Having seen the techno clubs and the modern cafe culture, we wanted to find a glimpse of older Germany. Frankfurt had been terribly bombed out during WWII and has rebuilt itself beautifully with some stunning skyscrapers and sleek cultural spaces, but has also preserved and rebuilt some of its heritage sites.
Our first stop is Der Romerberg which I translate, albeit poorly, as the home of city government for 600 years. Traditional German architecture surrounds a cobblestone square which, on the day we arrive, is filled with stands and activity as Frankfurt prepares to host an Ironman race. Again new and old blend together.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Sidestep
blog 2: sidestep
Landing at Frankfurt in the early morning, we deplane onto busses to drive us to the terminal. My least favorite mode of travel - which i blame (loudly and often) on Heathrow airport. But I put on a happy face -- easy to do with Kerry constantly pointing out "ooooh look, it's Germany. Oh wow, that guy is speaking in German! Hee Hee that sign is in German!" The trip to the terminal is actually easy and short. We're funneled into a queue for passport control and then customs and it isn't until we're through to the exit that we realize we never had a chance to talk to a gate agent about a hotel and dinner voucher. This means we must navagate row after row of check-in counters to find the two long United desks. Another extremely helpful desk agent answers all our needs with a smile and provides for our food and lodging for the next day and a half.
The Stiegenberger Hotel is lovely, with a view of the city from afar. We spent both our lunch and dinner voucher for dinner outside in a beautiful courtyard. I had lamb chops which i cooked myself on a super-hot lava stone. With a side of ratatouille and a cold pilsner. Kerry went a bit to the edge with a succulent hare stew pie.
Then it was off to explore the city. The shuttle back to the airport was easy and armed with both a downtown city map and a pocket-map of the u-bahn and s-bahn, we set off to find our way to see what the Manhattan of Europe is like. Finding a train to the downtown main train station was easy. We found a seat and waited. And waited. And waited while watching train after train head off in other directions.
We hopped off at one point to double check that we were on the right train and went back on, our guesses confirmed. finally, when we were nearly ready to give up, the doors close and off we go. It wasn't until the next day that we realized we had missed the "trains to city" sign and had inadvertently gotten on the regional train ending at Frankfurt rather than one of the numerous local trains to the same spot.
Trains are always tricky. You can read the map, ask a guide, read the sign on the front, but you never know until you hit the next stop whether you're actually headed the way you think you are. As we pull into the first stop I think I was mumbling under my breath which stop I expected it to be: "stadium stadium stadium" and sure enough, there it was. I was beaming, so proud of myself. I'm easy to please.
Frankfurt is a bit sleepy on a Thursday evening. The financial district was still and quiet and it wasn't until we got to the theater district that we saw more than a few stragglers.
Following nose, ears, and the pull of curiosity led us down a side street of cafes and shops past shwarma stands, gelato counters, and shoe shops. Turning the corner we see the main train station ahead and a row of buildings lit from below in blue and pink and gold light. Beautiful so we head that direction. Turns out to be Frankfurt's red-light district. We walk through, marveling at storefront after storefront of sex and I wonder aloud at whether it doesn't just make more sense to devote an area to it rather than spread all around.
Frankfurt seems to be pockets of activity amidst a general stillness. And their spirit animal would definitely be the bunny rabbit. We saw several large warrens of bunnies slowly advancing across parks and fields. Nibble nibble hop.
Our night concluded at U60311, a techno club in an abandoned u-bahn station down in concrete box under the street. Smokey air, plenty of pretty, European hipsters, the constant thump of the beats -- this was great.
Landing at Frankfurt in the early morning, we deplane onto busses to drive us to the terminal. My least favorite mode of travel - which i blame (loudly and often) on Heathrow airport. But I put on a happy face -- easy to do with Kerry constantly pointing out "ooooh look, it's Germany. Oh wow, that guy is speaking in German! Hee Hee that sign is in German!" The trip to the terminal is actually easy and short. We're funneled into a queue for passport control and then customs and it isn't until we're through to the exit that we realize we never had a chance to talk to a gate agent about a hotel and dinner voucher. This means we must navagate row after row of check-in counters to find the two long United desks. Another extremely helpful desk agent answers all our needs with a smile and provides for our food and lodging for the next day and a half.
The Stiegenberger Hotel is lovely, with a view of the city from afar. We spent both our lunch and dinner voucher for dinner outside in a beautiful courtyard. I had lamb chops which i cooked myself on a super-hot lava stone. With a side of ratatouille and a cold pilsner. Kerry went a bit to the edge with a succulent hare stew pie.
Then it was off to explore the city. The shuttle back to the airport was easy and armed with both a downtown city map and a pocket-map of the u-bahn and s-bahn, we set off to find our way to see what the Manhattan of Europe is like. Finding a train to the downtown main train station was easy. We found a seat and waited. And waited. And waited while watching train after train head off in other directions.
We hopped off at one point to double check that we were on the right train and went back on, our guesses confirmed. finally, when we were nearly ready to give up, the doors close and off we go. It wasn't until the next day that we realized we had missed the "trains to city" sign and had inadvertently gotten on the regional train ending at Frankfurt rather than one of the numerous local trains to the same spot.
Trains are always tricky. You can read the map, ask a guide, read the sign on the front, but you never know until you hit the next stop whether you're actually headed the way you think you are. As we pull into the first stop I think I was mumbling under my breath which stop I expected it to be: "stadium stadium stadium" and sure enough, there it was. I was beaming, so proud of myself. I'm easy to please.
Frankfurt is a bit sleepy on a Thursday evening. The financial district was still and quiet and it wasn't until we got to the theater district that we saw more than a few stragglers.
Following nose, ears, and the pull of curiosity led us down a side street of cafes and shops past shwarma stands, gelato counters, and shoe shops. Turning the corner we see the main train station ahead and a row of buildings lit from below in blue and pink and gold light. Beautiful so we head that direction. Turns out to be Frankfurt's red-light district. We walk through, marveling at storefront after storefront of sex and I wonder aloud at whether it doesn't just make more sense to devote an area to it rather than spread all around.
Frankfurt seems to be pockets of activity amidst a general stillness. And their spirit animal would definitely be the bunny rabbit. We saw several large warrens of bunnies slowly advancing across parks and fields. Nibble nibble hop.
Our night concluded at U60311, a techno club in an abandoned u-bahn station down in concrete box under the street. Smokey air, plenty of pretty, European hipsters, the constant thump of the beats -- this was great.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Setting out July 2011
I love flying. And international flights are the best. We're sitting here on the tarmac at Frankfurt International, awaiting departure to Johannesburg, South Africa after walking in to find our seats are A) behind a bulkhead so extra legroom B) we're the last row before business class so we're not on the way to the lavatory C) we have a lovely overnight pack with toothbrush, eyemask, etc. D) the wine is a delicious South African merlot.
It is this love of exploration and adventure that forces me to merely nod my head when people awe at how long the flight will be. Flying from JFK to Johannesburg is something like 16 hours and I can hear the horror in people's voices. But inside I'm ecstatic.
It's also this love that brought us to a two-day trip in Frankfurt Germany as a prelude to our adventures in South Africa. When our flight from DC to JFK was delayed for 15 more minutes (the fourth such delay), our first thought was, well where in the world should we go?
We calmly joined the customer service queue while simultaneously calling United's 800-number. We got to the front and explained that we were part of the United 14 - a name I had dubbed for the 14 passengers delayed in Washington-Dulles airport and therefore missing our connection to Johannesburg. Our agent, an energetic blonde South African woman appeared to be leading the charge and calling out a myriad of possible re-routes to the other agents on the same quest. She proposed Doha, Bahrain, London, Frankfurt. "Doha! Oh I love that airport!", "Ooooh Bahrain would be new!", "Oh god not Heathrow!!", "Frankfurt! We could go there!". In the end Germany won out. We took 2 of the last 3 seats and quietly moved away from the line while a angry throng of other passengers moved in. Thus ended my hopes of filming a TV show about our group's trials and growth as we try to make our way to Africa.
It is this love of exploration and adventure that forces me to merely nod my head when people awe at how long the flight will be. Flying from JFK to Johannesburg is something like 16 hours and I can hear the horror in people's voices. But inside I'm ecstatic.
