Day 238: Lion’s Head

Things I wanted to do in Cape Town but could not justify going even more over budget than I already am included repelling off of Table Mountain, cage diving with sharks, and eating at famous (some fancy) restaurants. Instead of spending a ridiculous amount of money doing one of those things on our last afternoon in Cape Town, we climbed Lion’s Head for free. Repelling and cage diving will simply have to wait until next time.

After a quick drive to the base of Lion’s Head, we began our climb before the sun got too hot. What was cool about the climb was how it circled around Lion’s Head as you went up so you got different views of Cape Town, Table Mountain, and beautiful views of the ocean as climbed up and around. You also went in and out of the sun and shade so when you got too hot, suddenly you were walking in the shade and were able to cool off.

It turned out to be quite a lovely climb and I regretted (only slightly) not scheduling more time for the trek up. Close to the top, we were told it was another forty minutes to get to the very top. Forty minutes Andrew didn’t think we had. We cut our climb short and headed back down to have enough time to look for some street art I saw from the bus the previous day, get to the airport, return the car, and check in.

Going on a scavenger hunt for street art in a city you do not know the lay of the land for, and you left your bus route behind at the hostel turned into a little adventure. I knew roughly where the two paintings were, and Andrew pulled up Google to help navigate our way there. A few circles later, I was able to hop out and snap a few shots before we picked up our bags and headed to the airport for our first of three flights to Istanbul!

Day 237: Cape Town hop on – hop off bus tour day 2

Our friend Hanfred put us in touch with his sister, who currently lives in Cape Town. We arranged to have brunch with her in the morning (again feeling so spoiled knowing friends or friends and family of friends around the world). Ilze was so wonderful to meet and graciously fielded our questions about South Africa while we tried to fill her in on life was (is?) like in South Korea. She said it helped her understand/know more of her brother’s life in South Korea and we all exchanged hugs and love before we parted ways downtown to check out Green Market Square before jumping back on the Cape Town hop on – hop off bus tour to jump off at the Imizamo Yetho Township.

Green Market Square wasn’t my favorite market in the world. It felt pretty touristy, but it was a pretty day and I loved looking at all of the masks at this one stall. The vendor was nice to talk to, but I bit my tongue instead of telling him his masks were ridiculously overpriced and how silly it would be to buy a mask from Zambia in South Africa. I’ll just wait until I go to Zambia…

Imizamo Yetho (meaning “our combined effort” in Xhosa) Township is right in the middle it seems of the upper class suburb of Hout Bay (where we stopped yesterday at the port). When we arrived, our guide immediately pointed out where the upper class lived and told us that no white person lived in the township. It was established in the early 90’s where authorities allowed shacks to be built. Because the black residents could not afford to buy houses in Hout Bay, the only choice was to build these houses in the Township. When I point blankly asked our guide if that was strange- that there was no mixing, she shrugged and said it was just how things were done. The question of “Is it strange?” isn’t one that is necessarily asked. My eyes were wide and she laughed, nodding her head “yes” when I asked if many people ask the same question.

We learned that many of the people who live in the township either drive mini-vans (shared taxis) or work as domestic servants. The weekly wage for a domestic servant is the equivalent of $50.00. That’s right. $10.00 a day. I shook my head in disbelief. She said that it’s not enough money to do anything other than eat, and for the men: drink. a lot. over the weekends. Many women have more children so they can receive additional government stipends (per child) but this is a rather small amount, and even our guide shook her head at the disconnect.

Obviously there is a lot more to this situation, but how a country can get away with such a small minimum wage for certain fields that only seem to employ one race is beyond me. I asked what the township thinks about tourists walking through, if it was frowned upon. Our guide assured us visitors are welcomed. The township receives the entrance fee. Jobs are provided to its residents. And most importantly, our guide insisted, it creates awareness to those outside of South Africa which she hoped would help facilitate change.

Slum Tourism is disputed. (Read more about it here) I get it. We’ve been on a slum tour in Mumbai. I’ve photographed slums in South Korea. We’ll probably see more throughout the rest of our travels. It’s not easy to see. It’s not easy to share, but I think it’s necessary. With this trip, and this blog, I wanted to point out that tourism and travel is not always rainbows and unicorns. It’s an unbelievable experience. I’ve learned more about myself and my partner and our relationship than I could have ever imagined. Cape Town is beautiful, South Africa is a wonderful country, but it is not without conflict and parts that aren’t as pretty. And before you get your panties in a twist- I’m not saying that my country is any better. Because, it’s not. I know that. But I’m here now, and I’m not a big fan of inequality on any level.

We stopped in this little convenient store, our guide knew these boys and their mother. She wanted to say hello. She told me that they loved their picture being taken and sure enough, after I would take a picture, this little man in front would giggle with absolute glee seeing his photo on the LCD screen. We continued on, and I should have slowed our guide down a bit. I was having a hard time juggling photos and video at the same time. When we are in impoverished areas, we tend to only use one camera as a small attempt to not be THOSE American tourists, you know what I mean?

