WCCC Conference Race Report

Probably not super exciting for everyone else. But I had fun writing it (although it didn't go as I planned). Anyway, the jest of the matter is the conference was awesome! My team is awesome! Cycling is awesome! Yay bike racing!

Day 1: 16:30 All packed up and ready for battle, the remaining troops assembled and loaded into the trucks that would take us to the front lines, the final crossing, the point of no return. For some, it had been long, demanding, and brutal fight that had whittled out the strong from the weak. While others, who had joined the ranks later, had felt similar early blows from different opponents. However, they were there: together; they had made it and as the trucks pulled away from home, there was no turning back.

It was a long haul. Legs cramped, eyes blurred, and heads nodded as we followed the gray clouds into the eye of the storm. But Spencer, the only male to make it in our unit trudged on, unbeknownst to what was awaiting us. Upon reaching our quarters for the night, our fearless leaders settled matters with overly-enthusiastic nightman while Martina and I watched the car. Soon, the rest of the brigade filed in. Tired from the long drive and preparing for the battles ahead, people were quiet and slowly slipped into the respectable, mirror-filled, light-blinking rooms.

Day 2: 06:00 After a night, of stuffy-hot, restless sleeping, the first few trekked downstairs. The dark, foreboding sky lured over our heads as we fueled up on bitter, muddy coffee, stale bagels, and mushy oats. As we drove out to the Piacines, we strayed from the path in order to deter the enemy from following our tracks. The battle began promptly at 10:30 as the first of our men headed out along the road.

After a brief and frightening asthma attack, our unit headed out accompanied by my loud (obnoxious) panting for the first 10 miles. It was a smooth start: girls from other units attempted to foil our plans with their horrendous bike-handling skills but we fought on. As we slowly climbed Panoche Pass, we saw stragglers from the men’s groups laid to waste on the side of the road. We held together until mile 10 when two girls set off on an uphill attack. We chased and our group of twenty-five narrowed down to 9.

When we cut the two attackers (both from UCSD), they tried to escape again but, alas, we pulled them back into our group. The girls from Cal and I stayed on the offensive: pulling our way up the hill and amping up the pace to try and remove any free-loaders. We were unsuccessful. The horrendous pink kit could not be removed from our lines. She wouldn’t pull, she wouldn’t do work, she wouldn’t even let you back into the pace line. At the turn-around, we saw those chasing us and, I was pretty certain Martina was going to get back on. Jessica and Erika looked pretty happy as they finished the climb no longer amidst the crazy Cal riders.

It was smooth sailing until the last two kilometers when people realized the end was near. At 1 km, pink kit tried to make a move. I marked her (bad idea) and she faltered. With .4km left, the other girls charged. Legs burning, bikes blurring, we dashed across the white line with StanFUrd as the victor.

15:30 We had a problem; Danny, our only hope for victory, went down and needs to go to the hospital. So as usual, our fearless girls unit (plus Spencer minus me) are called into action. From what I gather, it was a long ER visit. In the San Benito Hospital, x-rays were taken, wounds were stitched up, x-rays were looked at, and wounds were unstitched and restitched taking a total of 7 hours. (side note: Kings won just for Danny!)

Day 3  06:00 The day started the same but without the long drive. The clouds were ominous and looking as though they were ready to bust. On trainers, we strategized and prepared for the 5-corner, flat criterium. Twenty-five women, the largest group so far this year, would start the race. It was fast. From the beginning, Cal’s giant squad made attack after attack. Martina, with her experience, pursued and commanded pursuit of the girls. But alas, the inability to corner by some of the girls and having the horrible luck of getting stuck behind them, pushed some of us to the back. Martina held strong. Pink attacked and Martina was on it. One lap to go, she was right there. 200 meters, Martina was not faltering…. VICTORY!!!

Grocery Store Rant

Every day I wake up thankful to be from California. It's an amazing state! (Besides some political issues which we won't get into today.) There's not very many other places where people are so friendly, the food is fresh and local (for the most part), the weather is gorgeous, and you can train outdoors year round! Not to mention the fact that I am a college student living 3 blocks from the Santa Barbara coast! 

So then, what's the problem. Life is paradise right? Well, essentially, except I went somewhere this weekend that really bothered me. While in Irvine, for a cycling race, we visited our fair-share of grocery stores. Because, as hungry and active college students, our minds think about two things: bikes and food. We went into the typical grocery stores, Albertsons and Whole Foods, which you take for what they are. They don't hide anything or pretend to be anything they're not. Albertsons is sterile and white and uninviting and Whole Foods is pretentious, yuppy, and healthy. 

