Table Mountain is the backdrop of Cape Town, rising above all of the buildings. It is between two smaller mountains called Lion's Head and Devil's Peak. The mountain is flat on top, like a table, hence its name. You can take a cable car up to the top, where there is cafe and a gift shop. Or you can hike.
We hiked. And got a little bit more than some of us bargained for. (Wow, I used the same hook as I did in the last blog. Sorry).
Me, Taylor, Isaiah, and our new friend Ari got into a taxi, and we knew the driver from a previous night (that blog is coming soon, sorry, South Africa is going to be kind of out of order.) Tim recommended we take the trail that is right next to the cable car, with a sign that says “not for amateurs.” He told us that there were some spots where you had to actually rock climb a little bit, but nothing too difficult.
We arrived at the base of the mountain and already had a breathtaking view of the city. We saw the sign that Tim referred to and didn't really read that it said “Dangerous. Extreme rock climbing route.” Then there were some triangle shapes with exclamation points at certain points of the diagram. We didn't really see that either. We just saw that the trail was called “India Venster.” And thought that was cool.
We began our hike and right away we met four local guys whose climbing backgrounds were much more extensive than ours. They gave us a quick breakdown of what we were to do: follow the yellow footprints. They said to curve under the cable car lines, “scramble”up three ledges, then curve around again by a boulder field, and then curve all the way by cliffs with some steep dropoffs until we reach the top.
Scramble is the word of the day. If not the week.
We broke off from those guys and followed the trail below the cable car lines. After some walking, we reached where there were the three ledges. These were LEDGES. Seriously, like 6 feet high with hardly any places to put our hands. We interpreted that “scrambling”is like a short free-hand climb. I found it quite easy, not met with too difficult of a challenge, but I helped up Isaiah and Ari after I went up.
We made it up the three ledges with Isaiah almost falling off if he hadn't taken off his backpack. There was more climbing up rocky slopes, but not like the ledges. We were constantly looking for the yellow footprints, rejoicing when we found them to let us know we were still on the path.
Up some more slopes, we made it to the boulder field. We saw some people, French, I think. Yay! People! We're going the right way! They were two parent-aged women, a teenaged girl, and a little boy. But they weren't going up. They were coming down. We weren't sure why anyone in there right mind would want to go down the ledges we just climbed.
They said that they were coming down because they couldn't find a way up to the top. This came as a surprise to us. We had found the three ledges and the boulder field that the other guys had told us, and now these people are going back because they couldn't find anything? We traded phone numbers just in case of an emergency, but we trudged on.
I never doubted for a moment that we were going the wrong way. The yellow footprints helped a lot, and after the boulder field there was a sign facing away from where we just came that said “PATH.” I said, “If there was no path leading TO here from the top, there would be no reason to have a sign.”
We kept going.
All the other guys were worried that we were going to get stuck, or have to call a helicopter, or get stranded. I never had a thought like this for a minute, and had no idea why everyone was freaking out. There was a path there. It was clear and easy to see. It felt like Lord of the Rings sometimes! We sang the theme song too.
There was some more scrambling that the hiker guys from the beginning didn't tell us about, and those scrambles were the most difficult, some rocks were around 10 feet. But I was never fearing for my life. If you read Isaiah's eventual blog about this experience, his story will be very, very different. I never worried about falling or getting stranded, I was just careful to put my feet in safe places and not to lose my balance. What was going on in the other guys' heads at this point was “are we going the right way?”“what if we have to go back down, that was impossible to climb up!” What was going through my head was “this is the coolest thing ever!”
But we were around the bottom where the hiker guys told us to be, seeing the cliff with the steep dropoffs.
After the scrambles and some more trudging, we saw some hardcore climbers going up (or down) the completely vertical side of the mountain. A man asked us where we were from, and we told him what we were doing. He told us we were close and that he'd lead us to the top. He had to meet his mother anyway. His name was Keith, and he and his wife (who is currently in the jungle filming a documentary) and young boy had traveled down Africa from the UK and had been in South Africa for a little while.
