America the Shameful

You know, yesterday was one of the only days in my entire life that I was proud to be an American. I have never been a patriotic person, and having been brought up in a predominantly Mexican culture I have always felt a certain distance from the "American way."It's not until now that I am, again, ashamed to be American. How can so many people be THAT ignorant? They spout out words and phrases that they regurgitate as to not have to break a sweat in thinking about the human quality of what they speak. They do not stop for one second to understand that what they are saying, and the movements and decisions they are making for others is detrimental to a strangers quality of life.There are people celebrating today because it took over two hundred years for a black man to even be taken seriously as a possible candidate for the US presidency. There are also people crying, hurting, wondering if the marriage vows they uttered only so few months ago will disapparate as if it were only a dream (the best dream I've ever heard of).I'm so angry I don't know what to do with it. Part of me wants to cultivate this anger, and the anger of others--to come together as one strong front and turn on those who've turned their backs on us. Another part of me wants to understand that things take time, and that the voting patterns show a true hope for the youth of America. I am balancing on a very thin line, and I'm sure I wouldn't be far off from saying that millions of "Americans" feel the same way today.It's almost as if Americans thought, "well, this year we'll throw the Black's a bone...and hey, maybe in the future it'll be time for the gays." I don't want to be in a succession line for charity.I want my rights, damn it!If you voted 'yes' on Prop 8 (or any other anti-gay legislation) and you're reading this, I think you owe me and every other gay person you know, or even don't know an explanation.Why? Why? Please, tell me why you've chosen to deny me and your fellow "Americans" of a common right? Why must we plan YOUR weddings and not attend our own?I miss my family. I am currently living abroad, and I'd hoped that California would prevail in equality and that I'd be able to return to marry the person I wish to love forever.But now I sit here wondering: when I marry my fiance, does that mean I won't be able to reside near my family in California? Is the United States of America going to pay my airfare so that I can see my nieces grow up, feel the embrace of my parents, and be with my grandfather before he passes?I am ashamed to be American today. This "one thing at a time" mentality just isn't good enough for me...Obama or not.Dear God, help me understand.

Happiness and Anger Stew

I cannot express my feeling of elation at the victory of Barack Obama in becoming our new US president. Nervous energy surges through my body, and I am virtually speechless. To win in such a monumental way makes the triumph that much more thunderous--and may all that doubt hear that roar.However, I cannot help but suffer as the pain of anger and sadness fester in my belly, wanting to scream, break windows, slap strangers--something to release the tumor that has been growing within me this past hour.How is it possible that a state as open-minded as California (a state where plastic surgery is common place, and celebutantes like Kim Kardashian and those dense girls from 'The Hills' are adored like deities; a state where the divorce rate is over 50%; a state where Marijuana is legalized for medicinal purposes) could ignore the obvious rape of freedom and justice for all by relegating we, the homosexuals of California, to a lesser role? When did we become a supporting role in the film called "Life," starring the ever-so-powerful heterosexual masses? It just isn't fair.What I feel like is an animal. I feel as if I have just been told that I am not allowed in the house, but to stay in the yard--even if it's raining.What angers me most is the statistics.According to CNN. COM, most age groups were either tied, or did not support Proposition 8. The only group that overwhelmingly supported the measure were those citizens 65 years and older. These are people that have lived there lives and are reaching the end. These are people who have experienced the joys of a wedding day, the trials and triumphs of a legal marriage, the raising of children, and so on. How dare they dictate to us, a new and different and far more understanding generation, how we should live long after they have become dust! It's obvious to me now that the experience of time truly is meaningless. That compassion does not mature or change if your heart and mind already dwell in a state of hatred and biggotry.It's a travesty that this has happened. A cruel joke. What's next? Do we have to wear patches on our sleeves? Stripped pajamas? Well, I'll tell you this much. If we do...it's going to be Prada, and you can all kiss my ass-cot!!!

Glamour and the Stench of the Seoul Sewage System Part 1

It's been ages (over a month) since I last posted. There have been countless experiences that I've wanted to cover here, but alas I'm subject to my own procrastination and thus be my downfall as a writer. In any case, this past week's experiences are definitely something to write home about. Anyone who knows me or my current situation would know that I'm currently residing in the Republic of Korea. As such, my career bares little resemblance to that which I'd dedicated myself to for the past several years: fashion. In my day to day life, it's impossible for me to renounce my love of the art of fashion and all that accompanies self-beautification (minus self-mutilation, like cosmetic surgery). Though I've left the building, and "hung up my hat" so to speak--solely because I am currently teaching a sea of Hangul-crunching urchins does not equal the demise of my life in fashion.

This brings me to my present state of being. As if hearkened by the beacons of my heyday, fashion has found me once again...and as usual, I've gladly acquiesced. Back in August, upon my return to Korea, I met a young Canadian woman named Denise while out with friends. I mentioned her in my previous post. We really took to one another, and it was mentioned that my past work had been in fashion and on-set beauty departments. Denise is a photographer and works with another ex-pat, an American Blasian (Korea and African American) named Michael. Michael has created a website representing Korean street fashion for foreigners entitled Feet Man Seoul (www.feetmanseoul.com). The site covers mainstream fashion, local social events, street fashion--among other topics, such as music and Korean pop culture. One night, while painting the town blood red, Denise drunkenly mentioned to me that she was working on a fashion magazine to be distributed circa Seoul fashion week. Of course she mentioned this knowing that I'd invite myself onto the project...which I did. I immediately asked, pleaded, begged to have a hand in on the baby and she said she'd she what her project partner thought. Only a few days passed and I was invited to meet Michael, offering my services as stylist on the project.

We met at Doota!, the enormous shopping complex at the Dongdaemun ("East Gate") area of Seoul. It was evening, and incredibly windy. I was running late, as usual, and I found them outside trying to fend off the tempestuous annoyance. For some reason we didn't immediately go inside and escape the frigid temperature. I think that was probably because once you enter one of these large shopping complexes talking becomes troublesome and conducting a deep conversation, or a meet and greet as this was, would prove nearly impossible. So we remained outside and chatted about the project. I asked questions, and though many responses were vague at best, I did see true passion and potential in their eyes and ideas. These two elements are strong legs to stand on.

In true form, I began to shoot off my mouth and offer my ideas on a silver platter. Though some of my supposed "gems" were promptly denied any place on this project, I understood my place quickly and relegated myself to it. Now that we'd satisfied ourselves with banter, we entered the building and began to scour the many levels for the number one item on our list: lingerie. Yes, this was to be a lingerie shoot. The concept of the magazine is basically this: a "look-book" of sorts, with glimpses of Seoul fashion week's shows, street fashion, a few articles, and a photo-story--which was our main focus on this meeting. This photo story followed an evening in the life of a scorned young woman, who leaves the throws of a hunky, young gentleman to prowl the streets clad only in what she's left in...her underwear. Edgy. Sexy. A new concept in Korean culture: a woman claiming her sexual prowess as power. I liked the idea and quickly began to create a story in my head, with fully flushed-out characters with legs to kill.

With this in mind, we stopped at a few lingerie kiosks and found nothing to our taste. In a place this big with so many trends and an incredible penchant for style turn-over, it becomes an overbearing game of hit or miss. Michael said he knew of a more risque vendor on the basement level, so we ventured down into the deep to look for what we hoped wouldn't be death by ruffles, or bludgeoned by padding (not to mention choking on glitter). We found the dark little corner he spoke of after scouring through the labyrinthine alleys of the make-shift shops. There we found undi's a plenty, many not to our liking, in fact...I'm shocked they'd be to any one's liking--except maybe a Russian hooker (but then again, we get a lot of those here). Our focus color was purple, the "it" color of the season, or brown--to play off the models golden tan. We found a few options we felt forced to like, and then finally came upon a few that we actually did envision on the 6 foot plus body of our model: Henna. Thankfully, Michael is nearly fluent in Korean so he managed to work-it with the saleswoman and finally we had our first piece; a surprisingly elegant, yet sexy, brown-sheen bra and french-cut panty set. This was the beginning of our journey into public nudity.

When we'd finished, we met up with one of Michael's longtime friends whom he'd not seen in nearly a decade. It was a quick and passionless reunion, but still it thwarted us off to dinner where we shared Uzbek food and beer. The food was good enough. Loads of meat. Similar to middle eastern food as well as Russian, but a bit bland for my palette. Nonetheless, the conversation was dynamic and I was sure this was a marriage of minds made in heaven. With enough time, patience, and arguing we'd make quite the team.

And so it begins...

