Click Here for Photos of the Township
“The children are so clean,” said one “ugly American” shortly after we arrived at a township just outside Cape Town. Initially, I was horrified by her callous remark, but as I took another look at the kids I realized she wasn’t an ugly American after all. She was simply more observant and honest about these sort of things than I. These children were remarkably clean, especially considering the dirt and dust surrounding them. In fact, they were immaculate; their clothes were probably cleaner than mine were while growing up. (Sorry, mom…)
“Of course, they are clean,” a woman told us. “These are our children.”
But it wasn’t just the children. It was everyone. There is a certain pride –the locals prefer to call it dignity – that permeates the townships of South Africa.
There are some in the city of Cape Town who beg; those in the townships do not. The people living here are adamant that they do not want a hand out. The unemployment rate may be 40%, but the 60% of people who do work share what they have. It is, they say, what people do when they live in community.
There is tremendous care and pride taken in the family homes. Shacks or shanties we might call them, but to the people living there, they are homes. They are clearly not shacks and certainly not houses, we are told. A local man points out that houses are “merely structures.” Homes, he says, are a place of family. These are homes, regardless of the fact that they are remarkably overcrowded and most do not have running water. (Porta-potties have been erected and community water stations are provided by the government for cooking, drinking and laundry.)
As the townships grow – and they are continuing to grow rather than shrink –the infrastructure is increasingly taxed. The largest township in Cape Town has 1.2 million people, but the infrastructure is designed to support far fewer. I visited two townships: the first with 80,000 people supported by an infrastructure for about 30,000; the second township – the newest in Cape Town – has 20,000 people, but it is growing very rapidly and the government has frozen its infrastructure for only 8,000.
It was there, in that township of 20,000, that we met one woman who shares one water structure with eighty people.
The biggest fear in the townships is not crime; it is fire. Most of these structures are made with wood. If one catches fire an entire community could burn. It is a terrifying concept. No doubt this is why the government provides most of the homes with electricity, rather that encouraging people to resort to fires for heat and cooking.
Because the townships are located a distance from the city, the economy relies primarily on home-based businesses that sell within the community. We visited one home-based business where a woman bakes doughnuts that she sells for 1 Rand (or about 7 cents) each. We met two men who run a grocery store that sells fresh fruits and vegetables. They are particularly popular on Saturdays as families prepare for their Sunday meals, the main meal of the week.
One family fashions purses out of old somewhat scratched records. I’d have bought one were it not for the fact that I couldn’t figure out how I’d pack it for the rest of my journey. Surprisingly, a number of people operate cell phone businesses out of metal shipping containers.
It is not possible to leave the townships without being changed in some way. In three hours, not one person exhibited bitterness or anger about their living conditions. As one man said, “We do not complain about our lives here, for if we did, nobody would listen.” Easy to say; hard to do.
The government has declared that the townships will be gone by 2010, but they have made almost no progress toward that goal. Furthermore, the people in the townships are exerting no pressure to move. Unbelievably – or believably if you have been here – most of those who live here have no desire to leave.
I am not naïve. I did not come away convinced that people in the townships should continue living in these horrific conditions. But there are enviable aspects of the townships. The challenge for those living here now will be to balance a move into new communities in a manner that combines the values of the townships with infrastructure that most of us in America (and central Cape Town) have come to depend on.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Robben Island
I will not attempt to describe the trip to Robben Island, except to say that any trip to Cape Town must include the visit – no matter how difficult it is or how little time you have in Cape Town.
Click Here for my Photos of Robben Island
For those not familiar with it, Robben Island was home to nearly 200 political prisoners, including former president Nelson Mandela, who was imprisoned there for 27 years. In 1994 – just three years after the last of the prisoners was released (including my tour guide) -- Mandela called a prisoner reunion to help determine the future of Robben Island. Although the majority of the public seemed to want to develop the land it into a casino, the only acceptable choice, the former prisoners said, was to memorialize it.
