Hello folks, it’s good to be back here, reflecting and reliving the events of the past week. As I prepare to write this week’s blog, my ears are covered in a heavy set of headphones, pouring that wonderful music from the CD that Abe gave me through my ears and straight into my soul, taking me back to that awe-inspiring scenery from the peninsula tour that I wrote about in my first entry. In my peripheral vision I can see my housemates yelling at me, attempting to get my attention to ask me a question of some sort. I am ignoring them: whatever they have to say can be heard later. This music is simply too good to put on pause and time after time, it just puts me right in the zone. (And what’s better than being in the zone? Fresh socks? Just maybe fresh socks…)
I am going to try to put this blog out once a week on the weekends to recap the events of the past week, but in Cape Town, my life is as unpredictable as the weather. The brisk air of an occasional overcast morning is often boiled away by the blistering hot sun, only to be outdone and cooled by the hurricane like evening winds. Finally, after hot and cold have out danced each other to exhaustion, the opposing temperatures embrace each other in love and acceptance, as the night time air resigns into a state of moderation and balance, making it the perfect temperature for wearing anything from shorts to a sweater vest. (But then again, to those of you that own them, I’m sorry, but is there ever really a PERFECT temperature for a sweater vest?) In short, I will try to put this blog out once a week, but expect the unexpected, and don’t be shocked if I miss the occasional deadline. (I think you can become a follower on the side and then you will automatically be notified when I post, not sure though)
Before I go on to this past week, I want to rewind and write about another unique to Cape Town experience that happened the week before. A little over a fortnight ago, I headed out to the Kirstenbosch Gardens for a summer evening of music, picnic, and family fun. I sat alone in a van big enough to hold 14 folks, chatting it up with the obviously friendly driver (even the mute are talkative in this city), watching the beautiful people dressed up in their loose, comfortable, and yet fancy clothing, parking their cars and making their way over to the gardens. It felt like a pilgrimage to Mecca, black, colored, white, young, old, and even infant, all marching up the mountain slope with the same goal in mind: The Weekly Kirstenbosch Summer Sunset Concert. Signs declaring “concert sold out” phased me in the least, because although I have only been here for one week, thanks to some connections provided by the legendary explorer EZRA WAXMAN, I already had a ticket waiting for me at the concert venue with my inside man. Well actually, the inside man was really a woman, a particularly pleasant, considerate and friendly (surprised?) girl by the name of Maya who met me at the bottom of the green slope leading up the alter (some people call it a stage, but make no mistake about it, this was a religious event!) She led me to a spot at the top of the hill, where I was introduced to her two friends and a bottle of wine. Sipping on wine, eating chips (I had some in my backpack, a little piece of advice: ALWAYS CARRY SNACKS. You never know when you are going to need them) we watched Lira and Friends put on a show that was able to move everyone in the diverse audience. This Lira, boy, was she a performer. Dancing with her hips, arms, and modest Afro, she had the ability to get the entire crowd, tipsy, drunk and sober alike, up on their feet with the single clap of her hands. Yet, just as easily, throwing her body and head completely back, swinging the mike into the air, and sending her soulful voice strait towards the heavens, she was able to get the crowd standstill, listening in awe to the sound of pure talent. As always, my best friend was there with me, watching the concert quietly from beyond the deep-green, forest covered side buffs of the gardens. Somehow, Table-Mountain always manages to follow me around in this city, sneaking into somewhere of every picturesque scene. And only to add to Table-Mountain’s tall and proud presence beside me, the sun was setting in the backdrop, shining its last rays on a view overlooking the suburbs of Cape Town. Sitting there, I couldn’t help but think how I’ve been incredibly blessed with the privilege of having experienced 22 years of diverse, beautiful sunsets. This dusk at Kirstenbosch will definitely be remembered as a special one.
Back to this past week. I’ll start with last weekend.
To start things off, I headed over to Big Bash, a UCT sponsored party to kick off the year that included horseracing, a 100m dash between a handful of first year boys wearing nothing but tighty whities, and of course, a giant dance at the end with over 3 thousand people dancing under the stars in an open field by the race track. I arrived in the middle of the afternoon, and feeling lucky, I decided to place a few bets on the horses. Disregarding records and strictly choosing on the basis of the names, I put 12 Rand on two completely inexperienced horses by the names American Fantasy and Blue Striker, hoping that at least one of them would place. To no one’s surprise but my own, all three of us ended up losers. Yet the night was an interesting one none-the-less: it was my first time at a horserace-manrace-dance party! They definitely make a point to do things differently in Cape Town.
The next day, as the culmination to the University of Cape Town orientation-week, I set sail on another peninsula tour. Anticipating a somewhat similar experience to my first peninsula tour, I was very excited. But as I said, Cape-Townians like to do things differently, and instead of the first stop being the glorious Camps Bay, we headed straight to the liquor store. Upon arriving, everyone jumped out of the bus, loaded up on booze ranging from beer to hard cider (I picked the juice, too early in the morning for beer), and we headed over to a nice wading pool by the ocean, sipping on drinks and chatting, as we watched a few little kids in their underwear jumping into the water from a ledge, making a point to belly flop as painfully as possible.
