Everything's Gonna Be OK

Once again, another interport lecturer has come on board the MV Explorer and piqued my interest.  This time around, joining us between the very short stretch between Singapore and Vietnam is Ben Justus, a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Management and alum of the Semester at Sea Spring 2007 voyage.  Justus is the founder of the EGBOK Mission, a non-profit NGO in Cambodia which empowers young people to become part of that country's quickly growing hospitality industry through rigorous training and job placement.  This is especially relevant because in post-genocide/post-war Cambodia, over half of the country's population is under the age of 25, and tourism to the country is increasing at an alarmingly rapid rate.  Much of the hospitality industry in Cambodia is run and staffed by migrant workers from other countries, many of whom hail from Southeast Asian countries including Vietnam, Thailand, and the Philippines.  Through EGBOK, an antonym for "Everything's Gonna Be OK," the organization is hoping to change the face of an entire industry in Cambodia while providing autonomy and independence to a young, empowered work force.

The young organization is run by young people for young people.  Ben himself is only 26 years old, and Egbok's students are between the ages of 16 and 24.  These students come from eight feeder community institutions throughout the Phnom Penh and Siem Riep areas where introductory hospitality courses are taught.  A selected cohort of these students are then chosen to participate in a year-long vocational training program with hospitality experts from around the world.  Egbok has only been in existence for three years, and it has only had a single graduating class, but of those students, all were able to find jobs within a month of completing the curriculum.  These jobs include working in hotels and restaurants as cooks and receptionists and everything in between.  In these jobs, students are expected to earn roughly six times as much as an entire household would earn in a year.  The program is hoping to expand throughout the country and, one day, to other countries, as well.  There are also plans in the works to establish a training restaurant in Chicago, and its profits would help sustain the project in Cambodia.

I ended up spending my first day in Ho Chi Minh City with Somiol and Nita, the two interport students who are currently enrolled at Egbok Mission, and eventually met up with Ben later in the evening.  It was such a chill day.  More often referred to as Saigon, the city is a quickly developing enclave much different, yet seemingly familiar, to any place I've seen.  To put it simply, it has an exotic but comfortable charm.  Perhaps it's because I have become so well travelled, but I think that there is a certain laid-back ease in Saigon, and that's something I can't quite say of many of the other places I've visited throughout this trip.  More about that in a later blog post.

Nonetheless, I had a wonderful time.  We did nothing out of the ordinary; basically, it was the typical "first day at port" cavorting which includes a stop at the market, a lot of aimless walking, and eating interesting food until the point of exhaustion.  However, for whatever reason, the experience was heightened by being in the amazing company of Ben, Somiol, and Nita.  We were all curious about Vietnam and about each other, and that all comes together to make a pretty darn exciting day.  The connections around the world that I'm making just continue to astound me.  Never would I have thought that I would be eating pho in the middle of Ho Chi Minh City with two kids from Cambodia and a random dude from California who just happened to have a good idea one day that eventually brought us all together.

For more information on Egbok, visit www.EGBOKmission.org.  And stay tuned for some amazing stories about (and pictures of) Viet Nam!

Singapore Sling

After a four hour stay in Mauritius, a half-day in Singapore sounds like a lifetime.  This peculiar city-state at the end of the Malaysian Peninsula seems so out of place.  In the middle of the tropical jungle is an unbelievably modern enclave that is a testament to rapid development, extreme industrialization, and intense syncretism.  Sitting on the subway, for example, was an exemplary experience of what I will remember of Singapore: staring at such interesting-looking people with ambiguous ethnicities fiddling with their iPhones with signs all around printed in English, Chinese, Malay, and Tamil warning me not to bring durian on board.

Singapore is interesting, to say the least.  Though most people are of Chinese descent, there are sizable amounts of Indians and Malaysians along with ex-pats from all over Southeast Asia and around the world (Filipinos and the British come into mind first).  This plethora of diversity seems to meld together so well, and the best example of these forces at work is at the hawker centers.  Singapore, notorious for being incredibly clean and having strict punishments for violating their laws, is chock full of these establishments, much like food courts, where lines of vendors sell street-food fare from all over the world for incredibly cheap.  Next to the typical Malay food stalls were Halal stands, or juice bars, or Chinese or Indian or Filipino or American food or, really, anything.  Hayden and I spent hours and hours at places like these, and in the few hours in the country, we ate a total of roughly six times.

