I felt the familiar twinge of cultural readjustment this week. On Wednesday, I went out for my first row since being back in the States. It was a beautiful morning for getting back on the water, but reappearing in the boathouse meant plenty of the standard questions about my summer. It's never easy to sum up all the wonder of a new cultural experience in the 15 seconds people actually pay attention after asking: "Wow, Africa...how was that?" Do you just feed into what they want to hear and answer: "Great...yeah, I saw a lot of animals. The people are really friendly."? Or, do you assume that they only asked you a broad question because they don't know enough details to ask you something more specific? I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, so I would briefly try to describe the HIV education I had been involved in.
But then, after I mentioned Botswana's high HIV rates, someone asked me something along the lines of: "So is there just a complete sense of hopelessness there?"
Hopelessness? I can just see him picturing Africa not as the vibrant mix of culture, music, and languages that it is, but as this desolate wasteland populated by skin-and-bones people crawling with flies--the images you see on the "Save the Children" ads. This may exist in other parts of the continent, but it is not what I saw this summer in Botswana, nor anywhere else in Southern Africa. I'm sure I encountered people with HIV this summer--shook their hands, sat next to them in a taxi van. And what I can say about "hopelessness" is that I didn't see any of it. People are living their lives, and they are friendly and happy (or at least acting like it), even if they have HIV. Granted, Botswana is doing better economically than most places in Africa, and can offer free anti-retroviral drugs for those who need them as a result of its mineral wealth. I'm sure this has had an impact on how optimistic people are about dealing with the epidemic. But even in Mozambique--another place with high HIV rates, and higher poverty levels--HIV is not destroying people's desire to enjoy life. Remember, even when you have HIV, you look perfectly healthy for years before complications of AIDS set in. If you had HIV, would you just want to sit around depressed for ten years because you knew you'd eventually die a pretty miserable death? I hope not. There's no reason people living in a different hemisphere should look at it any differently. So no, in spite of colonization, having imported political-economic structures placed upon them, wars, and the ravages of infectious disease, the people of Africa do not share a collective sense of hopelessness. I would call that resilience.
*****
On a happier note, I will look back on this week as a highlight of my Turkish-speaking career. I spoke with the Turkish Prime Minister--in Turkish! The UN General Assembly was meeting this week in New York, and PM Tayyip Erdogan decided to come down to Princeton afterward to give a speech on Turkey's new foreign relations priorities. I was quite possibly the first person to pick up a ticket to the event when they became available last week, and also managed to swing getting a ticket to the reception following the speech. The speech was fantastic, and I had no idea the Prime Minister had such a sense of humor!
When discussing the importance of not just having international conventions and laws, but putting them into practice (not verbatim, nor translated word-for-word): "In Turkey, we have a saying: You cannot feel the sweet taste of honey in your mouth just by saying the name of honey. You have to eat the honey to taste it!"
When discussing how Turkey understands other countries suffering from terrorism: "Someone who falls off the roof understands another who falls off the roof. Nasreddin Hoca falls off the roof and breaks his leg, and says: 'Do not find a doctor; find someone else who has fallen off a roof!'"
At the reception, I met up with my classmate and friend, Aytug, who is a Turkish government employee, and will return to Ankara when he finishes his masters. He was determined to have me meet the PM, and after we had patiently waited several minutes to have the chance to speak to PM Erdogan, Aytug moved right up to introduce himself, as well as his "American friend who speaks Turkish" (that would be me). Mr. Erdogan shook my hand, and asked me (in Turkish--he doesn't speak English) how long I had stayed in Turkey. My response was just one sentence, and not a topic of any great weight, but it was grammatically correct, and beautifully delivered--I told him I'd studied in Ankara for 8 months in 2004. He smiled, and then he had to leave--Aytug had made his move just in time.
I'm still waiting on more pictures from the photographer, but here's one that made the online article, and the speech itself (with translation) on YouTube:
***** More fall fun: this weekend, I went apple-picking! Lena, Maria Elena, Andrew and I went out to Terhune Orchards and ate apples in many forms: apple cider with our macaroni lunch; apples off the tree as we walked through the orchards; caramel apples after the picking was over. Some fun pics from the day:
It's been a rough week back in Princeton, getting over the jet lag while trying to finish first-day-of-class papers, move in, and meet old friends and new people at pub crawls, bluegrass nights, and service days. After a day of cleaning up a youth center in Philadelphia, I was tired. But, I wanted to go into NYC for the evening to meet up with Peace Corps Morocco friends to celebrate Graham's birthday. So I napped, rallied, and caught the train in to meet Lauren by Penn Station. Finding the bar was a minor challenge, as we didn't know where exactly St. Mark's was (other than knowing it was close to NYU). We got subway directions to the right stop, but when asking at the liquor store where St. Mark's Square was, we were given very confused looks. I guess it's actually St. Mark's PLACE, though why the five men working the liquor store didn't assume this immediately about a place two blocks away, I know not. They eventually pointed us in the right direction, and we enjoyed a fantastic evening at Grassroots Bar.
Then I learned a lesson--don't miss the last train back to New Jersey, unless it's on purpose. Lauren and I got to Penn Station about five minutes too late, and after the 1:41 train, nothing goes to the Jers (except exorbitant taxis) until 5:14. If we had stayed down in the Village, I think we would have had plenty of fun, but now we were in Midtown, and too lazy to go back. And Midtown sucks. When they say the city never sleeps, they don't mean Midtown, though all the lights around Times Square might fool you into thinking otherwise. The few open bars looked sketchy, a few fast food joints stay open until 2 or 3 am (including McDonalds and Starbucks), but only one little pastry shop was open 24 hours. Luckily, Europan has good hot chocolate. By 4 am, we were fading though. An hour sleeping in NJ Transit Waiting area, and another hour on the train wasn't enough either. So I slept until noon, and hence, am still not jet-lag recovered. I guess it's early to bed tonight--need to wake up for a 9 am class tomorrow.
