THE GARDEN ROUTE: SO MUCH ROOM FOR ACTIVITIES

We had to postpone our road trip along the Garden Route one day to get everything in order. Danny, Brett, and Will picked up the 10-seater van and it is as ridiculous as it sounds. Everyone started feeling sick today so I am really pushing for christening it the “Death Cab.” I told Ellen she can be Cutie. We also booked our first hostel in Mossel Bay and started planning our activities. So much more room now that our beds are bunked.

Our list includes:

1. Ostrich riding—fun fact: when you google “ostrich riding” the first suggestion that google comes up with to finish the phrase is “ostrich riding costumes.” I can only hope they organize these suggestions by popularity

2. The highest bungee jump in the world—it’s 720 feet high or arbitrary distance measured using the metric system that is equally safe sounding

3. Kloofing—an Afrikaans word that entails “scaling, scrambling, plunging, bumslides, and rappelling” down a waterfall course. Good.

4. Wine Tasting—there is a tour that involves wine tasting and horseback riding, which must put the wine tasting and operating heavy machinery tour to shame.

5. Zip lining—the guidebook described this activity as “sexy.” Sold.

6. Animal Stuff—there is a Monkeyland described in one brochure. Easily the happiest place in Africa.

We’re leaving second thing in the morning, after Ellen and I finish with our interviews for volunteering at Ubuntu, with the HIV positive children. Probably won’t have internet for a couple of days, but will be sure to write when we get back—hopefully with photos of us ostrich riding in costume.

ELLEN AND BECCA TALK TO ANIMALS

I can’t even compose myself enough to build up to a climactic ending so I am just going to throw it out there and then you can throw it right back: WE SAW ZEBRA TODAY. Now I’ll Tarantino this and go back to the beginning. Danny, Ellen and I decided to go hiking around Table Mountain near campus. First we walked up to the Cecil Rhodes Memorial, where there is a really pretty outlook with cobblestones set right into the mountain. All I could really think about was the time my dad hit a Rhodes Scholar on a bike and I saw it coming, so I pumped the imaginary brakes on the passenger side, which oddly enough didn’t stop the car…But that is neither here nor there. Anyways, Danny decided he wanted to climb the horse statue and ride it, but once I gave him a boost up there, he still couldn’t get on top of the horse. So the pictures are really just of him on the statue, now eyelevel with the horse’s butt. Which is exactly what Cecil Rhodes would have wanted. Our day of wildlife started off small with this fearless little bird at the memorial. At one point, it hopped onto my shoe. Not normal bird behavior. The three of us decided that it is our life mission to be bird whispers and we devoted a good half hour to taking care of it. Poured it water, talked to it, would have helped it out with a down payment on a house if it asked. Turns out this bird was a bit of a flight risk (pun intended) and after we poured our hearts out trying to help it, it just flew off to the next unsuspecting group of hikers. At this point we felt both betrayed and confused because it hadn’t flown literally this entire time and we had this elaborate hypothesis about how it was separated from its mother too early and hadn’t learned to fly—so naturally it had attached itself to us as a mother figure in some sort of bird imprinting. Yeah…not so much.

After exploring the memorial we hiked up a little farther and found a gate that looked like it separated us from another trail. In retrospect, this gate was probably meant to prevent us from entering—but again, that is neither here nor there because we entered anyways. We were admiring cloud formations and looked back towards the trail and realized there was a herd of zebra below us! We all started freaking out and wanted to get closer but didn’t want to provoke death by zebra. So Danny again starts talking to the one we presume to be “the leader.” Such a weird time and place to be living: we are standing 50 feet away from a herd of zebras while Danny is on his iPhone googling whether or not zebras are known to charge. With the help of Google, we decided it probably wasn’t a great idea to get any closer. As we were walking away, Ellen spotted a springbok in the trees!! Now if you don’t know what a springbok is, you’re probably not very intelligent. Kidding. None of us had any idea what a springbok was before yesterday. But when we found out, people here made it seem like we were downright slow for not knowing. Apparently it is the national animal of South Africa. It looks like a less intimidating deer. We also figured out that this is the animal on the side of our house telling us not to throw our cigarettes out the window! So apparently it is springboks and not deer that cry blood? Anyways, we saw one. All of this wildlife was a 40 minute hike from our house. Reminds me my formative years in San Jose…

Now we are going to have dinner with our road-tripping group because we leave for our 6 day road trip along the coast of Africa tomorrow morning and still have no idea where we are really doing. Ostrich riding is on the table as a serious event we have planned. Once I get behind the wheel tomorrow there will be a teenage, female, Asian, driver driving a 10-person, stick shift van/bus on the left side of the road in Africa. What could go wrong?