The mission of Robben Island is not to exhibit the obvious horror of Robben Island, our prison-guide told us, but rather to serve as a testament of the human spirit…
Said Ahmed Kathrada, prisoner 468/64, who was imprisoned for 26 years:
“While we will not forget the brutality of apartheid, we will not want Robben Island to be a monument of our hardship and suffering. We would want it to be a triumph of the human spirit against the forces of evil. A triumph of wisdom and largeness of spirit against small minds and pettiness; a triumph of courage and determination over human frailty and weakness; a triumph of the new South Africa over the old.”
Robben Island accomplishes mission by bringing together not just the physical structures and museum-quality exhibit but, most importantly, by employing eleven guides – all of whom are former political prisoners – to lead the tours. It is remarkable to hear the word “we” to describe an experience rather than “they.”
We learned of the ingenuity the prisoners used to communicate with each other. In one case, they used to put messages inside tennis balls and hit them over the fence into the next yard. “The guards used to claim we were the worst tennis players they had ever seen,” said Yamoula, our guide. Always trying to cause infighting within the prison ranks, the guards typically gave one protest group more food than another. The prisoners refused to give in. They took their food back to the cafeteria and carefully doled out equal portions for each person.
When public pressure rose to release Mandela, the government finally gave in. But Mandela said that unless everyone was freed, he would not go. It took some time, but eventually he got his guarantee. My guide, Yamoula, was among the final 120 prisoners who comprised the last group to leave the Island.
Since 1995, Yamoula has been leading tours of the Island. Each day, he spends eight hours sharing his stories. Those who go on the tours are horrified by what this gentle man once accused of terrorism has to say, but this is not what he wants. “I just want people to understand how we worked together to fight the we experienced at brutality of Robben Island,” he says. “I want them to understand that it does not work to fight violence with violence, but instead with dignity and courage.” Dignity seems to be a word we hear a lot throughout the people of South Africa.
I’m not sure how much longer these guides will work. Yamoula doesn’t seem to be as bothered by the emotional toll the tour takes as he is the physical toll. He says his feet get tired walking the site eight hours a day, but he’s going to do it for as long as he can. Yamoula lives makes his home there on Robben Island, next door to a former warden who now works in the “curio shop.” I ask if he has any desire to get off the island. “One day,” he says.
Click Here for my Photos of Robben Island
For those not familiar with it, Robben Island was home to nearly 200 political prisoners, including former president Nelson Mandela, who was imprisoned there for 27 years. In 1994 – just three years after the last of the prisoners was released (including my tour guide) -- Mandela called a prisoner reunion to help determine the future of Robben Island. Although the majority of the public seemed to want to develop the land it into a casino, the only acceptable choice, the former prisoners said, was to memorialize it.
The mission of Robben Island is not to exhibit the obvious horror of Robben Island, our prison-guide told us, but rather to serve as a testament of the human spirit…
Said Ahmed Kathrada, prisoner 468/64, who was imprisoned for 26 years:
“While we will not forget the brutality of apartheid, we will not want Robben Island to be a monument of our hardship and suffering. We would want it to be a triumph of the human spirit against the forces of evil. A triumph of wisdom and largeness of spirit against small minds and pettiness; a triumph of courage and determination over human frailty and weakness; a triumph of the new South Africa over the old.”
Robben Island accomplishes mission by bringing together not just the physical structures and museum-quality exhibit but, most importantly, by employing eleven guides – all of whom are former political prisoners – to lead the tours. It is remarkable to hear the word “we” to describe an experience rather than “they.”
We learned of the ingenuity the prisoners used to communicate with each other. In one case, they used to put messages inside tennis balls and hit them over the fence into the next yard. “The guards used to claim we were the worst tennis players they had ever seen,” said Yamoula, our guide. Always trying to cause infighting within the prison ranks, the guards typically gave one protest group more food than another. The prisoners refused to give in. They took their food back to the cafeteria and carefully doled out equal portions for each person.
When public pressure rose to release Mandela, the government finally gave in. But Mandela said that unless everyone was freed, he would not go. It took some time, but eventually he got his guarantee. My guide, Yamoula, was among the final 120 prisoners who comprised the last group to leave the Island.