Vienna is the ultimate in classy cities. If you arrive in the Austrian capital for the first time a little clueless, and feel slightly under-dressed when stacked up against men in tuxes and women in ballgowns or the most recent haut couture, the culture and elegance will soon start to rub off on you. You can be eating wiener schnitzel at a local pub or attending the opera--whatever it is, you will become refined beyond belief. Or just plain goofy.
Four days in Vienna was the perfect way to end an unforgettable summer of traveling. Much of this, I attribute to having the most excellent of tour guides. I haven't seen Ozan since I re-visited Ankara early in 2006. In the past almost-two years, he's been working in Vienna, and so he knows his way around the city. He is also one of those fantastic friends that always wants to make sure you are having a good time and are well-fed, and can provide excellent conversation and a sharp sense of humor to go along with any experience. And, of course, he is easily able to satisfy my yen for all things Turkish by supplying or being able to find the food, raki, music, tea and language I crave. In fact, Ozan and I are considering planning to avenge the 1683 Ottoman defeat and reconquer Vienna--as great as this place is, it would be even better under the Turks :)
After arriving at Sudbahnhof and dragging our bags (for the last time!) to Ozan's apartment, he made us feel right at home by fixing up some Turkish coffee and reading our fortunes in the coffee grounds--there is, I do believe the grounds said, more wandering in my future. Ozan thought it was Japan, I argued that it kind of looked like Mozambique. When we finally mustered the effort to get out of the house, we were not disappointed. Dinner was my first taste of authentic Wiener Schnitzel and the best beer I've had on this trip at the Seven Stars Brewery. We then wandered our way around town, stopping by the greenhouse at the Hofburg Palace, which has been converted into a restaurant. There was a private party going on in part of the greenhouse that was an actual ball--people were waltzing in ballgowns and tuxes--who knew that still happened? We tried to take pictures through the windows, but were thwarted by the guard. Consolation: glass of wine at the restaurant.
After a night stroll down the fancy shopping street near St. Stephan's Cathedral, we ended the evening the best way anyone can: ice cream! Tichy is the best Italian-style eis that Vienna has to offer, and it is, quite luckily, right on the way back to Ozan's house, at the Reumannplatz square. One literally was not enough. They had Aschanti (peanut) flavor, which was sooooo good when combined with the hazelnut or chocolate and raspberry. Ozan had two, Jaime and I split our second one. The sad part is, this is not available year-round, so next time I return to Vienna, it better not be winter. Otherwise I will cry at not being able to get this ice cream.
On Friday, Jaime and I were able to sleep in for the first time in awhile. When we finally rolled out of the house at 11:30, we decided that we had enjoyed our culinary excursions so much on this trip, why not continue? We figured out how to get to the center of town by asking directions (we hadn't been paying very close attention the night before), and after only one small subway mishap, we used our handy dandy map to navigate from Karlsplatz to the Naschmarkt. And how was the cuisine? Scrumptious! This is vacation, and Jaime and I are definitely using the money we've saved on lodging to try it all! Pickles from a barrel...then lunch at a little market cafe (scallops and potato pureed with wasabi, mango lassi on the side)...then some falafel and dried fruit samples from some stalls...then a purchase of blackberries to eat with our Turkish dessert...and a pomegranate for later. Maybe I should turn this into a foodie travel blog.
Ozan should have joined us earlier after getting off work, because the shopping street with 70% off sales was too much to resist. For Jaime, who was coming from a small German town with limited shopping, and me, who hadn't seen shopping this easy since New York last spring, we easily succumbed. It was just one sweater though! And fall is coming! We also found a cute outdoor market where we enjoyed some bio (organic) milk that was being handed out for free all weekend to promote living organic. Free milk is a strange thing to be handing out, but for someone coming from Africa, I loved it!
When we met up with Ozan and his friend Cem, we took a quick look inside Stephensdom. The cathedrals all start to look the same, but the unique thing on this one was the statue of a proud Vienna priest standing on a vanquished Ottoman on one outside corner--of course the Turks knew where this was. After re-energizing over Vienna's version of a cappuccino (melange) and apfelstrudel, we did the requisite wander inside the ring road, impressed by the grandeur of all the Hapsburg imperial buildings. Outside the balcony where Hitler gave one of his famous speeches, there was a large farmer's market being set up for the next day. It was strange to think of the historical events that had taken place here and royal grandeur in the midst of eggplants, carrots, and tractors, but did make for some interesting photo opportunities.
After dinner near the Rathaus, it was time for another cultural experience: the opera! I'm not an opera aficionado, but the opera of the evening was "The Magic Flute," and it's hard to pass up the chance to see a Mozart classic in Wolfgang Amadeus' home country, especially when it's only 3 Euros for standing tickets. While the wealthier Viennese like to look nice, they also know the riff-raff and second class citizens also enjoy the fine arts, so the opera has implemented an excellent system for young people like us who want to see the opera, but don't want to pay a lot. We arrived an hour before show time, waited in the standing room line, and secured spots on the balcony for the three hour show. Yes, three hours is a long time to stand, but the intermission does provide a chance to rest your legs, and the opera was so excellent, we didn't really mind. Who knew Mozart had a sense of humor? He was also somewhat racist and sexist (ok, it might have been typical for the time), but all the funny animal costumes and superb arias made up for it. I've decided opera is much better than ballet (you actually understand what's going on), translated subtitles are funny, and fantastical operas are especially fun as they remind you of being a kid again.
