The Rainbow City: Cape Town

“There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.”—Nelson Mandela

I’d long heard about Cape Town from friends, books and news reports—heard of its beauty, of its role in the worst and best of South Africa’s history, and of its culture and vitality. It indeed was all it is reputed to be.

One thing that was different than I expected, however, was the waterfront where the ship was docked. I knew that there was a complex there, but I expected some hokey Rouse-type development. The Victoria and Alfred Waterfront (named for Queen Victoria and her son Alfred, who visited in 1860) is more than that—it’s a city within a city. It takes the best of waterfront development, shopping mall and downtown street, and puts it all in the beautiful seaport area. With the fabled Table Mountain and Signal Hill rising above it, the setting of the waterfront is just about picture-perfect. A person could spend several days there and not exhaust its offerings—a fine aquarium, smaller museums and craft houses, shops, restaurants, sidewalk arts, and the jumping off point to get to Robben Island (more about that later). A place where visitors and locals mingle, nightlife and street life prevail.

We were not on the ship when it sailed into this lovely waterfront. Instead, we flew into Cape Town from our safari, and so had our first view of the city as we rode in from the airport. That drive was a study in contrasts. There is new construction around the city, including a massive new stadium in anticipation of the 2010 World Cup, but many older sites still in place. What stood out was the large township we passed—one that was formed during the apartheid years but still exists today. However, transition was visible. There were parts that were the shantytown of the photos we’ve all seen, but parts that were being renovated and improved into very nice homes. I suppose it’s a form of evidence of the change that the country is experiencing.

We would later see other shantytowns that were suffering the opposite change—a deterioration of condition. These, we learned, are the newer townships being formed by immigrants and refugees, mostly from Zimbabwe and Somalia. Some from both countries are in the same townships, and are not getting on well together. Other shantytowns have been abandoned, as the violence against immigrants from several months back has driven the refugees away. With 25% unemployment in South Africa, it’s a tense situation, as turning against the immigrant when times are tough must be something of a universal.

We arrived at the ship in the evening, and went out to the waterfront for dinner, at a Cape Malay-style restaurant, then wandered around the complex a bit. The next morning, we met a guide that we’d engaged through Hylton Ross, one of the big tour-guide companies, and four of us set out in a car with Kim, our guide, first up to Table Mountain, then through the towns and seaside areas on the way to the Cape of Good Hope. We were very fortunate in the weather that day, as Table Mountain was clear and the winds were low, so that the cable car was in operation, and our view from the mountain over Cape Town and the bays, ocean and cape, was clear and lovely.

I had particularly looked forward to the Cape of Good Hope, as it had captured my imagination ever since I’d read about it (and its challenge to explorers) as a child. We’d missed sailing around it, since we were on safari when the ship made that part of the journey (and probably a good thing—I’m told the seas were rough). So the drive was a kind of consolation prize. It was a picturesque drive through wineries, beaches and a number of pretty towns. One highlight was a stop at Boulders Beach, where we watched a colony of African penguins. It was molting season, and so the penguins were in a variety of conditions depending on where they were in the process.

The cape point itself was a bit eerie and windswept—exactly as I’d always imagined it. Along the way, we encountered ostriches and baboons along the road. In fact there were large baboons at the place where we stopped for lunch, as well as men whose job it was to keep chasing the baboons away—apparently, baboons can get pretty nasty with their propensity to steal food and other objects and fling pooh (and I’m not talking Winnie here).

We also went through the former District 6—an area of a once-thriving ethnic community, until the powers of apartheid deemed that they should all be moved to a township and removed from this prime real estate. Ironically, despite the massive displacement, the area that was plowed down was never re-developed, and to this day lies rather empty. There is an effort underway to get some former District 6 residents to return, but so far few have done so.

That evening, the ship had arranged a dinner for the people on the full voyage at Buitenverwachting, a well-known fine restaurant on the Constantia wine estate. Groot Constantia is the oldest vineyard on the Cape. When Napoleon was exiled to St. Helena, he selected their wines as substitutes for his favored French wines. The building where the restaurant is housed is an example of Cape Dutch architecture. The meal was excellent, the wine even better, and the company terrific. A nice evening all around.

The next morning we had arranged tickets to tour Robben Island, Cape Town’s answer to Alcatraz (actually, comparisons to San Francisco are apt in many respects—the two cities have similar feels). However, Robben Island reflects the greatest shame of South Africa’s history—it is where male, non-white political prisoners were held during much of the apartheid era. It is where Nelson Mandela spent the bulk of his 27 years of imprisonment.

