A flourishing social calendar....

I have officially moved into my new flat. Me oh my, do I love this place. These few pictures don’t do it justice. I can’t decide what my favorite part about it is. The fact that my roommate and I each have our own bathrooms, the washing machine, the oven/microwave oven/TRUE microwave all-in-one (these South Africans really love their combined kitchen appliances) or the view of the famous Durban stadium that hosted so many World Cup Games set against the blue of the ocean. It’s just wonderful. Now if only the telephone and internet companies could get their act together and stop telling me it may take months to get my internet installed….

Last Friday was a holiday here in South Africa so we had a three-day weekend. I swear I’m trying to work hard, but this country seems to want to let me take it easy. So instead of work, the people I work with (i.e. the pediatric infectious disease department) decided to organize a dinner at one of the doctor’s homes to welcome me to Durban. See what I mean about friendly? It was to be a potluck affair so I made plans with Saj, one of my co-workers who has quickly become one of my best friends here, to go over to her mother’s house and help her mother cook something for our dinner. As I pulled into her driveway, Saj and both her parents came out to greet me and welcome me to their home. Over the course of the afternoon, Saj’s mom fed me numerous times, Saj’s father took my car out to get washed and best of all, Saj decided to dress me in some of her old formal Indian clothing that she no longer wears since she’s adopted a burkah. After a full day of delicious Indian food and wearing this gorgeous beaded gown, I felt like a true Indian princess.

The rest of the weekend, I spent exploring and doing more to make Durban my home. I have to say, having a dependable car and Garmin do make exploring this city on my own quite easy and enjoyable. Who’s Garmin, you ask? Garmin is my newest electroniclove: my lovely GPS loaded with South African maps. Over the past week since I’ve been driving, Garmin and I have become acquainted and are becoming steadfast friends. We’ve had communication problems, much like any couple does after the initial honeymoon period passes—“I haven’t turned yet, you stupid machine! Don’t re-calculate! Argh, why can’t you just be patient! I’m trying to do as you say!”—but, slowly we’ve begun to understand each other. Although it occasionally still thinks I haven’t followed its instructions, Garmin always gets me where I’m going and for that I trust it with my life. (Quite literally…after all, Garmin is what finds my way home after dark when all the Durban streets begin to look alike to me.) Over the past few days, I’ve become emboldened enough to turn the little machine off and find my way home on my own, for it has become my mantra that driving without the GPS and getting lost is the only way for me to learn these streets. (For the worriers out there, don’t worry, I only allow myself to get lost during daylight). However, for any new exploration or destination, Garmin is there for me, like the best of friends. And for those of you wondering whether I came up with the name “Garmin,” alas, no. This inanimate object came with its own name.

What other updates? Ah yes, I joined a gym and wow, does it put my old New York gym to shame. Which is saying a lot because my NY gym was pretty nice. But this one, which is costing me a literal third of the price, is just so much snazzier. For one thing, it has a heated pool. Non-public pool access is as much a commodity here as it is in Manhattan. However, it also has tons of classes (my favorite!), a steam room, a health station where one can measure one’s weight, blood pressure and body fat percentage and rows and rows of machines, including the interesting “Power Plate.” The Power Plate is a vibrating exercise ball cut in half such that when you perform exercises on it, the vibrations recruit extra muscle fibers and give you twice as hard a workout. Or so I’m told. I’m feeling pretty skeptical about the physics behind this piece of equipment. Regardless, as I worked out yesterday with a trainer (I get a couple of sessions just for signing up!), I felt pretty good. Can’t wait to try out the Bollywood dance class tomorrow night.

But for now, I’m off to sleep…at 10 PM. A record early bedtime for me. The combination of being alone and not having regular internet with the added plus of not having to study has made me quite the productive person, if I do say so myself. But boy is it exhausting…zzzz...

Shall We Dance?

This post got written two days but I've had no internet at home or at work yesterday which means I've been offline for the better part of two days. C'est la vie in South Africa.

