It is impossible for me to go to sleep without the help of sleeping pills. I try not to take them on the weekends so as to give my body a break. But the sun is coming up and while I have spent hours "resting" I have not spent so much as one actually asleep.
I feel like I have had the guts kicked out of me.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
The drive to Citrusdal
The drive down the N7 was breathtaking. Though some of the views reminded me of you-know-where, right down to the haybales.
The road to Algeria
On Wednesday morning, I set off before Loredana woke up to check out the rock art at Stadsaal, some 60-70 km away. First, I drove to Algeria for some 20-30 km on -- not a gravel road, or a dirt road, but really a rock road. The vehicle traffic was extremely light and consisted almost entirely of people in 4x4s (I was in a rental Nissan). For the first 15 km or so, I occupied my thoughts with questions like, "I wonder if these could puncture a tire?" "I turn into a skid, right?" "How far will I have to hike for cell reception if I slide off the road?" and "How secure are my fillings?"
The views were stunning. I almost got stuck in the loose gravel pulling over to take a photo at one point, but otherwise, managed okay. By the time I got to Algeria where I needed to buy a permit to see the rock art, though, I was sorely needing a cup of coffee. I had a nice chat with the woman selling permits and she told me there was a restaurant in Kromrivier (just a few kilometers off the main road). But first, I had to get there.
The views were stunning. I almost got stuck in the loose gravel pulling over to take a photo at one point, but otherwise, managed okay. By the time I got to Algeria where I needed to buy a permit to see the rock art, though, I was sorely needing a cup of coffee. I had a nice chat with the woman selling permits and she told me there was a restaurant in Kromrivier (just a few kilometers off the main road). But first, I had to get there.
In pursuit of rock art. But first, coffee.
From Algeria, the coffee, I mean rock art, is 40 km away. The road from Algeria to Stadsaal makes the road from Cederberg Cottage to Algeria look like the autobahn. My stomach was in a knot the whole way, and try as hard as I might, I kept thinking, "Oh my word. I am going to get where I am going and I am going to have to drive back the same way!" I finally, finally, finally see the sign for Kromrivier (which is rumoured to have coffee). I turn down the road and a kilometer later, I have serious second thoughts. But the road is sooooooo narrow (not to mention rough) there is absolutely no way to turn around. Then I get to the cliffs. The road was about as wide as a kitchen table. There are no guiderails. It is just a straight drop into a canyon. And! the whole road is winding around the mountain so you can't tell if someone is going to crash into you. And I don't know what you would do because there is no room for the vehicles to pass. The good thing is that the fear of skidding off a cliff cured me of the fear of puncturing a tire or simply sliding off the road. I realized how I used to be afraid to drive at all on the left side of the road with a standard transmission (e.g., using left hand to shift), and I had to laugh, a little maniacally at times.
It was both terrifying and awesome. All I could think was "Aren't you glad you got treated for cancer so that you could experience this?" The photos do not do the experience justice. (Yes, I did stop to take a few photos. Some things are worth defying death for. Many of them did not come out because my hands were shaking.)
I'll carry on with the tale later. I have to go to Pollsmoor prison this morning.
It was both terrifying and awesome. All I could think was "Aren't you glad you got treated for cancer so that you could experience this?" The photos do not do the experience justice. (Yes, I did stop to take a few photos. Some things are worth defying death for. Many of them did not come out because my hands were shaking.)
I'll carry on with the tale later. I have to go to Pollsmoor prison this morning.
Spiderberg.
Tuesday night, Loredana went straight to work while I wandered around the farm. Past the dam, up the mountain to the orange trees. Later that night, we managed to start a fire (intentionally). I was quite pleased with that experience given that most of what I know about making campfires comes from an explanation my friend gave me about ten days ago. (We used birds nests that had fallen out of the tree to get it started.) I also figured out the kerosene lantern. and roast some boerwurst. Loredana made a simple salad of roasted baby zucchini, tomatoes, balsamic and olive oil. It was very nice, and went a long way to soothe nerves frayed by sharing our space with . . . .these and dozens of their closest relations.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Citrusdal
Loredana and I got underway without incident around ten Tuesday morning. I had and overcame my usual “I cannot possibly be expected to drive!” and “This car is enormous!” jitters.
We stopped in Citrusdal for provisions, including chocolate covered pretzel sticks and dried fruit.
The place, Cederberg Cottage, is about 10-15 km off the beaten path of the N7. I pride myself on a talent for driving on gravel roads, with a minor specialization in dirt.
This place is really (wonderfully) out of the way.
