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.)