It's also this love that brought us to a two-day trip in Frankfurt Germany as a prelude to our adventures in South Africa. When our flight from DC to JFK was delayed for 15 more minutes (the fourth such delay), our first thought was, well where in the world should we go?
We calmly joined the customer service queue while simultaneously calling United's 800-number. We got to the front and explained that we were part of the United 14 - a name I had dubbed for the 14 passengers delayed in Washington-Dulles airport and therefore missing our connection to Johannesburg. Our agent, an energetic blonde South African woman appeared to be leading the charge and calling out a myriad of possible re-routes to the other agents on the same quest. She proposed Doha, Bahrain, London, Frankfurt. "Doha! Oh I love that airport!", "Ooooh Bahrain would be new!", "Oh god not Heathrow!!", "Frankfurt! We could go there!". In the end Germany won out. We took 2 of the last 3 seats and quietly moved away from the line while a angry throng of other passengers moved in. Thus ended my hopes of filming a TV show about our group's trials and growth as we try to make our way to Africa.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
christmas travel December 2008
Wow, I'm back!
I was recently inspired by the travelblog of a friend of a friend. It reminded me that I had intended to continue my blog after my return stateside. But as often happens I let life take over and I never continued.
I am currently in the air en route to Boston to see Julie's family for Christmas. It wasn't until we were on the plane that I realized this was my first flight since coming back from Senegal in May. How does that happen?
So anyway, it's good to be back in the blogosphere. How have you been?
Winter travel in December 2008 has been interesting to say the least. Our goal was to leave on a red-eye out of Seattle Friday night, transfer in Dallas (DFW) to a Boston bound flight arriving Saturday afternoon. We checked in online as I ran a few final errands (shipping a box to my folks, buying a halibut steak to bring the Keenans, etc.). Now first you have to realize that this was not standard Seattle. Our house was under 6-inches of snow and the city was reeling in winter-storm paralysis.
I know, all of you mid-westerners are saying: "6-inches is nothing! Seattlites are just wimps." But you have to recognize that the city of seattle only owns 15 snowplows, rarely salts, and is a city of hills. Steep hills! I had my chains on and I know how to drive in it thanks to my parents taking me out to a parking lot knee deep in snow and making me practice (thanks mom & dad!). Even in sunny conditions Seattle drivers are world-wide some of the worst so you can bet I was worried about how they would handle the snow.
For example some of you may have seen Seattle prominently displayed in the news due to two charter busses that were not to be deterred by the closure of an arterial route and decided to brave a back street which descended the same hill. They both lost traction and careened down hill, crashed through a retaining wall, and coming to a halt dangling 30 feet above I-5. Yikes!
So what should've been an hour of errands became a three-hour tour of the city.
But we were finally ready and after an uneventful trip to the airport (thanks Nick!) We were happy to see that the lines were short and hopeful for some easy travel.
Alas it was not to be.
The self-checkin kiosk spit out an enigmatic note telling me it couldn't help me and told me to see an agent. I appreciate that our machines still refer us to people when they can't solve something. For now at least they recognize our superiority in some things.
The agent helping us informed us briskly that the flight from DFW to Boston had been cancelled. Now Julie and I were a bit surprised by this news since the snowfall in Boston, though severe, was forecast to end by 3am. We couldn't imagine that Boston couldn't clear their runways in time for us to land at 11:25am. It seemed a bit silly to cancel a flight so early.
But we quickly transitioned into problem-solving mode. We hashed out a myriad of possible solutions: flying into Providence, Manchester, even LaGuardia; delaying in Seattle for a direct Boston flight; splitting up on different flights, etc.
Finally after it seemed as though our agent wasn't going to be able to be very helpful, his eyes lit up and he ran off to a nearby desk phone. After another ten minutes, he came back smiling having secured us ticketed seats to Dallas, then Chicago, then Boston.
As further evidence of how out of practice I am with regards to air travel, I put my bag into the x-ray and only then remembered my liquids which were still lodged in the bag. Then the TSA agent pulled our other bag aside to take a look. I figured it was the ice we had on the fish we were bringing, but instead she focussed on a box of perfumes/lotions that we were re-gifting from last year. We'd never really even opened it. The TSA agent lifted the top, took a look and said, oh yeah that's ok, only 3 ounces. We were later to see that it was more like 8 oz. So our luck seemed good so far.
The flight was uneventful and we collapsed onto the first stretch of clear floor in Dallas upon arrival.
I had some amazing dreams involving my entire extended family hanging out at my house and then woke up like a shot. We made a quick decision to forgo breakfast in favor of trying to fly standby on an earlier Chicago flight.
We found a flight and made our way to the gate. About twenty minutes before boarding time the flight was suddenly cancelled! At least we still had our other flight ticketed.
We boarded without issue and more or less on time, but didn't push back from the jetway. Eventually the pilot came on and said we were waiting for the catering to be loaded. I think I dozed off at this time and woke to a jarring sensation, saw a gate and figured I'd missed the whole flight. Welcome to Chicago!
Alas, I had merely slept through the hour it took to load the catering supplies and we were only now leaving DFW. It was an uneventful flight, but we missed our Boston connection by half an hour.
Here is where things started to break down. We tried to divide and conquer to beat the airlines system of inefficiency. You see they wear you down with their lines and their sleep deprevation, making you docile. By splitting up we double our odds of getting through the system of pitfalls.
I was successful at getting to the front of my line first but at that moment, the agents switched gears into boarding a plane, stranding me on deck. Finally, Julie called me (how did we ever survive without cell phones?) as she got to the front of her line. Unfortuneately the agent she spoke to was unable or unwilling to be useful and deflected us over and over. Finally, we were forced into the 'rebooking center'. This is a long line (150 people) being served by 2 agents. Lovely.
Over the next 90 minutes we slowly advanced in line. Meanwhile, Julie was able to get us ticket the next morning to Boston with a layover in Washington D.C.'s Reagan Airport (again thanks to the cell phone).
At the front of the line we met Eugenia, an American Airlines agent who became our savior. She was able to get us a direct boston flight for the next afternoon, gave us a hotel stay with very little trouble(thankfully our most recent delay was not weather related, just catering related), and a voucher for breakfast and lunch. Yay!
So we departed directly for the hotel where we were met with a hot shower and a comfortable bed. Northern Illinois winters are just as biting cold as always.
The remainder of our travel was more straightforward. We were not able to get through the second security check with our illicit 8oz of lotion, but we made it to Boston, found our luggage waiting, and spent the night with Julie's brother, Pete before heading out to Sutton.
Thus begins my campaign to move Christmas to September or June or some other more civilized time of the year. Maybe it isn't that bad in Israel right now but in North America, December is a terrible time for travel.
I was recently inspired by the travelblog of a friend of a friend. It reminded me that I had intended to continue my blog after my return stateside. But as often happens I let life take over and I never continued.
I am currently in the air en route to Boston to see Julie's family for Christmas. It wasn't until we were on the plane that I realized this was my first flight since coming back from Senegal in May. How does that happen?
So anyway, it's good to be back in the blogosphere. How have you been?
Winter travel in December 2008 has been interesting to say the least. Our goal was to leave on a red-eye out of Seattle Friday night, transfer in Dallas (DFW) to a Boston bound flight arriving Saturday afternoon. We checked in online as I ran a few final errands (shipping a box to my folks, buying a halibut steak to bring the Keenans, etc.). Now first you have to realize that this was not standard Seattle. Our house was under 6-inches of snow and the city was reeling in winter-storm paralysis.
I know, all of you mid-westerners are saying: "6-inches is nothing! Seattlites are just wimps." But you have to recognize that the city of seattle only owns 15 snowplows, rarely salts, and is a city of hills. Steep hills! I had my chains on and I know how to drive in it thanks to my parents taking me out to a parking lot knee deep in snow and making me practice (thanks mom & dad!). Even in sunny conditions Seattle drivers are world-wide some of the worst so you can bet I was worried about how they would handle the snow.
For example some of you may have seen Seattle prominently displayed in the news due to two charter busses that were not to be deterred by the closure of an arterial route and decided to brave a back street which descended the same hill. They both lost traction and careened down hill, crashed through a retaining wall, and coming to a halt dangling 30 feet above I-5. Yikes!
So what should've been an hour of errands became a three-hour tour of the city.