THE METRIC SYSTEM

We registered for classes today. The process was everything I hoped for and more. Long lines and rows and rows of plastic chairs zig zagging across the room, which we moved through one at a time until we could talk to an adviser. Ellen arrived an hour after me and got done before me. I have a knack for picking the wrong line of chairs to sit in—it’s a gift. After 3 hours of musical chairs without the music, we took our pieces of paper to another room for “data capturing.” I thought this would be a data POW camp, where all the captured data was punished for a failed military coup—but no such luck. This room was just where someone took our classes and put them into the computer. Basically, online registering that we could have feasibly done ourselves. Needless to say, after this Ellen and I were ready to unwind a little.

We went to Café Sophia down the street to get lunch and a glass of sangria. The woman asked us if we wanted a litre. As Americans, litres mean nothing to us as measurements go. She might as well have also given us the temperature in Celsius and told us the distance to the bathroom in kilometers. When you say “litre” to me, I can just as easily picture a thimble or a silo. So naturally, we told her the litre was perfect. Minutes later, she emerges with this massive pitcher of sangria—I guess some would call this a litre. A little more than Ellen and I anticipated for lunch, but we made it happen and it was a wonderful meal.

After an afternoon fiesta followed by siesta, we went over to Connor’s before going out. We had a lot of CU and USC kids there—enough to form an a cappella group to butcher “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” We took cabs over to a club called Roots, which was apparently having a Mardi Gras themed night. Didn’t see a single beaded necklace the entire night, but saw two fire throwing performances… Standard Mardi Gras. I met someone named Jonathan who was born in Zimbabwe and is studying to be an obstetrician at UCT. He told me how someone in his class was shot and killed coming out of his home on the way to his shift at the hospital. They only took the cash from his wallet. Jonathan said that a lot of the students were really affected by it and he couldn’t believe it happened to one of his classmates. The most appalling part is how disposable life can seem here. Taking this man’s life was only worth a couple rand.

DRIVE AFRICA

Today Ellen and I decided we would go to the mall to get bedding and other necessities for our room. One of the cheapest modes of transport here is sketch-van-cabs. I think people might refer to them as minibuses, but let’s call them what they really are: sketch-van-cabs. The only instructions I’ve received about these are “don’t get in one at night,” “don’t get in one during the day if nobody else is inside,” and “don’t worry, they are absolutely fine—just make sure to take money out of your wallet beforehand, and not inside.” Alone, these tidbits are alarming, but together, they are downright comforting. These sketch-van-cabs are always operated by a duo. There is the designated driver (this title doesn’t necessarily mean he is sober, he is just the one driving), who pulls over when he’s told and then there is the man I like to think of as a professional rallier. His job is to recruit passengers to join his sketch-van-cab community. He leans his head out of the window and waves and yells their destination at pedestrians who might be converted to passengers. Every street you walk down you hear either “Cape Town!! Cape Town!!” or “Wynberg! Wynberg!” being yelled out the window as these sketch-van-cabs book it down the street. When we first arrived, one kid on our program mistook their waving and shouting as general enthusiasm for his arrival and gave a chipper little wave back. Big mistake. Immediately the vehicle screeched to a halt, and the professional rallier slid the door of the sketch-van-cab open to usher him in, while simultaneously recruiting others and demanding money. It took a lot of explaining to convince him that the kid in our program actually was not in need of a ride, just an ego check. Anyways, Elle and I decided this would be the cheapest and fastest way to get to the mall so we hopped in one yelling “Claremont!” and made our way there. Now these sketch-van-cabs are not large. They are probably the size of a Previa, but with 4 rows instead of 3 on the inside, and without Juno driving. When we got into the van it was packed, I took a quick headcount and there were 15 people and one baby. And yet, the rallier still had his head out the window and was close enough to the sidewalk to physically pick up anybody who wanted to join. I admired his ambition, but I didn’t understand. There were no more seats. It was like meeting a Tupperware saleswoman trying to sell more Tupperware… when Tupperware is all sold out. And there is an embargo on plastic from Istanbul. Let’s say best-case scenario he were to find more passengers—where would they go? As I was thinking this, his prayers were answered and Ellen’s were denied. He hit the side of the van twice, which is apparently sketch-van-cab Morse Code for “Jackpot.” The driver pulled over and the rallier ushered 3 more people into this van. Which is good, because I am sure the makers of this vehicle made this vehicle with a family of 18.5 in mind. At this point, the ralier is perched with his tush a few inches above Ellen’s face. I wanted to tell him to make himself comfortable and just tell Ellen what he wants for Christmas this year. Thankfully it was a short trip, and after a little while longer we were unceremoniously deposited on a street corner in front of ShopRite.