The tour is well-organized and very moving and informative. You take a ferry from the pier where the prisoners used to be sent, and arrive on the island for a general overview tour. The island is much larger than expected, and had functioned variously in its history as simply a town, then an insane asylum and leper colony. It eventually came to be used as a prison, but also boasts a settlement of people who, during the prison era, worked in the prison and now work in the museum. There is even a school on the island, though it only goes up to the equivalent of the 7th grade. The children go the mainland for secondary school.

The guides in the prison itself are all former prisoners. Our guide, Wiseman, was himself imprisoned there for 10 years for anti-apartheid activities. It is a reminder of how recent this history is that Wiseman is a fairly young man. I doubt if he is older than 45. In fact, many of the children who attend school on the island are children of these former prisoners. Some of the former warders also work in the museum, in a variety of functions. It is a tribute to the reconciliation of recent years that former prisoners and warders can work side by side, but having read Nelson Mandela’s “Long Walk to Freedom” I can understand how that simpatico could have developed.

Wiseman gave us a clear view of the hardships of imprisonment, and the degree to which prisoners of different racial backgrounds were treated differently. Black prisoners received less food (both in quality and quantity) than other races, and were in many respects treated more harshly. Wiseman was in a “group” cell, where some 50 prisoners slept, at first on thin floor mats but eventually on bunks. We saw the cell where Mandela was kept—he was one of the isolated prisoners because he was deemed “dangerous.” That seems ironic today, given the role of reconciler he played upon his release, but then the U.S. only just recently took him off the list of “known terrorists.” Mandela certainly engaged in guerilla warfare in his time, in the long fight for freedom, but the line between those acts of sabotage and the wanton attacks on anonymous civilians that we see today is not a thin one.

After that sobering and educational morning, we spent the afternoon strolling the waterfront and doing a little shopping. We sailed away in late afternoon, with a surprising number of people on the pier waving goodbye. In fact, I was surprised at the number of passersby who took pictures of the ship while she was in port. I gather that, while cruise ships do call at Cape Town, it isn’t often that one is small enough to dock right at the V&A Waterfront. I’m so glad we did.

After a beautiful sail-away, we were bound for two days in Walvis Bay, Namibia, my next entry.

A Sad Interjection

“…As long as communities feel marginalised and victimised, terror will breed in ghettoes around the world. Inclusion and integration is the only way forward. Just to clarify, I am not saying we can hug terrorists and make them change. But we can change the hearts and minds of ordinary people and take away the breeding grounds. / The enormity of the task is daunting, but I really believe there is no other choice. It is no use waiting for a 21st century Gandhi to do it! You and I must do it, if we are to change the world...”
-Deepa Krishnan, owner of Mumbai Magic (the guide company we used in Mumbai), in her blog at http://www.mumbai-magic.blogspot.com/

As the horrors of the attacks in Mumbai have unfolded over the past few days, I’ve remained silent in my blog only because I have no words to express the sorrow over what this wonderful city and its fine people are enduring, and over the fates of the victims of the attacks. But I cannot just continue to post about our adventures (which, yes, I will update shortly) without paying homage to the courage and spiritual beauty of the people of Mumbai.

Somehow, when you have visited a place—and particularly when the visit has been very recent—tragedies like this seem all the more vivid. You think of the people you met, and pray for their well-being, and of the people you saw or did not meet, but know how deeply their lives are affected. I may understand a bit, having lived in one of the target cities (Washington, DC) on Sept. 11, 2001. The emotions of that day are still raw, and I’d imagine that the people of Mumbai may be feeling much the same.

The stories of heroism are starting to come out—of hotel personnel risking their own lives to secure the safety of others, of police officers once again putting themselves in the line of fire, of people on the streets taking steps to secure the safety of others—and they are no surprise in light of the sense of the spirit of the people I felt in my short visit there.

To the people of Mumbai, my heart is with you in this troubled time. May you emerge even stronger and wiser from your ordeal.

Safari in South Africa

“Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up.
It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed.
Every morning a lion wakes up.
It knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death.
It doesn’t matter whether you are a lion or a gazelle.
When the sun comes up, you better start running.”

