Toured Home
A global sojourn.
Melbourne Never Had a Chance
Me and Melbourne…well…..we didn’t really get along so well. I never really gave her a fair shot. I mean, look how I favored Sydney. Three whole weeks!! Melbourne only got 3 days out of me! I don’t know why…I had only heard nice things about Melbourne – that it was much artsier and more European than Sydney, that it was one of the easiest places to live, that the people might be friendlier there….still, I just wasn’t turned on and only went because I felt I was close enough so I should see it.
When I landed in Melbourne Friday afternoon , my phone wasn’t working. I couldn’t figure out why. The Optus phone plan I had was telling me I needed to “recharge”, which in Australian means pay more. I had checked my balance, but I paid more. Again. And it still wouldn’t work. I tried calling the only call it would let me make – to Optus. They kept me on hold for a half hour and never picked up. The other problem I had was that the serviced apartment I rented for the weekend had no wi-fi. So no phone, no computer. I decided to call it a night and deal with it in the morning.
Saturday morning I tried calling Optus again. Finally got someone on the phone and after checking my account, she told me everything looked fine and I should shut the phone down and take the Sim card out for a full minute. Then put it back in and reboot. Well, I had nothing to pop out the Sim card holder with, so I used a corkscrew. You know where this is going, right? Got the Sim card out, waited a few minutes, put it back in. Well, it wouldn’t go back in all the way. Ugh. This is getting ugly. Having no phone nor computer to search anything, I walked out to the street and asked random strangers where I might find an Optus store. Found the store, handed them my phone and my story, and they couldn’t fix it. They said it looks like I damaged the phone. Fuck. Where is the Apple store? Oh…not in the city – only at a mall about 20 minutes outside the city. Are you kidding me??? No, dead serious. But there’s a repair shop a few blocks away that might fix it. Off I went to the repair shop. They tried, but failed. $30 poorer, the taxi dropped me off at the mall and I went in search of the Apple store. They’re all so helpful in there, but it was Saturday, and all their appointments were filled. I literally looked at this poor girl and said, “Well I’m not leaving. I need someone to help me with this phone. I don’t live here, I just got here, I don’t know where I am or where I’m going. I’m lost without my phone and I’m not leaving until someone helps me.” She empathized with my situation and told me to hang on and she grabbed the manager who set me up instantly with someone. So….I broke the phone. And when you break your own phone, it’s not carried under warranty. I looked like I was about to cry, and the nice Apple guy says to me, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll just give you a new phone.” Really? “Yeah, really. We’ll take care of it.” I absolutely love Apple and at this moment I pictured Steve Jobs looking down from above with a halo over his head. But then we realized that I have an American iPhone, not an Australian iPhone, so he would have to order the American model in. It would take 7 days. I was leaving 2 days later!!!! Helppppp!! I cannot leave without a phone!!! I am lost!!!! I have no access to maps, no access to where I might eat, walk, go….I’m in a foreign country and I need my damn phone!! Is this the most boring story you’ve ever read? Well this is how I spent my entire day on Saturday. I spent $732 on a new iPhone5c that I can return within 2 weeks for a full refund. In the meantime, they ordered in the American iPhone. My cousin who lives in Melbourne will pick it up and overnight it to me in Shute Harbor, which I plan to be in by the time it arrives. If anything goes wrong, I’m out $732.
Saturday night, I needed to eat and drink. Went in search of a BAR WITH BAR STOOLS. Having no luck, I spotted some normal looking women having a cigarette and approached them. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was wondering if you could help me find someplace to go. I just got into Melbourne and I’m traveling alone, and it’s really hard to meet people so I’m looking for a bar that might have bar stools where I can talk to people.” They were like, ” yeah sure, there’s quite a few good ones…” yada, yada, yada…3 minutes later they invited me to join them. Yesss!!
Heading out Saturday night.
I follow them through a non-marked plain glass door and down a set of stairs into this totally cool Japanese restaurant, Izakaya Den. Amazingggg food. And great company! It was Daniella’s birthday and her one girlfriend and 3 guy friends were there to celebrate, and I was honored to join them! Conversation and sake flowed…the party moved to Mamasita where we switched to Margheritas, and then Gianni (41) and I decided to keep the party going at Cherry Bar, a grunge rock club where I was double the age of everyone in there, and then on to another dance club where we again were old but laughing. By 2pm I was spent, so I left him there and headed home. Totally fun.
Sunday I took myself to Pellegrini’s Bar for lunch – had the best Ravioli Napolitean I have ever had in my life. This place is a Melbourne Institution. Looks like a diner on the inside and is run and owned by true-blood Italians from the old country. They know how to make sauce!! Then I strolled down to Federation Square to see what was going on. The Australian Open starts Monday here in Melbourne, and there was a lot of tennis-related stuff going on. It was just a nice day, walked around a bit, and since I hadn’t had internet for 2 days, I parked myself at a bar where I could get wi-fi and connected.
For dinner Sunday night, I took a cab down to St Kilda’s which is Melbourne’s beach town where I met my cousin Matthew for dinner at Clay Pots. Matthew is on a year-long internship program and working at a Trapeze Camp. He’s so adorable and positive and interesting – we had a great dinner and it was so nice to see my little cuz!!
Matthew and our amazing seafood platter
Me & my cousin Matt
So I’m leaving in the morning for Byron Bay…can’t come soon enough!!!
Best almond croissant in Melbourne. Yum.
The Land Of OZ
So I just landed in Melbourne and got into my apt here….WAITTTTTT!!!! (skiddddd, crash, tumble, skinned knees, dust and rocks flying up from the pavement) What happened in Sydneyyyyy???? Well, brush yourself off and have a seat and I will try to recount my past 3 weeks in what I am now calling my favorite city. Lol, yeah, you heard me correctly. I realize I’m a New York/Jersey girl and maybe the old cliché ‘the grass is always greener” holds some weight, but there’s so much about Sydney that is just…well, me. So in no particular order, here are all of my reasons for calling out Sydney as my fave.
First of all, it’s beautiful. Period. I know beauty is subjective, and I might say that about a lot of places and believe it! But it definitely is one of the prettiest cities because it’s surrounded by water – and not just ANY water – the magnificent harbor which traverses through Sydney’s many “fingers” and the OCEAN with it’s gorgeous sand beaches and cliffs. The ocean water here is not like the Jersey shore or the Hamptons – it’s clearer, and brighter and more blue. There is no seaweed or jellyfish on the beaches, not even shells, really. It’s incredibly clean. Of course there is beauty in seaweed and all that stuff – particularly shells – but if I had a choice, I’d pick a clean white sand beach that has great waves that I can see right through to my feet over my childhood Jersey Atlantic – just saying. If I had to compare Sydney to a US city, San Francisco would probably be the closest, but Sydney is definitely much cleaner.
That’s my second reason. Sydney is CLEAN. I’m sure there are parts that aren’t, but I checked out many neighborhoods and I’m telling you, it’s just really clean!! The streets are clean, the buildings are very well maintained, there are lots of parks and trees and foliage everywhere…some homeless people, but they don’t litter the streets with their bodies or their stuff. The air feels good and the streets are wide and it’s just friggin clean. Trust me.
Hyde Park
Hyde Park
Hyde Park
CBD
Martin’s Place
Third, the climate is to die for. It never gets colder than the mid 40’s – the coldest temp on record is 41 – and although it can get hot (up to 100 but that’s also rare) the heat isn’t humid. It’s not completely dry either, but it’s definitely bearable. In my 21 days there, temps ranged anywhere from 72 – 93. There is usually a nice breeze blowing off the water, and the skies are a gorgeous deep blue that seems to go on forever – it’s a very sunny, happy city.
Speaking of happy, the 4th reason Sydney is my favorite is that it’s very SAFE, and that feeling of walking around without looking over my shoulder makes me incredibly happy. There is a good police presence here, and Sydneysiders seem to feel good about obeying their laws. The gov’t is extremely strict on DUI’s, and the police set up many random “stops”, morning, noon and night, where they pull your car over and test you for alcohol use. People I spoke to in Sydney do NOT drink and drive. Ever. They take taxis or walk. They also wear seat belts, even in the back seat of a car. You can get a $200 fine if you are caught without it. They also seem not to jaywalk or even cross at the corner unless the green light is in their favor. I like that kind of respect!
The fifth reason Sydney is my favorite city is that it is WALKABLE. It is small enough to have neighborhoods but large enough to still have a CBD (Central Business District), and all of this can be covered on foot! In the CBD you have your tall buildings, your architectural highlights, the Opera House, the Harbor Bridge, the museums. And just outside of that, within walking distance, are many of the neighborhoods that make up Sydney. My favorite, and the one I lived in, is Surry Hills. It is adorable, with it’s cafe-lined streets and little shops mixed in with 2-3 story flats with New Orleans’ style porches and railings. It has pubs and a modern library/community center, and the best ice cream shop in all of Sydney (fact!) named Messina, that at any given moment can have a queue 15 people long! It is mostly made up of young professionals, 20’s and 30’s, all beautiful. Yeah, that’s another thing. Australian’s are great to look at, especially the men!! They take great care of their bodies and they all work out – it’s very rare to see someone overweight or out of shape – it’s kinda shocking in a way, but still nice to admire!! I also noticed that most people are white, or Asian. Coming from Africa this was quite a jarring observation, and I did ask some people why they thought blacks or other ethnicities were not well represented here, and they really didn’t have an answer. More research needed.
So what did I do for all of those days? Good question, and I’m happy to say…not much!! I relaxed a lot. I had rented a beautiful small one bedroom apt in Surry Hills through airbnb.com and it was such a pleasure to just hang in, that some days I found myself being lazy, cooking some breakfast or lunch, doing some laundry, surfing the web, and just “being”. I spent a lot of time (and money) walking on Oxford Street in Paddington – great shopping. One store in particular, Capital L, is absolutely my favorite, because the owner, Chrysoula, is a true stylist and is brilliant at putting together pieces that look good on my body. I also walked Queen Street in Woolhara which has some more shops and cafes and galleries. There is a huge Westfield Mall at Bondi Junction, and they have a cool food market inside, but I’m not into malls – hell, don’t we have enough in the states? I did see a movie there one night with a friend (well, she is my client’s sister but now I can call her my friend!) American Hustle – great flick.