Besides a girl falling flat on her face from drinking too much and having to be helped up, covered in scratches and blood, which was a sad sight indeed, the booze cruise was a lot of fun. When we stopped by one of the beaches, the orientation leaders gave us some Cane Juice (a Cape Town special, cane alcohol mixed with cream soda, it goes down smooth and does the job well!) and lunch, which was simply a chip roll (that’s right, chips in a roll, nothing more, nothing less. In my book, that’s called a snack, not a lunch!) All in all it was a good chance to get my feet wet both in the Atlantic Ocean and the local life. On the way back, the booze had taken their effect, and everyone was either sleeping or singing (I was trying to sing, but for those of you that have experience with hearing my voice, you know its not a good one).
On Sunday, a critical game was taking place between two South African soccer teams: The Ajax Cape Town, and the M (Mamelodi) Sundowns. I headed over there, excited for my first but hopefully not last soccer game in this country. Just heading over to the stadium, I could feel that the place was vibing. Blowing horns and team chants filled the air, as the crowd lined up to the gates of the stadium. Being the kind of guy that always sticks with the home-team, I was donned in red, the color of Ajax Cape Town. Right next to me in line, there were a group of M Sundown fans dressed in yellow, dancing and working their way through a jubilant call and response cheer. Despite the difference in the color of our shirts, their cheer was just too much fun to resist, and before I knew it, I found myself clapping along and dancing with this group of fans from the opposing team. For the sake of dance, song and just pure fun, team barriers can and should be crossed!
The sun was hot and the game was enthralling. Talking to one of my friends, Kashe, I was telling her that one of the reasons I wanted to study abroad in Cape Town was because of the diversity. People from all different races and languages and ethnicity come together in one city. Kashe told me to look around and pointed out that perhaps I was being a little naïve. I took a quick glance at the crowd and suddenly realized that we and our friends were the only white people that I could identify in the entire stadium. My friend went on to explain that despite the fact that apartheid is over, many social barriers still exist between blacks and whites. Blacks go to soccer games. Whites go to rugby games, albeit with a small black minority in attendance. On the one hand, I thought it was cool that I was at a place where I was an EXTREME minority and yet felt so comfortable that I noticed the team distinctions more than the racial differences. But after I continued talking to her, I realized that the demographics of the stadium are just another example of how this country is still often divided along racial lines and much work needs to be done in the wake of apartheid. To achieve true racial integration and equality, the disadvantages of years of colonization and discrimination need to be taken into account.
A red card early that took a player out for the home team forced the Ajax to play with a 10-11-man disadvantage for the rest of the game. The M Sundowns took a 1-0 lead in the middle of the game and were able to hold onto it until the end. Apparently some disadvantages are just too hard to overcome in the realm of strict competition.
Yet, the day wasn’t over yet. I headed to a club called La Med for an appetizing night of Gold Fish, Cape Town’s favorite homegrown DJ group. Set to go on at 9 pm, the place was already packed at 7, due to the hype behind this distinct trio of groove makers. La Med is located right next to the beautiful Camps Bay. Standing outside as the sun was setting, I watched the ocean rise and collapse along the rocks, witnessing a sight that can only properly be described as “a love affair between the sea and the mountain” (For those of you that have been to Rosh Hanikra and seen the promo video, you know what I’m talking about.)
After a few hours of waiting, I finally crammed into the small room that Goldfish was set to perform and embraced myself for what ever was to come. Onto the short stage came three men. Two DJs and an MC. As soon as the MC grabbed the mike and the DJs began spinning their stuff, the crowd jumped into action. In a matter of minutes, the overcrowded room turned into a sauna as the beats, dance, and temperatures all picked up at the same rate. Yet, even though I came prepared for the sweat with a dry-fit shirt, by the end of the night, my top was soaked through and through. In the middle of the concert, I smoothly made my way over to front row-center. From there I had a picture perfect view of these musicians working their magic. I call them musicians because that’s exactly what they were: they played everything from the cello, to the flute to the sax. Mixing pre-recorded beats with the live tunes of these jazzy instruments was a sound I’ve never quite heard before. Standing in front also had its other advantages: I had all the room I needed to make use of my giant wingspan and give a little demonstration to the Cape Town locals of what it means to really dance. At times, I felt uncertain if I should stay in the front, as not only was I the only boy in the front row, but I was also at least a foot taller than everyone else next to me and behind me. In short, I stood out. But the adrenaline rush of being up in the front was too good to resist. At times, Goldfish would prompt the crowd to get a clap going in the air. Like K-G clapping a handful of baby powder before tip-off or like a gospel singer sending his praise to the lord above, I thumped my hands together with pure power. I felt like the king up there. Lights were shining from behind, and I could see my clapping shadow dwarfing the clapping shadows of all the short people next to me. I had no intention of moving- the people needed their leader.
I ended the night walking out into the bracing air, having dedicated every muscle of my body to match and move in perfect rhythm with every soulful note that came out of that fervent saxophone. The sweat instantly chilled on my back, as I joined a conversation of people, chimed in with a few quick remarks, and then sat back, relaxed, and let the other parties do the rest of the socializing work. My job here was done.
The super-bowl happened. I didn’t see it. I woke up and someone told me that the Saints won. All I heard was that the Colts loss. I was ecstatic.
