Graffiti Train, Biking, Penguins, and Hungry Orphans

Mark and I were holding hands, crossing the street when I casually mentioned that there was a car quickly approaching.   “That’s why I said ‘cross quickly’.”  “Mmr, mmr, mmr, mmr, mmr,” I joked in an R2D2 voice.  We had just finished McDonalds breakfast (with a supplemental Theraflu for my goobery cold), and were planning our potential future in Cape Town.  We’re always taking applications for somewhere to live, and Cape Town was meeting the ideals: mountains, ocean, outdoor sports, multicultural cuisine and cultures.

We caught up with Joel and Michael as they returned from a 5 am hike up Table Mountain.  Surprisingly, they were up for a trip to Cape Point, so the four of us set off on foot to the train station.  Along the way, we met a young man who was hungry.  Normally, we don’t give to beggars, but this kid was clearly hungry.  He told us he would not return the food, he hadn’t eaten in 24 hours, and we could watch him eat it.  It was heartbreaking.  We bought him 3 pot pies and a box of milk at the corner store.

We took the 45 minute graffiti train to Fish Hoek where we hopped onto a 5 minute bus to Simon Town.  From there, we walked to a bike shop where we rented bikes.  We pedaled to Boulder to see the African penguins which were absolutely adorable, and coincidentally, impossible not to pet.  I’m not advocating that people should do it, I just couldn’t resist.  They’re so soft.  From there, the bike ride was brutal.  The winds were fierce, blowing us all over the road.  The sea salt air was intoxicating, but eventually, we found ourselves ditching the bikes and opting for a park bench along the water.  We listened to the soothing sounds of the white caps breaking and commented about how much it reminded us of a spliced together picture of California Pacific Coast Highway and Greece.  The wind became too fierce to continue by bike, so we turned back around and let the wind push us uphill.  We returned the bikes and headed back toward the train.

On the way back home, Mark and I stopped in Kaulk for seafood.  For roughly $30, we dined outdoors on chili prawns and garlic calamari with cilantro rice.  On the way back to the train, we saw two orphaned teen boys who were hungry, so we bought them meat pies and milk.  Then, we saw two more boys who were hungry, so we fed them too.  It’s heartbreaking to think about being hungry, especially during the teen years when kids grow so much.



Chili Prawns and Garlic Marinated Calamari



Three gals dancing to the sounds of an outdoor band

Paragliding in Cape Town

Long Street- Very Cosmopolitan

Yours Truly Cafe- A Deliciously Strong Cup of Coffee

After 31 hours of sitting, we were ready for a walk.  We grabbed our gear and trekked 14 blocks on foot through downtown Cape Town.  The city of 3.1 million people was beautiful with its modern skyscrapers, New York-style upscale boutiques, and charming cobblestone courtyards.  Near a park bench, we dumped our bags into a pile while 3 scouts were sent out to inquire about accommodations.  While we waited for the scouts to return, Connor and Kenny entertained themselves with stunt tricks like climbing the light posts and doing flying superman holds perpendicular to the pole.

The scouts came back with options including a hostel with a rooftop terrace.  In the end, we decided instead on Blue Mountain Backpackers, on Long Street.  We showered and headed out into the vibe.  Long Street is known for its lively bars and international restaurants, and this was 10 pm on a Friday night, so there was a lot going on.  We ate middle eastern haal pitas with brats made by street hawkers, then headed toward the night festival that we had passed earlier.  There were Christmas lights up, just like there would be in any downtown or Main Street in the States.  There was live music playing, and the streets were packed with street venders selling everything from ice cream to tie-dye wigs.  At one point, Sarah, Heidi, and I needed to use the restroom, so we ventured into a nearby mall to see what we could find.  A girl led us to a turnstile where we had to pay 1 rand to use the restroom.  Heidi was the only one carrying a purse, and there were only a 1 and 5 rand coin in it, so we packed the three of us into a one person stall, and pressed forward through the turnstile, laughing all the way.

