My Life as a Real Humon

I write to you all from the Ballston Panera. Read on to find out why!

Today will be the 3^rd full day that I’ve lived in my new apartment – my first apartment as a “real humon,” as Bryan would say. It’s a little weird to be living in an apartment that’s only 15 minutes away from my house. But don’t get me wrong. I am, for many reasons that I will not enumerate here, thrilled with my apartment. It’s just strange to be back in more or less the same area that I grew up in but not living in my house. I do like Ballston so far. I don’t know how familiar you all are with Ballston, but it’s almost like a mini DC. Lots of high-rise buildings, stores, and restaurants on every block. I’m also only a few blocks away from the Ballston Mall, which would be more exciting if the Ballston Mall weren’t sketchy and devoid of decent stores. I can walk to Starbucks in less than 5 minutes, though, and we also have a 24-hour IHOP right across the street from the Ballston metro. If you’re ever in need of a place to stay in northern VA, please let me know! I should warn you, however, that Dean R has already sort of claimed my couch for the remainder of the summer.

Anyway, my first few days here have been interesting, for lack of a better word. On Monday, after spending my first night at the apartment, I awoke with a dilemma. As I had done the bulk of my unpacking the previous night and we have yet to have our internet and cable set up (Bryan will sleep until 3pm whenever possible, so he of course was still asleep), I was at a loss in terms of having anything with which to occupy myself. I settled for taking advantage of one of the utilities that we did have at the time, water. Yes, I was so bored that I took an extra long shower, did two loads of laundry, and ran the dishwasher. Thankfully, Dean R saved me when he stopped by during his lunch hour. Then, Bryan and I decided to be productive in the afternoon and ran a bunch of errands, making stops at Ikea (where every item I bought aside from my dresser cost less than $2), Bed Bath & Beyond, Trader Joe’s (if you like wine, take note – we found some very decent bottles of wine, all of which were under $6), and the grocery store. We are both so tired of carrying loads of things to and from the elevator! I will be very glad when we are finally settled in. Michelle was supposed to come over and hang out with us that night, but she decided to, like, be a good child or something and spend time with her mom since she was leaving for China the next morning. So Bryan and I were on our own. We made our first meal in the apartment, drank a lot of good cheap wine, and had some quality roommate bonding. Until 5:30am. At least that’s when I passed out. Bryan apparently stayed up playing Zelda and didn’t get to bed until he realized that the sun was coming up.

Yesterday I tried stealing wireless from my neighbors to no avail. Apparently, the other residents of my building take their internet security seriously. I had one brief moment of hope when I discovered an unsecured network called ‘wahoowa.’ I got really excited and was so sure that I was finally going to be able to use the internet for the first time since Sunday – and on a network named wahoowa at that – but it was not to be. We are still internet-less and cable-less. To clarify, we have gone so long without setting up cable and internet because we didn’t know Comcast’s number, and, not having internet, it wasn’t like we could quickly look it up either. By the way, we now know that Comcast’s number is 1-800-COMCAST.

So I’ll end here for now. That was probably more mundane detail about my life than you’ve ever wanted to know, and my life is certainly not nearly as captivating as the travelogues we’ve been getting from Amar. Work starts on Monday for me, so maybe I’ll have something new to report then. And hopefully next time I’ll be able to write from my own apartment!

INTO AFRICA: WEEK 2

Ok, so I think I left off when we came into Nambia—keep in mind that I didn’t get much internet access in Botswana, so this is a bit staggered. We flew into the capital city of Windhoek (I think vind-hook is decent approximation) on May 28. The first thing that occurred to me was that Windhoek was developed and empty. There was a ton of development, as Namibia was actually a part of South Africa until 1994, and there are so few people that even the capital city does not seem crowded. To give you an idea of the pop. density, take all the people in Manhattan (about 2 million?) and put them in a country the size of California. Actually, this is not really a happy fact, because the low population is said to be the result of more than a few atrocities during Apartheid, but let’s move past that unhappy reality for the moment.

First thing we did was drive to Ami’s village in Northern Namibia, called Omuthiya. At some point driving North, we crossed a checkpoint called the Red Line, above which development was vastly behind that in the South. According to Ami, the areas above the Red Line were basically left to themselves during Apartheid, so the North has the largest population but very little of the country’s wealth. It’s a bit shocking to enter a foreign country where race is as present (if not more present) than the US, and even more shocking to be in such an environment where Indians are a part of the racial equation. Although they are less present in Namibia, a ridiculous amount of Indians have straddled the line between Blacks and Whites in South Africa for decades. Even bread consumption is racially charged. According to Ami, only whites in Namibia were permitted to eat white bread, while blacks ate wheat (or dark bread). Insane.