While shopping we realized we needed to start planning our trip for this next week. Now that orientation is winding down, we have a free week before class starts on February 8^th. Most people travel along the Garden Route, which is down and around the coast of South Africa and stretches along the beach towns of the Indian Ocean. People have been renting cars and lining up hostels and we were talking with Heather, Sophia, and Danny about doing the same and then caravanning with a bigger group. So we went to an auto garage to book a car and ran into a slight problem. The only cars they had left are manual and Ellen and I are the only ones that can drive stick shift. Ellen and I took another sketch-van-cab to a neighborhood called Observatory and braved gale force winds and the South African version of tumble weed to try and find a cheap, automatic rental car. Out of the cuts we see a sign that says “Drive Africa” and are both immediately decide we want that. We found one for more than double the price of the stick shift, but decided it might be worth paying more to not have just the two of us splitting the driving for six days. When we got back home, we found out that there were more people who wanted to join our car. After making a few calls, Danny secured our very own version of a sketch-van-cab for 500 rand a day. So Ellen and I will now be driving a 10-person van across the African continent. This is either the best or worst news I have ever heard. I fully intend on entering Ellen into a children’s beauty pageant, making Sophie or Heather dress up as her wise grandpa, and telling Danny he is colorblind and can’t be a pilot.

-Becca

IVORY DOESN’T GROW ON TREES, JUST BUILDINGS

Today was a throwback to a much darker time. I’m going to try and explain it—but that doesn’t mean I agree with it. We went to orientation on campus this morning. Thus far UCT orientation has been pretty standard and interesting in it’s own way. Professors saying stuff like “the neo-Colonial architecture and ivy growing on the buildings is indicative of the historical ties of our university and the idea of an Oxford in Africa…” which prompted hushed conversations like:

Sophie: I can’t understand his accent. Is he saying “ivy” or “ivory??”

Ellen: I’m pretty sure ivory doesn’t grow on buildings so probably “ivy.”

Sophie: Well I don’t know, it’s Africa!

This morning, the news was a little different. We have been waiting to get access to our student accounts so that we can have access to free, unlimited WiFi like at home. Today this innocent looking librarian informed us that since the university has to pay a bundle for wireless bandwidth every year, there is a cap on each student’s monthly internet usage: 250MB every month. Basically the equivalent of Skyping with video a few times or checking my Gmail inbox. As soon as the poor librarian said this, the entire crowd of American students started murmuring and had somebody busted out a zip drive and led the revolution, only the spirit of Dewey Decimal would have saved her. She did allude to “hope on the horizon” for faster internet in Africa. There is some sort of new network that is already in parts of South Africa, but hasn’t made its way to Cape Town yet. The way she described it made it sound like someone was physically going to strap “the internet” to their back and bring it to Cape Town by March. Sounds reliable. This was Part I of the Dark Age.