Post-opera, we grabbed a couple beers at an Irish-style pub (only mine was made with Oregon hops...yum!), then went back to the apartment for an abridged raki night--when you want to get an early start in the morning, one raki is plenty.
Saturday morning was a slightly overcast, which meant that after an amazing Turkish breakfast of menemen, it was the perfect time to go to a museum! I had to do one in ten days in Europe, and the Albertina was the perfect choice--I love impressionism! The exhibit featured all the usual suspects (Monet, Manet, Cassat, Renoir, Gaugin, etc.), and also really excellent explanations of how the movement originated and progressed, and was made possible by the invention of portable paint tubes that allowed open-air painting. The museum also had an enjoyable modern art collection, palace rooms to explore, and some awesome photography, including a "one-minute sculpture" series of people doing weird things in normal environments. We were so inspired, that while wandering by some giant manicured bushes in the Museum Quartier, we decided to try it ourselves. Then we got silly. Check it out:
Following a mid-day melange and cakes at Aida cafe, we made our way to Bourgestrasse to check out a gallery owned by the son of my friend, Bonnie, who I'd served in Peace Corps with. The Galerie Inoperable had just opened an exhibit on bicycle-inspired art, which consequently re-inspired us to do what we had been planning and trying to do since we arrived in Vienna: rent bikes! But first, in what seemed to be emerging as a pattern, we got distracted by Turkish food. Our justification for stopping by Etap restaurant was that we needed fuel for the bike ride, and we got plenty of it! Mercimek corbasi (lentil soup) probably would have been enough, but when is just mercimek ever enough? We each ordered an entree--I gobbled up the manti (ravioli) drenched in yogurt sauce, and Jaime and Ozan polished off their respective saslik and Adana kebabs. Oh, and we got complementary salad, and couldn't turn down the tea--we needed the digestive aid if we were wanted to be able to pedal at all.
Bike rental in Vienna is not as easy as it should be--to get a city bike, you have to register at the kiosk with a user name and password, swipe your card, enter your address, and promise your firstborn child to City Bike Wien. It took us at least 20 minutes to rent the bikes, but once we had them, we loved them! We rode down to the Hauptallee--a long, tree-lined lane through a park. We were afforded views of the giant ferris wheel in the Prater fair and horse-drawn carriages, rode along a canal, saw people playing softball (in Europe?) and walking or running with their dogs (there is no place like Europe to make you feel like you need a dog to complete your life), and even caught a glimpse of the Danube before riding back into town along the canal. We sat down to have one beer at a funky streetside bar, but good conversation turned it into three or four. We then decided we hadn't had enough Turkish food for the day if we hadn't had dessert. We had to return to Etap! The waiters welcomed us back with a friendly hos geldiniz, and brought us happiness in the form of kazandibi and kunefe. We were completely stuffed, and so decided to forgo the Tichy ice cream until our final night.
The last day of vacation is always bittersweet, but we tried to make the most of it. First stop (after a quick cafe breakfast, of course) was the Schonbrunn Palace, the summer residence of those darn Hapsburgs. The palace used to be outside the city, but after several hundred years has been absorbed into the outskirts. You can wander around the well-manicured gardens for free, all the way up to the Gloriette on the top of the hill overlooking the palace and grounds. We also paid to go into the labyrinth and mazes on one end of the garden, and found these to be far superior to the Hanover maze from a few days earlier. You really could get lost in dead ends, and around certain corners, there were games to play, or water that squirted you as you were crossing little bridges. I felt like I was in Alice and Wonderland. We enjoyed apfel gespritzers on the garden terrace, and chased squirrels back down the hillside past some schon brunn (nice fountains), then we started the trek out to Weingut am Reisenberg, a winery affording panorama views of all of Vienna from its perch on a hillside west of the city. Ozan's girlfriend, Lydia, joined us for several glasses of Riesling and appetizers as we watched the sun sink lower over the skyline. While the ferris wheel, churches and palace are all very nice to look at, the most interesting sight to me was the municipal waste facility that featured a giant tower that was so glittery and colorful, it looked like it belonged in Las Vegas. Is this an incinerator? What is it for? I wish I knew.
We ended our final night in Vienna in a similar fashion as the first night we had arrived. The Seven Stars supplied us with a few pints and some grub before we stopped off at Reumannplatz for more Tichy sublimity. Again, Jaime and I had one and a half--this time we tried the speziale (hazelnut covered ice cream with fruity filling), in addition to our old aschanti standby. Raki provided the perfect end to a perfect summer, as we viewed the pictures from our holiday, reminisced, and shared alternately melancholy and happy stories in true Turkish tradition.
Now it's back to responsibility and (semi-) reality in the Princeton bubble. I'm sure a little culture shock awaits, but hopefully a few adventures as well. I will sporadically continue this blog while in school, and should be traveling to Vietnam at the end of October, so stay tuned for more travel tales.
P.S. Check back after this weekend for updated pictures--and by then, I should have finished typing up my stories from Cape Town and Mozambique from August. Stay happy and travel...J
We knew the lady in Uberlingen was trying to tell us something when she sold us our tickets from Prague to Vienna. It was only on the train that we realized what this was. Number One was that you needed to pay for a reservation. An extra 8 Euros each. Number Two was that the deal she found us only took us as far as Bratislava…we had thought that Bratislava came after Vienna, and we'd just get off the train early. Not the way this train went. "And what about the ticket to Austria?" said the train conductor when the stop for Bratislava passed. "Uh…oh, sorry. We'll pay for it." "That is a good idea. Otherwise, you will be outside the train with your luggage."