Last night, I had my very first South African date night. With my lovely co-worker and her husband. I was a true third wheel and had a blast. They had invited me to come see this dance production called “Shall We Dance” that was playing at The Royal Theater, the largest, fanciest theater house in Durban. Two hours of watching people dance everything from the foxtrot to hip-hop? Sign me up. The Sewnarains’ know how to court you, I must say. They picked me up at my door, whisked me away to theater, bought me a pre-dinner glass of wine (and intermission glass of wine) and had me laughing the whole night away. At one point, Lee’s husband turns to us and goes, “They’re dancing to Waka Waka at the end.” Lee and I instantly and in perfect harmony turn to each other and go, “Sambinamina eh eh waka waka ehhhehhh!” Complete with perfectly coordinated dance moves. (I apologize for the spelling of the lyrics…. I just sounded out the music playing in my head.) After the show, we “went for coffee.” People do this, they go for coffee after functions or at the end of the night like some people go for drinks back home. So off we went to have some cappuccinos. Despite the 11 PM caffeine, when they finally dropped me off back home, I sleepily waka waka’ed my way to bed and fell asleep instantly. I believe that is the definition of satisfaction.

I realize what I’ve been writing about has had nothing to do with work at the office and in the hospital. Well, for starters, that’s because as I mentioned previously, I did basically only a couple hours of actual work last week. But this week, I made a resolution to attack my newest research proposal with zeal. When I got to work Monday morning, however, my co-workers excitedly whispered in my ear that the boss was not coming in so we were all taking a half day and going out to a seafood lunch. Fine.by.me. The truth is, every day here feels like a half day. By 3:30 PM, there’s literally only 1-2 people left in the office. Before I had keys made, I was “forced” to leave when the last person left….every day circa 3:40 PM. Now that I have a set of keys, I can come and go when I want. Like this morning. I drove to work early so I could park as close to the guards of the medical school parking lot as possible. The parking lot is reserved for professors and high-ranked university officials. I talked my way into parking there a couple days last week, but on Friday, the guard finally told me that if I didn’t have a permit or a letter stating my permit was in process, there would be no more parking lot parking for me. Boosauce. So now, I park on the street as close to the guards as possible, smile at them sweetly as I walk past them and mutter under my breath, “If my car gets stolen, I’ll slap you.” I should probably explain why I chose the word “slap.” It’s because people here say that all the time. “You didn’t invite me out? Oh I could slap you!” or “Did you pick up the files I asked for? I’m gonna slap you if you didn’t!” I have found this hilarious from day one so I’ve decided to appropriate it. If you guys don’t keep reading my blog, I’m gonna slap each and every one of you. Teehee…just kidding.

Jokes aside, I did want to take the opportunity to inform you devoted readers that this weekend was very successful in terms of my resolutions. I woke up at 8 AM on Saturday morning. (8 AM! On a Saturday! I just had to re-write that because, knowing myself like I do, even I myself did not believe it the first time I wrote it.) In any case, I woke up at 8 to make an 8:30 Bikram yoga class, complete with a space heater in the room to create the semblance of a hothouse. An hour and a half later, I emerged a new woman. The woman who led it just played a CD of Bikram himself leading a class. (Who knew it was an actual person! Is there a woman out there named Hatha? Or maybe a Vinyasa?) and showed us the moves so we could follow Bikram as he barked out the moves. I had never been in a yoga class quite like that one. Bikram sounded like a drill sergeant. “Bend further, further, further! Push yourself! Come on now! If you feel like vomiting then you’re doing it right!” Sheesh Bikram, it’s 8 AM on a Saturday morning….you should be happy I’m even here. But all grumbling aside, it was an amazing workout and one of the best stretches I’ve ever had. The woman who led it ended our class with 15 minutes of meditation, complete with small aromatic sandbags to place over our eyes so we could block out this world entirely and completely focus on our breathing. Or in my case, focus on taking a charming little 15 minute nap.

Other resolutions accomplished this week included: Mass on Sunday and flossing two days in a row. I know you guys are proud of me.

First Adventure...