Keith was a well traveled man, and he even had a Morocco story that Ari related to because he saw the same guy in the same place. Keith took a picture of all of us in front of a sign that said “NOT AND EASY WAY DOWN.” We thanked Keith, but he told us that we really did it already and that he really was just walking up with us as opposed to guiding us. Keith keeps a blog of his travels as well, so we traded blog addresses when we reached the top.
We got hot chocolate and laughed about our 2 ½ hike up the side of a mountain called named after furniture. I bought a really cool beanie at the gift store.
Taylor thanked me, because he was worried about getting stranded or not making it to the top, and that my optimism kept him going. That was nice to hear, and it meant a lot. I really don't know why I wasn't worried about anything. Here we are, climbing a huge mountain in the most difficult trail possible with very little climbing experience, the possibility of death all around, and I'm more worried about when I'm going to buy my South African flag.
Keith told us that in the guidebooks for rock climbers, they say Table Mountain is dangerous and to be really, really careful. This made us feel like pros (even though we didn't do REAL rock climbing) but we got a little more than we expected. Tim said that there were some spots you had to rock climb, and his description threw us off, because we felt like we did more than a little rock climbing. But I would describe it as something similar, “The most difficult trail on table mountain. There were some spots where it was pretty dangerous, having to actually climb up rocks with your bare hands, but altogether not impossible.” Taylor, Ari and Isaiah will all have their own unique descriptions, too.
We took the cable car down.
WARNING: NERD JOKE COMING! SKIP TO NEXT PARAGRAPH IF YOU WISH TO AVOID IT. It was like at the end of a Myst level where after you solve all the puzzles and have walked around the entire level, you get into some sort of really cool vehicle and take a journey, seeing all the places you just were.
Since our path was mostly underneath where the cables were, we could see what we climbed. It WAS pretty ridiculous what we did, but we were satisfied. The hikers gave us some instructions, the French people confused us, and Keith marched with us to victory. We own that mountain. That mountain in South Africa.
I climbed a mountain in Africa.
Tomorrow I'm going to go to an internet cafe and post some pictures from the last month. We tried to go tonight but there were all closed.
I'm splitting my South Africa blog up into a few sections. This happened the night of Feb 20 2009 (mere hours before I wrote this). I have not yet posted a blog for everything that has happened up to now, I just needed to write this down as fast as possible.
A friend of mine named Kara on the ship suggested we go to a Friday night Shabbat service at a nearby synagogue. We went. And got a lot more than we expected. And I say that in a good way.
We took a cab to the shul, the Cape Town Congregation, which is in the middle of a gardens type area near a church and a mosque and a building where they used to sell slaves. When we got there the security guard was shaking hands with everyone who entered, wishing everyone a good Shabbas. He stopped us and asked us a few questions about who were are, where we're from, why we're here, if we're Jewish, etc. He told us that we can stay for the dinner after the service and that he'll call us a cab when it's over. It turned out to be an Orthodox shul, so Kara went to sit upstairs and I sat downstairs, after being given a bright orange yarmulke.
I opened the small Shabbat notebook and recognized many of the prayers. I'm not from an Orthodox background so some of it was way over my head, but I was able to follow along quite well. The shul wasn't laid out like my synagogue at home, with all of the pews facing the same way towards the bima. Here, it was more in a round style, like a Safardic synagogue in Tsfat that I saw last year. In the middle was the cantor who was singing while he conducted the choir of men that surrounded him in a horseshoe shape. Their harmonies were intricate and their sound rich. Every once in a while I picked up a melody that I recognized and sung along. I was wished good Shabbas by everyone around me, even though they had no idea who I was.
During the service I was almost brought to tears a few times, not only because of the music, but because I am probably the farthest away from home I have ever been and I'm surrounded by Jews, acting just like every other Jew I have ever met, singing the same songs and praying the same prayers that Jews all over the world have been singing and praying for over 2000 years.
