Solitary Travels -- An Alternate View

I really enjoyed Michelle's post about solitary travels, but after this weekend I would like to humbly submit that not everyone may be as well-equipped for such an adventure as Michelle.

This past weekend, two of my good friends got married in Richmond, and I decided I would drive to the wedding so that I would have easy access to transportation to visit other friends in the area. Before I left, several of my friends asked if I thought it was wise to take my car--which is very faithful, in that it faithfully breaks down every time I drive it out of town--but I had just gotten it checked by a mechanic so I said I thought it would be ok. Well, sure enough, five hours into the drive, I hit the brake pedal at a toll--and it lurches forward. At first I thought, "Oh, I must have slipped and hit the gas for a second"--but when I hit the accelerator, it also lurched. Not good, I thought. I started making a flurry of phone calls to get advice on whether or not I should pull off the road, but no one was answering so I finally decided to go it alone. I got off at an exit and drove all over but discovered that "service stations" do not exist in Northern Maryland. (Michelle and Dean, I'm sure I'm wrong about this, but seriously, if they exist, where are they??) So, after an hour of fruitless searching--and with my car still lurching its way along--I decided I needed to just give up and call a tow truck. Since I was a girl by myself, and since I am not fluent in mechanic-speak, and finally since the problem was not evident from looking under the hood, I'm pretty sure that the tow truck driver assumed that I was sweet and stupid, and therefore took me to a Pep Boys where, as he put it, "They know how to deal with all kinds of cases." (I kept asking him if he thought I was just making this up, and he said, "Well, honey, it's always better safe than sorry, now isn't it?") At Pep Boys, I waited for two hours before they finally came back to me: yes, there was a serious problem; yes, it was a transmission issue; no, they could not fix it; and by the time we determined all this, it was after 5 pm so no transmission places were open. I asked if they thought I could continue driving to Richmond; they said, as politely as possible, that probably someone else could drive it safely, but they were a little skeptical about me. (This was the only part of the trip when I felt like being alone had its benefits; at this news I broke down crying, and let's just say that I don't think many customers cry in Pep Boys. I immediately got a 75% discount.) My wallet slightly (but only slightly) lighter, I gave up and went to a hotel for the night (after which my wallet was significantly lighter). The next morning, I woke up and decided I simply had to get my car fixed that day, and since I had very little knowledge, experience, or cash on my side, I was going to "kill 'em with kindness." I called up an AAMCO and told my story; after swearing at me (apparently, rush transmission jobs are a little stressful), the man on the phone said he would try to fix my car that day. I thanked him profusely, grabbed him an extra pastry from the free continental breakfast, and got in my car (which was no longer lurching) to drive to his shop. Once I got there, I continued to thank him profusely and describe in detail how wonderful my friend was who was getting married; how disappointed she would be if I could not make it for the bachelorette party that evening; how said I already was because I was missing seeing so many good friends; how great it would be if he could help me. Well, the methods seemed to be working, because he got pretty involved in my story--so involved, in fact, that he decided he would keep me company all afternoon in the waiting room and he began to think it was acceptable to make awkward jokes with me about strippers. (I finally had to say to him, "Sir, this is going to be a very tame bachelorette party." He said, "What, you mean like only one stripper?" I said, "No, I mean like a movie and popcorn and Diet Coke." He looked at me like I was from another planet, which was about the level of distance I was going for at that point.) I spent 9 hours in the waiting room--reading Cry, The Beloved Country and planning my curriculum--and whenever he got too friendly I would go to the bathroom or go for a walk, which seemed the only feasible ways to slow down our relationship.

At the end of the day, my car was fixed, and I made it down to Richmond just in time
for the party, although unfortunately not in time to see several of the friends I had planned. I am not good at making decisions under pressure, and so I wonder how it would have been different if someone had been there to help me decide, "No, we should just go straight to a transmission place;" "No, we really could keep driving down to Richmond and get it fixed there;" "No, trying to charm the mechanic into fixing your car is not a good idea, unless you want a last-minute date to this wedding." :) So Michelle, maybe I need to take lessons from you on how to live independently, but I think it might be awhile before I take a trip alone again! (And if anyone wants to buy a very charming, faithful 99 Honda Accord, I think I'm ready to sell...or give away...or maybe pay you to take it...I'll take the best offer.)

Addendum: I totally forgot -- I also flushed my spare keys down the toilet on the way back to Boston. I now carry a spare set of keys on me in case I lock myself out of my car--which I am prone to do--so it was just too funny that by being over-prepared for one problem, I still ended up causing myself drama. I agree with Michelle here that one of the sad parts about traveling by yourself is there is no one to share special moments with; the other ladies in the New Jersey Turnpike restroom were not nearly as amused by my plight as I was or as I'm sure any of you would have been.