My flat on Devonshire in Surry Hills
Me at home in Surry Hills!
I had delicious breakfasts/brunches/lunches at the cafe’s – Gnome in Surry Hills was a fave. Smoked salmon on toasted multigrain bread with ricotta, asparagus, rocket, avocado, and a poached egg. Yum. Gnome is tiny and just has a great vibe and great food. Oh – getting iced coffee in Sydney is almost impossible. Gnome is one of the few places you can. But for the most part, it’s just not done. They think an iced coffee is made with ice cream – if you ask for no ice cream, just ICE, they don’t know why you would want that, and many of the cafes don’t have ice so they can’t accommodate you. They do have Starbucks here, so you can get it there, but I’m not a fan so I wouldn’t choose to go there. I also tried my first meat pie which was really amazing, I have to admit. It’s exactly what you picture – a pastry crust and meat filling – although mine was brisket and it was deeeelishhh!! I got it from Bourke Street Bakery – had been told it’s “the best” – can’t argue.
The Bar at the End of the Wharf
The Bar at the End of the Wharf
View from Bar at End of Wharf
I took myself to Bondi Beach a couple of times. This is the beach Sydney is most famous for, but it is only one of many gorgeous beaches. It has a pavilion on the beach with bars and stores so you can grab some drinks or lunch or whatever and hang there and people watch. I ended up at The Bucket List with a couple of glasses of Chardonnay and met a few nice local guys – yes, adorable. One of them I could easily have taken home. Seriously, when they talk in that accent – who really cares what they say???
I visited the Museum of Sydney and learned that Aussies are constantly comparing themselves to the US – it’s so amazing to me, but it seems the world really does view us as the highest level to be compared to! If I was reading about the Harbor Bridge, it was being compared to the GW Bridge in terms of height and another NY bridge in terms of width. If I was learning about Sydney architecture, it was being compared to American architects. I know we rock on many levels, and apparently the Aussies agree.
I spent a day walking and sitting in the Royal Botanical Gardens and writing my blog. It was a gorgeous day and I sat on an elevated grassy area, under a tree, with clear views of the harbor and the Opera House. If that’s not inspiring…
Absolutely the highlight of my stay in Sydney was when my bestie and her bf, Laurie and Jayson, came to visit. There’s nothing like being with your best friends and I was soooo happy that they made this trip. Jayson was actually born in Australia and moved to the states when he was young, so he still has a lot of family in Sydney. Lucky for me, I was invited to go with them on Christmas Day up to Whale Beach and spend the night with his cousins! They have a gorgeous home right on Whale Beach, and we were treated to an amazing Christmas Dinner and overflowing drinks and generosity and happiness and good cheer! It’s hard to miss Xmas in New York when you’re on Whale Beach with this amazing family. Thought about it a few times and then went right on celebrating where I was.
Whale Beach
The Whale? No, it’s a rock. 🙂
Laurie & Jayson
The Pank Family!
We went to the Opera Bar and enjoyed the view, and our drinks.
We spent New Year’s Eve together doing the most obvious touristy thing to do on NYE in Sydney – watching the fireworks over the Harbour! Funny thing is, we had no plans and didn’t know what we were going to do so we just started following people in the direction of the Harbour. All of a sudden, Laurie bends down and picks up a paper on the ground, and it happens to be 2 tickets to the NYE party on top of the Passenger Terminal on the Pier! So up we go, and in we went… we got a little caught because the name on the tickets was something like “Wong” and Laurie just didn’t look like a Wong, and then they questioned why there were 3 of us but only 2 tickets – so we dished out some cash and all was good.
Us following the crowds on NYE
Where we goin on NYE??
Someone lost their ticket!
And we’ve secured a perfect perch for the fireworks!
On their last night in Sydney, the three of us hit the Opera House for a tour and a night of Beatles music – the show was put on by 16 musicians and 5 Australian singers who alternated singing the entire 2 albums, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and Abbey Road. We sung every song at the top of our lungs and had a ball.
Inside the Opera House
Headphones on listening to the tour!
View from Opera House
Harbor Bridge with people on top!
There they are, the climbers!!
At the Beatles Back2Back show
Is there anything I DIDN’T love about Sydney? Well, yeah, the one thing that was a constant observation for me is that it was extremely hard to meet people. I thought it would be easy for me to meet people anywhere I went because I’m not shy, I’m not weird-looking (ok, I admit that’s debatable), I am actually friendly and in The States random strangers talk to me all the time!! But in Sydney, people do not talk to people who are alone!! Believe me, I tried. One of the challenges I found is that most bars don’t have bar stools at them! At home, it’s easy to meet people sitting at a bar because naturally you would talk to people on either side of you. But without a bar to sit at, you’re kinda stuck. In Sydney, you walk up to a bar, order a drink, and then take it to a table. They don’t even have table service in many places. If you finish your drink, you go up and get another. That goes for food too. You order it, then they give you a number to take with you to a table and they will bring you your food. But if you need utensils, napkins, ketchup…get up and get it yourself! If you’re alone, like me, it’s awkward to sit at your own table, and no one is going to approach you. But I did it anyway I tried to figure out how to get around this. I took myself out many times to bars/restaurants and tried to smile at people and look friendly, but they just weren’t biting! Even at the Opera Bar, which has one long concrete but cushioned bench that goes on forever and people come and go from sitting there constantly, no one talks to that woman who is alone. Sydneysiders don’t go out alone. So they probably think it’s weird that I do. Last night, for example, I sat at a bar – yes, one of the few that you can sit at – and couples to my left and right came and went while I sat there and did not even receive an acknowledgement of my presence! Not even a nod! Thank god the bartender was happy to chat! Is it rude??? Snobby??? I don’t think it is….I think they are just unaware and culturally they keep to themselves. Once in a rare while when I would get an opportunity to talk with someone, they are nice as can be! It’s breaking that ice that is close to impossible. So….best to have friends in Sydney or expect many lonely days and nights! Good thing I’m ok with all that.
How I sometimes feel sitting by myself at a bar
And sometimes like this…
But usually I’m like this.
I also noticed that the music on the radio and the one particular fashion trend is about 20 years behind us. Actually, Sydney is the most casual city I’ve ever seen, and I liked that. Everyone wears little sundresses and flip flops. Or cute tight jeans and tanks and flip flops. Or little shorts and flip flops. Flip flops are a must. One trend in particular stood out, and I really wanted to document it in pictures but I kinda forgot. Women in Sydney match their shoes to their handbags or to their tops or some scarf or something that their wearing. It’s awful!! Jaryn – some kind of intervention needs to be done!! Seriously, I can’t tell you how many times I saw a turquoise top, black skirt, turquoise pumps. A fuchsia scarf, white top, black skirt, fuchsia bag, black pumps with a fuchsia bow on them. Helpppp!!! They should get tickets for offensive dressing! Didn’t we do that in the 80’s? Can you imagine shopping for shoes and finding that perfect shade of mint??? Glory be!! Someone needs to tell them. Why hasn’t word reached this beautiful land that – as Laurie would say – it’s just not right!!!
Well, everything else about Sydney IS right, so I guess if that’s the worst offense, we can let it slide. They do pay enormously high taxes (10% sales tax, 40-50% income tax) but they also make much more money than we do, and a lot of that tax money is used for their socialized health care system that I happen to think is great and would love to see the US take the best of that system and make it work. Anyone who wants to have that conversation with me, message me. It’s really interesting to me how it works. I found out cab drivers make about 60-70k. Really. I like driving….hmmm.
So that’s about it – nothing over the top exciting, just consistently lovely every day!! But I’ve got some great stuff planned coming up – as I said, I just landed in Melbourne and I’ll be here for the weekend, but then I’m flying up to Byron Bay for 5 days to get Scuba Certified and then flying farther north up to the Great Barrier Reef! And then off to New Zealand!! Pinch me. 🙂
SAFARI
Lions and leopards and warthogs…oh my!!! My eyes have seen!! My hands have touched!! My ears have heard the song and the warning calls and the movement! My nose has smelled the fragrance of sage growing wild, and I have tasted the food of the African bush!! As much as I may try, flowery language and skillful picture-taking cannot give you even a smithereen of the actual experience that being on a real safari would. You’ve seen all the pictures, you’ve watched the shows on National Geographic…but still, you just cannot understand until you’ve been there. It’s like seeing pictures of the Grand Canyon and then going to visit it – it’s unbelievable, right? There are no boundaries! Your eyes can’t see the end! That’s what a safari feels like too. There are no boundaries. There are no fences.. It is truly WILD! And FREE! And SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST! And…most surprising of all….it is incredibly peaceful. All of these animals live there amongst each other and the only time they kill is when they are hungry. Otherwise, they can walk right by each other and remain unfazed. Astonishing! The only thing that interrupts the peace is the sound of the Land Rover that we ride in to see these animals. But they are unfazed by that too. They’ve gotten used to them and know that the vehicles and the people in them are not a threat. So they accept them and go on about their business. You will see how close they come to the vehicles. I was wayyy more scared then they were. But the guides know by the animals’ body language that they are fine with us coming near. So I trusted my guides and sat back and enjoyed the show. And what a show it was.
But before we watch the parade, I want to talk a little about the camps I went to. They are all part of Wilderness Safari, which is one of the top safari groups throughout southern Africa. I went through a travel agent that books only safaris and has personally been to most of these camps so she has extensive firsthand knowledge about the places she recommended. She did a great job for me, so I highly recommend her if you are looking into safaris. Her name is Lorna Davidson and she can be reached by clicking here. I chose to go to 4 camps – 3 are in Botswana, and the last one is in Zambia. The 3 in Botswana are in different areas so they have different landscapes and wildlife. Each of the camps is accessible by light aircraft (which means a plane that carries between 4-12 passengers), and the plane actually lands on a cleared sand strip in the middle of nowhere. The drivers who pick you up at the airstrip must arrive a little early to make sure there are no animals on the strip, and if there are, they chase them away. The guides are like walking encyclopedias and know everything about everything – endless amounts of information spill out of them. They know each bird’s and animal’s body language, their different sounds, their behaviors…and so it is an immense amount of knowledge that is passed from them to me throughout my 11 days as we ride through the bush. The guides, and many of the people who work at these safari camps have names that they feel are difficult for the average person to understand, so they abbreviate with initials. I don’t know why they think this is easier to remember….here’s an example. BD picked me up from the airplane landing strip and was accompanied by Bob Marley (I swear the only one with a recognizable name and obviously not his real name, that’s his chosen abbreviation!). They drove to the camp, where I was met by OD, my guide and ST. TD was the cook, and BT was another guide…and it went on like this. I would much sooner remember a name like Thiemba than twelve different sets of initials, but that’s how it goes. Who am I to recreate the wheel.
