Back for Christmas

It's nearing Christmas 2012. I'm sitting in the living room at Mum and Dad's, drinking beer and watching the test cricket on TV. The jetlag has just about worked its way through, and I am about to arrive mentally in the east Australian timezone, almost a week after my flight touched down last Tuesday. Budapest - Eindhoven - Amsterdam - Seoul - Sydney - Mittagong. My creative spark is at a low, so I'm gonna enter this update rather prosaically. I entered Europe on May 15 and was collected by my friend Elise. I spent a week or so looking around her place in Haarlem before we headed off to the south of France. We stayed in Reims on the way, then arrived in the Dordogne region the next day, spending a week with her aunt and uncle. On the way back to Holland, Elise dropped me in Picardie and I spent a week exploring the WWI battlefields on bicycle.

Back in Holland, I readied myself for the trip to Budapest by rail. This was an exciting prospect - a journey straight through the heart of Europe at a relaxed pace. At the other end was the heat of Budapest and a teacher training course known as the CELTA. The course took a month and was tough work indeed, but it set me up for the life I've been living since then, as an English teacher in the Hungarian capital. It hasn't been easy; I've found it stressful at times, and even now that my timetable is good, I'm still working long hours to earn enough to get by. But I am finally deriving a feeling of satisfaction from teaching in BP. The opportunities for professional development are good, and I like the vast majority of my motivated students.

Interlude

Which didn't happen, of course. In the last few moments of my Korean tour of duty, I re-thought my decision to travel west to Europe by train, and found I didn't have the necessary reserves of energy for it. Only now, 2 weeks into my 3 week break at home, have I understood the importance of that decision. There was a desire to compose some Heroic Travel Narrative, which almost overcame my desire to go on enjoying my sanity as long as I can, and in doing this, to continue enjoying life. I hope I do not forget this valuable lesson. Life in Korea wasn't easy. It might have been - if I'd had the intelligence of a biscuit, or been born with an innate love of repression, for instance. Instead, it was so much wedging oneself into whatever pigeonhole was presented, a brief frantic search to find the like-minded expats (followed by adopting the local habit of wishing foreigners would just bugger off), and much, much boredom. So, after 2 years on the Insular Peninsula, I flew home. It was emotional, though not like it was last August. But I knew it was again, temporary. There is no drive to stay. I have a renewed love of the beauty of the place. I am more aware than ever of what I don't like about it. But so much life is in continuity, in money-making, in dancing the dance, and in making it look as if you know what's happening. I still don't know what I'm here for. A few years ago I thought I did and it was lovely to have something to tell people, but the truth is, I have handed the question of "purpose" back to whatever forces deal with such things. In the meantime, this little fish will be nibbling the bait in Europe, hoping to be hauled onshore, hoping something consumes him.

Post-Asia

The tagline of this blog is already out of date. I've been here for 2 years now, but I'm gonna keep it anyway.

The other impending development is that soon, really damn soon, the title is gonna be in the same way. That's right readers - Lach In Asia is getting a sex change and becoming Loretta.

But not! Hands up if you fell for it. Go on, there's nothing wrong with being gullible. They are the best kinds of highschool girls.

My final day of work here will be on Friday, April 13. After that it's a week and a bit until my boat takes me to Vladivostok, Russia, from where I will commence a cross country trip on trains and buses (but mostly trains). After a leisurely 6 weeks of this, I'll head to Budapest, where I will study for a CELTA certificate, thus enabling me to teach English in a nice country. Word is that, in the following couple of weeks (and money permitting), I'll be doing some much needed travel through Western Europe with a friend from Holland. In the Summer.

So, let it happen. All I need to do is refrain from planning too far ahead and enjoy myself. This is gonna be the trip of a lifetime.