First Celebrity Sighting

So I really should be posting about my recent move to New York, showing you guys pictures of my apartment or whatever...and I will! But. This is too big. In fact, it's so big that most of you who care already know, so this post is primarily for Amar's benefit.

Without further ado: On my first full day as a New York resident (that would be yesterday), I met Richard Blais. As in Richard from Top Chef Season 4. He gave me a popcornsicle - a ball of caramel popcorn on a stick, dipped in liquid nitrogen. Ahh!

The story? I was walking with Erik on 5th Avenue, a few blocks from my apartment. I saw a popcorn shop with a big sign saying "July 15-17, Richard Blais, 11:30-2:30". Of course I had to go! I almost completely forgot about it later, but then (at the urging/online screaming of Dean R), ran over and met the man himself.

The surprising thing is that I think most of the people there didn't know who he was! Sure, there were people with cameras (I'll post the pic from my phone at some point), but I think most people just saw a line for free food and joined it.

And yes, the popcornsicle was good.

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7/19 update: Ye and I suspect that we saw LaVar Arrington leaving Sean John today, though we can't be sure. But, as Ye said: "Who else looks like LaVar Arrington, goes to Sean John, and gets driven around in an Escalade limo?" As we walked home and discussed the validity of our celebrity sighting, I started singing the Eastern Motors jingle.

Neighborliness

I have always struggled with how to answer the question, "Where are you from?" I really shouldn't complain because I haven't lived too too many places; I have another friend who has to choose between four continents when asked that question, and I'm really only choosing between states. I've found, however, that I cannot fit seamlessly into either northern or southern culture. I am northern in that I walk, talk, and drive quickly; own three pairs of long underwear, ten scarves, and a heated mattress pad (which may be the best invention ever); and assume everyone from the car mechanic to the tailor is probably out to cheat me. I am southern in that I love fried food way more than all this organic nonsense they can't get enough of up here; do not know how to communicate directly (as my sweet roommate from North Carolina told me recently, "You are way too passive aggressive to be from Boston!"); and like to smile and make eye contact with people as we walk by on the street.

This last item (character trait? preference?) has really posed a problem up here. No one--and I mean no one--makes eye contact and smiles while they pass on the street. You know how you turn your head to the side and pretend to be really interested in some little speck of dust on the sidewalk when you're passing someone who you hope doesn't see you? Everyone does that up here with every single person they pass. It's kind of remarkable, particularly given that I live in one of the busiest pedestrian areas of the city (it's called Central Square), but I really can walk around for 30 minutes and not even make eye contact with a single person (except if they are asking me for money; they have great eye contact).

I find I am left with several options when I am walking around town. I can search for those brief moments when a passerby--unwittingly--looks up, and catch him or her with a smile in this unguarded moment. I try this method regularly, and get some smiles, some mildly embarrassed looks, and lots of awkward stares. (One day in particular, I was convinced I must have spilled something all over my shirt because I couldn't believe people would look at me that way for any other reason.) If I don't want to be dependent on moments of unguardedness, I can also just call out greetings and see if the person looks up; I've found, however, that normally he or she doesn't. Meanwhile, the people across the street actually do look at me--but only to see who that crazy girl is who is talking to herself. Or finally, I can just accept this as a cultural norm that I am not going to change, and start averting my eyes like everyone else. (Or better yet, look straight forward; no one else is, so at least I won't trip.)

But herein lies a larger problem: how do I get to know my neighbors? Because this was one of my goals when I moved here, and I do not believe that the inability to greet people on the street means that Bostonians are actually unfriendly. I just think they (we?) are not randomly friendly, and there is a difference. My neighbors will sometimes sit out on their porches and return a wave or two, but they never seem to invite more than that and I still haven't totally figured out how to bridge that gap. If I had a puppy or a baby things might be different, but unless my life circumstances change really quickly, I am going to have to learn new ways (besides sweet southern charm) to get to know the people who live around me.