The first camp I went to was Vumbura Plains Camp. It was the highest end of luxury. Absolutely gorgeous in every detail. Each individual cabin was appointed with the most beautiful linens, built-in dressing area and sitting area with comfy cushions, stocked refrigerators, enormous showers and baths with the finest fittings…I could have stayed for months. The managers at this camp were a beautiful young couple and another fabulous young woman. They were incredibly personable, upbeat, helpful, and friendly. They were happy to hang out with me, chat, eat, drink, laugh….anything to make my stay perfect. And it was. My guide there was OD, and I was blown away by his knowledge and his determination to find wildlife. I loved learning from him, and have a huge amount of respect for him in that he seems to be Master of the Bush and has a wonderful way about him. I met wonderful people at this camp too, and will keep in touch with some of them. There was an older South African couple from Johannesburg who surprised me with their proper safari attire – he always looked dapper, and she always had her coral lipstick on, perfect hair and makeup, and a pretty necklace. I, of course, looked like hell. I didn’t think the animals would care much, so I had only brought crappy shit with me. The proper Jo’berg couple made me wanna look better. Then there was a fun girl from Switzerland, also traveling solo. She wore all the brightest colors that I specifically read about not wearing. But she looked happy and the animals didn’t stay away, so no harm done. And I ate ridiculous amounts of food at this – and all the other – camps. They feed you 6 meals a day, and the food is GREAT. They wake you up at 5am by coming to your cabin and yelling, “Good morning, good morning!” to which you reply, “slkghdoeihsaksejh;f aesio….ok….I’m up…thanks”. You meet for early breakfast at 5:30 and then go out on your safari ride at 6am. At around 8:30, the guide will find a spot and stop for tea and accompanied goodies. Then when you arrive back at camp at 10:30, you have hot breakfast. Then it’s off to slumber, swim in your private dipping pool, read, rest….whatever you want. You can have lunch at 1:00 if you like, but you’ve already eaten 3 times so it’s unlikely you will be hungry. At 4:00pm, you meet again for high tea and alway a gorgeous spread of hot and cold hors d’oevres. And then you’re out again on safari at 4:30. You stop for a “sundown” at 6:30 where the alcohol is generously poured with more snacks, and then you’re back at camp at 7:30 for dinner. After you’ve eaten all you can eat and drank more than you planned to, it’s off to bed. Get ready for your 5am wake up call.
I took about 800 pictures on my safari, and tried my best to edit them down. Still I know some of them will be quite redundant. Some of them are meaningful to me because they remind me of what I felt at that particular moment. I cried when I saw my first elephants in the wild. It was just a visceral reaction. I love elephants. These are the pics of the animals I saw at Vumbura Plains.
The road to Vumbura
My first look at “the Bush”
African Lizard
Ummm…I should know this
Where the deer and the antelope run free….
Croc
Waterbok
Red-billed Hornbill
Red-billed Hornbill
Warthogs!
Impala, the McDonald’s of the Bush
Impala
Stopping to check tracks in the sand
More tracks
Kudu
My first elephant sighting! Tears of joy!
The whole family
Baby
Big Papa
So close!
Wow
Notice these giraffes have a darker coat – others are much lighter
Grace
Giraffes and elephants often are seen together
Zebra
Beauty
Most bones get eaten by the animals. These are still fresh.
Look up in the tree!
My first leopard. Incredible.
Just hangin.
Sigh…my god.
But this is my favorite shot.
Thinking she might come down?
I don’t think I could wear any real leopard ever again…
Stretchhhhh
C’mon
So beautiful
Almost down!
Baboons!
Private conversation
A young tortoise
Termite mound
Wildebeest!!
Mokoru canoes
Through the lilipads
Lotus
Storm brewing in background. Lightening strikes but I missed it!
Elephants in the distance
LIghter coated giraffe
You talking to me?
The sun casting golden colors
African skies at dusk are the most beautiful
Sundown!
Did I tell You?
Lone Bull Elephant. They travel solo once they are 10-15 yrs old.
Hyena – they smell a kill.
This young leopard and her mom killed a Kudu
Kudu killled by leopards
Hyena will steal it
Hyena stealing leopard’s kill.
And all she an do is watch
Meow.
The next camp I went to was called Abu Camp. It is an elephant safari camp where you can touch, play, feed, ride and spend time with elephants that they have saved from zoos and basically death. Many years ago, South Africa believed they needed to “cull” the population of elephants because there were too many. Some of the elephants, instead of being killed, were sent to zoos around the world. The elephants that are at Abu are from a generation that had been rescued and bought back from Canadian and American zoos and returned to their homes in Africa. Because they have been in captivity for so long, they are protected by this camp and integrated slowly back into the wild. They spend their days free to roam the wild but always being watched by the men of the camp. At night, they are brought back to the “boma” – an electrified fenced, protected area. They sleep here so that wild elephants will not kill them. If they want to leave, they can. And some do. When I was there, a two-week old baby had just been born. Her name is Nalady. You will see her, and her mom Sharini, and her 2 sisters. The elephants that I rode are Cathy, who is 54 years old and rescued from a Canadian zoo, along with another female elephant and her 2 year old daughter Narona. The time spent with these elephants and the guides have made me think long and hard about zoos, and presently I am not a fan. As much as we may enjoy seeing animals, if they are not in their natural habitats, it is cruel. As I write this I am in Sydney, but I will not visit the zoo here. Abu Camp has over-the top tents that are so huge and luxurious that my wild, creative imagination couldn’t have dreamed them up. Again, the finest hand-made linens, white-washed wood which was a welcome departure from the typical dark woods, insane copper outdoor tubs, and resident baboons who liked to jump on the top of my tent as if it was a trampoline. Joy!
Inside my tent
Beautiful linens on my bed
Looking back to the desk area
Luxury bathroom
Gorgeous shower
And copper tub…outside!
The central meeting area at Abu
Campfire area
And here are the elephants….and animals….
Baby Nalady and mom Sharini
2 week old Nalady
Is there anything more precious?
I’m speechless
And falling in love.
Warthogs with babies! So ugly they’re cute!!
Warthogs get down on their knees and eat – it’s easier
A pride of lions – 2 mama’s, 2 daughters, 2 sons
I know I zoomed in, but this is actually how far they are. Not very far!!
Breathtaking
Tired but still gorgeous
They had been resting in the heat of the day
Big Yawnnnn!!
Cats are always good groomers
As I said…
Time for a little action
Another yawn
Venturing out into the tall grass
Everyone follows.
They blend in to the landscape.
Our other jeep
2 cubs playing
Now those are PAWS!!
Speechless, again.
Have you seen how elegant a giraffe is when it walks?
Baby!!
Me riding Cathy!!
She;s so big!!
When she puts her trunk back, she wants treats…and she usually gets them.
After our ride, she get’s LOTS of treats!!
Almost human
I;m framing this one
Baby Nalady in the bona!
She can barely use her trunk!
Nursing
Peace
Love
Looks a little human to me…
Nursing
My favorite hippo picture
Big yawn!
Sundown!
Watch the sky…
It’s magical
I’m mesmerized…
The third camp I went to was called King’s Pool Camp. It is on the Linyanti River, aka “the Pool” for the hippos. The hippos come out of the river every night and walk across the path to eat and spend time out of the water. By dawn, they make their way back into the river. But you have to be careful or you may be eye to eye with a dangerous and scary enormous H!! There are rules in this camp – look both ways!! And no walking alone at night to and from your room! The rooms here are, again, beautiful, with enormously high thatched roofs, mosquito netted beds, and the best of everything, The baboons here are not afraid and will break through the screens of your room if you leave anything colorful out, like makeup. They think it’s candy and they want it. The weather was not great here, and I probably saw the least amount of wildlife, but still saw some incredible things I hadn’t seen in the other camps, like wild dogs and a python! Here you go…..
Amazing, right?
Armoire and mirror in my room
Shower big enough?
And of course, my own private dipping pool
And an outdoor bed to snooze on
Sitting Area
Another view
Siesta at my personal pool
My view from my outdoor bed.
Hi!
Pumba’s cousin
Hyena
Hyena
Warthog hiding in a hole in a tree
Hello!!
I love this – These are blue-balled monkeys!!!
Just in case you wanted a close up!
Lilac Breasted Roller
Giraffe bones
Red billed Hornbill
Ummmm…
A HUGE warthog?
Hello Hippooooo
Just cruising….
Elephant bones
African Fish Eagle
Sundown over the hippo pool!!
Lion!
Following the wild dogs!
Wild dogs!! They cannot be related to Maggie. No way.
They’re on a hunt
Python!!
OMG!! I would never have spotted that! My guide is awesome!!
This is a frog cocoon – ok, I’m drinking….but it is….
Our sundown boat ride
All aboard!
Not often you see a hippo out of water!
Pre-dinner back at camp
Mmmmm
Finally! Although he’s still young, at least he has a mane!
Sleepy boy
But mushy and delicious…
His sister
Beauty
Beauty
Roar….
The fam
Goodbye Hippo Pool!!