The Rabbi's sermon related to Facebook. He said he signed up and went to the “Friends”tab and it said 'YOU HAVE NO FRIENDS.” He spoke about how in Judaism, you don't measure your worth by other people, but how good you are to others and how righteous you are to yourself. His sermon was not a Facebook bashing thing, he just used it as a point of entry. He also mentioned Google in his sermon, so I sat there thinking, “Here I am, in an Orthodox synagogue in South Africa, listening to a Rabbi talking about Facebook, Google, and the Torah.” He struck me as a very modern-type fellow. I later learned that he is only 27 years old.
After the service I met back up with Kara and we met some elderly folk who were happy to hear about Semester at Sea and how we like Cape Town. We waited in line to meet the Rabbi, and we were subsequently invited back to his house for Shabbas Dinner.
Walking, of course, to the Rabbi's house was a short distance, and we were accompanied by a security guard, to whom the Rabbi tipped some apples (and maybe money, I only saw him carry apples out of his house.) His house was behind a gate, and was beautiful. It was in sharp contrast to the township style of living that I have seen. His name is Oshy, his wife is Sarah and he has a little baby.
Upon entering, we were greeted with a room full of people we had never seen before, getting ready to gather around an immaculately set table. We exchanged names and introductions, and I accidentally shook one of the ladies' hands, blanking for a minute that in Orthodox Judaism, men and women aren't supposed to touch. I don't remember whose hand I shook but if you're reading this, I sincerely apologize and meant no offense.
Rabbi Oshy himself hand-chose where each person sat around the table, himself at the head, of course, and Sarah to his left. I felt like we were picking teams in the schoolyard for a baseball game. For the most part I mimicked what everyone else was doing, how they sat in their chairs, etc, so I didn't accidentally do something inappropriate.
Around the table were the Rabbi, his wife, friends, relatives, (I apologize for not remembering everyone's name, if you are reading this. I remember maybe half and didn't want to be unfair to those I don't remember) and two travelers from the United States.
We sang a little bit, did Kiddish and handwashing and Challah before sitting down. And then the food came out and the conversations began.
As I learned here, a Jewish household in South Africa does not differ all that much from a Jewish household in the United States. Or France. Or Israel. In fact, I have now celebrated Shabbat in four different countries. Awesome.
During the first course I ate breaded fish as well as salmon. Yes mom, fish. Oshy asked us each to go around and say a profound Jewish memory about a time, place, camp, persona, anything. The man to my right, Ray, a phenomenally interesting man told a story about when he was in Tsfat, a city in Israel, a man with a Rabbinic look to him helped him carry a heavy load up a hill, on the eve of Rosh Hashannah. After the man left, he was told that this man was the Chief Rabbi in Tsfat, who possibly made himself late to his service to help another Jew in need.
I told a story about camp and how much I grew and learned there and how I have affected others there and how they have affected me.
A woman named Sam and her sister Jody (Sorry if I spelled it wrong) told a story about how they went to Israel and saw a large group of special needs kids at the Western Wall. Another story was told about how an 83 year old woman on a trip to Lithuania (maybe Latvia, don't remember the details) found her house, a place she hadn't been to since she was 12. She had escaped the Nazis, and when she found her house, she said she could die happy that day because she always wanted to come back and tell Hitler than she has a Jewish daughter and Jewish grandkids.
The main course was meat and was excellent! The whole thing was prepared by Sarah herself. As time went on I didn't need to mimic behavior anymore because the room had transformed from a room full of strangers to me to a room full of Jews about whom I already knew a lot because we're all Jews, and having that in common is an unbreakable bond.
After the main course I had a glass of wine and dessert was brought out and was, you guessed it, really good. Nothing except the salad at the beginning had any nuts, so I was completely safe and didn't have to awkwardly decline anything.
Just like at my grandparent's houses after a big meal, the conversations migrated to the couch, where we sat for a while chatting about each others' lives. Then came the prayers for after the meal, some more conversation, and the goodbyes.
Sam and Jody drove me and Kara I back to the ship. Sure beats a taxi. We gave our names for Facebook purposes as well as our blogs in case they want to track our travels.