Tomorrow isn't my official first day of work, but I will be going in for a 'meet and greet,' so to speak. I'll be meeting my new boss, and coworkers, and also attempt to make some lesson plans. I just visited the school after walking my man to the bus stop since I have to be there at 9am tomorrow morning and found it essential to, well, know where I was going. The campus looks quite nice, actually, and they have a killer playground. Sue me but I love slides, swings, and jungle gyms. This passed week has been pretty great. Reuniting with my Dong Wook has been magical, to say the least, and the world which I have re-entered I find almost more inviting than the one I left. This weekend I made my first journey back into Seoul to meet friends and party the night away after months of absence. We met up in Sinchon to visit a bar some foreigners had opened. The drink specials will get us to go anywhere, who are we kidding. It had been quite a while since I'd tied one on, and man was my body not used to it. We drank like thirsty horses, but by the end of the night were panting like hot dogs. We started at a bar called the King's Cross (I think) where I met some new friends: a Canadian girl named Denise, and a Korean-American girl named Carrie. I helped the girls to learn to flirt, since it seems as though they'd been deficient in this skill all of their lives, despite their attractive appearances. Either way, I do hope my teachings further them in their sexual and romantic ventures. From here we moved onto Hongdae: the place to be if you're young and in Korea. By this point I was already pretty tipsy and we ended up at a club where it was 9,000won ($9) cover, and all you can drink Tequila. I'm not a fan of Tequila, but all you can drink? For a man on a budget, I was definitely sold. This place was a sweat box and I danced with several Korean fellows. I find their interest in hip-hop culture somewhat comical but equally sexy. I also find it fascianting how Korean men always want to dance with me as a way to meet my female companions. It's my pleasure to help them, and my friends, get laid since I am only there for the fun these days. We ate and drank, ate and drank, and danced, and danced, and danced--until it was finally 6am and thus time to go home. Before we went our seperate ways, a few of us stayed behind for some spicy as hell Budejige at tent city, and some last minute Soju. Breakfast of champions. On my first journey back home I found myself drunkenly lost for two hours. It was both embarrassing and annoying. Note to self: if I'm going to get that drunk, stay at a friends. I was on and off trains and buses in a mad pursuit to find the correct route home, to little or no avail. It was like playing Zelda blind-folded. I stopped into McD's and had some more breaky, as an excuse to "sober up," when I really just wanted a greasily delicious sandwich in my tum-tum. Either way, I made it back home in need of some lenghthy respite. I did manage, for some odd reason, to stumble onto the Wall-E OST on my iPod as I arrived home and found myself crying quite emotionally for thirty minutes before finally dozing off. Believe it or not, I was crying specifically because of the movie. In my drunken state, that which I found fascinating and endearing about the film was escalated to the brink of my tears moistening my pillow in a deluge of melodrama. Thomas Newman is one hell of a composer. The last couple of days I've spent mostly with my boyfriend, briefly stopping into Seoul for some bootlegs movies. I was in desperate need to continue my illegal ventures here in Korea. Feeling a bit under the weather yesterday, we returned home and had some more take away Chinese (delicious and cheap), and watched M. Night Shyamalan's 'The Happening,' which I won't even bother to review because it was utter crap. It pains me when a talented writer/director has an inspired idea and then proceeds to use it as toilet tissue. I did manage to get my boyfriend to watch 'Showgirls,' however, which is the perfect example of something that is so bad it is very, very good. And so I go, off to tap dance for yet another school. Will I slip, or will I dance my way into their hearts?

The Night is Dark: A 'The Dark Knight' Movie Review

To call this a superhero or comic book film would totally discredit the masterpiece of a crime drama that it transcends to be. Though dealing with the typical model of 'good guy' against 'bad guy,' Christopher Nolan and the new "Bat-Crew" know how to give us exactly the Batman that we need for this day and age, and not one in tights. The days of camp are over and in are the grimy times of reality. Violence, greed, unspeakable cruelty...these themes resound in the film, but we are forced to ask a question that challenges us in our own current political climate: where do we draw the line between hero and villain? When does collateral damage become a necessity and not a choice or accident? The film does not try to glorify its hero, nor does it chastise its villains. It is up to us to decide, as an audience, as an individual, and as a citizen, what we believe justice is. Though my love for the Tim Burton Batman franchise will never dissipate, I cannot deny that Nolan's take on this dark story is more current and far more relevant. Heath Ledger's performance was nothing short of legendary; balancing insanity, and misanthropy, all the while making us laugh along with him even in the face of his merciless violence (much like Hannibal Lector). His untimely death will no doubt be the talk of next year's Oscar's, as he is sure to be nominated. Christian Bale is a sturdy Bruce Wayne/Batman, and Morgan Freeman, Michael Cain, and Gary Oldman are all on top of their game (not that they ever aren't, in all fairness). The addition of Maggie Gyllenhaal as Rachel Dawes(replacement to Katie Holmes), and Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent/Two Face were wise choices. Both are strong actors, holding their own if not making themselves known in a film already bursting with fresh, and fascinating newness. This is a dark film for dark times for a world that barely has a Knight in sight.

"Hey, it's the new Malibu Stacy...and she's better than ever!!!"

My return to Korea wasn't exactly the smoothest of operations. After spending a month with my family in San Diego post-African journey, I had become accustomed to life on hold. Doing little to nothing all day everyday was both wearing on me and growing on me simultaneously. I knew it was a matter of time before I headed back to Korea, but waiting renders actuality useless when time moves like a drunken snail. Pro's: being with the family, seeing my nieces, playing with my dog Sammy, eating all the food I love/hate, visiting with friends, and stocking up on DVD's and going to the cinema. Con's: no job, no money, boyfriend eagerly awaiting me as I eagerly awaited returning to him, an influx in fatty cells collecting in areas I'd rather they not be. In the end, however, I did garner a great teaching position at a public school in Gimpo, closer to Seoul than I'd been before. Public school positions mean two things: less work, more vacation. Sign me up. I departed my old home in Chula Vista along with my parents to the San Diego International Airport at Lindbergh field on the morning of August 18th. Little did I know that United Airlines was going to live up to their standard of crapiness and cause me to lose my connection at SFO with Singapore Airlines. Due to weather conditions beyond anyone's control, San Fran was not allowing flights to enter it's airfield. Unfortunately for me, that meant that I'd probably miss my connecting flight into Seoul. I pleaded with the United crew to change my flight so that I could divert spending a costly night in SF, but they assured me that I would make my connection. Well, that gum-smacking Armo-biotch didn't know her ass from her elbow. I was indeed stranded in San Fran for a night, having to pay for a room out of pocket. I spent the entirety of my stay in my hotel room, eating, watching Will & Grace, and catching up on some much needed recovery sleep. Packing had proven a daunting task the evening prior. In any event, I was on the next flight with Singapore Airlines the following day. Singapore Airlines has to be the best airline EVER!!! They are the kindest, most attentive people I've ever encountered on an airplane. The food was delicious, the LCD screens unbelievably large, and the entertainment choices too vast to fathom. I couldn't do or see everything I wanted in the 11-hour flight. My seat even had a power connection, and usb port. Pretty crazy stuff. I could only imagine flying First Class. They must blow you up there. I arrived in Korea glad to be back, and nervous to face my boyfriend--though I was dying to see him. I wasn't sure what to expect, or what sort of welcome I'd receive after my four-month departure. Phone calls and e-mails are one thing...but eyes cannot lie. After collecting my luggage, and exchanging my money, I exited the baggage claim area and entered the openness of the welcome area. A sea of people stood there; signs bearing various names, some faces disappointed that I was not the love one they'd been expecting for who knows how long. I looked about but didn't see him. I figured he was grabbing a drink or something considering my flight was an hour early. Then I saw a hand flailing about in my direction. A buzzed head with thick-framed glasses approached me. This was not the way I'd left him, but this is to whom I'd returned to...and let me tell you, I was unaware he could look better. We crashed into each other embracing for a moment. It seemed unreal. To touch each other once more after such an extended amount of time seemed alien though welcome and necessary. I could breath again. We walked out and grabbed a bus to the other nearby airport in Gimpo, where we'd be staying for the night. We stayed at the Hotel Airport where we caught up, watched tv, and ate a late dinner. Ah, bibimbap at midnight...how I missed it. We woke late the following morning. I had an appointment at 2pm to meet my co-worker to collect my apartment key in a nearby area of Gimpo. Dong Wook and I had some McD's and then headed to the Gimpo Office of Education. We arrived a bit early but found Ji Young, the woman I was scheduled to meet. She was very kind and giggly. We walked a short distance and made it to my new apartment building. It looked new, and was smaller than what I was used to. We entered and she informed me that most of the tenant were foreign teachers, so that I'd have a lot of fun and help there. That was a nice and comforting thought. We sat for a while and talked about a few things. She seems like a very kind and helpful woman...I just hope she isn't too nosey. Dong Wook is convinced she likes me. Eeeesh. I also met my neighbor, a rather handsome Korean-American guy from Colorado. He had an odd and shy demeanor about him. Ponder... We spent that evening grocery shopping, eating Chinese take-away, and watching Clueless. I walked Dong Wook to the nearby bus stop, which will soon be my main means of transport--and man is it efficient. Big time yay. I spent the rest of the evening getting comfortable in my new apartment. I slept in my sleeping bag because the sheet on my bed was a little dingy. My sheets are still in "storage" until this weekend, so I can't wait to get them. Something tells me the girl who occupied my apartment before me was a fat white girl. There were too many stuffed animals, origami rosettes, and tie-dyed astrological stickers everywhere. Am I right or am I right? Today I woke up early but stayed in bed and napped until I was ready to get up and moving. I watched a little Will & Grace and unpacked all of my luggage. A bit later, Dong Wook arrived and we cleaned the hell out of my apartment. That place is pretty clean now. I just need a design concept, though that will come with time and money. It was raining all day, but we made the decision to go grab a bite and walk around the neighborhood. I live in a pretty cool area. It's considered downtown Gimpo. I live near a supermarket, tons of PC rooms, restaurants (including trusty American fast food, and pizza), a CINEMA!!!, but best of all...a VIPS!!! VIPS is a steak and salad restaurant that has an amazing salad bar. I love salad bars because they are all you can eat, and this once happens to have a nacho bar, and smoked salmon. Yes, I'm a fatty. We had Budejigue for dinner, which is basically meat (ground beef, franks, and spam), and noodles (ramen, glass, and rice noodle) soup. It's hot, spicy, and smackulicious. It came with free ice cream after, and it was a dirt-cheap meal. After that, we went to see The Dark Knight and now we're here, at the PC room--"catching up on my correspondence." But for now, we gotta head home. It's getting late and the hubby has a headache. Until next time.

