Tastes of South Africa

Looking to get a feel for South Africa, but aren't at the stage of getting on a plane and flying over there yet? There are a lot of great movies, books, music, and other ways to get a taste for the culture. This list only covers what I personally have read, watched, and listened too, and I'm sure it leaves out a lot of great material (if you have any suggestions, please comment!). Johanna

Books:
Cry the Beloved Country by Alan Paton (a really beautiful story about a black pastor from the rural areas coming to look for his son in Johannesburg and dealing with loss and forgiveness in the 1940's. One of my favorites).

Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee

The Syringa Tree by Pamela Gien

The Covenant by James A. Michener (a look at South Africa's history through different families).


Movies:
Cry the Beloved Country (the 1995 version can be viewed for free on the IMDb website).

Invictus (excellent movie about unifying South Africa through rugby in the early days of Mandela's presidency).

Yesterday (a beautiful movie that will give you a heartwrenching look at the human side of the AIDS crisis).

Sarafina! (Musical starring Leleti Khumalo and Whoopi Goldberg about the schoolchildren's protests against Apartheid--not always easy to watch!).

21 Up South Africa: Mandela's Children (a documentary available on Netflix; also quite interesting).

Music:
Anything by the fantastic men's a capella group the Ladysmith Black Mambazo.

The great Paul Simon album Graceland features the LadySmith Black Mambazo as well as other South African groups during a time when anti-apartheid boycotts prevented much of the world from hearing the talent of South African musicians.

The Broadway musical soundtrack for the Lion King features choral arrangements by South African composer Lebo M., and is a lot of fun to listen to.

Other:

South Africa's favorite comedian, Trevor Noah, is very, very funny. You can find clips from his latest DVD, Crazy Normal, on Youtube.

The Return Trip: Part One

Sunset during the flight out from Jo'berg.

My healthy, balanced meal in the hotel room.

Flying into Jo'berg from George.

Hello Everyone!

I hope you had an enjoyable Christmas and are looking forward to a great New
Year in 2012. First off, I want to apologize for not posting sooner; ever since
I arrived we've had non-stop craziness at my house, but I imagine many people
have had similarly busy holidays, so I shouldn't worry too much!
My journey back to the United States was a very crazy one. As I told my mother
when she picked me up at the airport, "I honestly don't know how I got
here." I think the only explanation is the power of prayer! After spending
a wonderful nine days with our friends in Wilderness, I arrived at the tiny
George airport on Thursday, December 15th at about 3:45 p.m. for a 5 p.m.
flight, only to find out at check-in that my flight to Johannesburg on a little
domestic airline called Kulula had been delayed until 6 p.m. No
problem, I thought--my flight from Jo'berg to Washington D.C. didn't leave
until 10:43 p.m. anyway, so I had plenty of time. I had a perfectly normal
flight on Kulula--window seat, handsome (but very quiet) Indian guy two seats over, etc.--and landed at about 7:45. Being my usual nervous self when catching flights was concerned,
especially when traveling by myself, I practically ran to get my luggage, and
then camped out in a wifi spot to try and double check when my South African Airways flight was leaving, as I hadn't been able to check it in George because of internet
issues. It seemed the wifi was still allergic to my laptop, so I
went upstairs to the check-in desks and there, at the major International
Departures board saw a flight that made my blood run cold: SA Flight 207,
Departing at 18:40. 18:40? Not thinking very clearly, and somewhat in denial, I
rushed to the now very empty and closing-looking check-in counter and asked
about my flight to Washington, only to be told that the flight had already
closed boarding (whether this was true because the flight had been delayed an
hour, or whether in fact it had departed an hour before I'm not sure). My
flight had been moved up by four hours, and I hadn't received so much as an
informative email, yet technically, missing the flight was my fault, and the
next plane to Washington was at the same time--6:40 p.m.--the next day. Kulula, the
man at the counter told me, would put me up in a hotel for the night and pay
for my rebooking (at this time I still believed--incorrectly, in retrospect, as I wasn't
thinking clearly--that the Kulula delay had caused me to miss my
flight); I visited the Kulula counter and talked to the manager,
who agreed to cover the hotel cost if I could rebook with SA Airways. So off I
went to the South African airways counter, and proceeded to stand there for the
next two hours with some french embassy guy who was very ticked off at being
overbooked on a flight to Paris. When he was nice enough to watch my bags for
me while I ran back to the Kulula counter at about 8:30, I found the
counter closed down for the night. So much for covering the hotel costs! We
stood there in a long line that didn't move, and watched as one by one the five
airline officials working the counter wrapped up their conversations and went
home for the night. Finally at about 10 p.m.--tired, hungry, and without much
of a claim on the airline--I was able to speak to one of the two remaining
women, who gave me a sheet of paper recommending I be put on standby (which
would cost $250) and told me to come back in the morning.

