Cape Town

A romantic get-away - that's what it was.

Cape Town was wonderful, but more than that, it was a whopping five days and four nights, just David and I. Being without the children made me giddy. Have they been that big of a burden? The travel was absurdly easy. No checked luggage. No keeping the kids quiet and safely nearby, off the floors, and out of strangers' way.

Just before landing, we flew over high mountains. I just wasn't expecting it, and then there was the city and the ocean.

A little about Cape Town - it's parked tightly between the Atlantic Ocean and steep Table Mountain at the north end of a hilly peninsula that runs north-south. At the south end is the Cape of Good Hope National Park (penguins, baboons), and along the coastal roads on the east and west sides, there are fishing villages and small touristy towns. Everything was closer together than we expected. It's extremely picturesque - waves crashing against dark, craggy cliffs, narrow beaches, fishing piers. In Kalk Bay, the houses cling to the mountainside and overlook the Indian Ocean - their beach access are cobblestone stair alleys.

view from Cape of Good Hope north on Atlantic side 

We stayed in Muizenberg, 5 minutes north of Kalk, where locals get their beach time, mainly to surf. Surfers ranged from grandparents to elementary school kids, all wearing black wet suits. I've never seen so many surfers.


Our first day, we drove to the Cape, hiked along the cliffs in the sun and strong wind, then ate at a restaurant in Kalk that sits on the rocks so close to the water's edge that spray from the waves crashes on the windows. There's a train that runs right on the beach all the way to the city and east to the wine country. It's so civilized!

see train tracks on beach...view driving south from Kalk Bay

Next day we went to the Stellenbosch wine country and joined a group for the Bike-n-Wine tour, then in the afternoon drove to Franschhoek, another winery village in the mountains. We had our best dinner of the trip at the intimate Terroir restaurant in Kleine Zalze estate that evening.

We drove into the city the next day and booked a hotel there for the night, as it was New Year's Eve and we didn't want to bother with driving back. The Waterfront area where we spent the day had plenty of tourists, but there was never congestion in an unpleasant way. Restaurants were setting up for parties. Sidewalk performers entertained the crowds. There was so much for kids to do there, as well: a big (safe looking) ferris wheel, an aquarium, movie theaters, kiddie amusement parks, boat tours...it was a surprisingly family friendly downtown scene.

Waterfront musicians

I didn't know what to expect with the old colonial hotel, Mt. Nelson, but we started the night off there, having drinks and a light dinner on the veranda. I had the impression that a certain set made a ritual of spending their NYE at the Mt. Nelson - men wearing tuxes shook hands like they hadn't seen each other for a long time. Women wore elegant dresses, and there were teenagers and some children all dressed up.

Being without kids, we thought we'd try more of the nightlife scene on Long Street, so we walked down from the Mt. Nelson. Once we got down to Long, the crowds flowed into the street. It was a younger scene with waiting lines at the clubs. We hung out in a rooftop bar with good music until the Kaapse Klopse mardi gras type parade started.

A word about security - we were cautious, but I felt safe. There were police in florescent bibs every block, but they were just there - not bossing or moving anyone.

We ended up at a party under a big circus tent at the Artscape Theater - the theme appeared to be nautical magic. It was exactly the scene I would have enjoyed 15 years ago...though the DJ was a bit too original. Apparently, women redefining their hairline by shaving up from the forehead (a la Queen Elizabeth) is in style, in addition to the mo-hawk. We old fogies, celebrating David's 40th this time, made it to midnight (then promptly got a cab back to the hotel).

Next morning we watched para-gliders jumping off Signal Hill, drifting like giant windblown seedpods on the updraft from the sea. We met friends for another great meal and wine on the Waterfront and did some shopping before heading back to Kalk and Muizenberg.

Cape Town would be a great place to meet family and friends again. As much as we enjoyed our romantic get-away, it would be fun to go back with the kids.

(Alas, out little snappy camera was stolen from the suitcase, likely in notorious Jo'burg, so no photos except what we took with our phones.)

Vic Falls Adventure Zone

When I went to Victoria Falls last month, there were moments when I was really shocked - from my own actions, from the situation, and from things happening around me. It was different from my usual holiday.

For starters, it was the kids and I and David's sister Tracy and her son Zavion. It was the first time we ever traveled (without David), and we were on a week-long adventure. I'd been hoping for a road trip around Zim since we arrived, and this should have been the moment, but we chickened out at the last minute and flew to avoid the perils of the road.

...not that I like flying. Air Zimbabwe does not inspire feelings of confidence. Yes, irreligious as I am, I was praying as the plane skidded across the atmosphere, clinging to my children while trying not to alarm them.