We were told “The Irish” built these houses for the first inhabitants of the Township. Now they are worth a crazy amount of money (I forget the exact amount now) but we were aghast at the idea of anyone else being able to buy the house and wondering why WOULD they buy it when they could live outside of the Township for so much less. We walked around the outside of the township back down to the road. I asked how often people leave the Township. Our guide told us that people simply didn’t leave the township. We waited for the bus watching a soccer game across the street. Their uniforms looked professional and the field looked immaculate. Our guide told us the field was sponsored by the government and the uniforms were sponsored buy businesses- townships played other townships. I didn’t understand the disconnect between the beautiful lawn and the set of three toilets we passed within the Township that did not use running water and looked worse than any kind of toilet I had seen throughout this trip.

The government can sponsor a field, but not toilets? Again, I know there are a lot of missing gaps for me as a visitor, but I wondered how many white South Africans have been through a Township. What would they think? Would they be ashamed of what they saw? When we went through the Apartheid Museum, it was noted that during the 1960’s, one white South African woman saw a “Free Mandela” sign painted on the side of a building. She was so naive that she thought a ‘Mandela’ was a type of food. I wonder if there is similar naivety today.

Back on the bus, we drove past unbelievably nice houses built into the sea-side cliffs. Personal funiculars for each house so residents didn’t have to walk up flights and flights of stairs to get home. Beautiful pristine windows overlooking the ocean. Whitewashed walls. Nice cars parked in private spaces. It was a bit mind-blowing after walking through the township.

Oh right, and then Andrew got mad at me for letting our pamphlet blow away (by accident of course).

The weather had turned a bit (as is often warned it does in South Africa) and clouds started rolling in, covering Table Mountain and the ‘Twelve Apostles’ as we made our way back to our hostel for one last night in Cape Town.

Day 236: Cape Town hop on – hop off bus tour

We were oftentimes a bit overwhelmed trying to figure out what we wanted to do in Cape Town. There is simply SO MUCH to do, that we really should have made a more detailed itinerary than waking up every morning asking each other “What you want to do?” Because, every morning in Cape Town, went something like the buzzards on the tree in "The Jungle Book."

Hanfred (and Idette, our South African friends we met in South Korea) suggested we check out Franschhoek (a town outside of Cape Town) but that involved more driving. We heard good things about the hop on -hop off bus tour and enjoyed it so much in Joburg, we decided, in the end to stick to something we could do where we didn’t have to drive or get stuck in traffic. Our first day riding the Cape Town hop on – hop off bus tour began with a ride through District Six, a wander through Kirstenbosch Botanical Garden, a tour and wine-tasting at the Constantia winery, and eating some fish and chips in Hout Bay. I know, it sounds like it turned into a really ambitious day, but it was a lot of wandering around, wine, and more wandering around. We were happy.

I had no idea what District Six was until we heard about it on the bus tour. There’s a recommended District Six museum in town, but having gone to two Apartheid museums and a visit to Robben Island, we decided to save the District Six museum for our next visit. To sum it up, District Six was demolished in the 1970s by the Apartheid regime, forcing around 60,000 black and white residents living in harmony out of the area. Now, only 24 houses stand with former residents having moved back to the neighborhood. These houses are surrounded by grass and empty fields as a reminder of what once was.

Our first hop off point was at the Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden. We walked through, took pictures of pretty flowers. It was lovely.

Next hop off point was to get on the Constantia Wine Bus. Basically, this was just another bus that took us down to some different wineries. We decided on Constantia and took a tour and had a wine tasting. The wines were on the dry side. Something I wish was easy to tell by the label, I guess one of these days I’ll get used to figuring out which brands of wine I like more than others. You know, when I don’t hone in on the $9.00 or less bottles of wine…

We tried to go to the Hout Bay Market on our way back, but we were too late and it had already closed for the day. Instead, we grabbed some fish and chips at what looked to be a bit of an institution at the port. I could just be making that up to make a random fish and chips restaurant seem a bit more romantic than it actually was, but it hit the spot after the wine tasting. We walked back through the port, back on the bus and returned to our hostel for the night.

One thing about this trip that we did not expect was how tired we would get. Some nights we are simply exhausted. It never happens at the same time, but one of us will pass out exceptionally early. Tonight, I was in my bunk bed by seven and asleep before eight. Our hostel was rather hopping as well, a drum circle was going on out back, people were drinking in the front. I was asleep.

One thing about Cape Town that we did not expect was how many hostels were owned by young women. Technically, we were couchsurfing at a 28 year old girl’s hostel in Cape Town. It felt on the empty side compared to the B.I.G. Hostel we were at when we first arrived. It was nice, and we were grateful that it was free, but I have to say it just wasn’t as nice as the B.I.G. Andrew missed the brewed coffee and I missed the internet. As much as we prefer a cheaper nights stay, we prefer good coffee and internet even more.