But we were finally ready and after an uneventful trip to the airport (thanks Nick!) We were happy to see that the lines were short and hopeful for some easy travel.
Alas it was not to be.
The self-checkin kiosk spit out an enigmatic note telling me it couldn't help me and told me to see an agent. I appreciate that our machines still refer us to people when they can't solve something. For now at least they recognize our superiority in some things.
The agent helping us informed us briskly that the flight from DFW to Boston had been cancelled. Now Julie and I were a bit surprised by this news since the snowfall in Boston, though severe, was forecast to end by 3am. We couldn't imagine that Boston couldn't clear their runways in time for us to land at 11:25am. It seemed a bit silly to cancel a flight so early.
But we quickly transitioned into problem-solving mode. We hashed out a myriad of possible solutions: flying into Providence, Manchester, even LaGuardia; delaying in Seattle for a direct Boston flight; splitting up on different flights, etc.
Finally after it seemed as though our agent wasn't going to be able to be very helpful, his eyes lit up and he ran off to a nearby desk phone. After another ten minutes, he came back smiling having secured us ticketed seats to Dallas, then Chicago, then Boston.
As further evidence of how out of practice I am with regards to air travel, I put my bag into the x-ray and only then remembered my liquids which were still lodged in the bag. Then the TSA agent pulled our other bag aside to take a look. I figured it was the ice we had on the fish we were bringing, but instead she focussed on a box of perfumes/lotions that we were re-gifting from last year. We'd never really even opened it. The TSA agent lifted the top, took a look and said, oh yeah that's ok, only 3 ounces. We were later to see that it was more like 8 oz. So our luck seemed good so far.
The flight was uneventful and we collapsed onto the first stretch of clear floor in Dallas upon arrival.
I had some amazing dreams involving my entire extended family hanging out at my house and then woke up like a shot. We made a quick decision to forgo breakfast in favor of trying to fly standby on an earlier Chicago flight.
We found a flight and made our way to the gate. About twenty minutes before boarding time the flight was suddenly cancelled! At least we still had our other flight ticketed.
We boarded without issue and more or less on time, but didn't push back from the jetway. Eventually the pilot came on and said we were waiting for the catering to be loaded. I think I dozed off at this time and woke to a jarring sensation, saw a gate and figured I'd missed the whole flight. Welcome to Chicago!
Alas, I had merely slept through the hour it took to load the catering supplies and we were only now leaving DFW. It was an uneventful flight, but we missed our Boston connection by half an hour.
Here is where things started to break down. We tried to divide and conquer to beat the airlines system of inefficiency. You see they wear you down with their lines and their sleep deprevation, making you docile. By splitting up we double our odds of getting through the system of pitfalls.
I was successful at getting to the front of my line first but at that moment, the agents switched gears into boarding a plane, stranding me on deck. Finally, Julie called me (how did we ever survive without cell phones?) as she got to the front of her line. Unfortuneately the agent she spoke to was unable or unwilling to be useful and deflected us over and over. Finally, we were forced into the 'rebooking center'. This is a long line (150 people) being served by 2 agents. Lovely.
Over the next 90 minutes we slowly advanced in line. Meanwhile, Julie was able to get us ticket the next morning to Boston with a layover in Washington D.C.'s Reagan Airport (again thanks to the cell phone).
At the front of the line we met Eugenia, an American Airlines agent who became our savior. She was able to get us a direct boston flight for the next afternoon, gave us a hotel stay with very little trouble(thankfully our most recent delay was not weather related, just catering related), and a voucher for breakfast and lunch. Yay!
So we departed directly for the hotel where we were met with a hot shower and a comfortable bed. Northern Illinois winters are just as biting cold as always.
The remainder of our travel was more straightforward. We were not able to get through the second security check with our illicit 8oz of lotion, but we made it to Boston, found our luggage waiting, and spent the night with Julie's brother, Pete before heading out to Sutton.
Thus begins my campaign to move Christmas to September or June or some other more civilized time of the year. Maybe it isn't that bad in Israel right now but in North America, December is a terrible time for travel.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Don't worry, it's only a three-hour tour...
Julie and I dutifully woke this morning, went for breakfast, came back and packed up all of our things. We loaded everything up on our backs, went down stairs and said au revoir to the women in reception. They said with some surprise, "Oh, you're leaving today?"
So we walked the three blocks to the ferry and started to walk into the departure hall. The security guy comes up and says "Excuse me, the boat leaves tomorrow?"
Huh? I look at my watch and it says the 27th, I ask Julie and hers says the 26th but her watch doesn't run on a 24h clock or have am/pm so I rarely trust her for the date.
We start to pull out our ticket to see why the gigantic ferry we expected to board is not leaving until the next day; and the security guy just points to the ticket stand, indicating we should talk to them.
We walk in and it is no wonder sometimes that the African's think the tourists are dumb. We ask things like "is it Sunday?", "Is it the 27th?", "Is the boat not leaving today?". It is this last question which elicits a useful response, a deadpan "No it will leave tomorrow".
Dumbfounded, we look at the ticket again and point to the date. Again, with a nonplussed air, the woman at the window says "Yes, it has changed". No explaination. Certainly no signage or anything to indicate why the 1500 passengers and cargo will be a day late. But what still shocks me, is that it appeared to be the absolute most normal thing in the world. No one raised an eyebrow and it seems like everyone else in town knew it wouldn't go today - maybe even expected it.
We checked back into our hotel and it was as if we were expected. The cook in our hotel just smiled and said, in English, "ahh, it is just the African way". Honestly your guess is as good as mine as to what is going on.
So we walked the three blocks to the ferry and started to walk into the departure hall. The security guy comes up and says "Excuse me, the boat leaves tomorrow?"
Huh? I look at my watch and it says the 27th, I ask Julie and hers says the 26th but her watch doesn't run on a 24h clock or have am/pm so I rarely trust her for the date.
We start to pull out our ticket to see why the gigantic ferry we expected to board is not leaving until the next day; and the security guy just points to the ticket stand, indicating we should talk to them.
We walk in and it is no wonder sometimes that the African's think the tourists are dumb. We ask things like "is it Sunday?", "Is it the 27th?", "Is the boat not leaving today?". It is this last question which elicits a useful response, a deadpan "No it will leave tomorrow".
Dumbfounded, we look at the ticket again and point to the date. Again, with a nonplussed air, the woman at the window says "Yes, it has changed". No explaination. Certainly no signage or anything to indicate why the 1500 passengers and cargo will be a day late. But what still shocks me, is that it appeared to be the absolute most normal thing in the world. No one raised an eyebrow and it seems like everyone else in town knew it wouldn't go today - maybe even expected it.
We checked back into our hotel and it was as if we were expected. The cook in our hotel just smiled and said, in English, "ahh, it is just the African way". Honestly your guess is as good as mine as to what is going on.
more busses
We are back up in Zignuichor after staying a few days in the stunning beauty of Cap Skirring. Zignuichor is a cute little town where we 'run the gauntlet of art' every time we leave the hotel but where, honestly, we have met some nice people that want to show us their wares or tell us about their pirogue for hire, but are content when we say we aren't interested right now.
It took about 4 hours to go the 90 km because I tried to save us a few dollars taking the minibus instead of the sept-place taxi. Though Julie agrees that the bus was more comfortable. That was before it stopped half way and sat for two hours waiting to fill up...
Almost all transit runs betwen 90% and 180% capacity all the time. They are not on schedules so much as they leave when full. This can range from a few minutes to possibly days. A sept-place taxi is a battered renault station wagon with seven seats. They are rusty, cramped, and falling apart. But appear almost new comparred to the minibusses (ancient panel vans converted to transit use with seats for about 16 and a roof rack for everything from lumber, produce, and charcoal to live goats and chickens). On our bus, the side doors were welded shut, the driver and passenger doors were tied on with string, and the back door was hanging open the whole time.
Four guys pushed us out and the driver popped the clutch to start. We immediately pull into a gas station to fill up continuing my unbroken streak of filling up the tank once all of the passengers are in. This was the first time, however, where the driver didn't turn off the engine while filling - though he did wait until we were on our way to light his cigarette.
But we made it safe and sound. And checked into the cheap hotel across the street from the nice hotel. They share one kitchen and restaurant (in our place) so the food is good (though we do have a couple of cockroach friends in the bathroom). ugh.