When we returned to Long Street at around midnight, it was still packed.  We heard a Brazillian band playing heavy drums at Zula, a club two doors down from our hostel.  We got a discount group rate on the cover charge and headed upstairs to dance.  When Mark and I left around 1 am, Chad, Mike, Heidi, and Kenny could still be found jumping up and down in the front row, having the time of their lives.

The following morning, the team assembled to discuss our plans and verbally check in as a group (is everyone adjusting well to the culture; is everyone getting along; has everyone been able to go to the bathroom; is anyone going too much, etc).  We needed a day to make arrangements for the upcoming activities: shark tank, para-gliding, wine-tasting, and hiking Table Mountain.  Budgets and interests varied, but the activities were all so enticing.  Time was a consideration because flights spike in price over the holiday.  We decided on a four day plan; then Mark and I hit the streets for lunch.  We found an upstairs Ethopian restaurant just around the corner from Long Street, and Mark decided it would be his birthday dinner.  Detailed gold umbrellas lined the ceilings, wicker chairs adorned the hard-wood floor, and a wicker basket sat between us at our window.  The waiter washed our hands with a silver pot of water, then pulled off the lid of the pot in between us (which reminded me of an over-sided Chinese hat) to unveil a tray table.  The tray was covered in an oversized thin, white, spongy layer, and two bowls of curry were dropped onto the center of the tray.  It was delicious.

After our meal, we ran back to Blue Mountain Backpackers to get a taxi to Lion’s Head for paragliding.  We were stoked.  Our taxi driver took the scenic route, but eventually found our glide site.  Our arrival was further complicated by our Chaco sandals.  No one told us that we needed closed-toe shoes to paraglide.  The director of the paragliding outfit said we’d figure it out at the top.  We hiked up the mountain to the launch site.  The clouds were rushing over the mountain, and the view of the ocean below was spectacular.  Heidi was the first to gear up, but when she got ready to lift, the wind wasn’t strong enough.  We waited until the crew decided to launch from a higher location.  We climbed further up the trail to a launch site above the clouds.  Daylight was disappearing, and I knew that we’d be tight on time if I had to wait for someone to run a pair of sneakers up the trail for my turn, and I was getting further discouraged by the weather conditions.  I consoled myself with the idea that I could go the following day until I overheard someone say that conditions were going to be horrible for paragliding for the next few days.  I felt like a little kid whose parents took her to the fair and the rides weren’t working and the fair was leaving that night.  That little kid wanted to cry.  I had already missed out in India last year due to weather conditions, and I really wanted to glide, HAD to glide, RIGHT NOW!

When the wind was right, Heidi took off followed by Sarah.  Then, the wind got crazy and there visibility turned to zero- we couldn’t see the edge of the mountain, the rocks in the distance, or the ocean down below.  It got cold, and the paraglide crew huddled behind the chute which was sprawled out above the launch pad.  Mark had shoes on from Louis, a guy who was paragliding shoeless in his skydiving parachute.  Mark took pity on me and passed the tennis shoes on to me so that I could go.  I felt bad that had the shoes, but I also REALLY wanted to glide.  I got in the harness and was ready to go when the wind died down again.  We sat and waited, and waited, and waited some more.  Finally, we got a call that the visibility below was improving which meant that if we caught a glimmer of the sun, we could go for it.  The crew also relayed that another instructor was on his way up with a pair of shoes for me.  I returned Louis’s shoes to Mark and he got in the harness and was off.  I was barefoot cheering as he disappeared into the clouds.  Then went Connor, followed by Chad.  Eventually, the shoes arrived, and I geared up with Evo from Bulgaria.

It happened fast.  Evo said, “Lean forward.  Don’t jump.  Run as fast as you can, and keep running unless I tell you to stop.”  “Okay.”  “Run!”  And we started running off the mountain.  The wind resistance pulled us upward over the brush, and we disappeared into the clouds.  It was magical, and mystifying.  Where were we?  I couldn’t see anything except the clouds I was floating in.  I asked Evo if he knew where we were and he said he was following the sun.  I couldn’t see the sun, but I liked the feeling of floating, and my worries floated away.  We drifted in the thick clouds until a faint golden sun gradually appeared, then ocean, then houses and coastline down below. 