We also spent a good amount of time in a mall.  We didn’t even want to be there, but the whole country is kinda just one huge mall, and so it was inevitable that we ended up in one.  Even if you were avoiding them altogether, there was rampant shopping everywhere you went.  It was almost obscene how these malls could exist; it’s in sharp contrast to the States where I feel like the shopping mall is a thing of the past.  In the case of Singapore, the mall was the epitome of modernity and globalization; they had some of the coolest architecture and housed brands from all around the world.  I had a lot of fun window-shopping for some familiar (and some not-so-familiar) brands.  Even their food courts looked like five-star restaurants.

While on the topic of modernity, the city itself seems like one big work in progress.  Each corner you turned, you walked into another construction site.  As you can image, many of these construction sites were malls.  Cranes were almost as abundant in the skyline as completed buildings.  Singaporeans were always on the edge of the latest technology, and there was an atmosphere which contributed to quickness and efficiency.  As trivial as it may sound, even the escalators felt like they were going a mile a minute.

To sum it up simply, My speed-run through Singapore was pretty incredible.  I was amped up on Starbucks, and these were the first ones I’ve encountered throughout my entire trip so far, but I was also weighed down by mounds of food building up in my stomach.  By no means was I able to get into the nitty gritty of Singapore, but I definitely had a pretty nice crash course.  And before you know it, they’re gonna figure out a way to teleport there, so I just might be back sooner rather than later.

Being Lost

If you read the last post, you should have noticed that I claimed to be very inspired at Amber Fort.  Throughout my time in India, I spent a lot of time writing down my thoughts.  Here’s a piece inspired by one of those rants:

The history of Amber Fort is beyond me.  All I know are tidbits of information I heard while eavesdropping on passing tours.  The palatial structure atop a set of hills a few minutes away from the center of Jaipur was once the home to the almighty maharaja and his wives.  The grandeur of the fort was different from a place like the Taj Mahal; it felt grungier, dirtier, more authentic, and a little further off the beaten path.

As I walked around the labyrinthine fort, I found myself getting lost over and over again.  It was a huge maze with infinite ways of getting through it.  Up one staircase was one of the highest views from the top of the edifice looking down into the lake below.  Turn right and you end up in a dingy and dank dungeon.  Turn left and you end up at a beautifully restored garden.  At either place, you find a dark and narrow hallway with several doors leading to more dark and narrow hallways.  Along the way, I found some tiny rooms, intricately adorned verandas, and also stumbled upon what I realized was an old-style bathroom.  There were stairs upon stairs leading to more chambers, more locked doors, and more dead ends.  Regardless of where I went, there was something waiting to be found.

Wandering around and getting lost was cathartic in a way.  It was exactly what I needed at this point in my journey through India, around the world, and in life.  Since there was something new everywhere I looked, each step was a surprise.  I gravitated towards different things and let my legs lead me.  I just had to trust my instincts.  I had no expectations, either, and whether or not I ended up at one of the rooftop views or at another pissing palace was irrelevant.  Each thing was a surprise, and each thing was not any more interesting than the other.  I found this to be a great metaphor for my trip.

You must allow yourself to get lost because you never know what you might find.  Of course, you might run into some bathrooms.  They stink, but they’re inevitable.  You may also find some of those rooftop views.  They’re beautiful, but they’re not necessarily the things you really came to see.  You may encounter some locked doors, but those are just a hurdle to work around in order to get to something even better.  Those things and everything in between come together in order form the whole experience.  Also, there are no wrong turns.  In each place, every nook and cranny, there was something new to examine and explore.  You think that you’re lost, but you’re really just finding your own way, creating a singular path.  This, my friend, is life.

I was so glad to have realized this while in India.  I have felt incredibly lost throughout my time here.  But that’s truly not the case.  My journey through India, and by extension, through life, was all one big palace full of stairs, hallways, bathrooms, rooftop views, locked doors, and everything else the world decided to throw in my face.  The concept of being lost implies that there is a destination and specific way of getting there.  Who determines either of these things?  It’s really just an artificial boundary that we create for ourselves.  In the labyrinthine fort that is life’s journey, there is no correct way of making the rounds.  There is no such thing as being lost.  It’s all about losing your inhibitions, taking the next turn, following where it leads, and rolling with the punches.