Images from the movie "Euro Trip" flashed in my brain. When the recent high school graduates get out of the German truck after hitching a lift and realize they are not in Italy (where they wanted to go), but Bratislava, they see only tall Soviet-era apartment blocks and three-legged dogs. "Where are we?" EASTERN EUROPE! Oh no! We paid the 15 Euro each. No getting thrown out of the train for us.
You can, by the way, get Jaime's take on our adventures as well, by checking out: http://ubergonian.blogspot.com
Don't plan an eight-hour train/bus trip for your birthday when you are carrying 30+ kilos of luggage and expect to have too much fun. I did get birthday hugs and wishes from Jaime and Tim, a birthday phone call from Botswana, lots of emails and facebook messages, and a Magnum ice cream bar before the bus left Nuremburg. And the trip wasn't that bad, just long. The birthday improved markedly when we arrived at our Prague couch surfing destination around 7:45 pm, and Evgeny (from Russia, near the Black Sea) immediately realized we needed dinner, and promised to take us to a salsa dancing club with some of his friends later that evening. Dinner at a nearby restaurant was a miracle dish of kale, bacon, cheese and potato dumplings that tasted much healthier than it probably was. Oh, the caloric joys of being back in Eastern Europe. After dinner, Evgeny took us to the promised salsa club, where I realized I don't really have any idea how to salsa. I felt bad for the toes of the guy who asked me to dance. Luckily, just watching with a Czech beer in hand was perfectly acceptable for the rest of the evening, and eventually the salsa gave way to non-ballroom dancing music I could actually move to.
Since the real birthday was a bit of a bust, Jaime and I decided to just pretend that the next day was the celebration, and live a Bohemian lifestyle to the fullest in Prague. The first requirement for acting Bohemian is to find good food, preferably in a café. We were feeling quite hungry and desperate when we got to the Old Town Square at 10:30, and almost succumbed to the evilness that is tourist-land breakfast fare. Prague has become something of a tourist mecca since the fall of the Berlin Wall, particularly for Americans, and the town square, featuring a unique clock tower, churches, cute architecture, and statues, is the center of tourist activity. While the square is prettier in the summer sunshine, the atmosphere was much more appealing last time I was here in winter, when gluhwein flowed like Niagara Falls from the taps of the temporary holiday village on the square, and the tourist hordes were either smaller, or you were tipsy, so you didn't care. The experience in the restaurant on the square that we almost ate at went something like this:
*Look at the menu at the entrance. Breakfast looks affordable enough, and it is served until 11! *Sit down at an outdoor table. Realize the breakfast menu the waiter gave you (in ten languages) is more expensive than the one you looked at outside. BUT, it says the prices are 50% cheaper if you sit inside. Waiter confirms the prices are cheaper inside, but not a full 50% cheaper. *Move to table inside by the window. *Indoor waiter brings bread and another menu, which doesn't feature breakfast. *You ask for a breakfast menu, and the waiter says that breakfast is only served until 11. But it's not 11 yet, you say. The waiter assures you it is after 11, even though your watch says it is 10:40. *Leave, fed up and still really hungry.
But the food would have sucked, and leaving was certainly kinder on our stomachs. Instead, we found a little juice bar that also served delicious baguette sandwiches. The perfect snack to stave off our hunger for another 20 minutes until we found the café of perfection! If you find yourself in Prague in the future, please find au Gourmand Café (www.augourmand.cz) and prepare to be wowed. I haven't had hot chocolate so thick and rich since my first trip to Spain 12 years ago. I'm not sure which crepe I liked more: the sweetness of the apple with brie and walnuts, or the savory cheese and mushroom. Since we had walked in the rear entrance of the café garden, we didn't see their display cases until we left. We contemplated buying quiches or pastries for later, but decided to get something that traveled better to share--so we settled for the chocolate chip cookies to take back to Evgeny that evening as a thank you for his hospitality. They were so delicious he made sure to get the address for the café so he could go back for more.
Nutritionally satisfied, the Bohemian adventure continued with a stroll across the river, up the hillside, past a giant metronome (we don't know why it's there) and a double bench swing (that didn't actually swing very well), and through the park to Prague Castle. Aaagh, we were back in tourist land. These people are so uncultured! Ok, yes, I know we were also tourists, but I get skittish in the massive hordes of photo-snapping, oblivious, check-something-off-in-your-guidebook people. Nor can I understand the couple we saw in St. Vitus' Cathedral where the man was filming a stained glass window and the woman was reading aloud from her guidebook the description of the Biblical scene depicted. I pity the family and friends that are forced to sit through that film showing.
Eager to escape the tourist lemmings, we opted not to pay to take the unguided castle tour. Instead, we made our way down the hill and toward the Charles Bridge. We stopped at a hair salon where Jaime got a Czech haircut from a lady who didn't speak much English. The blowdryer made her hair a bit poufy, but after a wash that evening, the cut actually turned out quite good-- excellent considering the limited stylist-client communication.
A walk across the Charles Bridge took us back to the old town, where we found a café on a quiet side street and had a fruit salad and mint ice tea. Refreshed and re-Bohemianized, we started to make our way toward the opera house for our final dose of Bohemian culture for the day: the 7 pm ballet performance of Swan Lake. Of course, on the way, we window shopped for clothing, and stopped for more culinary happiness at a quiet restaurant near the museum: I had the zander fish, and Jaime had the schnitzel. And the waiter managed to convince us we wanted dessert. It's my birthday celebration, and the only cure is more sacher torte!