But then we went to one more: Henry's Farmers Market. Because registration for our individual time trial race was stationed in the parking lot of the strip mall, food shopping was unavoidable. However, we originally just went into the market to use the restroom and change into our kits. Upon first entering, I was so excited! Bulk bins, produce, produce, and produce! It looked like my ideal kind of market. I was stoked for lunch and thought this would be a healthy alternative to whatever else was around. In the hour leading up to my race, all I could think about was food (I was getting kind of hungry). While I raced, I thought about not keeling over and killing the race (I placed third). But after I finished, my thoughts immediately returned to, guess what, food! 

Exhausted, hungry, and thirsty, my teammates and I ventured again into the market. This time, however, with one goal: buy lunch. As a fruit and veggies lover, I was immediately attracted to a giant display of strawberries (score!). Everything looked, as the name implied with farmers market, organic. However, I was sorely mistaken. The strawberries, although cheap, were not organic. They didn't even look fresh. I had to pick through to find some that looked descent. In fact, the organic produce section was small and depressing. So, against my better judgement I settled on the conventional strawberries. Turns out, it was a bad investment; they tasted like cardboard. 

I then ventured around the rest of the store with the hopes of finding a good salad bar or at least some sort of prepared salad. No such luck. Almost everything was conventional. In fact, what really took the cake was the fact that the deli case had a broccoli salad made with (you guessed it) HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP! Really now, this is supposed to be fresh salad and you put HFCS in it! Are you joking me! My hopes for lunch were ruined! I couldn't believe it! What kind of store puts HFCS in deli case salads? Shame on Henry's Farmers Market. 

So today, after our criterium, I was amazingly happy to step into the giant pretentious Whole Foods. No HFCS anywhere to be found. Not to mention that its salad bar was completely organic! So even though I'm still mad at Whole Foods for giving in to GMO's they're the best alternative as far as main stream market's go. Of course, I will pick coops and independents whenever possible, but it's not always an option. 

I don't mean to preach, and I'm not going to start lecturing about the need to change the food system right now. However, I just really was depressed how misleading that supermarket was. Well done America, you are amazing at false-marketing. Anyway, the important thing is: be smart with your food choices. Know what you are buying because, remember, you are what you eat. 

Scribbles on Paper

I go through phases. Sometimes, all I want to do is write and sometimes, the last thing I want to do is write. Most of the time, however, it's not because I don't like writing or I don't have something to say, but because I don't know how to write my thoughts. I'll start the dialogue in my head of what I want to say and grab a pen and paper to start writing and then you know what happens?
.
..
...
....
Absolutely nothing! I stare and stare and stare at the paper thinking that if I look long enough, something will magically appear. But alas my inability to write leaves the page blank. I question if anything I am thinking is worth writing down and if so, can what I write actually convey the true message? So I stop and let my thoughts get all jumbled in my mind.

I love writing, it's a great release from every day life. If you know me, you know I have issues conveying myself through spoken words. Writing, however, is the opposite (at least when I can convince myself to write). I can create a steady, coherent stream of thought instead of just a puddle of random ideas.

So I guess, I'm going to use this space to make a promise to myself. It won't be as dedicated of a promosie as others who have done the same thing but it will be enough for me. So here it is: starting today, the 12 of April 2011, I will write at least once a week. Meaning that, since today is Tuesday, I have to have a new post written each week by Tuesday 8 p.m.

There it's out. No turning back.

Santa Barbara Thus Far...

Three years, one month, and fifteen days ago, I entered college. A frightened, excited, nervous, freshman, I said so-long to my parents and opened a new door. My dorm door. Brown, wooden, heavy: it slammed whenever someone closed it. I spent countless nights staring at that door. Worrying, stressing, crying over friends, boyfriends, grades. The stupid little red markings on the tops of papers and tests that I was convinced predicted my entire future. Where I was going, if I was going to succeed, how I was going to become successful if I got a B- in math 34a. 

That door became my Great Wall of China. It kept me safe and secure inside the eleven by thirteen box of a room. When a man with a gun came into my building, my door secured my safety. When numerous nights blurred through my tear-soaked eyes, that door hid my sorrow from the world. Its sanctity left me free to explore my own thoughts.

When my freshman year finally came to an end, I escaped through that door like a sky diver jumping out of a plane. No regrets, no turning back. I was done. Over. Finished. I was moving on. Liberating myself from the confines of that giant wooden door. Escape didn't come easy, however, that door followed me. Reminding me of the sadness that filled my heart. I heard it slam, as I said goodbye to my first love, with a gut-retching BANG symbolizing the end. 