Both Kara and I felt like we were at home. Jews are Jews, no matter where you go. It's really true, wherever you go, there's always someone Jewish. What started out as “let's check out the service and then grab dinner with friends” turned into a 5 hour night of Judaism and getting to know South African Jews. I learned how similar Jews really are everywhere in the world. The unconditional acceptance and the value of “welcoming the stranger” were apparent in this group, and I would undoubtedly do the same for any Jewish traveler who showed up at my synagogue.
So, friends, if you are reading this, thank you for making my stay in Cape Town that much better, and thank you for letting me into your lives for a brief evening.
I apologize for the lack of a creative pun in the title of this blog. Neither Namibia or Walvis Bay lends itself to easy pun action, though I did think of "Dum Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum De Dum Dum Namibia!" As well as "Another brick in the Walvis" but nothing seemed to work.
ANYWAY
Here was a common dialogue between me and any person who was inquisitive about my journey:
“That sounds like fun! What countries are you visiting?”
“Spain, Morocco, Namibia, South Africa-”
“Wait go back. Namibia?”
“Yeah I don't know anything about it. Besides that it's in Africa.”
Now I know a lot about it. In fact, I want to go back there one day. Sooner than later, hopefully. It was by far one of the most beautiful landscapes in the world. Most everyone spoke English, since they chose it as their official language when they got their independence in 1990. Other languages include Afrikaans, German (it was a German colony) and many many tribal languages (including the one with the clicks)
Our port was in Walvis Bay, one of the only places in the world that is a coastal desert, that is to say there is ocean and a beach, and then a desert. We arrived on Valentine's Day, so maybe me falling in love with all things Namibia had to do with my Valentine's mindset. We were greeting by a girl's choir, singing to us barefoot in front of our ship. Their ages were from 8 to 18, and their harmonies were incredible. Afterward, I got some pictures and asked them how much they practice. Every day.
Prior to leaving Walvis Bay for my desert camping trip, I walked around the city with some friends. It was surprisingly clean and happy, contrary to what all the pre-port lectures made it seem like. Everyone was friendly and happy, including two roof workers who waved to me and asked me how I was doing. I stopped in a grocery store to buy a water bottle and some chocolate, and in the check-out line, the woman bagging the groceries pointed at me and the girl next to me and then lines up her pointer fingers, one behind the other. I told her I didn't understand. Then she made the motion of a ring around her left ring finger. That's when I understood. I said no. Then she tapped her left arm behind her right shoulder. This one stumped me. After a few more tries, she asked the cashier to clarify. The cashier said she wants to know if me and that girl are related. I said “No, we're friends.” And the woman speaking sign language clasped her hands together. I mimicked her motion and said “friends?” The deaf woman smiled and did the motion again, and nodded. I said “Friends.” And that is how I learned some Namibian sign language. Not only had I communicated with people of another culture in Africa, I could now say “friends”“married”and “siblings”without any words.
We left for the desert in vans, drove up the coast where there was ocean on the left and desert on the right. We drove into the Namib desert into some undisclosed location where we were met with 35 tents, a big tent covering tables, two campfires, and lots of sand and desert vegetation. After we toured around the desert and took pictures we played word games until a group of five Namibian men came and sang for us.
They were called “Vocal Galore”and were fantastic singers. They sang until after the sun set, and then I played drums with them. I bought their CD for 70 NAD ($7) and took pictures. Then came dinner and dessert, Mafia (the card game) wine, and campfires. Unfortunately, the stargazing didn't happen because the skies were cloudy. We accounted for 10% of American tourism and 200% of the rain.
The next morning I had the poops. I think it was because of this cream sauce in the dessert, but it was really worth it. The dessert was great! Anyway, the vans came late to pick us up so we had more fun playing card games.
They dropped us back at the ship, and then a group of 12 of us got cabs to Swakopmund, 33 km north of Walvis Bay. That's about 20.5 miles. The taxis that are safest to take are the ones with the Namibian Taxi permit on them, but there are so many with taxi signs that it's hard to gauge if its real or not. We didn't have any problems, but as soon as I got in the taxi I was thinking to myself “Wait...I didn't check to see if this was a legit taxi.” Nothing weird happened to us, but a friend told me as their driver was speeding, he saw a cop, took the taxi sign off of his dashboard, passed the cop, and then put it back on.