Not a very creative title, I know. But today was definitely the first of my South African adventures. My roommate (have I described him yet? Another medical student on a year off between 3^rd and 4^th year, here on a Fogarty fellowship) and I, plus a Harvard med student also here to do research for a year linked up with a cardiothoracic surgeon my roommate works with and his brother-in-law to go to an arts festival in Pietermaritzburg, a smaller city about an hour away from Durban. The surgeon had bought us tickets and refused to let us pay so how could we refuse?

Though we both now have cars, we decided my roommate would drive, especially since he’d finally gotten his car insurance squared away this very morning. (Note: This tiny detail will become very important very soon.) The adventure began when we tried to pull out from the parking lot of the hospital where we'd met up with the surgeon and his brother-in-law. We heard an awful grating sound and then, as we pulled out of the parking spot, we realized there was some piece of black plastic funnel pipe thingamajig lying on the ground that had definitely not been there when we'd first pulled into the parking spot. We quickly realized it probably was previously attached to my roommate’s car so I ran out of the car, picked it up, looked at quizzically for a second before my roommate called over to me: “Just chuck it in the backseat…we may need that.” Prophetic words.

As we drove away, we assured ourselves that the thing looked so…cheap, it was probably something pretty non-essential. Boy, were we wrong. It became clear, basically immediately, that something was wrong. The car struggled to transition from first to second gear, with a metallic gurgling sound made all the more ominous by a bad burning smell. That was the first sign we should have stopped. But we were following the other guys so we decided to just go with it and keep going, particularly because the car seemed determined to please us and eventually picked up speed.

The next bad sign was when we stopped to pay a toll and again, the poor car made the sounds and smells of a metallic animal in agony. Yet again, it persevered and we were coasting along when my roommate suddenly goes, “Ummm….the clutch is stuck to the ground…it’s not coming back up. I need to stop.” So we stopped and I kid you guys not, he literally reached down and yanked on the clutch pedal until it seemed to re-engage or something.

Now, I don’t know much (or anything) about cars, but THAT seemed like a really bad sign. I'm pretty sure at this point, all of us were silently wondering, how could that piece of plastic piping be that important and what on earth does it have to do with the clutch??? But, for the last time, we tried to keep going. Five kilometers down the road, smoke started to come out of the hood. That was the point at which all three of us medical students finally realized….this was not a good situation. Game over, please let me out of this thing.

So we pulled over and called the surgeon and his brother-in-law to double back for us, while my roommate tried to contact his insurance company. (See what I mean? Absolutely crucial timing for him finally getting insurance this very morning). After some false starts when two out of three of us ran out of airtime (aka minutes to talk on our cell phones), he managed to get in touch with the insurance company and organize for the car to be towed.

This turned out to be the best idea we had all day because by this time, not only was smoke and that terrible smell literally billowing out from the hood of the car, but a steady stream of some kind of fluid had started leaking out of the car as well. By then I had retreated a good 100 yards or so because I had lost all faith in the car’s ability to keep itself from combusting or something, so I couldn’t really tell whether the fluid was gasoline, water, antifreeze or (fill in the blank…are there other type of car fluids? Clearly not my area of expertise). Regardless, the point was it had fought the good fight and given up. I didn’t blame it. I was in fact, quite proud of it given that it had been trying to tell us to stop since….well, since the moment we started the trip.

In any case, we waited for the tow truck man who showed up an astonishingly short 30 minutes later. The guy was actually really nice so I decided to immortalize him in this blog. (Also, I wanted to take a picture of this whole business because once the hood had stopped smoking and my fear of the car literally blowing up had diminished, I suddenly decided the situation was hilarious. In retrospect, probably not my most sensitive moment given that my roommate was now sadly watching his car get towed away.)