But that's not exactly different from other trips.



We stayed in the guest cottage of Tracy's old friend Brent who has lived in Victoria Falls most of his life. He owns and operates Adventure Zone, a small company that arranges activities for visitors to VF who need something to do after they've seen the falls. There are game drives, some nice restaurants and shopping, and then there are the more adventurous activities.

Last year when I went to Vic Falls for the first time, I looked down into the gorge and saw people tiny as ants at the bottom, walking on the boulders in the spray of the falls and rafting on the river. It was beautiful. I was bummed. Woe is me - stuck up here with my two kids. I never get to do anything fun anymore... So this time I had to go. It's one of the main activities of Adventure Zone, and Tracy offered to watch the kids.

But then I was scared. I'm a mother. What if something happened to me down there? It has class 5 rapids. We are in rural Africa. I kept thinking of all the stories of what can happen in white water. Horrible stories. Brent assured me it was safe, but I was starting to dread it.

Yet early one morning I found myself hiking down a very sketchy trail/ladder - a true precipice, carved into the side of a cliff face that dropped steeply to distant boulders and a raging river. We were going to go down 20 rapids, all class 4 or 5 rapids. Besides the guide, only one of the 7 kids in my raft had experience paddling. They were pumped up - you've got to experience life! Woohoo! Any time we had a choice of the class 4 or 5 route, they chose the class 5. God, did I feel (and act) my age.

I'm the one clutching the white paddle back by the guide's left knee.

Monstrous water consumes us.

I had been told to expect getting thrown at some point - which was good. I was prepared. While some did pop out more than once (happily? ignorantly?), I only fell out when the whole raft flipped. I had been advised to take a big breath of air when my head came up because of the waves and the not knowing when one would breathe again. That was also good advice. I never let go of the "oh shit" rope. I was under the raft, then got out from it, then maneuvered my way around the raft so I wouldn't get squashed between it and the rock wall we slammed into. The current was really strong. But I was seriously never letting go, and I was first to get back in the raft. I wasn't afraid of the crocs - apparently only babies survive the falls so at that point on the Zambezi they're not yet big enough to pose a threat. That said, we did see a sizable adolescent sunbathing on an island about half way through our trip. No. I was counting down the rapids (i.e. I have survived 7 rapids, only 13 more to go). They had names like Highway to Hell, the Terminator, and my favorite: Gnashing Jaws of Death, but I was also simultaneously wanting the biggest waves because they were incredibly exciting...and man, the relief getting through it!

Since Tracy had already been rafting on the Zambezi, she wanted to do the Swing, which is a lot like Bungee Jumping (something I've never been interested in doing), except instead of diving off a bridge, you jump off a cliff. Imagine a tightrope reaching across a canyon with a cable tied to the middle. The other end of the cable they fasten to a person in a harness...or in this case two people because she talked me into jumping tandem with her.

While we were waiting in the office for the truck to take us to the cliff's edge, I checked my email and discovered that Christina, our childhood neighbor and a best friend of my sister's had died of a heart attack, at 35, leaving 5 daughters and a husband. It was horrible shocking news. What could I do? At first I had this urge to do this crazy jump for Christina as if I were dedicating it to her, being brave for her, grabbing life with both hands for her... I'm not sure. But then I started to wonder if I was fated to learn about this just before jumping in order to stop myself from jumping. Was this a sign? I could have a heart attack. Why risk it? I decided not to do it. I was going to take photos and stay with the kids while Tracy jumped. On the way, Eliza encouraged me - you should do it, Mom! What does a 4-year-old know? Who cares? I decided to do it. Once in a lifetime chance.

Again, I was in shock as they led me to the edge and hooked me to this cable that was literally pulling us down over the edge. It was not as fun as I'd hoped, but it was still exhilarating to have done it. We free fell FOREVER (or 80 meters) before we started to swing out over the gorge. At one point while we were free falling, I started screaming even louder and peddling my feet as if running in air could get it over with faster. Now I know how I would fall from a building if it ever happened...twisting and struggling against gravity like a maniac.

So. Done.

We had gone to the falls, and we went on a beautiful day trip to Chobe National Park in Botswana just over the border which was amazing. It had been a spectacular week, but there was this niggling boat trip we'd been trying to do since our first night there, and by our last night, we were all determined it was going to happen. Brent had a pontoon, but it was stuck up on the river bank due to the low water. I was imagining some other boat pulling it out with a winch or something. But when we arrived, there were about 15 men using logs to just pick it up out of the mud. It took a good long while. My job was keeping the kids away from the water (crocs).