On Tuesday I applied for World Cup tickets. I got to the computer lab an hour before they went on sale just to make sure that I would have a computer. When the clock struck one PM, all my ADD disappeared, and my entire mental capacity was focused on one task: fill out the ticket forms as quickly as possible. Like I said before, I’ll find out next week what tickets I actually will get. I’m praying for Brazil v. Ivory Coast. It’s going to be the best match of the first round and it’s happening in Soccer City, Jo-Berg.
Once a year the government plans a big celebration in Cape Town in honor of the opening of parliament. However, yesterday was an especially important day, because not only was it the beginning of the political season, but it was also the 20th anniversary of Nelson Mandela’s release from prison. I headed to downtown Cape Town to check out the scene. At 6 PM, the parade started! A marching band came forward followed by a platoon of soldiers who flanked out in perfect order towards the sides of the streets, maintaining a careful eye over the crowd. Then nothing happened. For 15 minutes. I didn’t understand it, did something go wrong? At 6:15 PM: another marching band came forward. Then nothing again, for another 15 minutes. Parades usually come and go in consecutive lines with excitement from beginning to end. But here in Cape Town, they make sure to spread out the whole charade as much as urban patience will allow. At least this gives you time to go the bathroom without having to miss any of the show. During one of the breaks, I took the opportunity to look around and noticed snipers on the top of all the surrounding high-risers. There’s always something exciting about top-secret, high level security. 6:30 PM: A group of police motorcycles VERY SLOWLY made their way towards parliament. I couldn’t understand how they kept their balance under such slow speeds. Then all of a sudden one of them just dropped to the ground. Collapsed instantly. Some people thought it was because he feinted, I thought it was because he lost his balance from the slow speed, but either way, the guy was not moving. A police from the sidelines quickly ran over and checked his pulse. Still no movement. Another police officer jumped on the fallen motorcycle and drove it away to make room for the oncoming parade of more nothing as a team of medics circled the fallen officer. For about 3 minutes, they continuously took his pulse, which I hope was a good sign, because he was still not moving an inch. An ambulance came quickly; he was placed in a neck brace, moved onto a stretcher and whisked away in the truck. He still had his helmet on, but his windshield was lifted and I could see that his eyes were closed, evidence that he was still unconscious. A parade is an event that represents strength, dignity and overall prowess, making it the last place you would expect to see someone on a bike collapse and get knocked out. It was a frightening sight and I really hope that man is ok.
The parade, or lack of parade, continued on, and finally, after some moments of more nothing passing, a pope-like mobile drove forward carrying the president himself, Jacob Zuma. Through the clear windows I could see President Zuma, waving proudly in between the occasional wipe of his nose, with his wife behind him. Well only the first wife to be precise, but don’t feel bad for his second wife; she got to travel with him on his last trip to NYC. It’s wife number three that really gets the short end of the deal.
After the parade wrapped up, the soldiers marched in reverse order to head back to where they came from. The soldiers had their names stitched onto their shirts and my clever friend decided that it would be funny if he shouted their names out as they passed by. As he shouted random names, the serious faces of the soldiers would break down with a smile and sometimes they would even give a deliberate wink in his direction. Seeing these serious soldiers crack mischievous smiles while all eyes were watching them wasn’t funny at all: it was hysterical!
Yesterday my friend told me that the forecast for surf today was 35 feet. I couldn’t believe it: 35 feet! I can’t even imagine what that would look like. I have no concept, no prior experience, absolutely nothing to compare it to. It’s simply titanic. Before going to sleep, I was stoked just thinking about the possibility of seeing waves of that size. Waking up this morning, literally the first sounds that came out my mouth were the three syllables: thir-ty-five. I told all my friends about it, and even some people in my classes. After rallying a huge group of friends to head to the beach to check out this beast of nature, I called the surf shop just to make sure. The surf report was in: 6-8 feet, nice and ride able. Although I am from Boston and as an east-coast surfer have no right to complain about 6-8 feet, I have to say, after the hype of 35, I was disappointed. I ended up going to the mall with a friend to look for some sneakers. I am size 14. We went to 6 different stores. The biggest size any of them had was 12. Having experienced both a shortage in waves and shoe sizes in the same day, I realized that sometimes things aren’t as big as they are expected to be. Sometimes reality doesn’t live up to the expectations. But that’s ok. I think hype is good for its own sake. I think that hype is an emotion, a joy, which can be experienced in its own right. Even if the waves didn’t end up crashing at 35 feet, for the few moments when I thought they were going to, it instilled me with a feeling of awe just at the mere imagination of thinking about what that would even look like. My imagination will continue to wander until the day that I see the 35-foot wave. I don’t know if it will ever come, but either way, I can always hope and will continue to build up the hype…
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
FLIGHT SA208 and Beyond...
South African Airways is awesome! On my flight from Washington to Johannesburg, via Dakar, Senegal, I had a cushy legroom seat, with enough space to fully extend the pins on my 6'4'' frame.
The service was incredible, the passengers were friendly, the media system offered a deep list of movies that can be played and paused at the viewers discretion, the accents people spoke with were eclectic and intriguing, and of course the rolls were delicious. I was loving Africa before I even left Washington.