Or beginning-- as it followed me to my first apartment. A small, wooden cabin complete with mold in the shower and a draft under the door. Fresh air for freedom, for life. It was my time to shine: to break free. Or so I thought. But again, that heavy, hideous door held me in. I bundled in my blankets in fear of letting the cold, bitter wind sting my face. 

Like a bear, I hibernated all winter. Too afraid to show my cookie-dough filled belly and my blotchy cheeks to the outside world. I waited and waited and waited...I counted down the days until summer--April, May-- June just never seemed to come. Like the warmth brought by the first light after a frost-bitten night, summer meant the start of something new and I yearned to shed my winter coat. 

Beginnings? I didn't care. I needed a revival: a rebirth. I couldn't stand the door holding me in any longer. My legs longed for the outdoors and to stride across the dusty, tarred California road. I ran: as fast as I could run, I ran. I leaped through a new, open door and into tomorrow. It wasn't cold: it wasn't dark: it wasn't lonely. I wouldn't let it. I couldn't. I fought it. With sweat and laughs and smiles I broke down that wall. Slammed the door on itself and ran away. Through fields, over hills, and across streams, I ran.

My legs carried me to Berkeley: a drastic change from the flat, dirty square-mile of Isla Vista that I had refused to call home for two years.  After countless interviews and nights slept on my future boyfriend's couch (in order to avoid sleeping in a shared apartment with a thirty-year old creep), I found my new home. It was an eight story apartment complete with three Norwegians. Within five minutes, I felt more comfortable there than I ever did in my drafty cabin. The smell of fresh white paint and the new IKEA furniture, that should have felt so sterile, were a sharp contrast to the warmth and happiness emitted from the Norwegians. No more heavy, wooden doors: there wasn't a door in the world that could block out their sun. 

I was happy. My rejuvenated legs carried me through the Berkeley hills. With new friends and a new love, I conquered my world. My legs became stronger and my heart became warmer. I was liberated. Free to pick thirty pounds of peaches on a delightful Davis day. Free to ride my new road bike the forty miles between Petaluma and Point Reyes Station. The door was open.

The rest of that year flew, with the speed of a lear jet, twelve thousand miles away to South Africa. I broke all ties to my California life and jumped feet first off a forty-five foot cliff into a rushing African river. For my six month stay, I ran, I biked, I climbed-- my cockroach infested room could not keep me at bay. Though a piece of my heart was left in Berkeley, my head was light and my smile glimmered against the blue African sky. A sky so big that all I wanted to do was explore. 

And I did. And I have. Everything. Everywhere I could. South Africa, France, England, Germany. Side my side with my best friend, we wreaked havoc across the continents. Biking, running, jumping: we were unstoppable. 

When I finally returned to California in July, I was eager to begin my senior year at UCSB. I had learned and I had grown. I was going to face my wooden door. I was going to defeat it. I was strong. Two triathlons and a 175 mile bike ride proved to me that I could hold my own. When I walked through the white door that hid my new house, I immediately knew this year was going to be different. I was overwhelmed with bright colors, not just from the walls that were freshly painted pink, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple, but also from my housemates whose each  unique style and flare perfectly complemented each other.

I had found it. The peaceful, easy feeling I had been searching for throughout my entire college career. For the first time while living in Santa Barbara, I feel like I am home. No more hiding under blankets in a dark, damp apartment.  No more tears, save for tears of joy. I was free: a 13.1 mile run in a Half Ironman Relay in Vegas and a super sprint triathlon around the UCSB campus wearing nothing more than my high school, varsity swimsuit and a smile. 

...No more doors.

2 Months Back

I've been meaning to write this post for 2 months; since the 26th of June when I arrived at LAX tired from traveling, excited to see my family, and  relieved that almost everything on the trip went perfectly. I say almost because I had one major catastrophe.

The 50 kilogram bag that I was carting around was stolen in Cape Town. The morning Jeff and I were supposed to be headed to Europe, we walked out to our rental car, which was unassumingly parked in the hostel parking lot, only to discover the back window punched in and my bag gone. Wonderful right? What was supposed to be a fun morning hiking up Table Mountain turned into a stressful, tear-filled morning of filling out police reports and realizing what I no longer had.