Last night, around eleven, I hiked up the hill (mountain?) with the cell phones to see if I could get a signal and retrieved our messages. It was pretty cool standing in the moonlight, looking at the stars, listening to all the insect and animal noises. I assumed that all the rustling in the brush was turtles and guinea fowl.
I don’t know if I’ll post again until I get back to Cape Town (getting internet access is a bit of a mission that I feel like executing).
PS. Aunt Pat and everyone: To clarify, I’m going back to NYC but will return to Cape Town next summer (Cape Town winter) in June and July.
We stopped in Citrusdal for provisions, including chocolate covered pretzel sticks and dried fruit.
The place, Cederberg Cottage, is about 10-15 km off the beaten path of the N7. I pride myself on a talent for driving on gravel roads, with a minor specialization in dirt.
This place is really (wonderfully) out of the way.
Last night, around eleven, I hiked up the hill (mountain?) with the cell phones to see if I could get a signal and retrieved our messages. It was pretty cool standing in the moonlight, looking at the stars, listening to all the insect and animal noises. I assumed that all the rustling in the brush was turtles and guinea fowl.
I don’t know if I’ll post again until I get back to Cape Town (getting internet access is a bit of a mission that I feel like executing).
PS. Aunt Pat and everyone: To clarify, I’m going back to NYC but will return to Cape Town next summer (Cape Town winter) in June and July.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Back in the New York Groove.
Fury, take a note: Kiss's "Back in the New York Groove" is going on the playlist.
I got up and started packing for the road trip and stumbled across this song, which I swear on my mother I will listen to as the plane descends into JFK and will play as long as it takes. An amazing song.
Come on, sing it with me...
And the lyrics! They hit me right here (she types one-handed, tapping her heart with the knuckles of her right hand).
Many years since I was here
On the street I was passin' my time away
To the left and to the right, buildings towering to the sky
And it's outta sight in the dead of night
(Ooh) Here I am and in this city
(Ooh) With a fistfull of dollars
(Ooh) And baby, you'd better believe
I'm back, back in the New York groove
I'm back, back in the New York groove
I'm back, back in the New York groove
Back in the New York groove, in the New York groove
I got up and started packing for the road trip and stumbled across this song, which I swear on my mother I will listen to as the plane descends into JFK and will play as long as it takes. An amazing song.
Come on, sing it with me...
And the lyrics! They hit me right here (she types one-handed, tapping her heart with the knuckles of her right hand).
Many years since I was here
On the street I was passin' my time away
To the left and to the right, buildings towering to the sky
And it's outta sight in the dead of night
(Ooh) Here I am and in this city
(Ooh) With a fistfull of dollars
(Ooh) And baby, you'd better believe
I'm back, back in the New York groove
I'm back, back in the New York groove
I'm back, back in the New York groove
Back in the New York groove, in the New York groove
Monday, November 23, 2009
Unmoored. (Warning: A really crappily written blog entry)
On Saturday, I booked my plane ticket back to South Africa and the rest of my family celebrated my parents' 50th anniversary in Kansas. Twelve hours later, I am in the middle of these scenes of staggering beauty, with mountains and cliffs a few hundred feet on one side and the ocean a few hundred yards on the other, geographic features which Kansas is not known for.
That ride stirred up all this stuff, all these feelings about where I'm from and where I've been ever and where I've been the last 15 years and where I was last year and where I am now and where I will be in a little over a month.
I don't remember a time when I didn't feel grounded. All my life, I have known where I was and what I was doing, even if objectively speaking, where I was and what was happening was nothing I wanted to hang onto.
Let me try this again:
Then. Watching this slide show my little sister put together for my parents' anniversary and talking to my family on Skype . . . I fight the feeling that none of that applies to me (anymore); it is like it is someone else's past but not mine. (And I have always felt connected to Kansas/home. Though it might be, too, that my family moving off the farm is part of this. It was strange to go home in spring 2008 and not go home to the farm. And to see my brothers sitting on a couch in a living room that is not home.)
After now. I have to go "back." But going back to live in New York City -- even though I have lived in the same place and had the same job for nearly 15 years -- feels like a completely foreign experience to me.
Now. But yesterday and those hours of being so joyfully and deliriously and intensely and completely in the moment -- it caught me out when I got back to my apartment. I have to leave this. It's not going to last. Even the happiest of lives is going to have to end sometime.
See, I loved my old life so much.
* * * * * * * *
This year -- 2009 -- has been the happiest year of my life. Part of that, though, might be because it is the only year of my life I will allow myself to acknowledge that I have had. And I have never before -- with the exception of last year when I was forced to -- lived so in the moment.