Ahhh, cinema...

Needless to say, I was busting to go to a movie theater, seeing as how I've been weening lion cubs, and exploiting ancient African cultures over the last eight weeks. But today, I dedicated myself to a double-feature...and I am so glad that I did.The first film was Sex and the City. I'd read many scathing reviews, touting it as too somber, and dark. That the film had lost its fun and resulted in a cacophony, so to speak, of melodramatic emotions. I personally liked the tone of the film. I think it was an honest film about how love can exhilarate, delight, and consume but at the same time ache, scar, and even deprive one of their own personal needs. I found the film funny, sometimes a bit more slapstick than the show, but still funny. The only qualm I had was with Miranda's character. They escalated her far above the bitch scale. At the end of the series, her heart had warmed-up and she was less of a curmudgeon, and with the film we were at square one again. A character should always remain as such, and not become a characature...there is a difference. I did find, however, Miranda and Steve's reunion on the bridge to be the most poignant scene of all.The clothing was phenomenal, as was the look, and artistic design. We'd already learned, with the final season of the show, to accept that Carrie dawns clothing far-above her price range and this trend continues with the film. But it's part of the escapism of the series. We wouldn't want to see her in anything else but the latest. All in all, I was more than pleased with the film and I'll admit that I cried a few times. But hey, I'm a fan. Sue me.My second feature was Pixar's newest Masterpiece, Wall-E. Basically, I cried from the beginning to the end. It was so painfully beautiful that one can't help but become over-emotional. It's slightly a polarizing film, however, because it's animated. I fear that the audience will enter the film expecting a film about a clutzy robot who cleans up trash, but will encounter once in the theater that the film is so much more than that. It has the gentle quality of a Charlie Chaplin film, where there is no real dialogue or sounds besides the music (though Wall-E does make R2D2-like sounds) for the entire first chapter of the film, but there is a very clear tone and message. The earth has been reduced to a barren wasteland, with piles of garbage so high that they challenge the surrounding sky scrapers. The air is so thick with smog, that there is a labored, and colorless gloom that spans the sky. But Wall-E knows no different, and unfazed as he conducts his days as usual, he becomes enchanted with the human world that once existed there and collects "artifacts" that inspire wonder and amusement in him: feelings so innocent and simple, that it's heartbreaking that we, who still live amongst these artifacts, do not see.Wall-E's fascination with the film 'Hello Dolly' is more so an allure to that that is jovial, and exuberant than an interest in musical cinema. We see Wall-E's loneliness echoed here, and how he longs for the existence of someone besides himself and his only friend, a cockroach. It's then that he meets a robot far-superior to his making, and falls in what he understands to be love. Though these characters are (as cliche as it sounds it's true) robots, the audience can't help but recognize the humanity in their courtship. It's tender, fearless, and real.The second chapter of the film takes Wall-E to space where he discovers the remnants of the human race, now reduced to large piles of consumption: so gluttonous that they've lost the ability (or the will) to walk. They are so lazy that they drink their food, and do not notice the things that happen further than that which occurs in front of their noses. Needless to say, the film has a strong message in regards to our world's consumer issues, and how we are the masters of our own inevitable demise. It's sad, and true, and scary to see. This portion of the film relies more on dialogue and a bit of slapstick, but it has a Kubrickian sensibility to it--where robots rule, and we acquiesce to their superiority.The last chapter of the film, however, is nothing more than sheer magic as we experience the strength, the will, and love exhibited both by humans and robots alike, straining to survive.Wall-E is heart-wrenching, an eye-opener, important, and it's sweet innocence lingers long after you've left the theater. I could not fight my immediate emotional response to the film because we are living in a time where there is such a delicate balance between what could be and what will be. As Albert Einstein once said, "It is appallingly obvious that our technology exceeds our humanity." Wall-E poses the question: wouldn't it be better if our humanity exceeded our technology?

Left-Behind in Left-Field

Taken from my diary; written while waiting for my plane from Nairobi to Cairo: Shock. The only word to perfectly convey what I have felt over the last forty-eight hours. I never imagined that I'd be so deeply affected by the finale of my GAP adventure. When I signed up to trek across the African continent with a pack of strangers, I second-guessed my decision. I was fearful of traveling within a bubble. Two major cons to traveling in such a fashion are: firstly, that there is a barrier between yourself and the what you see. This barrier keeps one from full-immersion, or from totally abandoning ones defenses to allow a new culture or experience to go beyond the epidermal layer. The second reason being that personalities can over-power, tensions can rise, aggression is inevitable. I can safely say that we only experienced mild symptoms of both--and for that I am grateful. What a time. Two months of my life spent exactly as I'd like them to have been spent...happy. Saying goodbye to these people I didn't even know existed six weeks prior was a very difficult trial for me. In our bubble we bounced off one-another, held-close to one-another--were simply together. Six weeks of closeness with strangers and now I feel blessed to be able to call them friends. Our drop-off was quite a jolt to my emotional core. I'd not stopped to consider what the end would be like. I hypothesized, guesstimated, and imagined the possible scenarios of the end--but this proved to be mere fantasy, and not the true and real pain that saying goodbye came to be. I never expected to cry. I never expected a rushed hug, or a half-glance and a wave. I never expected to be winded, as if bludgeoned by a sledgehammer. I simply never expected. I considered. I dramatized. I imagined...but I never expected reality. The saving grace of this end was having Jen around until the very end. Being able to mourn together, ween-off together, and share a few more memories together allowed me to slowly acquiesce into detachment and switch from, 'goodbye,' to ' see you soon.' Here I am, now, sitting alone in a small, boring airport terminal. Faces flash in my mind--beating like light against the wings of a butterfly. Feelings are muddled. Fantasies are disrobing to reveal truth. Clarity. Clarity is near. Shock. The perfect word. Here I am, waiting to start all over again; left behind, the last to leave, with my feelings from left-field clenching tightly to my heart as the tidal wave pulls me further out to sea.

