Category: Travel

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People Travel

Ubuntu

car_ditchThere’s an African ethic know as ubuntu, which holds that our common humanity derives from what we share. No person is an island.

“In our culture, there is no such thing as a solitary individual,” Archbishop Desmond Tutu has said, describing ubuntu. “A person is a person through other persons.”

I experienced ubuntu firsthand on Saturday, after our Toyota Yaris became stuck in a drainage ditch while my girlfriend and I were en route to the Drakensberg mountains that line the border between South Africa and Lesotho.

The mishap occurred as I reversed the Yaris on a narrow dirt road and failed to see the ditch in time. Luckily for us, the car lodged on the ditch’s rim, which held the vehicle in place. Otherwise the vehicle could have overturned with us in it.

As we stepped out of the car and contemplated calling a tow truck, we resigned ourselves to our plans for the sunny, 70-degree day being upended by the accident. Just then, a car arrived and three Zulu guys jumped out.

They didn’t ask whether we needed help.

Instead, they sized up the situation without our having to explain anything and then filed into the ditch with the goal of pushing the car up and over the edge.

About then a second car appeared and then a third, and out poured the passengers of both vehicles. In all, we had six men ready to lend their strength to the effort. An Indian man arrived in his pickup truck. The group hatched a plan that the truck would tow while the rest of us pushed.

In what seemed like five minutes, the car was back on the road. Though the men did not ask for anything in return for their aid, I offered them some bottles of water that we had in an ice chest in the trunk.

In that instant, nine people on a road in rural South Africa came together in a community.

Ubuntu.

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Travel

The best lobster role ever?

red's_eatsImagine an entire lobster shucked, buttered and wrapped in a roll. That’s the lobster roll at Red’s Eats, a seafood shack along U.S. 1 in Wiscasset, Maine that we visited Tuesday while en route to the PopTech conference in Camden.

I am hardly a lobster roll connoisseur, but even I could tell that the one at Red’s is perfection. No mayo on that roll, which is simply meat.

That I even know this stems from some good fortune. Red’s is open every day from April through Columbus Day. A series of sunny days along the coast this fall persuaded the owners to keep the joint open until Tuesday.

In a typical season Red’s runs through about 10 tons of lobster, according to the owners, who told us that on summer days people queue for up to two hours. The traffic tie-ups that ensue have prompted the town to consider spending $100 million to build a bypass. Some locals have called for moving Red’s.

Businesspeople take note. A sign on the Red’s rear door tells its secret: “And to all of you, our customers, we owe our success.”

Still, Red’s has its skeptics. Sprague’s Lobster, a shack that sits about an eighth of a mile north of Red’s is “a better bet for everything than Red’s,” writes Christina Tree of the Boston Globe in “Maine: An Explorer’s Guide.” I’m unable to assess Tree’s take. Sprague’s already had closed for the season by the time we drove by.

As suits a finale, Red’s was down to its last claws. The owners had sold out of clams, fries and nearly everything else. Happily for me they still had enough homemade Oreo ice cream for a giant scoop

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Travel

Identity

foreignerLast Monday, I stopped by a factory in Pietermaritzburg that sells gardening boots. Leanne, one of the nice people who work there, helped me to find a pair in my size.

“Where are you from,” she asked as we chatted.

“I’m from New York,” I answered. “How did you know I’m not from here?”

“It’s your accent,” said Leeann.

My accent. Yes.

Leeann’s question resonated with me because it reminded me of my being perceived by others in KwaZulu-Natal as a foreigner, which, of course, I am here.

As it happens, the Torah last week told a story about identity. In the story, God gives Abraham and Sarah new identities, as part of God’s promise to make Abraham the leader of a great nation. Abraham’s new name reflected his new status.

Identity is with us always. Shakespeare uses mistaken identity in such plays as Cymbeline, the Comedy of Errors and Twelfth Night to create confusion and comic effect.

Around the Shabbat table on Friday, some friends and I discussed identity. What is our identity? Where does it come from?

“I was such a different person in high school,” said Kate, one of our hosts.

On Thursday, I visited a coffee bar in Durban. The manager, a Durbanite named Zane, asked me where I am from. “I’m from New York,” I said, enjoying answering the question for the second time in four days.

“Ah, yes, that’s it, I can tell by your accent,” Zane said.

For me this week, foreigner feels right.