I don't know what I'm saying. But I feel better for having tried to put it in words.
I will find a way, though, and I will be okay.
Existential crises like these are actually a sign of privilege. I'm not saying that's a good thing.
That ride stirred up all this stuff, all these feelings about where I'm from and where I've been ever and where I've been the last 15 years and where I was last year and where I am now and where I will be in a little over a month.
I don't remember a time when I didn't feel grounded. All my life, I have known where I was and what I was doing, even if objectively speaking, where I was and what was happening was nothing I wanted to hang onto.
Let me try this again:
Then. Watching this slide show my little sister put together for my parents' anniversary and talking to my family on Skype . . . I fight the feeling that none of that applies to me (anymore); it is like it is someone else's past but not mine. (And I have always felt connected to Kansas/home. Though it might be, too, that my family moving off the farm is part of this. It was strange to go home in spring 2008 and not go home to the farm. And to see my brothers sitting on a couch in a living room that is not home.)
After now. I have to go "back." But going back to live in New York City -- even though I have lived in the same place and had the same job for nearly 15 years -- feels like a completely foreign experience to me.
Now. But yesterday and those hours of being so joyfully and deliriously and intensely and completely in the moment -- it caught me out when I got back to my apartment. I have to leave this. It's not going to last. Even the happiest of lives is going to have to end sometime.
See, I loved my old life so much.
* * * * * * * *
This year -- 2009 -- has been the happiest year of my life. Part of that, though, might be because it is the only year of my life I will allow myself to acknowledge that I have had. And I have never before -- with the exception of last year when I was forced to -- lived so in the moment.
I don't know what I'm saying. But I feel better for having tried to put it in words.
I will find a way, though, and I will be okay.
Existential crises like these are actually a sign of privilege. I'm not saying that's a good thing.
And tomorrow, Cederberg.
Tomorrow, Loredana and I are heading to Cederberg for a working holiday. I don't know what our internet access will be like. I'm sure it will be the perfect amount. Which is to say, some or none at all.
The long and winding road.
Being a passenger on the back of a motorcycle is a lot like being treated for cancer.
Trust is everything. You have to trust that your helmet and your padded jacket (reinforced in case one goes sliding across the pavement) will protect you. You have to trust yourself not to panic. You have to trust that other people on the road don't want you dead. You have to pay attention. But mainly, you have to trust the driver, and follow him. When he shifts his weight, you go along with it, even if a good part of your brain is suggesting you shift your weight to the other side. If you're too anxious, a 3 hour drive can seem like hell, I imagine.
Sometimes, on the steepest curves or most winding roads, I just closed my eyes, held on, and gave myself over to the experience.
Trust is everything. You have to trust that your helmet and your padded jacket (reinforced in case one goes sliding across the pavement) will protect you. You have to trust yourself not to panic. You have to trust that other people on the road don't want you dead. You have to pay attention. But mainly, you have to trust the driver, and follow him. When he shifts his weight, you go along with it, even if a good part of your brain is suggesting you shift your weight to the other side. If you're too anxious, a 3 hour drive can seem like hell, I imagine.
Sometimes, on the steepest curves or most winding roads, I just closed my eyes, held on, and gave myself over to the experience.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Too much to take in.
My friend Danga picked me up this afternoon and we spent three hours riding around the Cape Peninsula on his motorcycle, soaking up the views.
It was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. Right up there with flying with my neighbor, Tom, as a teenager in what I think was a 1946 Aeronca (I would ride my motorcycle to the airstrip near our farms and we would take off either from there, or a dirt road), sailing the Dalmatian coast, driving the Alaskan highway, and the drives home to Kansas.
This world has set at my feet some of the most beautiful things and places, people and times. I would not get through the bad times were it not for memories of the good ones. And I would not be nearly so grateful for days like today were it not for the knowledge of how disappointing, unfair, and downright painful life can be.
I came home and slouched on the couch staring vacantly into space for a good half an hour. It is hard to describe what this afternoon was like. It reminded me of last year. That year included some of the hardest moments of my life to date, but I had a lot of love and kindness brought to me, too.
It's all too much to take in sometimes.
And . . .
This afternoon I am going for a motorcycle ride.
Every time I hear a bike, I go to the window to see if it my ride.
I am fighting the urge to sit on the steps outside and wait for my friend.
I don't remember the last time I was this excited about something.
Every time I hear a bike, I go to the window to see if it my ride.
I am fighting the urge to sit on the steps outside and wait for my friend.