It was awesome.  I kept exclaiming, “I LOVE this!  Oh, this is wonderful!”  After a few minutes, Evo asked if I wanted to manually operate the controls.  He then tugged on one side and we swooped dramatically to the right.  My stomach dropped out, and I screamed with excitement.  Then he quickly pulled us in a sharp circle to the left.  Again, I was thrilled with excitement.  From the glider, I could see Robbins Island, where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned.  I could see the football field where the rest of the group (like ants) was waiting for me to land.  I didn’t want to land.  I wanted to fly forever.

The 31 Hour Train to Cape Town

We awoke to a cheery Chad and Michael knocking on our door.  “Hey, guys!   There’s steak and eggs for post-birthday breakfast!”  Awesome!  Hands down, best travel breakfast ever: homemade hash browns, cheddar cheese blocks, steak, eggs, and toast with jam.  We enjoyed breakfast together then loaded up our bags in the travel bus bound for the train station.  The train boarding experience somewhat resembled a Black Friday shopping experience.  The seats were first-come, first-serve, so we strategized and put the quick folks up in front and the big bag blockers in the back.  As the line opened to board, our group made a mad dash for a block of seats.  Sarah made us proud by hurling herself head-first over a block of 4 seats while the rest of us threw down our bags in clumps of two.  This block of seats would be ours for the next 31 hours.

As we settled in, I listened to the locals talking to each other.  I loved their accents, the way they said to each other, “How’sit?” (pronounced “howz-it”) and “Hey, mama” like the Michael Fronte song that I enjoy so much.  I realized what a luxury it was to navigate so easily with English.  Granted, we repeated ourselves a lot and asked people to repeat themselves frequently, but that was just because of our accents.  From the seats nearby, we met an inquisitive couple of boys, Mpho (7) and Thepelo (4), who were interested in our gadgets.  They were fascinated by Mark’s computer, my Kindle (which they thought was a Bible), and Justin’s ipod.  They entertained us until they got bored, then they got stir-crazy.  They started lifting Mark’s sleeve to check out his tattoo, tugging on Connor’s nipple ring, pushing buttons on Mark’s computer, and trying to grab at my Kindle.  Soon enough, they arrived in Kimberly (a town known for its mines) and exited with their dad and uncle who were very gracious with their well-wishes.  The kids cracked us up by giving high 5’s, pounders, and “blowing it up.”

We dined on fish and chips at the café and the server asked us why we weren’t sleeping in tourist class (presumably because we’re white tourists).  We lamented that tourist class was full, and she suggested that we speak with the conductor because it was in fact not full.  We upgraded without knowing the price.  A good night of sleep is priceless, right?  Chad, Michael, Mark and I were the only brave ones to chance the price.  Everyone else opted for overnight upright chairs for fear that the sleeper rate would be outrageous.  One conductor came in to quote us a price of 180 rand each ($27 US).  We asked him to see if he could find a better rate and come back in the morning.  He suggested a 5 am collection, and I countered at 8 am.  He never came back, so we slept comfortably on a free upgrade.  Mark and I took melatonin pills, so we didn’t notice when another friend from the group came in to join us.  Chad and Mike didn’t have earplugs, so they poked our friend every time he fired up with the snoring- maybe that’s why our friend wasn’t in the room when we woke up.

At 9 am, we were invited to breakfast in the dining cart with the tribal Chief of the Koisan people.  Mike, who met the Chief while drinking the night before, assured us that the chief was looking for publicity, not money.  We were skeptical, but curious.  The Chief turned out to be an overweight, white man with blue eyes and two tourist-looking necklaces.  Our skepticism increased.  We trudged through his documents and endured his stories about his people and their lawsuit against the government and their struggle to regain the mineral rights for the land.  After listening for about 10 minutes, Mark and I were pretty sure this was a long con.  The Chief was going to send us more information, and he hoped we would do some fundraiser for him.  Coincidently, Mike conversed with a local guy named Elvis a few hours later, and discovered that Elvis (the local) had in fact met the Chief and he was black.  Hoax confirmation received.