Since 1995, Yamoula has been leading tours of the Island. Each day, he spends eight hours sharing his stories. Those who go on the tours are horrified by what this gentle man once accused of terrorism has to say, but this is not what he wants. “I just want people to understand how we worked together to fight the we experienced at brutality of Robben Island,” he says. “I want them to understand that it does not work to fight violence with violence, but instead with dignity and courage.” Dignity seems to be a word we hear a lot throughout the people of South Africa.
I’m not sure how much longer these guides will work. Yamoula doesn’t seem to be as bothered by the emotional toll the tour takes as he is the physical toll. He says his feet get tired walking the site eight hours a day, but he’s going to do it for as long as he can. Yamoula lives makes his home there on Robben Island, next door to a former warden who now works in the “curio shop.” I ask if he has any desire to get off the island. “One day,” he says.
The Landscape of Cape Town
In just four days, I have been overwhelmed by the sadness, the joy, the filth and the beauty of this place. The beauty, like everything else here in Cape Town, is stunning.
Click here to see my various photos of the landscape
Click here to see my various photos of the landscape
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
London
Experienced my first three nights of Couchsurfing – a place where hosts offer free couches to people like me who don’t much enjoy hotels while traveling alone. Couchsurfing.com is named aptly, except the case of Lynne’s flat, which is located about 40 minutes just outside London. Instead of a couch, she offers a cozy shabby chic bedroom. I’d give you her online ID at couchsurfing.com, but I feel the need to protect her. She’s an incredibly warm woman who has trouble saying no to potential surfers and now hosts guests an average of three nights a week.
For those who haven’t experienced it – and most of us haven’t – couchsurfing.com is the match.com of travel (without the matching in the classical sense). People sign up as hosts and/or travelers and post comprehensive profiles.
My friend Laura me about couchsurfing. She and her husband had just hosted their first guest and while they didn’t find him the most exciting person on the planet -- he was a physicist, after all --they said they’d do it again.
I went on-line and found Lynne, age 50, who had wonderful references. (One of the things that separates couchsurfing.com from similar sites is that guests rate their visits. It’s a bit like the reader reviews you can post at Amazon.com, but in a very cool twist, the hosts also review the visitors, which is a bit like allowing the author to review the critics. I know more than a few folks out there who’d appreciate that one.)
Departure: My flight from Los Angeles to London had not gotten off to a great start. It was an overnight trip and I’d planned for weeks to equip myself with Ambien. It wasn’t until I boarded the plane that I discovered the Ambien bottle bore a remarkable resemblance to the medication I take for a hyper-thyroid condition.
I was ever so slightly apoplectic when I discovered I didn’t have anything on-hand to induce sleep. I think my seatmate only heard the word “hyper” when I told him about my thyroid condition and he quickly offered me one of his own Ambien. He had a few, but I think he would have offered me his last. The idea of spending the night with a hyper woman was more than he (or I, frankly) could have dealt with.
Arrival: Like many tourists, I packed far more luggage than I should have – even for a six month trip. That, combined with the fact that I’m incredibly frugal (downright cheap, in fact) prompted me to attempt the Underground with a 49 pound canvas bag on rollers, a 32 pound bag canvas bag not on rollers, a camera bag with two cameras and full of equipment, as well as an 18 backpack complete with laptop.
I arrived in London at 2:30 pm and spent more than two hours in the immigration line, where I met so many people that I actually ran into one of them on the streets of London the following morning. We had breakfast. Lynn later told me that she had never in her life run into a friend casually on the streets of London. Well, we had enough time in the immigration line to meet lots, and lots of people. At that point, I probably had as many friends as Lynn had.
Turns out that clearing customs was just the beginning of the nightmare. T took 90 minutes lugging four pieces of luggage through numerous train transfers and no fewer than five terrifying luggage-filled escalator rides (they don’t seem to have elevators), I emerged (again on an escalator) to meet Lynne for coffee before “hopping the bus” home.
All told, the transfer from Los Angeles to London had clocked in at about the travel time as my transfer from London to Lynne’s. I arrived jet-lagged and a sweaty mess. Not the way to make the best impression, but Lynne cooked up a dandy dose of pasta and we shared a bottle of Italian sparkling wine – think Champaign without the attitude or price – before I fell into bed.