The fourth and final camp I went to is called….ugh, well, I hated it. So I’m not even gonna mention what it was. It was very different from the other camps – and it was in Zambia, rather than Botswana. But the reason I went there was to see Victoria Falls. The weather did NOT cooperate at all, and it poured while I was there. But I only had one full day and 2 nights there so I had to press on with my plans. Livingstone, Zambia, is a developed town in the southwestern part of Zambia. To me, it was extremely depressed with a lot of people walking along the streets, or hanging out at shack-built areas. It is clearly a third-world, underdeveloped country – about 40 years behind us. As I rode through the streets, I felt dirty and depressed and worlds away from life here, thankfully. So on my one day out to see Victoria Falls, I put on a raincoat and climbed into the open jeep and sat perched up above the driver, in the rain, getting wet, as the other cars passed me by and stared. Can you imagine this? This is my luxury vacation, and I look like I’m riding behind a donkey in the rain. The funny thing is – and this is true – friends of mine that I had been at another camp with actually saw me and were flabbergasted!!! Is that Meryl??? Of course, they were in a regular car, dry and comfy. Wish I had a picture of that. I would laugh along with you. The Falls were beautiful, even in the rain, and the other highlight here was the White Rhino. Take a look…
These are my friends and I in the plane to Zambia. We were at King’s Pool together, but they went on to a different camp in Zambia then me.
Again, front seat!
Our pilot drove us over the falls – you can see the zigzag of the gorge
Aerial view of Victoria Falls
Wow
What a treat!
Resident Hippo!
Fugly!
And here are the Falls!
Splash!
I’m already soaked…
I will be on that bridge shortly…
Victoria Falls
This is the bridge that connects Zambia and Zimbabwe.
I’m really afraid of heights…
Do you know how LOUD this was??
The gorge
Sooo much water!
Enough?
Devil’s pool – I was too afraid to stand up
Getting totally wet from the spray…
OK enough!!
White Rhino – EN’ORMOUS!!!
This is the male…I was on foot….and afraid…
Mom and baby….
They are truly prehistoric!
The ride back to camp…
Sundown on the river
Resident hippo out of water again.
So that’s the show. I am in awe every time I look at these pictures. Africa is in my soul and I will go back. There’s so much beauty and so diverse and so much more to see. It’s life changing. One more funny story. Zambia has built a brand new airport. It’s so new that they haven’t even rented out the retail stores yet. They are VERY proud of this airport, which took many years to build and ALOT of money. It was pouring when we left, and apparently…the designer/architects of the airport forgot to build a covered entrance to board the planes. Forgot? Ok, I know, I’m tough. So they have a guy whose job it is to open umbrellas and hand them to each person to walk to the plane. Then you leave the umbrella at the door of the plane and some other guy runs them back down to the first guy. Oh my god. I’m laughing. I could be a hero here!! Up next….Sydney!
Table Mountain, Noordhoek Beach, and Cape Peninsula Tour
My final days in Cape Town were spent catching up on some of the more touristy things that I had wanted to explore.
Cape Town sits at the base of Table Mountain, which looms as a magnificent backdrop to the city that unfolds into the sea. It is aptly named because the top is flat, like a table, and stretches for approximately 2 miles from side to side and has an elevation of 3563 feet. The mountain itself is made of sandstone which forms deep crags in its exterior. I opted to take the Cableway up to the top, rather than hike it, because of time constraints, and because I just didn’t feel like collapsing. The view from the top is said to be one of the best in Africa. Have a look.
Horseback riding on Noordhoek Beach was one of my absolute favorite pleasures. The beach is 8 km long and one of the most beautiful stretches of white sand I’ve ever seen. My horse was as sweet as pie and when I would talk to him, his ears would up and turn to me to show me he was paying attention. He took me through the magnificent sand dunes and high grasses and out onto the white vast velvet sand toward the blue sea. The sky was a magnificent azure canopy and I wished this peaceful beauty would never end.
My last day in Cape Town was spent on a full day tour of the Cape Peninsula. I hopped into an 8-passenger tour van and was driven through various points of interest. We visited the fishing village of Hout Bay and took a boat ride to Duiker Island to see the Cape Fur Seals, stopped at Boulders Beach to see the African penguins, and made it down to the southernmost tip to the Cape of Good Hope. On our ride back we also did a quick tour of Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. It was a long day, and I’m not sure I would opt to do it this way again, but glad to have seen these important landmarks before departing South Africa.
I take away many things from my visit to South Africa. Exquisite beauty that would rival the highest rated anywhere in the world, some of the loveliest people I have ever met, including the pharmacist in Bantry Bay who graciously took care of me, fabulous food (haven’t talked much about it, but everything I ate from a simple sandwich to a sit down dinner was top-notch!) and of course poverty, crime, corruption, and a very dark side. I am so lucky and blessed.
Next up….SAFARI!!!!!
Stunning Stellenbosch
Bryan and Nicky picked me up at my hotel around 6pm Friday night as we made our way up to wine country. The goal was to get there before sundown to watch the spectacular sunset over Cape Town and watch the lights of the city come up and twinkle down below. I sat in the back seat of Bryan’s car while Nicky played DJ up front and Bryan pointed out various places of interest that rolled by. Ben Howard’s voice filled the car – “Only Love” – couldn’t be a better choice of music for traveling. I felt very much like I was being filmed in a movie watching the beautiful landscape roll by and the vine-covered mountains coming clearly into view.
Bryan grew up in Stellenbosch on a 236 hectare grape farm. That’s 583 acres. HUGE!! His family still lives in the house and farms the property with his eldest brother. They sell the grapes to the local wineries in Stellenbosch. While his dad says he is far from wealthy, I couldn’t imagine a better life! When we got close enough for Bryan to point out the boundaries of his family’s land, from the top of the mountain to the valley below and outstretched on either side, it looked like heaven to me. Peaceful, green vines perfectly lined the land only giving way to ponds or a turn in the landscape. I could have been anywhere in the world had the style of architecture not been obviously distinct. It’s called Cape Dutch and it is unquestionably beautiful. The Dutch were the first to settle much of the cape of South Africa, and the vernacular of building style is rooted in Holland, German, France and Indonesia. It is distinct in that it has a moorish gable as a front to a steeply pitched thatched roof. As we turned off the main road and pulled into the courtyard of Bryan’s home, my smile went from ear to ear. The rise and fall of the sloped land, the gardens, the pool, the dotted whitewashed Cape Dutch stuccoed homes on the rolling valley. This was magical, and I was so damn lucky to be allowed this insider’s view to their home. “Do you bring all your guests here?” I asked Nicky. “No….never!” she replied, and we laughed. “Well, was this the best you could do with the landscape and all? Couldn’t you have done something more awesome?” I said playfully. Nicky is quicker than me, and before I could even finish my sarcasm she was already replying, “Yes, sorry, sorry. We suck.” Bryan was out of the car and grabbed our bags and we followed him into his house to meet his parents in the kitchen.
This isn’t just a house. Built around 1830, it’s a family home that has been passed on from generations, expanded as families grew, and filled with priceless heirlooms and meaningful memories. The family eats outside under the covered terrace as often as the weather permits, and we entered through this area into the massive kitchen where obviously the heart of this home is kept. The ceiling height alone was at least 15 feet with exposed rafters and tall cabinetry. The walls were adorned with blue and white delftware, spice racks, copper cookware, along with pictures drawn by children, some of which are now grown. But the centerpiece of this kitchen was the AGA ovens, at least 8 feet in length. (Tracey & Joyce – I hear you moaning half a world away). Woahhhh. Bryan’s parents were warm and informal. Instant hugs and kisses, as if I was one of their own. I was handed a glass of wine and welcomed into their casual way of life. Marie (pronounced MAH-ree with the accent on MAH), Bryan’s mom, is a strong, opinionated, very attractive blonde who still wears pretty cinched-waist dresses and pearls when she goes out on the town. She was on the phone working when we arrived, and motioned for Bryan to show me my room and get me situated. Marais, Bryan’s dad, a solid, tall man with a handlebar mustache and not one to smile much, proudly showed me his grandparents’ collection of crystal glasses and decanters that was kept behind the closed doors of an enormous black walnut armoire. “I hope you like meat!” Marais said as he carried the plate of homemade sausage and lamb filets out to the braai (BBQ). Oh yeah, this was gonna be fun. Before dinner we grabbed a bottle of sparkling wine, hopped in the truck and drove up to the top of the mountain with the 4 dogs running along side. We caught the sun as it sank over the city and watched as the lights grew brighter in Cape Town. I couldn’t stop smiling.
The next day we woke up early and headed out to the Slow Market in Stellenbosch for brunch. The market is held every Saturday on the grounds of the amphitheater. It has a mix of gourmet foods, many being prepared on site, as well as crafts, clothing, leather goods, and jewelry. It is very popular with both the locals and the tourists, and the space for vendors is at a high demand. We walked through the entire market, surveyed all of the food, chose what we wanted to eat, and met back at a round table where a jazz band was playing. Again, heaven.
After brunch, Marais and Marie went home, and Nicky, Bryan and I headed out to the wineries. First stop – Tokara. Beautiful grounds, modern wood, glass and stone winery, and free tastings. Most tastings in Stellenbosch are free. We spent about a half hour tasting as many whites and reds as we could without looking greedy. We settled on 4 favorites – 2010 Reserve Syrah, 2009 Director’s Reserve Red, 2012 Chardonnay and 2012 Cabernet Sauvignon. They all ship to the US, but the prices increase drastically. They ranged from $26 to $51. Next stop was Haute Cabriere. This winery is actually built underground, and it’s quite cool (yes literally, but figuratively too!). Our favorites here were the Unwooded Pinot Noir ($20) and the Pierre Jourdan Belle Rose NV ($28). We drove through the town of Stellenbosch and the University of Stellenbosch which was similar to Napa with its quaint stores and cafes. We then drove on to Franschoek, the other popular wine region right next to Stellenbosch, and toured another lovely town on our way to my favorite winery, Babylonstoren. This is the place to stay if you want the best of everything. You can rent your own little cottage on the grounds of the vineyard, and you can dine at the restaurant or walk the gardens that are vast and filled with fruits, herbs, flowers, even cacti!! You are free to pick anything you see and eat it right off the vine or tree or shrub or whatever. You can shop in their cheese shop or their cured meats shop, or their gorgeous gift shop. It is magnificent wine country. You can admire the chickens that roam free and the calves and donkeys that are behind a simple fence. To me, this vineyard was the most special of them all. But of course, I’d only seen 3!! We were so tired and tipsy we had to forgo our plans to visit Jordan’s winery, a personal friend of Bryan’s family and make our way back to Bryan’s house to pack up and say our goodbyes.