-African proverb

I used to wonder why people would go on game-watching safaris. After all, most people have seen those animals before in zoos. Well, now I understand. There is nothing to compare with tracking them and observing them in their own environment.

One thing I find extraordinary about game-watching safaris is their safety. You’d think that that hungry lion would as soon eat a human as a gazelle, but the fact is they leave the humans alone—at least in game preserves and at least as long as the humans don’t do anything stupid. In a game preserve (which was where we did our safari—the Madikwe Game Preserve), no hunting is allowed, so the animals are not conditioned to perceive humans as a threat.

Here’s how the safari works, at least where I was: People stay on the game preserve in lodges, and each lodge takes its guests out twice a day—in the early morning and later afternoon—for a game drive in an open-air truck which seats anywhere from 4 to 10 people. The seats are tiered so that all get a good view. Each truck is accompanied by a Ranger, who drives the truck, spots the wildlife, explains it all to everyone, and is responsible for everyone’s safety. There is also a tracker, who at least in the trucks run by our lodge, Madikwe Hills, sits in a jump seat at the front of the truck’s hood. We were very fortunate that we never had more than 6 passengers in our truck (so no one was stuck in the dreaded middle seats), and that we had a terrific Ranger (Frans) and Tracker (Max).

Every morning, we were awakened at 4:30 am (yes, that’s right, I willingly got up at 4:30) in order to be ready to start the drive at 5:00. This has two reasons: one, that’s when it is easiest to find some animals and, two, you get to see some spectacular African sunrises over the bush.

I will spare you the laundry list of animals we saw, and just give the high points. Suffice it to say, we saw all the “Big 5” (elephants, giraffes, rhinos, cape buffalo, and leopards) except the leopards (though our tracker and ranger certainly tried to find them for us), as well as a number of other animals, many of which I’d never heard of or seen before. It was entrancing.

One of the most fascinating experiences was on our first morning drive, when we came upon a pride of lions. There was a male lion asleep in the bush, and a female and two cubs walking around nearby—they’d been on one side of the road and crossed right in front of us. While the cubs played, the male roused himself and went about his business (have you ever seen a lion urinate? You don’t want to be near that stream). Pretty soon, we could hear another lion roaring in the distance, then this lion roaring back. This went on for several minutes, with the female and cubs occasionally adding in some noises. I have never heard anything like it. Frans explained that this was a friendly exchange—the lion in the distance is the brother of the lion we were watching, and when the two of them get together, they do something akin to hugging each other.

Once we moved along, we saw what the lions had been doing on the other side of the road—there were the remains of a wildebeest lying there (I’d never have recognized it as such, but Frans assured us that was what it was). We knew that those remains would not go to waste, because before we came upon the lions, we’d seen a jackal doing his thing—gnawing on the bones of an animal’s remains from some other predator’s breakfast. That’s what jackals do—pick the bones of others’ leavings.

After the lions, we came upon a herd of wildebeest, quietly going about their grazing. Frans referred to them as “the spare parts animal”—they have the head of a goat, the horns of a buffalo, and the body of a zebra. Unfortunately, the wildebeest set off in the direction of the lions, though we did not stick around to see the inevitable results of that particular meeting, particularly as we’d just seen one such result.

We also came upon a herd of elephants, which included a baby elephant running around and poking at the others in an apparent attempt to get them to play. It was adorable, but our ranger was very wary—apparently elephants are the animals most likely to attack humans, when they feel that their young are threatened. So he was always on high alert when baby elephants are in a herd.

We were to see quite a few elephants in our time there. In addition to the herd discussed above, we encountered groups and individuals in the road, on the side of the road, up hills, in bush, and pretty much everywhere. And yet, some people at our lodge never saw more than a single elephant, but did see a number of animals we did not.

The best elephant sighting was at a watering hole, where we encountered a herd of at least 20 that we could see. They were eating, playing in the water, etc., and making quite a noise of it. They were on three sides of us, and were something to observe. In particular, a fight between two males to establish dominance was fascinating—it wasn’t a blood fight, but instead a kind of play fighting, but with a very definite goal—which bull was the alpha elephant.

We’d encountered this herd after what was probably the best “treat” of all—the wild dogs. We know people who have been to this park several times and never seen them, yet we got to watch a pack of 23 for quite a while. This is a disappearing species—there are fewer than 3,000 of them left in the world. The dogs travel in a pack, with an alpha male and female, and can take down and eat another animal in a matter of minutes. The pack included 7 pups just two weeks out of the den, who were having a grand old time playing with a piece of cardboard while the adults sauntered by either ignoring us or giving us no more than sidelong glances. They then laid in the road, waiting for the youngsters to catch up.