We went to the ballet wanting to feel cultured, but instead left Swan Lake somewhat confused. The dancing and costumes were certainly beautiful, but no program was provided for the show. Unfamiliar with the tale, we struggled to understand just what the storyline was. Why don't you people talk? When you flap your arms, I think I've figured out you're a swan, but I don't understand what your leg-wiggling and all those pirouettes mean! And good god, prince ballerino who looks like Owen Wilson in "Zoolander"…put some pants on! Your tights are too tight! And are you in love with a bird? It's never going to work! Back at Evgeny's we looked up the plot--apparently, the prince is supposed to be choosing a wife, but while hunting, falls for a girl who has been cursed by a sorcerer, and is transformed into a swan by day/girl by night. The prince falls in love with her because he pities her (wow, that's romantic), and wants to profess his love to her (and break the curse). But the prince is tricked by the sorcerer into thinking that another girl is the one he loves (she is transformed to look identical), and he professes his love for her by accident, meaning that the spell can't be broken. There are various endings with varying degrees of sadness, but the ending we saw was actually fairly positive: the prince kills the sorcerer and almost drowns in the river, but doesn't. The girl finds him, permanently turned back into human form: happily ever after, curse is broken, hurrah. All you need is love…even if it's from a bird.
Our cultured day wasn't quite over though. Evgeny had prepared dinner for us, so after watching the end of the World Cup qualifier (Russia beats Wales, 3-1!) we had yet another meal, which was quite tasty (pork and salad). Then, Evgeny told us how he is trying to translate Seinfeld episodes into Russian for broadcast (I think on Youtube). So if you ever see the Russian version of the episode where Jerry freaks out the masseuse, thank Evgeny. And if you understand the lines: Elaine: "It's a slap on the wrist!" Jerry: "Yeah, but I still don't see any dinner invitations forthcoming," in their Russian version, thank us too, for clarifying the English meanings.
Before finally turning in, Evgeny showed us videos of him and his fiancée in ballroom dancing competitions (impressive), and another of him as a 10-year-old in an ice skating competition (even more impressive!). He was one of the champions of his region in Russia when he was skating!
Completely cultured out, we went to bed. Vienna is on the agenda for Thursday, and more artistic endeavors and culinary adventures are sure to come.
Europe on the cheap is not easy. But one way Jaime and I tried to save money was to buy the not-so-direct train tickets to Hanover, featuring two hour-long stops in some random German towns. So the 20 Euros we each would have spent on the faster train we instead spent on:
-1 hour of luggage storage in Ulm. Amazingly, we fit all of our bags into one big locker, so this only cost 4 Euro (2 Euro each!). -Sangria! We wanted to check out the giant cathedral in Ulm, and right next door to the cathedral was a wine festival. The Spanish tent had sangria for 3 Euro a glass, which looked so good, it made us forget that it was only 11 am. Delicious! -Lunch in Augsburg. I'd had doner for lunch two days in a row--this time I mixed it up with a GIGANTIC pide from the food stand run by a man from Malatya. 4 Euro.
So in the end, we saved money. And we found a couchsurfing option last-minute, so we had a free place to stay, right in the center of Hanover. I knew I was still in Africa mode though (and a little tired) when I talked to our future host, Tim from Australia (a chemistry PhD student in Hanover), on the phone. He offered to meet us at the train station, and I felt the need to describe what Jaime and I looked like to facilitate his job of identifying us on the platform. The adjectives I chose were:
1. Tall (most people in Northern Germany are tall) 2. Bonde (Jaime is not blonde) 3. White (this one was unique in Botswana)
Jaime's suggestion, after a quizzical look (since I had just described the average North German): "What about: we have a lot of luggage?"
I guess I'm not used to fitting in when I travel.
For those who don't know couchsurfing, this is a great way to meet locals or people living in an area and have some memorable cross-cultural experiences. The premise is that you can offer up your couch or spare room to travelers (or be willing to meet for coffee), and ask for places to stay in return when you are on the move. And an online reference system significantly reduces your chances of staying with anyone creepy. Tim was a fabulous host, and an excellent cook. After meeting us at the train station to take us to his flat, he made us a delicious pasta dinner, and we enjoyed a good bottle of wine and great conversation while relaxing after a long day of travel.
Hanover is a relatively attractive but completely unpretentious city. While it features a beautiful old town by the river (the part that survived WWII bombing), and the gargantuan Herrenhauser gardens, there are very few tourists. Residents are friendly and welcoming. In short, it would be a lovely place to live for a while, and I might have to do just that. On Monday morning, I visited the offices of EMZ, an organization that advocates for improved immigrant health care services in Germany, and runs several programs promoting health education in immigrant communities across the country and with partners across Europe. I stumbled across EMZ online while researching sponsor options for the German Chancellor Fellowship, and the organization seemed like the perfect combination for my interest and studies in health care and most things Turkish (a vast majority of immigrants in Germany are Turkish). EMZ was incredibly welcoming when I contacted them about sponsorship, and willing to meet with me if I could come through Hanover. After arriving at the office, I spoke with the organization's founder/CEO and a program coordinator for almost two hours about their work and potential for collaboration. I also got the office tour, and an offer to meet some of the organization's employees that evening for drinks. What a great opportunity this would be if it works out! I'm so excited to go and write the application essays!