Day 235: Robben Island

Robben Island, just off the coast of Cape Town (in Table Bay) is where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 18 years.  A bit of trivia for you: He served 27 years in total, but only 18 were spent on Robben Island. In case you’ve been living under a rock, Mandela was the first black president in post-Apartheid South Africa. He was followed by Mbeki (who resigned due to corruption charges), Motlanthe (who served in the interim) and now, the current president, Jacob Zuma. Both Motlanthe and Zuma were imprisoned on Robben Island as well.

Our trip began on the sun deck of a smaller speed boat to the island. We chatted with a fellow American, Gregg about his trip (a bucket-list trip for his father and a few of his friends) and exchanged stories from our own travels.

When we arrived on the island, we boarded a bus that came with a guide who told us about the island’s history. Early Dutch Settlers initially used the island as a prison, then for awhile it was a leper colony, an animal quarantine station, it was fortified during the Second World War, and around that time went back to being a prison.

We drove past a leper cemetery, and past the quarry where the prisoners worked while serving time. A pile of rocks was pointed out to us towards the entrance to the quarry. During a reunion visit, Mandela silently took a rock and laid it there. Other former prisoners followed suit. It’s now treated as a memorial to their imprisonment.

Three of the four post-apartheid South African presidents (even though one was not elected) were imprisoned for ten years on Robben Island. When we toured the prison, our guide was also a former prisoner. He described the prison to be more like a school. The more educated prisoners taught the lesser educated ones. There was always an open dialogue and many prisoners walked out with the equivalent of a university education because of it.

We were in a pretty large group, perhaps about forty people or so. I often trailed behind so I could take pictures of the prison without anyone lurking in my shot. Because of this, I couldn’t always hear what the former prisoner had to say. I also couldn’t stop wondering what would make him return to the prison to give tours after being imprisoned for ten (maybe more? maybe less) years there. I don’t think I could do it. Below is Nelson Mandela’s window out to the courtyard, the interior of his cell, and the hallway of his prison wing.

Prison has to be bad. Twenty seven years of it can’t be easy. But we’ve seen quite a bit of bad things on this trip (and for me, even more in past travels). I was kinda picturing something along the lines of the slave quarters that we visited on Zanzibar, a type of prison where slaves were kept before being sold at the market. Obviously, it was a lot longer time ago, but it was the most recent type of prison, so that’s what came to my mind when we arrived on Robben Island. I’m also rather sure that an empty, clean facility now, several years later is much more attractive than it would have looked back when there were prisoners. But, I couldn’t help thinking that their conditions really didn’t look that bad. Again, this is coming from someone who in the back of her mind was thinking back on the Vietnam War Museum in Saigon, or the Killing Fields in Cambodia, or even the daily poverty in India and in some of Africa…

At this point, as I was photographing the empty hallway, I realized I could no longer hear the tour group. I had passed the door to get out of the prison wing and started to panic slightly that I might be lost inside. This panic was equal annoyance at myself for needing to lag behind to take a few photographs.

“Great.” I thought. “I’m lost. in a prison.” I rolled my eyes at the thought and tried to find my way out. I found one door that led to yet another courtyard. I tried to listen for the group. I still couldn’t hear them. I opted for another door that looked as if it continued to lead outside, rather than back in. I was in Another courtyard, but this time I could hear voices. I quickened my pace and found a few other stragglers talking to our guide, and Andrew waiting with an expression I’m all too familiar with. It’s the face he makes when he’s lost track of me and he doesn’t know whether to be concerned or annoyed. I popped out of the door and told him I got lost. He rolled his eyes, none too surprised.

Back on a different (bigger, less charming) ferry boat back to Cape Town, we chatted more with our new friend, Gregg. He invited us out to lunch with his father and his father’s friends. Not yet sure what we were going to do with the rest of our day, we accepted and had a really lovely lunch! Gregg warned us that we would have to field a lot of questions and we’d probably have to entertain his company, but we enjoyed it and had to laugh when they expressed gratitude no one in their family was traveling for as long and to as many places as we were.

“What do your parents think?” They demanded. We laughed and explained, after living abroad for so long, they were probably used to it. We told them about couch-surfing and shared our funnier and scarier moments of the trip, and then thanked them over and over again for lunch. (Really, thanks again, Gregg and family!) I cannot express how much of this trip is owed to generous people we have met along the way. A free night’s stay, lunch, a drink, even to borrow a cell phone every now and then. I need to make a “Thank You!” page just to give you a glimpse of how fortunate we’ve been to come across so many wonderful people around the world.

Day 234: Cape of Good Hope + Cape Point

We decided to spend our first full day in Cape Town heading down to Cape of Good Hope and Cape Point. This might not have been the best idea, considering that although the drive was beautiful, and all along the coast, there was a silly amount of construction going on. We stopped off in Muizemberg and walked through some antiques stores. Then drove through Fish Hoek and Simon’s Town where shortly after, we stopped off to oggle some penguins waddling around, before driving down to and stopping off at Cape of Good Hope + Cape Point.

