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.

South Africa Part 1

I shivered at the Airport Limousine bus stop. I knew if I could brave the cold for however long it took for the bus to arrive, every subsequent mode of transport between Yatap and Johannesburg would be wonderfully climate-controlled. The bus itself: toasty warm. The airport: warm enough. The plane to Hong Kong: lovely. Hong Kong airport: also lovely. The HK - Johannesburg flight: I don't care; I'm on holidays. Once I'm there, the hoodie I'm wearing goes straight to the bottom of my backpack as I adopt the local uniform of shorts and a t-shirt. I love holidays, and a part of me believes, along with The Dandy Warhols, that every day should be one. On holidays, tension slackens, cocktails emerge, and clothes come off. I revel in the general slackening of attitudes.

So as winter-coated Koreans loaded up their clubs for a weekend of golfing and their favourite methylated spirit drink I waited at the back, coatless and happy to wait: I was spending 3 weeks in sunny, friendly, interesting South Africa! I would arrive at Incheon with plenty of time to spare before my 8pm flight. The idea was to sit back and use a drink to trigger the creative juices and thus write a few reflections on what I thought was my final major stint here in Korea.

In reality, I was too bloody exhausted through thinking and creativity and apologising for other people's kids' shitty behaviour that I just did the drinking part which solved everything. 3 days into the trip I lost my pen and didn't even bother looking for a new one. I was on holidays, amarula juice in hand!

What did I notice first about South Africa? It's not a service-based economy. Here in Asia, retailers trip over themselves in the rush to make you happy as a consumer. They throw in freebies to keep you coming back. And prices are already low. In Africa, you have to slap someone to stop them from yakking on with their pals about whatever in order to get their attention. They'll then point you in the wrong direction. But that's just Johannesburg International Terminal Information Desk. Random strangers proved to be much more helpful later on in the trip. It's a weird place in that regard. There are so many unemployed people crying out for the jobs of people who spend their time at work taking the piss all day.

What were the second and third things I noticed about South Africa? The one was that it's a very diverse place, culturally speaking. The other was that they have a lot of electric fencing. It's like they are hugely supportive of diversity, as long as said diversity keeps its distance. Swimming in the pool of Vern and Meg's house in north Joburg on the first day, I had the distinct impression that the rhinos and warthogs must live on their street. Why else would their be electric fencing around their property, and everyone elses? Truth is, their set up was comparatively low-key, and by the end of the trip my sensitivity had completely diminished.

Lianne and I set off for the Kruger National Park on a Monday morning. We'd been given the loan of a car from Carrie, a fellow English teacher over here in the eastern veld. Man could it move! When Lianne fell asleep in the passenger seat just outside Lydenburg, I got it up to 168 km/h! Not bad for a Citroen. I then pulled Lianne's bottom lip over her top one.



Vroom!

The Kimchi Shuffle

I find it hard to believe that 2 months have passed since my last entry. I keep waiting for something of import to happen to me so I can write about it. Now I just don't wanna wait any longer.

I've done well the last 2 months. Piano, chess, the gym and Heineken have seen me through. When I returned from Australia I viewed the 4 month period before Christmas as the last hurdle to clear before I could mentally check outta here. There's only 1 month of that block left. The only thing that could make me happier would be if it were 0 months left.

There's no point in going on about how I dislike this place. I've been doing it since 2nd or 3rd post back in May last year. Nothing's forcing me to stay apart from convention and the belief that you should finish what you started. There's a tradition of English teachers working in Korea and not liking what they see and I guess I am no different here. I once vowed to remind myself of the good bits every day to retain a balance. I don't really follow that policy anymore. If something good happens, it's usually been orchestrated by our own efforts. Otherwise I find the people rude and the culture unforgiving. I have few, if any "it's good to be alive" moments over here. Even though it still is, I sense, elsewhere...

Although chess excites me. That gives you an indication of the type of guy I am.

I've gotten the literature necessary for my Grade 1 piano exam. The pieces sound so basic but it nevertheless requires constant effort to get your fingers in the right place in time. My teacher and pal over here Michael has shown me a thing or two about more effective practicing, and as far as I can tell, it centres on doing things you'd prefer to avoid. But you don't improve by ignoring your weakspots now do you? I think I know enough theory to get through Grade 1 easily so most of my practice is in these little shifts of finger position and timing and speed - the practical aspects. I can hopefully take the test in the week before leaving for Africa.