And the Dark Ages get darker…you know how we register for classes by clicking a mouse a couple of times, looking at our nice little time blocks and hitting Commit Changes? Yeah, not so much here. Registration is crowding into the same room with tons of other people and waiting for hours with slips of paper in your hand. Today we started pre-registration when they posted a list of classes we were pre-approved for. Ellen was only approved for 2 classes, which was a little problematic. And because of scheduling conflicts and the fact that we need our afternoons free to volunteer at Ubantu, we still need to get approval for more classes. In order to do this your apparently have to find the head of the academic department somewhere on campus, wave your transcript in their face to convince them you can take this class, and get them to sign off on them. Now UCT is nestled into the base of Table Mountain—making it both scenic and perfect raw material for a Tony Little inspired calf workout. So Ellen and I start trudging up and down this mountain to and from home to get our transcripts and try and get this ball rolling. But it’s a big ball and its uphill both ways. So we went to an internet café and emailed advisers back home instead to see if this was even worth our time.

I feel really typically American for being surprised about the lack of internet connectivity here. I don’t think I would mind at all being in a place without internet if I wasn’t thousands of miles away from the people I love.

I’m starting to get a little antsy. I feel like I need to be doing something. Every time I pass by something that seems unfair, I feel like we should be helping. I think it will be better once we can start at the volunteer sites. Or once I find a hobby, like power crocheting.

-Becca

MUSENBERG-MORE THAN ONE KIND OF GREAT WHITE TO WORRY ABOUT IN SOUTH AFRICA

Today we took the train to Musenburg Beach. Elle and I were in a rush to meet up with everyone to get to the train. First we had to stop at the pharmacy because I still haven’t been feeling better. Apparently here, most people just go to the pharmacist, tell them their symptoms, and the pharmacist gives them an appropriate drug cocktail. This way you can cut out the middleman (a.k.a. doctor). Health care crisis solved. President Obama and Congress, now is when you should be taking notes. So we got back from the pharmacy and popped over to Kauai, a health food restaurant with take-out. The person at the counter greets you with “Aloha!” which is disheartening at tropically themed family restaurants in the States, but just a little absurd in Africa. So we got our orders and walked over it to the train station where we bought tickets for 8 rand. Which is 8 rand more than any other person on that train paid. We realized that the idea of tickets just really wasn’t that relevant to actually using the train. Nobody ever checked the tickets or cared if you had train tickets, traffic tickets or a Golden Ticket. The ride to Musenburg took about 20 minutes, I was afraid we were going to miss the stop. But once we got there, it was pretty obvious; from the train you could see miles of beach and ocean ahead of you. So we disembarked and walked up along the beach. Musenburg is known for its surfing and for its sharks. The waves were very small today but about 20 minutes after we arrived, everyone was cleared out of the water because of a shark sighting. A guy with a jetski rode around for a little bit, allegedly looking for sharks in the area, but really just trying to look like a baller on a jetski. We were allowed to get back in the water after not too long. I’ve had a fever these past couple of days so I didn’t get in, but instead took pictures as Kase and Conner gave Ellen a crash course in surfing. She was persistent and stood up by herself! I was beaming and pointing, like a pageant mom and naturally made everyone look over to watch her. Bad move. While some people were out in the water and I was pointing at Ellen, a man walked right up and took a camera that someone in our group had left out. Another beachgoer next to us took off running after him and a few boys in our group realized a little too late what was going on and followed. Luckily, they were able to catch him and get the camera back! We stayed at the beach until about 5 and then got on the train heading home so that people could start getting ready to go out to Tiger Tiger tonight because apparently it gets crowded really early.

I’m still not feeling very well and I want to try and rest up and actually get better, so I decided not to go out with everyone tonight. It really makes me appreciate little things like being able to get in a car by myself at night back home and drive wherever. Near our house, there is an internet café and little downtown area—probably about the distance from DG to the 9-0. But without someone else or a male escort, there is no way to get there. Can’t walk by yourself. Can’t take a taxi by yourself. I know it is for my own safety, but it is hard going from a country where a woman can be so independent to relying on others all the time. I think it will get easier with time, once I get more used to the idea. But for now. I guess I’ll just call it culture shock.

