vehicles, and other such requests -- I waited patiently, taking note of a few key facts later to be confirmed in mere moments:
1) We (the PC volunteer and myself) were the only white people on the bus (typical occurence). Therefore, the only possible reason the man had chosen to preach in English was for our... benefit. For, unless you are ultra-bwana (as the PC volunteer was fond of saying -- basically a Malawian who has seen way, way too much American TV), your English (as a Malawian) is probably not up to par (as the preacher insisted on proving).
2) This man was a genious! He had guaranteed himself the perfect audience for the perfection of his sermon -- a captive audience, literally -- who's only possible method for not listening was to talk over him (Malawians, being very polite, unwilling to do this) or to jump out the window. Brilliant -- a method of public speaking I had never before considered (trapping your audience), but will use extensively from now on.
Anyhow, after the prayer, which thanked God for protecting both Malawians and people from England (a common assumption, according to the whispered commentary of my PC friend), the budding Malawian preacher launched into a sermon (continuing in his inferior second language) about, as I understood it, budgeting for your life. I assume that he did not specifically mean "budgeting" (I gave my life $12 and moved on rather quickly, hoping he'd then tell me what to do with my new budget) and perhaps meant "planning"; I also assume that his accusation that, while we all planned things like taking a bus trip (a decision I will consider rather strongly in the future) and buying clothes, none of us had planned to be alive, was not meant as something we should be ashamed of, necessarily, just something we should fix as soon as possible (though I beg to differ: I spent numerous years as a small ovum lobbying to be allowed to begin my journey toward zygote-ism, as did my PC friend, though from the perspective of an over-anxious tadpole).
So, as you might assume, I was mildly confused (and I'm sure all the others on the bus were as well, as they couldn't actually understand what he was saying), but luckily the young preacher repeated his main arguments ("You have not planned to be alive" "You must make an acceptable budget (implied: $12 is not acceptable)" "Somehow this involves God, though I'll be sure not to clarify how, and won't actually mention the Big G until my closing sentence") and eventually sat down, after providing what seemed to me to be a rather brief summary of his entire sermon in Chichewa, to the obvious relief of the others on the bus.
So, needless to say, I forgot all about this sermon moments later and spent a lovely 6-7 hours talking to my new friend, learning much about the Peace Corps and the VSO (UK's version of the PC) and figuring out just what I'd do once I got to the bustling metropolis of Lilongwe (list: walk to 3 different places to stay before finding one that was vacant, go to Shop-Rite, use the internet, dream about Chinese food). Which basically summarizes my 3-day stay in the capital, adding only the pleasant surprises of finding strawberries and tiramisu-flavored gelato (thought about you, WTK)!!
My Dutch friend Rian had left to head back up to Tze the day before this trip to Lilongwe, and I suppose I'll backtrack and give you the highlights of our last 5 days together. We left Nkatha Bay by ferry, heading to Ruarwe, a lovely port on the lake north of where we had been staying, but south of Mushroom Farm. We got up early to catch this ferry -- 6am, again -- only to wander down to the port area and discover that, due to bad weather, it was delayed somewhere between 2 to 5 hours. Luckily (?), no one could tell us exactly how long it would be delayed, or even how long after arriving it would stay in port (between 15 minutes and 2 hours) before heading north... so we set up camp in a little cafe overlooking the port, ate sandwiches, played Scrabble and Jenga and alternately put on warmer clothing and discarded warmer clothing as the temperature kept changing with the rain, and waited... until 1pm, when the ferry actually left. A rather uneventful 6-ish hours took us to Ruarwe, an otherwise inaccesable (except by walking,) little fishing village and home of Zulukhuni (or Zukuluni, or Zuhukluni, or something) River Lodge, formally called "Wherearewe?" Lodge, a much better name, if you ask me (which they obviously didn't). Anyway, other than Matt, the owner, and a slew of Malawian workers, we were the only people there, and we spent a glorious 5 days doing absolutely nothing. Well, I suppose we ate, swam, read, played Monopoly Cards, and sunned ourselves, but you get the picture. No electricity meant we were in bed soon after it got dark (one memorable evening we stayed awake until 930pm (!!) engrossed in a Monopoly Card Tournament), and awake with the light of the morning, which is really a great way to live.