Omithuya Gui Iipundi, the formal name of my sister’s town, translates as “chair under the thorn tree”. Omuthiya emerged as a stopping point along a major highway, and residents from nearby villages have gradually occupied it to form a growing town. Ami doesn’t live in poverty, as she has electricity, a gas stove, and a friend in a government office who has DSL, but let’s just say that she’s learning to live in a way that most of us were not brought up. She can take baths inside, but has to go to the outhouse to use a toilet (in the loosest sense of the word). She walks everywhere, washes her clothes by hand, and keeps her room closed off in every way possible to avoid the cockroaches, flies, and mice that inevitably move through her “apartment” (her bedroom door is the only one that closes fully, so there’s a blurred line between inside and outside).

It’s not as bad as it sounds though. She’s made a comfortable life here, and what always shocks me is how important the background details can be to one’s life, the details that don’t really crystallize in periodic phone calls. Ami’s got four host sisters (mostly orphans who are given a home on the homestead and materials for school if they work on the farm). “Younger sisters” aptly describes the relationship, as they will do just about anything she says. She throws impromptu dance parties for the five of them in her living room, and when the two eldest pass their Grade 10 examinations in November, she’ll be the person cheering them in the audience. She has a cat and three dogs left by the previous Peace Corps volunteer. The previous volunteer named this cat Takamitha, which means Be Careful, because she got Takamitha after accidentally stepping on and killing her first cat. Sounds ridiculous I know, but she also named one of her dogs Cutie Pie, so, even though I’ve never met this woman, I wouldn’t put it past her. Ami’s officially a health volunteer, but when Ami actually got here and asked the community what they needed, she found that computer training for teachers and community development projects were what they needed. It’s an interesting situation. There’s an infinite amount of resources to solve the AIDS problem here, but when it comes to poverty, Namibia’s problems don’t quite get enough attention.

While we were in Omuthiya, we attended a fundraiser for a Microfinance group that Ami helped start to encourage small business opportunities. The fundraiser was selling meat outside of a bar. Let me remark that Namibians love meat. A lot. They were selling barbequed mutton with no veggies, no bread, no condiments…and not one person asked for any of these things. Some days later, when my mom told a woman at a café in the Windhoek airport that she didn’t eat meat, the cashier looked puzzled and responded, “But why? Meat is so good!” It might have been offensive if she wasn’t so sincere.

After some quality time in Omuthiya, we headed to Etosha National Park, where we got to see wildlife from a few more angles. If you read my previous post about the Boiling Pot, ditto for the Moringa Watering Hole in Etosha. If my life ever gets so complicated that I just feel like I can’t think things through, I need to save up a couple g’s and come to this spot. I feel like I could sit there forever. I also caught National Geographic Moment #2 on a nighttime game drive; we saw lions feeding on a freshly killed zebra. The park at night is a different world, but the feeding was actually pretty gross, so I’ll spare you details. If you’re interested, you’re a sicko (but don’t worry, I’ve got video).

Namibia is beautiful in the diversity of its landscapes, so when we finished at the game park, we headed to Swakopmund, the resort town where sand dunes meet the Atlantic Ocean. This is Angelina Jolie’s Namibian playground, and it was quite comfortable. We finally got to an internet café long enough to send an update, so that’s where I sent the first one. My parents went quad biking on some dunes, while I climbed one. I think the pictures are pretty epic. If not, I’ll be pissed because it was grueling. We also ate some amazing seafood, but I’m really looking forward to Mozambique for seafood.

At this point it is probably worth mentioning that I’ve been driving quite a bit here. At first glance, this might seem normal, but a few things are worth clarifying. First, our rental car was a stick shift. I didn’t know how to drive stick shift two weeks ago, but automatic rental cars are very expensive and my dad doesn’t like driving so much, so a brief driving clinic ensued. Second, Namibians drive on the left side of the road. If the manual driving wasn’t a problem, why should I let a small thing like different traffic patterns stop me? Third, the drive from Swakop to our next destination involved two mountain passes. I wasn’t afraid, but my mom may have thrown up a prayer or two in the car. Anyways, long story short, I can now drive a manual, but it may have cost that Toyota Corolla its transmission.