Regardless, after that was sorted, we piled into the back of the surgeon’s sleek and brand-new (as opposed to the above-pictured 15 year old) BMW and off we were. We are clearly not the type to let a little car trouble like huge clouds of smoke, stuck clutches and burnt engine smell mess up a trip. And I'm glad we aren't because the festival itself was a lot of fun! There was live music and several plays going on throughout the night, with many food, craft and jewelry tents. And though we missed the first of the plays we had tickets to see, we did manage to make the second. It was an hour-long, one-man play about…well, that’s up to interpretation. I believe it was a play about the global economic recession and the effect on individuals’ lives. I know what you guys are thinking, "Sounds....thrilling..." But, actually the guy was brilliant. I’m very impressed with anyone who manages to keep a large audience rapt for an hour straight, but on top of that, this guy made us laugh, sometimes simply with the twitch of an eyebrow. As one of my new friends put it, the man has literally perfected every human emotion and action and conveyed it so clearly that all he needed was his own body. Clad in a set of red suspenders attached to dark pants and literally nothing else, he told an intricately symbolic yet somehow enthralling story without props, music, much lighting and sometimes without words. It was, as I said, brilliant.

Good day, I’d say all in all. My roommate might say differently since he’ll have to deal with the consequences of a broken-down car tomorrow…poor guy. Maybe I’ll bake him some pumpkin muffins when we move into the nice flat in a week.

Picture time!

The first is a picture of some of my new friends. From left to right: Adam (my roommate), Zubar (surgeon's brother-in-law) and Lindsey (the other med student on this trip).

The second picture is of a car we saw on the highway. Don't know if you can read the writing on its bumper, but it says, "URGENT BLOOD SAMPLES IN TRANSIT." What we found amusing was not only the fact that such important-sounding samples were being transported in a dinky little car, but that I was able to get this picture because the driver's idea of urgency was to go at oh, about 20 mph. On a highway with a speed limit of about 75 mph.

What.A.Week.

I just cooked myself some dinner on my MiniKitchen, had two glasses of wine and watched 2 episodes of Entourage. Since I’m seriously considering having a third glass, I’m going to stop myself by writing. In any case, I think it’s time I updated this blog.

What a week. Seriously. If I could create a pie chart of how I’ve spent my time at work, 90% of it would be called, “Getting situated” and 10% would be “actual work I’m getting paid for.” This week, I accomplished the following:

1)buying a car

2) setting up a South African bank account

3) transferring American funds into said South African bank account

4) finding a new place to live.

If you think that sounds like a lot, then I’m grateful. Because it was. Imagine doing all of those things in the States. Now imagine doing them in a foreign country where you don’t where the heck you’re going half the time or understand what people are asking for most of the time. (For those few of you who may one day find themselves moving to South Africa, take note: Getting something “commissioned” means you need it notarized. And the notary publics are at the post offices, not the banks.)

But I’m not saying this so that people feel sorry for me. I’m saying this so that you all can understand that the single only reason I got all of this done in four days is because I work with the kindest, sweetest, most GIVING people I’ve ever met. I’ve quite literally already grown to love two of the women I work with. They have been priceless to me. At not one, not two, but countless points this week, both of them put aside their large workloads for literally hours at a time to help me accomplish the short yet weighty list above. There was one time, when Lee was combing through used car ads with me while Sajeeda was busy calling dealers from her cell phone so they’d hear her accent, not mine, and not rip me off. This is an even bigger deal than it seems because cell phone minutes here are expensive. Really expensive. You can go through 20 bucks (American bucks, mind you) in two days if you’re making tons of calls through your cell phone. And yet, these women were using both their cell phones and sometimes sneaking calls on the work phone.

And I haven’t even told you about their husbands. One of their husbands picked me up from my flat every morning because I didn’t yet have a car and took me to work. And the other one, came with me and Sajeeda to look at the car, hassled the guy with questions about the car and took it for a test drive, then being the lawyer that he was, drew up legal contracts for the sale of the car and checked with his detective friends to make sure it wasn’t a stolen car. Literally hours spent on me by these four incredibly generous people. There were times, like when Sajeeda was in line with me at the bank so that my bank account opening could be expedited (it’s easier if you say you live with someone South African who has some sort of bill to prove they live at a certain address) and her husband was out waiting at the car, that I almost dissolved into tears of awe at the kindness of these people.

Ok, I know I’m a sap and need to wrap up the emotional stuff, but seriously. I cannot even convey what these people have done for me. And every time I try to thank them, all they say is, “We wish someone had done this for us (or our parents) when they first arrived in a foreign land. It is only our pleasure.” I love that. We have almost that exact expression. We say, “It’s our pleasure.” But for some reason, “It is ONLY our pleasure” makes it seem that much more earnest, that much more sincere. And it's not semantics. My new friends are that earnest, that sincere.