-Becca

SO THE WORLD WIDE WEB ISN'T EXACTLY WORLDWIDE

So I haven't been able to upload any of my posts thus far, because not only is internet really expensive here, it is also very slow. Jackpot. So I've been keeping a little journal of everything that goes on and I will post my entries now. They are all going to have the same post date so look at the ones I wrote instead or feel free to think I just a really prolific blogger.

-Becca

CAMPS BAY

I am fully convinced that Cape Town is the best city in the entire world. Tonight we went to Camps Bay, a palm lined beach set against the backdrop of beautiful mountains. I was so enamored with this place I became the tackiest tourist ever. Literally leaning out of the cab the whole time we were approaching it trying to take pictures. At one point I think more of my body was outside the cab than in. One main street runs up and down Camps Bay. On one side is a gorgeous white sand beach and the other side is lined with bars, restaurants, and clubs. We were told that Café Caprice is the place to go on Sunday nights, but we should get there early. We walked up to Café Caprice around 6:45 and immediately understood what people meant—people in the lounge area were literally pouring out of this place onto the sidewalk. It seems like people go to the beach all day and then move across the street to the bars around 4. Tough life… We decided to go to a restaurant down the street for dinner and had an amazing meal overlooking the ocean. Then we decided to try round two at Café Caprice. We finally squeezed in and went inside, and saw why people were so intent on being there. The music was awesome the entire night, the djs played everything from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song to techno to house. It might sound like he’s a candidate for a Ritalin prescription and a budding career at SC during finals week, but it actually worked really well—whatever the dance flow was, he was 2 steps ahead. South Africa is definitely a country of beautiful people, which didn’t hurt the vibe in the club. South Africans definitely value working out more… or value eating less? Than we do.

As fun as Café Caprice was, I think the cab ride back might have been the highlight of my night. I knew this cab driver was a baller from the moment we stepped in his ride—he had a cell phone holder with an obscene Megan Fox-looking girl posed up against a red Camero. I can only assume this was his girlfriend or orthodontist. The moment we settled a price, a black and white checkered flag, that nobody but he could see, started waving. He became Dale Earnhardt. He was flying around corners, accelerating down hills, speed braking and double shifting. After running several stops signs without so much as a “whoops,” he ran a red light with particular vigor. He turned to my housemate, Kase and I and says, “I promise I’ll stop at that one twice tomorrow.” A) I am pretty sure that’s not the way this whole traffic thing works and B.) I am definitely sure that he will not stop at any traffic lights in this millennia. To most people, this would seem illegal, but Mrs. Earnhardt did raise no fool, her baby figured out a loophole. He turns to Kase and says, “If the police pull us over, tell them you hurt your foot and I’m rushing you to the hospital.” What a bulletproof cover story. Kase kinda laughed nervously, because it was clear this guy wasn’t kidding and he might have to learn how to feign a life-threatening foot injury in the next few minutes. By some miracle, we made it home safely and he sped off to take someone else on Mr. Cab Driver’s Wild Adventure.

HOME IS WHERE THE DEER CRYING BLOOD IS

We finally moved into our house today!! The outside has some…unique features, such as the huuuge billboard of a deer crying tears of blood asking you not to throw your cigarette butts out of the car window. I’m not sure if there are even deer in Cape Town, but if there were I like to think they wouldn’t be such drama queens. But the inside of the house is perfect. There are 15 American study abroad students living in the house, and Ellen and I are sharing a really spacious room. The house is divided into four sections that each share a kitchen. Ellen and I are on the top floor and it worked out perfectly because we share a wing with Heather and Sophia, our new friends from Bucknell, and Danny is right downstairs. When you walk out of our front door, there is the most incredible view of Table Mountain.