One of the rules of the park is that no more than two trucks can be at a given sighting at a time. We were not really aware of this rule until this point, since it was rare to see the trucks bunching up, and there would be different trucks scoping out different animals at any given time. But the dogs attracted all the lodges, so the trucks were lined up at intervals along the route the dogs were following, with no more than two in any one place. These dogs move quickly, and could be miles away within an hour, so everyone was out looking while they could.

While the dogs were cute, there was no doubt of their deadliness. Not long after this encounter, they took down a wildebeest in a matter of minutes, devouring the animal alive. Believe me, no one was sticking an arm or leg out of the truck in their presence.

But really, the only time I felt at all threatened was when we encountered some cape buffalo. The herd was spread across both sides of the road, and many of them were watching us carefully with what seemed an evil eye. Eventually, all but one lost interest in us, but that one kept a careful eye out. We later learned that this particular herd used to be in an area where hunting was allowed, and recently had been moved into the preserve. So they did view humans as a threat, which is probably why we had the sense that they were a threat to us.

I will warn my friends and family now: I am so enthralled with the safari experience that I will be boring you silly with it for some time to come. And, if you are thinking about a safari, I highly recommend Madikwe Hills Lodge—the personnel are great, the food was really almost too good, and the overall experience was beyond all expectations.

There is so much I’m leaving out here—the astonishing beauty of the bush, the way the foliage totally transformed after rain, the eerie beauty of a thunderstorm coming in over the veld, the spectacular sunrises and sunsets, and the starry, starry nights. To all my friends who have lived in or come from Africa, I now understand the wistfulness in your voices when you speak of this wonderful continent. I know I will be back—how can I stay away, now that I’ve seen it?

Spice Island: Zanzibar

"Meet Cathy who's lived most everywhere, from Zanzibar to Berkeley Square”
-from the theme from the Patty Duke Show, an American television program from the 1960s

“Bismillah, will you let him go.”- from Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen. It is used as a rebel chant for Zanzibar’s movement for independence from Tanzania.

To me, the name Zanzibar has always evoked the exotic and mysterious. The reality is perhaps a little less of both, but nonetheless intriguing. Part of Tanzania, it is separated from the mainland by a channel only 22 miles wide. It is only six degrees south of the equator, and you know it walking around—it is hot and humid.

Zanzibar’s claims to Western fame are diverse. Sir Richard Burton and John Hanning Speke used it as their base in searching for the source of the Nile. It’s where Stanley began his search for Livingstone, and where Livingstone set out on his final journey. It was home to a markedly ugly history in the slave trade and is the place where Freddie Mercury of Queen was born. It is one of the places on earth laying claim to the name “the Spice Islands” (Zanzibar is the name of the entire archipelago, though the main island is what is usually referred to by the name.)

Over the years, spices became important to the island’s economy, but changed its ecology. Its forests were all cut down to make way for spice plantations. It was a loss not just of the protective forests, but to one of the mainstays of the island: carving. There are a number of skilled Swahili artisans on Zanzibar, best known for their intricately carved doors. There’s more than 500 such doors in Stone Town (Zanzibar’s capital), many older than the houses they are on. But today they must bring the wood over from the mainland.

An effort to revive forestation came in the form of Jozani Forest, which consists primarily of red mahogany trees brought in from elsewhere, as well as a large swamp of mangroves. We spent a morning walking through this lovely forest, and visiting the mangrove area. The Jozani Forest is home to the rare red colobus monkeys, who managed to put on quite a little show for us. Several had babies in arms, which were darling to watch. I was a bit startled when one brushed past me on his way to meet some friends.

The enthusiasm we saw in Kenya for America’s President-Elect was equaled if not exceeded in Zanzibar. “Yes, we can” is a popular phrase, and we saw a number of Obama posters and bumper stickers around the island, including on what has become known as the “Obama Tree” in downtown Stone Town.

Heat, humidity and a bit of travel fatigue limited my ambition in Zanzibar, but I’d have liked to spend more time there. It seemed an intriguing place, with more to see than I got to see. One thing I loved about it is its lack of slickness. Like a number of the ports this ship has visited, Zanzibar has not quite developed its tourist trade, so you feel more that you are in a place than that you are part of an industry. That genuineness is part of the charm. I only wish I’d had more energy to experience more of it.