So, I have begun praying about it. I know many of you don't believe in prayer, and while I don't necessarily believe that it always works in the ways we want it to, I do believe in a God who hears prayers; furthermore, I believe that He does respond, albeit sometimes in divinely mysterious ways. Case in point: yesterday, in a fit of frustration after another awkward walk home, I prayed that God would find some way--any way--for me to strike up a conversation with my neighbors. Later that afternoon, after running some errands in my car, I pulled up to park...and slammed, hard, into the curb. I immediately looked to see if anyone had seen, and sure enough, one of my neighbors was sitting across the street in her car, smirking. Our street is only about the width of one car, and she wasn't pulled all the way up to the curb, so she was close enough to me that I probably could have reached out and touched her. It was fairly humiliating. I fumbled with my keys in my lap for a moment, and then stuttered out my car window, "You'd think it would be easy to pull up to a curb..." Immediately her smirk turned to a softer smile, and she replied, "Oh honey, I don't think anyone knows how to do it well; we're all so worried about getting close enough." (This is a real problem up here since the police ticket you if you're too far off the curb; I have always been bad at this, but I didn't bother to tell her that.) I smiled back and didn't even think to try to prolong the interaction--I was too embarrassed--but as I was pulling books out of my backseat she began asking me what I know about the new school opening on our street. I don't know why she assumed I would know anything about it, but as it happened, I went to the community meeting with the principal last week (in another desperate--and failed--attempt to meet neighbors), and so we started up a conversation about the school, where she had gone to school, where I worked, her family, etc. At the end we introduced ourselves and I found out her grandmother lives a few houses over from me, and her son comes and stays there some afternoons.

Now, you can go the spiritual route and believe this was a surprising and perhaps unconventional answer to prayer (which I do), or you can go the psychological route and conclude that northerners respond better to displays of human weakness than to outright friendliness, which is perceived as overconfidence (and I think this might be correct as well). Either way, in spite of all my best efforts, it turns out that my southern charm is not actually that charming, whereas my crappy parking skills might actually be one of my assets in practicing neighborliness.

And if I ever do learn how to park, I know for a fact that I am very good at baking cookies. It doesn't matter where you're from or how organic you like your food; everyone likes cookies.

[Two random additions: First, I have a personal blog as well and I have been cheating and using some posts (like this one) twice just because I know different people read them. The only reason to tell you this is so that no one ever reads my personal blog and thinks they "caught me." Second, I am choosing books now for 8th grade English and would love any suggestions of books you loved or hated in 8th or 9th grade. So far, I am going to be using The Odyssey by Homer; The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros; A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry; and probably Hiroshima by John Hersey, in addition to various short stories and poems. I'm also considering using Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya; To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee; and Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. (I could likely only do one of those, or another book in place of all three of those.) Perhaps this only appeals to "literary types," but I firmly believe that everyone at some point in their life has been moved by some book, so if yours was in middle school and you want to send me the title, I'd be much obliged.]

Turbo

These past few weeks have been incomprehensible. I offer this as my excuse for not posting recently. I have barely been able to process all that has been happening in my life, so the idea of trying to write it all down has been daunting to say the least. However, over the last few days I have been able to feel myself beginning to hit a stride of sorts, so I have decided to make an attempt at posting.

I have been adjusting to a new city, job, schedule, budget, mindset and vocabulary. I hope to talk about all of these things in future posts. For today I will focus on one: the new vocabulary. Over the past few weeks I have learned an entirely new language. The Navy (like any large organization) has its own lexicon which is mostly gibberish to anyone outside of the organization who hears it. Up until I got here three weeks ago, I had never heard many of the terms which I use every day now. And even now I have a hard time understanding most of the things people say to me, although my ear is getting better every day.

My intention for this post is to introduce you all to a few of the terms you will see in any future posts where I discuss my job. I won’t get into the tedium of nautical lingo (“brow”, “quarterdeck”, “leeward”, “abaft”, “focsle”.) Nor will I attempt to acquaint you with the even more tedious engineering l33tspeak which has been the bane of my brief existence on board this ship (“transverse bulkhead”, “EOSS”, “Ultra-S”, “Gas Turbine Module”, “N2 LPAC”, “PMS” [means something different in the Navy.]) I will stick to the essential terms which describe what I do for a living. Hopefully, in the course explaining the terms which are coming to define my new life here, I’ll also be able to convey a sense of what my day-to-day life is. I won’t promise that this will not be a little bit tedious, but please bear with me. If you read this, you will understand me so much better later on.

“Duty Day:”

I am starting with this term because it explains why I am writing this post right now. Basically, there always have to be enough people on the ship to take her to sea and operate her systems. That way if the redcoats, communists or Mongolian hordes attack the naval base, there will always be enough people to get the ship moving out to sea and defend herself. Therefore, the ship has to keep a minimum compliment of people onboard 24/7. This is accomplished by dividing the officers and crew of the ship up into six “duty sections.” Each duty section is responsible for staying onboard the ship for one 24-hour “duty day” every six days. During that 24-hour period, each member of the duty section is usually required to stand one 5-hour watch. When your duty day falls on a weekend, the 19 hours in which you are not on watch are your own to spend reading, playing video games, sleeping, studying or (in my case) writing blog posts. You can do anything you want except leave the ship.