The Tip-to-Tip Trip: The Last Leg pt 1

Cairo. Dirty. Loud. Crowded. Beautiful. I love it here. Yes, I have been annoyed by touts, and beggars, and others of the sort. Yes, my boogers are black from the smog. And yes, I have received many a dirty look for my Hebrew tattoo--but alas, this place is great. I arrived early yesterday morning after spending an insane amount of time (10 hours) overnight at the Nairobi airport. I did this to save money and also to share a cab with my friend Jen. I am happy that I made that decision because psychologically it was as if we ended the trip together--as it was meant to have happened. Let me back up and speak on Nairobi for a bit. Nairobi was loud, dirty, crowded, etc...a little Cairo of sorts. Far less Muslim, but still the dirty looks. People were quite kind there, though rough around the edges. Few of us stayed behind more than one day. When our truck, Denver, entered the city we were bombarded by unspeakable traffic and looks of hatred from the people below. We deserved it, really. It took us longer than anticipated to arrive at the Boulevard Hotel, located next to Nairobi University. Quite a nice area, and campus. The Hotel was barred-off, and gated--guard with gun included, bombs sold separately. When the truck pulled into the drive-way, we realized that Ian, the Kiwi I'd spent my first night on the trip with at the Hotel Tulip, was sitting on the patio enjoying a beer. It really was a treat to see him, seeing as he'd left us mid-trip to join a group climbing Kilimanjaro. He recounted his story to us, and besides a nose-bleed and freezing cold, he said it was fantastic. Anyway, we pulled in and the moment the truck stopped, it was as if a bomb had exploded. People were going and grabbing bags, getting things together, rushing, rushing, rushing. Those of us staying at the hotel ushered into the lobby to secure our room keys and to put down our bags. An executive decision was made by our tour leader Elbie that they'd stick around for a while to have somewhat of a farewell dinner. Many people left straight away, with quick goodbyes. This Kiwi couple that I wish would fall into a well and never be found were some of those that left promptly. Good riddance. Following them were our friends Andy, Giselle, and Chris. This is where the boulder was dropped on our (Jen and I) chest. Seeing as how we'd made special connections with these people, it was too abrupt a moment to deal with--so tears came streaming from our eyes, and blubbering fools we became. We said our goodbyes, shared hugs, etc...but the feeling remained. There was a cloud on our farewell. In my opinion, we were robbed of a proper goodbye...and regret lingers like a confused ghost. Jen and I dropped our things in our room them went back down to have dinner. We shed tears every few minutes, then move on. Then we'd start up again, and again dry-out. This continued until our closest friends, Lauren and Katharine, departed. Our eyes, bloodshot and exhausted, squeezed the last drops possible from our eyes. These girls, of whom we are ten years their seniors (respectably), were true Spartans and held their own. We'll see them again very soon...of that I am sure of. After dinner, Jen and I went to bed with breakfast plans to meet up with Anita, Anders, Heather, and Sharine. We all met up at 9am for our free breakfast buffet, which was smackulicious. After that, I inquired about a city tour and off we were (Anita, Anders, Heather, Jen, and I) to explore the supposedly dangerous city of Nairobi. First, we went to the Kenyan Convention Center, and went to the top of the highest building in Nairobi to view the city panoramically. It actually has some very interesting architecture. We had our own private guide, and were the only Mzungu's (non-black people) around. Special. After this, I stopped at Western Union to pick-up some much needed money and we were off again to another market. We shopped for a while, but after the bargains we were used to in places like Malawi, and Zanzibar--this place was fucking Saks Fifth Ave. So we moved onto lunch. Lunch was a spectacle all its own. We made reservations at a famous restaurant called Carnivore. Apparently it's the best resto in town. Lord was the food there AMAZING!!! They first brought us towels to clean our hands, followed by Dawa's--a drink made with lime, honey, sugar, and vodka. D'lish. After this, we were given spiced butternut squash soup which was Divine. Then, we were brought a revolving platter with several dips. It was explained to us which dip/sauce went with which meat, and then we were given hot earthenware plates to begin. We were served a potato and bread, and then the meat began to come out on spits. First pork spare ribs, followed by chicken wings, then lamb, chicken breast, alligator, prime rib, and finally ostrich meatballs. There was a small flag atop the revolving platter that we were to drop once we'd had enough. It remained standing for about an hour =) When we felt our gluttony had met it's quota, we moved onto dessert. We shared an assortment of ice cream, and cheesecake. All of this for the low-low price of $35 a person. Pretty reasonable. I was more than impressed. After lunch, we returned to the hotel to say goodbye to our friends as they were headed to the airport in a cab together. No more tears, but loads of heavy hearts. Jen and I spent the remainder of the evening relaxing in our room, watching TV, a few more tears (but not many), had a small dinner, and chatted until our eyes shut. The next morning I canceled my last night at the hotel so that I could accompany Jen to the airport. The thought of remaining there alone was too much for me to bear. We had breakfast early, the we arranged to visit an elephant orphanage, animal orphanage at the Nairobi National Park, and the Giraffe Center. Again, we had our own personal driver and he was very good to us. The orphanage was a tourist trap. Yes, orphaned baby elephants are cute--but we couldn't even pet one. Boo. We did however get to pet the huge rhino. Logic? No, none of that. We did get to see something odd occur, however. We encountered a black cat sniffing out a horned chameleon. The chameleon wouldn't move, and it looked like the cat wasn't interested until...CRUNCH!!! Chameleon shishkabob for lunch. Hungry pussy got fed. Next we went to the Giraffe Center where we fed them snacks for about a half hour. We fed them pellets, and even fed them from our mouths. They may have leathery lips, but those tongues are nothing short of slimy. It was still badass. I pet the baby giraffe, and it's mother head-butt me. That was harsh. From here we went onto the animal orphanage where our driver managed to get us into the Cheetah cage so we could pet them. Their fur was coarse, and so were their tongues. They loved licking our palms though (tenderizing?). We were also able, with a tip, to go backstage and watch a baby lioness be fed raw meat and milk. We also got to hold her, but she was displeased with this. Cute as hell, though. Heavy, too. We returned to the hostel and had a nap by the pool. We talked more about the trip, and how it had affected us. After a late lunch, our driver David came to fetch us and we were on our way. With our luck, we were passed on the way to the airport by none other than the president of Kenya's motorcade. That's one way to leave a country =) At the airport we finally had to say goodbye, but not before making fun of some douche-bags sporting too much henna. Jen cried, and my heart sank--but I was just tapped out. I watched her turn to say goodbye to me, but I'd changed positions. She must have thought I left...but I was there. For the remainder of my ten hour wait, I read and slept. I barely touched my iPod, but I managed to shock a young, handsome British boy with the film Shortbus as he watched it over my shoulder (don't peak if you can't handle it, right?). The plane was ass. Egypt Air basically sucks. The food was good, but they showed us National Treasure 2. Boo. The plane was virtually empty, so we all got to lay down and sleep in our own rows. That was awesome. Flying into Cairo, I was able to see some of the Pyramids from the sky. That was an exciting thing to see and really shook me out of my funk. Once on land, I bought my visa, exchanged me money, and proceeded to fetch my luggage and find my driver. He was nowhere to be found. I was quite annoyed, but a man allowed me to phone my hotel on his mobile to find out what the problem was. Turns out they were there, but couldn't find me. I, being incredibly impatient, managed my own cab to the hotel. The man with the mobile wanted money. Here I thought he was being helpful. I told him to fuck off. My cab driver was really cool. He told me about his family, and what I should see while in Egypt. He also got me to the hotel safe and quickly in the horrendous traffic. Once at the hotel, I met up with the manager and he gave me a bottle of water and welcomed me. We talked tour, and I payed up: Day 2, all of the Pyramids surrounding Cairo/Giza, Day 3 Take a night train to Aswan and visit Abu Simbel, Day 4 travel by felucca boat for two days up to Luxor, Day 6 return to Cairo via night train. After this, I quickly changed and went across the street to Egyptian Museum; a collection of antiquities so poorly managed, I wanted to shoot myself. There was far too much to see, and not enough information. It was basically a crap shoot. I would call that museum "Old Rock City." I did, however, get to see the crown jewels of King Tut. Pretty incredible stuff. I'd missed them while they were in Los Angeles. That dude had to have been gay. He was far too fabulous. I got brave and took the metro to the Opera House, which didn't turn out to be as impressive as I'd been told. I chose to walk across the Nile back to the downtown area where I am staying and have a bite to eat. I had some chicken shawarma and an orange Fanta, then proceeded back to my accommodation to finally shower. What a sigh of relief to be clean. After this, I packed my bag for my trip south and followed up on e-mails. Then Ahmed, one of the workers here, asked me if I wanted to go to the train station with him to secure my tickets. I said sure. We took a cab to the area of the station, then proceeded to walk through a crowded mess of people, vendors, and cars. I am surprised I wasn't run-down by a car. We did stop, however, for a nice treat. He bought me a fruit cocktail with mango juice, and filled with sliced apples and bananas. It was refreshing. After we bought the tickets, he asked me if I'd buy him alcohol at the duty free shop with my passport. I thought it was a bold, and funny question--so I said, sure...why not? A taxi took us to the Sheraton where we made the transaction and he was most grateful. He promised to help me find a nice hookah with sheesha for about $20 before I go. We'll see. We arrived back and after some fussing around with my things in my room, I took two Valium and knocked out around 9pm. I am alone in a four-bed dorm, which is kinda nice. My shit is everywhere. No more tents to put up =) I was awakened by knocking on my door. To my shock, I had overslept and my driver, Sayid, had arrived at 5:30am to transport me to Giza. I dressed quickly, and we were off. We arrived at Giza and I could see the pyramids in the distance. He dropped me off at a stable where I paid for a guide to take me by camel to the pyramids and Sphinx. I was afraid at first, but got used to the camel. His name was Michael Jackson. My guide, Ahmad, was a handsome young student and knew his stuff. We came upon the pyramids and I was in awe. They truly are magnificent. I almost felt detached from the situation--it just didn't seem real. We took silly photos and continued on to the Sphinx and again--detachment. He allowed me to ride the horse back because I was having trouble with Michael Jackson. I am not a camel fan. Either way, it was an incredible experience. Sayid then took me to a papyrus store where I was basically sold something I didn't need for a reasonable price. He managed to sell to me in English, Spanish, French, and Italian--so I was stuck. The story behind the painting I bought is worth the 20 bucks, anyway. The vendor, apparently also named Oscar (my ass) showed me the process in which papyrus plants are made into paper. It consists of slicing strips, soaking in water to diminish the sugar content, then pounding with a mallet, then finally being pressed in a vice between layers of carpet. According to him, in the old days they used to have fat women sit on the strips for six days for two reasons: one, because fat chicks are heavy, and two, "their pussies absorbed the water." Yes, he said pussy to me. From here we went to visit two more pyramids, but only from the car. Basically, these pyramids are tourist traps. You can't go near them, and you can't go inside them--but you still have to pay. So we skipped them. We went onto the pyramids at Dahshur, and finally I entered a tomb. Going into a pyramid is claustrophobic and exciting all at once. It smelled like paint thinner and mold inside. There was really nothing to see, but just being in there and imagining what it must have been like to construct it was worth the sore knees and back to crawl in. I told Sayid I was hungry, so he drove me to a nice shishkabob place, where I paid $10 for a million plates of food. That was so well worth it. Egyptian food = delicious. After brunch, we drove back, taking photos along the way and joking about reggeaton music. It's pretty big here. Sayid was definitely a class guy. He offered to drive me to Alexandria in a few days. I may take him up on that. As he would say after every awkward moment, "welcome to Egypt." Now I am back at my lovely hotel, the Paris Hotel. It is definitely a hostel, but a hostel with class and style. I needed a place like this after roughing it for six weeks. The beds here are magic, and on that note--I'm going to go take a pussy nap. Maybe I'll absorb some water. I am as dehydrated as the Sahara.