In one of the antiques stores, a woman with a camera around her neck told us to stick around for high tide. With the lunar eclipse, the waves were bound to be even bigger than usual. We would have loved to, but instead we knew we had to make our way down to the Capes. It was fun meandering through the shops though before we left.

Our friends warned us that penguins have a mean bite, so I avoided petting them even when they got super close like this little guy did. On our way to the Cape of Good Hope, a few cars were pulled over off the side of the road. They were looking at wild ostriches. There were four of them in total. Gigantic. Just hanging out along the side of the road in between the beach snacking on the foliage. 

The Cape of Good Hope was beautiful. It was also full of tourists. I think we arrived smack in the middle of a Chinese tour bus unloading. At least while we were sitting on the rocks admiring the view, an adorable couple decided to take a few pictures of each other directly in front of us. Normally I’d get all “C’mon… Seriously???” on them, but I thought they were so cute, I decided to snap a few pictures of them myself.

Posing for pictures in front of the Cape of Good Hope sign turned into a bit of a comedy routine jockeying for a spot in between the Chinese. All other tourists (non-Chinese) stood around dumbfounded about how to go about slipping in for a picture. If they handed their camera off, a Chinese tourist would hand them their camera to take a picture of them instead. During my attempt with the sign, I simply started photo-bombing any and all Chinese who couldn’t wait for their turn. The poor girl taking our picture was super patient, trying to wait for them to move, until finally I told her “Don’t worry, it’ll be great, we’ll just pose with him…” but she was a bit apprehensive, trying to figure out if I was being serious or sarcastic.

Having enough of the tourists at Cape of Good Hope, we got back in the car to head up to Cape Point. The peak above Cape Point is higher, and feeling a bit pressed for time, we decided to take the funicular up to the top. It proved to be another beautiful view, but one that was again, full of other tourists jockeying for their own photos. We didn’t stay long.

We had planned on going on an evening climb up Table Mountain with a group organized by our hostel when we got back from both Capes. Unfortunately, we got stuck in traffic again. We skipped having a late lunch due to time constraints, so by the time we got back, we were starving, and again, after driving and sitting through traffic, I was feeling rather worn out. We attempted to go out for some quick take-out and then decided it simply wasn’t worth it. Instead, we canceled going on the climb and opted for burgers and beer instead.

Sometimes I feel like I’m being a bad traveler when I skip out on plans because I feel worn out. I should sleep when I’m dead or at least think something along those lines, right? But then Andrew reminds me it’s ok to take a few steps back, and I am usually glad when we do.

Day 232: Knysna

We woke up to a lovely breakfast spread and then jumped in the car to get our tire checked out at the local mechanic. After the tire was checked out, we were told the inside rim was bent. He would pound it out for us. I shook my fist at “First Car Rental” and vowed that next time I rent a car and am told “It won’t be a problem at all” I will get a written statement with a signature. Because, what if something happened?!

After our car was good to go, we went for a drive around town. We started with a lookout point that gave different views of the city, the lagoon, and the ocean below, drove through an area of fancy vacation houses and then walked around downtown. We slipped in a few thrift stores. We tasted oysters (Andrew’s first time). And we picked up some meat for the brai (South African for barbeque) at our hostel that night.

Driving into Knysna we passed a rather extensive shanty town just outside of the city. Driving through the town to look at the fancy mansions or just smaller houses along the water reenforced our perceptions that there is a continued racial divide in South Africa. The shanty houses we drove past were minimal. stacked on top of each other. cringe-worthy. Not ten (I’m guessing here) miles away were huge houses that were seemingly empty. Vacation houses, Andrew suggested. None of them even looked lived in. A few maids (black people, in uniform, of course) were seen beating dust out of a rug or taking out the trash, but it was apparent that only white people lived here.

When we walked through town, a few people stopped to ask us for money. Andrew and I have tried to avoid handing out money. If we gave everyone something, we wouldn’t be able to continue this trip. That’s why we’ve tried to volunteer along the way, or give back in a other ways. It’s not always easy. I’ve caved and bought something from a child (or remember my five minute massage?). Andrew has given some small change here and there… It has affected us differently and at different times.

Whenever someone would stop us here in Knysna, they would hone in on Andrew. I’m not sure why. Sometimes they go for me. Sometimes they go for him. Usually, we try to be as polite as we can while not slowing down. As soon as you stop, it can be so much harder to get away. We don’t always know when it’s a scam or not either. Quite simply, it can be a toss up.

Today, a man came up to us a few blocks away from the grocery store we just visited and said something very softly to Andrew. The man practically ignored me, not in a rude way, more like one man talking to another man. I kept walking, figuring Andrew would eventually get away and catch up. I waited around the corner. and waited. and waited. Eventually, Andrew caught up and told me he needed to go back to the store for more bread.