When it is not your duty day, being in the navy is very much like any other job. You come to work at 7AM and leave whenever your work is done and your boss says you can go. Sometimes you get home by noon, sometimes not till 10PM. It just depends on what going on. Unless your duty day falls on a weekend, you get weekends off. Of course, on deployment all of my days will be 18-20 hours long and there wont be any days off.

“Watch”

When the ship is underway, there are no duty sections because the whole crew is onboard and on duty 24/7. Therefore, when you are underway your life revolves around the “watch schedule,” or “watch rotation.” A “watch”, in the nautical sense of the word, is basically a shift at some particular job. For example, the sailors who stand at the helm and steer the ship do so in 5-hour watches, or shifts. The watch you are assigned to stand depends on your training. The helmsmen I mentioned have to go through hours of training and hands-on instruction before they are fully qualified to stand the “helm watch” on their own. My biggest responsibility over the course of the next year is to get myself qualified to stand a watch called “Officer of the Deck” or “OOD”. I won’t get into the responsibilities of the OOD now. I will simply say that qualification is very hard to achieve. I have been told by multiple older officers that getting qualified as an OOD is harder than getting a master’s degree. The people who told me this all had master’s degrees (yeah, I asked).

For now, the only watch I am qualified to stand is called “Conning Officer.” As conning officer, I am responsible for directing the movements of the ship. I do this by giving orders to the helmsmen. These orders have to be given in a specific, standard format. For example, if I want the ship to turn right to a course that is due south, and increase speed to ten knots I might give the order “all ahead 2/3 for 10 knots, right standard rudder, steady course 270.” Every word of that order means something specific to the helmsman. I am still getting the hang of translating my intentions (turn right, go south) into “standard orders.”

Watch schedules work very much like duty schedules. The officers and crew are divided up into “watch sections” which are responsible for standing one watch every 24 hours in a regular rotation. The schedule breaks down like this:

2AM-7AM: aka the “two-to-seven”

7AM-12PM

12PM-5PM: aka “the afternoon watch”

5PM-10PM: aka the “17 to 22”

10PM-2AM: aka “the midwatch”

There are four watch sections which stand these watches in sequence. Because there are 5 watches every day and only four sections, the watch you stand each day changes. For example, if “section one” stood the two-to-seven today it would stand the midwatch tomorrow and the 17 to 22 the day after that. As you might guess, this makes it impossible to establish any kind of regular sleep schedule when you are underway. You basically just sleep when you can. I am interested to see what 7-8 months of keeping that kind of schedule will do to my body. Apparently you get used to it.

“Division Officer:”

My official job description is “Division Officer” which means I am an officer in charge of a “division.” Basically, the ship is broken down into departments, and each department is broken up into divisions. My department is called Engineering, which is divided up into four divisions: Electrical, Repair, Main Propulsion and Auxiliaries. I am the Main Propulsion Division Officer. That means I am in charge of the main engines which turn the propellers and drive the ship through the water and the generators which provide her with electricity. I own two main engine rooms, an oil analysis lab, and a gas turbine electric power plant. Overall I have 22 people who work for me. I am finding the process of learning to manage such a complex group of people and equipment to be very exciting and rewarding. It’s amazingly fun to be able to see a problem and to have the authority and the resources to address and solve it however I see fit. There is more creativity to this job than I expected. That has been one of the more pleasant surprises.

***

So basically that’s what I do for a living. I stand duty, I stand watch, I study for qualifications and I run my division. Hopefully I will be able to find time in there to sleep and eat. So far I am having a blast with it.

I haven’t been able to really talk to any of you in a while, so in case you are wondering I am having a wonderful time and am very happy. Keep the posts coming! It’s the only way I can keep track of what you guys are up to!

Love,

Lifeload: Strikeout

A close friend of mine is getting married tomorrow, and last night was his bachelor party.

On Tuesday, I got a call from the Best Man telling me that the bachelor party was going to be Thursday night. Although I had plans, I immediately canceled them, because I mean a bachelor party (hopefully) only happens once. On Tuesday, the conversation went as such:

"We're going to a Nationals game, and then maybe club hopping afterwards, getting a limo, finding some VIP lounges."

Wow! This sounded great. I was excited.