Swakopmund was a German town back in the days of colonization. Since it was Sunday all the stores were closed except for some food places and a few craft and tourist type places. I went to the market and had the best time bartering ever.
I forgot the name of the first man from whom I purchased, but bartering was a lot of laughs. I made it clear I was smarter than your average tourist, and he knew it. “See, you're a seller. I'm a buyer. You want to get the highest price, I want to get the lowest, so I'm just assuming you're ripping me off until I get a price I like!” He laughed. He put three necklaces into my hand (that's how they get you to start committing) and said “I give you special price. 600 NAD for the three.” Thats $60. I said “Are you kidding?” and put them back down. Then I found something I liked (which I won't say here just in case I want to give it as a gift) and he took out his book and said “I don't usually do this and I don't want others so see how I conduct my business, write what you will pay here” So I wrote what I was willing to pay, but it's funny since what this man “didn't usually do”was written all over the book. Eventually we were both crouching down next to the object on the blanket on the street. He wrote 160 on his hand, I said I'll pay 100. He said “You want 100 I can't do. I can do 160, but there is a difference.” Then he wrote “-20”next to his price of 160 and “+40”next to my price. I said “That's not splitting the difference!” And we both laughed. We settled at 125.
Then came Stan. I had to dodge a guy in a Celtics Jersey to whom I promised I would look in his shop but after our conversation:
Me: “You like the Celtics?”
“No.”
“Just like the shirt?”
“Come see my shop”
“Later, I promise.”
I decided I wouldn't got and check his out, only because Stan was so nice. Stan told me he was a stone worker, which was more difficult that the wood craft I had just bought. “So you are going to expect to get more money than what you just saw me pay!” We laughed. I found something I liked and the bargaining began. I had just dropped most of the cash I had on me at the last guy, so this guy told me to go ask my friends for money. I said I would, and he was about to let me take the object with me. “I better not,”I said.
“But I trust you.”
“I appreciate that.”
I had about half the money I needed for this thing. Then he said.
“So you want to leave me with a deposit?”
“No way!”
“You don't trust me? You think I'm gonna run with it?”
“No,”I said, “I trust you, I just want to stay as independent from this decision as I can!”
We laughed. We settled on 140, I wanted 135. He said 140 because it might be hard to get the 5 coin. I said or we can settle on 130 because it's hard to get the 5 piece. We laughed again and settle, officially, on 140.
I went to the ATM, got the cash I needed, and dodged the market people as I walked back up to Stan, shook his hand and said, “Here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna grab my thing, I'll give you the money we agreed on, we're gonna take a picture and then I'm getting the hell out of here.” We did all three and that was that. I just wanted to avoid the Celtics guy again.
Then came the cheapest ice cream ever, catching up with the other people from our group of 12 (we all got dropped off in different parts of the city). A buck fifty for three scoops in a giant cone. We climbed up a tower and saw a breathtaking view of ocean, city, and desert. After the tower was the ocean, we took some funny pictures, played a little bit in the sand and water, Isaiah recorded some awesome sounds of the water running over hundreds if not thousands of little rocks.
We were meeting the rest of friends for dinner at 7 and we had some time to burn and my friend Yash wanted to buy something.
Back to the market, this guy was bugging us to buy stuff, and once we were adamant about not buying, he transformed from annoying market man to a Namibian man named “Mr. Africa.” He introduced himself to us as that, and I asked why there is an R on his necklace. He said it was for Rocky, and pretended to be a boxer. He told us a lot about Namibia and his lifestyle and things. Another guy asked us about our trip, and this was one of two statements that really affected me on this trip.
We told him we were going all over the world and he said “I would really love to do something like that, but I just don't think it's possible.”
I wanted to say what they tell us in the US “Anything is possible!” But after seeing the economy and the kind of places they live and the only jobs they are forced to have, I realized that it really isn't possible. “Anything” isn't possible for these people, and it made me sad.