“Is that all you gave him?” I asked slightly surprised that he gave him some of our dinner, yet also slightly surprised that all he gave him was our bread. We wanted to get so much more from the store- more vegetables, more cheese, some Nandos sauce, some ice-cream- but decided we didn’t NEED any of it, and in the spirit of trying to get our budget back down, we walked away from everything extra we wanted. Andrew looked a little shook up, but I didn’t press it, and we stopped in another store to pick up a cheap bottle of wine to go with dinner.

Which again, felt a little wrong. Andrew had just given away some bread to a man who clearly (unless it was indeed a scam) needed it. And we were still able to walk into a store and get a $4.00 bottle of wine. While we were in there we overheard a white South African girl calling friends asking what they were going to drink that night, asking if she should get more bottles or not. She circled the store, spotting her uncle’s label of wine and then complained (loudly) how expensive it was. Then with her two friends in tow, she ponied up to the counter, talking (still way too loudly) on her phone the entire time about their plans for that evening, and then walked out with two boxes of various wines. I could tell Andrew was uncomfortable. I could see it written on his face how bad he felt having talked to the man on the street, having only given away some bread, buying some drinks for himself, and then having to listen to a young, rich, white, South African girl unintentionally advertise how wealthy she was in comparison to the older, poor, black man outside.

We walked back to the hostel. Andrew told me the man had come on a boat from the Sudan and he was trying to find other Sudanese people that he knew about in Knysna, but all of the truck drivers were asking him for 100 Rand (basically $10.00) and he didn’t have any money. He said he hadn’t eaten in two days and he couldn’t find any ‘familia’ around to help him. Andrew said that the man was in tears, he looked really scared. His voice started shaking and Andrew could tell he was trying not to cry, but he couldn’t help it. Andrew admitted that it could have been a scam, but if it was it was a damn good one. He had never seen someone look so scared and helpless before. I could tell Andrew was conflicted, wondering if he should have given the man more or if he should be satisfied for what he did give him or what if it WAS a scam…

Tired from a restless (slightly sleepless) night in the hostel, I had planned to take a nap. Andrew paced back and forth, clearly still upset as he thought about the man on the street.

“Do you want to lay down with me?” I asked, knowing that would make me feel better if I was him as I climbed into my bottom bunk that I couldn’t even sit up in. He nodded and climbed in after me. We’ve gotten remarkably good at squeezing into these bunks that are entirely too small for two, let alone when one of us is so tall. I wrapped my arms around him and fell asleep. I woke up to him still in my bunk looking at his computer, telling me he was going to run back to the store for more bread. When he returned, I asked if he saw the man on the street again. He didn’t, and perked up over a beer and a brai that night.

Day 231: East London to Knysna

Clear skies! Finally! We hit the road early and halfway through the morning, pulled over to see how Andrew would do behind the wheel. Aside from a few start then stall then start again moments, he did great!

I thought the houses along the way were so beautiful, dotting the landscape of green and brown with bright punches of color. We rolled into Knysna towards dusk and were given directions to Mitchell’s Brewery for a beer tasting before we called it a night.

Day 230: a rainy day in East London

Our gracious host suggested we stay another day because of the weather. We weren’t planning to, but then I woke up exhausted. That kind of exhaustion that courses through both your arms, your legs, your head, your everything. It was raining again, so I knew it would just be me driving again, and I knew I wasn’t up for it. We decided to stay another day. Also, Andrew needed to practice driving.

We headed to the mall (in the rain) to get a wire to hook up an ipod to the car stereo, eat lunch, and practice driving. Andrew very rarely gets frustrated, so when he does, I find it very entertaining. It also puts me in check on how entertaining it must be for him when I get frustrated. He kept demanding when he was supposed to change gears. I didn’t know the answer other than…

“I don’t know, you just feel it… Don’t you feel that?” I asked as the gear strained needing to change.

“No!” He responded frustrated.

“Shift!” I demanded. He grumbled. I laughed. He didn’t. But he got a little more comfortable and I told him he just needed more practice, which hopefully if the rain let up, he would get en route to Cape Town.

Day 229: Durban to East London

Road-trip 2013! Andrew and I picked up our car early in the morning and headed down through the Transkei to East London where we planned to stay one night with yet another couchsurfer host to help break up our drive down to Cape Town.

We knew it would be a bit more expensive, but we were in desperate need of some freedom. Driving again (I haven’t had a car since… college?) was a little challenging. Not only has it been at least 5 years since I’ve driven a car, but shifting gears with my left hand and driving on the left side of the road, in pouring rain were not factors we considered.

Furthermore, one of the tires was low. Andrew pointed this out to the rental company right away. They assured us it was just because it had been sitting in the parking lot for awhile, and had it pumped up for us “to make us feel better.”