I learned a lot here, and this was one thing that I found the most profound.  I know that I will continue to learn a lot as I travel around the world.  And I also hope to always stay lost because there’s nothing worse than living a life already planned.  So keep wandering.  You might just end up in India.

Surviving Solo

I'm not sure if I could possibly write anything which would really be able to do my stay in India any justice. So this is my futile attempt at doing so.

For whatever reason, I decided to travel alone along the Golden Triangle of Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur. This was a daunting task. The ship was docked in Kochi, a large city in Kerala, in the southwest part of India, and I had to get up north, travel a sizable distance around the area, and make my way back down. This was further complicated by my bank freezing my account upon getting a one-way trip to Delhi, and I had to beg them to allow me to purchase my return ticket back. All of this had to happen within a span of roughly five days, so I was definitely sprinting through the place like an Olympic runner. And I guess the whole idea of being in a very different country on the other side of the world by myself with no form of communication was pretty scary, too.

Regardless of the odds against me, I went out into India with my plane tickets, one change of clothing, a camera, and a small journal. I came to realize that these few things, a money belt full of rupees (which, in American dollars, does not amount to much), and a wandering soul were all I really needed on the journey.

There were the big things. I saw the Taj Mahal. I walked around Agra Fort. I got lost in Amber Palace. And those were absolutely majestic. But what I probably enjoyed more were the little things. Getting driven around in rickshaws and dragged to their friends' shops against my will. Finding a secluded restaurant in a back alley serving some of the best food I've ever had for the equivalent of a buck-fifty. Speaking with an Indian family who wondered where I came from while on the train. Being questioned by swarms of men why I was at a Bollywood movie even if I didn't understand Hindi and then being asked to take multiple pictures with these aforementioned men. Amongst many other things.

For a semi-brief rundown of the logistical details of my trip, on day 1, I left for Delhi and arrived in the evening to Paharganj, a backpacker's paradise around New Delhi Railway Station where I purchased a ticket to Agra set to leave at the crack of dawn. After a brief stay at a hotel hidden in a tiny alley, I woke up the second day to catch the train where I was seated next to what seemed like the only other tourists on board, a Japanese duo. Of course, this was a sight to behold; I can't imagine how often you encounter three Asian dudes chillin' next to each other on the train.

After some funny banter and exchanging contact information with each other and the Indian family gawking at us, I got off the train and was immediately grabbed by an older taxi driver with a horrible dye-job (which was a common occurrence). He insisted on driving me around all day, to which I agreed, and he took me to the Taj and Agra Fort and a whole bunch of places in between like a marble carving workshop, a jewelry store, and a tea shop. Right as I was leaving Agra Fort, actually, I ran into a large SAS trip full of my friends which made me smile because I was already quite restless and delirious at that point. Eventually, at my request, he took me to a travel agency where got a train ticket to Jaipur and was somewhat forced to book a hotel room.

I left for Jaipur that evening and reached it at about midnight. A rickshaw driver took me to my pre-booked hotel where I found out that there was no vacancy. The hotel concierge assured me that there was a hotel down the street which had room, and he said he would take me. I didn't realize that I would be taken on the back of his motorcycle. At this point, I was convinced that my life was going to end. Surprisingly, he safely took me to the other hotel which is where I took my only shower during the trip.

The next morning, I met up with my rickshaw driver of the previous night who showed me a journal full of testimonies of other tourists to make me feel that I was in the right hands. I still felt that he was taking advantage of me, which I despised, and I did not want to be brought to store upon store like in Agra. He took me to lunch and coaxed me into a textile showroom. I eventually begged him to leave me in the Pink City where I wandered for hours until retiring to a noisy but cheap hotel room near which I found a Western café where I got to recharge. I felt ridiculous paying 120 rupees (a little less than $2.50) for a latte and a brownie, but I thought I needed it for my sanity. To put that price in perspective, my train ticket from Delhi to Agra was only 20 rupees more.

