Out of Order, Sir!

Whoops!

Due to a backlog in editing draft posts, the last few posts were in a screwed up order. The one about being sick should have been before the post about TED talks, which was before the winery, which was before the post about Sharkdiving. THEN onto Braai Times. My bad!

So no, I was not ill again (although Jordan was... I told him not to breathe around me.)

Braai Times!

Last Tuesday, Lida (My manager) announced that there was to be BBQ at work on Wednesday night at 6:00pm. Or, more appropriately, a Braai, which is what South Africans call a BBQ.

I had initially figured it was simply a linguistic difference, a matter of a different word for the similar thing- Cooking outdoors, burgers, etc.

No. A Braai is a completely different atmospheric and experiential event that I hope I can recreate at some point. I think Canadians would love Braais. We like fire, we like outdoors, and we like cooking things more interesting than just hot dogs and pre-packaged patties sometimes.

The first major difference I noticed was that there isn't a such thing as an actual barbeque. No coals, no propane, no tidy grill area.

There was, however, a massive half cut steel drum that was packed with wood and kindling and set to bonfire for an hour and a half while everyone drank the new Sphynx Chardonnay, old vintages of red blends, and boxes of beer.

Once the fire had burned down to coals, JD Pretorius (not only Steenbergs head Wine Maker, but officially dubbed 'Braaimaster' as well) strapped on a headlamp, grabbed three enormous grates that to fill with homemade burgers, and went to work, piling them over the low flames, concentrating coals in different areas, etc.


The burgers were unreal. Moist to the point of dripping, and having a woody, smoky amazingness that came from from wood coals. We ended up in the tasting room, eating around the wine bar while making guesses about a mystery wine that turned out to be called "Shannon". JD gave me the cork as a souvenir!

Now, for Braai experience number two:


http://www.lonelyplanet.com/south-africa/cape-town/restaurants/bbq-meat/mzoli-s


A few days after this, my roommates and I decided to go to Mzoli's, which is a Braai restaurant in the Townships (The dirt poor settlements that ring around Capetown).

Once we got there, we were in line outside the door of what looked to be a little hole in the wall on a hot, crowded street full off people walking, vendors with sunglasses and hats, and coolers of beer. Once our turn came inside, we were at a counter of what was essentially a butchers shop, with raw meat of various varieties piled high behind glass, and three men running around behind scales, trying to move through customers as efficiently as possible.

What happens is this: you order however much of what you want, and it will be brought to you, after however long (depends on how busy it is) spiced, flamed, and sauced. There was five of us (going to be seven) and we put in 50 rand each(About $6.25). We ordered 100 rand worth of chicken, 100 rand worth of pork, 50 rand worth of sausage, and 50 rand worth of beef.

That completed, we headed out into the street again. It was already hot, and it was a perfectly clear day. We were heading across the street to buy drinks, which were purchased from peoples homes along the streets. We were beckoned onto a patio by a handful of vendors (more hats and sunglasses) and the woman inside the house was running a lucrative shop selling 6-packs out her front door, probably at tidy profit.

We bought 3 6-packs, two of Hunters and one of Savannah (both dry ciders) and headed into the Mzoli's "restaurant". I say restaurant dubiously, because it wasn't a restaurant. It was a sprawling, packed warehouse under sheet metal and wooden rafters, with plastic tables and chairs, barrels and bar stools, and a DJ already hard at work by noon. People were eating, drinking, dancing, and smoking left, right, and center.

We snagged a barrel and 3 stools on the far side, near the open edge half in the sun. What followed was two hours of complete and utter awesome. Music, meat, cider, and sun. I also had my picture taken by a couple of people, and a man came and drummed near our table for a while, so we danced, and gave him a handful of change.

When our (totally unreasonable volume of) food came, it was in a metal basin nearly the size of our table. Everything; sausages, pork, chicken; all thrown together and sitting in its own juice and sauce. No plates, no napkins (we brought out own). Just an enormous bucket of barbequed meat. You ate with your hands and enjoyed every minute of it, washing it all down with beer and enthusiasm.