However, as terrible as having five months of memories and possessions stolen from me, the experience really wasn't that bad. Jeff and I ended up sampling all the coffee shops in the Cape Town airport, which at least gave me a much needed caffeine buzz to make it through the day. Not to mention, that Jeff somehow weaseled our way into a first class lounge which was a lot more comfortable place to spend the last 3 hours in the airport. Plus, on the bright side, I no longer had to cart a giant bag around the streets of Paris, London, and Cologne.

France, England, and Germany went by in no time and before I knew it, I was on Air Tahiti Nui heading back to California...

As much as I loved South Africa (and am longing to return), it is great to be back in California. Six months abroad has made me appreciate California and the US so much more than I could have ever imagined. It has also made me more humble and more conscious of all the injustices and issues around the world. I will have to expand more on that at some later time, however, those who have seen me since I've been home have heard my two cents regarding that matter.

Since I've been home, I've been eating and cooking a lot (thank goodness for all the choices of food available and California), cycling, running, and swimming a lot (I completed my first triathlon last week), and stressing out over the fact that I graduate from UCSB in 9 months!

But C'est le vie! I have to enjoy the end of my undergrad experience right? 

I'll write more later, but for now, I'm supposed to dash into the city to sample some vegan Mexican food!

Cheers!

3 weeks turned into 2

I leave Pietermartizburg in 2 weeks. 14 days and my study abroad venture at University of Kwa-Zulu Natal comes to an end. It’s difficult for me to fathom that after a term at Berkeley, and a term at UKZN, I’m fourexams away from ending my year long hiatus and returning to being a student at UC Santa Barbara. In fact, I've already picked classes for fall quarter. And I have already chosen my living situation for my senior year.

I’m so happy I chose to study abroad in South Africa and especially Pietermaritzburg. It has been such an eye-opening and humbling experience. Considering my limitations in languages and my desire to participate in an immersion program, I don’t think there are many other places I could have gone to experience such a unique cultural experience. I think I have said it before, but South Africa is so diverse and so divided. It has so many good and bad qualities associated with the fact that devastating political, social, and racial turmoil exists.

Before I came, I had the idea that the World Cup was going to have such beneficial affects for the citizens of South Africa. In actuality, it has not benefited the local population at all. Millions of dollars have been allocated to building new stadiums and increasing tourism, however, nothing has been spent to improve the quality of living for the nation’s citizens. The country is littered with filth from people unconcerned with the environment or the future. Half of the time that I have been in Pietermaritzburg the municipality has been on strike: meaning that trash is not collected or if it is, the city does not have enough money to bring it to the large land-fills and instead, just burns all the small dump sites. Therefore, not only is the air filled with smog from heavily polluting vehicles, it is also filled with the fumes and smoke from burning garbage.

Not to mention that recent political and social events have heavily increased the racial tensions among the population. Honestly though, the racism is just making the situation about ten times worse. I hear people talk and use derogatory terms and racist comments like it’s as normal as commenting on the weather. I don’t think I go a day without feeling offended people of the ignorance and disrespect towards one another that people though. So many people complain that the root of the problems in South Africa are based on lack of education, however, by using racial slurs, no matter the circumstance, it’s just proving that the ‘educated’ are just as ignorant as they people they are degrading. It just makes me so sad and so angry that there are still such social injustices and inequalities here…

However, at don’t mean to rant about that right now. I would more like to talk about the fact that I’m really going to miss South Africa once I leave. For all its problems and issues, it really is a beautiful place. The landscape and the scenery are amazing; I only wish I had more time (and more money) to explore them. I would have loved to visit Botswana and Namibia- actually, I would have loved to have visited every other country. Not to mention, it would have been so nice to work on archaeology here. I could honestly see myself coming back in a couple years in order to go to grad school or to work here. South Africa has so much history and culture that’s not only apparent in the people but also in the environment. Five months in this country, on this continent, is in no way long enough for me to be here. I know I will come back.

3 weeks left in Pietermaritzburg

shoot! I wrote something up last night to put on here because I know I've been horribly slacking the past month. However, I saved it on my laptop instead of my flashdrive. Therefore, I'll post it next time I get on the internet. I'm sorry! I really meant to put something up!

Planes, Flames, and Hadedas

I'm sorry, in the chaos that is this semester and life in Africa, I have been completely neglecting my blog. It's not that I don't want to write on it, it's just trying to find the time. My life is going in ten different directions at once. What have I been doing you ask? Well, school (so papers, projects, reports, and the like); field trips (I saw a bush baby!!), climbing; running; baking (finally); and all other shinanigans that are associated with Africa. This afternoon, I am going up to Underburg in the Drakensburgs with a few friends, Iain, Jeninne, Tracy, Haden, and Matt. If the weather holds up, which it doesn't look like it's going to, I'm supposed to fly up with Iain and Jeninne in Iain's father's tri-pacer. If not I'll drive up but I really hope the weather holds up.