So, over the few days we were there, we had considered our options for leaving. Rian had to get back to Tanzania to fly home by yesterday, the ferry didn't come back through (heading south) until 8 days after we had arrived, and the next town, from where we could catch a matola (open-backed 8-wheeled pick-up truck) to Mzuzu and onward transport from there, was an estimated 3-4 hour walk away. We opted for the last option, and on the designated morning, paid a young Malawian to canoe our bags to Usisya (the town) while we set off walking.
Well, 3-4 hours later, we were nowhere near Usisya. We thought we were getting closer -- walking on a coastal path, we could always see Usisya, just around the next bend -- but somehow we never reached it. Glad that we were not carrying our own bags, we stumbled on, past drying piles of cassava (which smells like old butter popcorn that someone has left sitting in the sun) and large stocks of smoked fish (smells like large stocks of smoked fish), until, somewhere between 6-7 hours after we left, we reached Usisya and dragged ourselves down to our rest house and collapsed in our beds, exhausted. We had learned previously, but were loathe to believe, that this matola we were planning to catch left at 2am the next morning, and when this fact was confirmed (to our dismay) we immediately set about eating and sleeping, in bed with the lights off no later than 830pm.
2am rolled around, and we (along with about 30 others and all of their bags of rotten-popcorn cassava and baskets of smelly fish and babies and whatever else they were bringing to sell at market (clarification: they were not selling the babies, to Rian's disappointment, as she was infatuated with their little cute selves and really wanted to bring one home) ) climbed into the back of this open truck and set off on the 4 hour journey to Mzuzu. Uneventful as such a journey can be in the dark on bad roads with pregnant women displaying all the symptoms of morning sickness directly next to your feet and your bum falling asleep only to be rudely awakened by the next jarring bump in the road... we arrived just past 6am in Mzuzu, grabbed some breakfast, and I saw Rian off. The poor girl was going all the way to Tanzania that same day, a trip that took her until dark that evening (more than 16 hours of travel that started at 2am), while I was destined to go sleep until 1pm and then putter around Mzuzu aimlessly until the next morning's trip to Lilongwe.
Which, I suppose, brings me full circle. Except that, after Lilongwe, I hopped on another long bus ride to Blantyre, where I had heard (and have since confirmed) that I can catch a direct bus to Johannesburg -- the easiest, quickest, and (probably) cheapest method of getting to South Africa. The plan was to catch a bus this morning, but I've managed to come down with some sort of traveler's sickness (I was hoping for dysentery, but I think I'm starting to get better so it's apparently nothing too exciting) and so I'm putting off the 30-hour bus ride until Saturday. I'm looking forward to getting down to SA -- relative "civilization", if you define civilized as anywhere with fully-stocked grocery stores and timetables for public transportation (which I do, so no bad intentions towards the rest of sub-Saharan Africa when I use that term), and getting the chance to see some people who I've met earlier on this trip.
And, to close, I'm back in the states on July 20th! I arrive in NYC, will be up in Keene on the 21st, and then am heading directly to ME to visit my grandfather. I'll be back in Keene to stay for a few days after ME, and then will head down to Lewisburg, via some selected stops on the east coast. The rest of my plans will continue as previously noted, with a more complete road trip to commence in August. I'm so looking forward to being back (my first three meals: Bagel and Cream Cheese, Sushi, American Breakfast), and to seeing all of your wonderful faces!
Lots of love from Malawi -- and pictures to come from South Africa, as it's the only place I have any chance of uploading photos!
-WT Scott
Next time I have a speech or other sort of oral presentation to practice, preferably in a foreign language, I now know that all I need to do is buy a bus ticket.
Which is really quite ingenious, and I'm surprised it hadn't occured to me before -- but trust those budding Malawian preachers to come up with all the best ideas.