After this came a pizza place that was AWESOME! I got a pizza called the “Mario”with chili, onion, pineapple, and pepperoni. Then we went on a beach walk and found a playground, played on that, then grabbed some drinks at a restaurant so they would call us a taxi back to Walvis bay.
The next morning, myself, Isaiah, Talyor, Butters,and others went on the seal and dolphin encounter. We went out in a little speed boat and saw lots of seals, a bottlenose dolphin, and a huuuuuuuuge fish called a sunfish. The seals actually jumped into the boat and we could pet them and feed them. The guide would yell a certain way as the boat moved, and pelicans and other birds would fly around us as we drove.
Near the end of the excursion, our guide brought out some food. She served oysters, of which I had two (yes mom) breaded fish (yes mom) and beef and eggrolls. It was great. On our way back a seal jumped into our boat and got attacked by another seal. That poor seal was already injured from mating season.
The rest of the day was wandering around the city of Walvis Bay. I bought a Namibian flag and Taylor got pickpocketed. Sort of. The guy reached into his pocket and Taylor said “No way man!” The second quote that stuck with me was a man working for FedEx we ran in to on the street. He asked his how we like Namibia. We said it was great.
He opened his arms wide and said “This is freedom, man!”
And I realized that freedom is a new innovation for these people. They just got independence in 1990 and some older people actually have memories of what the oppression was like. Walking around on the street, doing whatever I want and feeling safe is the norm for me. I took a metaphorical step back when I realized that that might not have been the norm for many of these people only 20 years ago.
Namibia was an amazing place. I really want to come back one day. I had no expectations for what the country was going to be like, and I was thoroughly impressed. I saw so many things, met many great people, and I had some great experiences. I really want to go back one day. From the random country on my list, Namibia is now a fond memory I'll have forever. I even used my flag as a blanket!
February 9th was Neptune Day, the day when you cross the equator. In an ancient tradition, Neptune Day transforms lowly pollwogs into Shellbacks (people who have crossed the equator). Some traditions include kissing a fish, getting fish guts spilled on you or even eating them, as well as head shaving. On other ships in other times, the hazing rituals were much more intense than what we did on the ship.
Here on the ship, we were woken up around 0700 with some members of the crew clad in (quite literally) bells and whistles proclaiming “Neptune Day!” At 0900 we assembled on Deck 7 aft (the back of the ship) for the ceremony. The captain of the ship, Jeremy, was painted green and dressed in a ridiculous robe as Neptune, king of the seas. In order to be initiated, you had to step up to the pool deck, get a foul liquid poured on you, kiss the fish, kiss the king's ring, bow to the queen, jump in the pool, and then be knighted as a Shellback when you emerge. I did all of those things.
I also shaved my head.
After becoming a Shellback was when the real mayhem began. The Royal Barbers (whose shirts crossed out Barbers in place of the more aptly-named Butchers) were lined up to snip off hair to a proper length and then to shave heads. While in line, a few of our friends had scissors of their own, cutting random portions of our hair to ensure no turning back. The hair hit the deck, mixed with the water, and made one of the grosses combinations of anything I have ever seen.
I made it to the cutting section, sat there, and got my head cut. It was by no means a professional haircut, nor was it supposed to be. Lots of pictures were taken, as well as video. I watched my hair falling down in front of me, as if my scalp was crying.
After my hair was to more manageable length, I waited in a second, shorter line for the actual shaving. I sat down in the chair and felt the warmth of the electric shear making contact with my hair. It hurt a little bit, probably because my hair had separation anxiety and didn't wanna let go. They didn't realize it would be easier for all of us if they just let it happen.
The shaving took around five to ten minutes, and when I emerged, I had no more hair. It was as if I had a day or two's worth of stubble on top of my head. It felt weird to put a shirt on, as well as passing any sort of fabric over it. Never really have had a shaved head before.
(The last time I had anything close to a shaved head was when I was 9 years old. I told the haircut lady I wanted a number 2, as opposed to saying the correct “number 2 on the sides and back, trim on the top.” As she began to buzz my hair, I froze, asked her if we could stop, but we obviously couldn't. The next day at school I wore my hood in class, which was of course met with a “please take off your hood, Jonathan”from the teacher. I remember slowly removing my hood in shame, feeling eyes burning my scalp lower than it already was, and getting some sort of Buzz Lightyear nickname for a week or two.)