Of course, didn’t sleep a whit because my body had absolutely no idea what time it was. This is why Jeff Greenfield had told me, just two weeks before leaving, not to take a sleeping pill before departing. (Let’s admit it, though: the guy also recommends Fed Exing your luggage to your hotel. As the correspondent for the Today show, you can only assume that he’s got a car – rather than the Underground – waiting for him at arrival and that he’s traveling something other than economy class. And he’s got to have some sort of key to the city (make that the country) that allows him to bypass the two-hour immigration line.
The great thing about couchsurfing is that you get to see the city through the eyes of your host. If you weren’t lucky enough to participate in a foreign exchange program in high school (I applied but was rejected), this is even better. For one thing, you are a grown up so you can join your host for bottle of Italian sparkling wine. For another, as tired as you might be, you will somehow summon the energy to get out and see the city.
Having not slept for something like 42 hours (not even the Ambien was going to help me on that flight), I was awake at 6 am and join Lynne for her journey to work. It turned out that trip was probably the highlight. After taking the bus – she detests the Underground as much as I now did – we got off at a stop that allowed us to walk through St. Johns Garden, where we stopped to feed the swans, as she does every morning.
That afternoon, I took a river tour – a favorite from childhood memory when I visited here more years ago than I’m going to admit. Once there, I make up on the sleep I had lost on the plane. I sat down on the bench and unconsciously put chin to chest as the tour guide began what I’m absolutely certain was a fascinating walk through London’s architecture and history. When I awoke a couple of hours later, I tried it play it off that I’d been in a meditative state listening deeply to every word, but I don’t think he believed it.
The rest of three day stay in London was a bit of a blur until I arrived to the British Airways lounge four hours prior to departure for Cape Town South Africa. After spending two-hours getting into the country and another two hours getting into London, Lynne and I had decided to change strategy. I took the bus – this time with even MORE luggage, thanks to a bizarre British Airways baggage restriction that isn’t worth going into here and whisked my way through check-in. In another bizarre, but outstanding, twist, British Airways provides American Airlines very frequent fliers free access to their club. At nearly one million miles, I qualified.
For those who study these things, British Airways offers one of the best clubs in the circuit. A “sanctuary room” has couches that can serve as beds. They even provide wake up calls. Then there’s a free buffet and open bar, which I didn’t discover until I’d awakened from my nap and was headed out for my next overnight flight.
This time I brought the Ambien.
For those who haven’t experienced it – and most of us haven’t – couchsurfing.com is the match.com of travel (without the matching in the classical sense). People sign up as hosts and/or travelers and post comprehensive profiles.
My friend Laura me about couchsurfing. She and her husband had just hosted their first guest and while they didn’t find him the most exciting person on the planet -- he was a physicist, after all --they said they’d do it again.
I went on-line and found Lynne, age 50, who had wonderful references. (One of the things that separates couchsurfing.com from similar sites is that guests rate their visits. It’s a bit like the reader reviews you can post at Amazon.com, but in a very cool twist, the hosts also review the visitors, which is a bit like allowing the author to review the critics. I know more than a few folks out there who’d appreciate that one.)
Departure: My flight from Los Angeles to London had not gotten off to a great start. It was an overnight trip and I’d planned for weeks to equip myself with Ambien. It wasn’t until I boarded the plane that I discovered the Ambien bottle bore a remarkable resemblance to the medication I take for a hyper-thyroid condition.
I was ever so slightly apoplectic when I discovered I didn’t have anything on-hand to induce sleep. I think my seatmate only heard the word “hyper” when I told him about my thyroid condition and he quickly offered me one of his own Ambien. He had a few, but I think he would have offered me his last. The idea of spending the night with a hyper woman was more than he (or I, frankly) could have dealt with.
Arrival: Like many tourists, I packed far more luggage than I should have – even for a six month trip. That, combined with the fact that I’m incredibly frugal (downright cheap, in fact) prompted me to attempt the Underground with a 49 pound canvas bag on rollers, a 32 pound bag canvas bag not on rollers, a camera bag with two cameras and full of equipment, as well as an 18 backpack complete with laptop.