Anyways, the point is I now am the owner of a ’97 green BMW. BMWs are considered super safe to own here because when they're used, they're pretty cheap (I still can't believe how little I paid), they're hard to steal and this one is an automatic so it's less appealing to those who favor manual cars. Or so my friends tell me. (Joke's on them because I looooove BMWs!) It is my first car purchase ever and it is exciting as all hell. I already love it and have decided to name her Lily. (I do this. I name inanimate objects. When I was sitting in Johannesburg during my 2-hour layover on my way here, feeling tinges of loneliness and downright terror, all I had were my two suitcases. I remember looking down at them and thinking to myself, “it’s just me and you, Simon...Lulu. Just me and you.” Don’t ask me why those names, they just came to me. I know, super weird. I’m almost embarrassed as I type this, but hey, you all still love me right? Right?) In any case, I’ll take a picture of Lily as soon as I can and post it.

Aaaand, I have a south African bank account! No more huge percent charges whenever I withdraw cash or use my American credit cards to buy things. I am just like any ol’ South African with a little debit card in her pocket. I will say however, that transferring money from an American bank into a south African bank gets…complicated….if you’re trying to transfer anything larger than a couple hundred. I found this out the hard way when I tried to do a transfer to the car dealers to buy Lily. If you’re curious, shoot me an email. I’d rather not discuss boring financial roadblocks on this blog.

But the single most exciting thing this week was finding a new apartment. Although I was encouraged and inspired by my boyfriend’s sister and her advice on how best to utilize the little MiniKitchen, there were other drawbacks to this place that I soon found were super grating in the span of a couple of days. My favorite was the fact that I completely did not notice the lack of showerhead or shower curtain until I went to go take my first shower. Yeah. It’s literally a bathtub. No showerhead. There was a short piece of plastic tubing attached to the bath spigots so that you could attempt to direct the flow of water at approximately…your navel. Well my navel. My roommate was probably only able to wash his knees.

That and on second look, the internet prices this landlord is charging us are crazy! So all in all, we decided if we were gonna pay semi-US prices, we may as well be living in total Durban luxury. And boy, have we found the place. Pictures to come, but it is perfect and has everything. Even… a washing machine! I didn’t even have that luxury in New York City! I get flushed just thinking about how happy our new flat makes me. Well its not yet fully ours. The lease signing is tomorrow and these landlords seem much more keen on knowing if I have enough money to pay for this place than my current landlords. We shall see if the Doris Duke award letter is enough to appease them….

Oh my, this blog is long. I think I’ll stop there for now. (I apologize for this and all future "oh my’s"….the South African accent and linguistic mannerisms are already rubbing off on me.)

So for today's pictures: The one on the left is the view of Durban from this flat. But my favorite one is the one on the right. It is of tonight’s candlelit dinner for one. It is directed specifically at those who worry that I’m not eating enough (read: my mother and my boyfriend) and those who think you can’t have romantic home-cooked dinners with yourself (read: myself prior to tonight).

Move-In Day!

Moved into my flat today! It’s very nice except for some major drawbacks. In the spirit of positivity, I will start with the drawbacks and end on a positive note.

The two major drawbacks are: 1) the kitchen and the 2) the second bedroom. I had done a sort of courageous/foolish thing and that is put down a deposit down on this place based solely on pictures sent to me by the previous tenant, another grad student from the US who was on her way home and her word that the apartment was very nice if not luxurious by Durban standards. The "luxury" definitely refers to the fact that it's in one of the nicest neighborhoods in town and it's fully furnished...a rare find indeed. The luxury however, does not extend into the kitchen. Take for instance the following:

This nifty little appliance (or “MiniKitchen” as it calls itself) functions as my stove, oven and microwave all in one. Except it’s really nothing more than a glorified hot plate atop a microwave oven. So much for the pumpkin muffins I was going to bake when I missed my roommates. I was all set to buy a fancy cookbook and cook away any loneliness I might feel in upcoming months, but how am I supposed to cook gourmet meals on this thing? Le sigh.