8 hours in the air, two more hours on the land in Dakar to refuel, and another 7 hours in the air later, and I was still just as happy of a camper as ever. The plane was half empty, providing me with all the space I needed to go on pre-meal strolls, consistently change seats so that I could check out the views of Africa from both wings of the plane, and even do a few sets of squats as part of my physical therapy program. Basically, the plane was my jungle gym, and I had a lot of fun riding down all the slides.
My first day in Cape Town, I was greeted by warm, engaging people and a natural surrounding unlike anything I have experienced. Mid-morning, the clouds broke through to reveal one of my soon to be closest companions of the semester, Table Mountain. On sunny days, Table Mountain stands out as a prominent piece of tree covered rock, with a dropped face and a flat top as suggested by its name. On cloudy days, the evaporated moisture plays games with Table Mountain, settling on its flat top and flowing down over its edges just before picking up into the sky once more, like a wizard's cauldron, boiling over with magical steam.
My first Sunday in Cape Town, I joined a group of over 400 international students on what would be the best bus ride of my entire life: The Cape Peninsula Tour. It was a one day journey from UCT to the tip of the Cape peninsula and back, yet the oceans, mountains, and wildlife we saw would take a lifetime to properly digest. Our tour guide, Abe, pumping with adrenaline and enthusiasm for every place we visited, spoke non-stop to us in a wonderful Afrikaners accent, rolling rrrs, and roaring laughter abound. At first we headed through the downtown part of the Cape, passing some of both the expected and unexpected sights you would see in an urban area. In a matter of minutes, we passed by THE Parliament, an ex-slave house, the stage where Nelson Mandela gave his opening speech to the people of Africa after being released from Prison, and a bridge that is simply cut off in the middle of the air and leads no where. This city is oozing with life, contradiction, beauty, and history. Although Cape Town is considered a first world, modern city, the fact is that there was a legal policy of apartheid only 20 years ago. Sights such as the hanging, incomplete bridge serve as a reminder that this country still has crucial gaps that need to be overcome.
The bus ride to peninsula heaven continued as we hooked around the downtown area and slung towards the beautiful soccer stadium that was built right on the water in preparation for FIFA 2010. Enormous in size, I can't even imagine what they are going to do with this beast when 2010 passes. This stadium stands out as perhaps the biggest landmark in all of Cape Town, only to be dwarfed by the titanic Table-Mountain. Table-Mountain: glorious, horrific, and constantly beckoning me to challenge it, is a spectacle that can be seen from pretty much everywhere I go, especially on walks up to campus. Anytime I forget where I am, all I need to do is look up and out, and Table-Mountain instantly reminds: I am in Africa. This is not my first intimate relationship with a mountain; I’ve gotten to know the ranges of Israel quite well and I’ve even had a love affair with whistler that lasted for 4 years. But something about Table-Mountains’ steep faces, narrow shoots, jungle green coating, and overall prominent presence is just so foreign to my previous experiences with the rocks of the world. I am intrigued…
….Table Mountain remained in sight as the Peninsula tour to never land journeyed, passing beach after beach of G-d’s purest grace. Giant boulders stacked on top of each other, with houses built into the cliffs, lead down to a beautiful sea of rolling swells, surfers, dolphins, and yes, even sharks. Camps Bay was a classic, as the clash of the waves into the half sunk boulders unleashed a cool, mysterious, mist into the air that made me question whether I was awake or merely dreaming. Only being allowed to soak in the view for a mere ten minutes, I vowed to myself that I would come back to Camps Bay soon.
I've already been back twice, the second time meeting a friendly local who has gotten so close to the wildlife of Cape Town that he is already on a name by name basis with a few of the local creatures: Damien the Shark and Nelson the Segal are two of his favorites. Pointing out to sea as I was first meeting him, he claimed that Damien shark was playing “kill the seals” out at sea. Despite my 20-15 vision, my untrained eyes didn’t manage to catch a glance at Damien, although I did see a shark spotting helicopter fly by, in the hopes of ensuring that Damien’s seal lunch didn’t include a human dessert. But don't worry folks, the shark attack that happened around here a month ago was a pure fluke. It was an overcast day, and the black flags were up. On a standard sunny day, the shark spotters surround the mountaintops, and with their expert vision, they glance through their binoculars to see if they notice any sharks swimming under water, miles away. I'm not really sure how a few guys on top of the mountain can manage to cover the entire ocean with their bare eyesight, but somehow, they make it work. If they notice a shark, they merely give a shout out to their helicopter friends, who fly in to get a closer look. Of course, once the shark has been spotted, a siren at the beach sounds, at which time the surfers calmly wait till a killer (no pun intended) outside set comes in. After the helicopter confirms the shark’s location out at sea, the surfers merely paddle out and continue on with the day. The shark siren rings regularly several times a day, and the surfers always take it in stride. One thing I have learned about people in Cape Town: they are very very very laid back. Even when a shark is on the prowl, they will do things on their own time and not be rushed. Besides, Damien is nice to the locals.