Our room, though at first glance appearing much like a minimum security prison cell, is actually quite lovely. Huge and with a pretty good breeze, it has, what I have proclaimed to be, "the best shower in all Africa".
So in general the bathroom in Africa is just considered a wet environment - like the bottom of a pool. There are never shower curtains and often the 'shower' is just a nozzle - the water runs across the bathroom floor into the nearest floor drain (which one hopes is at the low spot). In fact, in Morocco, one had to stand ON the squat-on-the-floor toilet to bathe. But we do have toilet paper and OOOOOOooohhh cloth towels.
My favourite Julie quotes so far this week:
• In regard to maneuvering the ferry from it's berth in Dakar (7 guys, throwing ropes, yelling instructions at each other as though the boat didn't make twice weekly trips...): "The whole continent could use a kaizen"
• In regard to my bottle of cheap whiskey: "That's a lot of drunk, for $3"
• In regard to what going to bed with wet hair had done to my hair: "It's sort of a George Fawcett. The left says George Washington, the right, Farrah Fawcett."
It took about 4 hours to go the 90 km because I tried to save us a few dollars taking the minibus instead of the sept-place taxi. Though Julie agrees that the bus was more comfortable. That was before it stopped half way and sat for two hours waiting to fill up...
Almost all transit runs betwen 90% and 180% capacity all the time. They are not on schedules so much as they leave when full. This can range from a few minutes to possibly days. A sept-place taxi is a battered renault station wagon with seven seats. They are rusty, cramped, and falling apart. But appear almost new comparred to the minibusses (ancient panel vans converted to transit use with seats for about 16 and a roof rack for everything from lumber, produce, and charcoal to live goats and chickens). On our bus, the side doors were welded shut, the driver and passenger doors were tied on with string, and the back door was hanging open the whole time.
Four guys pushed us out and the driver popped the clutch to start. We immediately pull into a gas station to fill up continuing my unbroken streak of filling up the tank once all of the passengers are in. This was the first time, however, where the driver didn't turn off the engine while filling - though he did wait until we were on our way to light his cigarette.
But we made it safe and sound. And checked into the cheap hotel across the street from the nice hotel. They share one kitchen and restaurant (in our place) so the food is good (though we do have a couple of cockroach friends in the bathroom). ugh.
Our room, though at first glance appearing much like a minimum security prison cell, is actually quite lovely. Huge and with a pretty good breeze, it has, what I have proclaimed to be, "the best shower in all Africa".
So in general the bathroom in Africa is just considered a wet environment - like the bottom of a pool. There are never shower curtains and often the 'shower' is just a nozzle - the water runs across the bathroom floor into the nearest floor drain (which one hopes is at the low spot). In fact, in Morocco, one had to stand ON the squat-on-the-floor toilet to bathe. But we do have toilet paper and OOOOOOooohhh cloth towels.
My favourite Julie quotes so far this week:
• In regard to maneuvering the ferry from it's berth in Dakar (7 guys, throwing ropes, yelling instructions at each other as though the boat didn't make twice weekly trips...): "The whole continent could use a kaizen"
• In regard to my bottle of cheap whiskey: "That's a lot of drunk, for $3"
• In regard to what going to bed with wet hair had done to my hair: "It's sort of a George Fawcett. The left says George Washington, the right, Farrah Fawcett."
Thursday, April 24, 2008
exciting welcome
So Julie is here now. I think she was just barely starting to get annoyed with my instinct to protect her. I had given her lots of warnings about this and that and she said something like, "don't worry, I'm a smart girl". But it isn't about smart, it is about being ready for that which you would not believe.
The following is the literal, unembellished truth of what happened on our walk today. If I weren't there personally, I wouldn't have believed it.
We took a taxi to Dakar this morning. It was about 12:30 on Tuesday afternoon. We were walking near the port with our backpacks on. We walked past a busy market section and onto a stretch that was less crowded - certainly not empty - at least 30 people in view and within a block or two. One of the numerous vendors came up with a T-shirt to sell. I replied 'non, merci' and kept walking. He kept pace, sort of holding the shirt out in front of me.
His friend was on my other side and i sort of ignored him as he waasn't specifically annoying me and i was sure i didn't want whatever he sold. (See where this is going yet?)
Then T-shirt guy sort of srepped between Julie and I and held the shirt up to show how well it would fit. And as I turned to tell him to back off, the friend was down and grabbing the side pocket of my pants. He was reaching inside in an attempted robbery in broad daylight on a busy street!
But i have good reflexes and a couple of wrestling moves left in me and i had his arm in an instant. The first guy fled as I twisted the arm and spun my assailant around with his back to the fence, my hand on his wrist, holding it up to his chest. I'm not a big guy but he was 5'3" and probably 110 pounds. And I was pissed! Besides, Julie had mirrored my movement and looked absolutely ready to punch the guy if need be.
And before you lecture me on 'he could've had a knife' or whatever - the crime here is 99.9% crimes of opportunity (grab and go crime). There are almost no guns here and violent crime is extremely rare.
He was being apologetic stuttering, "No, no problem!" To which I yelled, "I have a problem! Do I need to call the police?" He squirmed more and I let his arm go. Welcome to Dakar!
Lessons learned:
*
Don't let anyone in between us - no divide and conquer
*
Don't get surrounded - keep them on one side or the other - preferably with an escape route
*
If some has 6 t-shirts they may be selling them; if they have one shirt, be even more cautious
Do I think that having Julie here makes us a target - that we will be in constant danger at every turn? No, I think this was a random incidence of two guys pulling one of Dakar's classic scams.
And it isn't as though I keep anything of value in such a vulnerable pocket!
The following is the literal, unembellished truth of what happened on our walk today. If I weren't there personally, I wouldn't have believed it.
We took a taxi to Dakar this morning. It was about 12:30 on Tuesday afternoon. We were walking near the port with our backpacks on. We walked past a busy market section and onto a stretch that was less crowded - certainly not empty - at least 30 people in view and within a block or two. One of the numerous vendors came up with a T-shirt to sell. I replied 'non, merci' and kept walking. He kept pace, sort of holding the shirt out in front of me.
His friend was on my other side and i sort of ignored him as he waasn't specifically annoying me and i was sure i didn't want whatever he sold. (See where this is going yet?)
Then T-shirt guy sort of srepped between Julie and I and held the shirt up to show how well it would fit. And as I turned to tell him to back off, the friend was down and grabbing the side pocket of my pants. He was reaching inside in an attempted robbery in broad daylight on a busy street!
But i have good reflexes and a couple of wrestling moves left in me and i had his arm in an instant. The first guy fled as I twisted the arm and spun my assailant around with his back to the fence, my hand on his wrist, holding it up to his chest. I'm not a big guy but he was 5'3" and probably 110 pounds. And I was pissed! Besides, Julie had mirrored my movement and looked absolutely ready to punch the guy if need be.
And before you lecture me on 'he could've had a knife' or whatever - the crime here is 99.9% crimes of opportunity (grab and go crime). There are almost no guns here and violent crime is extremely rare.
He was being apologetic stuttering, "No, no problem!" To which I yelled, "I have a problem! Do I need to call the police?" He squirmed more and I let his arm go. Welcome to Dakar!
Lessons learned:
*
Don't let anyone in between us - no divide and conquer
*
Don't get surrounded - keep them on one side or the other - preferably with an escape route
*
If some has 6 t-shirts they may be selling them; if they have one shirt, be even more cautious
Do I think that having Julie here makes us a target - that we will be in constant danger at every turn? No, I think this was a random incidence of two guys pulling one of Dakar's classic scams.
And it isn't as though I keep anything of value in such a vulnerable pocket!
Sunday, April 20, 2008
All I had to do was WANT it...
Ok THAT was AWESOME!
No sooner had I posted the last two blogs (talking about needing to open myself to conversing in French) than it happened. Ask, and apparently, you shall receive!
So i'm standing out on the street using some free wifi and these two guys walk up and ask whether I am Muslim. Now this isn't as random a question as it may seem. I'm cultivating this beard, at least in part, to explore what it looks like inside those rooms in the airport where they "question" you. With my new tan and a beard like this one guy in Morocco asked Sevtap if I was Pakistani.