Wearily carrying two backpacks and rolling a heavy suitcase I made my way to
the City Lodge Hotel which was connected to the airport and made my way to the
counter. "Hi," I said to the young woman standing there, "How are you?" "Fine," she said, "and you?" "Fine, thank you," I said. "You look very tired," she said. "You're right," I said with a wry grin, "I just missed a flight to Washington D.C.. I guess I need a single room for the night." "That will be 1,125 Rand," she said. "What?!" I said, balking at spending about $130 dollars for a one-person hotel room, and already imagining a miserable night on an airport bench instead. "Yes," she said, "but if you reserve a room online we have a special going for 610 Rand." Great, I thought, just make things worse. "And how would I do
that?" I asked, not really expecting a helpful answer. "Just go up those stairs and use one of the computers on the right," she answered. Excited at this first turn of good luck for the night, I carried my suitcase up the stairs, logged onto the computers, and with the help of a South African
woman who'd just made her own reservations, was soon typing my credit card details onto the City Lodge website. Just then a young man with black, slightly spiked hair and a huge backpack came into the room, and, as soon as the other computer was free, sat down and asked me how to get to the website (the internet was odd). He was American, I could tell immediately by the accent, so I told him the web address, and said, "I see you're American too--are you here on
holiday?" He quickly picked up on the fact that I'd said holiday instead of vacation, which is a typical South African term, and we laughed about that for a moment. I learned that he too had missed his flight back to Washington--my flight back to Washington, and was also on standby. "So what's your story?" I asked, about how he missed the flight. "We were talking
to girls," he answered quickly, and with good humor. "Darn women!" I said. We introduced ourselves--his name was Harry--and room reservations finished, said we'd see each other around in the morning while waiting for our flights. I went downstairs, informed the check-in counter that I had reserved a room online for R610, and room key in hand, headed to my room
to email my parents the news.

The Return Trip: Part Two

The Happy Ending to this long story: home with my sisters and brother for Christmas!

Harry: Fellow Standby-Sufferer

Finally on a plane to Orlando, by some miracle!