Other entertainment included booze and a train jumper.  The ride started off quiet, but by the end of the evening, several passengers were loaded and the volume got louder.  Men came through selling cold beer and hard liquor through the night and into the morning.  Our train was delayed when one beverage cart customer jumped from the train, landed on his feet, and fell over hard.  Other than that, the ride was filled with books and conversation.   I finished my first book of the trip, Oprah’s book club recommendation on Kindle, “The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake.”  It’s about a young girl who has a skill for tasting the cook’s emotions in her food.

Much of the ride resembled our portion of Colorado, high desert, but with ostriches and antelopes roaming throughout, but as we neared Cape Town, the landscape gradually changed.  The ride was supposed to take 27 hours, but there were many stops, and by hour 30, I was feeling stir-crazy.  We entertained ourselves as a group, telling jokes, and sweating from the increasing humidity.  When we arrived at hour 31, we could be heard shouting “Free at Last!”

Nelson Mandela’s House in Soweto

Soweto Street Art

Back of Nelson Mandela's House

Metal Street Art Depicting the Uprising in Soweto

At the end of 5 weeks, most of the 11 students will be returning to classes on campus.  However, Mark, Michael, and Justin will continue trekking north while taking classes online.  As we discussed our options, it made the most sense to fly south to the vineyards of Cape Town first, then start heading north.  At $250 one way, flights seemed expensive, so we decided to go by train.  After a piece of toast for breakfast (someone stole our eggs from the communal fridge), we all donned our rain jackets and headed for the train station to buy our tickets.  The sleeper train beds were booked solid (this is the high season for tourists on holiday), so we bought the only option remaining, 27 hour cushioned seats.

From the train station, we boarded a taxi van for Soweto, a suburb once known as a slum, now a destination for those who wish to visit Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu’s homes.  I was amazed by the revitalization efforts.  The neighborhood was full of colorful murals and metal artwork as well as memorial signage documenting the uprising against apartheid.  As we walked through the community, I envisioned Mark and I living comfortably in Soweto.  We toured Nelson Mandela’s home that he shared with his first wife Evelyn, a nurse, and his second wife, Winny, and activist.  Full of metals and award placards, the home was as much a testament to Winny as it was to Nelson.  I took particular note of the powerful quotes written on the walls:

"During my lifetime I have dedicated myself to this struggle of the African people. I have fought against white domination, and I have fought against black domination. I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die."

Across the street from Nelson Mandela’s brick house is a restaurant, so we stopped there for a late lunch.  The music playing was an eclectic mix of American gangster rap, R&B, and pop.  The sandwiches resembled an enormous hunk of angel food cake with beef piled into a hallowed out cavity, and contrary to the idea of losing weight in Africa, it seems I am bound to gain some- if not from the fried chicken and fish, perhaps from the mayo chicken sandwich and prevalent Cadbury chocolate bars.  As we ate, we watched the tour buses pull up to Mandela’s house.  Apparently, there is a booze cruise of sorts that tours Soweto (I think it’s name is officially the “Party Bus”), which is kind of bizarre given that it’s a historical neighborhood.  I wondered what people would think if Africans came to America and hopped on a Party Bus that toured Washington D.C. or Dr. Martin Luthur King’s neighborhood.

From the restaurant, we walked to the Hector Pieterson Museum which documents the uprising which took the life of a 13 year old boy.  When the government tried to force the Bantu speaking school children to learn Afrikkans (a Dutch-based language), there were student protests on the streets of the hill, and when the police got involved, they brought guns.  As I read his sister, Antoinette’s, quotes, I was filled with a heavy sadness for his family.  Hector has become a national symbol and now has his own holiday, the 16^th of December.

Outside the museum, Michael and Justin got their first lessons in bargaining.  Justin ended up with some necklaces and a wooden carving while Michael found some outstanding rock sculptures of a thinking man and a family of four.