Driving back to Cape Town, we were all quiet, happy, and spent. We made plans to have dinner again Monday night at their apartment which was to be my last night in Cape Town. I slept like a baby that night filled to the brim with wonderful memories of my gracious hosts and the gorgeous South African wine country.
Beauty Amidst the Ugliness
Do you know the best cure for anything needing curing?? Love. Giving and receiving. Love is all you need. It works like nothin’ else. As daunting as it was to pick myself up and move forward with living my day to day, I had made a promise to myself to ‘give back’ at a South African foundation for HIV+ children, and although the children didn’t know of my promise, I knew we would both be better for it if I followed through. I had made contact with Lauren, a New York ex-pat living in Cape Town and working as Programs Coordinator at Ubuntu, and she graciously offered to pick me up and take me to the center in Khayelitsha where I would spend time with the children and learn more about the organization. So off we went on a half hour 15km car ride away from the gorgeous scenery of mountain cliffs and sparkling blue water that is Cape Town, and into the poor, shack-built township of Khayelitsha.
There is no order here. There are no street signs. There is nothing green. There is dirt, sand, timber and sheet metal shacks, concrete blocks, starving dogs that look like X-rays roaming the landscape, and black people walking, sitting, standing, looking….the only sign of life against the beigeness of the scenery. I felt instantly unsafe and wondered how they felt. There were young children, unsupervised, walking. There were women walking alone. Were they in danger? How would they know? During our 30 minute ride I learned from Lauren that HIV+ children are born from HIV+ mothers that could easily (I say that with a grain of salt, kinda) have avoided transferring the virus if they had been educated and had been given health services that would have stopped the transfer. The virus is transferred only through vaginal and rectal secretions, semen, vaginal births, blood, and mothers’ breast milk. It is transferred through the mucous membranes of an open cut or sore to a non-HIV+ person. There is a very remote risk of contracting the virus through saliva, tears, or open mouth kissing because the antibodies found in saliva or tears carry such a small amount of the virus for it to be sustainable, according to the CDC. According to a UK based HIV/AIDS organization, the saliva exchanged in a kiss could not transfer the virus; only bleeding from gums or mouth sores would carry the risk. The virus doesn’t live on the skin so touching someone that is HIV+ is no risk.
So basically, if the mothers’ delivered their babies through cesarean section, the babies would have been free of the virus. Breast feeding these babies causes another level of concern, because there is no access to alternative milk products for the poor. Sometimes the risk of passing on the virus through breastfeeding is the better alternative than having the child die of starvation. That’s been a hard one to wrap my head around, but I have seen with my own eyes how HIV+ children can thrive and live long, happy, productive lives. This is where Ubuntu Africa comes in.
We pulled up to a 2-story concrete yellow painted building with windows and metal grates and a locked iron gate in front. Lauren got out and unlocked the gate for us to go inside and instructed me to take everything from the car or it would not be there when we got back. She said all this with a smile. This is daily life here, and her smile was the gateway to the children. Arms and bodies wrapped around Lauren instantly as she let us into the center. The smiles of children lit up the room and lifted my heart. The ugliness of poor living conditions and health issues gave way to the beauty of spirit, joy, song, dance, playfulness, and laughter. There is no physical evidence of sickness here. There is only giggling and hugging and smiles. I was overwhelmed. Lauren introduced me to the kids and they accepted me lovingly into their worlds with hugs. They wrapped their little arms around my waist, my arms and my hands. The little ones wanted to be picked up and snuggled with. The teenagers shook my hand and gave a smile. They were all happy. My own problems easily melted away.
Lauren had asked what I would like to do with the children during my time here. I could take them outside and do a game, I could read, I could teach them songs or dance. This day was the last before their summer break, so it was atypical from their regular schedules. They would still be getting a hot nutritious meal as they do every day, but it was more of a “free” day to relax and play. Usually, they arrive at the center by Ubuntu transport after their school day ends around 3pm and they stay until 6pm when they are transported home. While they are at the center, they are provided with health care through the staff nurse, meds, counseling, HIV education, and Life Skills. They are always provided a hot meal as it is sometimes the only meal they get during the day. But more than all of this, they are given love and the belief that they matter. They are all individuals who are treated as such. They learn that they have so much to offer and can set their sights on their future. They learn how to live with this virus amongst all the rest of the world without it interfering with their dreams. And maybe, they learn that it is good to dream and believe that they can someday live those dreams.
I chose to not separate myself from the children at the start of the day, but rather to sit amongst them and learn with them. One of their instructors led a singing session where he got their voices loud and competing which broke into laughter. They sung many songs and I tried to sing along not knowing the language. He added dance with the song, and made such funny moves that the kids giggled constantly. I loved watching them and dancing with them. The voices of these kids are strong and clear. It’s a beautiful thing to hear. When that session was done, the large group broke up into smaller groups. I sat on the floor and many of the younger kids came over to me. They wanted to touch me. My hands, my hair. They wanted to look at me and smile, and watch me smile back. They wanted to lie on me, hug me. They all wanted a piece of me, and the feeling was mutual. This was pure love. It lifted me up to a place I needed to get back to, where I believed the world was good and that people are good. It’s amazing what human touch can do for the soul. I will absolutely reach out and touch or hug someone (if they’ll let me) more often now knowing better the power that it has.
We played hand games I had learned as a child…Miss Mary Mac, Mac, Mac…All dressed in black, black black…They all wanted to learn and they all wanted their turn. They loved my camera and took turns taking pictures with it. They liked seeing themselves on the screen. Most of my pictures are taken by them. They played under the table, they made games out of nothing, time went by and we were all safe and happy. I noticed that there wasn’t any fighting amongst these kids. There must’ve been 40 or 50 kids in this small place, ranging from ages 4 through 18, and there wasn’t any meanness or pettiness going on. There was drama amongst the teens, but the fun kind, like telling secrets and giggling, running from one room to another and laughing. In the kitchen, the women were cooking wonderful chicken dishes, vegetables and potatoes. It smelled heavenly. The meals were given out at different times to groups of kids based on age. They each took their bowls and came back to wherever they had been sitting or playing. When finished, they brought their bowls into the kitchen.
When it was time to go, we all hugged and said our goodbyes. Their hugs and smiles are their gifts to me that I will keep within me in a place I will draw from when I’m feeling lonely or down. There is such beauty in their smiles and hope in my heart that more children can get access to organizations like Ubuntu Africa that make such a huge difference in their lives. It is always easier to connect with an organization when you’ve visited and seen first hand the work that they do and the difference they make, but if you visit their website (click here or visit http://www.ubafrica.org) and you are moved to help, please know that this organization is really making a difference and you would be directly helping the lives and well-being of the children that you see pictured with me here as well as many more who are deserving of a chance at a better life.
Now, look at these faces and fall in love with their beauty, like I did.
What’s the lesson?
There will be no pictures in this post, as the ones that are still too alive in my head should never be seen by anyone else. I am writing this to cleanse myself of the images and the terror that accompanies them. I’m writing this to journal the details of this event and to figure out what I need to learn from it. It’s for me, not for you. Please try to remember that fact as you read this post, as I am not intending to be dramatic or to entertain you, although it may read that way. No one is more aware than I that it reads like an episode of Law and Order. But it is all true. I’m simply transferring exactly, verbatim, what I lived, out of my head and onto this page.
In the dark, early morning hours of Wed, Dec. 4th, around 4:30am, a black African man broke into the apartment that I rented. I was asleep in my bed when I heard the floor outside the bedroom door creak loudly, something I had discovered myself whenever I stepped on that spot. Through my groggy sleepy haze, I turned to see his long dark arm extend to open my bedroom door and come in. I asked him what he wanted – I thought I was in a dream. He told me, in a smooth, calm voice with a South African accent, that he was going to rob me. He came toward the bed and took my pocketbook off the nightstand. He dumped its contents on the bed and grabbed for the cash that fell out. I said, “Take the cash. Take it and go”. He picked up my computer that lay beside me on the bed and started to search the dark room with his eyes. I asked, “Why are you doing this?” He answered, “I am poor.” He said, “I am going to kill you.” He didn’t appear to have a weapon, but I wasn’t going to challenge him. “Where’s your phone,” he said. My phone? My phone? I repeated these words as I tried to process his, and watched him make his way around the bed to the other night table and grab my phone. Then he looked at me. I pulled the covers up tightly to my neck, as I was naked and frozen under them. He said, “I want sex” and he looked at my neck and ripped off my two necklaces with one swift tug. I was terrified. Somehow my voice was calm. “No no no no no no no. I know you’re not a bad man. You’re not a bad man. You can’t do this. You need to leave.” And he repeated what I said. “I’m not a bad man. No, I’m not a bad man”. He slowly backed up from me and started opening all of the closet doors and looked through all of my clothes. “What else do you have? What’s in here?” He grabbed my sneakers and handfuls of clothes and threw them on the floor. He spotted the safe behind the hanging clothes, and said, “Open this”. ” I can’t, it’s the owners’. I don’t live here. I don’t have the key”. He considered what I said, and moved on. Then he spotted my large rolled duffle on the floor. I had been keeping it locked since the incident with the housekeeper. He threw it on the bed, ordered me to open it as he tugged on it hard and broke the lock with ease. Inside, he found more treasure. My camera, my medicines, my earphones, my jewelry, my safari bag with all my new clothes and equipment, and more, until he had dug to the bottom and emptied every last item. “You need to go. You need to go. Just go. Go now…” I was pleading and repeating. He said he needed a bag, picked up my backpack, and stuffed it full with all of the things I have worked on for the past 3 months, every detail of this trip perfectly laid out, all dumped into his newly acquired backpack. “You have to go! I’m going to hit the alarm!” I started to make it look like I was going to get up although we probably both knew I wouldn’t. He said there was no alarm, I said there was and I moved my leg out from under the covers as if to put it on the floor. In the same calm voice he softly said, “I’m going to go. Don’t move. I’m going.” I watched him turn and walk out of the bedroom and listened as he creaked the floor on his way out. Then I heard a thump. And then silence. I listened to that silence for a few minutes before I quietly got up, grabbed my robe off the door, and thought what to do next. I wanted to see if he was really gone, so I peaked my head out of the bedroom and looked into the living room and beyond to the front door. The key that I used to lock the door from the inside and left dangling in the lock was gone. Nothing looked touched in the living room. I moved on to the kitchen and then saw the kitchen window wide open. I pulled the window closed at the same time as I realized I probably shouldn’t touch anything. I was sure he was gone and I needed help.