On Wednesday I got a call from the Best Man asking if I knew of any good hotspots for after the game. Apparently, another person in the party told him that I had at least been to a club, which is more than most in this group. So while I probably was more qualified than these people to pick a spot, I was still entirely unqualified.

"I don't really know the...straight...scene in DC. But I can ask around at work?"
"Sounds good! And you guys can pay me back for this stuff whenever."
"Wait, what - ?"
"Bye!"

My feeling on the matter is a Best Man either 1) pays for everything himself or 2) includes the other friends during the planning stages weeks if not months before, so he knows what kind of budget he's working with. That I was now paying for baseball tickets (and had no idea how much they were) kind of irked me.

I asked around the office, and got the names of a few clubs as I had been asked to do. I was, frankly, surprised that we were doing clubs and not bars, but it was a good surprise.

So on Thursday, I hop a metro home to go change before the game. I was meeting them there (told them I would be obnoxiously late), because they were heading in at 5ish. I get to Vienna metro and see them at 6, just entering Vienna metro.

I go up to the Best Man and noticed, immediately, that everyone was wearing jeans and shorts.

"Were you planning changing?"
"No?"
"You are not getting into clubs."
"Really?"
"We are 10 guys. In jeans. Have fun. I will see you at the game."

***

After changing, showering, etc. I joined them for the 8th inning at the stadium (perfect timing). The game went into extra innings, the Bachelor had a good time, all in all it was good. I didn't hate it as much as I thought I would, and even if I did it wouldn't matter. It was his night.

Throughout, the Best Man is asking me where we are going next. Like I know. Somehow, in the course of 24 hours, it had become my job to get 10 Air Force Cadets drunk and laid. And not by me. I kept asking if they wanted clubs, lounges, or bars. Best Man kept saying clubs. I conducted some frantic texting, came up with a few names of places that would actually let us all in, and proposed them to the group.

Best Man: "lets just head down to Adam's Morgan"
Me: "Srsly?"

We walked towards the metro.

Best Man: "let's not metro. let's take cabs. you 5 get a cab meet you there bye!"

So five of us (we didn't really know each other, and most were out-of-towners) were left to hail a cab. Fifteen minutes later, we finally got one and head to Adam's Morgan. Upon arrival, I called the Best Man.

Me: "Where are you guys?"
Best Man: "24th and Connecticut! Where are you?"
Me: "Adams Morgan. Which is no where near you."
Best Man: "We'll walk there!"

You see, they had taken a cab to the "Adam's Morgan" metro stop. Which is in fact not particularly close to Adam's Morgan. Another fifteen minutes, and we were reunited. There was a quick stop at a club which had great music, great scene, but not great for us? I'm still not sure why we left after one shot. There was a delay at a pizza parlor as the inevitable "I don't know what to do now" set in. I made motions to leave. I had to get to bed, work the following morning, etc.

Me: "How are you getting home?"
Best Man: "Metro?"
Me: "Metro closes at midnight."
Best Man: "Fuck."

That was the last I heard of them.

-M.

INTO AFRICA: Three Deep

This post was more difficult than most to get online. Anyways, keep the updates on your lives coming. Even if I’m a bit (or a lot) late to respond, I will get back to you in the coming days.

Michelle's description of Coffee Bay, even for that one day, was pretty much spot on. I could have stayed there for much longer. Let me also say that I am absolutely thrilled that Michelle, Abhay, and I met up. We didn't have too long together, but at the end of day, it was nice to be enjoying these moments with friends. The company also turned some of the complete botches (see Amar and Abhay's experimentation with herbal medicine; also see Michelle's hibernation at the club) into great memories.

A bit on Durban, which is awesome. Durban is an amazing mix of Zulu and Indian culture. The city hosts the largest population of Indians outside of India, and has developed such a unique culture that most Indian South Africans have not even been to India. We got to see quite a bit of each of these elements on a township tour, led by a guy who lived in a local township and just walked us through the city at our own leisure. We spoke with an Indian herbal expert, bought some Zulu beaded jewellery in Victoria St. Market, brought some candy to the kids in the guide's township, and finally went to his house to meet his family. I have never felt the pulse of a city as strongly as I did on this tour.

Durban also has some really nice beaches along the Indian Ocean, and Abhay and I took a dip in some of the warmest water I have ever seen. Waves were not too bad and there were plenty of surfers, but this was before our time with Rayno, so unfortunately we were not among them.