The jet lag began catching up with us, so we made our way back to the hostel with a stop along the way for snacks.  Today is Mark’s birthday, so I had hoped to take him out to supper, but he was exhausted and crashed out as soon as we got back to the hostel.  I wanted to crash as well, but I had heard rumors about solar powered hot water for the shower and I had been smelling whiffs of Chaco foot funk all day, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t my feet.  I shaved my legs in the sink where I knew I could get warm water, then winced as I turned on the freezing cold shower.  Much to my amazement, I learned AFTER the shower that there was in fact hot water; I was using the wrong dial.  I bundled up in wool socks and a fleece jacket over my pajamas, popped a melatonin and was just about to crawl into bed at about 5:30 pm local time when Michael knocked on the door.  The group had T-bone steaks ready for the grill.  Seriously?  You know I must have been tired and cold because I almost never turn down a steak.  What a sweet thing to do though!  This is a great group.

First 24 hours in Jo-Berg, South Africa

Despite the free internet, movies, and in-flight meals, there was a feeling of relief when the captain announced that we were finally in South Africa.  The 14 hour flight from Atlanta to Jo-berg put us in at 5pm local time (about 7 hours ahead of the States).  Sarah and Conner, friends traveling with Mesa State’s Outdoor Program, experienced their first international landing and were promptly greeted by a drug-sniffing dog at the baggage carousel.  The dog must have been trained to look for delicious food because the security guard swiped Conner’s beef jerkey upon the dog’s recommendations.

As we exited the airport, we were greeted by an enthusiastic Heidi and Joel, more friends from the O.P.  They brought a free shuttle from Gemmini Backpackers and informed us with sheer excitement that they had already appeared on South Africa’s MTV with the African equivalent of Metallica.  While I chattered on, Mark, Sarah and Connor went to the ATM to load up on cash, the African Rand (the conversion is about 6.5 : 1 US).

The driver loaded our bags into a tall taxi van where we sat comfortably shoulder to shoulder.  As we drove through green boulevards, I was surprised at the peaceful quiet, no honking, no weaving.  There were skyscrapers, nicely paved roads, and loads of infrastructure as well as modern cars that could be seen in any other large U.S. city.  Toyotas were well represented, but we also spotted a tiny black Ford truck which sounded like a 3 cylinder.  During the drive, I enjoyed a conversation with a Dutch gal named Laura.  She had studied food services for a semester in Michigan before becoming a teacher in the Netherlands.  She was here on 3 months of vacation.  So far, she had been to Japan, Thailand, and Zambia.  She spoke perfect English as well as 4 other languages, and when Mark expressed embarrassment at how most Americans only speak fluent English, she kindly noted the privilege that we must enjoy.  Truly, we’re spoiled.  Despite her origination in the Netherlands, she paid to volunteer for three weeks in Zambia as an English teacher for children.

After a short drive through the city, the streets narrowed into the northern suburbs.  We arrived at our swanky accommodations, a hostel complete with beautiful gardens, a pool, lounges, and several kitchens.  The outdoor music was thumping like dance club; I immediately loved it.

We joined the rest of our group of 11 who were checking out an indestructible Helix that 3 Isreali guys had recently purchased in Cape Town for about $11,000 US.  They had just finished outfitting it for a 3 month desert journey, and were showing off its metal bars, deep drawers, and attached tent.  We caught up with the group, then arranged for a taxi to a 7-11 type grocery store.  We loaded up on Black Label beer (a delicious ale), chicken stir-fry, and pasta for supper.

Back at the $10 per person hostel, we congregated in the kitchen as we each grilled chicken, boiled rice, and stir-fried veggies.  More than once, we heard someone say with amazement, “We’re in fricking South Africa!”  Mark slipped away to work on his final paper while the internet and general power came and went via the large power adapter.

The temperature was cooler than expected, and by the time I showered in the two dial shower (cold and colder), I was freezing.  I went to bed with wet hair and freezing toes, thankful I had packed a fleece jacket, but too cold to get out of bed to dig it out of my duffle bag.  During the night, a powerful rain storm moved through which peacefully lulled me to sleep despite the running I kept hearing up above on the metal roof.  I imagined a cute little monkey running across it, but a breakfast I was informed that there were large rats that had been seen in the area.