The bedroom has full sliding glass doors that open onto a huge balcony that is shared with the apartment next door. I ran to that door, slid it open, and banged on the neighbor’s glass doors, not knowing which of the two rooms was their bedroom or living room. Within a few seconds, a man moved the curtains and looked at me. “Help me, please… I, I….I need help.” He opened the door and he and his girlfriend pulled me in and I started to tell them that I was robbed and what happened. They immediately called the police and Nicky and Bryan. I didn’t have my phone anymore so I was without any way to contact anyone. I was lost without my phone, although I wasn’t clear on who to call anyway. I didn’t want to upset my family or friends, and I always operate strategically in times like these… well, not that I’ve ever been through anything remotely near to this, but I always think about the effect my call has on that person. What can they do? They’re all oceans away. I allowed this couple to help me. They offered me something to drink, I accepted water. I used their bathroom and washed my face and hands. I asked the man if he would come into the apartment with me so I could throw some clothes on before the police got there. All the time, thinking, Oh my God. I’m alive. I’ve been robbed. That image. That man. His voice. Oh my God. I’m alive. Oh my God.
We went in through the same door I had come through, into my bedroom, and I quickly grabbed some clothes off the floor and ran into the bathroom to put them on while the man stood waiting. He ventured into the apartment to see what the rest of it looked like. I told him nothing looked out of place in the living room. I followed him into the kitchen and showed him the window and told him I had pulled it closed, but there was a long horizontal window above it that was open which is how we realized he had gotten in. That window is always open a crack – I can’t even reach it. He must have used some kind of tool to pry it open all the way, and then reached down to unlock and open the window below.
The darkness had started to lift as it was now 5am, and we heard some cars outside. No sirens, no lights. I looked over the balcony to see 2 cars that I actually questioned if they were police cars. They looked sort of like old beat up Ford Fusions. A few officers were slowly getting out of their cars and milling around. I went and sat down on the chair in the living room and watched them come into the apartment, introduce themselves, and start their questioning.
What color was he? Black. How black? Ummm. I don’t know how to answer that. Was he light black or dark black? Dark. What was he wearing? Umm…again, it was dark. I think a dark T shirt. And dark pants. What did his face look like? Clean. Fine. Nice. Nice? Ugh, this was hard. I don’t remember any defining details about his face, no facial hair, no marks. I more remembered his voice, because he talked to me the whole time. I don’t think I really looked much at his face. I didn’t want to see him. Oddly, they never asked me his age. He was probably in his early twenties. And the questions continued. I had to make a list of all the items that were stolen, but I couldn’t touch anything in the bedroom to see what was gone because the crime scene had to be photographed and the detectives had to do their thing and the fingerprints had to be lifted. The officers explained that this was a serious crime and was being dealt with on a higher level than a regular robbery. I don’t know what they meant, and honestly had a hard time understanding their accents.
Nicky and Bryan had come in during the questioning and they were extremely concerned and upset. They hugged me, they apologized, they felt responsible, they couldn’t imagine how this could have happened. The apartment is on the 3rd floor, it has a very secure locked gate in front and the entire perimeter is fenced with barbed wire. Nothing like this had ever happened there before. The police did a quick perimeter search and couldn’t find a break in the wire where he could have gotten in. Bryan is extremely knowledgeable about computers and technology, and instantly knew he could track my iPhone through the “findmyiphone” app, and within minutes he had gotten the exact location up on his phone and showed the officers. He wanted to get this guy and was completely on it. The officers weren’t nearly as interested in running out the door as he was, saying they couldn’t leave the scene but would radio out to other units to track the robber. So Bryan and a few of the officers went off to hunt this guy down.
In the meantime, I was making the list, answering more questions, and Nicky was helping me do what was necessary, such as canceling credit cards, calling the US embassy, canceling the Peninsula Tour I was supposed to be taking that day. She was amazing. Bryan was checking in with us periodically that they had tracked him to an area that is all slums but that my phone had been turned off so they were surrounding this area and going in after him and checking through all the shacks. Eventually, he came back with the head detective, frustrated and empty handed. The detective assured me she would stay on it and do her best. Really? How nice.
I was lost. I had no phone. No contact with MY world. I didn’t want to be in the apartment. I told Nicky and Bryan how I felt, and Nicky immediately said they were going to stay with me, sleep in the second bedroom, and she wouldn’t leave my side. And I knew she meant it. I could never allow them to give up their lives and babysit me. That’s crazy. I decided I wanted to move to a hotel, where I would feel more secure and have people around me. Nicky made some calls and got me a room in a nice, not too expensive hotel in Bantry Bay, and thought we should go and have a look to make sure I was comfortable. She said she would drive around all day to different hotels checking them out until I felt safe.
So off we went. The hotel turned out to be fine, so we dropped off what was left of my belongings and ventured on to the Vodacom store to get a sim card for a phone she was loaning me. We dropped Bryan at his office where he had a laptop he wanted to loan me as well. It’s Bryan’s computer I’m typing on right now.
By 1:30, I was back in the hotel where I stayed for the rest of the day. I felt paralyzed. Shocked. Immobile. But I knew I needed to pick up and go forward. I knew I didn’t want to get on a plane and go home. I just didn’t know how I was going to feel safe going out again. I had been so brave about everything on this trip. I never felt afraid. Before I left home, people would ask me how I was feeling about it, was I nervous? No, I never felt nervous. Excited, but not nervous. This intruder had stolen my stuff, but I couldn’t allow him to steal my sense of brevity, adventure, and opportunity. I had to talk myself through this and convince myself that I was ok. I was alive. I was lucky.
That was Wednesday. Today is Saturday. I have already begun to heal. Thursday, I dragged myself out of bed around 11am and went to Camps Bay Beach. The beach is always my go-to place where I feel the most peaceful. I allowed myself to feel. Anger, Confusion, Loss. Did I miss something? Was I too trusting? I don’t think so….I question it, but I don’t think so. I was aware on Wednesday that all I cared about was my life. Nothing else mattered. The list the officers wanted me to make felt petty and I didn’t want to focus so much on those things that were material. I was alive. But by Wed night, when I didn’t have a working phone, and the computer I tried to use didn’t have my files on it, I started to get angry and upset about what was taken from me. I had spent months planning this trip, countless hours of research, comparison shopping, frugal purchasing, with details that would blow your mind. I had nothing else to do but plan, and I did, to the very best of my ability. All that precious time had been robbed from me, and I was angry about that. I had purchased a year’s worth of medication, which was now gone, along with all my anti-malaria medication, water-sterilizing pen, insect repellents for skin and clothes, cipro, anti-nausea, anti-diarreah, blah…blah…blah. How was I going to get my medication here??? They don’t even have it here, and insurance isn’t gonna pay twice for it, and my pharmacy can’t send it from home bc it will get stolen and…and….how will I get the files that were on my computer? How would I travel the world without a camera?? I didn’t even have sneakers anymore so I couldn’t hike Table Mountain as planned. I don’t have a car here so I have to take cabs everywhere and it’s a pain in the ass thinking about how to go about replenishing what I lost. Instead of enjoying the sights of Cape Town, my time is being spent running around from place to place shopping and searching for the things I need. And then there are the things I don’t need that were stolen from me that won’t be replaced. My earphones that I splurged on for my many long flights, jewelry, my safari clothes, head lamp, steri-pen, first aid kit, and so on.
By Thursday night, I was exhausted from the frantic gathering I was doing, and got back to the hotel around 9:30 where I walked into the almost empty bar. One of the two guys at the bar noticed me as I saddled up on a stool and asked if I wanted to try his specialty drink. Was he buying? Yes, of course! So we started chatting…I asked if he was staying at the hotel, and was he was there for business or vacation. He said…he owns the hotel. Get out, as Elaine would say. No really, he does. He said he and his friends are going clubbing and I should come. Yeah….I probably should. Because this is the kind of adventure I was looking for, and I had had the worst couple of days of my life, and yeah….why the fuck not. I told him I had to run upstairs to change into more appropriate clothes, and he said he would wait. On my way past the reception desk, I asked the girl who the guy was – she said he owns the hotel. Ok, just checkin. Really, I’m not stupid. I’m not too trusting. Really.
So this 49-year old went to Shimmy’s – the hottest, premier nightclub in Cape Town”s V&A Waterfront – with the owner of the hotel, and his gorgeous friends, which included Percy Montgomery, aka Monte, one of the most famous South African rugby players (google him), and had a crazy, free, fun night of dancing, drinking, VIP treatment and people watching (seriously, I’ve never seen such beautiful people in my life), and began to heal and put my life back in order.
I don’t know what the lesson is from all of this yet, but I’m looking hard for it.
Finding my ground in Cape Town
Picture this. Night time in Cape Town, all the lights of the town lit up below my perfectly perched 3rd floor walk up apt with walls of glass that open fully onto the smooth 72 degree night. I can hear the crickets in the background, but Norah Jones, James Taylor, and a whole host of others are filling the air in this dwelling with their song. Thankfully, my taxi driver knew where to find the only liquor store in Cape Town open after 6pm. Odd law, but it is what it is. I scanned the label of chilled chardonnays in the refrigerated case, and not recognizing anything I turned to the kind woman shopping next to me. I asked, “how’s this Meerlust Chardonnay?” “Very expensive – that’s one of the best – probably the most expensive in the case.” Of course it is. Because I don’t know how to do anything cheaply. “How do I find out the price?” “Over here…yeah, it’s 189.” A grin slowly filled my face. Rand to Dollars is 10 to 1. That’s $18.90. 🙂
The cost of living here in Cape Town is soooo much less than the US it’s crazy. Last night at the concert I bought a glass of wine and a bottled water for $4. Ok, let’s get to that concert. My boy Dave did South Africa justice. He was born here, in Johannesburg, so he considers these his “people”, but this was his first concert here. So he played mostly songs that everyone knows. And he rocked. His shirt was wet with sweat after the first hour. Here’s the set list:
Big Fish
Bartender
Belly Belly Nice
When The World Ends
Why I Am
Mercy
Funny The Way It Is
#41
So Much To Say
Too Much
Crash Into Me
Save Me
Everyday (feat. Vusi Mahlasela)
Warehouse
Sister
Squirm
Lie In Our Graves
Two Step
—
Sugar Man (Rodriguez)
Pantala Naga Pampa -> Rapunzel — with Denéle Gous.