In the afternoon, Jaime and I walked around old town, enjoyed a sushi lunch (but not the $2 they charged us for water--apparently, you can't get tap water in restaurants in Germany, they'd rather rip you off), and toured the gardens. To get to the larger, fancier gardens, you have to walk down the longest, most symmetrical tree-lined walkway I have ever experienced. You get almost dizzy from the perfect alignment. After what seemed like eons, we reached the Grossgarten entrance, and spent a few hours looking at a grotto, fountains, flowers, secluded tree groves, and a Baroque garden maze. We had hoped the maze would be a little more challenging, but with four paths leading to the center, I don't know if there actually were any dead ends. Jaime, the landscape architect, thinks she could design a better one, and I am certain she could.
After a wonderful evening of drinks, dinner, and a walk by the river with some of the EMZ crowd, Jaime and I were going to head back to Tim's place, but were side-tracked by…wine tasting! Ten Euro for three glasses of wine with some olives and ciabatta on the side sounded like a perfect early birthday celebration. And the outdoor seating was literally on the street…couches and a table in what should be parking spaces couldn't be passed up. Having the flustered waiter an restaurant manager explain the German wines to us in English made it even more worth it.
Jaime found me! Thank goodness for technology! I found an internet café after not being able to get ahold of her by phone, and a couple emails and a few facebook messages later, we met up in her small little German town on the Bodensee. Uberlingen! How glorious to have an internet connection again! And eat doner kebabs. And enjoy walks by the lake and farmer's markets and lazy Saturdays and cocktail bars with good company. We also went to the train station to buy tickets for our travels, and didn't decide when (or even entirely where) we wanted to travel until we were waiting in line at the Deutsche Bahn office. I wanted to visit an organization in Hanover on the 7th to discuss the possibility of a fellowship, and we had to be in Vienna before our flights left the 14th. And why not stop at Prague to break up the trip in between the two? Here we go…
First I mutilate a cow with an automobile. Then I fail to pay my Botswana speeding ticket. But my record as an international outlaw continues to grow. I am now a smuggler of agricultural products across international boundaries. The customs officials didn't look hard enough! The story goes something like this:
One day, a usually cheery yellow scorpion was tired. He was tired of being in the heat of the Namibian desert. He does not remember where exactly he was--it could have been the Trans-Kalahari border post; perhaps by a hostel in Windhoek or Swakopmund; or maybe near the Intercape bus. Where he was is not important; what you need to know is that he was hot. And he wanted relief in the form of shade. As he scuttled around at a rather slow pace, he wondered if he was feeling the effects of heat stroke. He didn't know how much longer he could go on if he didn't get out of the sun.
Then he found it! A medium-sized, olive green backpack, with just the smallest of openings of the zipper on one pocket. It looked like a very cool and inviting backpack, and the yellow scorpion began to cheer up again as he climbed down inside the pocket, and burrowed into the shade of toiletry bottles and a toothpaste tube. Yes, this was a good place to relax.
The scorpion stayed in his pocket a very long time--at least a week, if not more. Then, one Thursday evening, his little pocket started to jostle and shake more than he was used to. "This is not comfortable at all," he thought, as the bottles bumped him around. "I am leaving!" And he scuttled out into the light.
When he emerged from his pocket, he could not figure out what had been causing the bumping (my guess is that the cause had gone to fetch her clean laundry from the line while packing her bag to leave in the morning). The scorpion was a little hungry, but could see nothing in this strange environment that could offer any help for his empty stomach. There was fuzzy carpeting, a giant desk, and what looked like an oasis of solitude under the bed in the spare room in Oliver's apartment. He scuttled under the bed, and tried to hatch a plan for how to get back to the Namib Desert He did not know this world was far far away--in fact, over a 20 hour bus ride away!
After a day and a half, with no sign of any food coming his way under the bed, he decided to wander a little in search of sustenance. Climbing his way up some sheets and onto the softness of a pillow, in the early morning light he saw great potential just a pillow's length away: a human! The scorpion began his approach. But the human, Sean, must have a sixth sense for scorpions when crashing at friends' houses the night after travelers unknowingly leave predatory animals from Namibia in the spare room. Sean woke up eye to eye with our yellow friend and, with lightning-like reflexes, jumped out of bed, grabbed a glass, and captured the unwitting arachnid.
The yellow scorpion would never see the Namibian Desert again. After becoming the apartment's focus of attention for the day (Etienne researched where the little guy was from, and learned how much scorpions like cool dark places like backpacks), the scorpion moved to the Cape Town Waterfront offices of Maersk Shipping to keep Etienne company. But the scorpion was not happy being a pet, and the diet on the Cape did not suit his stomach. The yellow scorpion decided to depart for the desert in the sky, and Etienne honored him with a Naval funeral.
Author's Note: I am relieved that the scorpion did not pop out of my bag sooner (like when I was digging clothes out during the week in CT), and am glad he chose the night after I left to make his presence known. I did not learn of this rather amusing tale until after arriving in Germany. Oddly enough, I would soon be on my way to Hannover, home of the famous 80s band, Scorpions. Coincidence? Perhaps...for as Klaus Meine will tell you, scorpions are "Always Somewhere".
I was once told that these days, everyone in Germany speaks English. If you are lost, no problem--anyone can give you good directions. This is not true. In rural Germany, there are quite large pockets of people that speak no English whatsoever. I suppose this doesn't surprise me when I really think about it--people that have never left their little Baden-Wurttemburg home on the edge of the Bodensee really don't have any reason to know English--the tourists they cater to (if any) all speak Italian or German or French. Americans and Brits simply don't come here.
This is slightly problematic when you are trying to buy a train ticket without a Deutsche phrase book in hand, or need to know where the public telephone is so you can call your friend who is some place in this small town, but you have no idea where. Luckily, nice bank tellers let you use their phone to place international calls, and the tourist information center you eventually stumble upon points you in the direction of internet access. You survive. But if you were ever to be really truly stuck in this part of Germany, and could not find a soul speaking English, you should hope that you know Turkish. One day, two small towns, four people that speak Turkish. Almost guaranteed to find Turkish speakers if you walk into a kebab shop. Ne güzel bir şey!