It will be a while before my next entry. We have three days at sea, followed by three days of safari and two days in Cape Town after that.

Mad Dogs and Englishmen: Mombasa, Kenya

“Haraka haraka haina baraka.” (“Hurry hurry brings no blessing.”) -old Swahili proverb

In Mombasa, hurry hurry is not even possible—it’s too &^$#!^* hot! I will confess, at the halfway point on the cruise and in heat and humidity both in the mid to high 90s, my spirit of discovery was flagging. So, though we had two days in Mombasa, I did little more than an organized city tour. Many of our co-passengers went on safari adventures overnight or for a full day, but as we have a 3-day safari coming up in South Africa, we opted out of those adventures from Mombasa.

The city tour did provide some interesting perspective, as we learned of the many religions that prevail in the area and a little bit about the lives of the people. While the area is 60% Moslem, there are strong Christian and Hindu communities as well. We visited a Hindu temple, which seemed a little more “hell-fire” than the ones we saw in India (i.e., wall carvings showing the horrendous fates of those who eat meat or drink alcohol), and saw a couple of massive churches as well as some more modest mosques. The Hindu community comes from an earlier generation’s influx of workers from India to build the railroad. They stayed on, and formed an influential base that now controls 60% of economic activity in Kenya, according to our guide. However, I have to take that figure with a grain of salt, as he cited 60% as the statistic for a great many things.

We also visited Fort Jesus, a stronghold that provided defenses through various foreign occupations. Though it couldn’t have been too much of a stronghold—it changed hands 9 times, usually in fierce battle. Originally built by the Portuguese in 1593, it was controlled on and off by Oman, and finally fell under British control around 1920 until Kenya obtained its independence in 1963. The fort also played a role in the slave trade, and was a place where prisoners were held an executed over the years. Its location now gives a lovely view of the Mombasa harbor, but its history evokes bloodshed and shadow. It also was where the movie Beau Geste was filmed.

We also took a walk through the narrow streets of Mombasa’s old town. Alleyways off to the side offered glimpses of the sea, and the streets were filled with people going about the course of their day. Here, and in the main business districts, the streets were filled with mostly males, but it was hard to determine where they were going or what they were doing.

There was a languid feel to the streets, possibly because of the heat. But it may have been explained by what I learned later in the day. Kenya has an unemployment rate of around 50%. Workers tend to live in small quarters, often with one family to a room, and a family earns on average the equivalent of $250 per year. With these close quarters and narrow means, people may well have been out just to get some air.

It was interesting to be an American visiting Kenya at this time, because of the excitement over the election of Barack Obama. I gave an Obama button to one woman who had been explaining to me how America and Kenya are now sisters, and used another in trade with a vendor. I don't know if we'd have felt as welcomed here a few months ago as we did now, but the election did create something of a bond.

I’m afraid my own languor kept me from exploring as much as I'd have liked. I guess that’s inevitable on a trip of this length, but it continued on into the next stop at Zanzibar (the next entry). We then have three days at sea, so I’m hoping to become re-energized before we make landfall in South Africa.

The Idyll Continues: The Seychelles

"We may not have much of a role to play in major global issues, but we'll do our part on the international cocktail-party circuit." - James Mancham, first President of the Seychelles (1976)

After being deposed in a coup in 1977, Mancham said, “It is no big heroic deed to take over the Seychelles . Twenty-five people with sticks could seize control."

The Seychelles apparently have an interesting history, having come late to the attention of the Western world and even later to independence. Smart people, when the French came they would raise the French flag and when the English ships were on the horizon, up went the Union Jack. But the islands’ history can best be summarized in two words: “Who cares?” The Seychelles is not about history, or culture, or any of that. It’s about beauty, water and what lies under the water.

Probably the most closely comparable place in the world I’ve been is French Polynesia. Lying just below the equator, the Seychelles is a series of lovely islands. The main one, Mahe, is where most of the population lives, but people occupy a number of the other islands as well, most notably Praslin and La Digue. These were the three islands that the ship visited. Personally, I only really visited one of the three—La Digue. The other two were visited only long enough to board a smaller vessel to go to some smaller, barely inhabited (or not inhabited) islands.