Day Four was also spent in Jaipur, and it was very simple and laid back, and it was by far my favorite day. I went to Amber Fort where I lingered for a while. I was incredibly inspired (and another blog post will be written specifically about what I pondered while there). After some time passed, I found myself at one of the most historic cinemas in the city to watch a hilariously bad-but-amazing Bollywood film. After, I headed to the railway station to take my final train, an overnight one back to Delhi, where I would be taking my flight back to the south in the afternoon.

Upon reaching Delhi, I looked around Connaught Place, a circular plaza in the center of the city, though everything was closed. I somehow made it back to Paharganj where I ate breakfast and shopped for last minute souvenirs until I went to the airport and headed back to Kochi.

Throughout the time, I spent a lot of time journaling because I was alone and had nothing else better to do most of the time other than turning on the Bollywood music video channel on the television and writing about my day. It was incredibly soothing. It became a trend at the end of my journal entries to write something along the lines that I was "still surviving." It kept me going because there were many times when I was worried, anxious, and scared. Most importantly, it was weird that I was feeling so lonely in one of the most crowded countries in the world. Happily, I can say that this attitude changed by the end of my trip. It was rough traveling alone, but I felt that I needed an experience like this one, and looking back at it, I know it was the best decision. Despite all the stress, it was worth it. I felt that I learned much more about myself than the country I was in, and I'm very satisfied that this happened in India.

One of my favorite moments was at the end of my time in the country was when I met Sen (www.livingleftunlabeled.blogspot.com), an amazing woman who has already been traveling around India for a month and a half and anticipates staying for about half a year. Upon arriving back to the ship, I went to Fort Cochin with a few other SASers for dinner and stumbled upon a tiny hole-in-the-wall type restaurant serving traditional South Indian fare. As we entered the established, Sen was about to leave, but we struck up conversation about traveling around the country and around the world. As I chowed down on some dosa, I listened to the woman vocalize all of the thoughts about traveling that had already been festering in my mind. This was the moment that I realized that I was truly not alone. Her insight was just what I needed to continue with a refreshed outlook on this whole experience. Meeting her, just one of the people I've had the opportunity to get to know, even briefly, just comes to show how small our world is, the connections we're making, and the power of the stories we all have. We all have tales like Sen's, and it's our duty to tell them with as much confidence as she has because we have no idea of the impact they may have on people as just like her story has helped me.

Of course, my trip in India would only end in true Paul fashion. For my last day in India, I was supposed to attend a group cooking demonstration with women from Kerala, but I somehow slept through my alarm. I woke up and realized that my trip had already left me, so I stayed in bed and ended up waking up by the time my trip had arrived back six hours later. I didn't realize how incredibly exhausted I was. I think it was pretty well deserved. Some may think it was a day wasted, but for me, it was just a small part of the entire experience as a whole.

I would hate to say that one port has been more remarkable than any other because it diminishes the wonder that I experienced each one, and those things can't be compared. However, India has been exceptionally transformative, and it has really been such a wonderful country to see. I know for sure that I will make it back to India one day, and I will be more prepared and excited than ever. There's so much more to see in India, and the world, and I'm ready for it. And I'm still surviving.

A Small Update

If you've been following me, you'd know that I just got back on the ship from a five-day solo trip around India.  To put it simply, I learned and experienced so many things that I can probably never put into words.  I'll extend the invitation to any of you that we can coordinate a coffee date to discuss my entire trip, and even then, you'd only be hearing about the tip of the iceberg.

Anyway, today is the Sea Olympics, and as my sea's captain, I have been completely booked.  I'm not sure if this means anything to you.  Nonetheless, I will hopefully write something about India soon, but the ports are getting closer and closer to each other, and I'll have less and less time to reflect, write, and do everything else I'm supposed to be doing.

I just wanted to write this as a small update.

Also, I was unaware that only the photos of some of my blog posts showed up, and all of the well-crafted text did not appear.  I'll fix that as soon as I have enough internet to do so.  Please be patient!  Here's a picture of me at the Taj Mahal in the meantime!

Four Hours

This story starts while leaving Cape Town.