After we ate what we could (perhaps half... Maybe less) we bought three take out containers for  2 rand each, and brought a hefty pile home each. We also filled our lemon container (Carolyn had thoughtfully brought lemon slices for the cider in a small tupperware container) with bits of fat and scraps of tougher meat, and fed the street puppies while we waited to flag a cab.

We snagged a cab, and went back to Howe street for 5 minutes to change, and I grabbed my (your) speakers and book, before heading to Camps Bay to watch the sunset. We did a Pick n Pay run for chocolate and chips (worst supper ever... my stomach is still annoyed at me) and sat on the beach, listening to music, reading, chatting, snacking, and just enjoying the day.

As I've been ending posts with more and more often;

Day Seized!

Congested contemplation

I was hoping that my week one review of Africa would be filled with interesting tales, fantastic sights, and general wonder.

No such luck. Day four of anti-biotics, and I  have stayed home from work because apparently 3 days of bed and tea wasn't enough. I am in bed, with a roll of toilet that has been serving as kleenex, watching old cartoons on youtube and reading and napping. Pleasant in its way, to be honest, but nothing I couldn't do at home.

I've had only two full days of work, and hopefully I'll be there tomorrow. I've been having awful coughing fits all day, and I'm fairly certain my lungs are trying to escape, given the unpleasant bits of matter rattling about in my chest and trying to make a break for my throat.

The things I have done:

• Investigated a nearby sushi/thai combo place down on Lower Main.
• Shopped for warmer business casual clothing for work at Pick n' Pay
• Been on the wrong mini-bus, heading into the wrong direction, on my way to work on day two. 
• Gone on an emergency chocolate run to SPAR with roommates.
• Had an unexpected 11pm kitchen party with 3 roommates on Saturday, drinking boxed wine out of mugs, singing along loudly to the Killers and Aqua, and trying to keep Carolyn from facebooking her exes(what we like to call 'White Girl Wasted'). This was also while I was on advil and medication, so it probably wasn't a superb idea, but really it was a bonding experience.

So, that's about my week thus far. My head still feels fuzzy from headcold, my chest is still rattling, and I'm tired all the time. The shade of green coming from my nose at least assures me that it's on the way out, and hopefully I will be well soon.

Wine and Sleuthing

Last week, Steenberg staff were touring various wine regions. Jordan and I (abusable interns) were to be among them, to familiarize ourselves with the nearby regions.

Also, to critique!

On Thursday, I went with Chloe and Leyden to Stellenbosch, where we did 7 winerys over the course of 6 hours. It was a stealthy endeavour.  We were to go in plain clothes, under the guise of humble wine-tasters, certainly not wily employees of a fellow winery, there to rate them on everything from security to outdoor appearance to knowledge of staff.

I got the feeling that most of the wineries pegged us as tourists (or at least partial tourists, because my accent is obviously foreign, and most likely American, to anyone hearing it) and it showed. Most only gave us a quick blurb about the wine, did not offer a wine list or water glasses, and only started paying attention once Chloe asked questions about technical details that showed she knew her shit. Just as a shout out to the fact that direct marketing actually does work, the only TWO wineries (out of seven) who managed to talk about sales or offer a price list were the two places we actually bought wine. Chloe bought a bottle from Guardians Peak, and she and  I  split a box of Semillon, each bottle only R30 (About 3.75 Canadian) due to the strategically placed sales talk.

After each winery, we lurked in the parking lot, ticking off ratings from 1-5 on various scales. I make it sound much more demanding and aggressive than it was- almost all the wineries were rated more positively than not, and a few even had aspects we felt were better achieved at Steenberg. I myself am an enormous advocate of having little snack bowls (nuts and olives) at tasting tables.