We couldn’t get too comfortable, as my dad only had about three weeks in Africa total, so we then drove to the Namib Naukluft Desert. The red sand dunes in Sossesvlei (am I the only one who thinks of Mars when I hear about red sand dunes?) are said to be some of the tallest in the world, and we got a workout climbing them. Otherwise, we just enjoyed being in the middle of a beautiful desert and finally relaxing after our three week race. After a short time, we headed back to Windhoek, where we saw my dad off on his return to America. BTW, let’s all let out a collective sigh for my father. He was originally planning to arrive back from his thirty-six hour trip home at 11 pm on Sunday night, only to start work on Monday morning in Richmond. Unfortunately, the last leg of his flight (Detroit to Richmond) was delayed three times and finally cancelled at 1 AM. He’s still in Detroit.

Wow, very very long again, but I’ve been implored not to cut down. So I won’t. Anyways, I’ve appreciated every email back, so please keep them coming!

Amar

P.S. Jed, I am laughing like a lunatic in a Ministry of Trade office in a small town in Namibia, particularly because I can’t explain this story to anyone around me. If I saw you in an airport, I’d do a lot more to you than take your seat. Punk.

The Airport

So I was sitting in the airport this morning and I observed a most remarkable example of human psychoses. After laughing about it to myself for a while I thought: what better forum to remark on the remarkable than diasporatic? But first, the news...

As you may have guessed from the fact that I was at the airport, I got a report date! I am reporting to USS MASON on June 20. That's wonderful news for me because it means I have just enough time to fly out to LA and drive cross-country with Arlene! As you all know, I love road trips (Arlene is pretty cool too) so this should be a great couple of weeks. I'll keep you guys posted about my adventures during our transcontinental trek if there are any.

Also, I want to take a quick moment to acknowledge Tommy Roberts. About 3 hours after I posted my last entry ("McGrady's") I got a phone call from Tommy. He had subscribed to Diasporatic and had read my post. Apparently he felt so sorry for me that he called me and invited me to come have a pint with him on the corner. Of course I accepted, bringing my drink total for the evening to a grand total of two pitchers, one pint. I don't think Tommy realized how much I appreciated his gesture and enjoyed his company. So here's to Tommy! Also, it gave me no end of satisfaction that Diasporatic had been the instrument which had brought us together at that table in The Virginian.

NOW for my airport anecdote. My flight was supposed to leave at 6:33AM (it didn't actually leave till 7:30, but that's another story), so I arrived at the airport before the sun was fully up. Needless to say, at this hour the airport was fairly empty. In fact, after I got through security I was the only person sitting in my departure area. After about ten minutes another man showed up. He was a shortish, fiftyish, well-built man with thinning brown hair and slightly pointed, terrier-like features. He looked a little like Vladimir Putin, actually.

The first thing I noticed about him was how confused he looked. He seemed to be totally overwhelmed by the decision of which seat he should take. He had his choice of every seat in the departure area (probably 60 seats) with the singular exception of mine, and this was just too much for him. Should he sit next to the window? Or near the gate? Or over next to the television? I watched as he nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot and I could almost hear his pulse quickening as the impossibility of the choice overcame him.

I noted all of this with passing interest and presently decided to get up and visit the men's room. As I got up and walked past him, I noticed that he seemed to have made a choice. He visibly calmed and the deer-in-the-headlights look which had been in his eyes was replaced by a look of triumphant purpose. I idly wondered which he had chosen, but didn't bother to look. Therefore it was a great surprise when, upon my return, I discovered that he had taken my seat: an entirely unremarkable seat in the middle of a row with nothing at all to recommend it over the others except that it had been mine. Of all the seats in the building, he had taken mine! Apparently, upon seeing me vacate my seat he had suddenly realized it was the best.

I am not sure what this indicates about human nature, but I am pretty sure it spells the end of America. Is it a lack of creativity? Are people just so uncreative that they cannot even make a choice as simple as where to sit? Or is it timidity? Is there some unconscious fear of an unblazed trail (or in this case, an unwarmed seat?) Or is it jealousy? Are people simply incapable of valuing something unless someone else values it first? Or is it something else?

Or am I wrong in assuming that this means anything general at all?

Thoughts?

Names

I am not very good at keeping in touch.

But, today I received the results of my FBI background check - the third one they've done on me in two years - and the front of the envelope read "Criminal History Request for Erik Ivar Hanson." Luckily, the social security number was correct so it's still usable.

I frequently take for granted the existence of people who can spell my name correctly every single time without even thinking about it.