After we moved in we went to the opening of the World Cup Stadium! Two Cape Town teams, Ajax and Santos, were playing. The stadium is right by the waterfront and absolutely gorgeous. The game was fun to watch and the most amazing thing is how excited and proud all the South Africans are to be hosting the World Cup this year. At one point someone started the wave. It is rare to see the wave make it around a stadium one full time. One section always drops the ball. People can’t be trusted. But this wave was unlike any other wave I’ve ever seen. It circled the stadium once, and then went around again, and again, (I was far more interested in the tidal wave than the game at this point) and again. I’m tired of typing “again”—so basically this thing circled the stadium at least 5 times. Fans here are nuts.

CATCHING UP

I’ve been pretty sick these past 2 days so I haven’t been able to write. It was a little hard being sick and away from home— actually all I really wanted was cabbage soup… it might sound kinda third world, or like something Oliver Twist didn’t want any mo’ of, but it’s what my mom made for me when I got sick when I was little. She’s not much of a cook but she probably single handedly funded the cabbage industry between the years of 1992-4. Ellen has been taking care of me, and I don’t know what I would do without her. My fever finally broke this morning, and I’m feeling better now. I’ll try and pick up where I left off on Tuesday….

On Wednesday night we went out to Long Street, which Ellen observed is pretty aptly named because it is both long and a street. None of this Rhode Island naming riff raff. Long Street has dozens of different bars, clubs and pool halls to choose from. We started off at Chrome because one rand shot night was too intriguing to pass up and then moved onto The Dubliner and Zula. Both Chrome and Zula had awesome DJs and played house music. The Dubliner featured a band doing covers of American songs. I feel like no matter what country you are in, if there is a bar called “The Dubliner,” it inadvertently becomes an American hang out spot. I can’t think of an explanation for this phenomenon—unless Dublin, Iowa is an actual American city. Regardless, the band was fun and Connor, another SC friend, rocked the air drums and I accompanied on the air guitar through some Blink and Jimmy Eat World.

Thursday I was basically bedridden but today we got to tour some of the sites where we can volunteer. We visited four programs and they were all incredible, but I especially loved one in a township where we would get to work with HIV positive kids. We would be spending time with them twice a week, working on their English skills and playing. We’ll even get to take them on some fun trips kayaking around Cape Town. There was also a school called LEAP (I forget what it stands for) but it is an awesome program where they enroll South African kids from townships into a school centered around not just math and science, but also social responsibility and personal change. The director of the program is a man named Bones and apparently he came to talk the day before when I was sick. As he walked up, Ellen said, “watch Danny, he has the biggest man crush on this guy.” Bones looked at our group and said, “Let’s all get in a circle so we can see each other.” I glanced over at Danny and he was nodding vigorously like, “Yeah! I LOVE circles!!” Turns out that Danny had pretty well founded reasons for his love because the students we talked to at Leap had nothing but amazing things to say about the ways LEAP has been a part of their lives.

Driving around to the volunteer sites, we saw a different South Africa than we have seen up until this point. The townships of Cape Town are a reminder that South Africa is a third world country. We saw miles and miles of small homes made from wood or just sheets of tin with rooftops held down by cinderblocks, tires, and whatever else they could find. It brought back memories of a lot of the places I visited in Haiti. South Africa is often described as being both first world and third world—within Cape Town there is the Victoria and Albert Waterfront, where you can find an Aston Martin dealership, and a 20 minute car ride away people are living without running water in their homes. It’s hard to justify or even understand sometimes.

After touring the volunteer sites we had dinner at Marco’s African Place with dishes like oxtail and more pap. Towards the end of the dinner, the band started to break it down and we all got up and started dancing. Once the dancers that were performing with the band started doing their thang, it was pretty much game over. South Africa was asking “So You Think You Can Dance?” and for any Americans was a definite no.