Ernie Els (overpriced and showy, to my mind) was my least favourite, whereas Guardians Peak, Peter Falke (Yes, of the sports gear range) and Waterford were my stand out favourites. Guardians Peak was beautiful, simple, and had lovely wines at an excellent price. Peter Falke had the most professional staff and beautiful grounds that I'd seen, and they also gave you snacks while tasting. Waterford was our last stop, after lunch at Dornier on the route.

Waterford was an excellent last stop, because they also gave you chocolate! Each wine you tried (3) was paired with a good sized chunk of chocolate created to pair with the wine, and it was a lovely way to end the day. As I was not driving, I had been happily swallowing since 9am in the morning, and was quite fairly drunk by the end of the day. I actually had a nap in the car on the hour or so drive back to town, and thoroughly (but kindly) mocked by both Chloe and Leyden. It was after this that I learned Jordan had done the EXACT same thing while he and Graham were stuck in traffic for an hour and a half.

Upon my arrival back home, I weaved about the kitchen making pasta, and then slept for two hours.

Day seized!

And there were Sharks, Na na na na.....

Last Sunday was wonderful in that due to a lucky chance, my two roomates Saim and Ciara had their day of Shark Diving cancelled due to weather. They were rebooked for Monday.
Guess who has Mondays off?
 So, over the course of an hour of epic text planning (seeing as I was at work at the time), I was booked for a Shark Dive.
My Monday began at 4:45am, which was when we were picked up by the shuttle to head to the coast. It was a two hour drive, and I lucked out in that I got the seat up front beside the driver, which reclined and was much more spacious and cosy than the shared benches in the back of the van where the other ten passengers were sitting. SCORE.
 I slept two more hours, and we arrived at 7:00am at Great White Experience. For R900 (Barely more than $120 Canadian) they had a buffet breakfast and coffee and tea for us while we were being breifed and filling out our forms. Once we headed out on the boat, all was magical forn about 25 minutes. We were heading out far out of the bay, where the currents were practically a superhighway for Sharks making their way to Australia Via the Atlantic. I love being on water, and I love the feel of wind, so all was well until we actually stopped.

 For my own pride, I need to put a word in here. Up until this past Monday, I have NEVER been seasick. I have been in boats, ships, and sailboats large and small and never had a queasy moment. I have never been ill on rides, planes, or car trips. Motion sickness has never been an issue for me. Therefore, it was a bit of a shock to me to have have spent a good solid hour alternately throwing up over the rail, and taking sips of water to steady my self in between.

So, back to the boat stopping... I sensed it coming within minutes of the boat stopping. Apparently, it was not just me. The operators explained that due to some combination of motions from side to side and back and forth with the currents, feeling ill is incredibly common on board, and I was one of about 12 people who were ill, some more than others. Since my nausea resistant (and nausea loathing- seriously, I once talked myself out of throwing up whilst I had the flu, out of sheer mental force) stomach sensed the upset, I decided to be amongst the first divers of the day. Not only would being in the water settle my stomach a bit, I didn't think it would be easy to get into a wet suit and acoutrements while wanting to vomit.

So, by about 8:30am, I was climbing off the side of a boat, into a tiny metal cage, and spent roughly 20 minutes in the company of four Great White Sharks. On several occasions, we were less than 2 feet away as they drew the bait across. Once, one hit the cage.

When it was time to come out, the timing was perfect. My nausea returned almost immediately to epic proportions, and though I tried valiantly to refrain, once I saw another passenger throwing up over the rail, I was in the same position about 6 seconds later. I am a sympathetic vomiter.

The woman apologized profusely once she'd finished. "Omigod! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to start a chain reaction!"

All was well, except for the bit where I was still in a wet-suit in mid-morning in winter, and I was shivering violently, and desperately wanted to get dressed. Unfortunately, getting dressed involved going into the hold... At which point I would no longer see the horizon, which was until the point my main source of NOT throwing up.