McGrady's

Some of y'all might be wondering why I haven't posted to the blog yet. After all, it was me who sorta got this whole thing started and has been talking about it for months. You might be asking yourself if I will neglect this brain child of mine the way I neglect my fish. I am writing to assure you all that I will not. (Go ahead and breathe your collective sigh of relief now.)

The explanation for my failure to post so far is simple: I have nothing to report. As Michelle articulated so nicely in the lucid half of our introductory post, this blog's purpose is to record our experiences as we venture forth into the world from Charlottesville. The problem I am having is that I have neither ventured forth nor left Charlottesville as of yet.

My current status, professionally speaking, is this: I am stuck in Charlottesville until my ship calls me and tells me when to show up. Until that call I am to stay in Charlottesville and show up to "work" every morning at Maury hall where I am given menial tasks to keep me busy in order, I suppose, to justify my paycheck.

The Navy calls this being "stashed." I think a better term might be "purgatory." I am stuck between the heaven of being a 4th year at The University and the hell (I describe it thus only for the purpose of extending my metaphor) of being a professional naval officer. The worst part about being stuck in this limbo is the loneliness. I can tell you all from experience that the greater part of this town's charm is lost when your friends are absent. It remains comfortable and familiar, but it loses the quality which makes it home.

A short story from my experience will illustrate this loneliness nicely. It is the story of how I came to be sitting alone at the bar at McGrady's with a pitcher of beer in front of me looking for all the world like a young man well on his way to becoming an old alcoholic.

It’s actually a very short story. See what had happened was I thought there was a soccer game at 4:00. The USA national team was supposed to be playing Spain in an international friendly. As pretty much the only soccer fan left in the USA since Amar left I naturally wanted to watch. So I went down to McGrady’s, ordered a pitcher of Killian’s and got them to tune in to ESPN 2. Turns out the game wasn't at 4:00 like the ESPN website had said (it musta had morphed.) Turns out the game didn't start till 5:30. Apparently someone at the ESPN website had some trouble with the time zone conversion from Spain.

So there I was at the bar alone with my pitcher with no game to watch. I realized that there is a huge difference between being alone at a bar watching a game and just being alone at a bar. There is a certain amount of respect due to a guy who goes to a bar alone to watch his team play. He is viewed as a die hard fan - someone who is willing to brave public loneliness in order to support his team. On the other hand, the guy who is just at the bar drinking with no game on can only be viewed as pathetic. I was that guy for an hour and a half. I felt completely alone. In order to occupy myself during that time, I wrote this blog post on my blackberry. I also overheard some older women on the other side of the bar commenting on how much I look like "shitbreak" from American pie. Anyhow, it’s time to stop writing now. The game is finally starting and I am about to order a second pitcher.

So hi from McGrady's, guys! I miss you all!

AND IT'S HERE: INTO AFRICA, WEEK 1.

Africa
I don't think I could have prepared for the trip even if I wanted to. I began in the Richmond Airport, continued to Detroit, then to Amsterdam, next to Johannesburg (with an overnight stay), and finally a short hop to Livingston, Zambia. I left on Tuesday at 4 PM, and arrived in Livingston on Thursday at noon. The ten days since have been a blur, and rather than cover everything chronologically, I'll try to lump stuff together. This does not bring you up to present, only week 1.

Victoria Falls
When I rolled into Livingston, and took my shuttle to the resort where my parents and I would meet my sister, I was blown away. Slight clarification--I was blown away by the resort (at that moment, I was completely unconcerned with the Falls). The Zambezi Sun is right along the Zambezi River, with its own private entrance to Victoria Falls. All of our accomodations would not be so luxurious, but it was a pretty sweet way to start off the adventure. We saw the falls from every angle. First, we walked directly in front of the Falls, across a bridge that must have been at least 150 meters above the Zambezi river. I couldn't hear anything, water was all over me, and I couldn't even see the edges or bottom of the water fall. They say that something like a million liters of water travel over the Falls per second (or is it minute?), and it was completely overwhelming. I haven't been excited to see a rainbow since I was nine, but I saw two overlapping rainbows. One of the rainbows was so full I could have sworn I could find the hidden treasure. Once we were a bit dried off, the four of us hiked down (i mean hiked in the intense sense, wading through water and such) from that bridge to a place at the foot of the River called the Boiling Pot. Its called the Boiling Pot because the water swirls together. To be sitting in a canyon, look up 150-200 meters to where I had been standing before, and then stare down the winding river, it was a rare moment when I felt like I had just discovered a part of the world for the first time, as if I was the first and only person in the world to have been lucky enough to see it. Even after these two angles, I had not seen the Falls in its entirety (i.e. from the angle that you see in a postcard). Each of us dished out some dough, and went microlighting (sp?). This basically involved flying above the Falls, where the only thing between the Falls and myself was a motorized bike with wings. No glass windows, just a bike. Okay, so I think people expect the Falls to be amazing, but even for a cynic like myself, this doesn't make the place any less striking.