After a breakfast of toast and eggs, we were ready for an adventure, so the whole gang took the short walk down a street and alleyway to a main street with public transportation.  Those who had done it before put their hands out indicating “1” which meant they wanted to go downtown.  Within minutes, a mini van pulled over, and for 6 Rand (about $1 US) loaded us up, and took us to the MTN taxi station, a central bus hub.  At the hub, we ventured into Boxer, a grocery store where we purchased Diet Coke (or Coke Light as it’s called here), and fried chicken from the hot deli case.  We then inquired about the mini-van that carries passengers to the Apartheid Museum.  As soon as the van was loaded up, we were off.  We were dropped about a block from the museum, where we could admire the boldly displayed words displayed on the museum’s pillars: democracy, equality, reconciliation, diversity, responsibility, respect, freedom . 

The entrance was divided into white and colored entrances, and people were asked to enter according to the race listed on their museum ticket.  Throughout the museum, quotes about apartheid were displayed along with a Nelson Mandela exhibit.  I struck by what an incredible man he is, how well he strategized and how hard he worked to forgive and bring equality to his country.  At the end of the museum, we enjoyed a latte (turns out I can get delicious ones here as well- full fat rather than skim, but, hey, what the hell).  The rest of the group went off to tour a mine or something like that while Mark and I returned to the hostel so that he could complete his final paper before the deadline.  Oh, glorious internet, before you he would have had to finish it before leaving town; now we have the option to turn things in right at the deadline, AND blog about it.  Oh, technology, you’re the best.

Airplanes, Airports and Attitudes

The more you travel, the more you notice social norms and the violators of said norms.  Maybe it’s the holidays, maybe it’s the cities, maybe it’s a societal trend… whatever the cause, Mark and I have observed some amusing bad behaviors in the past two days.

First observation, Park Meadows Mall.  A woman’s purse brushes another woman’s shoulder in a crowded hallway.  The woman spins around with her arms exaggeratedly thrown up in the air and exclaims with immediate offense for all to hear, “Excuse me!”   Really, over an accidental purse brush?  Seems like a bit of an over-reaction, but maybe she’s had a bad day.

Second observation, Wal-mart.  In nearly every aisle, someone scowls and eyes us down.  Is it my attitude?  I try to smile.  A family intentionally blocks us in an aisle and slow-pokes along.  Hmm, not loving it, but next time I’ll GPS a Target store instead.

Third observation, DIA.  An old lady wheeling an oxygen tank sits down across from Mark and initiates heavy, belabored breathing while eyeing him down.  After 15 minutes of apparent hinting, she quits the heavy breathing routine and spells out her irritation, “I need your wall plug in!”  “Excuse me?”  “They said I could plug in my oxygen tank, and I need your wall outlet!”  Just an unstated observation, but there are outlets everywhere and Mark is writing a final on his laptop, so he is using this particular outlet.  To solve her problem, Mark asks the gentleman behind him if he is not using the outlet, if this lady could kindly trade seats with him so that she can plug in her oxygen machine and they can use the outlet together.  She breathes normally and plugs in then promptly freaks out again with the heavy breathing routine because her outlet isn’t working.  “I need YOUR outlet!”  Mark trades with her and apparently neither outlet is working.  She gives up and goes back to normal breathing.  When we entered the plane, she was positioned in the exit row seating near the door.  Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure she’s not saving us all if the plane goes down.  Also in exit row seating, a 70+ year old woman in a neck brace who wheeled herself in with a walker… pretty sure she ain’t saving us either.

Fourth observation, Delta flight from Denver to Atlanta.  The German guy in the window seat in front of us pops up without warning, puts his foot up on the shared armrest, literally steps over two people, and runs to the bathroom.  Maybe he had explosive diarrhea, I don’t know, but he didn’t apologize when he came back, and he did the same thing, abruptly crawled over the two passengers seated next to him, not once, not twice, but THREE times during the two and a half hour flight.  Pretty sure the two sitting next to him hated his guts.

Fifth observation, Delta flight from Denver to Atlanta.  Before I sat down, the man in the window seat warned me, “Listen, I’m an old man, and I have to go a lot.”  I smile, “Okay, no problem, just let me know, and I’ll be happy to get up whenever you need to.”  I sit down and he proceeds to take over the arm rest and a quarter of my seat with his elbow.  Normally, I would say something, but I scrunched my arms in and calmly tried to read my book within the confines of the remaining inches I had to work with.  People, don’t be jerks.  You paid for your seat, not your seat plus a quarter of the one next to you.  It’s bad manners to elbow someone out of their seat.