Between sips of water provided by a worker, I managed to get myself out of my wetsuit and into my clothes without
A) needing to run and vomit over the side in an ill-fitting livid purple bikini provided by my thoughtful roommate (shout out to Ciara) or
B) throwing up on the floor of the hold (which had been done by another passenger already) due to unwillingness to be seen in aforementioned livid purple bikini. Between the two, I would have taken the embarrassment of A over the disgrace of B, but thankfully I avoided both by some combination of prayer and mental concentration. I managed to get myself into jeans, t-shirt, sweater, and wool overcoat without incident, and made it back to rail for round two in much more comfort than before.
My vomit-buddy (her words, not mine, but appreciated) was still crouched by the rail looking green and had her mouth around a lollipop for dear life, but when she saw me, off she went and we shared another bonding experience via forced expulsion of breakfast.

Over the course of about an hour and a half, I threw up three times total. The last round wasn't much more than gagging with enthusiasm, but it still improved things. Between the incidents, I was on the cage side, watching the sharks from above. You could see for a few feet under the water, so we had some impressive sights of lurking leviathans beneath. They periodically crested as they went for the bait, and at one impressive moment, one of the biggest crested a good three feet out of the water, and we had a moment of National Geographic scale epicness as three feet of teeth and power lunged out of the sea and crashed back down nearly hitting the cage.
I was SO close to getting a picture of that, but my camera went off about half a second too late, and so instead I have a picture of a fin, a bit of head, and an enormous shadowy body underneath churning water. Which is still completely badass.

Towards the last hour of being on water, it was sunny enough to feel quite warm when one was out of the wind, and so I stretched myself flat on my back, wedged between a bit of railing and the wall of the upper deck on a little-used walk ledge immediately in the sun. It was lovely. Once horizontal, the boat motion became soothing rather than upsetting, and I actually had a bit of a nap until they drew up the last of the divers, sorted out the suits and deck equipment, and headed back to shore.

Once we returned, the breakfast buffet had become an enormous tureen of hot vegetable soup and bread, and more tea, coffee, and juice. We ate, cold, damp, and smelling of sea and chummed water and watched the videos that had been taken during the trip. I did not purchase the video, because all images of me were where I was standing looking serious and contemplative, and every time I saw it I would know, deep down, that my look of sombre pondering was actually one of trying to maintain my state of non-vomiting.

The two hour ride back was lovely. I snagged a seat in the back, against the window, and spent a long, hot, sunny drive musing about my time here and feeling content and at peace with the world. I have seen a Great White Shark from two feet away. I have been to a TED conference. I feel awesome! Quintessential South African Experience the first, complete!

TRIUMPH!

TED, Shame, and Self-reflection

So, yesterday I attended my first (hopefully not last) TED conference. It was actually a TEDx conference, which just means it was independently organized, with TED's approval and backing. 

The first talk was an older one, a video used to introduce the subject theme of the Day, which was "What we Play is Life". The talk was by a researcher in the field of Psychology, working specifically with Shame and Vulnerability. The point of the talk was to, in essence, redefine vulnerability, and to bring feelings such as shame out into the open, and that our perceptions of our potential for success can be so out of whack with what we can really achieve, and we ourselves are our own worst critics. Needless to say, it reminded me overwhelmingly of myself. I still get stuck wanting so desperately to appear absolutely perfect before anyone and everyone before I've even turned my hand to something. I am aware how unreasonable and unrealistic that is, and it is based on some pretty solid neuroses that I've been working to the root lately. Something the speaker said resonated a bit. She introduced the message by this quote by Roosevelt:

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."and she said "A lot of people always say 'Sure, I'll go into the Arena when I'm bulletproof and perfect, and then I'll kick some ass!'. Unfortunately, nobody ever will be. And if you were, that's not what people want to see. Opening up to the risk is courage enough."  This was one of many phrases and key ideas that resonated. I have always wanted to be bulletproof and perfect before showing myself to anyone. She went through many ideas about why people become sucked into destructive cycles of thinking, never striking out and entering the arena at all. About the things we tell ourselves when we're mentally talking ourselves down, the things we dwell on. It reminded me of myself both unpleasantly, but reassuringly; because apparently nearly everyone either is or has coped with those same impulses. The idea of empathy as the utmost shame-killer was what she ended on. Shame and vulnerability, she insisted, are incapable of thriving when met with empathy and sharing. The two most reassuring words a human being can hear are "Me, too." 