South Africa Part 5

Having only 4 days in Cape Town, I decided to sign up for a tour of the Cape Peninsula on my first day. This was with the Baz Bus company which I would later use for the trip up the east coast. With driver and tour guide Roger, we first headed south along Chapman's Peak Drive, then took in the cape fur seals at Hout Bay, crossed over to Simon's Town to see a colony of penguins that had decided to make it their home, then headed down to the Cape for a bit of cycling. After lunch, we walked between Cape Point and The Cape of Good Hope. Roger threw down a challenge to us. Apparently each time he takes out a group there is the offer to try and break the record for running between the top of the escarpment, down to the beach and back up again. There were no takers but he told us the record holder was an Australian. I at once thought of our training at Gallipoli.



Beautiful cape fur seals, and so many too.



We have a dog at home that looks a bit like this one.



The magnificent view of Hout Bay.



Of all the penguins, this one was the best!



We had lunch at a tourist centre just in front of this Cape style house.



If you're lucky they don't bite you and give you rabies.



The Cape of Good Hope, the bane of many a sailor's existence.



Dassies, sweet little dassies. I am not kidding when I say that their closest relative is the African elephant.



I gave this day not one thumb up, but two.



Back at the hostel, with a view of Table Mountain.



The next day was spent in the sun at Clifton Beach (no.4?)



And after that, the climbing of Table Mountain.





One of the last highlights for me was horseriding on the beach at Cintsa.



Mine was named "Girly."



And then I went home.

South Africa Part 4

And then I took the train to Cape Town. A fancy train for tourists. On this occasion I declined the cheaper option and went in style. Sort of.

Some of my favourite pictures from the entire trip came from this journey. A lot of people pass through South Africa and don't see the vast arid interior. It's not your typical tourist attraction admittedly, but the desert has a different kind of beauty that I didn't want to miss. And I wanted to feel the heat too. A lovely dry heat which made the frigid temperatures of Korea a forgotten memory. (Is that an oxymoron? Should I go with the cliched "distant memory" instead? I think so.) The dry heat of Africa turned the frigid temperatures of Korea into a distant memory.



New pal and chess connoisseur Ben and I passed the time with a few games in the lounge while waiting for our delayed train.



Smashin'!



Planes fly so high that they propose a far more detached experience for the traveller. On a train you get to see the landscape change, sometimes in increments, and sometimes with a sudden drama. Train travellers in Africa heading south first get to witness the gradual emergence of new flora on approaching the cape. The aridity of the Karoo gives way to some hesitant farms, the train then takes roughly 10 minutes to pass through a tunnel, and emerges into the Cape Winelands; the explosion of colour rousing passengers out of their daytime ennui. Everyone is excited to arrive in Cape Town.









Mountains also return to the landscape down here. We choofed into Cape Town station after a long right hand turn which slowly exposed the magnificent Table Mountain. That afternoon, it was adorned with the iconic "tablecloth" - the clouds which periodically billow over the crest.

Attempting to find my hostel in the dusk was at once stirring and disquieting. Cape Town is a remarkable city and I was immediately captivated by its ambience, created by its landscape of dramatic hills and proximity to the sea, coupled with the turbulent history of the place. But once again I had misjudged the distances on the map and I convinced myself I'd be walking around in cirlces half the night trying to find Cape Town Backpackers. In the end I was fine, and was calmed by the presence of security guards on almost every inner city street corner.

Friends later said they are the ones you need to look out for. As the SA police motto goes, "Welcome to South Africa - where crime does pay."

South Africa Part 3

Before we leave the Kruger, here is the Mangrove Kingfisher that spent a lot of time perched on a branch near our mansion at Berg-en-Dal. He wasn't too bothered by the human presence but flew off if we got too close, only to return within minutes. Only after leaving the Kruger did we discover we'd been looking at an endangered species; found only in the south-east of Africa.