-Becca

DRIVE AFRICA

Today Ellen and I decided we would go to the mall to get bedding and other necessities for our room. One of the cheapest modes of transport here is sketch-van-cabs. I think people might refer to them as minibuses, but let’s call them what they really are: sketch-van-cabs. The only instructions I’ve received about these are “don’t get in one at night,” “don’t get in one during the day if nobody else is inside,” and “don’t worry, they are absolutely fine—just make sure to take money out of your wallet beforehand, and not inside.” Alone, these tidbits are alarming, but together, they are downright comforting. These sketch-van-cabs are always operated by a duo. There is the designated driver (this title doesn’t necessarily mean he is sober, he is just the one driving), who pulls over when he’s told and then there is the man I like to think of as a professional rallier. His job is to recruit passengers to join his sketch-van-cab community. He leans his head out of the window and waves and yells their destination at pedestrians who might be converted to passengers. Every street you walk down you hear either “Cape Town!! Cape Town!!” or “Wynberg! Wynberg!” being yelled out the window as these sketch-van-cabs book it down the street. When we first arrived, one kid on our program mistook their waving and shouting as general enthusiasm for his arrival and gave a chipper little wave back. Big mistake. Immediately the vehicle screeched to a halt, and the professional rallier slid the door of the sketch-van-cab open to usher him in, while simultaneously recruiting others and demanding money. It took a lot of explaining to convince him that the kid in our program actually was not in need of a ride, just an ego check. Anyways, Elle and I decided this would be the cheapest and fastest way to get to the mall so we hopped in one yelling “Claremont!” and made our way there. Now these sketch-van-cabs are not large. They are probably the size of a Previa, but with 4 rows instead of 3 on the inside, and without Juno driving. When we got into the van it was packed, I took a quick headcount and there were 15 people and one baby. And yet, the rallier still had his head out the window and was close enough to the sidewalk to physically pick up anybody who wanted to join. I admired his ambition, but I didn’t understand. There were no more seats. It was like meeting a Tupperware saleswoman trying to sell more Tupperware… when Tupperware is all sold out. And there is an embargo on plastic from Istanbul. Let’s say best-case scenario he were to find more passengers—where would they go? As I was thinking this, his prayers were answered and Ellen’s were denied. He hit the side of the van twice, which is apparently sketch-van-cab Morse Code for “Jackpot.” The driver pulled over and the rallier ushered 3 more people into this van. Which is good, because I am sure the makers of this vehicle made this vehicle with a family of 18.5 in mind. At this point, the ralier is perched with his tush a few inches above Ellen’s face. I wanted to tell him to make himself comfortable and just tell Ellen what he wants for Christmas this year. Thankfully it was a short trip, and after a little while longer we were unceremoniously deposited on a street corner in front of ShopRite.

While shopping we realized we needed to start planning our trip for this next week. Now that orientation is winding down, we have a free week before class starts on February 8^th. Most people travel along the Garden Route, which is down and around the coast of South Africa and stretches along the beach towns of the Indian Ocean. People have been renting cars and lining up hostels and we were talking with Heather, Sophia, and Danny about doing the same and then caravanning with a bigger group. So we went to an auto garage to book a car and ran into a slight problem. The only cars they had left are manual and Ellen and I are the only ones that can drive stick shift. Ellen and I took another sketch-van-cab to a neighborhood called Observatory and braved gale force winds and the South African version of tumble weed to try and find a cheap, automatic rental car. Out of the cuts we see a sign that says “Drive Africa” and are both immediately decide we want that. We found one for more than double the price of the stick shift, but decided it might be worth paying more to not have just the two of us splitting the driving for six days. When we got back home, we found out that there were more people who wanted to join our car. After making a few calls, Danny secured our very own version of a sketch-van-cab for 500 rand a day. So Ellen and I will now be driving a 10-person van across the African continent. This is either the best or worst news I have ever heard. I fully intend on entering Ellen into a children’s beauty pageant, making Sophie or Heather dress up as her wise grandpa, and telling Danny he is colorblind and can’t be a pilot.

$0 = A LOT OF RANDS

We’re here!!! Another 11.5 hour flight later, we are finally in South Africa. It has been kind of a strange day. We landed in Cape Town this morning and were greeted by CIEE people dancing and singing. Brought back memories of the glory days at summer camp. The “Bug Juice” theme song definitely came to mind.