Iain took me flying last week as well. It was so much fun to get back into the air! The plane is so cool too because it was made in the 1950s and is as basic as they come. I think it cruises around 100 knots and it flies very similarily to a Cessna 152. However, the cool thing about the tri-pacer is that it is canvas. I sat co-pilot and its a bench seat so in order for me to fly, I had to prop myself up off  the back of the seat. The only problem with the day we flew was that it was really smokey. Because winter is the dry season here, they burn fire breaks during the fall in order to control the fires in the winter. Therefore, the last couple weeks have been super smokey. But C'est le vie! I still was able to fly so I'm happy!

The friends I have made from South Africa, aforementioned above, are all really outdoorsy and into sports such as white water kayaking, climbing, hiking, dirt biking, etc. Plus this is Africa, so everyone seems to own a gun (my favorite right). Anyway, there are these really annoying birds, Hadedas, that used to be protected but are now as common as pigeons and seagulls in the US. But these things are soo annoying! They have the most horrendous call you can imagine! So I'm not a fan. Anyway, the guys were joking around about how I had to shoot a Hadeda before I left. No I didn't shoot one. But Matt brought over his pellet guns and shot empty soda bottles with those for a while. They thought they were really funny too and made me pose with the guns in order to show my dad. I think it's quite ridiculous but  o well.

Anyway, I'm off. Time to start being productive with this day!!

T.I.A. This is Africa

HELLO WORLD!!

It’s been too long.

I know, I know, it’s completely my fault. But to be fair, I’ve been really busy. So I’m just writing on Africa time (see, I eventually knew I would get around to it). The past few weeks have been completely crazy. Weekend Excursions, Midterms, Easter Break, My 21st Birthday. I finally used the internet yesterday for the first time in nearly two weeks and opened my email to 250+ messages in my inbox. I was quite afraid! Oh, and, I hit the half way point for my term in Africa. Actually, that makes me kind of sad, so I won’t talk about that again.

I don’t even know where to start at the moment. I don’t think I’m going to write a lot with the post either. There’s just so so so much to cover. Instead, I’ll just post a bunch of pictures.

The first set of pictures is from a weekend up in the Drakensburg Mountains. My camera battery died half way through the trip so I wasn’t able to take as many as I would have liked. But the mountains were beautiful. We did a canopy tour, I finally saw baboons, we attempted to watch the sunrise (but it was cloudy), and we went on a horseback ride to Sans Bushmen paintings.

And then I had midterms, papers and all that fun stuff intermixed with thunderstorms, climbing, paddling (i.e. unsuccessfully trying to learn to Eskimo roll in a pool), learning to ride a dirt bike, and exploring PMB.

And now, drum roll please…..
…
…
…

EASTER BREAK! Cape Town and traveling up the N2 through the Eastern Cape, the Garden Route, the Wild Coast, and the Transkei.

The pictures basically speak for themselves but…

We found a delicious farmer’s market where I ate warthog and ostrich,

We went cage diving in Gansbaai with great white sharks,

We went on a wine tour around Paarl and Stellenboch in order to become wine snobs,

We hiked Table Mountain, in a cloud with 30knot winds,

We drove to Mossel Bay, where we split into 2 groups and I went to Addo Elephant Reserve,
We saw elephants, lions, hyenas, tortoises, vervet monkeys (which chased us from our safari tent), and so much more at Addo,

We drove to Chinsta for dune climbing, sundowners, and what we’re calling “Girls Gone Wild on the Wild Coast”,

And finally,


We drove the most horrendous 80km potholed road to Coffee Bay (where we nearly zigzagged our way through potholes while attempting to not get ran off the road by taxis) (I actually started hyperventilated while driving at one point), hiked 12km in rain and wind, over cliffs with goats and cows, to Hole in the Wall, and celebrated my twenty first birthday African style (yes, with war paint).

But just fyi, we are celebrating my twenty-first California style when I get back in June!!

Core Sampling

Do you remember that song from girl scouts? It went:

“Black socks they never get dirty

The longer you wear them the blacker they get

Some day I think I should launder them

But something keeps telling me don’t do it yet”

Well, my question is what if white socks turn black? Do they fall into that category have never getting dirty, especially if there is no chance of them ever turning white again? The socks I wore today turned black. I don’t think I will ever be able to get them white, especially considering I’m not due to do wash for another week or so. Okay, white socks turned black: this sounds really gross so I think I must explain.