Wart hog ignores "Beware of Crocodiles" sign.

loading cargo

Brent with his daughter

Zavi, Miles and Brent's son

With chairs, chips, drink, women and children loaded on to the boat - we were ready. We didn't have much time before the sun set, but we still managed to see hippos, birds, crocodiles and elephants. It was as we were getting a closer look at a couple of eles that we got stuck on a sandbar. Now that wouldn't have worried me much if I hadn't seen the panic in our host's eyes. It was getting dark. He knew he was going to have to get in the water to push the boat off the bar, and he was worried about the crocs. Once at the exact spot where we'd started our journey, a croc had bitten the end off his kayak. He had been able to paddle fast enough to get to shore - all his limbs in tact, but it has made him a bit more wary of the river's dangers. 

There wasn't much we could do but keep the kids calm and move them into a corner of the boat to shift the weight off the sand bar...while enjoying our drinks and the sunset. It was a relief when we were free and floating and Brent was safely back in the boat, but then the motor wouldn't start. Again, it wouldn't have mattered that much, but we were drifting down river towards the falls. I'm sure that if the motors hadn't started we would have been able to beach ourselves somewhere before reaching the top of one of the largest falls in the world, but one couldn't exactly relax. When the motor finally started, we were all in agreement - ready to head back to the boathouse! That's when it started lightening. We're OK in a metal boat, right? And finally, in the twilight with the boathouse in sight and the storm still in the distance, giving us a great show, Brent's nephew says - look a croc and points down at our feet. I laugh and don't even look, the way you do when you're sure someone's kidding. Tracy looked down and screamed - just under our rail between the pontoon blades, a croc thrashed then swam in front of the boat.

Next morning, on the way to the airport, Brent took us to see his elephants. All of us had an easy ride around the park. It was just what the kids were wanting to do, and it was a perfect way to end our trip. Just standing next to elephants with my kids, feeling the strength of its trunk and sensing its enormous weight...again, it was excitement tinged with a wee bit of anxiety. For a woman newly 40, the trip was an adventure unlike any I've had for a while. It was a good taste, but I'm fine with getting back to the every day adventures of dealing with a couple of wild kids.

Me and Eliza on our way to the airport, Vic Falls style.

April and May Flew

Just three more weeks until we leave for the States, 9 more days of school, and 9 days total til Karol and Jason arrive. Whew, time has flown and continues to fly by. So much going on these days.

Here are photos from April that may or may not have been in the other blog:



In addition to getting ready for visitors and the 7 weeks we'll be traveling around seeing friends and family back in the States, I have been preoccupied with closing up my first year as Vice-Chair of the Parent Teacher Organization at HIS and planning for the next year as Chair. Taking on this role last year was not something I did lightly, but it has been more work and more of a learning and growing experience than I could have imagined. I expect next year to be even more challenging. It's weird having a mildly political position in which there was no election and to feel so vulnerable to disappointing many, while at the same time knowing I will be held responsible for a lot and have some influence as a parent representative. Hope I can do some good and not offend too many people!

At the same time, my two consultancy experiences remind me that I need and should do paid, professional work. Ah, finding the work/life balance - I'll spare you. Bottom line: ideal scenario for now is part-time paid employment that is challenging, provides opportunities for me to learn about and support Zimbabwe, and generates some income.

So with an August job search on the horizon, I have been taking steps to build an incredible PTO team, the likes of which have never been seen! To delegate...that is the goal! Advice?

Kariba

Newlyweds, Veena & Ken

Ken & Veena, friends of ours here, have moved on to work in South Sudan. To mark an end of that era, in November Olga planned a weekend in Kariba, a lake town about a 5-hour drive north of Harare. I wanted to go, but bringing the kids would have changed the dynamic. No one else from this group of friends has kids. So David, in a gesture of unselfishness that his wife won't soon forget, offered to stay home with the kids and let me go.

It was the first time I've traveled alone (child/husband-free) for fun (as opposed to for work) for eight years or so. The memories of my pre-family, traveling days came rushing back. Granted, my husband is "the boss" of more than half the group that went, and the other half are his golf buddies, so it wasn't exactly far removed from my real life. But there was so much time for myself, so little thinking-for-others. I was free to read, write, do-whatever-the-hell-I-wanted. I found it to be extremely therapeutic. Just two days, mothers and fathers out there, two days: I highly recommend it.

Biggest catch

The best part of Kariba is the fishing. Until that weekend, I had never caught a fish in my life, but tiger fishing is totally addictive. I caught one, a 2.5 pounder, and that was after hours of standing in the pouring rain.