Sorry, this is a cop-out

I don't have much time, so I have to recap the last 8 days in the worst way possible: By cutting and pasting an e-mail. The following is an e-mail I sent to my family, which encapsulates the highlights of that last week. I will be more detailed at a later time, if anyone besides me cares. Hey guys!!! So far so good. Africa is incredible and I have seen some rather amazing things. I have also eaten everything from Oryx to Ostrich, and they are soooo good. I thought I was going to lose weight in Africa when in act I am gaining. Oops. I am going to attempt to call you guys today because I am not sure when I will get to call again. The phone situation is a little difficult, and we finally found some Internet after seven days of travel. Just to recap: Day one: We met up at our hotel and had a meeting. Then we all went out for a drink, then went to bed. Day two: We were up early, and I actually called you guys. We drove for a while and it rained the whole time. We stayed at a nice little hostel in the middle of nowhere and played monopoly for like four hours. Day three: It was an early morning, but we moved to the north of South Africa and into Namibia. We stayed at a campground near the border, along the Orange River. It was a beautiful place to camp. It was also my first time in a tent overnight. COLD...but fun. We had an incredible steak and sausage dinner. I have to say, the tour guide/cook makes too much food, and it's damn good + sitting through long drives + rest-stop snacks = me getting fatter. Day four: We woke up early to watch the sunrise over the mountains and then we jumped in the river and had a swim. It was so much fun going down the rapids. Made for some nice bruises. We packed up and moved further north to Fish River Canyon, which could be compared to the Grand Canyon. It's huge, and old, and we watched the sunset there. Then more cold camping. Yay. Day five: We had a loooooong drive where everyone almost killed each other. It was like a 10 hour drive to a place called Soussuvlei, where we finally entered the Nambi desert. At night, it was so dark in the middle of nowhere that we could see the milky way, the black hole, alpha centauri, and venus, among other things. It was the most impressive amount of stars I have ever seen. Like a thin blanket over my head staring at the sun. Day six: We woke up at the butt-crack of dawn to climb dune 45, one of the highest sand dunes in the desert. It was bitterly cold and the air was thin. We made it, and the view was intense. I have pictures, don't worry. Wow!!! We then went into the dunes with a bushman to learn about bushman life. It was incredible. I think I have overcome my fear of bugs by now. Then, we packed up and moved onto Solitaire. There, all we did was tan next to the pool and eat a lot of buttery apple pie. Day seven: We left really again (when I say early, I mean we're waking up at 4am...yes, early). We made it to Swakopmund, where we are now. We arrived at a booking agent who showed us a video of all the things we could do here. I chose quad-driving through the sand dunes and...SKYDIVING!!! Yes, I will be doing that in a few hours time, but I'll get back to that. We are staying in these funny houses that look like roofs. I have pictures. There are six of us per house, but it has been so much fun--like a cabin. We went on the quads and I have a new-found love for riding quads through sand. So much fun, and we saw some incredible landscapes. The desert here is insanely beautiful--especially because it borders the ocean. We all went out for dinner, where we ate too much and then called it a night, knowing we could finally sleep in. Day eight: Sleeping in didn't really work out. We have all been conditioned to be up early, so we were all up before 8am. Everyone went in their own directions to do different activities. My buddies and I went out for our free breakfast, and then shopped around a bit before stumbling into this Internet cafe. Thank Jehovah!!! It's 11:15am here, and we're jumping at 4pm. Almost time!!! If I do splat into the ground, I leave all of my earthly belongings to Sammy (our dog), and my stuff in Korea goes to my hubby, Dong Wook. I love and miss you all so much!!! So many amazing things have occurred over the last 8 days, I wish I could get into it now, but I have to pick up my washing from the cleaners, take a shower, and get ready to jump out of a plane over a vast desert. Also, I had Oryx for dinner and man does it make you wanna poo. The good thing is it's good poo, not travel poo. I wish everyone, wherever you are in the world, well--and I miss you my friends, FAMILY, and my BABE!!! Praise Jehovah for this blessed life and incredible world!!!