Sixth observation, 14 hour flight from Atlanta to Jo-berg, South Africa.  Everyone else is doing it, so why we decided to join in, but hopefully with more tact.  Flying coach on international flights is uncomfortable, so when we noticed that the exit row seating wasn’t filling up, we asked the stewardess if it would be possible to enjoy the luxury leg room.  She said that with all of the snow-delayed flights, it was entirely possible that they were open and available.  Another guy overheard our plan and wanted it for himself, so Mark plopped his bag and his body down in the chair and waited to see if anyone came for the seats.  They didn’t.  We got three wonderful seats in the exit aisle.  Other guy wasn’t happy about it, but we were assertive first.  What can we say?  Taking is apparently part of our culture.

Getting out the Door- Departure Week

Departure week is always a beast, but this was the most wild and ferocious one that Mark and I have experienced to date.  The schedule went a little something like this:

On Wednesday, I had my last day of work at Bray and Company, the best company a student/traveler like myself could ever ask to be employed by.  Over the past four years, Bray and Company has patiently endured my incredibly flexible schedules.  On four separate occasions (SE Asia, Mexico, India, and Canada) I was given 6 weeks off with a job to return to.  As a part-time employee, my co-workers celebrated my entrances and supported my exits.  Yes, they were quite possibly the best employer a student traveler like myself could have ever asked to work with.

On Thursday, in accordance with the previous month’s schedule, I set my alarm for 6 a.m. so that I could study for GMAT exam.  When Mark woke up and headed to work (updating tile for a beautiful kitchen remodel at the Manchiem’s), I started packing our room into totes bound for storage, then headed to the math tutors at Mesa State College for my daily 2 hour study session.  I would have never thought to get free tutoring for a grad school exam from a school that I had already graduated from, but Amber Rich, a friend and former graduate now attending USC, did it, and I thought it was a great idea.  In exchange for sharing their mathematical brilliance, I presented them with pumpkin bread and Nanaimo bars.  After studying, I ran the final errands for our trip including a trip to the banks to notify them of our travel plans so that our ATM withdrawls wouldn’t end up suspending our accounts like an online Nigerian scam.  I also gathered the last of our gear,  a few additional travel bottles (there’s no such thing as too many tiny bottles with screw on lids) and soap from REI (to keep away the Nalgene bottle’s lid funk).  I studied for another hour and called Mark to see how the job was coming along.  It was 6 pm and he was planning to finish up around 10 pm, so I brought him some milk and helped him sponge up the tile and tape off the new backsplash and countertops so that they wouldn’t get painted on in the following days.  We were home by 10 pm, and I set about re-arranging my travel bag while we talked about the final dash to the finish line.

On Friday morning, I was up again by 6 am, and drove myself to Starbucks to study again for the GMAT while enjoying my (gasp) final latte.  It seemed that in the preceeding weeks before a trip, there was no end to the “last” of this and that.  Nearly every meal was approached as my “last”- the baklava at work, the turkey and twice baked potatos at the house, the daily Starbucks latte.  As I drove to Starbucks, I knew I hadn’t been sleeping enough and was running on nerves because I got choked up just seeing the “poor little dears” loading onto a school bus in the dark.  I finalized our accounts so that our bills were paid through the next five months and continued packing our room for storage.  The piles of totes seemed like they were taking over the house- how was it that we accumulated so much crap?  Lori, Mark’s mom, packed up our kitchen belongings, and I realized we had moved in more items that I had previously cared to notice.  Mark and I packed up his tools at the jobsite and moved them into a storage unit full of shelves that we had built at his dad’s place a couple of months back.  We had hoped to leave town around 5 pm, but by the time we had moved everything into storage, it was already after 7 pm.  Justin, a fellow Outdoor Program student, joined us in the cab of Mark’s dad’s Chevy Duramax diesel dually truck, and with a stop at the Taco Bell, we were on our way to Denver.  We quickly discovered that blizzard conditions over the I-70 had necessitated road closures which meant we would be re-routed through the heart of the Rockies, our old stomping grounds, Leadville.   It was a long night, and we didn’t arrive at Sunshine and Marc’s house until after 3 am. 