Now, normally, standing in a downpour to fish is not something I would have ever imagined enjoying, but once you've lost a big one that twisted and flipped through the air on your line, fighting for its life as you used all your strength to reel it in, you just can't stop casting again in the hope that you'll get it or it's larger cousin next time. With this type of fishing, you cast out far, then quickly reel it in, so it's also satisfying to be active, casting over and over to get it just right, hearing the line unwind, sailing through the air, then plop in the water.

The hippo and crocodile population on the lake has exploded in recent years due to hunting restrictions and the croc farmers releasing a certain percentage into the lake. These also are some of the most dangerous animals in the country. At one point we had to pass through a narrow set of sand bars that probably had 20 hippos, mostly submerged except for their eyes, ears and backs, just 50 feet away. The crocodiles with gorgeous yellow and black patterns on their tails seem almost harmless on the banks until they pop up on their fat legs and slither speedily towards us, disappearing under the water by our boat. Needless to say, there is no swimming in Lake Kariba, but all the wildlife certainly adds to the overall excitement of a simple fishing trip.

Yes, those are hippos.

...for more from that trip:

Jetlag

Another aspect of living on the other side of the world is readjusting to the time difference. Usually it's worse leaving the states to fly east. I struggle with sleep for at least a week. Amman is 7 hours ahead of the east coast. Most times I am wide awake at 4 a.m. and then crash hard in the afternoon. But jetlag is unpredictable, like this time, arriving at night after sleeping off and on for the whole 10 hour flight, getting to Amman late afternoon, falling asleep at 11 p.m. and waking at 2 a.m. (with the kids!), then sleeping from 8-3 in the afternoon.

I had more regular hours for a few days, helped by the need to go to work and take the kids to school. But I still felt sickly tired in the afternoons and would be energized by a second-wind late night. Then nearly a week after arriving in Amman, I fell asleep for a couple of hours putting the kids to sleep, woke up at 11 p.m. and then couldn't sleep all night. ALL night. This is extremely unusual for me. I read. I lay in bed thinking. I read. I lay in bed thinking. I felt completely awake, not tired at all. I took the kids to school then came home and slept all day, waking at 4:30 p.m. When I tried to wake at 12:30 and 1:30 and 2:30 that afternoon, it was almost nauseating. I felt like I was drugged. My whole body was heavy and tingling numb. Lying back down was exstacy. And I am a sucker for that feeling of lying back down and satisfying the need to sleep more.

After that binge nap, I still was exhausted and went to sleep at 11 that night and was up at 5:30 a.m. for a few quiet hours before the kids woke up. Yet I still feel kind of shaky, slightly nauseated, and light-headed, chilled, weak. My theory is that my usual ability to fall asleep or get back to sleep easily backfires with jetlag. It's like my sleep-o-meter is so strongly set that it rebels if I mess with it.

Exhaustion is like hunger: a sickening, disorienting, undeniable, primal urge. And here we are in the midst of Ramadan, the month of fasting. I feel like I can somewhat relate.

Some major events

Last month, David and I celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary which felt just as momentous as Miles's 5th birthday. (That sounds odd. They were momentous in their own ways.) I know I'm getting old, but there's still a short list of things that have lasted in my life for 5 solid years. Next year will mark 10 years that David and I have been together(!). We had a busy weekend, but the surprise night out together was back to the bathhouse for the coed hours.

Then there's the going back to work. I'm happy to be back with SC, this time as a consultant for the action learning component of the World Bank funded regional education initiative in Lebanon and Jordan that includes various programs from building and fully furnishing kindergartens to child-led activism projects that demand less violence in schools to uniforms and schools supplies, to parenting classes and teacher training on everything. And lots more. It's huge. The money comes from aid to displaced Iraqis but reaches even more Jordanian kids. I'm coordinating the collection of key lessons learned from all these programs to present them to a larger audience and hopefully influence regional policies and future directions of funding. I'm out in December, so we're planning on a first draft package by October and a mini-conference in November.

That's the other big news that most everyone knows now but that we haven't officially announced: our move to Harare, Zimbabwe in December. We are planning to move into the existing country director's house which is lovely, but we will need to furnish it, something we haven't had to do as a family abroad yet. I kind of insisted. The house is great, and I'm looking forward to having more control over how our house feels and looks, but it is going to be an investment on all fronts. Ah, the logistics of moving. If only I'd had my job the last six months and were off these months to prepare for the big move!

Next in the news is our trip to the States in less than three weeks. It looks packed and wild and crazy, but there are 5 or so days blocked off for the beach and another 5 or so days in the mountains, all catch up time with the family. This should have been a longer trip home, but alas --it coincides with my being newly employed, and the kids will need to get back to school. Do I sound stressed? Perhaps I should do my next blog while on the beach.