There was another talk as well, later, on a similar, but very different vein. It was about turning writers block into innovation, by recognizing that it's the cycle of ideas itself, rather than just the idea, that actually creates something. That writers block and frustration and failure are the things that, when handled properly, should bring you around again to creating more and better, and then when that turns into a gigantic lump of fail, still cycling through as you develop. The speaker mentioned both unleashing the giant within, and also releasing one's inner neurotic dwarf, because without both there will be no balance to keep your wheels turning. 

One presentation was by a poet, and her talk/poem came close to making me weep. I could feel my chest and shoulders tensing as she spoke, her intonation rising and falling to match the messages in her words. It was half a story, half a history, and half an explanation. It was description heavy with feeling, and her message was about how important a voice is, and how expression and language can give a spiritual and emotional freedom that so many feel the lack of. That finding strength in words was a breakthrough from helplessness and despair to a life she felt worth living and sharing and glorying in. 

Shame, Vulnerability, Writers Block, Neuroses, Balance, Creation... For the second time this summer, the Universe seems to be giving me relatively consistent messages, as if to clue me in to necessary acknowledgement and change. 

Like any day full of inspired and passionate communication, it left me feeling both elated and utterly empty. I was both inspired and feeling completely inadequate. I wanted to run home and pour out every latent anxiety onto any scrap of paper I could find. I wanted to update my blog, do a Walleye article, tear off a dozen e-mails, and catch up on all my academic chores (Scholarship deadlines, editing) that I've been putting off. 

I was actually incredibly tense for parts of the day, feeling like I was going to twitch through the floor at any moment. That may have been two cups of coffee, and sugary iced tea, but the point still stands. There was also another creeping feeling, especially as one or two speakers who were a little less eloquent, or with less cohesive and entertaining verbal skills did their work.

 I felt like I could fill 18 minutes talking about things I've done, and how I started to make changes for myself, and how things like travel and writing and flying in the face of fear facilitated a sea of small alterations in myself that ended up as stepping stones to what will essentially be an entirely new life when I arrive in September again.

 I felt like maybe one day I could be speaking to people about the possibilities that exist for them and helping them express it in their own way, and then, just as the vulnerability researcher so descriptively predicted, the demons of self doubt set their teeth into my optimism, reminding me viciously that I'm a college student bumming from program to program in the hopes of finding something interesting, with next to no professional experience in anything, and who is prone to laziness, negativity, and who has no applicable experience whatever enabling her to help other people through theirs. 

Once I spotted the demon, I was angry and further ashamed (ironically enough) at the fact that I was susceptible to the shame. I felt like the immediate shut down was absolutely no help to any concrete goals I could set for myself, and if I wasn't starting at a beginning, where else should I start? 

The day stirred me up a few different ways. Seeing so many people, from so many different backgrounds and crossed over backgrounds, and the only one absolute thing they have in common is that they care passionately about what they do and want to see other people care, too. That they'll take the time to distill and express the key things they think are important and universal and achievable. As someone who is currently equal parts ambition, conflict, and crippling fear of failure, it was resounding inspirational; and also gave me yet greater cause to evaluate exactly what it is I think I want to be achieving, why, and if I even think I can, and trying to identify why it is I sometimes feel like I can't, and how I can work on that. I have been as full of self reflection as I have been adventure this summer, and I'm still not entirely sure what will come of it. 

The confidence is coming, though. Not the old, familiar arrogance. The confidence.

The first speaker had another interesting point she ended on, the idea of it being impossible to solve problems with the same thinking that created them. Shaking myself out my initial comfort zone that had cocooned the issues was likely instrumental in the waves of realization that have since followed.

Well, onward and upward! Also, seriously. If you ever get an opportunity to see a TED conference... Go for it.