Eating Pumba

Day 8 (Continued) When I left off yesterday I was going to meet friends for dinner. I headed back to the hostel and showered and relaxed a bit before meeting the gals (Lily, and Charlotte) at the hostel bar. There we picked up a couple of newbies; an Armenian chick from Long Beach who's been living in Ghana, and a nineteen-year-old Londoner who, oddly enough, is going on the same overland tour as myself. We had a drink and waited for our buddy Dave to return from shark-diving. In the mean time, we all shared a springbok--half peppermint schnapps, half Bailey's. The restaurant was called Arnold's. They specialized in game meat. Man, oh, man am I glad I eat meat. We started with some camembert and brie chicken salad's, and followed that with the heaviest, most tasty meat EVER!!! I, being the hungry and gluttonous person that I am, ordered the sampler platter, which included steamed veggies, couscous, ostrich steak, crocodile fillet, braised warthog ribs, and mushroom gembok (a type of antelope). These had to be some of the yummiest meats I have ever tasted. Good job predators!!! The gembok was a lot like beef steak, but the ostrich was more like a cross between fillet mignon and prime rib. The warthog ribs were amazing. That is one ugly animal that goes perfectly with barbecue sauce. The crocodile was served in a gooseberry sauce, and it was amazing. It tasted a lot like chicken. All in all, the meal was perfection. Our waiter was a skinny, hipster with hug glasses. I loved him. He was so funny. He humored us a lot, so it made for a fun evening. He also had the biggest pepper crusher I have ever encountered, so I hope someone will send me a picture of it. It seriously looked like a didgeridoo. The two bottles of free wine we were given for spending so much money was an added bonus (when in fact between six of us, we spent about $80 on a gourmet dinner!!!) After dinner we reserved a table at the local hotspot called Cubana, a Cuban bar/restaurant. The decor was beautiful, and opulent. They had hookahs for smoking, which we took advantage of. The best part was that there were flat screens on every wall looping episodes of Fashion TV and coverage of this years Cannes Film Festival. Non-stop fashion!!! Basically, paradise. We started with cocktails. I had 'El Maniaco' (grenadine, pineapple puree, and champagne). We followed that with complimentary shooters called 'Lollypops,' made with banana liquor and triple sec. After that we all made a pact to attempt the most horrible drink imaginable. This drink sounded interesting in theory, but it basically made us spit fire! We had an 'Absinthminded,' containing Yagermeister, Tequila, and Absinthe. Let's just say we all saw the green fairy. We spent the remainder of the evening chatting with a Dutch fellow and his friend, and Ana and I had an interesting conversation about the film industry (she worked for Focus Features' publicity dept). Around 1am, it was time to head to bed. We all headed back to the hostel where we found few people awake. Many of us said our goodbye's, mainly to Dave because he was off to Nairobi to begin a three-month law stint. I may see him in July. After all of this, to bed...so comfortable, and anticipating morning packing, followed by a 90-minute massage. Day 9 (Tuesday, May 20, 2008) Waking was easier than expected. Everyone seemed to rise at the same time, so making noise was not a problem. It took me about an hour to pack because I have sever obsessive compuslive disorder and must do things a certain way. One person in the room called me very organized, and another called me sick. You decide. After packing, I met Charlotte for a quick breakfast of toast and tea. From there it was off to my massage. The room was serene and quite pristine. New age music annoys me, but I dealt with it. The masseuse was a sweet, young blonde woman. She was very gentle and basically put me to sleep. For all I know, she waited until I began to snore and then waited the rest of the 90-minutes out. Either way, a nice, long, relaxing massage for $60 is not bad. From there, I walked down the road, back to the Geek Internet Cafe where I have been for nearly three hours now attempting to upload pictures to the crap that is myspace, and flickr. The good thing is that by today, you--yes, you, can finally see some of the things I have been writing about. I hope the photos find anyone who cares to check them out well. I have to go officially check out from the hostel and head to the meeting point: the Tulip Inn. Having spent a week here in Cape Town, I am beginning to feel akin to it. I find it difficult to leave now that my body, and mindset have become attune to lifestyle and ease of each day. Mainly, I'll miss the Backpackers. This hostel was truly a home away from home. The fact that I could shower next to a spider AND a moth means that mentally...I am more sound than when I left home. May it remain with me through the wild.

Chunky Monkey

Day 7 (Sunday, May 18, 2008) Sunday is the day of rest, is it not? Most chose to roll out of bed late, but seeing as I'd gone to bed dreadfully early the evening prior, I was up by 5am--watching episodes of the Aussie sitcom 'Kath & Kim' on my iPod. When I finally managed to get up, I realized I had not plans and was instantly feeling antsy. I headed for breakfast and there met an American girl named Lily, and another American named Dave (from Escondido!!!), and a British girl named Charlotte. I had re-booked my ticket to head to Robben Island, the detention center I'd missed the day before, but didn't feel up to the journey. So, over toast and eggs, the four of us decided to go seek out Monkey Jungle--a sanctuary where little monkey's crawl all over you. Upon leaving the hostel we realized that the streets of Cape Town on a sunday redefine dead. Not a car, a person, or a peep. It was an interesting way to view the bustling city center. We stopped into the market for some munchies, then jumped on the Blue line tour bus to make it out to our first stop--the Botanical Gardens. The air was sweet, and clean in the gardens, almost as if the intense burst of oxygen was making us high. We walked around a bit, took photos, and basked in the bright sun. The trees were perfect for climbing, but it was prohibited. Shame. From here, were headed for the Bird Paradise/Monkey Jungle. In this small sanctuary were rescued birds, monkeys, and other animals of all different species. We were inches away from huge eagles the size of Rotweiller's, as well as an injured buzzard who loved to show off it's one working wing. Finally, we made it to the monkey enclosure and right away, they were scurrying around quickly. We weren't sure what the trick was, but some people were covered in these small, orange and brown primates. All of a sudden, I felt a slight tug and there was a monkey on my back, attempting to steal my scarf. He nibbled on it, tearing the threads, but I didn't mind it--there was a monkey climbing on me!!! After this it was pandemonium. They were stealing sweets from peoples purses, wrappers from our pockets, even receipts from our hands. These gorgeous creatures were so playful, and had so much personality. We were there for nearly forty minutes just allowing them to nibble our hair, and pull on the zippers to our bags. Tricky little buggers...but they were indeed precious. After leaving the park, we waited forty minutes for the next bus and played a few too many games of twenty questions. Along the bus route back, we stopped at a fisherman's wharf and had some of the best and cheapest fish & chips I've ever had. We walked along the boardwalk and found a local man and his pet sea lion, Happy. We took photos, fed him fish, and he loved it when we pet and hugged him. He reminded me of my old pal Oreo; my Labrador retriever from when I was younger. We boarded the bus again and by now we were exhausted. After about an hour of a windy, but incredibly scenic drive of the Cape Town coast, we made it back to the hostel. Each of us went out own way to relax or freshen up, and made plans to meet up for a trip to the cinema later. We walked to the nearby cinema, the Labia (yes, you read it correctly), and watched Todd Hayne's terribly pretentious film 'I'm Not There.' Three words, "I'm not interested." It was so self-absorbed and referential, that basically you need a Bob Dylan discography to even understand the title. Back at the hostel, I met up with my good pal Inez from Spain, as it was her last night. We shared a drink, a chat, and then off to bed--with plans for a 9am breakfast. What followed were an undisturbed eight hours of blissful sleep. Day 8 (Monday, May 19, 2008) Waking to no pressure is the best feeling in the world. The showers were mostly taken, but I found one with a lovely spider waiting for me. I quickly washed it down the water spout, and went about my business of cleansing. Post-shower, I got dressed and met Inez and Daniel from Peru for breakfast. It was nice to speak Spanish for an entire chunk of time, seeing as how that is a rarity for me these days. Great practice, and culturally fulfilling to me as a Latino. Here, Daniel showed us his pictures of shark diving, which looked incredible. I wish I'd done it, but unfortunately my stomach could not handle the rough waters of the Cape. Maybe next time. Inez and I said good-bye to Daniel, as he checked out, and I aided Inez in carrying her bags out to the reception area, as she's to move into one of the townships with a family for three weeks. She is with Doctor's Without Borders, and what she is doing seems incredible. After some debate, Lily and I decided to spend the day walking around and hoping to make it to the beach. We walked down Long Street, the most popular and hip area of Cape Town--also sort of the red-light district. We shopped a bit, and headed to the waterfront. At the waterfront, we were again bombarded with a beautifully constructed mall, chock-full of tourists delights. Not my type of place, but worth seeing. We had a beautiful lunch there, spending only under twenty dollars then walked along the coast--watching the rough waves slam against the walls of the walk-way. One woman was almost severely drenched...but unluckily for me, I didn't get to see it happen. After a while our feet grew far too tired to walk any further. We decided to hop a cab back to Long Street, and now I am here, and the Geek Internet Cafe typing this here blog. Tonight, we're off to sample some game; warthog ribs, springbok meat, and eland steak. Yum. Tomorrow is technically day one of my overland trip, where I will change to our meeting hotel. After tomorrow, I may be unreachable for a while. We shall see. But before any of that, I have a 90-minute massage scheduled for tomorrow morning. After this first week, I don't really need it, but I will treat myself anyway. After all, I have the next month and a half to sleep in the bush, and Rhinos don't have the gentle touch of a masseur.