The Peninsula tour went on, as we explored the lay out of the country just beside the Cape. There we drove through rolling hills of lush wineries. There is supposed to be a nice tour, where you can bike around from winery to winery and sample all the wines as far as you can go. If you make it through the taste tests of over 10 wine fields without falling off your bike you get a free drink! We also visited a beach that was covered in jackass penguins. In the penguin world, gender roles are reversed: the males laid on the babies keeping them safe, while the females just chilled out in the cooler sand down by the water. Penguins on a beach! Another reason why Cape Town is such a unique place: Penguins, sharks, and people of all different races living in perfect harmony. Of course if the shark attack last month was the only problem of this city, then the world we live in would be a much better place. But as you all know, Cape Town and South Africa does indeed have its tragic side, which I will get more into another time.
Onward, onwards, to the Peninsula itself. The hills got stronger, the trees got lower. On Cape Peninsula, the winds are so intense that trees can't grow much higher than 2 meters, because the wind will knock it all down. On one part of the cape, all the trees are pointing down and out towards one direction, because the wind doesn't allow them to grow in a normal upwards line. We drove through the nature reserve that is the cape peninsula, and on the way we see an official road sign that simply says: "Baboon!". I guess the exclamation mark tells you everything you need to know, because later, we see another sign, this time with a baboon sitting on it. We took pictures from the bus, a safe distance away, because as cute as baboons look, they have the biggest canines in proportion to their body in the animal kingdom. I guess the exclamation point was really suggesting: Baboon (if you try to feed them they will tear your face off) !
Finally, we hit Cape Point. The South-Western most part in the Cape peninsula. Be sure to note that clearly. Cape Point is not the tip of Africa, and Cape Point is also not where the Indian and Atlantic ocean split. Rather it is Cape Augulus that is the location of both the tip of Africa and the "official" divider between the Indian and the Atlantic. Cape Point often gets the credit for that, but it is merely a lie that has been used to bolster tourism and prove how gullible people are. Yet, Cape Point is still a beautiful place. After a sprint-hike (when I hike- I SPRINT!) up to the lighthouse, in which I passed by tourists from perhaps every continent in the world, I arrived at a miraculous viewpoint where all I could see was swelling water on all three sides of me, and lush green mountains in the distance across the Bay. My breath was stolen and never given back. That spot will forever own a piece of my soul. I sprinkboked ( that's the name of South Africa's favorite buck and also the way I describe myself when I hike) my way down to the bottom, where giant growths of seaweed bounced up and down in the wadding water. It was a scene straight from avatar, of oceans and rocks from another world. I took a picture by the famous Cape Point sign, shed a tear, and then hopped back for an incredible bus ride back.
The entire bus except for a few spirited souls went to sleep, and I sat in my seat, relishing in the views and experiences of the day, as a South African mix CD that Tour Guide Abe made played in the background. The music, the scenery as the sun was in that perfect position a few degrees above the horizon, the feeling of having experienced so much of the glory of this planet in one day, the stillness of everyone on the bus- the beauty of that moment was all too much for me. That simple bus ride back from the Cape Peninsula was one of the happiest moments of my life. So enthralled by the music, I asked Abe if he has any extra copies of his mix CDS. He said no, and I let it go, not trying to hold on to a moment was unique in its time and place. When, the bus finally reached the destination, Abe reached out to me with an extended arm, CD in hand, saying: "You better as hell not make copies of that, or I'll kill you, bru!" I gave Abe a big and grateful thank you, as a I cupped the shiny disk in my hand. It was one of the greatest presents I have ever received in my life.
...A lot has happened between that day and today. Hikes, meeting people, joining societies, going to beaches, climbing boulders by the sea, eating a wide range of delicious vegetarian food, meeting more people, spending shabbat in a few nice Jewish communities, meeting old Jews, young Jews, and surfing Jews. I went to one shul in which there was an incredible choir. They performed the sharmal sheik tune for Adon Olam at the end of services. Butterflies flapped in my stomach as the melody lifted me to a higher world. I'll spare the rest of the details of my first few weeks, although the events of today are noteworthy.
Wanting to integrate into UCT society, I signed up for O-week, which is generally made up of South African First Year students. Being a third year US student, it would seem I would be a little out of place, but all has worked out well, especially today.
Today, the entire first year class woke up at 3:30 in the morning to embark on an event that is well know across the city as SAX APPEAL. Basically, the idea is to get the first year students involved in city wide magazine sale to raise funds for a UCT volunteer organization, SHAWCO. The magazine, called SAX APPEAL, is a satirical magazine that plays on local and international events. In pursuit of gaining attention, people dress up in all sorts of crazy costumes that make them look like SAX offenders (south Africans say it’s a play in words, but its really just changing one letter to another, and turning it into a word that no longer makes sense for this context. Strange, eh?) In a sense anything goes, as long as its attention grabbing. Many of the boys dressed up in orange jumpsuits, girls dressed up in the usual go-out style, just with added make up, and sometimes brighter colors, and I decided to wear a bikini top strapped around my head, in such a way as it looked like a rugby helmet. (By the way, I won best costume at my station, and got a free pass to a club next week. My costume was effortless, simple, but the creativity was appreciated-I didn’t see anyone else with a bikini on their head.) Amidst noise and commotion, the students all met at a set of bus stops at 4:30 in the morning, boarded the buses, and then were shipped out to various and various traffic lights ( robots is what they call them here) of Greater Cape Town. Upon arriving at the traffic lights, we were met by an organizer, who handed us a stack of Sax Appeal magazines, where upon our objective was to stand in the middle of the street and sell as many of them as we possibly could, with all the proceeds going to charity. Man, was I in my element.