Sadly, he didn’t play my 3 favorite songs, Superman, You and Me, and All Along the WatchTower. Seen them all before so I’ll see them again another time.
Interesting thing about South Africans. They are so..nice. Civilized. They don’t crowd you, or knock into you. They like their space and they respect yours. I had the most expensive tickets you could buy at this venue, ($60. I know.) which would be considered the “pit” at home – the area right in front of the stage where you stand and get your feet stomped on and get drinks spilled on you and if you’re short like me, you can’t see anyway. These elegant people had such a polite way about them. I was like…wait, I can squeeze in there and get closer to Dave and to the stage – why aren’t they moving up? Why is there all that ROOM?? So of course, being the New Yorker that I am, I moved up until I was 2nd from the fencing that blocks you from the stage. Yay for me. Smiling and Dancing all night.
Ok, a lot to report. I hope you all know this is a journal for me as well as a script for my book, so I’m writing it all down and will edit later. But if any of you are bored to tears, just don’t read it!! No one is holding a gun to your head. And you won’t insult me, I won’t even know you didn’t read the whole thing. Until, of course, we speak , and you ask me a dumb question and I’m like…”didn’t you read what I wrote?” Really, do whatever you want. No apologies from me or you.
So my first night here I stayed at Cape Cadogan Hotel because the apt I rented wasn’t ready until the next day, so I really need to give a shout out to them. It’s a lovely boutique hotel with 15 rooms that are comfy and beautiful, and I highly recommend them. I had trouble with my computer getting online and they did everything to help me – seriously, they made phone calls to other IT whizzes, and spent lots of time working diligently – any one else would have just given it back to me and told me “sorry”, but they didn’t give up until they got it! My girl Amber is lovely, sweet, personable, and makes you feel like her friend. And Wisdom – what a friggin great name, right?? – couldn’t be nicer. Great breakfast too. Amber recommended this place for dinner and drinks called Rick’s Cafe – right on. I had a delicious salad and spiced shrimp on skewers and some more vodka. Met 2 young SA couples who offered me a ride home, which I graciously accepted. My mom freaked when I told her…getting into cars with strangers….as if I’m 5…I get it, but these were sweet, normal people. I do have my antennae up at all times. Mom…stop.
But I regress. After I got to the hotel, Nicky and Bryan, the owners of the apt I’m renting invited me to meet them for drinks. I was thrilled!! Oh – how did I find this apartment? I’ve been searching for all my apts. on www.airbnb.com. It’s a fantastic website that is for people who don’t want to pay up for hotels but still want a great experience. There are all kinds of homes and apartments posted on there, all over the world, and the site uses a review system so you can get the real deal from people who have stayed there on the pros and cons of each place as well as the owners/hosts. Nicky’s place is beautiful. As is Nicky. And she and Bryan couldn’t be more fabulous. The apartment is totally high styled, clean, loaded with everything you would need (a drop dead view of Cape Town and the ocean, washer, dryer, fully stocked modern kitchen, great bed and bedding, surround sound speakers for my music, and a ridiculous projector TV in the master bedroom that feels like you’re in a theater…I’ll save all the other stuff for my review on the site, but you can check out this apt at here). So I meet Nicky and Bryan for drinks and they’ve invited the current tenants who are moving out tomorrow, who happen to be from Portland, and they too are adorable and..going to the Dave concert! I don’t know…something in the universe, ay?
The next morning after breakfast I checked out of the wonderful Cape Cadogan Hotel and moved into the apartment. Bryan met me there, carried my 1000 lbs of crap up 50 steps like a total gentleman, and showed me around. Sharon, the housekeeper was there cleaning, and after Bryan left, I began to unpack. I had only a few minutes until my taxi picked me up for my boat ride to Robben Island, the place where Nelson Mandela was jailed for 18 of his 27 imprisoned years. When I got into the cab, the friendly driver greeted me and made some small talk, asking me if I had prepaid for my ticket. Oh! My ticket!! I left it in the apartment!! We had just left, so we quickly turned around and I ran back upstairs to grab it. Sharon didn’t hear me come in as I quickly ran into the bedroom to dig into my unpacked bag…but….wait…my stuff was out of it, littered all around it on the floor….I didn’t open that bag yet…wait…Sharon?? She had run into the bathroom when I came in, and it slowly hit me why. She had gone through my stuff and had it all out…my jewelry, my camera, my computer…half of my backpack was out…and I thought – SHIT! My CASH!! I said this out loud, to which Sharon replied, “what cash!!” She hadn’t gotten that far down into my bag to find it yet. Phewwwww!! I looked at her, and our eyes met and held. I said to her, “I have never accused anyone of stealing anything in my life. This is not right”. To which she replied, “You unpacked”. “I never opened this bag”. No comment. She and I both knew what she had done. “This is not right”, I said. I quickly threw everything of value into my big rolling duffel and locked it. And left.
Here’s the good news. Nothing was stolen or missing. I caught it in time. And maybe she won’t do that again since she got caught. Maybe she was just curious and had no intention of stealing anything. I’ll never know, but it’s really all ok. I called Nicky to tell her, she was completely embarrassed and apologetic, which I can totally understand – it could happen to any of us! This was someone she used infrequently on days that her regular housekeeper who has been with her for 15 years didn’t work. Like Sundays. Anyway, it’s all good. She got fired, locks got changed immediately, and I’m feeling fine. Of course I didn’t tell my mom because I’d like to prevent a heart attack and the conversation that would entail. And mom, if you’re reading this, there’s really nothing to discuss. It’s over and I’m fine.
I keep digressing. So…Robben Island. A gorgeous sunny day on a ferry over to the island, a live narrated bus tour of the island where you drive by the jail and see some other interesting landmarks, such as the limestone quarry where the prisoners manually mined the stone, and the original church built by the English. The bus lets you off at the jail where you see what the group and individual cells were like. Nelson Mandela, President of South Africa from 1994-1999 and the first black person to hold that office, was a political prisoner there from 1964 until 1982 where he was confined to a tiny single cell, the floor as his bed, and a bucket for a toilet.
“He was allowed one visitor a year for 30 minutes. He could write and receive one letter every six months. But Robben Island became the crucible which transformed him. Through his intelligence, charm and dignified defiance, Mandela eventually bent even the most brutal prison officials to his will, assumed leadership over his jailed comrades and became the master of his own prison. He emerged from it the mature leader who would fight and win the great political battles that would create a new democratic South Africa.”
This is an extraordinary man. And it’s unfathomable to imagine this happening in 1990!!! That’s like yesterday!!! I apologize for my ignorance for not knowing more about this…glad to know it now though and happy to learn more. You know, we are so “politically correct” in America, and the reason I think it’s important is to set a standard for respecting people of all colors and races. Our habits have been formed since we are young, and it is a difficult thing to change, but with practice and social pressure to do so, we will learn and eventually get there. I can forgive missteps by people like Paula Deen and various others who may not really be racists but were raised at a time when segregation and racism was the norm. Listen, I don’t know these people – Paula Deen? But I like to think that generally people are good. They just don’t know better. All the more reason they need to be educated and informed. You know, cut us all open and we all look the same.
Wine bottle is 2/3 gone and I’m rambling. As I said, no one is holding a gun to your head.
Today I was privileged (yes, privileged) to work with Noeline de Goede, CEO, and Sethu, an alumni and intern of the Kay Mason Foundation, a not-for-profit that selects and supports underprivileged children for educational scholarships that place them in acceptable schools from 8th through 12th grade. These young South African students come from varying backgrounds, speak various languages (there are tens of different languages in South Africa alone), but they share one thing – they all possess the drive, the attitude, the desire to have an education. There are many students that apply for this scholarship. They are all interviewed and selected based on need, grades, character, and their desire to succeed. The difference between this organization and most others is that the scholars are not chosen by the way they look on paper, based on their low-income and grades. Noeline and the KMF are completely hands on with these kids. They meet with each child in a lengthy interview, they visit many of them in their homes to see the conditions they come from, they meet with parents or guardians, and they get to know the children who claim to want to a better life for themselves. Some of these kids have absolutely no one in their lives to rely on, to support them, to get them to the interview and the Saturday classes in Math and English that are offered. They walk miles. They figure out public transport. They keep organized schedules. They are 12 years old. Yes, they are 12 years old. Only 15 scholars are selected each year, so it is quite competitive. And yes, there are some that get dropped from the program if they have too many warnings for bad behavior, poor grades because of low effort, etc. Education is not a given in South Africa. One is not entitled as it is in the States. Again, something to be thankful for.
So yeah, I worked. I inserted papers into the students files for their upcoming interviews, I called various parents to set up times for their interviews. I learned to pronounce their African names – very challenging! Nmbobo, Sisetho, Thandie. I read the student’s donor letters to correct their grammar and punctuation. And I got to know the people behind this organization. Sethu is fascinating. She is a pretty, very poised and well-spoken 20 year-old alumni of KMF who attends University now and works 2 jobs to help her family. Her siblings did not go through the program, because they didn’t want to, and she is fine with their choices. She speaks English beautifully, although Xhosa is her first language, and as she demonstrates it with it’s different clicks of the tongue it sounds like a song. She talked openly about her upbringing and the way her friends at her previous school think she’s a snob or better than they are because she attended a “white” school, but she knows she is nonjudgemental and humble about her accomplishments. In South Africa, it is common for blacks and whites to talk about blacks and whites. And coloreds. Coloreds, I learned from Sethu, are the offspring of a black and white couple. “You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between blacks and coloreds but we can,” she admits. Black South Africans are very proud of their heritage and their language and they do not want to lose it to the modern white society that is the majority in Cape Town. So they often frown upon their own when they speak English, the “white” language. But again, Sethu is fine with all of this. And I know she is a fine young lady. Would love to meet up with her in 10 years.