After a long drive back to Johannesburg on the Friday, we enjoyed a restful night before heading off to Soweto the next morning. Soweto is one of the biggest and most well known township areas in South Africa and in the period before 1994 it would be rare for a white tourist or citizen to visit the area for any reason. When I grew up in the eighties, the old regime in South Africa was beginning to unravel, but from (at least) 1948, when the National Party gained a majority in parliament, the word "apartheid" was synonymous with South Africa. The government which divided up land, power and opportunities along racial lines increasingly found itself isolated by national governments worldwide because of its reactionary stance. We wanted to spend the morning in Soweto to see a few sights of national significance. (One of the most significant things about them is that until very recently they were woven out of the national fabric, or at least its official presentation.) Our "guide" Simon would be our entry point into the culture.

We managed to squeeze 5 stops into our tour. With Lianne behind the wheel (our tour guide neither drove nor had a sense of direction), we first headed off for Walter Sisulu Square of Dedication in Kliptown. Here in 1955, initiated by Professor ZK Matthews and other members of the ANC, members of Soweto's disgruntled general public gathered in order to form a document advocating democracy. This became known as the "Freedom Charter." Oliver Tambo and Nelson Mandela, though present, were banned from addressing the Congress, though they would later go on to write many of its principles into the constitution once they were voted into power in 1994.




I found this monument a very powerful and effective symbol of the democracy movement in South Africa. The ceiling of the silo-shaped monument is sloped and faces north, so the cross (which represents the vote) casts its light on the wall unreservedly from sunrise to sunset, a symbol of the equal scattering of rights across the land under the new regime.





The author, our man Simon, and Lianne on the spot where the young Hector Pietersen was shot and killed by police in the uprisings of June 1976. I could have spent all morning in the adjacent Hector Pietersen Museum, but we were being ushered along by a tight schedule.



On the floor of Mandela's Soweto home, the feet of tourists frame an explanation of the nature with which Mandela would shield himself and his family from police attacks.





Tourism can be misleading. Our guide (forearm visible) told us of the existence of 5 black madonnas worldwide, of which this one in Regina Mundi Church was the only example in South Africa. However a simple internet search yields results describing a pretty widespread phenomenon through history in Europe, Asia and the Americas.


Lastly, we visited the home of a lady who for years had sheltered the "Young Lions" - a group of activists who opposed the apartheid regime and were often arrested, interrogated, beaten, gaoled or any combination of the above for their troubles. "Mavis" was a wonderful old woman who told us her story and Simon emerged as a good interpreter for us (his flair for languages was typical of so many black South Africans who enjoyed fluency in 5 or more languages but were denied the right to work at higher levels of employment under the apartheid regime). Without knowing it, or even wanting it, we later sparked a debate regarding the current efficacy of the ANC, as it emerged that one of the young men present had apparently been forgotten by the government he suffered for, and had helped bring to power. By that stage, my belly was rumbling, and I was already smarting about the absence of homebrew we were promised. On Mavis' front lawn, as her young friends discussed a lifetime of need and obtaining the proper tools of change, all I needed was a sandwich, a beer, and a little less history.

South Africa Part 2

After about 7 hours of driving through Mpumalanga we made it to Paul Kruger Gate, the major entry point at Kruger National Park. I had a feeling of awe upon passing under and out the other side of its thatched roof. Visitors and locals alike share a reverence for the natural world within the boundaries of this park. It appears to be conditional. Upon departing at Crocodile Bridge at the end of our tour, Lianne and I noticed thick deposits of rubbish on either side of the road which started almost immediately upon exiting the park. Within the park itself however, there was a merciful absence of litter. I thought to myself that if we can harness an attitude of respect and awareness, and people can adhere to it within the confines of the park, why can't we apply this to the earth in general? The earth, which once would have looked pristine in its entirety as the Kruger does now. There are places that are designated for the protection of their nature: this is a good thing. The pity is that this has come about because wherever else we go we treat as if it's a personal rubbish dump.

On with the show! Happy happy happy!!! Kruger reminded me of the biblical descriptions of Eden and as we travelled its roads I imagined life before the rise of mankind. (I had to imagine it without the roads of course.) Animals move around freely, not following the migration routes that once would have had elephants, for instance, spanning the length and breadth of the African continent, but grazing in herds and following the food: hunting or being hunted. And it was here that I realised that zoos, no matter how modern their facilities or generous their enclosures, still miss the point of conservation.