Overwhelmingly, go for it.

Recovery

So, yesterday I woke up with a sore throat.

There was a tell-tale twinge whenever I swallowed something, but I half-hopefully told myself that it was just a cold catching up from my weakened immune system. I soldiered on to work with Jordan (fellow intern who also lives in Obs), and had a day of popping tylenol, sucking on halls, being sorry for myself, and feeling inadequate next to Jordan's air of practiced marketing shmooze with clients.

We are going to be renting a car for the duration of our two months stay, to make the transiting easier. As things stand now, it takes a solid hour and fifteen minutes, each way, to get to and from Steenburg from Observatory. We leave at 8:30 in the morning, and get back at 7:15. Since we are advised strongly to NOT take the train after dark (which is at 5:45, before we even finish work) we sort of had to. Since I've gotten used to bleeding money lately, I took it in stride, and figure I'm really going to to enjoy being able to wake up a full hour and a half later anyway.

But back to yesterday. Yesterday was a truly awful African winter day. It was completely pouring rain. That is not hyperbole; it was endless torrential deluge that fell in sheets all afternoon and evening, and I did not have an umbrellla, or even a proper coat, due to the whole luggage issue. As well as the immediate world being soaked to the bedrock, it was freezing in the winery. Buildings here are made without insulation, since the winter is so short and the summer and spring so hot that having insulation makes the heat impossible to bear. Floors are typically just cement, walls are thin, and windows are large and always able to open. Between the rain, the cold, and no sun showing through the layers of impossibly thick, slate-grey cloud, the tasting room was icy and horrible, and I was wearing slacks, nylon socks, and a cotton blouse with a thin sweater, since I have no proper clothes yet and was thoroughly unprepared for days like this.
Neither was Jordan, thankfully, so we thought it would be expedient to call a cab. We did, and since we were off an hour earlier that day, we asked it to be at the gates for 5:15.

Long story short, there was a another kerfuffle of repeated directional phone calls, lost patience, too much money, and we arrived back in Obs by about 6:00, which wasn't too bad. Jordan happily practiced the marketing shmooze on Solomon the Cab Driver, and it was, all told, a very entertaining ride. I had never heard the phrase, "My man!" used un-ironically, but it came out with remarkable panache. Kudos to business college.

By the time I arrived at home, dripping wet, feeling more and more ill, and chilled to the marrow, the telltale twinge had become a full-blown stab in my throat whenever I tried to swallow, and I realized that I had someone managed to get strep throat whilst in Africa.

After a scalding shower, tea with honey, and tearful advil-taking, I settled down for the evening, hoping that my three day weekend would be enough to kick it, provided I sleep and drink lots of fluids and gargle regularly with salt water.

I awoke this morning feeling like I was swallowing ground glass, and when I lurched out into the kitchen, a few of my roomates were up eating breakfast. I was asked what my plans were for the day, as they were planning a horse riding expedition, and I explained that I was going to drink tea and stay in bed all day because I had strep.

Immediately, Carolyn (The fellow sushi fanatic) insisted that she was taking me to clinic this very afternoon.

 I protested, saying that you don't necessarily NEED antibiotics for strep, (they just really help) and she said  No, no, and proceeded to tell me a story about when she first got here, she'd been sick for a while, and kept putting it off assuming she'd get better, and when she finally took the admins advice and went to the clinic-

It was less than a 20 minute wait, all you need is your passport because they have free health care here modeled after Canada's, and that she also needed penicillan and it cost her 80R (about 10.00) at the pharmacy once she had the prescription. She said she wished she'd gone the first day she felt shitty, because it turned out she had a chest infection, and that since she had a car she would bring me to the clinic and wait with me and then pick up any medicine with me afterward.

I have truly tremendous roommates, and for all my perceived woes, the universe has a lovely habit of giving me people who take care of me right when I need them. After breakfast, showers, and a round of laundry we went to Groote Schuur Hospital- which, incidentally, is where the worlds first heart transplant was achieved. Random.