So I blew off Mahe entirely in order to go to Cerf Island. Or, more accurately, to go to the waters just off Cerf Island. Here, we fed some fish from our flat-bottomed boat, in order to see a living demonstration of the phrase “feeding frenzy.” Then, we went into a submarine to watch the life aquatic from its windows. Then, finally, we were given our snorkel gear and off the side of the boat we went (there were about a dozen of us) to see it all up close and personal. As in the Maldives, I saw fish I’ve never seen before and could not identify, but they were lovely.

Or next snorkel trip was the following day. Officially speaking, we were anchored off of Praslin, on which island we spent just enough time to get off the ship’s tender and onto a catamaran. Then, off we went to Coco Island, which is really just some rocks, a couple of palm trees, and a beach, but which is surrounded by an astounding coral reef. Here were seen any number and variety of fish, as well as manta rays, dolphins and turtles. However, most of these were not seen by me. I, unfortunately, got caught in a current and found myself at one point way too close to the rocks, then in rapid speed well on the wrong side of the rocks. No matter what I did, I could not get out of the current and certainly could not get back to the boat.

Fortunately, the snorkel crew was on the lookout for just this problem, and came out to get me in a zodiac raft. The rescue was a tough one, because I couldn’t get into the raft from where I was, so they towed me to the beach and then I was able to board it and get taken back to the catamaran. My one comfort is that almost everyone on our boat wound up being brought back by the zodiac—the currents were so strong that all but two people were unable to get to the boat on their own. The sea is a beautiful thing, but it also is powerful, and this was an object lesson in its power.

The trip back on the catamaran was more idyllic, as our captain played guitar and sang, and the crew set out fishing poles and, sure enough, caught their dinner for the evening.

One of the big question marks of this trip was how well the Seychelles’ coral reef is holding up. Jean-Michel Cousteau is on board the ship, and had let it be known that he hadn’t been to the area in some 14 years, and so was anxious to see the condition of the reef. I gather he was pleased with it. It suffered some damage from the 2004 tsunami, but otherwise is doing fairly well.

The other island at which the ship called was La Digue, and here Beth and I actually did visit the island. It’s a small, pretty island with very little by way of motorized transportation. Most people get around by bicycle or foot, and ox carts are the main “taxi” service on the island. No one place on the island is more than an hour’s walk from any other place, so we took a walk on its main (i.e., only) road, which formed a circle past the beaches then upcountry in the areas where people live. It seemed a lovely, peaceful existence and, since we were there on a Saturday, we could see families playing and barbeques getting started for the day’s relaxations. The pace was easy and the place was beautiful.

La Digue is noted for its black granite formations, most of which look pink. Gardens and homes are built around the huge formations—cleverly using, rather than fighting, nature. The beach Anse Source d’Argent is reputed to be the most photographed beach in the world (particularly with swimsuit models). And, in the Seychelles’ claim to cinematic fame: the soft-core pornographic film Goodbye Emmanuelle 3 was made here. So was the Tom Hanks movie, Castaway.

A note about Praslin, one of the islands we just passed through: we were going to go to Vallee de Mei on this island to see its famous coco de mer nut trees, but were seduced out of it by the lure of the water. But here’s the story learned by those who went on what came to be known as “the big nut tour”: Before the Seychelles were discovered, enormous heart-shaped coconuts weighing up to 40 pounds would wash up on the beaches of India. Inside the husk was a nut looking very like a key portion of the female anatomy. It was at first thought that the nuts grew on underwater trees—thus their name, "coconut of the sea." The nut grows on the female tree. The male counterpart is the 3-foot long catkin (with yellow flowers). These were theorized to be the biblical trees of Adam & Eve (the Tree of Good & Evil), with the Vallee supposedly Eden, the idea having been inspired by the erotic shapes of the nut and catkin.

Oh, well, it's a good story.

Next: Africa.

And Now for Something Completely Different

“…I once found a list of diseases as yet unclassified by medical science, and among these there occurred the word Islomania, which was described as a rare but by no means unknown affliction of spirit. There are people…who find islands somehow irresistible. The mere knowledge that they are on an island, a little world surrounded by the sea, fills them with an indescribable intoxication. These born “islomanes”…are direct descendents of the Atlanteans….”

-Lawrence Durrell, from Reflections on a Marine Venus.