If you know any history about the Cape of Good Hope, you’d remember that it was known as such because of the rough water around it.  It has been warned by many seasoned voyagers that the sailing will be roughest around the southern tip of Africa.  I can only speak for myself, but I didn’t seem to mind it too much.  It was slightly unpleasant, but I can safely assume that I’ve successfully acquired my sea legs.

To make the waters worse, though, we were sailing through a storm.  For safety’s sake, we had to maneuver around it and slow down significantly.  As a result, we began to fall behind schedule.  A few days before we were slated to get to Port Louis, the deep baritone of Stuart Saunders, the Assistant Dean, came on the loud speaker and gave us the news: We would not be getting off in Mauritius.

Because the ship was running so far behind, we would be getting into Mauritius nearly a day late.  Since we were only slated to be in Mauritius for a single day, we would be arriving after the time we were expected to leave.  We were told that we would dock in Port Louis where we’d have the chance to refuel and immediately get back on the road (or the sea, shall I say) in order to avoid being late to India.

The situation was slightly bittersweet; I was sad I was missing out on an entire port, but I was okay with not being late to India.  Some other students were a lot more vocal about their dismay.  Nonetheless, we were bracing ourselves for a horrible week-and-a-half at sea.  The administration tried to appease us students by hosting a huge dance party on the pool deck and give us brunch on the day we were supposed to be in Mauritius.

Then, Stuart’s voice came on the loud speaker with more news.

He alerted us that after a lot of hard work and deliberation, we would be able to stay in Mauritius for a bit longer and that we would be allowed to get off the ship... for four hours.  From 8AM-12noon a day after we were supposed to be there, we would be frolicking this small island famous for having a very quiet and peaceful syncretic culture and being the homeland of the extinct dodo bird.

So bright and early, we went through face-to-face immigration checks and were released into port.  I felt like Cinderella.  Instead of going to a beach, which are apparently some of the best in the world, I decided to trek around the city in search of a more cultural experience rather than tanning and getting drunk like most other SAS-ers did.

Hayden Ford and I formed a pretty dynamic duo of eating machines.  We made it to the market which was scarcely open by the time we got there.  In the span of the four hours, we ate about three times, much of those things which were somewhat similar to us in different forms.  We had these floury, lightly fried flatbreads folded like soft-shelled tacos filled with different beans and curry sauces.  I ate several of these several different times.  Hayden had a slightly different variation with chicken wrapped in another kind of flatbread, and wrapped sort of like a burrito.  We had a thick and sweet milkshake drink with ice cream, tiny tapioca balls, and who knows what else.  We even sat in a makeshift dining room of one of these stalls where my sweat dripped with such vigor that it fell in globs as a woman fried up her goods directly behind us.  Other than the food, I bought a bunch of hilarious and embarrassing souvenirs including a hideous purse for my mother, a huge pink floppy hat for the Sea Olympics coming up soon, and a shirt with a cartoon of dodo birds in different sexual positions.  My favorite purchase, by far, was a $3 set of 10 bags full of colored powder for the Hindi festival of Holi for which we were to early in Mauritius and too late in India.

Unfortunately, my camera was acting funky, and the lens was being a little testy, so I wasn’t able to take very many pictures of either the scenery or the ground of my feet.  Instead, I tried to experience things with my eyes without a camera blocking my view.  I was able to look more like a normal citizen as opposed to an obvious visitor.  Though I’m sure I still had the word “tourist” emblazoned on my chest, some people weren’t so sure.  Some people even asked whether or not I was Mauritian.

Mauritius has an interesting history full of conquest of different colonial powers who brought in a bunch of people of different ethnicities who are now living together in harmony.  We can’t forget that Mauritius is, in fact, an African nation, but it is definitely a lot more well off than most.  There is a pretty blatant South Asian population, much of whom are Hindu, but there is a significant East and Southeast Asian population from places like China and Malaysia.  Then there’s also the Black African population on the island.  The best part is that all of these people come together and speak a funky French creole that reflects all of their backgrounds.

I wish I had more than just four hours in this tiny little gem in the Indian Ocean.  I’m glad we got to stop there, even if it was for a very, very brief time.  It was somewhat of an “India on training wheels,” and I cannot even contain my excitement for when I arrive in Cochin in just a few days.  This will be one hell of a ride.