When I awoke the next morning, (Friday December 16th), I was incredibly hungry. Besides a little bit of chocolate, a cup of tea, and a few sticks of chili biltong I had nothing to eat since a piece of apple cake at 3 p.m. the previous day, so I went downstairs and took full advantage of the fantastic buffet breakfast. Then I headed back to the main airport and spent an hour and a half waiting in line for the South African Airways International Flights desk with a group that had been overbooked on a flight to Malawi. After finally learning when and where to return to wait for my flight I ran back to my hotel room, packed my stuff, checked out by 11 a.m., and spent until 2:30 p.m. roaming the airport stores, too nervous to feel like eating lunch, and not buying much either. At 2:30 I camped out in a corner across from South African Airways to await the fateful hour of 4:00 p.m., when I was to go to the counter and be put on standby. Harry showed up a few minutes later, and we sat talking for quite a while, and then got in line and went to the counter, where we were told to return at 5:55 p.m. At 5:45 we were back at the counter, and told to wait. At 5:55 we were back, handing in our passports, and waiting nervously for our fates to be decided. My hands were shaking; Harry stared fixedly at his feet for a few minutes and I guessed (correctly, I later learned) that he was praying. Finally, at 6:05, the man at the counter called us back and handed us two boarding passes. "We're on?!?" I said, hardly able to believe it. We were! Incredibly excited, I turned to Harry: "Do you want to run?" "I feel like running," he said, "but I don't have a belt and my pants are going to fall down." "Okay, let's go!" I said, and out of sheer joy we started running towards the security section of Terminal B. Half way there I ground to a stop. "Let's just check these a second," I said, whipping out my ticket and staring at it in horror. Terminal A, Gate D! We tore off running--in earnest, this time--to the other side of the airport, skidding to a halt as we passed security, ran back, and practically dashed through the (thankfully empty) waiting lines, hurried through security checks, where I practically gave away Harry's over-3-oz.-and-therefore-illegal hairspray, and through passport control. The sign ahead said "Terminal D, 10 minutes." You know all those movie airport running scenes when people are flat-out dashing through the airport, barely cutting through closing gaps in front of baby strollers, and skidding around unobservant pedestrians? It was just like that, except with more stops to gasp for breath. Harry was barely keeping his pants up, and was carrying a backpack, duffel bag, and small suitcase, and I had my backpack, stuffed camera bag, and was wearing sandals. We slid into our gate in Terminal D at 6:22--dripping sweat and reeking, I'm sure, and one of the last five to get on the flight, but very, very happy. "Thank you, Lord!" I said. Harry said something unpronounceable--"That means, 'Thank God' in Cambodian," he explained. "I prayed," he said, in earnest relief. "So did I," I said.

The flight from Jo'berg to Washington, plus an hour-long stop in Dakar, Senegal to refuel, took 18 hours, during which I sat next to a very very fat, but thankfully nice, man, and therefore only got up three times. I was so thankfully to be on that flight that I didn't care. We landed in Washington D.C. at 6:25 a.m.; I couldn't find my luggage receipt, and wasn't even sure which shuttle I should take to which terminal. Amazingly, when we finally got through passport control, which took about an hour, my suitcase was there--Immigration and new security checks took an hour and a half, and as my flight left at 8:30 a.m. I ended up running the entire length of the terminal to the very last gate, D32, for my flight to Orlando. While standing in the long line for security the likelihood of making my flight had looked very chancy again; the people around me were all fidgety and frustrated. I told the man next to me that I wasn't too worried, "I think I've prayed my way through this entire trip," I said, "and at least I'm on the right side of the Atlantic now!" Because I'd flown standby on my previous flight, etc., I wasn't even sure if I had a seat on the plane or if I was on standby again--one thing was for certain, and that was that I didn't have a ticket. Panting, I greeted the lady in the check-in counter: "Hi, how are you? I just flew standby from Johannesburg on flight SA 204, and I'm not even sure what my status on this flight is--whether I'm on standby or not. Could you find that out, please? Here's my passport and ticket number, thank you ma'am." Much to my great joy, she handed me my boarding pass after just a moment of searching, and added that the security checkpoint I'd just run from was half a mile away. Phew! I got on the plane, hardly believing that everything had opened up for me. I borrowed a phone from the woman next to me, and sent a cryptic text message to my father: "Hi Dad! Borrowed phone, am landing in Orlando at 10:50 this morning. Do not reply. Love, Johanna." My bag was one of the first on the conveyor belt in Orlando, and my mother found me within five minutes with the car, despite the fact that I hadn't said where to pick me up and that they didn't even know which airline I'd flown. "I have no idea how I got here!" I told her, got in the car, and went straight to choir rehearsal to see my sisters and brother.

Despite all odds and the times I sincerely thought I wouldn't make it, all the seemingly closed doors opened for me to get home. I got the bargin on the hotel room, meet Harry, my "standby buddy," which made what could have been a miserable wait an almost enjoyable experience, and somehow flew through security, passport control, immigration, and onto two different planes despite barely having any boarding passes. Not to mention that I checked my credit card details last week and found I was never charged a rebooking fee by South African Airways. So that is the very long and detailed version of how I got home: God works in mysterious ways! Thanks for your prayers--I don't know that I would have gotten home on time to sing in the choir evensong without them! Johanna

Home Again for the Holidays (And the Choir Evensong)

Hello Everyone!