Unfortunately, I had a test to wake up for, and when the alarm went off at 5 am, I didn’t exactly feel rested on my whopping 1.5 hours of sleep.  I borrowed Sunshine’s Saturn and drove 50 minutes in the dark, across town to Westminster’s Perkins where I added an egg and piece of toast to the gut rot in my tired stomach.  As I studied for the GMAT, I found my eyes closing and head bobbing.  By 7:30 am, I was in the parking lot of Westminster’s Pearson Hall Test Center.  The 4 hour test went smoothly, no emotional episodes or fits of sleep deprivation (although I really wanted to leave mid-way through the test; I knew I was moving too slowly and getting frustrated in the math section which meant I wasn’t scoring well).  The test results were immediate.  Ironically, my verbal score increased (shocking considering that I didn’t study that section this time around), but my math score didn’t budge one bit (disappointing considering the effort I had put in over the past month).  I was bummed, but surprisingly not as disheartened this time around- admittedly, this was atypical behavior for a perfectionist such as myself.  I came to the conclusion that I had truly given it my best effort, and that if fast-paced math wasn’t one of my noteworthy accomplishments in life, I could live with that.

I drove back to Aurora, the Denver suburb where we were staying, and as I entered the door, I heard James, my adorable 3 year old nephew scream with excitement, “Aunt Annie’s here!”  He was riding his brand new ATV in the living room and was elated to have a passenger.  After pinching his brother Malachai’s cute lil’ cheeks (yep, I’m THAT aunt), Mark and I rushed out to exchange my REI Tech Beast rolling duffle bag for a 35” Rolling Beast- it was a brand new bag, but the seam had already let loose and I couldn’t have that continuing during the trip.  A note about why I love REI: when I purchased the first bag, I used a 20% off coupon.  When I exchanged it, they gave me that same discount on the second bag which allowed me to buy more stuff to pack in it.  REI rocks.  In contrast, our AAA luggage scale that we bought for the trip was a bust (literally).  We ended up at Colorado Luggage in the Park Meadows mall springing for a $27.00 digital scale.  On the way out, Mark and I were both feeling racked, so we thought we’d treat ourselves to massages, but when we attempted to negotiate a discount rate for two we discovered that the Asians at the massage booth in Park Meadows Mall don’t offer the kind of bargains we had become accustomed to in Southeast Asia.  Darn set prices.

Back at Sunshine’s, Marc treated us to one of his specialty treats, a cheesy baked seafood and salmon dish.  We wanted to socialize afterwards, but Mark had two final papers to research and I was still running on 1.5 hours of sleep and a cup of tea, so we collapsed into bed at 8 pm.  Mark set his alarm for midnight so that he could get up and research using his inter-library loan books during the remainder of the night.   The papers could be written during the airplane ride, but the research books needed to be returned to the school, so this was the only available option.

When I woke up, I reapportioned our bags so that we wouldn’t have to pay for excess baggage fees (we each were packing about 70 lbs of gear, and the airline only allows 50 per bag, so we temporarily divvied out the extra pounds into a third duffle bag).  Sunshine, who is not known for being a morning gal, graciously drove us to the airport in her purple fleece pajamas.  As we wheeled our duffle bags into Denver International Airport, the excitement was mounting.  Despite the past weeks of exertion, we were on our way to Africa.

Countdown to Africa

We're in the final days of counting down to Africa:


December 8- Last day at work
December 9- Packing, moving into storage (ie: becoming homeless)
December 10- Driving to Denver
December 11- GMAT test for grad school
December 12- Flying to Africa for almost 5 months of adventures

Oooh, the anticipation- white-water rafting with the hippos in the Zambeezi river, hiking Kilimanjaro, riding camels through the pyramids, hot air balloon ride over the giraffes in the Serengeti, looking for the big five on a safari, and scuba-diving off Mozambique... I can hardly wait!

The African adventure begins: December 12th