Driving through the Transkei was everything our South African friends warned us about. There were cows and goats wandering across the road whenever they wanted. I’m still a bit skeptical why there were absolutely no fences for these herds. If I had a herd of cattle, I would think fencing them in would eliminate accidental deaths of cows crossing the road on a highway where the majority of the people driving through are INSANE.

At one point, a woman wandered in the middle of the road- without looking and I had to swerve around her. It was raining. There was fog. Animals. People. Construction. It was a FEAT getting into East London that night. Andrew is not as experienced driving a standard (shift) car. I was nervous enough adapting to driving on the other side of the road, shifting with my left hand, in the rain, we both figured it was probably a safer bet for him to continue navigating and me continue driving.

Meanwhile, our tire kept losing air. Every time we stopped for gas, we had our tire pumped up.

We were late getting into East London. It was still pouring when we pulled up to our couchsurfer host’s house. Not house, more like mansion. We discovered we were actually staying in their bed and breakfast that was attached to their house. A beautiful room with a loft all to ourselves. We were drenched. I was exhausted. Our host, an older woman in her early sixties I’m guessing- but a youthful sixties- offered us some soup. I immediately accepted and we sat around her kitchen talking about our travels, warming up over homemade soup with fresh bread and butter.

Her and her husband had traveled up through Africa and ended up couchsurfing. They had a really positive experience doing so, and had since decided to attempt to give back to the community. I was so grateful. I am still so grateful. I can’t even imagine getting the same kind of reception if we had showed up to a generic hostel or hotel in town. Can you?

Day 228: another rainy day in Durban

I make mistakes all. the. time. But I try (emphasis on try) to own up to my mistakes, and/or at least apologize for them. Our host did not apologize for waking us up in the middle of the night. He acted like nothing happened the next day, while avoiding eye-contact. This did not bode well with me. But again, I reminded myself that I was sleeping on his couch. for free. without having known him prior.

It was another rainy day. We did much of the same as we did the day before. We also made plans to leave earlier than planned and were motivated to have more control over the rest of our time in South Africa by renting a car. We stopped by our host’s restaurant, and had a few drinks. I really enjoyed our host’s friends, but again, we excused ourselves early as we had to pick up our rental car and start driving down to Cape Town early the next morning. 

Alas, again, we were woken up in the middle of the night. Our host wanted to tell Andrew he would be outside. I think he wanted to have another heart to heart. Andrew didn’t humor him this time. We woke up to a hand written note about how cool we were. Unfortunately, we didn’t leave him a similar note.

Day 226: Joburg to Durban

South Africa, you have some beautiful landscapes. That is the triple truth, Ruth. 
At the last minute, a couchsurfer host responded to our request, and we were elated we had a place to stay when we arrived in Durban. We were intrigued he was a restauranteur and looking forward to meeting him and trying out his restaurant. We stopped by the restaurant at night, when he was working and were happy to sit down with him and his friends and talk about our travels and the restaurant business in South Africa and what Durban was like. A few free shots later, we slipped out before it would be guaranteed that I would wake up with a headache.

Day 225: Apartheid Museum

The Apartheid Museum  tells the story of the era of Apartheid in South Africa. If you’re unfamiliar with Apartheid, the word is Afrikaans, and as you can see below (in a picture I was not supposed to take), the definition is  “the status of being apart.” It became the term for the system of racial segregation enforced in South Africa between 1948 and 1994. If you want to know more about it, check out the wikipedia page all ’bout it.

It’s intense. The museum is intense, and I’m sure very thorough, but to us, it felt a bit… poorly organized. There is so much information and some really great – REALLY GREAT – media and photographs and imagery, but multiple times, Andrew and I weren’t sure where to go next or what made sense chronologically. We might be a bit daft, but after spending over two hours in the museum, I’m still not sure of the chain of events leading up to apartheid and what led to ending it. I cannot stress enough how much information is there, and how everyone visiting Joburg should go, but maybe spring for a guide who knows the lay of land a little bit. And maybe plan for more than two hours, because that was not nearly enough time for us.

Day 224: Liliesleaf Farm

Liliesleaf Farm is probably not the first thing that one thinks of when discussing Apartheid. I knew nothing about it, until Andrew discovered it was one of the top rated things to do on TripAdvisor in the area we were staying. We went and learned that it was a farm used by the ANC (political party in South Africa that defines itself as the “disciplined force of the left” and has been the ruling party since post-Apartheid South Africa) secretly during Apartheid in the 1960s. It was here where 12 activists were arrested, leading to the Rivonia Trial where 10 of these activists, ANC leaders, including Nelson Mandela were tried for attempting to overthrow the apartheid system.

It was interesting to see that a white family in the middle of Apartheid was pretending to live on a farm while hiding members, leaders of the ANC while they met. It reminded me a little of the Underground Railroad in the States during slavery (except this house was just for meetings, not smuggling people) and it just really surprised me that this was going on not so long ago. I’m always a bit befuddled when I hear about inequality. It gets me quite ranty and those who are friends with me on Facebook have probably hid me by now from their feeds (as they should) when someone tries to justify inequality.