I can't say that Durban's nightlife is more vibrant than Cape Town, but we definitely saw a lot more of it (JED-props for warning me to bring dress shoes, ask me about this later). Abhay's party spirit took over, and we went out three out of four nights, so that Coffee Bay seemed like relaxation by comparison. The 4 AM food unique to Durban is an Indian South African creation called Bunny Chow, a hollowed out loaf of bread with mutton or chicken curry inside. Delicious. Watching the Euro has also been a great way to meet people, they almost seemed shocked that Americans could be knowledgeable about or interested in something so international. We watched the quarterfinals in Cape Town (Spain-Italy was pretty damn awesome), the semifinals in Durban/Coffee Bay, and the finals in Maputo (Mozambique).

Michelle and I split from Abhay in Durban after one final night on the town. This twenty-four hour experience was downright epic. I knew it was going to be a tough morning when Abhay and I were hanging out in the hostel kitchen after coming back from the club, and another guy came in and started making some tea. We had completely skipped attempts to sleep and were now back to attempts to wake up. An hour later (7 AM), Michelle and I were at a loud minibus stand in the middle of the city. It seemed that we had found the correct minibus without a hitch, but when we got there, the following conversation ensued:

Me: will you stop at the border so that we can pay for our visas?
Ticket Collector: No, it will be fine though. Let me see passports.
Me: uh, ok?
Michelle: Are we going to be illegal immigrants in Mozambique? How are we going to leave?

The coach bus transportation from Durban to Maputo was sold out for the day we were to leave, so our best option was minibus. Minibuses are probably one of the best ways to see a typical person's life in South Africa and are also the cheapest ways to travel long distances. So why don't tourists travel like this so often? A few reasons. One, the minibus will wait as long as necessary to fill up--we got to the minibus stand at 7:30 AM to find the right minibus and waited about three hours before we left. Two, “full” means different things to different people, so that a sixteen person vehicle might end up holding thirty-two people, chickens, goats, etc (based on a true story). Third, if you aren't careful, you can be left at a border or have your bag stolen. Fortunately, there were no chickens, my bags were not jacked, and the only thing I lost was feeling below my waist.

Our time in Mozambique, was nice, but radically, radically different from South Africa. For one, noone speaks English. The immigration guys at the border thought I was giving them fake money because one of my ten dollar bills looked different than the other—I'm not sure that any of them knew what American money looked like. We spent two full days at Tofo Beach, which Michelle aptly described as a “small beach outside of a small village outside of a small town about 8 hours from Maputo”. It's a pretty popular destination for partygoers, divers, and tourists of all types, but it is still so small that we had to take a bus for about forty minutes (to the small town of Inhamabane) to withdraw money from an ATM. Michelle and I mostly just ate awesome seafood and bought some really cool stuff at the markets. We didn't get to spend a tremendous amount of time in Maputo, which I've heard is a nice city to explore, but we did manage to come across the inconvenient and even the absurd. As far as inconvenience, we were stopped by cops, asked for our passports, and hit up for money. After messing with their horrible English for a bit, I decided that my life and passport was more important than this amusement. As far as the absurd, we sat next to a table of two at one restaurant that was subsequently turned upside down because a woman found her husband drinking with a younger woman. Perhaps I'll make it back to Maputo for some Mozambican jazz, but I'm glad I at least got to see some in Cape Town.

After a fairly taxing journey involving three eight-hour bus rides, a plane ride, one free hike, and one stressful taxi ride (through Jo-berg at 4 am), I'm back for the last leg of my trip, three weeks with my sister at her village in Namibia.. I am loving it, but it’s a different experience. More on this later.

Btw, I take Dean R. and Le-anh's posts about propriety of posts to heart, but I hope people continue posting in small portions or just send private email updates (like the good old days). It's nice to read up on everyone, even you working folk.

Amar

P.S. Reading List update: Currently reading Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. I read Divisadero quite slowly, and found it somewhere between depressing and beautiful. Definitely worth reading.

Solitary Travels

I just walked in the door to my house a few minutes ago, and damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.  Uh, I mean, it feels good to be home.  Haha, I'm sorry, that was awful.  We'll see how long I last today until jet lag comes crashing on, but here's a post that I wrote up while bumming around London earlier today (though it really feels like that was yesterday).  I was in Zambia less than 36 hours ago, and I've been in 4 countries since then - I think I've had my fill of flying for a while!

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I know I just posted (via Le-Anh), but I'm sitting here in Heathrow with nothing to do but kill time, and what better way to do that than write a new post!