See, as I was riding the bus the other morning -- the bus, mind you, that I had gotten up at 6am to catch, the bus that was destined to take me to Lilongwe, the capital of this wonderfully pretty country -- a young man stood up, a very well dressed man (by Malawian standards), in a gray suit, clutching a rather ratty looking book with no cover. Before I even knew what was happening, the Peace Corps (PC) volunteer sitting next to me cut himself off in mid-sentence and bowed his head, causing me to look around curiously and notice all the other bowed heads on the bus. Which brought my attention back to the rather interesting spectacle of the well-dressed man standing in the aisle, holding on to the backs of two seats so as not to go flying through the bus, who had chosen just this moment to switch from the local, national language of Chichewa into his obviously second language, English, and lead the whole bus in a God-fearing prayer.
Assuming this would be it -- one prayer, asking God to save us from the maniacal driving tendencies Malawian's in charge of large public transportation vehicles, and other such requests -- I waited patiently, taking note of a few key facts later to be confirmed in mere moments:
1) We (the PC volunteer and myself) were the only white people on the bus (typical occurence). Therefore, the only possible reason the man had chosen to preach in English was for our... benefit. For, unless you are ultra-bwana (as the PC volunteer was fond of saying -- basically a Malawian who has seen way, way too much American TV), your English (as a Malawian) is probably not up to par (as the preacher insisted on proving).
2) This man was a genious! He had guaranteed himself the perfect audience for the perfection of his sermon -- a captive audience, literally -- who's only possible method for not listening was to talk over him (Malawians, being very polite, unwilling to do this) or to jump out the window. Brilliant -- a method of public speaking I had never before considered (trapping your audience), but will use extensively from now on.
Anyhow, after the prayer, which thanked God for protecting both Malawians and people from England (a common assumption, according to the whispered commentary of my PC friend), the budding Malawian preacher launched into a sermon (continuing in his inferior second language) about, as I understood it, budgeting for your life. I assume that he did not specifically mean "budgeting" (I gave my life $12 and moved on rather quickly, hoping he'd then tell me what to do with my new budget) and perhaps meant "planning"; I also assume that his accusation that, while we all planned things like taking a bus trip (a decision I will consider rather strongly in the future) and buying clothes, none of us had planned to be alive, was not meant as something we should be ashamed of, necessarily, just something we should fix as soon as possible (though I beg to differ: I spent numerous years as a small ovum lobbying to be allowed to begin my journey toward zygote-ism, as did my PC friend, though from the perspective of an over-anxious tadpole).
So, as you might assume, I was mildly confused (and I'm sure all the others on the bus were as well, as they couldn't actually understand what he was saying), but luckily the young preacher repeated his main arguments ("You have not planned to be alive" "You must make an acceptable budget (implied: $12 is not acceptable)" "Somehow this involves God, though I'll be sure not to clarify how, and won't actually mention the Big G until my closing sentence") and eventually sat down, after providing what seemed to me to be a rather brief summary of his entire sermon in Chichewa, to the obvious relief of the others on the bus.
So, needless to say, I forgot all about this sermon moments later and spent a lovely 6-7 hours talking to my new friend, learning much about the Peace Corps and the VSO (UK's version of the PC) and figuring out just what I'd do once I got to the bustling metropolis of Lilongwe (list: walk to 3 different places to stay before finding one that was vacant, go to Shop-Rite, use the internet, dream about Chinese food). Which basically summarizes my 3-day stay in the capital, adding only the pleasant surprises of finding strawberries and tiramisu-flavored gelato (thought about you, WTK)!!
My Dutch friend Rian had left to head back up to Tze the day before this trip to Lilongwe, and I suppose I'll backtrack and give you the highlights of our last 5 days together. We left Nkatha Bay by ferry, heading to Ruarwe, a lovely port on the lake north of where we had been staying, but south of Mushroom Farm. We got up early to catch this ferry -- 6am, again -- only to wander down to the port area and discover that, due to bad weather, it was delayed somewhere between 2 to 5 hours. Luckily (?), no one could tell us exactly how long it would be delayed, or even how long after arriving it would stay in port (between 15 minutes and 2 hours) before heading north... so we set up camp in a little cafe overlooking the port, ate sandwiches, played Scrabble and Jenga and alternately put on warmer clothing and discarded warmer clothing as the temperature kept changing with the rain, and waited... until 1pm, when the ferry actually left. A rather uneventful 6-ish hours took us to Ruarwe, an otherwise inaccesable (except by walking,) little fishing village and home of Zulukhuni (or Zukuluni, or Zuhukluni, or something) River Lodge, formally called "Wherearewe?" Lodge, a much better name, if you ask me (which they obviously didn't). Anyway, other than Matt, the owner, and a slew of Malawian workers, we were the only people there, and we spent a glorious 5 days doing absolutely nothing. Well, I suppose we ate, swam, read, played Monopoly Cards, and sunned ourselves, but you get the picture. No electricity meant we were in bed soon after it got dark (one memorable evening we stayed awake until 930pm (!!) engrossed in a Monopoly Card Tournament), and awake with the light of the morning, which is really a great way to live.