Sorry to keep you hanging for so long, but you can rest assured knowing I've made it safely home again. It was quite a crazy trip though! I will be posting more details and pictures of the journey home in the next day or so; for the moment I'm still trying to process everything! Johanna

Looking To Buy a Pen, I End Up with a Hotel Room

Hello Everyone!

Long story short due to internet costs, I missed my flight from Johannesburg to Washington because my previous flight was delayed an hour, and am now having a one-woman party (well, not really) in a hotel in Johannesburg. I had run out of pens and pencils to journal with, but my joy at now having one is slightly dampened by the fact that I had to get a hotel room for the night to go with it... If you are praying people, please pray that there's a free seat for me tomorrow; I'll be trying to fly standby. More on this whole escapade when I get home--whenever that is! Johanna

Cape Town

Seals! Prime Great White Shark Food...

Table Mountain from the Atlantic Side.

Last view of Cape Town from the top of Table Mountain before the clouds moved in.

Self portrait on Table Mountain.

Coastline on the southern, Indian Ocean side.

Old fishing boats--one of my favorite sites.

Fresh fish for sale on the docks.

Settlements surrounding Cape Town.

Baboons are not to be messed with!

Looking down into the Cape Town area as you come over the mountain pass.

Mountains along the way to Cape Town.

Hello Everyone!

Before I even arrived in South Africa, people began telling me that Cape Town was one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I think I have to agree; not because of the city itself, which is a mix of luxury, ocean-side homes built like fortressed palaces and shanty towns which make Mamelodi look like a nice neighborhood, but because of the fantastic mountains, crowned by Table Mountain, and the amazing color of the sea. Cape Town is a city built on a penninsula surrounding a huge bay; it is not the Southernmost tip of Africa, but it is the meeting point of the cold Atlantic and the warm Indian Oceans, and was an important stopping-over place for sailors on their way to trade in Asia. My hosts, friends of the Van Den Bergs, did a great job of showing me the city; in the short, just over twenty-four hours I was there we drove all around the penninsula, had dinner at the Victoria and Albert Waterfront, saw the sailboats that will be racing around the world in the 9-month long Volvo Ocean Race, went on a Ferris wheel, drove downtown to see the Christmas lights, and took a cable car up to the top of Table Mountain, arriving just in time to get a short view of the bay before the clouds moved in and obscured everything. We also had some excellent sea food--I really do love being close to the ocean! See you all in a few days--I arrive back home late Friday night! Johanna

Ostrich Riding: Or, My Encounter with Big Bird.

Hello Everyone!
This is a very-long overdue explanation to my family about what I did last week but
didn’t want to tell them about until they could see pictures. I rode an Ostrich—yes, bareback like in Swiss Family Robinson, or something! Last Thursday we took a drive over the Cape Fold Mountains into a very dry, arid, Wild-West looking area called the Karoo and went on a tour of an Ostrich farm. When we first arrived, the lady at the desk told us that it was too wet and muddy to go ostrich-riding; news which suited me just fine. We began our tour,
learning about ostrich breeding and incubating practices (42 day incubation, males and females take turns on the nest, and a breeding pair is bonded for life); held some young ostrich chicks, already the size of small chickens; and finally came to the corral, where our tour guide said we could now ride the ostriches, and did I want to go first? “Maybe not first” I said, still very much undecided whether I wanted to go in with the huge birds, much less ride one, or not.
We let some of the British guys in the group give it a go first, and then when they survived, I decided it was my turn. “Glasses off, please,” our guide said. “GLASSES OFF??” I thought—this ostrich ride was crazy enough already, much less a blind ostrich ride! Nonetheless, I could see the reasoning behind this, so I took them off, clambered onto the not-so-trusty ostrich steed, and off I went. I had the second longest ride of any of the visitors there, but man, those things take off like a rocket!!! Here are the pictures; yes, I am closing my eyes and holding my breath at the same time—please recall that I was not thinking about how the pictures would look, just on trying not to die.