No overarching trip post yet - far too much has happened, so I'll need a little time to organize my thoughts on that.  Mostly, I wanted to write a bit about my experiences traveling alone.  If you were previously unaware, I spent the last 3 or 4 days in Africa traveling on my own, since Amar was due back in Namibia for a Fourth of July party.  Coming into the trip, I had no intention of wandering Africa on my own - in fact, I didn't really want to do it until it happened.  But, the alternatives were to follow Amar to Namibia (a long, difficult trip) or stay by myself in Jo'burg (where I likely would have been mugged), so I somehow found myself on a plane to Zambia.

Let me first say that I have traveled on my own before - but never in an unfamiliar continent, and never just for pleasure.  People don't tend to take solitary vacations, and a young, foreign woman wandering around Africa alone is especially unusual.  I had several people comment on what a "cool" and "phenomenal" thing they thought I was doing, and in retrospect, I have to agree.  Even now, I have to think "I can't believe I did that!"

The most striking thing about it is that when you travel on your own, there's no one else there to share the experience with you.  The impressions and memories of places and sights are completely your own.  Sometimes, I would walk down the street and feel my nerves charged at that thought - or maybe that was just adrenaline from thinking about the possibility of being mugged.  But sleeping alone in a tent in Botswana, hearing the howling hyenas and thinking that you're hundreds or thousands of miles away from a single soul you know - some people would call that scary.  I would too, if I hadn't felt it myself.

I saw some of the most amazing things while on my own - Victoria Falls, The Boiling Pot (every word of Amar's description is true), and nearly every wild animal imaginable.  Sometimes I just had to stop and laugh at it all.  Crossing the Knife's Edge bridge at the Falls, wearing a raincoat and still getting soaked from the mist, seeing unbroken circles of rainbows all around - how could I not laugh out loud at that?  It would have been just as beautiful if others had been with me, but my senses were so heightened from being alone that I couldn't stop smiling.

I'm sure that this won't compel any of you to take vacations on your own, but if you're ever faced with the possibility, just take a deep breath and do it.  Especially you, ladies.

Okay, back to waiting around in the airport - I've become especially good at this.  On this trip alone, I've flown 7 times (8th time coming up), been in 6 countries (excluding the U.S.), and waited countless hours at bus stops and airports.  That last part is one that I won't miss!

P.S. I'll actually be back on Monday afternoon - I plan on contacting you all immediately to hang out!  If the thought of seeing me again isn't enough to tempt you, I come bearing bribes - I mean presents.

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Addendum: I just wanted to pause and thank Amar for being such an awesome trip buddy!  I essentially relinquished all planning control to him (you all know how difficult that can be for me), and he did a wonderful job.  So Amar, don't be put off that I enjoyed my time alone - traveling with you was so much fun!  Also, I think the fact that we saw each other 24/7 for two weeks and managed not to kill each other is fantastic.  However, I'm sorry that I can't walk in a straight line, and I'm sorry that I overreact to non-crises.  =)

One Fine Day

Just a few sentences from me before I give you another Africa post from Michelle! I'm about to start my 4th week of work, which is still kind of unbelievable. I've been enjoying it for the most part, and I really like almost all of the people I work with. I have some entertaining stories I wish I could share with you all, but I hesitate to do so in such a public place because they involve specific individuals (ask me some other time and I'd be happy to tell); I also can't talk in much detail about the nature of my cases. However, I will say that I went for 2 weeks and 2 days without wearing the same pair of shoes to work, and due to the wonder of billable hours, I now think about my life in 6 minute increments.

Ok, on to Africa. PS formatting this from gmail took foreeeever, so I hope you all enjoy.

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Hello friends!

I've been woefully remiss in updating you on my Africa adventures - I actually wrote this update twice a few days ago, but my BB deleted it both times as I tried to send. Since then, I've been in Zambia and Botswana with no internet access - no data signal up there, and the power went out both nights that I was in Zambia. So Amar, if you're reading, I meant to text you when I arrived, but I couldn't! I'm alive though, sitting in the JoBurg airport and gnawing on some biltong.

So the strategy that Amar and I had decided on for our posts is that he would give broad strokes, while I would provide the detail. My trip is nearly over now, and I'll do more when I have a proper keyboard, but I just wanted to tell you all about one fantastic day we had.

After Cape Town, we flew to Durban, then decided to travel south to the Wild Coast - specifically, Coffee Bay. It's a beautiful, undeveloped stretch of coastline along the Indian Ocean. We decided that it would be the perfect place to learn how to surf. We woke up at 8, met our dreadlocked instructor Rayno, and headed to the waves. After what seemed like 2 minutes of instructions, Rayno tossed us out to sea. Amid many belly flops and nose dives, we each managed to stand up a few times - it was exhilarating when we did. Exhausting too!