On our first night in Kruger we stayed in a permanent tent at Skukuza rest camp. There was some concern about whether or not we could bear the heat, the tent being equipped only with a pedestal fan. In the end I slept like Rip van Winkle under the wide African skies, barely even stirring as the hyenas lurked metres away, licking their lips and eyeing off my sausage.



Not Paul Kruger Gate, but Skukuza. After about 8 hours of driving, we'd finally made it.

The next day we had a plan. Lianne's grandparents' ashes were scattered by a birdwatching hut at a place roughly halfway up the Park called Letaba. We were staying that night in another rest camp further South from Skukuza at Berg-en-Dal. After a quick breakfast down by the river, we'd set out, make it to Letaba by lunchtime, then turn south and drive back to our new accommodation. It was probably gonna be a tall order. But it never happened. We rose late, then our order for breakfast was forgotten. By the time it arrived we were well behind the 8-ball. Then we hit the road and out they came, species by species, the animals! It was one glorious creature after another: elephant, giraffe, white rhino, buffalo, kudu, baboon, warthog, wildebeest, zebra, even a few lion. And we'd barely gotten halfway to Letaba before lunchtime, when I realised that even if we turned back now, we'd still struggle to make it back to Berg-en-Dal before the 6:30 curfew.

So we pointed the car south and hightailed it back to camp; making it with about 10 minutes to spare. I'd travelled across the world to see these majestic animals in their natural setting and here we were driving past them in order to make a deadline. Ha! Is that irony? I'm not sure that it is, but it would probably make it into the 4th verse of that Alanis Morissette song if she were writing today. Perhaps we could classify it as an "alannic" situation. Alannic - adjective: used to describe situations which everybody calls ironic, but they're in reality either coincidental or just plain unfortunate. Rain on your wedding day? Sounds like misfortune to me. But only if you've planned to get married in a garden. A free ride when you're already late? In no way are these two things even connected. The price of a bus ticket so you can get to your yoga studio doesn't actually have a bearing on what time you arrive. And being late only means you'll have to forgo a bit of the wanky chanting they do at the beginning. Big dicking deal. Maybe you should have left earlier, instead of endlessly trying on different bobble hats in front of the mirror, you weirdo.

The camp curfew was, nonetheless, a very important one. I believe the fines associated with missing the 6:30 deadline are enough to make one consider spending the night in the wild. When it could quite literally become a "deadline." Eh? Eh? And we had another 3 days in the park after this one, so it was no reason to whimper like a Frenchman with his baguette caught in his bicycle chain. But even driving with such purpose (okay, I'll be honest here : we caned that little Citroen) as we did on that first day, it was still our best day for viewing wildlife. We just spent a lot of that day reversing, is all. We'd shoot past something blurry and one of us would say "I think I saw something back there." Then we'd brake, and slowly reverse back to where said blur materialised as kudu or rhino or, infuriatingly, impala. No, that's not true. Everything in nature has its own beauty.



Out of the way you wrinkly old bugger!



Impala resting in the shade. They have such amazingly precise markings, like they've been painted.

On Day 2 we spent the day in the pool, braai-ing, drinking Amarula and enjoying an evening game drive. Gosh, that's a smashing line up and an all round top way to spend a day is it not?; certainly much better than deskwarming in a freezing staffroom as I am right now. The Amarula was good, but we drank so much we dehydrated ourselves. As soon as the truck left on our evening drive we both felt a thirst that was only partially relieved later when the adorable Indian girl in front of us offered some gum. Some people are just so nice. She probably had no idea how much we appreciated it.



It is such a beautiful time of day.



It was 40 degrees celsius on our last day in the Kruger. I loved the heat, but knowing about the pool back at camp was probably what made it really bearable. Animals graze in the shade. We have pools and air-conditioning.