By Atlanteans he’s referring to residents of the lost city of Atlantis, but this former Atlantan (Georgia) understands the sensation. Bodies of water fill me with peace, and being surrounded by water most assuredly does. Being on an island, or on a ship, achieves this for me. And being in the Maldives most certainly achieved it.

The capital of the Maldives in the island of Male, the most densely populated place on earth: 1 square mile with over 80,000 inhabitants. The population is growing, as young people move to Male from elsewhere in the country. Those who went into Male found it suffocating, both from heat and the press of humanity. We, however, spent only as long on Male as it took to get on a ferry to the atoll of Kuda Bandos, a coral island of breathtaking beauty.

The idea here was to do some snorkeling, but the concession was closed when we arrived, so we just hit the water and swam until we shriveled. With all the close-in coral reefs, the water was of a mix of colors, each more lovely than the last bit. The white sand beach was inviting, but the water even more so. After a couple of hours, the concession opened, and so out in the water we went again, this time to look at the coral and fish. I’ve never snorkeled that close to the shore before, nor over coral reefs in such shallow water.

It was startling to see such colorful coral so close in, and to see fish unlike any I’ve seen before. Now, I’ve never been good at identifying fish, so I have no idea what I was looking at, but many were of colors and patterns of great beauty. There was the big turquoise, rose and yellow one. There was the white one with the yellow and blue around the eyes. Then there was the orange and burgundy one—yes, Danielle, it must be a Hokie fish!

After this idyllic afternoon, we set sail for our next destination, the Seychelles. I went up to the top deck for the sailaway—a favorite pursuit of mine—and for the first time on this cruise was alone on the deck. The sun was setting at that moment, and the sunset was particularly spectacular that evening: a fiery red orb that left behind it a sky of many shades of rose. This over a city in which everyone seemed to be turning on their lights at once. And, over the city, the Muslim call to prayers sounded gently. The call no sooner finished than the recorded bagpipe music that accompanies all our sailaways came on. The weather at that point was ideal—the temperature was around 79 degrees and there was little humidity and a light breeze. Standing there, watching Male get smaller and smaller, I experienced one of those rare “perfect moments” in life. Never have I felt so free or so at peace.

A Happy Interjection

“To all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright, tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope.'' Barack Obama, Nov. 4, 2008

I interrupt this travel blog to interject not politics but pride. Today my country did what I believe is the right thing and elected a different and potentially shining future. For the first time since I left on this trip, I wish I were home to share with my friends and my countrymen this historic moment. This morning (still last night at home) I watched the returns with some new friends with tears in my eyes as “Obama Elected President” came on the screen and as this intelligent, articulate and thoughtful man set out the realities of the road ahead while acknowledging the tremendous historic moment at hand.

This came during a day at sea, which is a shame because I’d have liked to hear the reactions of the people of whatever country we’d be visiting. We do have some nationals of other countries on board, and they seem pleased with the results, and much of the staff and crew (nationals of dozens of different countries), while being of necessity circumspect, seem thrilled with the results. We’ll be in Kenya in a few days’ time—now THAT will be interesting.

Kerala: Life Along the Water

Down from the gardens of Asia, descending, radiating,
Adam and Eve appear, then their myriad progeny after them,
Wandering, yearning, curious—with restless explorations,
With questionings, baffled, formless, feverish—with never-happy hearts,
With that sad, incessant refrain, Wherefore, unsatisfied Soul? and Whither, O mocking Life?

-Walt Whitman, from "Passage to India", Leaves of Grass

Cochin is a city, comprised of a collection of narrow islands and peninsulas, in the state of Kerala. Kerala is best known for its backwater system of 29 major lakes and a network of canals and rivers around which life centers. Kerala had the world’s first freely-elected communist government, elected in 1957, and the highest literacy rate in India: 95%.

We had very little time in Cochin/Kerala—less than a day—and decided that the best use of that time would be a houseboat tour of the backwaters. Thank you, Luke, for suggesting this; it was a wonderful day. There were 9 of us on the houseboat, plus the crew and guide. People rent these for multiple nights—it had three bedrooms, three baths, a kitchen, living room and dining table. We had it for the day, which we spent floating through the backwaters and watching life along the waters: villages where people gathered, children walking to school, people working in the rice paddies, fishermen fishing and diving for mussels, laundry, dishwashing and bathing being done in the waters. It was a great way to see the countryside.

