..circumnavigate.with.me..

Nowhere else in the world (perhaps with the exception of parts of Europe) do people get the privilege of washing clothes after a single wear or even changing their outfit for the next day. This practice of wearing something until its actually dirty and conceding desires to flaunt new fashions each day has helped me immensely in port. Not only is my lower back grateful for not having to bear the weight of a full wardrobe on each excursion, I feel much more connected with the land and people I’m interacting with by carrying the soot

A Indian sleeper train story:

At home, the scene must be intricately set for slumber:

A multitude of toiletry-based rituals must be fully carried out

I must be completely swallowed by darkness and silence

Sleeping in anything but comfy attire is considered taboo

All of these practices were abandoned as I set up camp for the night on a fold down cot on the Kanayukamara Express sleeper train, traveling south to the southernmost point in India.

I begin to feel a sense of pride for my ability to adapt to these less-than-glamorous conditions. I’m roughing it and surviving! I am pleased with this thought and continue to mull over my little accomplishment for some time before reality comes rocketing back in my direction.

I realize that my toughness is a complete façade. My potential discomfort is trumped by the pink ear plugs in my head, the eye mask that will eventually shield all background light, and the sleeping pill that now dissolves inside my stomach. For the time being, I am disappointed in what I now view as a cop out method.

However, this feeling is remedied following our 0545 wakeup call when the groans of my fellow travelers reveal the rest that completely escaped their grasp. My resourcefulness has enabled me to look out on the bright Indian morning with promise and excitement, rather than fatigue.

I have completely traded in my suede snow boots, winter jacket and wet-bottomed jeans for perma summer wear. Lazy afternoons drift by while I lie in deck chairs sunning by the pool.

Splendid, really. However, this seemingly eternal bliss will come to a close in less than two months and I am already subconsciously launched into a panic mode. After traveling around the world, my summer will be…. Minnesotan. Hmmm….

Insert Blog here

A street that we biked on that ended in the ocean.

Cycling alongside the sugar cane fields and coast. Can life get better? I submit that it cannot.

Sailing with Englishmen in Blue Bay.

The surface of the sea is as calm as glass…. The only disruptions in the surface are those that hug the edge of the vessel.  The tranquility of the absence of background noise and movement creates a feeling of conquering uncharted territory.  Though this ocean has been crossed and crisscrossed thousands of times over the ages, the serene atmosphere conjures feelings of discovery and wonder.

During class this morning, we gazed at a pair of sea turtles that were gliding alongside the ship.  As I write, I watch flying fish materialize from the edge of nowhere, glide along the surface of the water, and disappear faster than they came.

Every single day I remind myself not to take a single moment of this voyage for granted.  If I inhale without secretly acknowledging how luckily I am to be breathing the air on this ship in this foreign time zone on this side of the world, I have done a great injustice to myself and my privilege.

We’ve hit that stage of the trip when people’s true colors are beginning to emerge.  Often times this is a great thing as my respect and appreciation for my roomie and bestie Lindsay has grown deeper after bumps in the road have shown her loyalty and compassion.
But there is a yang to every yin and I have also realized that some are just unable to shake selfish, arrogant tendencies.  While it’s a bummer that some have changed, I’m over it.  This journey of a lifetime is only one hundred days.  I haven’t wasted breath on materialistic, shallow or ‘plastic’ people, I’m not going to lose sleep if you lose my respect.
This is the only photo in existence that Linds and I are simultaneously looking fab.

I am currently the victim of some cruel form of torture

The breeze that hits my face is the refreshing kind that only summer can conjure.  The high level of degrees centigrade together with the neutrality of the wind create a relaxing balance that induces relaxation and reflection.
Our departure from South Africa was delayed due to wind conditions last night.  Instead of commencing just before midnight, the 8 hour long bunkering (fueling) process did not begin until about 0600 this morning.  In the harbor, the ship rests idle.  In a deck chair, I rest idle.
It is almost a cruel form of torture.  A week in Africa stole my heart and parting with the country last night was truly sweet sorrow.  And now, here I sit on the fourth deck staring at the city a few hundred meters away, unable to exit the ship and experience the country further.  I envy the traffic flowing along the N2 as well as the amateur sailors that pass on small vessels.  I fix my eyes on the specks that creep up and down the cable car lines on Table Mountain, affectionately recalling my less-than-glamorous visit to the peak (a memory strengthened by glancing at my bare legs, dotted with a few scratches, cuts, and other physical marks of outdoor accomplishments).  My bland, carb-concentrated lunch on board catalyzed a premature longing for the African cuisine that had graced my palate while ashore.
I find substantial comfort in my choice of closing with the country.  It is neither a ‘good bye’ nor is it a ‘sala kahle’.  Most fortunately, it is a ‘farewell’ for South Africa and I will meet again some time very soon (hello “Twenty-ten savings account”).

I have fallen in love with Africa.  The land, the people, the animals.  Should I go missing, you’ll know where to find me. 

I was in my element this morning.  The Foursome took a guided trip into the township of Langa, about 20km outside of the City Centre.  We spent time in the home of a woman whose name I couldn’t pronounce (their language has three different clicks), much less spell.  Sitting in her two room hut and listening to stories of rituals and tribal practices was new and exciting, but somehow eerily familiar.  In this woman’s tired eyes I saw the entire world.  I found complete peace in a make shift village that was hovering dangerously close to utter poverty.  The dust covered broken bottles and muddy rubbish under my feet was practically invisible to me as we meandered through streets and buildings.    I was floored when our guide led us through the fence that I was waving at school children through.  Robb had brought stickers with him and we quickly met about 70 new best friends, all of whom were absolutely adorable.  Even though we did not speak the same language, I left with a huge grin on my face and huge snot smear on my pants.

Visiting the township conjured up memories from mission trips to the reservations of North Dakota, Arkansas, and South Dakota that had been idle for far too long. 

   For all intents and purposes, I could be dead now.

Today was the second day in a row that I came up with a new way to kick my own butt.  Yesterday Garrett, Robb and I set out to hike up Table Mountain just after 0630.  After failing to locate the recommended trail, we began our ascent up no less than the hardest trail in the entire park.  Robb’s knees gave out after about 30 minutes, so Garrett and I parted ways with plans to meet him at the upper cable car station.  Attempting to work past my asthmatic tendencies, I pushed through the hike, neigh, CLIMB to the top.  It was only after scaling a particularly tough section that we noticed the first cable car had failed to leave the station.  Being unable and unwilling to return to the bottom, we continued the trek up the mountain.  After braving harsh winds and rock faces, we finally reached the table top.  Two hours and 20 minutes of continuous hiking made us tired and ravished, but to our dismay we found all services at the top locked (including the toilets!).  We snapped a few photos and then located the elusive ‘recommended’ trail.  The Vermonter and I proceed to jog down the mountain in less than 40 minutes.  You know you’re BA when….

While I managed to avoid strapping on my hiking boots today, I could not escape Table Mountain.  No sooner did Garrett and I decide to rent bicycles then I found myself attempting (and failing!) to pedal up a San Franciscan style hill.  Panting furiously, I finally reached the crest only to discover that we were nowhere near the top of the foothills.  The coast down the other side was a slow traverse toward the edge of the ocean.  Lunch and beach time brought us closer to our scheduled return time, so we booked it back along the coast and through the city.  The most thrilling part of the ride was on the congested Long Street where all energy was expended not on pedaling, but on attempting to avoid pedestrians, cars, and opening car doors.  Flying down the street, our bicycles feigned that they were automobiles, owning just as much right to the pavement as the cars.  Fatigued, scratched and sore, I am pleased with my accomplishments