So, over the few days we were there, we had considered our options for leaving. Rian had to get back to Tanzania to fly home by yesterday, the ferry didn't come back through (heading south) until 8 days after we had arrived, and the next town, from where we could catch a matola (open-backed 8-wheeled pick-up truck) to Mzuzu and onward transport from there, was an estimated 3-4 hour walk away. We opted for the last option, and on the designated morning, paid a young Malawian to canoe our bags to Usisya (the town) while we set off walking.
Well, 3-4 hours later, we were nowhere near Usisya. We thought we were getting closer -- walking on a coastal path, we could always see Usisya, just around the next bend -- but somehow we never reached it. Glad that we were not carrying our own bags, we stumbled on, past drying piles of cassava (which smells like old butter popcorn that someone has left sitting in the sun) and large stocks of smoked fish (smells like large stocks of smoked fish), until, somewhere between 6-7 hours after we left, we reached Usisya and dragged ourselves down to our rest house and collapsed in our beds, exhausted. We had learned previously, but were loathe to believe, that this matola we were planning to catch left at 2am the next morning, and when this fact was confirmed (to our dismay) we immediately set about eating and sleeping, in bed with the lights off no later than 830pm.
2am rolled around, and we (along with about 30 others and all of their bags of rotten-popcorn cassava and baskets of smelly fish and babies and whatever else they were bringing to sell at market (clarification: they were not selling the babies, to Rian's disappointment, as she was infatuated with their little cute selves and really wanted to bring one home) ) climbed into the back of this open truck and set off on the 4 hour journey to Mzuzu. Uneventful as such a journey can be in the dark on bad roads with pregnant women displaying all the symptoms of morning sickness directly next to your feet and your bum falling asleep only to be rudely awakened by the next jarring bump in the road... we arrived just past 6am in Mzuzu, grabbed some breakfast, and I saw Rian off. The poor girl was going all the way to Tanzania that same day, a trip that took her until dark that evening (more than 16 hours of travel that started at 2am), while I was destined to go sleep until 1pm and then putter around Mzuzu aimlessly until the next morning's trip to Lilongwe.
Which, I suppose, brings me full circle. Except that, after Lilongwe, I hopped on another long bus ride to Blantyre, where I had heard (and have since confirmed) that I can catch a direct bus to Johannesburg -- the easiest, quickest, and (probably) cheapest method of getting to South Africa. The plan was to catch a bus this morning, but I've managed to come down with some sort of traveler's sickness (I was hoping for dysentery, but I think I'm starting to get better so it's apparently nothing too exciting) and so I'm putting off the 30-hour bus ride until Saturday. I'm looking forward to getting down to SA -- relative "civilization", if you define civilized as anywhere with fully-stocked grocery stores and timetables for public transportation (which I do, so no bad intentions towards the rest of sub-Saharan Africa when I use that term), and getting the chance to see some people who I've met earlier on this trip.
And, to close, I'm back in the states on July 20th! I arrive in NYC, will be up in Keene on the 21st, and then am heading directly to ME to visit my grandfather. I'll be back in Keene to stay for a few days after ME, and then will head down to Lewisburg, via some selected stops on the east coast. The rest of my plans will continue as previously noted, with a more complete road trip to commence in August. I'm so looking forward to being back (my first three meals: Bagel and Cream Cheese, Sushi, American Breakfast), and to seeing all of your wonderful faces!
Lots of love from Malawi -- and pictures to come from South Africa, as it's the only place I have any chance of uploading photos!
-WT Scott
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