Noeline de Gourde is….well, she’s everything. She is the CEO, the administrator, the social worker, the publicist, the interviewer, the grader….she’s the machine that keeps KMF going. Tireless, dedicated, loving and nurturing to these scholars, she is passionate about her work and about each and every child. She tells stories like a proud parent about the scholars and their progress. She empathizes with the children whose families suffer medical, drug, or psychological problems and don’t partake much in their children’s well being. She speaks Afrikaans as her first language and is self-taught in English although you would think the reverse. She wants to grow this organization and I would love to help her. She needs sponsors, stationary, manpower, and contributions. She needs new computers, a printer, and a new space to move into. If you can find something within yourself to reach out and help, please do. www.kmf.org.za.
Still haven’t had enough of me? Here’s some cool things I learned today.
1. No matter what language one speaks, “ok” is universal.
2. When you answer your phone in South Africa, most say their name first, and then hello twice, as in “Meryl, hello, hello?”
3. South Africans love to BRAAI (pronounced bry), which means BBQ. Nicky & Bryan will BRAAI for me Thurs night – they are so ridiculously cool I’m already in love.
4. South Africans’ word for ‘standing in line’ is queue (pronounced “Q”), as in ‘you will have to queue if you want tickets to the show’.
5. Liquor can’t be sold in Cape Town after 6pm. Except at Harley’s till 9. Very important.
Take off!
7:44am Friday, November 29, 2013. Just took off from JFK heading to Cape Town thru London’s Heathrow. It’s a gorgeous morning, bright sun, crispy chill in the air, and I’m still pleasantly stuffed like the turkey I ate last night. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and I couldn’t have planned my last supper any better. Perfectly roasted turkey and gravy drippings from the pan, dumplings that we all fight over because we only get them once a year, sweet potato pie with toasted marshmallows that my dad has perfected and should be selling in stores, and of course Iris’s sinful chocolate roll for dessert. It’s the same every year, and I couldn’t be happier. Some things are perfect the way they are. There’s a comfort in knowing what to expect, and always having those expectations met. I have one of those families that I LOVE to be around, and I’m so THANKFUL that I had my two beautiful kids, Michael and Rachel, my brother Adam, my Dad and wicked step-monster Iris, and our extended family to spend my last day and night in NY with.
We hugged long and tight as we said our goodbyes at the gate this morning, and I turned and walked toward the unknown with my backpack on my back and a huge grin on my face.
Oh. My. God. I pictured this walk a million times and thought about how I might feel. For an instant my eyes started to tear and the anxiety heightened a bit, but it almost instantly went back down. I’m walking…I’m walking…I’m doing this. And then the strap on my backpack broke. Yeah, really. The pack that I researched for days, read all the comments and compared to tens of other packs. I hadn’t even made it through security and I’m already down to one shoulder strap. Worse things could happen…let’s wait and see.
I’m flying Virgin Atlantic – beautiful plane, really comfy seats, pretty tight leg room, but the seats recline deeply. The first leg of my trip isn’t too long – 6 hours – and the plane is only 40% full, so lucky for me I’ve got my own row to myself! I’m ready for this trip. Took a deep, cleansing breath as we raced down the runway and just let it all go. I’m open to what’s next. Not afraid at all. Excited, curious, surprised at myself in a “wow, are you crazy or actually cool?” kinda way. I wonder why I felt the need to give it all up in order to go. I guess I needed to cleanse the clutter from a 20 year business that has left me burned out and tired of the bullshit, and move it out in order to see what lies ahead, and I needed to physically move myself out of a stagnant, unsatisfying life in order to make a real change. Believe me, I didn’t really give it ALL up. Some of “it” is sitting in a 10’x25’ box. But I did give up a pretty fab living situation, with incredible neighbors and friends that I otherwise wouldn’t have met had I not chosen that spot to rent just over 2 years ago. Those friendships are solid and meaningful to me, and I know that they were built on being geographically desirable but will endure the physical separation. I am so overwhelmed with gratitude and love for the gifts of friendship that I have received these past 3 months as I planned this journey. Dear, dear friends, new and old, have shared so much intense love and support for me, they’ve made it known that I am important in their lives in the most pure, honest exchanges, and it’s that incredibly positive energy which fuels me to go forward and find whatever it is that I will find. I only hope they know that there isn’t anything in the world that I need or want more than their love and friendship and how sacred and beautiful those relationships are to me. And how important it is to me that I can give it back to them.
Peace Train by Cat Stevens was playing in the airport”s Hudson News. This is what I heard:
“Now I’ve been thinking lately.
Thinkin’ about what is to come.
And I believe it could be
something good has begun.”
Mmmmm. 🙂
9:50pm London – ready for takeoff to Cape Town! Heathrow airport is like Madison Ave. Seriously, would you ever think of going to an airport to shop at Harrod’s, Chanel, Jo Malone, Salvatore Ferragamo? So I sat down at the chic modern seafood & caviar bar that served only champagne, wine, or vodka along with arguably the best smoked salmon from the western shores of England. I ordered a russian vodka on the rocks with a twist of lemon, and a small plate of that delectable smoked salmon. I was served a shot of vodka perched on a bowl of ice and a lemon with cheesecloth over it for pressing and keeping your hands cleanish. And a bill for $64. Airport dining? Tip if you travel out of London – you cannot bring more than 1 sandwich sized bag worth of 3 oz liquids, lotions, creams, etc. in your carry on. They actually count stick deodorant as a liquid, as well as chap stick and lip gloss I had to part with (aka “throw away”) about $75 worth of shit. Ugh. But of course, there’s always an upside. Boarded the plane for Cape Town and got to sit next to an adorable Brit. Married, but still….
Landed safely in Cape Town. Gorgeous!! Wow, I’m here!!!
View of Table Mountain from my room at Cape Cadogan Hotel
Giving Back in South Africa
So far, I have led a privileged life. Growing up in Livingston, NJ as the oldest child of an upper middle class family, I was treated to the finest public school education, a beautiful, safe suburban home to grow up in, and a cultural education learned on the streets of New York that spoiled me with the best of everything, from style to the arts to cuisine. I spent summers as a child at sleep-away camp, the Jersey Shore and Fire Island. I attended one of the best Universities in one of the best cities in the country, and came away with a job at one of the best of the “Big Eight” Accounting Firms in the world. When I married, I learned what being a member of a country club felt like, quite honestly something I was never comfortable with but admittedly tried to look like I was. I learned to spend money frivolously in the 90’s, because it was abundant and I didn’t know it would end. I earned another degree and launched a second career in Interior Design. We bought a second home in East Hampton and lived the high life, or so it seemed. And I learned money comes and goes, and so do marriages. Lucky for me, I have one of the most amicable divorces of anyone I know. I worked hard at my business, borrowed money to keep my house until the kids graduated high school, and still was able to walk away in the black (barely, but black is black) when all was sold and settled.
However, when I start to really delve deep into it, “privilege” is all perception and comparison, isn’t it? I choose to look at life the way I do. I don’t ignore the hard stuff, I just get through it, learn from it, and move on. My parents divorced when I was very young, and for years I prayed upon every first star that they would get back together. At that time, divorce was uncommon, and I was part of a start-up club that I didn’t want to be in. My dad moved far away for work. My house was always dark. Literally. The lights were kept off because my mom worked full-time to support us and we had to save money. There was never anyone home to welcome me from school or to give me snacks. There wasn’t much food in the house either. I remember the vast difference in warmth and nurturing that I felt when I was at friends’ houses where their moms would be there with a hug and some cookies and milk. By 7th grade I had a part-time job after school and weekends so I could try to keep up with the latest designer jeans and pay my way at the diner. By 8th grade, I had been a victim of sexual abuse by my mother’s then-boyfriend, and by 9th grade I had an eating disorder. And the list goes on. Still, this is a pretty normal, privileged life, isn’t it? In my world, it is. I’m certainly not complaining.
The world that I am about to enter is a mix of extreme poverty and disease mixed with beauty beyond measure and wealth in all it’s chicest displays. South African writer Richard Mason describes it as a “deeply humbling” experience, where I hope to get a “context for (my) own troubles and inspire (me) to make a difference in this magical land. In this world of contrasts, where poverty and wealth exist side by side, it is possible to combine indulgence with activism, to drink the cup of pleasure deep while making an impact on a nation still healing from a brutally unequal past.” One of the most important personal goals on this tour is to give back to those less fortunate than I am. I have chosen two South African foundations that will allow me to accomplish this during my time there.
Ubuntu Africa (www.ubafrica.org) is a not-for-profit dedicated to improving the health and well-being of HIV+ children in under-served communities in South Africa. I had the pleasure of meeting Whitney Johnson, Founder and Executive Director, and Jessica Annis, US Director of Operations, at a fundraiser last month. Whitney spoke briefly about the obvious need to educate about HIV/Aids and the ongoing affected children that suffer from this. But what resonated is that this person was truly making a difference in the lives of these children, ages 4 to 18. Before starting Ubuntu, Whitney had witnessed 4 deaths in 6 months of her working with HIV+ children. Since the 2006 inception of Ubuntu, the organization has not lost one child. I was immediately impressed with their accomplishments, their drive, and their mission, and knew this was one organization that I want to support. The website is full of information and quite an interesting read. I am grateful to have met Whitney and Jessica, and look forward to working with them in Cape Town (yes, they will both be there!) as well as the beautiful and deserving children of this organization.
The Kay Mason Foundation (www.kmf.org.za), is a not-for-profit dedicated to bridging the gap in education for underprivileged children in South Africa. Founded by Richard Mason, and under the patronage of Desmond Tutu, the organization recruits and sponsors select children’s education, providing opportunity for empowerment and sustainable growth. Richard’s proven track record has grown to helping up to 75 scholars per year in various quality schools throughout South Africa. The beauty of the growth of this organization can be seen in the “pay it forward” work that the graduates of these programs have adopted. Many of these graduates have taken on the roles of their mentors and leaders in this organization, proving that young people can bring about the positive social change and development on which South Africa’s future success depends. I believe education is the greatest tool one can have in shaping his or her own destiny, and I would be honored to join this group in its mission.
I want to make a difference in the lives of people. I don’t know how I will accomplish that yet, but I know I will try to find my voice as I explore these opportunities for change. Stay tuned for all the pics and commentary during my time spent at these organizations in early December.
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