Not only will speaking Turkish win you huge brownie points with the kebabçılar (they will put on as much cacik sauce as you want! You will drool over your döner as you walk around town!); it will also earn you free beer at the train station when Turkish guys assist you with your massive amounts of luggage and you say a nice "teşekkürler" in return. That's right, şerefe to free beer. At 10:30 am on a Friday. Even during Ramadan. Now if only I could find a Turk the next time I need to know where the public telephone is...
Not planning is a wonderful thing. When you arrive in Zurich at 9 pm, too late to get to your friend's small German town on the train, and without a hostel reservation, be grateful for lovely airport information ladies like Irene. Because if the least expensive room available in Zurich is 99 Euros (cyclists' convention taking all the cheap rooms), when you tell Irene you're going to Uberlingen, she will call her B&B-owning cousin in Romanshof (on the way, where the trains still run). When that's also full, she will find you a youth hostel in Kreuzlingen, just across the lake from Uberlingen (what does "lingen mean, anyway?), and print you the train schedule to get there. And happily, for my wallet, the hostel cost less Swiss francs than the taxi from the train station to get there at 11 pm. The hostel is in a park by the lake, but since no one is at the reception late, I camped out on a couch in the hostel lounge, after a much-needed shower (ugh, Dubai). In the morning, when I explained to the man at reception where I'd slept, I guess he took pity on me, and only charged me for the hostel breakfast I'd eaten. It is still possible to stay somewhere in Europe for $10 a night!
is miserable. Probably any time of year, but especially in early September. Any city where the temperature reaches 89 degrees Farenheit by 8 in the morning with a gajillion percent humidity should not be inhabited by humans that are overly reliant on air conditioners. The picture above is the coolest thing (temperature-wise) I wore in the six wretched hours I actually attempted to explore the city. Allow me to rant some more:
Whomever invented the air conditioner was inspired by a merciful Allah, because Dubai in the summer gives new meaning to the word "hot." You will be drenched in your own sweat and fairly certain you have stepped into a sauna fully clothed, with no lake in sight to provide relief. African winter, in all its pleasantness, in no way prepared me for Arabian summer, especially not in the middle of Ramadan (I was obviously not paying attention to when the month of fasting fell when I decided a day wandering Dubai would be a fun stopover).
After arriving in Dubai's Emirates Air terminal, I started my excursion enthusiastically enough, armed with $60 worth of dirhams, Wikitravel suggestions on what to see and do, and no map. No map was a bad idea, because taxi drivers in Dubai generally do not know where anything is-- even the old stuff that has been of landmark quality for decades. However, taxis leaving the airport do offer women the convenient option of a "Ladies' Taxi". This little pink-highlighted number is metered (no arguing over price) and chauffeured by a headscarfed woman (no worries about getting hit on by your male cab driver from the Indian sub-continent--less than 30% of people in Dubai are UAE citizens).
As I learned throughout the day, irregardless of gender, your cab driver will probably not know where you want to go. I wanted to tour the Jumeirah Mosque (the only one in Dubai open to non-Muslims), but my driver not only had to call the mosque, but ask her friend for directions. Even then, she ended up driving past it and dropping me off a five-minute walk away. I made it in time for the 10 am tour, and donned a headscarf and long black robe, which smelled cleaner than I felt in the stifling humidity. Pretty enough from the outside, the 30-year old mosque inside was rather small and unimpressive, especially if you've seen the Blue Mosque or Hassan II, etc. But perhaps this is just me being snotty--a place of worship certainly doesn't have to be impressive to be functional. And it was much cooler inside than out!
Two British women, who had converted to Islam after marrying and lived in Dubai for many years, gave an hour-long talk on the mosque, the pillars of Islam, an explanation and demonstration of Muslim prayer, and UAE dress (those long black robes actually keep you cool!). It's rather amusing to hear a woman with a strong British accent describe Islam: "Now the first pillar of Islam, tha'd be the shahada: La ilaha illa Allah wa-Muhammad rasul Allah." At least every time they said Muhammed's name, they said "Peace Be Upon Him" in full, rather than abbreviating (PBUH) as in the information booklet they gave me.
Later in the day, I would recall one interesting comment the tour guide had made: that for women, the praying areas (which are quite small in mosques) are bigger than some mosques in the shopping malls. After cringing in materialistic disgust when the tour information lady at the airport suggested I visit Dubai's malls, I would soon realize why people opt not to be outside in the UAE.
After the tour, I shared a taxi to Kasara market with two German tourists, and proceeded to have every guy and his brother try to sell me knockoff handbags and watches. I would have bought ever-elusive good sunglasses from one guy, but the price was waaaay too high. I decided to leave the shopping mall and catch a cab to the old town of Dubai. Even though I was now armed with a map from the German tourists, the cab driver still didn't know where he was going and took me to the Gold Souq instead. This was (conveniently for him) farther away. If I didn't have flus for sunglasses, I certainly had no money for gold, but I wandered around anyway and found stamps for my postcards and (after several attempts) directions to the creek I had to cross to get to Old Dubai (which was apparently only a ten-minute walk away). Indeed, I could see the old fort across the construction and the creek, but not a boat to take me across in sight.