Animals
First, let me note that the resort in Zambia was also a wildlife preserve. I'm not sure whether these animals were trained, medicated, or what (the employees said they were free roaming, but a bit less afraid of humans), but I got within about fifteen feet of giraffes and zebras. Let me say that giraffes are huge. I mean, I knew they were big, but I thought I could take one if it came my way. No way. From Zambia, we travelled to Botswana, where our fall from luxury would begin. We stayed at a fairly nice lodge outside of Chobe Game Park, where there are two elephants per square km of the park. For reference, the park is 11,500 square km. It was here that I crossed elephants off the list of animals I could fight. We went on a wildlife boat cruise, and a game drive. The game drive was basically a safari at 6 AM, and, although we saw more animals than I could describe (Hippos, Elephants, Jackals, Impala, Kudu, Bulls...the list goes on), this is where I had my National Geographic moment. We came across four lions (a mother and three cubs), and watched them as they quietly spread out and stalked a group of impala. Cross lions off the list as well. At this point, we had seen animals up close, but now we proceeded to Okavango Delta, Botswana. I think this site was rated the #1 place to see in 2006 by National Geographic, and we saw it in a very hardcore way. We took a motorboat three hours into the delta, camped next to a local village (albeit with some extra luxury for my parents...chef=crucial), took dugout canoes through the delta to the main wildlife reserve, and tracked animals on foot. I learned more about droppings than you'd ever want to know, but if you're ever not sure whether and/or when a giraffe shat on your lawn, I'm your man. For a bit extra, I'll even tell you if it was a male or female.

Other
So I realize this has been hella long (and it's just the first week, I'll save some of this week for later), but a couple general observations. First, there are no clocks here. It is horrible. and fabulous. and horrible. I didn't realize how obsessed I was with time, and I'm not even a remotely punctual person. Still, it has been a tough adjustment to not be so concerned about using every minute, but I'm slowly making it work. Getting up at 6 am is pretty standard, and last night I even went to bed at 7 pm. Dean, note for APT: Mother nature said I should get eleven hours of sleep, and who I am I to say no? Second, I retain some pride to be an American. We met an Indian guy at Vic Falls who was getting real uppity about America, saying shit like "well, I don't think I'll ever be that way, I hope I never have to visit America!" I was actually quite offended. My sister made a good point. You can insult the policies and even American tendencies, but to generally dismiss the country and it's people is just disrespectful, and let's not forget who give Namibia,Zambia, etc. money for free HIV testing (survey says...AMERICA!). Anyways, so I realized that I actually will defend America abroad. Bizarre, but maybe not so bizarre.

Anyways, this has been too long, so I'll post from now on in the blog, but PLEASE keep in touch. I'll be gone for some time, and I hope to still have friends when I return, so let me know what you're up to (jobs, nothing, school, whatever).

Amar

P.S. Reading list update: Atonement=done and quite good. Divisadero is in progress and seems promising.

Aussies. And roos.

I prepare to foray 'round the world! Such ministrations to the gods of Packing are not to be taken lightly. These rituals are themselves an incursion into unfamiliar and forbidding territory, a negotiation of stymying choice and difficult paths leading to unforeseeable and dire consequence. Take this dilemma: to bring the canteen, or the machete?

United Airlines settled that one. Alas, the propriety of international flight.

So yeah, Sam and I are about to find ourselves in Australia, and I think we're prepared for it even though I'm not sure it's really sunk in that we decided to do this. At least it hasn't for me; this was all a harebrained idea that somehow actually happened, and I'm still not sure how. We don't yet have a place to stay, but I think we'll take care of that tonight. We know where we want to stay. Sort of. We have about half a million options and will be picking one soon. It doesn't really matter: no one goes anywhere in the winter anyway!

Anyway, that's all for now. Because we haven't actually found any Aussies yet. Or Roos. Because we're still in Maryland. We will talk about them when we have a chance to examine them in person! And yes, Jed, I will fight a kangaroo for you if I can only get my hands on one.

Or maybe I'll get Sam to do it and take pictures. Yes, this is a good plan.

See you in July!

td