I replied that I was not [Muslim] and after their surprise (either at my answer or at my American accent) wore off I got the conversion speech. I've had this talk in Buddhism, Christianity (various denominations), and now Islam. Apparently you have to sort of seek out Judaism as it doesn't come to you.
The two I met, Muhammed and [oops, i forgot his name] are Moroccan and visiting Senegal probably as missionaries. They speak Arabic and a smattering of French. We were almost immediately joined by a Senegalese woman, Asla, who spoke Wolof, French, and a smattering of English. She was also Muslima and saw the three of us standing there, thought it might be a good place to ask for some help paying her son's school fees. I speak English and a smattering of French and a phrase or two in Arabic so our conversation was fantastic: all of us signing to each other, drawing in the sand, appealing to one another to translate. And the guys' French was not great, which means it was slow and pronounced enough that I could understand.
So here is something I've learned on this trip: you know that stereotype of the insensitive American who just speaks LOUDER and sloooower to people thinking that will suddenly make them understand English? Well, in many ways, it is true. All I want is for someone to speak French slowly and clearly and I suddenly can follow along. So now I try to indicate that I am deaf and could they just speak up please. It really helps immensely.
So I'm all set for Julie including getting change so that I have bills in exactly what I intend to pay for a taxi. It helps me to use the "I only have un mille Franc" technique.
In fact, I've talked about the various scams or 'progressive price structures' used here, but I haven't talked about my countermeasures. Let's call them 'financial strategies'.
1. If at all possible don't ask for change. It opens you up to the "I don't have any change" or the "let me take 25 minutes to make change so you'll just give up" counter-countermeasures.
2.Always inquire about the price. Prices aren't listed on many items because they cost the same everywhere and the locals just hand over the money. If you don't ask, you have a hard time arguing when they want $4 for that tea you already drank. That one happened, though not to me.
3. I enter most stores and immediately say "Salaam Aleikum". I don't know that this gets me some amazing discount, but I think it does help ensure honesty where someone is riding the fence on whether to be just a bit scant in measuring a kilo. If I knew the Wolof for "Hello" I might use that instead. The trick is to appear as though you've been here long enough to know when you're getting ripped off. I mean how AM i supposed to know if bananas as 400F/kg or 100F/kg?
4. My most common negotiation is "1000!?!?! That guy [point in random direction] was going to sell it to me for 800. Are you telling me you can't sell it for 750?"
5. Always be ready to walk away. If you are sold, they know you are sold. I got a screaming good deal on a taxi by threatening to walk. And I would've. The trick is to actually be ready to follow through on any bluff you make.
6. Always hang out looking expectant for just a bit longer than you should. That way if they are pulling the "maybe he doesn't know that he gets change back" method, it fails. This one is so common. You give them a 500F coin and he gives you 100F back and moves on to the next customer or an interesting spot on the wall or something, until you say "change" or stare long enough and he gives you the other 80F you are owed.
Ahhh, I may actually miss the thrill of purchase when I get back home to boring ol' fixed prices...
No sooner had I posted the last two blogs (talking about needing to open myself to conversing in French) than it happened. Ask, and apparently, you shall receive!
So i'm standing out on the street using some free wifi and these two guys walk up and ask whether I am Muslim. Now this isn't as random a question as it may seem. I'm cultivating this beard, at least in part, to explore what it looks like inside those rooms in the airport where they "question" you. With my new tan and a beard like this one guy in Morocco asked Sevtap if I was Pakistani.
I replied that I was not [Muslim] and after their surprise (either at my answer or at my American accent) wore off I got the conversion speech. I've had this talk in Buddhism, Christianity (various denominations), and now Islam. Apparently you have to sort of seek out Judaism as it doesn't come to you.
The two I met, Muhammed and [oops, i forgot his name] are Moroccan and visiting Senegal probably as missionaries. They speak Arabic and a smattering of French. We were almost immediately joined by a Senegalese woman, Asla, who spoke Wolof, French, and a smattering of English. She was also Muslima and saw the three of us standing there, thought it might be a good place to ask for some help paying her son's school fees. I speak English and a smattering of French and a phrase or two in Arabic so our conversation was fantastic: all of us signing to each other, drawing in the sand, appealing to one another to translate. And the guys' French was not great, which means it was slow and pronounced enough that I could understand.
So here is something I've learned on this trip: you know that stereotype of the insensitive American who just speaks LOUDER and sloooower to people thinking that will suddenly make them understand English? Well, in many ways, it is true. All I want is for someone to speak French slowly and clearly and I suddenly can follow along. So now I try to indicate that I am deaf and could they just speak up please. It really helps immensely.
So I'm all set for Julie including getting change so that I have bills in exactly what I intend to pay for a taxi. It helps me to use the "I only have un mille Franc" technique.
In fact, I've talked about the various scams or 'progressive price structures' used here, but I haven't talked about my countermeasures. Let's call them 'financial strategies'.
1. If at all possible don't ask for change. It opens you up to the "I don't have any change" or the "let me take 25 minutes to make change so you'll just give up" counter-countermeasures.
2.Always inquire about the price. Prices aren't listed on many items because they cost the same everywhere and the locals just hand over the money. If you don't ask, you have a hard time arguing when they want $4 for that tea you already drank. That one happened, though not to me.
3. I enter most stores and immediately say "Salaam Aleikum". I don't know that this gets me some amazing discount, but I think it does help ensure honesty where someone is riding the fence on whether to be just a bit scant in measuring a kilo. If I knew the Wolof for "Hello" I might use that instead. The trick is to appear as though you've been here long enough to know when you're getting ripped off. I mean how AM i supposed to know if bananas as 400F/kg or 100F/kg?
4. My most common negotiation is "1000!?!?! That guy [point in random direction] was going to sell it to me for 800. Are you telling me you can't sell it for 750?"
5. Always be ready to walk away. If you are sold, they know you are sold. I got a screaming good deal on a taxi by threatening to walk. And I would've. The trick is to actually be ready to follow through on any bluff you make.
6. Always hang out looking expectant for just a bit longer than you should. That way if they are pulling the "maybe he doesn't know that he gets change back" method, it fails. This one is so common. You give them a 500F coin and he gives you 100F back and moves on to the next customer or an interesting spot on the wall or something, until you say "change" or stare long enough and he gives you the other 80F you are owed.
Ahhh, I may actually miss the thrill of purchase when I get back home to boring ol' fixed prices...
Waiting for Ahmad: Act II
[thanks to those of you whose emails and IMs are the basis for much of the following conversation]
Act II: too dull? Too weird?
CAST:
John: The nightwatchman
Symon: The british owner of a backpacker lodge on an island in Lake Malawi, Africa. Nearly bald, and having shaved off the rest, he is ruddy and jovial, with a cockney Cambridge accent. Typically wearing cargo shorts and sandals and a beaded necklace of shells with a wooden amulet in the shape of the African Continent.
Dobbie, Chiquita, Askari, and Cotella: The lodge dogs.
Dawn: A Danish tourist, mid-twenties, shy and stoic
Jakob: A Danish tourist, mid-twenties, athletic. Dawn's boyfriend. He has just completed a 6-month internship with the danish consul in Zambia and is on holiday before returning home.
Sylvia and Catrine: mid-40s British couple on holiday
Henry: Manager of the lodge
Joshua: Same as act one but with longer hair and beard. A fair bit more tan and a bit of a wild look in his eyes.
Various villagers: men with umbrellas; women with bundles on their heads and infants strung on their backs; children pulling carts. The women wear brightly-colored wraps.
Scene I: [The Wakky Bar, an African resort tiki bar. Night-time. The huge bar curves around the base of a gigantic hollow baobab tree. The decor is typical of Malawi tourist lodges: whimsical wood figurines, oversized wooden mask smiling down, a few sparse strings of lights, woven bamboo screens all lit by faint colored bulbs and two parafin lanterns.
In front of the bar is a large treasure chest and two benches. Under one bench lies Dobbie, a large black rottweiler mix and on the other is John, the night watchman, asleep.
Off stage left are faint crowd noises and the tinny sound of Bob Marley on a radio. Off stage right is the sudden sound of a ship's horn.]
John [startled awake]: AAaaahh! [calling off stage R as he gathers himself up and then exits stage R] Sam! Sam! Boat, Sam! [off stage R] Sam! Ferry! Sam!