Although I’m really happy to be studying at UKZN Pietermaritzburg, I don’t like how the school doesn’t have an anthropology or archaeology program. Therefore, a few weeks back, I asked my biogeography professor if he knew anyone local who studied archaeology so I could do something pertaining to my major while I was here. When I told him I studied paleoethnobotany, he replied that his lab was a paleogeography lab using pollen analysis to study past environmental change. Perfect! Although I’ve never done pollen analysis, it is a method used in Pbot which is usually associated with various other botanical analysis techniques. He then proceeded to introduce me to the graduate students in his lab who told me that when they went to the field, I could come along.

Pollen analysis is fairly difficult because preservation, especially in the tropics, is a big issue. In order to find decent, well preserved specimens, it’s necessary to find sediments where 40,000 year old sediments can remain intact. In the tropics, the best place to do this is in wetlands and bogs associated with indigenous forests. Therefore today, I accompanied my professor, a post-doc student, and 3 master students to Kar kloof National Reserve, 1600 meters in elevation, to take core samples of a wetland.

The drive up to the site was beautiful. There were dozens of raptors (buzzards, eagles, and falcons) along the side of the road, cranes with 2 meter wing spans, and at one point, we spotted about half a dozen somenga monkeys swinging through the trees. After off roading it for a good half hour, we finally reached out field site, which was a wetland situated on ranchland beneath 2000 meter high mountains.

I was told to wear old clothes and shoes I wouldn’t mind getting muddy. The problem, however, is my wardrobe is very small and I didn’t bring any old clothes with me. Thus, I had to wear my only pair of normal sneakers, my soccer pants, and a shirt that already has mud stains. We packed up the gear needed for sampling and trekked out into the field. After about 4 minutes of walking carefully through thigh high grass, my shoes and socks were soaked through since I was sinking up to my ankles in floating vegetation and sediment. For about an hour we carried on like this: tramping around through the wetland looking for bouncy ground where we would then proceed stick a rod in to see how deep the sediment was. The ideal sediment is black, mushy, and wet. However, we kept coming up with samples of clay and regolith, which are whitish, grainy, and amazingly difficult to get through.

When we finally selected the sampling site, we started the actual coring process. For those of you unfamiliar with coring, the process involves sticking a metal rod, with a shovel like device attached to the end in alternating holes, 10cm apart allowing you to collect sediment at given depths. Sounds simple right? Wrong! The first couple samples may be, when the corer is only plunged 48 or so centimeters, but when you start trying to take samples at 200cm, in very firm regolith, you get 2 grown men plus 2 or 3 grown women hanging on this thing. It’s quite a site, especially since everyone is covered in mud. We did this whole survey/coring process for 8 hours. By the end of it, we were so exhausted and sunburned that we were covering ourselves in war paint and having sediment fights. Good times.

Even though this sounds like strenuous and exhausting work, it was actually really fun and really interesting. It was cool to get out in the field and be able to work on a project with graduate students. Everyone that I went with is really intelligent and total bio nerds, which meant that I learned about all the flora and fauna in the area. They told me that whenever they go into the field, I am more than welcome to come along, and, not to mention, they offered to show me around different areas in the Drakensburg Mountains, such as baboon rock and the areas with Sans Bushmen paintings.

Plus, I really like making relationships and connections with people here. I really love all of the Americans (and Frenchies) that I have been hanging out with, but it’s nice to meet locals who are familiar with the land and willing to show me around.

On a side note, Friday night we had a Mexican/French feast! I made tortillas from scratch, with the help of a girl from Berkeley who knew what she was doing, and which turned more into tostadas because they weren’t flat enough. We made fried rice, chicken, salsa, and guacamole. Delicious! I ate enough to feed a small village. Then, to top it all off, the Frenchies made crepes dressed with sugar and lemon juice. So good! Best meal, by far, we have made since being here.

Protests

I’m skipping classes today. I’m a horrible student, I know.

Actually, this isn’t my choice; I was planning on going to classes, especially since I have a 3 hour practical today. The problem is that UKZN is having a protest today. A protest of what, this link will give you the rundown.