I'm going to South Africa. I leave on January 6 and return to Korea on the 27th. For almost the whole month of January I'll be elsewhere; when I return there'll be roughly 10 weeks before the final fuckovski. It's remarkable to think I once imagined myself within an illness that confined me to my house; that even a trip to Sydney was something to psychically prepare for for months beforehand. That I doubted I could even do it. I still have problems now. They're just more likely to involve photocopiers and repetitive lunch menus. I could use a bit of life in my life. Maybe in Africa I'll get chased by a lion or something.

Q: Do You Ever Have Deja Vu?

A: I don't know but I could check with the kitchen.

Further reflections on this weird simulacrum of life.

For that's what it is.

You send me pictures and I see how unique are the lines of your faces. There are stories within them; ones I can read and remember. I see the depth of colour in the sky behind you and the grass is that kind that is so juicy that it leaves green stains on your legs. Here you've just stepped from the pool and you pause from drying your hair to pose for the camera. You're trying to hold in a smile, eyes of such a striking blue they arrest me; I have seen only the dark browns of East Asia for nearly 2 years now, or my own - monotonous, blank-staring, bloodshot, a mirrorful: what do you want?

It's cooling down. I prefer the colder weather because it's closer to my departing date. We moan (collective - it's not just me) about the lack of beauty in the landscape here. Autumn brings its own charm however. The changing leaves prove that not everything is static. I've woken up thinking of the Bill Murray film "Groundhog Day" more times than I can count. Alarm bells have rung. My technique for getting through is to pretend I am not here. On weeknights I chug a few beers and practice Bach, with all the ornamentations. On weekends I watch movies with friends and am starting to enjoy tales of oppression and vengeance and weaponry. When I feel like it, I go running to the gym and try to make myself sore. Otherwise, my body is just something that processes kimchi and gets in the way of Koreans fighting over a biscuit.

Once I'm gone, I will compile a list of the things that I miss.

Australia Post

Could this "gaping emotional void" have been necessary? Do you only ever appreciate what you've got once it's gone? Once I'd emerged from it I used to celebrate my bipolar illness in all its forms: the same self that brooded and shuffled and couldn't find solace in anything for years at a stretch was also capable of feeling the most immense gratitude at being alive; drinking up the beauty in the prosaic as well as the profound.

For those of you who were there for all of it or part of it or even just heard about it, I want you to know that my (almost) month-long repose in Australia recently was one of the times of my life. The combination of family, friends, good food, outstanding wine, stories, leisure, sunshine, lack of obligation, culture, language, memory, fresh air, natural beauty, travellers, museums, courtesy, concern, pleasantries, day trips, driving, convenience, comprehension and love all came together to make a time I will never forget. This was my homecoming. Son comes home to show off what he's learnt. Home feels wonderful, nurturing, embracing. Knowable.

Let me start with the queue for Flight QF368 on Friday July 29. Firstly, what a terrific way to start a holiday, with Koreans (patient and in good humour) QUEUEING in a public place. Maybe it was witnessing this rare occurence or maybe it was because I was leaving their country, but I began to feel really well disposed towards these people who had hosted me for over the last 18 months. A Caucasian man in official uniform approached me in the queue and began asking me, in a broad Australian accent, about the t-shirt I was wearing. I was taken aback. Why was this stranger talking to me like we were friends? Why was he displaying his curiosity so openly? Every other official was sober and concerned with the job at hand of checking boarding passes and carry-on luggage. Then I realised that he was merely being friendly, and that I had been in Asia for too long.

It was nice to have this primer before I even took off for my homeland. I began to anticipate the atmosphere of my country, free of hierarchy and presumption, where everybody approached everybody knowing that they are essentially cut from the same cloth. (You are. All of you. Get over it.)