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Travel

The Mandela capture site

mandela sculpture at capture siteOn August 5, 1962, Nelson Mandela was driving to Johannesburg from Durban when he was stopped by the police in Howick, about 20 miles northwest of Pietermaritzburg.

For Mandela, who had gone underground rather than surrender to the apartheid government that had issued a warrant for his arrest, the encounter set in motion events that led to 27 years of imprisonment. Mandela’s companion that day was Cecil Williams, a theater director and political activist who had helped Mandela move through the country without detection.

“Suddenly, in front of us, the Ford was signaling us to stop. I knew in that instant that my life on the run was over; my seventeen months of “freedom” were about to end,” Mandela wrote in his autobiography. Here’s how Mandela describes the encounter:

When our car stopped, a tall slender man with a stern expression on his face came directly over to the window on the passenger side. He was unshaven and it appeared that he had not slept in quite a while. I immediately assumed he had been waiting for us for several days. In a calm voice, he introduced himself as Sergeant Vorster of the Pietermaritzburg police and produced an arrest warrant. He asked me to identify myself. I told him my name was David Motsamayi. He nodded, and then, in a very proper way, he asked me a few questions about where I had been and where I was going. I parried these questions without giving him much information. He seemed a bit irritated and then, he said, “Ag, you’re Nelson Mandela and this is Cecil Williams, and you are under arrest!”

On Saturday, I visited the Mandela capture site, which is marked by a sculpture that consists of 50 steel columns between 21 and 31 feet tall. When viewed at a distance of about 114 feet, the columns form a flat portrait of Mandela.

The sculpture, by the South African artist Marco Cianfanelli, was dedicated last year on the 50th anniversary of Mandela’s arrest.

Beside a plaque that marks the actual spot of the arrest, people have left candles, notes and other tokens of their affection along with wishes that Mandela, who turned 95 in July and who reportedly is recovering at home in Johannesburg from a lung infection, might regain his health.

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Travel

This is Africa after all…

rhino_closeupUntil recently my chief encounter with giraffes was reading an obituary for Leo, a resident of the Central Park Zoo who died suddenly in 1946 at age 16.

Last Tuesday we visited a private game reserve about 20 minutes drive from Hilton. Zebras, giraffes, rhinos, Cape Buffalo, hippos, monkeys, ostriches and more roam freely there. Acacia trees dot the rolling plain.

The rhinos seemed to be as curious about us as we were about them.

 

 

 

 

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Travel

From the left lane…

mtn roadWhen you go somewhere you’ve never been, you have to learn how to get where you’re going.

This week I’ve been navigating the roads of Hilton, KwaZulu-Natal on my own. On Monday I drove to the gym, about 11 miles from home, down a mountain road. The mountain itself is covered with eucalyptus trees. The air smelled like burning wood.

I disregarded the GPS, which had told me to take a highway that bypasses the mountain. I always like mountain roads more than freeways, especially in a four-wheel-drive vehicle with five speeds.

Here in South Africa you drive on the left side of the road. After 10 years of living in New York City without a car, the left side of the road feels nearly as natural to me as the right.

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Travel

Arrival lounge, Tambo

Sawubona, South Africa!

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Travel

Departure lounge, JFK

Departure lounge, JFK. See you soon, South Africa!

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Travel

Going for the Goal

bee-kickingAccording to the rules of football – the game we Americans refer to as soccer – a scissors or bicycle kick is permissible provided that, in the referee’s opinion, it is not dangerous to an opponent.

I recently set out to learn about football in anticipation of relocating to South Africa. The prospect of learning a team sport that might be fun to play and provide opportunities to meet people appeals to me.

For an introduction, I turned to a friend, the Wave, a lifelong footballer and Man U fan who played goalie at New Jersey’s Lawrence High School in the early 1980s.

Together on a recent visit to Edina, Minn., we headed to a pitch at a local high school. There under a blue sky on an 85-degree afternoon, the Wave introduced me to some of the game’s basics.

We reviewed kicking with the inside the outside of the foot and trapping the ball with the chest, thighs and shins. “Let the ball settle in front of you,” the Wave instructed. “Use your body to absorb the shock of the ball.”

We passed the ball back and forth as I alternated kicking with my right and left legs. “Boobs over the ball, don’t lean back,” the Wave barked. We sat on the ground and used our arms to pass the ball to each other as if simulating tennis strokes – an analogy the Wave said would show me how to lock my ankle for kicks.

He also showed me how to locate the ball’s center of gravity by reference to the alternating five- and six-sided panels that join to form a football, which produces a satisfying “pop” when struck correctly.