Reminsce

So here's my more frivolous blog post about Cape Town. I will be upfront and proudly say that I didn't rough it. In retrospect, I probably should have taken myself out of my comfort zone, but after nearly two months away from home, I definitely needed a heaping dosage of good-ole 'Murrika. I also need to write this before into getting to Mauritius after almost not getting here (but that's a story for the next blog post).

First of all, we were docked right next to the V&A Waterfront, a ritzy area with a mall full of international designer boutiques, world-class restaurants, and all the amenities that make you feel like you're in any other sterilized Disney-esque environment. I know for a fact that our proximity to the Waterfront deterred us from straying too far away because we were in such awe of the glamour of it all. C'mon, I ate pizza and fries far too often while I was there. I went to the supermarket and bought a whole bunch of groceries that I've been craving for a while (Nutella, Diet Coke, and Lay's Potato Chips). I frequented the bar that every other SAS-er went to nightly.

But I can still say that I had a handful of quintessentially South African experiences. For my Popular Music in World Cultures class, I was able to meet a whole bunch of musicians. On the first day, I met Dat, a hilarious character who entertained us in his garage in Gugulethu. He then took us to a community center where we stumbled upon a rehearsal for Hip Hip KasLam, a rap show Dat organized himself which showcases the talent of up and coming new artists. We met some girls who were background dancers and a few other rappers who taught us some Xhosa, the click language spoken widely around the area which I have learned to love.

On the second night, I went on a "jazz safari" where I got to meet an extremely eclectic experimental jazz musician and illustrator, Hilton Schilder, who claimed that anything could be an instrument and drew the trippiest things I've ever seen. I was also graced by the beautiful pipes of Zomi, a cheerful contestant on Idols (the South African equivalent of American Idol) with a heart of gold and a voice to match. It was such an uplifting experience talking to musicians and artists from the other side of the world who are just as passionate and dedicated to their craft. It really comes to show the universality of the arts, and if you know me at all, that makes me a happy ethnomusichoreologist.

By far my most memorable accomplishment is hiking Table Mountain. If you've seen any photos of Cape Town, you'd see that the downtown area is cradled by a set of mountains, one of which is a long, flat-topped marvel. Paul Vergara was on top of those mountains. To make that story even better, my group of friends and I kinda accidentally hiked up the treacherously long back way. Most people who make the hike take a route right near the cable car which goes directly up to the summit. This path takes roughly two hours, and that was what I was preparing for. We all know that I'm a city slicker, and my version of a hike is walking down Broadway between the Urban Outfitters and the H&M.

What ended up happening was that we started at the Botanical Gardens at Kirstenbosch which is on the opposite side of the mountain from downtown. Expecting the hike to be a comparable two hours like our taxi driver told us, we found out from the tourist center at the foot that it would take "four and a half hours for the physically and mentally capable." I began to panic because I am neither of those two. To make it worse, I was already getting hungry, and I only had one bottle of water and a single Clif Bar to sustain me. This was going to be fun.

Of course, I decided to hike in my Toms, which ended up being a very good decision because they were very light and allowed for more gripping of the ground with my feet. To pass the time, we shared life stories which opened our eyes into each other's perspectives on the world we live in. It's moments like these which I cherish. We also met a bunch of people coming down the mountain as we made our way up; they shared their advice, even if we didn't have a common language, and assured us that we were getting closer.

To sum up the path, it can be divided into roughly three parts. The first was a lush, green, and shady forest area in which, in order to get out, we had to climb up a steep set of ladders and a bunch of rocks with a stream running through it. After that was a desert-like area which showcases the unique South African flora, or fynbos, that can only be found in this area. Upon reaching the top of Table, we realized that we were on the opposite side of the cable car we needed to ride to get down. At this point, I was quite faint, but I had to pull through. I mustered up the last of my energy and walked along the edge of the mountain on a path that was about a foot wide. One wrong step, and you'd be tumbling down into the city below. A total of four hours from the start, we made it to the end of the path where I celebrated by chugging an overpriced bottle of water and devouring a huge ice cream cone.