[a distant crash is heard, various muttering and cursing, another crash]
Symon [from offstage R]: Wha? Wha? Raight then. Wha?
[The sounds of a boat unloading come from off stage right, motor boats, yells in chichewa from the crew, creaking ropes, then a splash and yells]
[Symon enters from stage R followed by Jakob and Dawn, followed by Catrine, soaking wet, followed by Sylvia. Henry and the three remaining dogs enter from stage L]
Symon: Right this way, we'll get you into rooms.
Syliva: Oh dear, oh dear are you alright?
Catrine: Yes, yes, I'm quite fine.
[Symon works his way behind the bar and the guests crowd around. Simon begins to open the bar by retrieving the liquor bottles from a locked cabinet and setting them up on the bar, wiping down the bar, setting out bar towels. Almost immediately, Henry starts to close down the bar, putting away the liquor, folding the towels, wiping down the bar. They neither notice nor acknowledge each other]
Symon: So here is a list of the available rooms. We've got the round hut back there, the three bamboo huts, the family lodge, and the dorms - there is one guest, an American [lightning flashes], there already.
[lightning flashes, thunder roars and rain suddenly pours down outside.]
Symon: [to Catrine] well it looks like we're all going to get wet tonight.
[at this 6 wires drop down and the six clip in to hidden harnesses. They are lifted into the air and continue the scene floating as though nothing had changed - Symon still setting out the bar, Henry still clearing up. Each character appears to 'swim' around stage]
Catrine: Yes, well at least the lake was warm.
Symon: So who wants a drink? [at this, un-noticed by all, the lid to the treasure chest lifts and three blue helium baloons escape, the lid falls] The name is Symon, and if you need anything just ask.
Jacob: Jacob [shaking hands with Symon], and this is my girlfriend Grueue.
All: What?
Dawn: Don't worry, it is very difficult to pronounce but it means 'dawn', so you can call me that.
[at this, un-noticed by all, the lid to the treasure chest lifts again and three blue helium baloons escape, the lid falls]
Syvia: Sylvia
Catrine: Catrine
Symon: [to Catrine] Sorry again about your swim.
[at this, un-noticed by all, the lid to the treasure chest lifts and Joshua steps out wearing a deep-sea diver outfit, the lid falls]
...
[The group forms a school behind Symon and moves in unison turning together]
Symon [leading them off stage R]: Well, follow me and I'll show you to your rooms. [upon reaching the edge of the stage] Hmm, no, must be this way [now leading to stage L] As I say, it's right this way [upon reaching the edge of the stage] Well that isn't the right way [now leading them to stage R] We must be getting close now... [continue back and forth until ... blackout]
--------
Scene II: [The Wakky Bar, mid-afternoon. An ancient walkman plays cassettes. The dying battery causes the song to warble off key, shifting the singer's voice from a Dolly Parton to a Johnny Cash while the music becomes a warbled slide guitar.
In this scene, Josh, Jakob, and Dawn are having a conversation at the benches which are positioned stage L; Symon, Catrine, and Sylvia are having a separate conversation at the bar upstage R. There is a somewhat steady stream of islanders walking up and down just off the front of the stage. Initially it is an individual or two. Then they travel in groups of men, of women, and of children. As the scene progresses, they become more and more a parade - more rowdy and spectacular. The men's umbrellas become more elaborate, the women's bundles become humongous; the children's carts become parade floats. The men and women keep to themselves but the children engage the stage constantly, yelling "Hellohellohellohellohello" and "Hellohowareyoui'mfine HellohowareyouI'mfine" and "give me pic-ture" as they cross. Finally, the villagers crossing stop exiting and form a crowd off the front house-left. Drums and other intruments are produced and they begin singing and dancing. By the end of the scene, the music drowns out the conversations and continues without acknowledging the final 'magic trick' until its conclusion.]
Josh: ... almost everyday I really need to take a break and walk away for a while and remember how I saw the good side of people.
Dawn: Wow. really?
Josh: Probably not that often, but it IS hard coming to a part of the world where I am the utter minority racially yet still in the position of power and authority. It is amazing how much power there is in being white.
Jakob: Yeah it is actually easier to see here than at home.
Josh: For sure! It is a nonstop adventure in learning.
Dawn: hmmm - interesting. Can you give me an anecdote?
Josh: For example: go to a health clinic and you see locals who have waited in line for hours. The white tourist would be in and out in 5 mintes
Dawn: Oh. That IS hard.
Jakob: And there is STILL this idea that the white people are the thinkers and planners. Automatically. It's weird...
Dawn: Wow - how is it possible to change that?
Josh: ...But what really makes it hard is that the educational system here actually doesn't teach big picture views. The people in general don't develop good problem solving and critical thinking skills so it IS the white people who do the planning and thinking. A cycle of continued repression.
Jakob: And of course the poverty feeds into it because there is such a lack of resources that big picture things suffer automatically. When you need 15 cents to survive, you aren't thinking about how to spend your extra capital to create a sustainable means of survival, you are trying to make it through the day.
Dawn: Exactly
Josh: So western tourists are, of course, seen as a ready source of cash and it is hard to have mutually beneficial relationships. So i have to remind myself of the reasons and the environment and realize the true cause and react accordingly, not overreact or let my offense get overblown
Jakob: Yes, I have learned a lot on my trip about how to relate to people. And to take a critical view of my actions and how they are seen and how they affect people.
Dawn: What you have control over and what you don't and what they have control over and what they don't.
Josh: Well put. As solutions go it is a more difficult question. I do think that the solution is 3-sided: open media, education, and a complete revamping of foreign aid programs.
Dawn: Do you get a sense that they have burned so bad in the past by others that they have trouble trusting you?
Josh: There is a mutual distrust and a mutual feeling that we don't want to be distrustful.
Jakob: I think that there are the scam artists - probably 70% of the people that come to talk to me on their own accord - and they are not burned by the tourists, they instead feed off the tourists...
Dawn: yeah - I think you learn how to take advantage of what's there
Jakob: ... and then there is the other 99% of the population who are more honest and they have more distrust of foreigners...
Josh: ..but they have less interaction with us because they don't seek me out and my relations to them are short and professional. Though, there you do see a lot of trust sometimes.
Dawn: Like when you are on a crowded minibus and some woman hands you her infant so she can climb in.
Jakob: Yes, when it comes to family, it seems as though we are all brothers and sisters - locals and mazunga alike.
Dawn: Do you see a difference between city and country?
Josh: Only slightly but that is partially because the rural areas i go to have been the touristy areas so they have the same issue as the cities. I guess that the rural areas that i've been to that are not touristy are quite welcoming and generally nicer.
[Here Symon, Catrine, and Sylvia silently get up and slowly build a huge wooden box - mirrored on the inside - around the other three while the conversation continues. They perform much like magician assistants, demonstrating silently that the sides are solid and flamboyantly showing off the finished product. When finished they exit the stage and the conversation finishes via microphone]
Dawn: If you were to do this again what would you do differently?
Josh: I'm coming to the point where i really want to travel where i know people and can have local support. In africa, europe, asia, america, everywhere. Because when i get local support my experience is 1000 times better.
Dawn: Yeah I definitely get that feeling from my limited travels. I felt so guilty when I was in Jamaica where I didn't know anyone
Josh: Oh tell me about it! When you end up being one of THOSE tourists because you can't avoid it.
Dawn: I didn't develop any relationships and they didn't see the real me
Josh: That was tunisia for me. Awful. I wanted to say "wait! I'm not like those french tourists. Trust me!"
[at this point the 'box' falls apart like in a magic show, and it's former occupants have disappeared!]
[villagers 'ooooh' and 'ahhh' appreciatively ... blackout]
Act II: too dull? Too weird?
CAST:
John: The nightwatchman
Symon: The british owner of a backpacker lodge on an island in Lake Malawi, Africa. Nearly bald, and having shaved off the rest, he is ruddy and jovial, with a cockney Cambridge accent. Typically wearing cargo shorts and sandals and a beaded necklace of shells with a wooden amulet in the shape of the African Continent.
Dobbie, Chiquita, Askari, and Cotella: The lodge dogs.
Dawn: A Danish tourist, mid-twenties, shy and stoic
Jakob: A Danish tourist, mid-twenties, athletic. Dawn's boyfriend. He has just completed a 6-month internship with the danish consul in Zambia and is on holiday before returning home.