I went to the computer lan around 0800 to work on some assignments. As I walked over to the lan, located on Old Main campus, I noticed students congregating on the grass, surrounded by Risk Management Services, in front of the Old Clocktower Building. It was a small group so I didn’t think anything of it. Around 1000, my friend sent me a SMS stating that I shouldn’t go to class or be in major campus buildings because the protest was going to get violent. Protests by the ANC or the young communist league are conducted here everywhere and usually last a few days. The first day is fairly calm and then they usually escalate to levels where classrooms are stormed, tables are thrown, and two years ago, the police used rubber bullets to ward off the mob of protestors. So, I quickly decided to get off of campus in order to avoid being part of the fiasco, and detoured only to ask my instructor if I could make up the prac. Her only advice to me was stay away from the protest, which I am happily doing.

As I walked off campus to meet up with the girls at the bakery, down the street from campus, I began to notice the numerous police cars stationed around campus. Here is where it becomes interesting. Some of the girls had class this morning on New Arts and were quickly told to evacuate. Apparently, there was a bomb threat and students were becoming a bit rowdy and were using pepper spray and tear gas in some of the classrooms. RMS was there sorting it out and turning students away from New Arts campus so hopefully its under control by now. Chemistry, agriculture, and a few other lectures also had incidents of paper spray and a few of my friends, who are locals, got nailed pretty badly. Although a number of classes have been cancelled and a number of students refused to go to school today, the overall atmosphere of the campus is fairly at ease. As my lecturer said when I told her I was advised to miss class, they are used to this here; ordeals like this are a normal occurrence. Can you imagine?

I know Berkeley had an incident last week that turned a little violent, and my freshman year at Santa Barbara our anti-war demonstration turned into a disrespectful crashing of a meeting between military officials and UC leaders, however I’ve never been anywhere where I’ve actually felt afraid for my life.

I don’t understand the need for violent protests. I am all for peaceful protests and using public demonstrations to express injustices and displeasures, however, when they turn aggressive I feel that it sends the wrong message. For me, I’m not going to respect people who are causing harm to others or property. It sends the wrong message because it’s almost inviting the other side to fight back which only angers more people. Communication, speech, is so much more powerful than violence. It shows that the protestors are educated, they understand what they are fighting for, or against, and they are willing to settle their differences with the other side in an orderly and civilized manner.

It’s disheartening for me to hear about public protests that end in violence. It’s a sign that we are failing as a society resolve our differences through respect for each other. Hasn’t history taught us anything? Hasn’t this current military action show us nothing? Nothing gets resolved by violence. The issues will still persist; they just become covered up by the fact that one side will always have bigger and more powerful weapons. I want to believe that humans are innately good; I want to believe that peace is possible. However, things like today’s protest and the protest last week in Berkeley only work to remind me how uncivilized and destructive humans are.

Maybe, the protest of the UCs will be better. I guess I’ll find soon enough.

Rock Climbing at Umgeni Nature Reserve

South Africa will never cease to amaze me, amidst the giant sky, the rolling green hills, and the vibrant culture, lies these amazing jewels of nature where you are literally thrown in the bush (or ungracefully trip over a rock into a bush). Umgeni Valley Nature Reserve is situated 30 minutes outside Pietermaritzburg but feels like a world of its own.

Similar to most reserves in SA, Umgeni is home to karoo, wildabeests, zebra, and other antelope species that can be spotted from their grazing points in the grasslands or trying to hide under the shrubs. The trails throughout the park are little more than 30cm wide dirt paths overgrown by ferns, trees, and the delicately hanging (huge) spider.

To get to where we were climbing, we treked one of these overgrown paths winding along the side of a deep valley for about 3km. Not thinking, of course, I wore sandels and was flopping about everywhere. Actually, for the most part I was barefoot which made traction on the rocks a lot easier.

When we finally reached the climbing area, there were 15-20meter sandstone cliffs jutting out of the mountain. Beautiful: the views from the routes were amazing!

The people I went with are all reallly good climbers and climb about 5.13a (29 on the SA scale). It was fun to watch them dance up these routes but really intimidating considering I am no where near their levels. They provided my friend Jared and I with a rope and a rack for lead climbing, gave me a quick run down of how to lead and how to clean (take the equipment off the rock when you're done with a route) and we were off. Leading is so different than tope roping. It's kind of anerving because the falls are a little harder and you have to clip yourself in as you go up. So, if you don't have a good hold when you go to clip in, you fall a good 1 or 2 meters. My falls weren't bad. They were right after I clipped in on a 21 (5.10d YDS) and I just bounced gracefully off the rock. Stupid finger crimps and smears; couldn't find a good hold within my reach! But it all worked out so I can't complain. I even cleaned the routes, which was kind of scarry because you basically, attack yourself to the bolts and detach yourself from the rope at the top of the route, pull the rope through  the chains, reattach yourself to the rope, and then take all the equipment off the wall as your repel down.