Sweating profusely, tired and miserable and thirsty, I decided to turn around and cave in on forgoing fluid intake. No restaurants in the entire city were open, but I had seen a grocery store! After enjoying the air conditioning and sticking my head in the freezer for a few minutes, I bought a bottle of water. The only issue now was deciding where to drink it...public consumption of food and beverage is forbidden during Ramadan, but I had nowhere private to go. I asked the store clerks if I could drink it in the back corner of their shop, but they assured me that I could drink it outside and it would be fine. However, when I stepped out on the street, bottle in hand but unopened, a man passing by snapped: "Don't drink that on the street. It is very hard for us."
I wanted to snap back: "No shit, and it's hard for me in your sauna of a city where no one can give me accurate directions to anything and I have to walk much further than necessary to get anywhere and by the way, I didn't get a sahoor, or have a big feast last night, nor have I had a good night's sleep in several days." But I restrained myself. Instead, I found an empty corridor behind some stores, and chugged as much water as I could until I saw some people coming. it was time to get out of Dubai.
I walked to the nearby bus station, which I then discovered was next to the pedestrian underpass for the creek that would have taken me to the old city. Why did no one I ask recommend this? Sigh. Too tired to care. I found a public toilet where I could finish my water in a stall, and the bathroom attendant let me sit in her chair and cool down by the fan, and gave me paper towels to wipe the dripping sweat off my brow...and arms...and neck. Then I tried to figure out which bus went to the airport, but those going to the Emirates terminal left from a different station--the stop for one of the buses though was 500 meters down the road, the information man told me. Well, he was wrong, and I was so miserable I caught a cab in all its air-conditoined glory in the end. What a resource-sucking superfluity of a city. It can't be good for residents to constantly go from extreme heat to extreme cold all the time, and I know it's not good to waste so much water and energy on A/C.
I changed into fresh clothes at the airport, had a juice and ice cream, and felt much better. Getting a whole row to myself on the plane felt even better. And as I gazed at the Bosphorus and the seven hills of Istanbul as the plane flew over the city, and watched "The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency" on the in-flight movies, I decided that next time I scheduled a layover, I should try and make it in Turkey or Botswana--two places I would much rather have been!
Some random thoughts and opinions as I prepare to leave Africa, after 99 glorious days and nights:
1. Adjusting to Speaking Setswan-glish
In nine weeks in Botswana, I have not learned much Setswana (the local language). But I've learned a few key phrases and picked up on very Botswana ways of speaking English that any visitor may find helpful: Dumela mma/Dumela rra Pronunciation: do-meh-la, emphasis on the "meeh" Definition: Hello ma'am/Hello sir Usage: Whenever you see someone you know. If you don't greet someone, you are a rude and worthless person.
Akr Pronunciation: I may not be spelling this correctly, but "akr" is pronounced like you are opening your mouth at the dentist's office (aah), followed by a short "gr". Spoken quickly. Definition: "Isn't it?" Usage: Often used after a phrase that seeks concurrence from your conversation partner; makes something a rhetorical question, as in "It's very cold in Gaborone in July, akr?" or "This chicken peri peri is very tasty, akr?". When speaking English with a white person, Batswana and South Africans may commonly reply "Izzit?" (Is it?) after you say something they don't believe.
Kea leboga Pronunciation: kay-a lay-bo-ha Definition: Thank you Usage: To thank someone--obviously. If you don't thank someone, much like not greeting someone, you are similarly a worthless person (but not greeting someone is worse). That side Definition: over there or far away; where you come from or live (if it's not close) Usage: "You're from America? How are things on that side?"
Monna Definition: man (slang) Usage: In the bar, if you want a drink, you raise your hand and call "Ei, mona! Windhoek lager, please!" Rolled r's and long vowels --Whenever I ask for a combi to Riverwalk Mall, the driver never understands me. I eventually realized my pronunciation is what's throwing them off. You can't say "Riverwalk" American-style. You have to say "rrrreeeeveeerwok".
2. Botswana Food --This is more than the peri-peri. I'm really going to miss: * Bran muffins in every grocery store. So cheap and so good. * Pumpkin! Squash makes everything better. Beets come in a close second in the veggie category. * 100% Juice in cans. More than just apple and orange--there's mango orange, berry blast, tropical heaven...the list goes on. * Pies. The spinach and cheese one makes me happy. * Cadbury--it's so much easier to find here than in the U.S. * $5 steaks. Even though I'm not eating beef right now. * Ribs! Why did it take me until my final night in Botswana to actually eat these?
3. Flagging a Combi--If you can't see the number on the front of the vehicle, you hold up the number of fingers of the route you want--the driver will signal back with his route number. So easy!
4. Reunions: I've loved the chance to meet up with so many old friends in Southern Africa, as well as cherished the opportunity to make new acquaintances. Last night in Gabs, I met up with a Finnish friend for dinner at Linga Longa. Kaisa is studying for the term in Gaborone, and it worked out perfectly that I could see here before I left the continent.
While I've done a lot in my time here, I think coming back to see the new and old friends I'm leaving behind, and travel some more in this amazing region will definitely be in order. World Cup 2010, anyone? I'm serious. Contact me. Let's do it.
After a lovely visit with Caitlin in Chidenguele, I made a quick trip to Maputo to meet Sokwe, who was in Mozambique for the weekend, but spoke no Portuguese (I am not sure how helpful my Span-iguese was, however...especially since no one expected the white girl to understand anything). Following my first bout of traveler's sickness this summer/winter, we made the trip back up the coast to meet Caitlin and Iraque in Quissico for the timbila (marimba) music festival. Even if you do not like timbila, you cannot help but love the lagoons and palm-covered hills that provide the backdrop to the drummers and dancers. And a walk through small villages to actually reach the lagoon and go swimming is unbeatable! Too bad this was the last of my summer/winter travels in Africa...more to come!