Sylvia and Catrine: mid-40s British couple on holiday
Henry: Manager of the lodge
Joshua: Same as act one but with longer hair and beard. A fair bit more tan and a bit of a wild look in his eyes.
Various villagers: men with umbrellas; women with bundles on their heads and infants strung on their backs; children pulling carts. The women wear brightly-colored wraps.
Scene I: [The Wakky Bar, an African resort tiki bar. Night-time. The huge bar curves around the base of a gigantic hollow baobab tree. The decor is typical of Malawi tourist lodges: whimsical wood figurines, oversized wooden mask smiling down, a few sparse strings of lights, woven bamboo screens all lit by faint colored bulbs and two parafin lanterns.
In front of the bar is a large treasure chest and two benches. Under one bench lies Dobbie, a large black rottweiler mix and on the other is John, the night watchman, asleep.
Off stage left are faint crowd noises and the tinny sound of Bob Marley on a radio. Off stage right is the sudden sound of a ship's horn.]
John [startled awake]: AAaaahh! [calling off stage R as he gathers himself up and then exits stage R] Sam! Sam! Boat, Sam! [off stage R] Sam! Ferry! Sam!
[a distant crash is heard, various muttering and cursing, another crash]
Symon [from offstage R]: Wha? Wha? Raight then. Wha?
[The sounds of a boat unloading come from off stage right, motor boats, yells in chichewa from the crew, creaking ropes, then a splash and yells]
[Symon enters from stage R followed by Jakob and Dawn, followed by Catrine, soaking wet, followed by Sylvia. Henry and the three remaining dogs enter from stage L]
Symon: Right this way, we'll get you into rooms.
Syliva: Oh dear, oh dear are you alright?
Catrine: Yes, yes, I'm quite fine.
[Symon works his way behind the bar and the guests crowd around. Simon begins to open the bar by retrieving the liquor bottles from a locked cabinet and setting them up on the bar, wiping down the bar, setting out bar towels. Almost immediately, Henry starts to close down the bar, putting away the liquor, folding the towels, wiping down the bar. They neither notice nor acknowledge each other]
Symon: So here is a list of the available rooms. We've got the round hut back there, the three bamboo huts, the family lodge, and the dorms - there is one guest, an American [lightning flashes], there already.
[lightning flashes, thunder roars and rain suddenly pours down outside.]
Symon: [to Catrine] well it looks like we're all going to get wet tonight.
[at this 6 wires drop down and the six clip in to hidden harnesses. They are lifted into the air and continue the scene floating as though nothing had changed - Symon still setting out the bar, Henry still clearing up. Each character appears to 'swim' around stage]
Catrine: Yes, well at least the lake was warm.
Symon: So who wants a drink? [at this, un-noticed by all, the lid to the treasure chest lifts and three blue helium baloons escape, the lid falls] The name is Symon, and if you need anything just ask.
Jacob: Jacob [shaking hands with Symon], and this is my girlfriend Grueue.
All: What?
Dawn: Don't worry, it is very difficult to pronounce but it means 'dawn', so you can call me that.
[at this, un-noticed by all, the lid to the treasure chest lifts again and three blue helium baloons escape, the lid falls]
Syvia: Sylvia
Catrine: Catrine
Symon: [to Catrine] Sorry again about your swim.
[at this, un-noticed by all, the lid to the treasure chest lifts and Joshua steps out wearing a deep-sea diver outfit, the lid falls]
...
[The group forms a school behind Symon and moves in unison turning together]
Symon [leading them off stage R]: Well, follow me and I'll show you to your rooms. [upon reaching the edge of the stage] Hmm, no, must be this way [now leading to stage L] As I say, it's right this way [upon reaching the edge of the stage] Well that isn't the right way [now leading them to stage R] We must be getting close now... [continue back and forth until ... blackout]
--------
Scene II: [The Wakky Bar, mid-afternoon. An ancient walkman plays cassettes. The dying battery causes the song to warble off key, shifting the singer's voice from a Dolly Parton to a Johnny Cash while the music becomes a warbled slide guitar.
In this scene, Josh, Jakob, and Dawn are having a conversation at the benches which are positioned stage L; Symon, Catrine, and Sylvia are having a separate conversation at the bar upstage R. There is a somewhat steady stream of islanders walking up and down just off the front of the stage. Initially it is an individual or two. Then they travel in groups of men, of women, and of children. As the scene progresses, they become more and more a parade - more rowdy and spectacular. The men's umbrellas become more elaborate, the women's bundles become humongous; the children's carts become parade floats. The men and women keep to themselves but the children engage the stage constantly, yelling "Hellohellohellohellohello" and "Hellohowareyoui'mfine HellohowareyouI'mfine" and "give me pic-ture" as they cross. Finally, the villagers crossing stop exiting and form a crowd off the front house-left. Drums and other intruments are produced and they begin singing and dancing. By the end of the scene, the music drowns out the conversations and continues without acknowledging the final 'magic trick' until its conclusion.]
Josh: ... almost everyday I really need to take a break and walk away for a while and remember how I saw the good side of people.
Dawn: Wow. really?
Josh: Probably not that often, but it IS hard coming to a part of the world where I am the utter minority racially yet still in the position of power and authority. It is amazing how much power there is in being white.
Jakob: Yeah it is actually easier to see here than at home.
Josh: For sure! It is a nonstop adventure in learning.
Dawn: hmmm - interesting. Can you give me an anecdote?
Josh: For example: go to a health clinic and you see locals who have waited in line for hours. The white tourist would be in and out in 5 mintes
Dawn: Oh. That IS hard.
Jakob: And there is STILL this idea that the white people are the thinkers and planners. Automatically. It's weird...
Dawn: Wow - how is it possible to change that?
Josh: ...But what really makes it hard is that the educational system here actually doesn't teach big picture views. The people in general don't develop good problem solving and critical thinking skills so it IS the white people who do the planning and thinking. A cycle of continued repression.
Jakob: And of course the poverty feeds into it because there is such a lack of resources that big picture things suffer automatically. When you need 15 cents to survive, you aren't thinking about how to spend your extra capital to create a sustainable means of survival, you are trying to make it through the day.
Dawn: Exactly
Josh: So western tourists are, of course, seen as a ready source of cash and it is hard to have mutually beneficial relationships. So i have to remind myself of the reasons and the environment and realize the true cause and react accordingly, not overreact or let my offense get overblown
Jakob: Yes, I have learned a lot on my trip about how to relate to people. And to take a critical view of my actions and how they are seen and how they affect people.
Dawn: What you have control over and what you don't and what they have control over and what they don't.
Josh: Well put. As solutions go it is a more difficult question. I do think that the solution is 3-sided: open media, education, and a complete revamping of foreign aid programs.
Dawn: Do you get a sense that they have burned so bad in the past by others that they have trouble trusting you?
Josh: There is a mutual distrust and a mutual feeling that we don't want to be distrustful.
Jakob: I think that there are the scam artists - probably 70% of the people that come to talk to me on their own accord - and they are not burned by the tourists, they instead feed off the tourists...
Dawn: yeah - I think you learn how to take advantage of what's there
Jakob: ... and then there is the other 99% of the population who are more honest and they have more distrust of foreigners...
Josh: ..but they have less interaction with us because they don't seek me out and my relations to them are short and professional. Though, there you do see a lot of trust sometimes.
Dawn: Like when you are on a crowded minibus and some woman hands you her infant so she can climb in.
Jakob: Yes, when it comes to family, it seems as though we are all brothers and sisters - locals and mazunga alike.
Dawn: Do you see a difference between city and country?
Josh: Only slightly but that is partially because the rural areas i go to have been the touristy areas so they have the same issue as the cities. I guess that the rural areas that i've been to that are not touristy are quite welcoming and generally nicer.
[Here Symon, Catrine, and Sylvia silently get up and slowly build a huge wooden box - mirrored on the inside - around the other three while the conversation continues. They perform much like magician assistants, demonstrating silently that the sides are solid and flamboyantly showing off the finished product. When finished they exit the stage and the conversation finishes via microphone]
Dawn: If you were to do this again what would you do differently?