So count for the day

Spider bites- 3?

Mosquito bites- a million

Ticks wiped off (hopefully no bites)- 2

Lead Climbs- 5

Cleaning-2

Animals- Lots

Howick Falls- beautiful

Plus, a night out with the girls and good Thai food!

All around good day!

Love you and miss you!!

East Meets West

Driving around in the minibuses is the only way to go. If you want to experience South Africa this is how you do it. Don’t rent a car, don’t take a cab, take a taxi. A taxi, or minibus, is a fourteen passenger van that has a designated route, similar to a bus, but has no set schedule and will only leave when the taxi is filled. Therefore, on 30 degree Celsius days, you can be waiting in the back of a taxi, sweating like crazy, for a good twenty minutes for enough people to fill it up. But you see all sorts of African people, ranging from old women carrying parcels filled with unrecognizable things, to little babies sitting on their mother’s laps and bobbing up and down every time a bump is hit. White South Africans do not take minibuses. You tell them you’re going to take a minibus and they look at you like you’re crazy. Of course, the drivers aren’t the best in the world and the situation isn’t ideal, but you’re experiencing South Africa in the best way possible. There’s no need to worry about sticking out like a sore thumb because, trust me, there is no way of getting around that. You might as well stamp USA or tourist on your forehead because people are able to spot you out for miles to come.

Durban is a cosmopolitan haven. It is where east meets west, rural meets urban, and city meets sea. It is such a mish-mosh of culture, history, and life. Driving around the city, you are surrounded by twenty story high rises and industrial buildings. Yet, next to these concrete monsters stands gold encrusted mosques, Hindu temples, and Victorian houses. For a moment, you’ll forget you’re in Africa. The bustling streets, the buzzing sound of construction, and the tall buildings will remind you of San Francisco, New York, or whatever city you prefer. But then you’ll see the people, you’ll see the decrepit walls of old buildings, and the thousands of minibuses and you’ll come back to reality.

Durban is a city in its own league. When you think of cities, you think of fast paced environments where everyone is going at a hundred kilometers an hours. In Durban, the scorching African sun slows things down. People leisurely stroll down the streets eating bunny chow, hollowed out bread with curry, or precariously balancing their days’ purchases on their heads. The architecture is beautiful in its own right. As far as being aesthetically pleasing, Durban buildings would rate very low. The scaffolding is falling down and dirt is everywhere, yet the concrete chunks fallen on the sidewalks and griminess has its own appeal and flare. It’s a reminder that you are in South Africa; that you are in a country whose history is ridden with political and social turmoil and that is slowly building up and developing.

Parts of the town, such as Victoria St., feel like San Francisco’s Chinatown where all the stores are selling knockoff clothing, CDs, fabrics, or whatever else you desire. Other parts, like the Victoria St. Market, feel like your walking through an Indian bazaar where spices, curios, jewelry, and bartering are the name of the game. However, walk 100 meters further and you’re reminded you are in South Africa and Zulu territory. And try as you might to not stand out, two American girls walking through a corridor filled with herbs, medicinal plants, animal bones, and dead hanging birds will always draw attention. Flour sacks filled with unidentifiable woods and plants and men sitting in shacks selling the filthiest, dead birds I have ever seen in my life, has a way of bringing the biggest, hidden smile to my face.

Although Durban is a lot livelier, I am very happy to be living in Pietermaritzburg. Maritzburg is a sleepy town but one in which I feel relatively safe. During the day, I can walk around by myself or go on early morning runs and know that as long as I stay close to university, I will be okay. Of course, I don’t walk around at night by myself (except within the confines of the gated campus), but I have a little more freedom than I would in a big city. Durban is home to 3.5 million people, a third of all the people living in KwaZulu-Natal province. Even though, I did not feel intimidated or scared walking around Durban this weekend, I did have to be hyper-aware of my surroundings. I tried to blend in as much as a could, which isn’t much considering I was taking minibuses and walking around completely Zulu neighborhoods, but I would never have walked alone. No one bothered us as we walked around, besides men yelling ‘hello’ at us, but we were way out of place. It almost makes me sad that such a beautiful country still has a long way to go. However, it’s getting there…slowly.

** The photos are courtesy of Mel because I didn't bring my camera to Durban. These last 2 are from the botanical gardens where there were amazing cycads!! The photo of the right is of a banyan tree... basically it looks upside down.