On to the second bedroom. I would take pictures but my poor roommate is in there trying to make it livable. It’s really not terrible on its own and he’s going to be paying next to nothing for it (at least by New York standards, which are probably not the standards I should be using in Durban). However, the real problem lies in the fact that its next door to my bedroom, which is glorious and ultra-luxurious by comparison. Where I have large windows with a phenomenal view of the city, he has tiny high windows leading out to the hallway leading into our apt. Where I have two nightstands, each complete with table lamp, he has…no nightstand and no table lamp. Where I have a full size bed, he has the bed made for the Munchkin scene in the Wizard of Oz. We’ll see how long he lasts in the apartment… maybe I can convince him to stay by bribing him with home-cooked food. Although, alas…no baked goods.

On to the positives. My bedroom and the living room are amaaazing! Large, airy and with unbelievable views of nearly the entire city. Seriously. I am up on a 7^th floor and you can see all the way from western tips of the city all the way east to the coast. Unfortunately, it’s nighttime now so my pictures don’t convey this view. You guys will have to wait until I take pictures during the day to see what I mean. For now, just a picture of my bedroom and the small decorative pieces that traveled here with me to remind me of home.

And the closet is pretty large. That plus the dresser easily accommodated the clothes I brought in the aforementioned overstuffed suitcases. In fact, I’ve never had so much space left over in closets or dressers….it sorta feels nice. Hm. Oh well, I guess I’ll enjoy this while it lasts because when the rest of my wardrobe and I are reunited back home, extra space & Diana’s closets will once again cease to exist in the same sentence.

The last positive thing about this little flat is that it’s only two blocks away from a gym and a yoga studio. Since I’m mentioning this, I will make some of this year’s personal resolutions known to my friendly public audience. I plan on improving myself in more ways than one in this year abroad. Not only will I be trying to learn as much as possible about what is involved in taking care of sick children and how to best handle children’s deaths in a way that doesn’t destroy me, I also plan on working out often and yoga-ing my way to an inner peace. Oh and I want to go to church on Sundays. And floss more often.

There. Now you guys can hold me to these lofty goals. Even the occasional, "Diana did you floss today?" will be appreciated. Though I really hope you don't email me out of the blue to ask me if I flossed.

Juxtapositions

This morning, at breakfast, I met a doctor from Harvard who is here for a month, working at one of the hospitals. This is not uncommon. Apparently, this bed & breakfast is well known among the medical professionals who travel to Durban, which is why I myself know of it. My mentor stays here when she travels to Durban for conferences and such. In any case, this doctor was expecting a medical student friend of his who had also recently arrived to Durban to begin her Fogarty. He had lived in Durban for a little under a year in the past and had visited numerous times since then so he was well acquainted with the city and was planning on taking his friend on a “longish stroll” through the city. When he invited me to join, I gladly did.

For the next five or so hours, we strolled across the entire length of Durban and then….trudged all the way back across. (The switchedge of verbs should convey to you exactly how we felt upon finally arriving back home to the B &B). It was, all in all, an excellent introduction to Durban. There really is no better way to get to know a place than by simply walking it. And walk it we did. We first walked northeast to the center of Durban and then through the bustling, somewhat dicey area known as the “CBD” or the Central Business District. I didn’t bring my camera on this long walk, mostly because I was unsure of how safe it would be to be snapping pictures through the part of town where pickpocketers are said to be rampant. However, I sorely wish I had. I will definitely go back and record the streets where vendors juxtaposed fresh bell peppers and oranges with trinkets, shoes and clothes.

The CBD was especially appealing to me, however, because our wonderful guide chose to have us stop for lunch at his favorite Indian eatery in town. It was a purely vegetarian establishment and was, in a word, delicious. I again, wished at that moment for my camera so that I could attach a picture of the meal that the three of us feasted on for less than 10 American dollars. Since I can’t attach pictures at this time, I’ll instead detour into a historical side point and explain as best as I understand so far, the social phenomenon of Indians in Durban and South Africa. Feel free to skip the next paragraph if history does not interest you much. As a former history major (of sorts) in college, I am easily fascinated by these stories.