Josh: I'm coming to the point where i really want to travel where i know people and can have local support. In africa, europe, asia, america, everywhere. Because when i get local support my experience is 1000 times better.
Dawn: Yeah I definitely get that feeling from my limited travels. I felt so guilty when I was in Jamaica where I didn't know anyone
Josh: Oh tell me about it! When you end up being one of THOSE tourists because you can't avoid it.
Dawn: I didn't develop any relationships and they didn't see the real me
Josh: That was tunisia for me. Awful. I wanted to say "wait! I'm not like those french tourists. Trust me!"
[at this point the 'box' falls apart like in a magic show, and it's former occupants have disappeared!]
[villagers 'ooooh' and 'ahhh' appreciatively ... blackout]
The french! and friends.
So again I find myself in a Francophone country and again I find that I have a somewhat difficult time enjoying myself. Morocco was different as I was travelling with Sevtap, who speaks excellent French and moderate Arabic, but Tunisia and Senegal both leave me feeling somewhat alone and anxious. In Tunisia, I honestly think that the tourist economy created an atmosphere of deeper distrust than would ever allow me to feel included in the local scene. But Senegal, I must admit, is probably limited most by my own fear.
I find it difficult to really put myself out there as much because I have such trouble with the language.
Ok, a short aside: 175 in French is cent-soixante-quinze. Literally hundred-sixty-fifteen. And 195 is cent-quatre-vingt-quinze, literally hundred-four twenties-fifteen. No wonder I have such trouble with French numbers!!! Ugh.
So anyway I am holding back a bit and I need to stop. Sure I could wait for Julie (who speaks much more French than I do) but that seems a bit lazy. I just have to make an effort myself. All of the conversations I have had here have been just fine. A perfectly acceptable level of misunderstanding, sign language, embarrasment, and when all else fails consulting my pocket dictionary - nothing I can't handle. But I still find myself being shy.
I did manage to take the local bus into Dakar yesterday and when it was obvious that I couldn't understand the conductor, my neighbor spoke up and translated. Very nice. I have found the people here to be not overly welcoming but also not overly demanding for me to come look at their art. It is a pleasant level of people being friendly without being overly involved.
Dakar is DRY and HOT. The few trees that exist look as though they haven't seen water in years. And every surface (including me) is covered by the red sand and dust.
I have settled in to the Yoff-Layenne suburb north of Dakar and quite enjoy my little neighborhood of twisting sand alleyways filled with children playing soccer and stands selling little baguette sandwiches. It is, once again, a predominantly muslim area and I find that 'Salaam Aleikum' is the most common greeting and am again roused in the morning by the call to prayer.
I am eagerly awaiting Julie's arrival tomorrow morning. "Tomorrow," you ask, "I thought she arrived tonight?" Well yes, but Iberia Air seems to have cancelled her ticket without telling her. She arrived at the airport only to find that no seat awaited her. So she got to purchase a day-of ticket at the airport kiosk. She is now on her way a mere 14 hours behind schedule - a frustrating beginning to her travels but no real problem. So I have one more evening by myself.
This is the last evening of my solo travels so let me review a bit:
I set out on this adventure with a few goals and anti-goals:
The big 4 anti-goals are:
• No African hospitals
• No African jails
• No abduction or involvement in international "incidents"
• No getting eaten by lions (or by anything really)
So far so good.
But there were other goals as well:
• Attempt to be part of the local scene as opposed to the tourist scene as much as possible
• Take time to write (blogs, journals, novels, poetry, random thoughts, plays, etc)
• Follow my instincts as I push myself out of my comfort zone
• Eat great food that I can't find at home
• See and experience things that I can't find at home
• Meet people that I wouldn't meet at home
• Hear and see lots of African music
I've done very well here as well.
And I had some accomplishments that I hadn't anticipated:
The biggest of which was meeting travellers with whom I hope to keep in touch. I have a number of new friends in Scandinavia, the UK, and Canada (Jakob, Gry, Richard, Symon, Sarah, Kristine, Lesley, Mattieu). I also have a few people in Tanzania and Malawi with whom I hope to stay in touch (Leonard and Mack).
And I am positive that I will continue to be close to my friend, Sevtap. I never would've imagined that I would meet someone on my travels who would then join me in another country a few months later.
So the looming end of my travels is a confusing moment in my mind. I am sad to leave this behind. Sad to leave Africa; sad to leave this experience. But also excited and happy. I am thrilled to get back to my house and to Julie. I want to see all of my friends from home - people I miss all the time. And I am happy to have some time to incorporate the lessons I've learned into my life there without the need to constantly learn anew.
I am looking forward to using a dishwasher and a washing machine (and having more than two shirts). I am excited for consistently fast internet connectivity and knowing where to buy toothpaste.
But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves. I still have 12 days of travel to report. So stay tuned!
I find it difficult to really put myself out there as much because I have such trouble with the language.
Ok, a short aside: 175 in French is cent-soixante-quinze. Literally hundred-sixty-fifteen. And 195 is cent-quatre-vingt-quinze, literally hundred-four twenties-fifteen. No wonder I have such trouble with French numbers!!! Ugh.
So anyway I am holding back a bit and I need to stop. Sure I could wait for Julie (who speaks much more French than I do) but that seems a bit lazy. I just have to make an effort myself. All of the conversations I have had here have been just fine. A perfectly acceptable level of misunderstanding, sign language, embarrasment, and when all else fails consulting my pocket dictionary - nothing I can't handle. But I still find myself being shy.
I did manage to take the local bus into Dakar yesterday and when it was obvious that I couldn't understand the conductor, my neighbor spoke up and translated. Very nice. I have found the people here to be not overly welcoming but also not overly demanding for me to come look at their art. It is a pleasant level of people being friendly without being overly involved.
Dakar is DRY and HOT. The few trees that exist look as though they haven't seen water in years. And every surface (including me) is covered by the red sand and dust.
I have settled in to the Yoff-Layenne suburb north of Dakar and quite enjoy my little neighborhood of twisting sand alleyways filled with children playing soccer and stands selling little baguette sandwiches. It is, once again, a predominantly muslim area and I find that 'Salaam Aleikum' is the most common greeting and am again roused in the morning by the call to prayer.
I am eagerly awaiting Julie's arrival tomorrow morning. "Tomorrow," you ask, "I thought she arrived tonight?" Well yes, but Iberia Air seems to have cancelled her ticket without telling her. She arrived at the airport only to find that no seat awaited her. So she got to purchase a day-of ticket at the airport kiosk. She is now on her way a mere 14 hours behind schedule - a frustrating beginning to her travels but no real problem. So I have one more evening by myself.
This is the last evening of my solo travels so let me review a bit:
I set out on this adventure with a few goals and anti-goals:
The big 4 anti-goals are:
• No African hospitals
• No African jails
• No abduction or involvement in international "incidents"
• No getting eaten by lions (or by anything really)
So far so good.
But there were other goals as well:
• Attempt to be part of the local scene as opposed to the tourist scene as much as possible
• Take time to write (blogs, journals, novels, poetry, random thoughts, plays, etc)
• Follow my instincts as I push myself out of my comfort zone
• Eat great food that I can't find at home
• See and experience things that I can't find at home
• Meet people that I wouldn't meet at home
• Hear and see lots of African music
I've done very well here as well.
And I had some accomplishments that I hadn't anticipated:
The biggest of which was meeting travellers with whom I hope to keep in touch. I have a number of new friends in Scandinavia, the UK, and Canada (Jakob, Gry, Richard, Symon, Sarah, Kristine, Lesley, Mattieu). I also have a few people in Tanzania and Malawi with whom I hope to stay in touch (Leonard and Mack).
And I am positive that I will continue to be close to my friend, Sevtap. I never would've imagined that I would meet someone on my travels who would then join me in another country a few months later.
So the looming end of my travels is a confusing moment in my mind. I am sad to leave this behind. Sad to leave Africa; sad to leave this experience. But also excited and happy. I am thrilled to get back to my house and to Julie. I want to see all of my friends from home - people I miss all the time. And I am happy to have some time to incorporate the lessons I've learned into my life there without the need to constantly learn anew.
I am looking forward to using a dishwasher and a washing machine (and having more than two shirts). I am excited for consistently fast internet connectivity and knowing where to buy toothpaste.
But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves. I still have 12 days of travel to report. So stay tuned!
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