For the first hour, traffic was weak and people weren't buying. Since the people weren’t coming to me, I decided to go to them. At around 6 AM, I coupled up with a wonderfully friendly Cape Town local UCT girl, who was extremely excitable and roared like a lion whenever she laughed. Along with the fact that she was dressed up in a devil's costume, she was the perfect candidate for teaming up with me to wreck some early morning havoc in the, nice quite, upscale suburb of Cape Town, Constantia. At a little past 6 we rang our first doorbell and the lady who replied said no to the magazines, reminded us of the time of day, and cut the conversation short. So we waited till 7 and then we embarked on a mission of walking through the upscale neighborhood and ringing door bells one by one. At one of the first houses, a man answered the buzzer, saying that he knows what SAX APPEAL is but that we are supposed to sell at the lights and stick to the traditions. This annual magazine sale has been going on for years, and many of the grown ups in Cape Town have fond memories of selling the magazine themselves. Although I respect tradition, when it comes to raising money for charity, I am always eager to be innovative, so I ignored this man’s advice, and together with my newfound friend continued ringing door bells one by one. Before long, we were met by much success. One woman who we visited already bought one, but through the combination of my selling skills and foreign accent, I was able to convince her to buy another, just for kicks. Another woman spotted us in her car while she was driving down the street and held out 60 rand in her hand, screaming: “I’ll have three please.” Finally, one woman, was so excited but our excitement, that she brought over 100 rand and said she’ll take 5 because she didn’t have enough change. We slapped her five, gave each other big hugs, and screamed at our huge success: SAX APPEAL! CHARITY!
When we returned back to our main intersection, I stood in the blistering heat along fellow UCT students, begging drivers stopped at the red light to buy the comical magazine. I must have screamed the words SAX APPEAL and CHARITY over 1000 times over the course of the day. I sweated, I small talked, and I hustled. But most importantly, I sold magazines! Never again, will I dismiss the street sellers without a friendly smile or comment. Street selling is some tough stuff, and I almost got hit by a car multiple times. By the end of the day, together with the girl, I sold a total of 31 magazines. Driving back in the bus to UCT, I looked out the window, feeling exhausted yet energized at the same time, pumped up by the fact that as part of the freshman class of UCT, we raised a lot of money for SHAWCO, and had an incredibly fun day.
(most blog entries won't be this long, so if you are discouraged by the length and details of this entry, please give the next one another try, ay?)
The service was incredible, the passengers were friendly, the media system offered a deep list of movies that can be played and paused at the viewers discretion, the accents people spoke with were eclectic and intriguing, and of course the rolls were delicious. I was loving Africa before I even left Washington.
8 hours in the air, two more hours on the land in Dakar to refuel, and another 7 hours in the air later, and I was still just as happy of a camper as ever. The plane was half empty, providing me with all the space I needed to go on pre-meal strolls, consistently change seats so that I could check out the views of Africa from both wings of the plane, and even do a few sets of squats as part of my physical therapy program. Basically, the plane was my jungle gym, and I had a lot of fun riding down all the slides.
My first day in Cape Town, I was greeted by warm, engaging people and a natural surrounding unlike anything I have experienced. Mid-morning, the clouds broke through to reveal one of my soon to be closest companions of the semester, Table Mountain. On sunny days, Table Mountain stands out as a prominent piece of tree covered rock, with a dropped face and a flat top as suggested by its name. On cloudy days, the evaporated moisture plays games with Table Mountain, settling on its flat top and flowing down over its edges just before picking up into the sky once more, like a wizard's cauldron, boiling over with magical steam.
My first Sunday in Cape Town, I joined a group of over 400 international students on what would be the best bus ride of my entire life: The Cape Peninsula Tour. It was a one day journey from UCT to the tip of the Cape peninsula and back, yet the oceans, mountains, and wildlife we saw would take a lifetime to properly digest. Our tour guide, Abe, pumping with adrenaline and enthusiasm for every place we visited, spoke non-stop to us in a wonderful Afrikaners accent, rolling rrrs, and roaring laughter abound. At first we headed through the downtown part of the Cape, passing some of both the expected and unexpected sights you would see in an urban area. In a matter of minutes, we passed by THE Parliament, an ex-slave house, the stage where Nelson Mandela gave his opening speech to the people of Africa after being released from Prison, and a bridge that is simply cut off in the middle of the air and leads no where. This city is oozing with life, contradiction, beauty, and history. Although Cape Town is considered a first world, modern city, the fact is that there was a legal policy of apartheid only 20 years ago. Sights such as the hanging, incomplete bridge serve as a reminder that this country still has crucial gaps that need to be overcome.