We got the on the bus that would take us to campus and met a lot of the people in our program, everyone seems really friendly and excited to be here. We checked into the dorm rooms in the Graca Mishel building at the University of Cape Town where we will be staying for orientation and until Saturday when we move into our houses. We were freshening up and Ellen and I were both incredibly thirsty. As we were talking I could literally see her eyes shifting back and forth between the sink and me. She asked me if I thought the water was safe to drink. At this point, I realized that she didn’t care what my answer was. I would not have been surprised if she had pulled a Bear Grylls and drank her own pee, preferably while talking about it an Aussie accent. That’s how bad this thirst was. Finally we gave in and decided to drink it and deal with the consequences later.

We ate lunch at Galito’s in a neighborhood called Rondebash. Galito’s is probably the South African equivalent of KFC. Wouldn’t have been surprised to see a Nelson Mandela/ Colonel Sanders love child as the logo. The food was pretty good, and I tried a typical South African cornmeal dish called pap. I didn’t realize that it was supposed to be eaten with something else—a sort of tomato onion chutney goes on top to give it flavor—so I ignored the suggestion of the Galito’s waitress and ordered it by itself. I came back about 2 minutes later with my tail between my legs and head down. Always the sweetheart, she took pity on me said, “I’ll show you how to eat.” You know someone has lost faith in your capability to function as a normal human being when they offer to show you how to eat.

After lunch, we stopped by and internet café, where I threw a fail Mary trying to send emails and use Skype. The internet connection was really slow and after I hit send, it took forever to go through and kicked me off the computer before anything went through. Definitely a reminder that although we are in a very industrial part of Africa, we are still in Africa. It just seems like everything operates a little slower here. There is no rush and no instant gratification. Once we got back to the Graca Mishel dorms, I started to feel really sick. I was really feverish and had a throbbing headache. Ellen was wonderful took care of me and brought me water and drugs while I lay down for a while. I don’t know what I would have done without her. I ended up missing our first session of orientation because I couldn’t stand up without feeling like I was going to faint. Around 7, I woke up in a cold sweat—I think the fever finally broke.

Feeling much better, I joined Ellen and 12 or so of the other people in the program who were downstairs drinking wine. The box of wine instructed us to “Enjoy It and Endorse It.” Although everyone seemed to be enjoying it, I don’t foresee us making any ad campaigns or public service announcements about it in the near future. Taylor had told me that a club called Tiger Tiger is fun on Tuesday nights, so Ellen and I attempted to rally the troops. Initially a few people seemed up for it, including Will “The F-ing Man” (yes, he was born in New Jersey) but eventually they ended up flaking on us. So Elle, Danny (one of our friends who is a USC Aepi for those who know him) and I decided to take matters into our own hands. We got a cab out to Tiger Tiger, which is situated on the 2^nd floor of a mall. When we got there, the bouncer informed Danny that he wouldn’t be allowed in because of the dress code. Imagine the bouncer at Dave & Busters at the local mall telling you that you were underdressed. I thought he was kidding at first. We ended up going down to another bar called “Tin Roof”. When we asked for directions, we were told to go “straight past the ‘ADULT PLAY’ sign and turn at the African drums,” which we took to be a good sign.

We were amazed by the cheapness of drinks in a non-American and non 9-0 bar setting. 2 vokda sodas, 2 vodka redbulls and 2 beers only set us back 63 Rand, or $7. This was both great and terrible news. The three of us ended up befriending a group of Portuguese South Africans who were absolutely hysterical. One of them, Gino told Ellen and I that for Americans, Cape Town is the best city in the entire world. His main argument was that there are gorgeous women. C’mon Gino, know your audience. But as he was explaining the strength of the American dollar and just the friendly attitude towards Americans in general, he asked Danny how many dollars he had. Danny said that he was broke, so he had zero. In a winning response. Gino looks at him and says, “Zero U.S. dollars is a lot of f-ing South African Rand!” And I think Gino might be right. Something he said towards the end of our conversation caught Ellen and I off guard. He basically insinuated that the black South Africans were responsible for “running our country into the ground” and advised us to stay away from them. We didn’t even know how to respond. People talk much more openly about race here than we do at home, and a lot of times it is a really positive practice. But this instance seemed indicative of a deeper-seated racism. Strange and a little off-putting, but a reminder than apartheid wasn’t that long ago.

-Becca