At the end of the whole ordeal, I was able to look up at Table Mountain and smile at the fact that I walked all the way across it. I will always be able to do that. It is by far one of my most memorable accomplishments.

Other than that, I had an overall refreshing time in Cape Town. I went down Long Street several times, both during the day and night, to take advantage of good shopping, great food, and amazing nightlife. I went into the scenic wine country and sampled some of the best wines in the country (paired with some of the best cheese I've ever tasted). I lurked at the ever-so-typical gay bar and went down to Camps Bay to party like the locals do (and even got to see a concert by an amazing band called Goldfish).

I can only look back fondly at my time in Cape Town, but I'll always regret that I didn't do more. I guess that's more of a reason for me to return to this city (and to this country because there's so much more past this one town) to learn and experience more. We'll see if that happens. I hope it will be very soon. In the meantime, I'll sip on my rooibos tea and reminisce.

The Dark Underbelly of Cape Town

As I sit through what are (apparently) some of the roughest waters we may sail through during this entire voyage, I’m fondly reminiscing about my time in Cape Town, South Africa.  To put it simply, I loved it.  From day one, I thought of how much I would love to stay longer and even considered some of the logistics of moving to this magical city.  Though it was incredibly cosmopolitan, being in the midst of Table Mountain always reminded you that wilderness was just a hop-and-skip away.  Cape Town is very Western, much more than any other port we’ve visited, but there was the constant reminder that you were in a place that was very different and very African.  The resonant clicks of the Xhosa language being spoken all around you and the images of the “Big 5” animals on the bank notes the stand out in my mind. There were also the things that were distinctively South African that made me smile like Nelson Mandela’s face on everything and the plethora of cultures that comprise of this “Rainbow Nation.”

In the six days I spent in Cape Town, I was able to do such a wide array of things that you could only do in a place like this.  From getting hit on by a man at a gay club who swore he knew me to nearly passing out while hiking Table Mountain only a few hours later, I can proudly say that I did a lot.  Once again, I avoided a lot of the normal tourist traps; I didn’t go to Kruger or Boulders Beach or Robben’s Island.  Of course, I would have loved to go to lose places as well, but I thoroughly enjoyed spending my time trolling Long Street during both day and night, meeting musicians in Gugulethu, and wine tasting in the vineyards of Paarl with my anthropology professor for class credit.

I can still say that I definitely played it safe here in Cape Town.  Like I said, it was the most Western port we’ve visited, and it was a sight for sore eyes.  I can’t say I didn’t shop at the V&A Waterfront which looked like every mall in America.  I can’t say I didn’t go partying at the incredibly bumpin’ Camps Bay.  I can’t say that I didn’t eat Chinese food and pizza.  Honestly, it felt a lot like New York with better weather, more interesting-looking people with sexier accents, and a hell of a lot cheaper.

But then you remember that you’re in South Africa.  You begin to see the contrasts all around.  Nature seems to cradle the city like a mother does her child.  Right outside of the most ritzy neighborhoods are the townships full of some of the poorest people in all of the country.  You think of the disparity between the rich and the poor.  This gap, as determined by equations like the Gini Coefficient, is the highest in South Africa, and Cape Town is where this is most evident.  And this makes you begin to rethink your experiences.

As we all indulged in nice meals and excessive shopping, there was someone down the road who could only dream of those things.  As we talked about how cheap everything was, there was someone nearby begging for change that we disregarded without worry.  You can’t help but feel a little guilty.

Don’t get me wrong, Cape Town, by far, was one of my favorite places I’ve ever had the chance to visit.  It felt like home.  But perhaps it’s that exact feeling which irks me.  It shouldn’t have felt like home.  I wish I felt a little more uncomfortable.  And I definitely blame myself for not seeking those uncomfortable situations out.  However, I don’t regret what I ended up doing because all of those experiences were still very enlightening.

If you were expecting more of a play-by-play of the things I did in Cape Town, you’ll (hopefully) be getting that some time in the next few days before I get to Mauritius.  This banter was more about my reflection on this past port.  I kinda just had to put my thoughts out there.  I didn’t want to be depressing because I would hate to make it seem like my time in South Africa was for naught.  I had such a wonderful time, I hope to fill you in on everything really soon.