Dirt, Poor, Strong, Heart

Day 6 (Saturday, May 17, 2008) Another early morning, another early shower--luckily nice and hot. I had some breakfast in the hostel cafe and awaited my tour guide to come and fetch me for my day amongst the townships (aka ghettos). When he arrived, we waited for another guy who hadn't yet woken up and was causing us to fall behind schedule. Finally, Mjongo (my main man for the day) made the decision to leave the guy behind and just he and I would go. It sounded like a great idea, and an interesting way to be directly immersed. Mjongo is of a tribe not native to South Africa, so he speaks several tongues. He asked where I was from, and when I said San Diego he was delighted. Turns out that he has a sponsor who is a professor at the University of San Diego who put him through university. A truly small world, and already we were connected. We first stopped at the Apartheid museum, which was both enraging and thought-provoking. The set-up was quite artistic, leaning itself more as a menagerie, or collage than a typical museum. There I learned about the Dutch government riping the non-white races from their homes in several suburbs of South Africa, and moving them to areas called 'townships.' What once were flourishing communities were bulldozed and never developed--left only as a political statement of power. The non-white races consisted of blacks, coloreds (mixed), and the Indian's or Malay's. The most famous area is called District 6. This place is now a land covered in rubble, over-grown grass, and memories. The only building still standing are houses of worship. Even today, life is difficult for the different tribes of South Africa. Mjongo must lie about his heritage in order to work the position he works. His working name is Jon. In the apartheid years, when people attempted to do this, the 'pencil test' was administered. A pencil was stuck into their hair and they were told to shake their head. If the pencil fell out, then they were of mixed race and it was okay. If the pencil stuck, then they were black and they were reprimanded. Another version of this test involved briskly, or forcefully pulling the pencil from the hair. If it came out easily, all was okay. If the pencil took with it a chunk of hair, or skin and the subject screamed in their native tongue (not Afrikaans, the native South African language), then again--they were reprimanded. At the museum we managed to pick-up another couple of tourists--a young an very attractive couple (he from Brazil, she from Australia). We continued onto the townships, where I wasn't too sure what I'd encounter. It was shocking. I am not sure I could think of a word to truly encapsulate the vision, the feel, or the idea of what was being presented before my eyes. Shanty houses covered miles, and miles of land. Homes made of anything; from old concert posters, to ads, to newspapers and cardboard, to gum and rope. My heart sank so deep inside me that I didn't have the strength to fish it back out. There were people everywhere--dirty, filthy dirty, with eyes older than their years. Clothing on their bodies looked more like peeling paper on an alley wall than a means of beautification or survival. And of course, we were being stared at far more intently than we were staring at them. Part of me felt intrusive--as if they were game, and I was on safari trying to capture a prize-winning shot for National Geographic. But those feelings soon melted away once I realized that in this dusty den of destitution there were smiles to be had, and a place to be offered in one's home even when there was no room to let. We first stopped into a 'shebeen,' a kind of pub where beer is home-made and the locals drink together in the dimly lit room. The premises were not what one would expect. We were basically in a shack, completed constructed of old, moldy cardboard, where a woman nyrsed a child and the floors were either dirt or old wood. We sat on small stools and met those that were also there to share in the drink. The beer was foamy-white, and in a medium-sized silver bucket. We were coached to pick it up and take a large swig. And so we did. The taste was much like a cider, with a bit of a tangy kick on the tail-end. I rather liked it. We shared a short conversation, took a few photos, and then we were off. From there, we walked the streets and met children in clothing made at some point of the eighties or early nineties, and they wanted to pose with us, hug us, and climb all over us. I wanted to scoop them all up and bring them away with me. Their sweet faces assured us of one thing--beyond all of this waste, and abandonment, they still understood the basics of happiness. We visited a persons apartment, about the size of a studio back home, where there were four beads. In each bed lived a family. Each family contained four to eight people. The smell was polluting, dense, and pungent. How do they not go mad? From here we went to a witch doctor, where he told us about different cures for ailments utilizing local flora, and fauna. It was dark, and smelled of jerky in the tin room. Dead, dry animal parts hung everywhere. Two women sat together in the dark nursing children, and the doctor stood behind a metal fence with only a single candle illuminating his face. We could barely see him, but his voice was like age old tobacco. Fortunately for us, we also visited a community of women who worked weaving, and doing bead-work to raise money for their families. Most or all of these families are afflicted with the HIV virus or AIDS. They were warm, beautiful women, and their artistry was incredible. I met one woman and took a photo with her. Her simple request was that I mail her a copy. That promise I will keep. We were fortunate enough to visit the home of our guide. We met his one-year old son who was just having his birthday. His grandmother bathed his chubby body in a bucket just as we arrived. He was beautiful. This land, poor and sad, was beautiful. At the end of the day, Mjongo drove us back to what we'd consider civilization and we thanked him for opening our eyes. I collected his information and hope to send him a gift upon my return home. From town, I was to take a ferry to the detention island where Nelson Mandela was held for twenty-some odd years, but the swell was far too dangerous so my boat was canceled. I spent the remainder of my day purchasing inexpensive t-shirts, and some last few odds and ends I'd need before leaving the city in two days time. I returned to the hostel then, after purchasing a wrap for dinner, and went to bed early (around 8pm). I slept through to the next morning. In my dreams, I saw the townships and just watched...spectated, and did nothing. And in reality, I did the same.