I arrived in London at 2:30 pm and spent more than two hours in the immigration line, where I met so many people that I actually ran into one of them on the streets of London the following morning. We had breakfast. Lynn later told me that she had never in her life run into a friend casually on the streets of London. Well, we had enough time in the immigration line to meet lots, and lots of people. At that point, I probably had as many friends as Lynn had.
Turns out that clearing customs was just the beginning of the nightmare. T took 90 minutes lugging four pieces of luggage through numerous train transfers and no fewer than five terrifying luggage-filled escalator rides (they don’t seem to have elevators), I emerged (again on an escalator) to meet Lynne for coffee before “hopping the bus” home.
All told, the transfer from Los Angeles to London had clocked in at about the travel time as my transfer from London to Lynne’s. I arrived jet-lagged and a sweaty mess. Not the way to make the best impression, but Lynne cooked up a dandy dose of pasta and we shared a bottle of Italian sparkling wine – think Champaign without the attitude or price – before I fell into bed.
Of course, didn’t sleep a whit because my body had absolutely no idea what time it was. This is why Jeff Greenfield had told me, just two weeks before leaving, not to take a sleeping pill before departing. (Let’s admit it, though: the guy also recommends Fed Exing your luggage to your hotel. As the correspondent for the Today show, you can only assume that he’s got a car – rather than the Underground – waiting for him at arrival and that he’s traveling something other than economy class. And he’s got to have some sort of key to the city (make that the country) that allows him to bypass the two-hour immigration line.
The great thing about couchsurfing is that you get to see the city through the eyes of your host. If you weren’t lucky enough to participate in a foreign exchange program in high school (I applied but was rejected), this is even better. For one thing, you are a grown up so you can join your host for bottle of Italian sparkling wine. For another, as tired as you might be, you will somehow summon the energy to get out and see the city.
Having not slept for something like 42 hours (not even the Ambien was going to help me on that flight), I was awake at 6 am and join Lynne for her journey to work. It turned out that trip was probably the highlight. After taking the bus – she detests the Underground as much as I now did – we got off at a stop that allowed us to walk through St. Johns Garden, where we stopped to feed the swans, as she does every morning.
That afternoon, I took a river tour – a favorite from childhood memory when I visited here more years ago than I’m going to admit. Once there, I make up on the sleep I had lost on the plane. I sat down on the bench and unconsciously put chin to chest as the tour guide began what I’m absolutely certain was a fascinating walk through London’s architecture and history. When I awoke a couple of hours later, I tried it play it off that I’d been in a meditative state listening deeply to every word, but I don’t think he believed it.
The rest of three day stay in London was a bit of a blur until I arrived to the British Airways lounge four hours prior to departure for Cape Town South Africa. After spending two-hours getting into the country and another two hours getting into London, Lynne and I had decided to change strategy. I took the bus – this time with even MORE luggage, thanks to a bizarre British Airways baggage restriction that isn’t worth going into here and whisked my way through check-in. In another bizarre, but outstanding, twist, British Airways provides American Airlines very frequent fliers free access to their club. At nearly one million miles, I qualified.
For those who study these things, British Airways offers one of the best clubs in the circuit. A “sanctuary room” has couches that can serve as beds. They even provide wake up calls. Then there’s a free buffet and open bar, which I didn’t discover until I’d awakened from my nap and was headed out for my next overnight flight.
This time I brought the Ambien.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Introduction: A Word About Travelogues
Warning: Those who hate travelogues – and I’m honestly not one who is big on them – might want to skip the essays and go straight to the pictures. This, of course, assumes that I learn how to post pictures. The idea for this site came to me at the Backpacker, the “boutique hostel” voted the best hostel in Africa. (A great place to stay, by the way, if you are traveling alone and looking to meet people.) At the Backpacker, they offer guests the opportunity to add pictures and photos to the Backpacker Facebook site. Despite my six years at IBM and my pride in my ability to quickly grab onto the latest in web developments, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to use this site. In fact, I found it downright annoying at the idea that once signing on I would be thrust into a “community” of more than 40,000 Chicagoians.