The bus ride to peninsula heaven continued as we hooked around the downtown area and slung towards the beautiful soccer stadium that was built right on the water in preparation for FIFA 2010. Enormous in size, I can't even imagine what they are going to do with this beast when 2010 passes. This stadium stands out as perhaps the biggest landmark in all of Cape Town, only to be dwarfed by the titanic Table-Mountain. Table-Mountain: glorious, horrific, and constantly beckoning me to challenge it, is a spectacle that can be seen from pretty much everywhere I go, especially on walks up to campus. Anytime I forget where I am, all I need to do is look up and out, and Table-Mountain instantly reminds: I am in Africa. This is not my first intimate relationship with a mountain; I’ve gotten to know the ranges of Israel quite well and I’ve even had a love affair with whistler that lasted for 4 years. But something about Table-Mountains’ steep faces, narrow shoots, jungle green coating, and overall prominent presence is just so foreign to my previous experiences with the rocks of the world. I am intrigued…
….Table Mountain remained in sight as the Peninsula tour to never land journeyed, passing beach after beach of G-d’s purest grace. Giant boulders stacked on top of each other, with houses built into the cliffs, lead down to a beautiful sea of rolling swells, surfers, dolphins, and yes, even sharks. Camps Bay was a classic, as the clash of the waves into the half sunk boulders unleashed a cool, mysterious, mist into the air that made me question whether I was awake or merely dreaming. Only being allowed to soak in the view for a mere ten minutes, I vowed to myself that I would come back to Camps Bay soon.
I've already been back twice, the second time meeting a friendly local who has gotten so close to the wildlife of Cape Town that he is already on a name by name basis with a few of the local creatures: Damien the Shark and Nelson the Segal are two of his favorites. Pointing out to sea as I was first meeting him, he claimed that Damien shark was playing “kill the seals” out at sea. Despite my 20-15 vision, my untrained eyes didn’t manage to catch a glance at Damien, although I did see a shark spotting helicopter fly by, in the hopes of ensuring that Damien’s seal lunch didn’t include a human dessert. But don't worry folks, the shark attack that happened around here a month ago was a pure fluke. It was an overcast day, and the black flags were up. On a standard sunny day, the shark spotters surround the mountaintops, and with their expert vision, they glance through their binoculars to see if they notice any sharks swimming under water, miles away. I'm not really sure how a few guys on top of the mountain can manage to cover the entire ocean with their bare eyesight, but somehow, they make it work. If they notice a shark, they merely give a shout out to their helicopter friends, who fly in to get a closer look. Of course, once the shark has been spotted, a siren at the beach sounds, at which time the surfers calmly wait till a killer (no pun intended) outside set comes in. After the helicopter confirms the shark’s location out at sea, the surfers merely paddle out and continue on with the day. The shark siren rings regularly several times a day, and the surfers always take it in stride. One thing I have learned about people in Cape Town: they are very very very laid back. Even when a shark is on the prowl, they will do things on their own time and not be rushed. Besides, Damien is nice to the locals.
The Peninsula tour went on, as we explored the lay out of the country just beside the Cape. There we drove through rolling hills of lush wineries. There is supposed to be a nice tour, where you can bike around from winery to winery and sample all the wines as far as you can go. If you make it through the taste tests of over 10 wine fields without falling off your bike you get a free drink! We also visited a beach that was covered in jackass penguins. In the penguin world, gender roles are reversed: the males laid on the babies keeping them safe, while the females just chilled out in the cooler sand down by the water. Penguins on a beach! Another reason why Cape Town is such a unique place: Penguins, sharks, and people of all different races living in perfect harmony. Of course if the shark attack last month was the only problem of this city, then the world we live in would be a much better place. But as you all know, Cape Town and South Africa does indeed have its tragic side, which I will get more into another time.
Onward, onwards, to the Peninsula itself. The hills got stronger, the trees got lower. On Cape Peninsula, the winds are so intense that trees can't grow much higher than 2 meters, because the wind will knock it all down. On one part of the cape, all the trees are pointing down and out towards one direction, because the wind doesn't allow them to grow in a normal upwards line. We drove through the nature reserve that is the cape peninsula, and on the way we see an official road sign that simply says: "Baboon!". I guess the exclamation mark tells you everything you need to know, because later, we see another sign, this time with a baboon sitting on it. We took pictures from the bus, a safe distance away, because as cute as baboons look, they have the biggest canines in proportion to their body in the animal kingdom. I guess the exclamation point was really suggesting: Baboon (if you try to feed them they will tear your face off) !
Finally, we hit Cape Point. The South-Western most part in the Cape peninsula. Be sure to note that clearly. Cape Point is not the tip of Africa, and Cape Point is also not where the Indian and Atlantic ocean split. Rather it is Cape Augulus that is the location of both the tip of Africa and the "official" divider between the Indian and the Atlantic. Cape Point often gets the credit for that, but it is merely a lie that has been used to bolster tourism and prove how gullible people are. Yet, Cape Point is still a beautiful place. After a sprint-hike (when I hike- I SPRINT!) up to the lighthouse, in which I passed by tourists from perhaps every continent in the world, I arrived at a miraculous viewpoint where all I could see was swelling water on all three sides of me, and lush green mountains in the distance across the Bay. My breath was stolen and never given back. That spot will forever own a piece of my soul. I sprinkboked ( that's the name of South Africa's favorite buck and also the way I describe myself when I hike) my way down to the bottom, where giant growths of seaweed bounced up and down in the wadding water. It was a scene straight from avatar, of oceans and rocks from another world. I took a picture by the famous Cape Point sign, shed a tear, and then hopped back for an incredible bus ride back.