My Super-Hero Wears A Cape

It's been nearly a week now since I left the States that are supposedly "United," and already I have more stories nesting in my kookie little brain than I could possibly do justice to here, on this blog, in this boring internet cafe. I guess I will be boring and organized and take the writing by numbers route. So here goes: Day 1 (Monday, May 12, 2008) The day was hectic and my mind was aflutter in it's own buzzy way. I had so much shit to do, and pack, and think about that I can't clearly remember the day. What I do recall is my father waking me and refusing to allow me to take the train from San Diego to LAX because, "that's what poor people do." I love the way he puts things, because that is totally not what he means. What "poor" actually means is people without family to drive them--loners. Anyhow, I packed all of my travel gear, and we were off to Los Angeles rather early. We arrived to El Segundo and one of my dad's colleagues pointed us in the direction of a nice Chinese food restaurant, seeing as how I wanted to grease up before the flight. The food did prove to be excellent, and the decor of the establishment couldn't have been more perfectly...pastel. It was at this dinner that I had an incredible conversation with my folks about ourselves, our family as a whole, my siblings, the economy, the ecology, my life and the trajectory it's taken, and other such matters of importance. I have always felt loved by my parents, and do at every second of every day...but it was at that table that I felt respected, and I know that that so did they. We said our goodbye's at the drop-off point and I continued alone, much as I enjoy doing. Once checked and inside, I bought myself a small box of Godiva chocolates, as it's my flight tradition. It was then that I realized I'd not called my boyfriend. In all the mayhem of packing, and trekking, and conversing with the parentals--I didn't call my "chagi" (sweetheart). A bit worried that I wouldn't get the chance to call him, I scoured the airport Duty-Free shops for calling cards to no avail. Finally, I found a vending machine that unfortunately cost me more than a pair of shoes I bought today in CT. I had eight minutes to say what I could to my babe before who knows when I would get to speak with him. It was a difficult moment made more interesting by the fact that he was with a friend so he couldn't express himself as he normally does. We get pretty cheesy, folks. It was a bit of a disappointment, but the love was there--and that's what matters. On the plane to London, I slept most of the way. I was exhausted from the emotionally hectic day I'd experienced, and I had also taken two valium with a couple of in-flight bottles of white. I did manage, however, to have a lovely chat with a woman sitting next to me from Peru. She'd been living and working as a nanny in Paris for the last fourteen years. She had visited Los Angeles to attend her brothers wedding, whom she hadn't seen in ten years. Man, oh, man...if only I were Marty McFly, I'd turn back time and sit next to every single person on that flight just to listen to their stories. I'm an addict to the lives of others, and there are quite a few people out there, aren't there? -From a journal entry at Heathrow, London- I am currently experiencing one of those moments where I have no idea what to do with myself. I'm sitting here in Heathrow airport in a terminal I have never visited before. It looks new, but it just may be me. Airports are crawling with two things: gorgeous men, and too many tempting things to buy. I mean, do I seriously need a water-proof iPod baggie for six quid? It's a glorified Ziploc bag. There is one thing that I do find constant here, and almost appropriate, however. Most people here look lost. This is a place of transit, and thus there is a constant movement. But attached to this ebb and flow, I can't help but notice that people appear "lost." They may have a ticket, a terminal number, a gate, and even an assigned seat--but we are all in the same, small boat, slowly drifting in a sort of limbo. That is the special air of this port. This is limbo. The time one waits for a flight is a journey in itself. The mind wanders. If you're alone, you wonder why that is such. If you're not alone, you wonder if you ever will be again. Anticipation floods over and the imagination climbs the jungle gym. In the end, what this this stillness, loneliness, or state or purgatory amounts to is this...freedom. Day 2 (Tuesday, May 13, 2008) Traveling far above the air, this day barely even existed at all for me. It was shortened, folded in half, and put into my back pocket. I spent the eleven hour flight with the sweet South African fellow named Rob. He was a tall, stocky, rugby type who has been living in Cork, Ireland for over a year as a scientist. We were 28 days apart in birth. What are the odds. We had loads to talk about, joked, and even managed to have the same affinity for in-flight wine and muscle relaxers. The plane was mostly empty, but we enjoyed each others company. And there, in the quiet darkness of the airbus, we cuddled--not as romantics, or lovers, but as true buddies. It was a great feeling. I miss male, hetero friends ^^ Day 3 (Wednesday, May 14, 2008) Upon landing, Rob was pointing out to me the different parts of Cape Town, which I'd come to discover for myself. From the air I saw great mountains, white beaches, bright-blue water, and shanty towns as far as they eye could tear. We landed. Customs was a breeze. I said bye to Rob, and exchanged some traveler's cheques. I was to be met at the airport by a driver for my hostel, but much as troubles happen in travels, they were a no-show. I went to information so that they could help me contact the hostel when all of sudden, a man resembling a Samoan comes up to me with my name printed in huge letters. He shook my hand and said follow me. With him was a small, sexy, young woman who looked LAtina but she probably wasn't. I trailed behind them, as they carried their own conversation and left me to run behind. The car-ride was awkward, as they refused to speak to anyone else but each other. Keep in mind, I was the only other person in the bus. The sights were incredible. Table Mountain, the coast, and poverty. Finally, biggie spoke: "Where are you from?" I said, "I am Mexican-American, from California." He then asked, "Do you have change for a fifty?" I said no, and that was that. No more speaky from biggie. We arrived at my hostel and I was quite pleased with the lay-out. It really is a beautiful little place. Quaint, and safe--very important. I attempted to check-in, but I was too early. It was 10am and check-in was at 3pm. With my time I booked tours for the remainder of the week and then went and jumped on a big, red, double-decker tour bus to ride around the city. Great time, lovely weather. I stopped at Table Mountain, where I waited in the blazing sun for over an hour to ride the cable car to the top. The sights were breath-taking. Even the rock formations, and the foliage atop the mountain were different than anything I'd ever seen. It was smooth, worked over by millions of years of water and strong winds. I head back to the hostel and finally went to my room: "Lion." I immediately passed out. I slept from 5pm to about 9pm, then went and had some dinner in the hostel cafe. There, I met the two people I have spent most of my time with: Inez, a girl from Spain working with Doctors Without Borders; and Ross, a Scottish-lawyer my age who decided to quit his job and travel for a year. After some pizza, a drink, and some conversation, I was back to bed to be up bright and early for my wineland tour the following morning. This was the true Day 1, I'd have to say...and so far, so good. Day 4 (Thursday, May 15, 2008) The shower situation: interesting. Great, clean showers, except for the fact that there was a huge moth in there lathering it up with me. I almost freaked out, but I realized I'd better start getting used to the idea of big bugs with top hats. Yes, it was that big. Once ready, I met these two Aussie girls who were also going on the tour, whom I have forgotten one of their names...but the other was Sally. We met out tour-guide, Bruce, and awesome Kiwi with a great sense of humor. We made the rounds and picked everyone up and luckily enough, everyone was chatting away and we were all chums in no time. There was a girl named Estefania from Uruguay, a couple Brits, a Canadian guy, and my Londoner best-bud for the day, Andria. We visited four different vineyards. The first offered beautiful scenery, including goats, and ostrich--but the wine wasn't my favorite. However, they also had a cheese sampling. Basically, I was in heaven. It was all you could eat, so I mean, come one...it's me. I bought some lovely garlic chevrin and still have some left. Yummy on toast. The next vineyard had some incredible wine. We tasted quite possibly the best Chardonnay I have ever had. Dry, but slightly sweet. Perfect. We also sampled the world-champion Brandy. It was incredible...incredibly strong. We were plastered after that tasting. People were getting silly, and luckily enough we were in great spirits for the gourmet chocolate tasting. We flavored both milk, and dark, but I preferred the Kahlua truffle, and the Chile y Limon truffle. Gastronimically mind-blowing!!! Our third stop was a winery where we had lunch. The views, again, were stunning, and finally the sun came out. I had a burger made of Lambs meat and it was to die for. I have a picture that I'll post soon. Seriously, all burgers should be lamb's meat. This vineyard conentrated more on reds, and they put me to sleep...so the group grew a tad sluggish. Food and sleepy-sirum=night-night. The last vineyard specialized in sparkling wines, or champagnes. We had a blast here, popping corks, and drinking of course. There were three resident dogs that loved us and couldn't get enough cuddles. By this time, the day was coming to a close and everyone was showing signs of fatigue. Besides that, everyone was hammered. We made the brilliant plan to take an hours rest and all meet up at a Cuban restaurant called Mojitos. The Cuban dinner was actually quite tasty, as were the mojitos. Most of the group showed, so it was a nice bundle of us. It was interesting how beggers would come to us as we ate through the veranda. Even a child came and wanted some money. When we offered him sweets, he said they were bad for his teeth. We found a cool African bar soon after this and got down and dirty with the locals. The place was small and covered in red velvet. I drank Safari Dry, a beautiful cider. The dance-floor was wild, and we all got on smashingly with the locals that redefined unhinged-hips. However, I did dance with two African girls in the middle of a dance-floor "circle" and they said I danced like a black girl. Ahem...I know. We called it an early night and were brave enough to walk back to our hostel, five minutes way, when really we should've taken a cab. It gets very, very dangerous after dark. Upon arriving at the hostel, I came upon my friends Inez and Ross and we shared some drinks and conversation into the wee hours of the morning. It was a truly memorable, and filthy, sweaty, black-out drunken time. p.s. I had to be up at 7am the following morning to hike, cycle, and take a boat ride. Day 5 (Friday, May 16, 2008) I stumbled out of the bed and into the shower, literally slipping all over the place. Hung-over didn't even cover it. I was still pissed out my mind. Nonetheless, I was ready to go when my shuttle showed and I met the group, which was smaller and far more tame. We headed to the coastline to board a ferry to head out and view sea lions. It was a great time, except for the fact that the scene could've come out of The Perfect Storm or something, and people were being thrown about, soaked, and I puked half the time. The seals were gorgeous and abundant, and the swam around the boar, happily posing and seemingly waving hello and goodbye. After this, we headed off to view the African penguins. This was a truly magnificent sight. There were so many, and they were nesting. There were fuzzy babies, and parents waddling around with sticks and stones in their beaks. Their swagger carried so much character. I found the whole scene quite amuzing. From here we continued on to the Cape of Good Hope, which is the southern-most tip of the African continent. We didn't drive there, though--we cycled. Yes, that's one way to sober-up, and quickly!!! The traffic was sparse, as we were in a natural reserve, but I did have to dodge the occasional charter bus. The ride was quiet, serene, and heavenly. There were mountains, and grasslands, and bordering it was the incredibly strong coastline--brimming with the thickest kelp I have ever seen. We cycled half-way and then stopped for a quick lunch and chatted away with a Malay couple who traveled from Durban. They recounted us with tales of the dangers of their city, and the many times their lives had been threatened. Astounding. We continued out bike-ride, and the feeling was just insane. I felt alone out there. It felt as if I had rented the park just for myself and God was blessing me. It wasn't long before I could see the tall peak--the end of Africa. Of course, we had loads of Kodak moments and basked in the wonder of climbing to the top of this peak and up to the lighthouse just beyond it. The hike was about an hour, and this too was mostly done alone. All that could be heard was the ocean and it's winds. Looking out across the sea I wondered how close were to Antarctica. It was splendid. A feeling of pure splendor. Here, too, much like Table Mountain, the rocks were different. They were almost prehistoric in their colors and shapes. Reds, purples, oranges--much like we imagine the skin of dinosaurs. Unfortunately, we didn't encounter any baboons on our hike, but we did manage to make it to the top of the lighthouse just as the drizzle began to fall. This was an experience that I could never forget. God is magnificent. On the way back, we did encounter wild ostrich and finally we saw baboons strolling into traffic hoping for some food from the tourists. Those are some big primates!!! The babies were pretty cute, too. Playful. It was then that I fell asleep, exhausted from the day, and finally sober. For dinner, Inez, Ross, and couple others went to a fancy restaurant called the Africa Cafe. It is a tourist trap that actually out-does itself. The decor is beautiful, and bright. There is hand-made artwork everywhere, and the servers wear their customary attire (face-paint and all). The meal is a set menu, not written on paper, but glazed onto a water-pitcher in the shape of a Toucan. The cost was minimal ($30) for the 16 course meal, and the delicious cocktails we had. We started with some African bread, a scrumptious bean soup, followed by potato-based starters from all over the continent (from Falafel type balls, to empanada type cakes). They also brought dips, followed by the mains: basmati rice, lamb, chicken, moussels, and a spicy curry from Egypt. The food was absolutely marvelous. We were stuffed upon leaving the restaurant, and it was well worth it. We returned to the hostel and shared a couple more drinks and finally called it a night. I had to be up the following morning for a tour of the townships (ghettos), and I was truly looking forward to this more than anything. Another wonderful evening of food, and friends. (As I type this, it's Saturday, May 17, 2008--and the day was something I have never experienced before. However, I am exhausted from typing, the sun is going down, and I need to make it to my hostel before I have to shell out for a cab. I am also hungry. Blog more very soon. The rest will blow your minds. Oh, the poverty...but the heart. How they hold onto it is beyond me.)