A large amount of guys on the ship did it, and a fair amount of girls did it too!
The third step was to “Bic”it, referring to the Bic razor. I didn't do this, but Isaiah did. His head was so soft! But since it's been about a day it has grown back to a little more stubbly. We both plan on taking pictures of it every day and making a really cool youTube time-lapse presentation.
It's been really cold on the ship ever since I have no protective covering, keeping the warmth in. I am actually wearing a Moroccan beanie a friend lent me right now because it's so cold on the ship. My EARS were cold. I don't remember the last time my EARS were cold. I think I may get dumber too, since colder brain temperature would mean that the neurons and other chemicals will move and perform their processes more slowly, causing my speed of thinking and cognition to diminish. If I get bad grades, now you know why.
Before going on SAS, I was sure I was going to do it. Then when I got on the ship and the whole thing became a reality, I was like hell no. But I came around, and decided to do it. It's lots of fun, and we all are posing for a picture tonight at 1800 hours.
I look like a tough guy. I wear these sunglasses and make a face, and if I flex in the right light pattern and look buff, no one would want to mess with me. Except for my dumbo ears. I can also see why my hair gets higher in the back...my head has a nice slant up and then a WHOOP on the way back down, probably from years and years of facing away from the water in the shower or, more likely, years and years of wearing yarmulkes.
It will be fun watching it all grow back. I've always been a hair guy, and this is a new thing. Which is what this whole journey is supposed to be about: trying new things and making discoveries. I've discovered that cold weather is much more tolerable with hair.
In other news, we are heading toward Namibia and will get there on Saturday, which is also Valentine's Day. My plans for this country are stargazing in the desert and a seal and dolphin encounter. The weather outside is now hot, warm, nice, but also kind of sticky at times. I look out on the deck and it's hard to believe that this is school, but I HAVE started to do actual work. Which is actually what I decided to do when I came up here to the deck, but wrote this blog instead. Time to study.
Each day here was more fun than the last.
The plan was to be in Morocco for four days, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Due to some refueling complications in Gibraltar, our time in Morocco was cut down to the latter three days. Monday was spent on the ship instead of in our port in Casablanca, so they had some activities and an open mic night. I did stand up this time. It was well received, though I was pretty nervous as it was my first real stand up performance.
All of the trips that were scheduled for Morocco had to be either canceled or rescheduled. My trip for Monday was moved to Wednesday. Isaiah's 4 day trip to Marrakech was cut down to 3 days, and he left early morning on Tuesday. I slept in since I didn't have to be anywhere until 1245.
Tuesday was my trip to Rabat. The weather was gloomy as we drove an hour and a half northeast to the administrative capital of Morocco. Our tour guide was an incredible woman whose name I only heard once and had trouble pronouncing. I got a few pictures with her though! We saw the King's Palace in Rabat (he's got a palace in every city) as well as the mausoleum for King Mohammed V which was right next to the ruins of a mosque that crumbled away in an earthquake a long time ago. The minaret (the big tower that characterizes mosques) used to be 87 meters tall but the earthquake cut it down to something more like 50 meters.
Then we went to a Kasbah which means a fortified building or city, where I used my French for the first time to buy postcards. Then the friend with whom I was walking, Megan, got grabbed by a girl who forced Henna on her, and then when she asked us to pay, she said “money as you like” so I told Megan to give her the coins she just got (totaling 16 Dirham, which is around $2) and the woman was like “give me something I can make change with”and I said “you take this or we walk away”and Megan dropped the coins on the table and we left. It was crazy; they force their services on you and then get mad when you don't pay. I say tough luck. You wanna grab me by the arm? You take my spare change.
That night I slept from 2030 (8:30) until 1115 the next morning, which was the Casablanca city orientation. We had the same guide as the Rabat trip, and I was so happy! Besides seeing markets and various monuments, the highlight of this trip was seeing the King Hassan II Mosque.