On the farm, there was also an old safari bus that was used to smuggle weapons into South Africa for the ANC. Unsuspecting tourists provided a believable cover for the safari bus full of weapons. They showed a video of the tourists- more recently- being told that the bus they were on was smuggling so many weapons. It warmed my heart when some of the tourists, aside from being shocked, said that it might have been the best thing they’ve ever done- and it was done unknowingly.

Apartheid is gone, technically in South Africa, but the differences between races in the country were glaring to us as outside visitors. Domestic servants not only seem to be ONLY black women, but it seems that there is some underwritten requirement that they have to wear a maid’s uniform that reminded me of the Mammy archetype in old movies. Along the streets, we would see domestic servants walking to work. The only white people walking on the street seemed to be us (the few times we were walking somewhere). Whenever we interacted with a black person, it was because they were serving us to a some degree- they were the ones behind a deli counter, at the cash register in the super-market, our waiter at a cafe… It made me (and Andrew) feel uncomfortable. One time there was a white person working behind a counter and I immediately identified that that wasn’t exactly of the norm, and again, felt strange for noticing. It just felt strange.

I’m not pointing any fingers, I know change doesn’t happen overnight, and I certainly know that life must be better than it was during Apartheid days, but the differences we noticed, perhaps as Americans with a history (and a continued battle) with inequality, and after traveling through Uganda, Tanzania, and Mozambique, where everyone was black (except for those visiting or the white Portugese in Mozambique) it felt strange.  Tony and Raquel, both Portugese (Tony being Portugese-South African) told us that they weren’t characterized by the color of their skin, they were, to other South Africans, “Portugese.”

The strangeness continues…

These books are a memorial to those who lost their lives during the days of Apartheid. I thought they were so beautiful against the bright blue sky, don’t you?

Afterwards, Tony picked us up for dinner and we arrived to an abundance of food that Raquel had prepared for us. Thank you, so much to both of you! It was so fun hanging out with friends, that we had known prior to stepping foot in the country and being able to talk about everything from annoying tourists (Anya, I’m looking at you!) to South African politics to Mozambican economics to traveling through Laos… It made me wonder what conversations would be like over dinner back in the States.

Day 223: Main Street Market + I was shot in Joburg

When you plan to go on a trip around the world, you get excited about all of the new friends you’re going to make. You don’t prepare yourself for making new, wonderful friends from elsewhere in the world and then meeting up with them several months later in their home country. That’s what happened today. Even better, they came to pick us up and took us out around Joburg for the day! We headed to The Main Street Market and discovered I was shot in Joburg!

We met Tony and Raquel trekking through Northern Vietnam for three days. Tony even had seen my blog prior to the trip! (I’m sure he was just humoring me, but I felt like a celebrity nonetheless that he actually had read my blog before!) They had planned on us staying with them while we were in Joburg, but our timing was off and we arrived the very week they moved into a new place AND started a new job. To give you an idea of how sweet these two are, they told us how they kept us in mind when shopping for a pull-out couch for us to sleep on. They wanted to make sure it was not only comfortable for us, but that Andrew would fit on it. I could have kissed them. After traveling around for nearly eight months now, we’re used to taking care of each other, but when someone else jumps in to help take care of us, well, it just feels special.

They decided to take us down to Main Street Market, similar to Neighbour Goods Market, but in a different part of town. We were thrilled to have the opportunity to try foods we didn’t try the day before. Andrew found a micro-brewery. Thanks, SMACK! Republic!

I found some photography exhibitions, specifically one featuring street kids that totally rocked my socks off. (I have a thing for grids, alright?)

I was shot in Joburg (from their website) “is a brand providing a platform for street children, who’ve received photography training through the Studio_Bernard Viljoen Foundation [NGO], to apply their newly developed skills and generate an income…

Now, how can I do this in NYC when we move there next year? I was shot in Joburg people, let me know! I’ll be your American liaison! Your American counterpart! Your American fan- if nothing else. (Even though, I’m sure you probably have one of those already…)

And then, I found some street art on the way out, made everyone wait in the car for me, while I ran down the street to photograph them.

And then we went for coffee and Bloody Marys. Do you like how I made it sound like we all had both? We didn’t. Everyone else had coffee. I had a Bloody Mary. My first Bloody in at least eight months. “Once it hits your lips… It’s so good!”

Day 222: Joburg Neighbour Goods Market

There are good people in the world. And those people are couchsurfers. In this case, our hosts. If you’re unfamiliar with what couchsurfing is, just check out their website to see. We couldn’t do this trip without it and will forever be thankful for the opportunity to be a part of this crazy, yet unbelievably hospitable community. Our hosts for the night (and the following few nights) graciously picked us up from our hostel (we later found out it was roughly thirty minutes away from where they lived) and took us to the Joburg Neighbour Goods Market for the afternoon!