Durban and South Africa itself is said to have the largest population of Indians outside of India in the world, and it shows. There seem to be just as many people who look to be of Indian heritage in Durban as there are black South Africans and at my first glance, maybe even more than there are white South Africans. According to my internet self-education, Indian slaves were first brought to South Africa as far back as the 17^th century. However, it wasn’t until the mid 1800s that they began to appear in greater numbers in what is now South Africa. It was a migration based on indentured servitude, similar to their migration to the Caribbean (another story, another time). Slowly over the course of that century, many chose to extend their servitude and thus grant the ability to stay in what later became Kwazulu-Natal, the region in which Durban is located. With the increasing number of Indian immigrants and then South African born children of Indian immigrants, many began trying to grant them greater rights and access to services, including medical and legal. Most famous among those who fought for Indian rights within South African society is the revered Mahatma Gandhi, who arrived in Durban at the turn of the 19^th century. I will return to Gandhi at the end of this post, but I believe that, for now, that is enough history and at least explains why there is such plentiful and delicious Indian food to be found in Durban.

After lunch in the CBD, we made our way over to the coast and walked the entire length of Durban’s Golden Mile of beaches. Despite the fact that it was still very much a spring vs. summer day, there were plenty of Durban’s famous surfers out on the quite formidable waves. What was astounding was that most were quite good. I guess one would have to be a dedicated surfer to be out in that freezing water…at least that was my thought as a spray of ice cold water hit my face while watching them. Cold water in the face notwithstanding, they were mesmerizing to watch. True athletes, they made me want to attempt to lift a surfboard. I do in fact want to learn, but I know the limitations of my abdominal muscles. I will be happy if I am able to stand on a board in shallow water for over 10 seconds at the end of these 8 months.

In any case, our self-appointed tour guide soon tore me away from the beach and it was on to our last stop, Durban’s botanical gardens. At only 200 meters from the flat I will move into tomorrow, it was a happy way to end the trek. It is a peaceful garden with its own orchid house (my favorites!) and plenty of benches dotting the lawns and lake edges. It was a beautiful late afternoon, made all the more entertaining by the fact that we saw many different wedding parties taking pictures. I know there were at least five for I counted five different brightly colored groups of bridesmaids. Perhaps it was the lovely weather or perhaps it was that September 11 is apparently Durban Day, at least according to some posters I saw lining the city.

Oh September 11. I didn’t remember that was today’s date until two or three hours into our trek and as soon as we got back to the B &B, I raced up to my room, turned on my computer, waited for the New York Times to load and shot off a little prayer to God that my hometown of Gainesville hadn’t been turned into a violent battleground of hate. I won’t say much in reference to the awful man who calls himself a pastor and has given my lovely, educated and progressive hometown a bad name, except for the following: Love, not Dove. Google it if you don’t know what I’m referring to. Better yet, buy a t-shirt.

I said I would return to Gandhi at the end of this post, so here it is. As I sat reading about Gandhi from a sacred source of knowledge (well known to some as WIKIPEDIA), I learned that on September 11, 1906, Gandhi spoke in Johannesburg to launch his satyagraha or non-violent resistance campaign that he eventually used in the struggle for Indian independence. Interesting, no? Satyagraha, Quran-burning and terrorist attacks….all revolving around a single date.

Talk about juxtapositions. Or is it irony?

I have arrived!

As the first entry of my first blog ever, I am unsure of how to begin this. So I guess I'll just dive right in and say, "So that's what 30 straight hours of traveling feels like." I left our apt in New York around 1 PM on a Wednesday, landed in Atlanta around 6 PM only to board another plane literally 30 minutes later, arrived in Johannesburg around 5 PM on Thursday (Joburg time), then boarded my last plane around 7:15 PM and finally landed in Durban at 9 PM. An hour later, I arrived at the d'Urban Elephant, my home until tomorrow morning when I am shown into my flat.