It was a busier day then when she'd been there, but all told, it was wonderful to have someone who knew. Once we found the walk-in, which was a mission in itself, it wasn't more than half an hour before I was checked in, had vitals taken (Where Carolyn helpfully filled in my info while the nurse checked me out. "You're like my mom! Thank you!" I croaked), and was able to go into the other waiting room to open a file for myself and then see a doctor.

Carolyn, who at this point had underestimated the time a bit, was looking nervously at the clock every so often.

"Dude, really. I will be fine from here. You have been more than amazing. Seriously, thanks."
"Are you sure? You can get home?"
"I'll be fine."

So, off she went to collect the girls for the horse adventure, and I waited for my turn to open a file.

When I was called up, I explained that I was a Canadian citizen, gave my passport, etc. All I was told to do. Then, the attendant asked me if I knew that, as a registered foreigner, I would be required to pay a deposit of a very large amount of money to be seen.

I looked quite shocked, and explained about Carolyn, the girl who'd brought me here, having been treated here recently and not mentioning a deposit at all.  He looked up her information, and found that her balance was currently being handled by the Canadian Embassy, because she hadn't paid it. He explained that, sometimes, some of the desk workers would check foreigners through without taking the payment there because it would just go through to the respective embassies. Easier for them, but ultimately creating more paperwork for the hospital and embassy.

I must have looked completely despondent, and the universe sent me another caregiver.

He stopped midway through my file.

"Here," he said, starting another sheet on a different form, "I'll register you as South African. Your names? Shannon, King... Both common here. Not overly American sounding, and you have a local address. This form, you don't need to pay. Just don't say you're from Canada in there, ok? You can't hear an accent with your voice like that anyway." (referring to my hoarse croak)

So, I went through to the waiting room with my South African medical file, was seen in less than 10 minutes by a kind, efficient doctor who checked out eyes, chest, and throat and wrote me a script for a week of antibiotics which should have me feeling right as rain in 48 hours. I should also stay in bed and drink plenty of fluids for the next 24-48 hours if possible.

Possible? Wonderful! Tea and chicken soup, here I come! God bless random kind strangers and serendipitous roommates!

I walked down to the pharmacy at the Pick 'n Pay, then walked home through Obs back to Howe St, which is where I live. It was only about 15 minutes together. I was home by 3:45, and had my first pill shortly after 4, with chicken and spinach soup.

I am now sitting, wrapped in my enormous wool coat of destitution (I'll explain next post) and drinking water while I update my life. Hopefully I'll feel worlds better tomorrow, and can begin focusing on work, getting a camera, and finding some better work clothes.

Oh, and my weeks worth of anti-biotics? 42R, which is about $4.25.

SCORE.

Oh, and I also bought some stress tea! Even if it's a placebo, if I feel slightly less high strung, I will sing it's praises.

Tired, but with cake!

First day of work today, and it involved wine and cake!

I was brought there for 10am, which was mine and another intern, Jordan's, first meeting. Both of us will be trained for and working the tasting and sales floor. We received a cellar and terroir tour, and an estate tour involving the golf club, hotel, and restaurant.

I arrived home via public transit, mini-bus and then train, which is how we will be getting there Monday to Friday, 10:00am-6:00pm.  I had barely a second to change out of my slacks and blouse into pjs and a sweater before my hungry roommates began waxing malnourished about sushi, and I changed again into jeans and off I went.

I would write more, and honestly I have time to, but I am completely wiped, and I'm thinking my brain is falling out my ears.

I will do a nice long one on Saturday, I think,  to give an overview of first impressions, my first work weeks, and how being in Africa is. For now....

Possibly goodnight, but more likely mindless relaxation of Netflix followed by early bed. Up at 7:30 tomorrow!

Into Africa!

So, after 4.5 days of hellish air travel, I finally touched down in Cape Town, at dawn, at 7:55am on July 2nd.