Niel and Resh tried to explain that they get out more when they host and appreciate where they live even more. I hope they weren’t just saying that to be nice. When Resh insisted on buying us coffee, Niel joked that she was rich and could afford it. I wanted to explain how meticulous we are with recording what we spend everyday. How not paying for coffee today could mean I could buy a beer tomorrow. On top of not spending money on accommodation for the night or a taxi to get to the market… Instead, I thanked them both profusely. for a my first latte in three months. (Because Uganda and Tanzania export all of their coffee, using the cheaper Nescafe instead. I’m assuming the same goes for Mozambique- but I don’t know if coffee is a big export for them, or they simply don’t grow it. Either way. We’ve been drinking Nescafe for awhile now.)

We walked around the market. Andrew and I were overwhelmed. It’s the same kind of reverse culture shock I get whenever I’m in an American grocery store after being in Korea for extended periods of time. (Once, an aisle of hummus and an attractive store clerk- who spoke English! – sent me running home without any groceries at all. I was so overwhelmed and didn’t know what to get or how I would ask someone for the cut of pork that goes in kimchi chiggae in English that I ran.) Now, going to any kind of grocery store is an adventure for the two of us, so an artisanal foods market was overwhelming.

Cheese. An entire stall devoted to Mexican food. Pizzas. Sushi. Homemade jams. Sausage. Beer. Mimosas. Champagne and Oysters. Bread. Sandwiches. Burgers. Quiches!

There was everything… except… black people. Being in Africa for three months, reminded me of what it was like in Korea at times. I didn’t really think I stood out until a child would touch my hair or my arm, or I would be sitting next to someone with beautiful skin that looked a bit different than my own and be so envious of how they would never be pasty white. As in Korea, in Africa, I got used to standing out from the crowd a little. In Korea, I would notice more readily when another “foreigner” was around. Now, in South Africa, here at the Neighbour Goods Market, I noticed more readily how many others looked similar to me and how few looked different. It was strange.

“There’s a lot of white people here.” Andrew stated the obvious within the first few minutes of walking in the doors.

“Yea… Weird…” I agreed. That, and the plethora of options to eat continued to befuddle us throughout the afternoon.

After the market, we headed back to their place where we sipped on Scotch and a South African cream liquor while we watched 2001: A Space Odyssey. Andrew and I could not stop saying “Thank you” and were in constant awe of how easy everything was after Mozambique.

Day 221: Joburg Hop on – Hop off bus tour

I’m cheating on this post. We didn’t actually go on the bus tour our first day in Joburg. There, I said it. (Whew! I feel better!) Instead- we arrived in town around four in the morning and crashed in our hostel until mid afternoon. It was gloomy. Thunder. Lightning. A rainy day perfect for sleeping after jumping countries. We managed a quick trip to the mall nearby to get lunch and a sim card, and then went back to bed.

A couple days later, our friends (made in the very first month of this trip trekking in Northern Vietnam), Tony and Raquel, suggested we do the Joburg Red Bus (also known as the Joburg Hop on – Hop off bus tour) while we were in town. A blogger friend of theirs wrote all about her adventure (here) and told us to check it out to see if it was something we would like to do. As we didn’t have our own car, we figured a bus to a lot of places we’d otherwise have to pay (a super overpriced taxi) to get there was probably a good idea.

Instead of showing you one minute of rain, I thought I’d take this day (this post) to show you a little of what we saw from the bus, and the fun pictures I got from the roof of the bus driving around Joburg!

We hopped on downtown right at the start and wound our way through the lively inner city. One that I would have LOVED to explore by foot with a camera in hand on my own, but safety doesn’t exactly permit one to walk around downtown Joburg by herself with a couple thousand dollars worth of camera gear in hand. I was really excited to shoot the city from the bus and maybe get some different perspectives and angles than I would have on foot.

he architecture is stunning. Despite the decay that is evident in many buildings, it becomes a beautiful juxtaposition. I could have ridden the bus around in circles just in the downtown area people watching. We drove out to the Apartheid Museum (more on that later) and around some other sites on the outskirts of town and made our way back into the city. Some old mining mills were still standing off the sides of the expressway.

When we got back downtown, my finger started twitching and I wanted desperately to get off the bus and walk around to take pictures. I spent two years shooting for Seoul Suburban walking around on my own (or with Charlie) photographing daily city life in Seoul. It was frustrating to not feel like I could do that. Except, I just had to make the decision TO do it. I told Andrew we were getting off the bus.

“Are you going to put your camera away?” He asked.

“No. I want to take pictures.” I was indignant. He sighed, knowing this was probably a battle he wasn’t going to win. I pulled my confidence pants up and we walked around until the next bus came.

We had to sprint to catch the next bus, which entertained quite a few people making their way into the park we were running through, but we made it and hopped on the next bus. Which is probably good, because Andrew later said he was a little bit nervous walking around that area of town.