So now I’m back to blogging. This is concept I have trouble with. My feeling is that very few of us (including me) lead lives that are interesting enough to write about. Even fewer (including me) have the talent to write about them.
Yet more than six and probably fewer than twelve people have asked me to keep them posted on my trip through South Africa, China, Viet Nam, Cambodia, Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, etc. (yes, there is an etc – I am certain I’ve missed a country or two).
Blogging is the easiest way to do that. My intent is to focus on photos more than words, but it turns out that posting the words are easy; I’m still having some trouble with the photos. (Johnny – I’m waiting for your instructions to arrive via e-mail!)
If you are one of my friends who actually asked me to “keep them posted,” then feel free to check out this travelogue. (Let’s see how long I keep that up.) If you’re like me, though, feel free to skip the words and go straight to the pictures, which begin in the South Africa section. (I was so wacked with exhaustion in London that I had the energy to shoot exactly one picture – the exterior of my digs in the city.)
The photos will be posted as soon as I figure out how to do that. In the meantime, the travelogue begins.
Another important word to the wise: If you are one of those people who are offended by missing words or misspellings, then don’t read this! Much of what I’m writing here is stream of consciousness followed by a quick attempt to edit. As Tom Kelly knows, that process is frequently followed by sentences that may have glitches. I’d send the posting to him for proofing/editing, but the guy has a real job heading media relations for Chase. (Thanks to you, Tom, and you still have permission to offer editorial comment!)
So now I’m back to blogging. This is concept I have trouble with. My feeling is that very few of us (including me) lead lives that are interesting enough to write about. Even fewer (including me) have the talent to write about them.
Yet more than six and probably fewer than twelve people have asked me to keep them posted on my trip through South Africa, China, Viet Nam, Cambodia, Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, etc. (yes, there is an etc – I am certain I’ve missed a country or two).
Blogging is the easiest way to do that. My intent is to focus on photos more than words, but it turns out that posting the words are easy; I’m still having some trouble with the photos. (Johnny – I’m waiting for your instructions to arrive via e-mail!)
If you are one of my friends who actually asked me to “keep them posted,” then feel free to check out this travelogue. (Let’s see how long I keep that up.) If you’re like me, though, feel free to skip the words and go straight to the pictures, which begin in the South Africa section. (I was so wacked with exhaustion in London that I had the energy to shoot exactly one picture – the exterior of my digs in the city.)
The photos will be posted as soon as I figure out how to do that. In the meantime, the travelogue begins.
Another important word to the wise: If you are one of those people who are offended by missing words or misspellings, then don’t read this! Much of what I’m writing here is stream of consciousness followed by a quick attempt to edit. As Tom Kelly knows, that process is frequently followed by sentences that may have glitches. I’d send the posting to him for proofing/editing, but the guy has a real job heading media relations for Chase. (Thanks to you, Tom, and you still have permission to offer editorial comment!)
Friday, September 7, 2007
The Itinerary
Tours I'll be Taking
(This does not include time on my own)
Sept. 24-Oct.15
“Deserts, Delta & Dugouts” trip
Oct. 21-Oct. 31
South African Wine Country trip
Nov. 4 - Nov. 22
China & Yangtse Cruise
Nov 23 – Dec. 29
Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand
Jan 6 – Jan 20
Malaysa
Jan 20 - Jan 27
Alam Indah Resort in Ubud, Bali
Jan. 27 – Feb. 10
Bali and Lombok
Feb 20 - Feb 17
Alam Indah Resort in Ubud, Bali
Feb. 18 – Feb. 28
Sailing in Thailand
(This does not include time on my own)
Sept. 24-Oct.15
“Deserts, Delta & Dugouts” trip
Oct. 21-Oct. 31
South African Wine Country trip
Nov. 4 - Nov. 22
China & Yangtse Cruise
Nov 23 – Dec. 29
Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand
Jan 6 – Jan 20
Malaysa
Jan 20 - Jan 27
Alam Indah Resort in Ubud, Bali
Jan. 27 – Feb. 10
Bali and Lombok
Feb 20 - Feb 17
Alam Indah Resort in Ubud, Bali
Feb. 18 – Feb. 28
Sailing in Thailand
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