After the past weeks crash course in half-conscious airport navigation, I breezed through customs and collections, and walked into arrivals to find a man holding a sign with my name on it, and a package for me including a cell phone, an orientation guide, an address and taxi card, and the keys to my apartment and room.

I'm in a loft!

I didn't have much time to look around initially, as we arrived at my loft(!) at 9:15 in the morning, and I was to be picked up for my first day of orientation (recall the day of rest I was supposed to have until my delay?... Yes, exactly.) and by 10:00 I was showered, met a couple of roommates, and was collected by a coordinator and went on a city-wide hop-on hop-off tour. Seven other new interns who had arrived between last Thursday to Sunday night were present as well. There is another Canadian, five from the United states, and one German. We went to the District 6 Museum, a few outdoor marketplaces, went to a coffee shop and got properly acquainted (Properly meaning caffeine and talking politics), and found an outdoor Eastern Bazaar courtyard restaurant where, since I walked off a 12 hour flight and began a 6 hour orientation, I proceeded to murder an enormous plate of chicken schwarma and naan bread.

After we finished, we were met by another co-ordinator, who took us on the mini-bus "taxis", which are actually vans with far too many seats for the space who pack people in for a cheaper price and drop them off as they drive. We transferred at the station to the local busses, where we learned how to get back to our respective houses in Observatory via public transit.

I was in bed by 9:30, asleep by 10:00, and up at 8:00 today for Orientation round 2, which was
a) acquiring a proper cell phone, b) Going through the program staff, objectives, and activities, and
c) signing contract and paying deposit on room.

My meal plan turned out to be an great idea. The woman who does the cooking (also our Xhosa teacher!) does it all out of her own kitchen and does drop offs in the evening for dinner and the next days packed lunch. Her food is amazing, and so far I've eaten a vegetable pesto pasta, bacon and eggs, and a roasted pepper and real cheese sandwich. I missed real cheese.

Update on luggage: My cell phone isn't working for 1-800 calls, so I brought the number with me to VACorps office and phoned from there. It turns out my luggage was still in Washington, for heaven knows why, and should hopefully be forwarded to Cape Town, to the office.

I have my first meeting at my placement tomorrow, and my roommates have lent me additional clothing until my luggage gets here. I need a better fitting coat, though. A fellow intern has expressed a like-minded enthusiasm for thrift stores, so there may be an adventure happening in days to come.

Oh! There's another intern starting at my winery when I'm starting! He's in the business internship, but apparently we both start out on the tasting floor to get the hang of the wines and the info. So, I'll not be by myself for transit there and back!

Hrm, what else-? Oh, right. We have cockroaches. Apparently, they are manageable, and not as enormous and horrible as they appear in movies. However, I was warned that if I think I feel a bug in my hair in the night, it is not, for once, me being a mental hypochondriac. Lovely. Another adventure to look forward to. Fran the Centipede revisited, this time featuring my head.

So.

How do I feel now, after I've finally arrived and found everything to be incredibly easy and well laid out?

Relief! My fear of being sold into a human trafficking ring has vanished entirely, and my feeling that this will go by far too quickly and remarkably easily is through the roof. I've already found my way home alone once, every single person I've encountered speaks English, and the homes of the other interns and the VAC office are all within a 10 minute walk of each other, and within 10 minutes of a grocery store with ATM, mini-mall, and the train station. I love my bedroom, with it's high ceiling, queen bed, bookshelf, and spacious wooden computer desk. I love my roommates, who have so far lent me their computers, their toiletries, their towels, and their clothing until I settled in and figured out the food, internet, and luggage situations. Also, they are most of them majoring in interesting fields and have interesting reading material which they are happy to let me plunder. We're kind of from all over the place, academically speaking. There is International Law, Human Rights, Social Work, Gender Studies, Business, Psychology, Hospitality, Tourism, and one who's fresh out of high school. Very interesting conversation material so far.

Oh, I'm also taking Xhosa lessons and hopefully Thai Kickboxing classes. Hot Yoga will probably occur as well.