This was one of the most awe-inspiring buildings I have ever seen. Casablanca has a history of being a “let's just pass through it”city, and the people wanted there to be a landmark. So they built this giant modern Mosque with electric doors, a ceiling that opens in the summer, heated floor in the winter, chandeliers all over, ablution rooms (for washing before prayer) underneath, and enough room to hold 5,000 women on the top level and 20,000 men on the bottom level. The separation of men and women has nothing to do with women being inferior. It is purely to limit distraction while praying. Also, taking off your shoes in the mosque has no religious meaning-it is purely hygienic since sometimes while praying you press your face against the floor.
Visiting this mosque really helped me to understand Islam better. I really feel like I have a greater understanding and appreciation for Islam. Actually seeing the house of prayer gave me something physical to associate with what I'm learning in my Islam class.
The last morning I didn't sleep in, but woke up and met some friends at 0900 to grab a taxi and go back to a market we saw on Wednesday. Here, I had one of the best moments of my life. We were going from shop to shop, looking and stuff, and we saw one in the corner with some bracelets and necklaces. The guy working there was kinda short, had glasses and really crooked eyes, and was all smiles. My friend Craig inquired on the price of something, and the guy spoke French to him, so I began to speak French with this man and bargained down to half price. I told him I was a student from the US and he said I was “tres joli”which means something along the lines of very nice/happy and gave everyone the same “discount”. I was so proud of speaking another language! He and I conversed a little bit, and he asked me if I knew the singer Rhianna. I said I did! Apparently he likes her music. Then someone wanted a ring so he brought them out and I asked how to say ring in French and he said “bague.” I feel like I made this guy's day. I brought him a bunch of friendly Americans, spoke his language, and bought his products. After the 15 minutes we were there, he had a handful of cash and a big smile. Little does he know how our short conversations with him affected my life. And he probably never will. I didn't ask his name, but I have a picture with him. I will never forget this man, and I'm not sure why. I feel like I learned some sort of lesson or something but I don't know what. All I know is I feel like a more complete person and a better human being. To me, he was a teacher. To him, I was a regular customer. I wonder if at the end of his work day he'll go back home and write in his journal about me, and think that I got nothing out of our experience.
The next shop I bought this “magic”box, which has the key inside of it somewhere and you have to go through a series of sliders and things to get the key, and then another slider to find the lock. I had to buy something made out of the mahogany wood here because it smells so great and is beautiful to look at. I think I paid too much but I didn't care. I got a picture with this shop owner too, his name was Sammy.
Then we grabbed a taxi back to the ship, where I am now.
At first, Casablanca was kind of a crappy port. We are a 15 minute walk from the entrance of the port and it's not the best part of town. But as the last few days went on, and I met people and got some good tours, I learned more about the city and the culture and really enjoyed my time here. I'm not sad that we lost a day because I only had plans for two of the days, and most of the SAS people went to Marrakech so it was really empty. I'm happy that I spent my time the way I did, and have wonderful memories to take with me.
One last thought: the driving in Morocco is absolutely crazy. Nobody stops at stop signs, people almost hit each other, and 4 way stops are nightmares, and everybody goes waaaay too fast. The taxi we took Thursday morning just pushed his way past whoever was in his way, squeezing by trucks. I found my right foot activating its breaking reflex every time something got too crazy.
The petit taxi on the way back (a smaller, cheaper taxi in Casablanca) was much more agile than the full sized one we had in the morning, so it was way scarier, pushing, shoving, squeezing. Lines don't matter, neither do speed limits, and neither do pedestrians.
For now, we've got another week at sea before we arrive in Walvis Bay, Namibia. I heard I can use my French there too, which I am excited about. I have a seal and dolphin encounter as well as an overnight in the desert planned. I am also excited to shave my beard, I let it grow out for the last week because I'd be more respected in the Moroccan environment, especially when going out in a group and having to protect the women.
Between here and Namibia is when we cross the equator, “Neptune Day” the tradition is to shave your head, but I don't think I'm gonna go completely crew-cut, I'll just get a nice haircut.
So it's back to classes for the next week.