A sleepless night on the plane had its high points in the service on board an Asiana flight, and the particularly good food they offer. Might I interject here (as it were) and mention in passing that an attractive, polite, and attentive stewardess remains one of my most favourite things in the world (or 12km above it). And then, as nightshades were raised somewhere north of Newcastle, and the sun came up over the sea, Sydney and its regions came into view, and I was left in some disbelief at what a beautiful sight it was. I'd heard songs about it by Men At Work and Paul Kelly. Here it was for me. All those fingers of water reaching up into the hills, flecked with the whites of the yachts of Pittwater and the runabouts in Sutherland. The greenery of the hills, and the world-famous Harbour Bridge and Opera House. And then, over the sea, as we turned 180 degrees to line up for the runway, the long and unadulterated stretches of beach and cliff of the Royal National Park declared that in the South, the wilderness was so proximate that it might reclaim the city. And during the landing - never my favourite part of a flight - I was pacified by an image of the plane's shadow coming down as the earth came up to meet us, tyres touching tarmac as if to kiss that phase of my journey goodnight, the braking unusually smooth as we slowed to a roll. Asia Part 1 over.

18 months of ageing was evident in my parents faces and the shock was arresting. Over the course of the month however I came to see them as just as healthy as they'd ever been, despite the fact that they are not 35 anymore. On that first morning I sipped in the fresh air perfumed with the wattle (in an early full bloom) and eucalyptus and horse dung as we walked to the top of our driveway. I marvelled at the openness of the landscape, the lack of construction and how, in comparison to much of what I'd seen in Asia, the imprint on the natural world was actually slight. Some kangaroos hopped into frame, and I enjoyed watching their feeding and scratching for about 10 minutes.



The kangaroo is in the centre. In the distance.



I never really noticed it before, being so commonplace in the landscape. An early Spring made it bloom like the fireworks of NYE.

I spent the first two weeks of my holiday leisurely ticking off the things I had listed on my "to do in Australia" list: go bushwalking, meditate, visit old friends, do some yoga, run the old path out to Silver Pines Horse Stud, where a girlfriend had worked in another life when "overseas" was an obstacle, my own imagination locking me in.



There's something disconcerting about the Australian bush. Lost in that dry scrubland I wouldn't know what to do and imagine I couldn't survive for long. And yet I love this picture - the path leading up the gentle hill; the trees filtering the light. No one within coo-ee. In Australia you can get lost. It is its blessing and its curse.

The high point of the trip was in holidaying within my own country. Down at Mum and Dad's, I was finding the house so cold that I wore a beanie and dufflecoat while I shuffled around in my slippers, so I booked a flight to Noosa for 5 nights and enjoyed the warm Queensland winter. I thawed out just before my flight out of Brissy on the Friday. The 2 day tour I took to Fraser Island was the icing on the cake of my holiday, though the entire time I spent in Noosa was restorative, as a holiday should be (not a mad dash around China's highlights). I'd like to live in Queensland when I return to Australia. It has year-long summers as far as I'm concerned. Its people are cheerful and relaxed in the sun. $18.50 fish and chips with a beer on Sundays at the surf club, and a wet tshirt comp after the footy. Bewdy.



The dingo that took my baby. Bought her clothes I could never afford and took her to dinner in fancy restaurants...



The wreck of the SS Maheno. She enjoyed a long life on the seas and had an impressive CV. After being decomissioned, the Japanese bought her and got caught in a cyclone off the coast. The tow rope broken and the propeller removed, she was at the mercy of the elements for a night, then beached on Fraser in the morning.



Sometimes you meet people who fulfill all the criteria for being a "bloody legend." Rick, our tour guide was one of those people. He drove us around the Island, took care of all the admin of the tour, gave a commentary on everything, fielded all our questions, threw in some great stories, and even threw on an apron and cooked barra on the barbie for dinner!

I'm back in prison now, looking at pictures of my trip and also of the people to my north in Russia and in South Africa too. You shouldn't ever wish your life away or cultivate negativity but I have a clearer impression now of what I like about societies and what I don't like. Tired of making excuses for rudeness and arrogance in Korea, explaining it away as "history" or "culture," I'm hanging out to re-enter the real world and put this weird simulacrum of life behind me. Until then, I've got running, money and drinking to distract me. Whatever gets you through the night...