I don't remember the last time I was this excited about something.
I booked my ticket back to South Africa.
 | ||||||||||
| | |||||||||
| Flight | Departing | Arriving | Class | Aircraft | | ||||
| SA 204 | JFK at 11:35, May 27 | JNB at 08:45, May 28 | Economy(W) Non-stop | 343 | | ||||
| SA 327 | JNB at 11:00, May 28 | CPT at 13:10, May 28 | Economy(B) Non-stop | 738 | | ||||
| SA 352 | CPT at 15:50, Jul 28 | JNB at 17:50, Jul 28 | Economy(B) Non-stop | 738 | | ||||
| SA 203 | JNB at 19:45, Jul 28 | JFK at 07:40, Jul 29 | Economy(W) 1-stop | 343 | | ||||
| | |||||||||
 | |  | ||||||||
 | |  | ||||||||||
| Passenger Details 1 | | |||||||||||
| | |||||||||||
| Age Group | Title | First Name | Last Name | Seats | Meal | | |||||
| Adult | SA 204 - 48A SA 327 - 24F SA 352 - 23F SA 203 - 49K | Vegetarian/Milk/Eggs | |||||||||
Ordinary, happy moment.
Saturday, I helped Loredana with a little bit of packing. Afterwards, Loredana, me, and my friend Danga had lunch at Raith (the German deli). There was this moment where we were leaving my apartment when we were joking about me looking like Loredana's lesbian lover (Loredana looked so natural and pretty in her dress, and I so... didn't) and another moment when the two of them went off to order the food and a third when we were leaving the Gardens and I was walking between the two of them that I thought, "I like this feeling of being sandwiched between my friends. I am going to miss this."
I cannot say more than a word or two about my friends from back home without starting to cry. I have missed them. I am so grateful to them. And then, when I think about the friends I've made here. . .
It will be hard. Which reminds me. I am booking my flight back to Cape Town right NOW.
I cannot say more than a word or two about my friends from back home without starting to cry. I have missed them. I am so grateful to them. And then, when I think about the friends I've made here. . .
It will be hard. Which reminds me. I am booking my flight back to Cape Town right NOW.
Over-modulated.
Checked in with my family in Kansas around 10 pm on Skype, and then again at 4 am to touch base with my brothers and my little sister and my favorite nephew. (During the interval, I stayed up and watched Herzog's documentary, Grizzly Man.) At one point, I was talking too loudly and distorting the sound quality on the other end. Or, as my older brother the engineer put it, I was "over-modulating." To which I replied, "No surprise there. I have been over-modulating all my life.")
Technology is a strange and wonderful thing.
Technology is a strange and wonderful thing.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Thanks.
- Friends
- Music
- Health
- Health insurance
- Job
- Shelter
- Laughter
- Safety
- Strength
- Opportunity
- Literacy
- Family
- Information
- Eye drops
- Q-tips
- Lip balm
- Lotion
- Showers
- Baths
- Eyesight
- Vegetables
- US citizenship
- Young people
- Digital cameras
- Notebook computers
- Ocean
- Beach
- Mountains
- Sunrises
- Guitar
- Piano
- Flannel pajamas
- Clean sheets
- Down comforter
- Hot water bottles
- Air conditioning
- Road trips
- Swimming pools
- Beach houses
- Internet access
- DVD rental
- Books
- Tenure
- Education
- Hair
- Jumping rope
- Home-cooked food
- iPod
- Wok
- Internet cafe
- Coffee
- Water
- Calcium
- Technology
- Organic food
- Sense of humour
- Sleeping pills
Recovering possession.
My (wonderful) tenant sent me an email indicating that the letter he opened was the final notice. It stated that if I didn't settle the account post-haste, then the landlord would "recover possession" of it.
I remember thinking, "Would that be so bad?" What if I were to just walk away from my entire life in NYC? Stuff-wise, there isn't all that much, and nothing that I can't live without.
I would miss my friends. But I already miss my friends.
As it happens, the apartment crisis appears to have been averted. All the rent checks have been mailed. The management company is being (uncharacteristically) understanding.
But I still struggle to imagine recovering possession of my old life.
I remember thinking, "Would that be so bad?" What if I were to just walk away from my entire life in NYC? Stuff-wise, there isn't all that much, and nothing that I can't live without.
I would miss my friends. But I already miss my friends.
As it happens, the apartment crisis appears to have been averted. All the rent checks have been mailed. The management company is being (uncharacteristically) understanding.
But I still struggle to imagine recovering possession of my old life.
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