The entire bus except for a few spirited souls went to sleep, and I sat in my seat, relishing in the views and experiences of the day, as a South African mix CD that Tour Guide Abe made played in the background. The music, the scenery as the sun was in that perfect position a few degrees above the horizon, the feeling of having experienced so much of the glory of this planet in one day, the stillness of everyone on the bus- the beauty of that moment was all too much for me. That simple bus ride back from the Cape Peninsula was one of the happiest moments of my life. So enthralled by the music, I asked Abe if he has any extra copies of his mix CDS. He said no, and I let it go, not trying to hold on to a moment was unique in its time and place. When, the bus finally reached the destination, Abe reached out to me with an extended arm, CD in hand, saying: "You better as hell not make copies of that, or I'll kill you, bru!" I gave Abe a big and grateful thank you, as a I cupped the shiny disk in my hand. It was one of the greatest presents I have ever received in my life.
...A lot has happened between that day and today. Hikes, meeting people, joining societies, going to beaches, climbing boulders by the sea, eating a wide range of delicious vegetarian food, meeting more people, spending shabbat in a few nice Jewish communities, meeting old Jews, young Jews, and surfing Jews. I went to one shul in which there was an incredible choir. They performed the sharmal sheik tune for Adon Olam at the end of services. Butterflies flapped in my stomach as the melody lifted me to a higher world. I'll spare the rest of the details of my first few weeks, although the events of today are noteworthy.
Wanting to integrate into UCT society, I signed up for O-week, which is generally made up of South African First Year students. Being a third year US student, it would seem I would be a little out of place, but all has worked out well, especially today.
Today, the entire first year class woke up at 3:30 in the morning to embark on an event that is well know across the city as SAX APPEAL. Basically, the idea is to get the first year students involved in city wide magazine sale to raise funds for a UCT volunteer organization, SHAWCO. The magazine, called SAX APPEAL, is a satirical magazine that plays on local and international events. In pursuit of gaining attention, people dress up in all sorts of crazy costumes that make them look like SAX offenders (south Africans say it’s a play in words, but its really just changing one letter to another, and turning it into a word that no longer makes sense for this context. Strange, eh?) In a sense anything goes, as long as its attention grabbing. Many of the boys dressed up in orange jumpsuits, girls dressed up in the usual go-out style, just with added make up, and sometimes brighter colors, and I decided to wear a bikini top strapped around my head, in such a way as it looked like a rugby helmet. (By the way, I won best costume at my station, and got a free pass to a club next week. My costume was effortless, simple, but the creativity was appreciated-I didn’t see anyone else with a bikini on their head.) Amidst noise and commotion, the students all met at a set of bus stops at 4:30 in the morning, boarded the buses, and then were shipped out to various and various traffic lights ( robots is what they call them here) of Greater Cape Town. Upon arriving at the traffic lights, we were met by an organizer, who handed us a stack of Sax Appeal magazines, where upon our objective was to stand in the middle of the street and sell as many of them as we possibly could, with all the proceeds going to charity. Man, was I in my element.
For the first hour, traffic was weak and people weren't buying. Since the people weren’t coming to me, I decided to go to them. At around 6 AM, I coupled up with a wonderfully friendly Cape Town local UCT girl, who was extremely excitable and roared like a lion whenever she laughed. Along with the fact that she was dressed up in a devil's costume, she was the perfect candidate for teaming up with me to wreck some early morning havoc in the, nice quite, upscale suburb of Cape Town, Constantia. At a little past 6 we rang our first doorbell and the lady who replied said no to the magazines, reminded us of the time of day, and cut the conversation short. So we waited till 7 and then we embarked on a mission of walking through the upscale neighborhood and ringing door bells one by one. At one of the first houses, a man answered the buzzer, saying that he knows what SAX APPEAL is but that we are supposed to sell at the lights and stick to the traditions. This annual magazine sale has been going on for years, and many of the grown ups in Cape Town have fond memories of selling the magazine themselves. Although I respect tradition, when it comes to raising money for charity, I am always eager to be innovative, so I ignored this man’s advice, and together with my newfound friend continued ringing door bells one by one. Before long, we were met by much success. One woman who we visited already bought one, but through the combination of my selling skills and foreign accent, I was able to convince her to buy another, just for kicks. Another woman spotted us in her car while she was driving down the street and held out 60 rand in her hand, screaming: “I’ll have three please.” Finally, one woman, was so excited but our excitement, that she brought over 100 rand and said she’ll take 5 because she didn’t have enough change. We slapped her five, gave each other big hugs, and screamed at our huge success: SAX APPEAL! CHARITY!
When we returned back to our main intersection, I stood in the blistering heat along fellow UCT students, begging drivers stopped at the red light to buy the comical magazine. I must have screamed the words SAX APPEAL and CHARITY over 1000 times over the course of the day. I sweated, I small talked, and I hustled. But most importantly, I sold magazines! Never again, will I dismiss the street sellers without a friendly smile or comment. Street selling is some tough stuff, and I almost got hit by a car multiple times. By the end of the day, together with the girl, I sold a total of 31 magazines. Driving back in the bus to UCT, I looked out the window, feeling exhausted yet energized at the same time, pumped up by the fact that as part of the freshman class of UCT, we raised a lot of money for SHAWCO, and had an incredibly fun day.
(most blog entries won't be this long, so if you are discouraged by the length and details of this entry, please give the next one another try, ay?)
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