Afterwards, we headed back to the hostel and met up with a group to hike to the Hole in the Wall. It's only 9km, but going up, down, and around hills that plunge into the sea stretched the hike to 4 hours. We saw whales and dolphins breaching, rock hyraxes, waterfalls, cows, pebbled beaches, and a handful of local children fishing.

I'd like to digress briefly to mention our tour guide, Joseph. Joseph was born and bred in Coffee Bay, and was awesome for the following reasons: 1) he did the hike barefoot, 2) he was funny and gregarious, and 3) he had the best repertoire of signature sayings ever! Every speech was precluded with a booming "GOOD PEOPLE!" and concluded with a satisfied "sweet!" (pronounced "sa-WEET!"). However, his (and our) favorite by far was "GET IN THERE!" It's a versatile phrase, used for such purposes as encouraging soccer players to score, telling people to drink, and shouting at kids to get out of the way of an oncoming car (modified to "GET OUT THERE!").

We finally made it to the Hole in the Wall, where we devoured grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches toasted over a fire. The hole itself is a hole (duh) that runs through a mountain that juts out of the water just off the coast. Wow, most poorly constructed sentence ever. Anyway, the waves come crashing through and are amplified - it's really a wondrous sight. After a bit, Amar, Abhay, and I decided that we had to do the jump - hardly anyone else in our group dared. We swam out, climbed up on a rock ledge at the top of the hole, and at Joseph's signal ("GET IN THERE!"), leapt out and plunged the 3 or 4 meters into the sea. I was terrified, but so glad that I did it.

At night, we visited the local village's headman. The Xhosa people of the area live in round green huts with thatched grass roofs, and his was the largest. Kids met us on the road and chatted with us as we walked, and we all settled in for an evening of food and dancing. Amar and Abhay sat on chairs, but I had to sit on the floor because I'm a woman (I endured some ribbing for this - more discussion at a later time). Girls performed traditional dances while other children sang and clapped. We ate samp and beans, mealie pap (for those of you who have been to The Shebeen, it's not quite cheesy grits), and soup with cabbage. We washed it all down with shared buckets of maize beer – it was called something like ung(click)oboti. There are so many different clicks, and Westerners can't really hear the difference, but I'm proud to say that I attempted to repeat the word while in Botswana and I was understood! Woo.

It was a fun evening - one of the village dogs came and plopped into my lap, we exchanged questions about culture with the villagers (typical dowry is 10 heads of cattle), and at Joseph's urging ("GET IN THERE! SHAKE THAT BODY!"), joined the villagers in dancing. Later, when we had left, the three of us went stargazing and marveled at the shooting stars and the unfamiliar southern sky.

Whew! Third time's the charm, hopefully this goes through. I have many, many more things to tell you all, but hopefully this will tide you over until I get home to a proper keyboard (typing a long email on a BB is hard enough, but I also haven't been able to cut my nails in nearly 3 weeks!). I'd love to see you all when I get home on Tuesday!

P.S. I met a TJ girl in Cape Town and a UVA kid in Zambia. Small world!

Life/Caseload: It Has Come To My Attention

It has come to my attention that this website shows up when you google my name. As such, my lower posts have been redacted. And I will be far more careful with what goes on here from now on.

-M.

Lifeload: Smokers Need Not Apply

I'm in relationship-heat, and it's a mentality that sets in every summer. A feeling that gets worse and worse every year because damnit I'm 22 and I'm ready to settle down and birth some babies. Or something like that.

I had quintessentially the worst date in the history of dates. Ever. Suffice it to say that the boy smoked, wore jorts to the date, was tripping on LSD as we ate, and ordered "the soup of the day...don't tell me what it is, though, I want it to be a surprise." Meanwhile, I spent most of the dinner trying to slit my wrist with a spoon under the table just to escape.

[Redacted]? Which perhaps raises the more interesting question that many of us will have to deal with post-school.

How do you meet anyone after college these days?

-M.

Made in China(town) (2008)

A week and a half ago I acted for a 72-hour filmmaking competition shot by a friend of mine. (I took part in this kind of thing two years ago and produced this pile of crap.) I think this one is a bit better. The theme is a first goodbye, and there was a special award for best Chinatown. We got disqualified for a single shot because we didn't get signed releases from some people in the background. Kind of lame, but still. It's alright (there are a bunch of editing choices I would have changed, but it's acceptable for having been made in 3 days), so please enjoy.

Edit: It seems the embed is not working. If you would like to see the movie, check it out here. In the future I'll try to get an embeddable version.