Obviously alot happened to me in those 30 hours, but the thing, is what to include here? A lot of the mundane things that happen to me either make me smile or make me think or both, and when they do I usually feel the need to share them. Usually my boyfriend is the lucky recipient of those little happenings. But without my ability to instantly text him, he will now be spared the countless number of texts that have required me to have a phone plan with unlimited texting.

Instead, I will barrage this nameless friend called blogger.com with both mundane and not-so-mundane stories. I only say this as a disclaimer. If you are reading this, hoping for only exciting reads....you might be disappointed. I have never been able to keep a journal but this blank writing screen makes me want to give it one more go. So be prepared for both exciting and everyday entries all mixed in the bunch.

The highlights of my 30-hour trip definitely began with a surprise visit in Atlanta by my parents. They were in Gainesville at the time, flew to Atlanta and were waiting at my gate to catch me on my way to my connection. For those of you who know me well, you will be able to predict my reaction: yes, a deluge of tears. It was a wonderful surprise to spend my last 30 minutes in country with them.

The flight itself was not terrible. I mean it was loooooong, yes. BUT! I watched three movies (including that new Babies one, which of course made me happy) and slept off and on for about 8 hours. And the man next to me was very kind, offering me a tissue when I got teary-eyed thinking about having said goodbye to the people I loved. So it was not bad.

On to the two best things about South Africa, at least so far. 1) The free "trolleys" at the airports, by which I mean those little carts you can throw your luggage on. It certainly made it much easier for me to haul my two ~ 70 lb suitcases through customs & immigrations. And for those of you gaping at the fact that I had two suitcases that weighed that much, listen, at least I made it here with only 2 suitcases. Again, if you know me, then you are probably oohing and ahhing at my incredible feat.

But I digress. #2) The friendliness! My goodness people are friendly. Now before you go on to think, "Oh dear, this is just naive, trusting Diana, thinking everyone's a good person," let me say that while I do in fact believe everyone has some good in them (a topic for a different time and probably a different venue), this is different. People are simply very friendly. Take for instance, the female airport employee who saw me struggling to mount the suitcases on said free airport trolley. She just strolled over, grabbed one end of the suitcase and together we managed. Then she smiled and walked away. This happened twice...both were female. Who needs male chivalry when you've got strong women around?

Then there was the cab driver who may or may not have ripped me off on the way to the B&B I checked into last night. (I said friendly, not necessarily 100% trustworthy.) We had a great conversation (or "chat" as everyone says here) where he echoed some of my boyfriend's last minute warnings about watching my drink at bars and not wandering around alone at night and then offered to take me around to used car dealerships to help me find a car. Was he hitting on me? Perhaps, which is why I mentioned the word "boyfriend" a gajillion times until he started saying things like, "I just don't want you to have trouble, you're not from here and you remind me of my little sister." Fine by me if he wanted to offer helpful advice. Fine by me if he wanted to entertain me by saying the word "chillax" every 5 minutes. (Apparently Durban is the ultimate chillax place and he just loves chillaxing. I clearly am also a fan of "chillaxing" in more ways than one.)

The cherry on the top of the Friendly pie though was one of my co-workers and her husband. They picked me up today, took me out to lunch and to a mall, then to a grocery store to buy some "snackies," then it was a quick drive through the city, ending with a short walk on Durban's famous "Golden Mile".... a mile of sandy beaches. Glorious? Yes. Made for Diana? Hell yes. At the end of the short car tour, my co-worker turns to me and goes, "I shall adopt you as a daughter while you're here. I hope that's fine with you. Have a good night lovey."

Between the free trolleys, the miles of beaches and my new adoptive families, how could I possibly not have a good time here?














***Captions seem to not be possible using blogger.com, thus I will always leave the captions at the end:

Picture #1: My first South African purchase at Caffe e Vida, a coffee shop in Joburg: "Chocolate Frio": a blend of ice, milk and 70% Lindt dark chocolate. It came with an extra piece of Lindt chocolate. Mmmm mmm good.

Pictures #2 & 3: The lovely d'Urban Elephant, a bed & breakfast run by the people who will also function as my landlords. (They own the flat I will be renting.) The picture on the left is the view of Durban from my private little porch and the pic on the right are their gardens. Lovely, lovely, lovely.