We gathered in front of the goal, where the Wave showed me some of the basics of shooting. “When settling in front of the goal, keep the ball moving toward the goal, within two feet of you at all times,” he said.

From the corner of the pitch, the Wave passed me the ball repeatedly so I could get the feel of trapping the ball either briefly or, alternatively, shooting without stopping, a concept known as “no-touch.”

“Don’t chase the ball, let it come to you,” the Wave counseled.

We reviewed the rule against being offside, which means being nearer to the opponents’ goal line than both the ball and the next-to-last defender (besides the goalie). “When passing downfield, lead your teammate,” the Wave said. “Especially when you go to the corners.”

We worked on my throw-in, which refers to a way of restarting play after the ball has crossed a sideline.

We took turns dribbling the ball while playing a two-person version of keep-away. The Wave showed me how to watch my opponent’s belly button – it reveals one’s center of gravity – as a way to avoid getting faked-out by one’s opponent.

After a few shots on goal we discovered that my left leg happens to be my dominant leg. I am left-handed but had thought my right leg was the stronger appendage. “You have a natural striker’s kick,” the Wave noted. I loved the feeling of striking the ball and watching it arc slightly as it left the ground and sailed toward the net.

I felt as if I could do that all day.

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Travel

Books to Bring

booksI am in the process of deciding what books to bring to South Africa.

Here in New York I have about 140 books in all. As libraries go, mine may be small — friends seem to have many more volumes — but I love my physical books, which I reread regularly. The titles range from history and literature to politics, science fiction and spy novels.

Most of the volumes won’t make the trip. I hope to travel lightly and sending things in advance makes little sense. Once there, I will visit the library or read e-books and books my girlfriend owns.

For now, here are the titles that I’m thinking of packing:

The Elements of Style (illustrated): The Strunk and White classic, with illustrations by Maira Kalman. A reference book I love to read. The writing is wonderful, the paintings are lovely and the formatting makes the edition a joy.

Long Walk to Freedom, The Autobiography of Nelson Mandela: The head of the anti-apartheid movement, yes, but also an introspective look at the life of a great leader. I can’t put it down.

The Fun of It: Stories from The Talk of the Town: I read these pieces over and over. In an introduction to the volume, New Yorker editor David Remnick writes that “the best Talk pieces have a combustive power; they are miniatures that provide a burst of pleasure and a revelatory glimpse into some corner of life.”

The Sabbath: Abraham Joshua Heschel: A meditative and poetic look at Jewish spirituality that doubles as a tale about time travel.

Midlands, by Jonny Steinberg: My girlfriend gave me this account of a murder in the midlands of KwaZulu-Natal. A great read and insights into South Africa’s passage to democracy.

The Atlas of the Conflict: Israel-Palestine: Another gift from my girlfriend, more than 500 maps of the territorial relationship between Israel and Palestine over the past century. Assembled by an Israeli architect who aimed to present facts in a politics-free context. A visualization on paper that inspires the journalist in me, as well as a beautifully designed book.

Cesar Vallejo: The Complete Posthumous Poetry: Poems by the Peruvian poet. I’ve never read poetry so simultaneously complex and lovely. Translated from Spanish. My girlfriend and I read “Discovery of Life” to each other, quote from it, inhale it.

Financial Accounting: Introduction to Concepts, Methods and Uses, by Roman Weil, Katherine Schipper and Jennifer Francis: An essential for someone who writes about business. From the warning that precedes the preface: “Study of this book is known to cause thinking, occasionally deep thinking. Typical side effects include mild temporary anxiety followed by profound long-term understanding and satisfaction.”

One, Two, Three…Infinity, by George Gamow: Big numbers, the world of four dimensions, and whether’s it’s possible to bend space, written with whimsy and clarity. Plus illustrations by the author, including one of an ancient Roman who tries to write “one million” in Roman numerals. Also, Mathematics and the Imagination: Edward Kasner and James Newman: Numbers, chance, geometries and more — all here in a book first published in 1940 that introduced the terms “googol” and “googolplex.” Both books were gifts from a friend who showed me how much fun mathematics can be.

Slouching Towards Bethlehem, Joan Didion: I reread Didion’s essays at least twice a year. “On Self-Respect,” “On Keeping a Notebook,” “Los Angeles Notebook,” “Goodbye to All That.” Just typing this leaves me in awe of her reporting and writing.