The drive to and from the docks was also interesting. The approach to driving we saw in Mumbai did not change on the more open roads. It looked like chaos, with people pulling in front of people, getting into what seemed the wrong lane, and generally speeding with what looked like reckless abandon. And the horns prevailed here too. Whenever anyone approaches anyone else to pass, there goes the horn. And there’s a lot of passing on these roads. It felt crazy, but the locals seemed to think nothing of it.

It was also not unusual to see all manner of animals along the road: cows, goats, and even an elephant. Some wandered free and some were tied up like dogs (of which there were plenty as well). The area was lively and colorful.

Back on the ship afterward, off we sailed for the Maldives—my next installment.

Mumbai--A Feast for the Senses

It feels
So easy
To be
One
In a billion.
That’s just statistic
For you
And for me
Poetry.
-Dilip Chitre, End Note

With all the warnings and negative descriptions I’d heard of Mumbai, the last thing I expected was to fall in love with the city. But fall in love I did: the people, the colors, the smells, the energy, the dignity, even the crowds. Maybe not the traffic, and certainly not the poverty, but most certainly the way the poverty is borne.

After three weeks in the Middle East, it was particularly striking to see women of all ages wearing so much color. Most women in Mumbai still dress traditionally, in saris and salwar-kameez (a pant and tunic combination) of bright or deep color. And why wouldn’t they? The loose, flowing garments are ideal for the heat and humidity, and their colors and styles are strikingly beautiful.

My first sight of a sari was on our guide, who met us at the cruise ship terminal. Beth had found an outfit called Mumbai Magic on the internet, and she and I, along with our friends Shirley and Ken, decided to take a private tour with them. They were very reasonably priced (cheaper than the cruise ship excursions) for two full days with a guide and driver. Mumbai Magic uses female guides, and Sandhya (I hope I’m spelling her name right) quickly proved to be the perfect guide. She knew a great deal about Mumbai, and her love for the city came through in her whole approach. Together with our driver, Mr. Patil (who navigated the scary Mumbai traffic with great aplomb), she helped make our trip something special.

The Fishing Life

Our first visit was to the Sassoon Docks, where the fishing boats come in each day and the catch is sold. If you’ve ever been to the Tsukiji Fish Market in Tokyo, well, this is nothing like it. Rather than the auction to commercial buyers, with the close of action very early in the day, the bringing in of the catch is just the beginning of the day’s activities at Sassoon. The duties are divided by gender: the men catch and bring in the fish. Then the women take over. All over the docks were groups of women dressed in their beautiful saris, and crouched on the ground shelling shrimp (and somehow keeping those saris clean). Other women were setting up market to sell the fish. And I’m told they drive a hard bargain. Men were gathered here and there to play board games—their work for the day was apparently done. The place was bustling and energetic. Sadly, photography was not allowed, so I’ll have no pictures to share of this astonishingly wonderful place.

Sandhya then took us to a nearby “village” where the fishing families live. It was made up of a maze of narrow alleys, with small, open homes facing onto the alleys all up and down the way. Inside, one could see televisions playing and, although it was somewhat dark and some of the families there living at the margin, many infusions of color. The Diwali festival had been the day before, and in its observance a number of families had decorated the little areas in front of their homes with colorful and artistic designs.

We were greeted warmly by many of the inhabitants. We came to the end of one street where one could see a fabulous view of the sea. Here were children of a range of ages playing, and one little girl determined to get into a photograph or two. The other children teased her a bit about it, but sure enough she quickly acquired a companion in her quest to look adorable and be part of the photo.

The Streets of Mumbai

In our car again, we drove through thick traffic with many honking horns. As we were to learn in Mumbai and again in Cochin, horns are an ordinary part of the driving experience in India: you are expected to honk if you are overtaking another vehicle (trucks are marked on the back “honk ok please”), and a lot of vehicles overtake one another. How they can tell which honk is intended for whom is beyond me, but despite what looked like constant traffic chaos, we did not see a single collision.

The buildings in Mumbai were interesting. There were many buildings built back in the period of the Raj, and still occupied today, but looking pretty well-worn. The rent control rules in Mumbai are very strict, and many landlords must charge today the same rent they were charging in 1945. That doesn’t leave money for improvements, so one can see a lot of older buildings being propped up by lumber and in need of paint. It makes me worry for the people here if there is an earthquake of any significant magnitude. I cannot imagine how those buildings could withstand it.

Echoes of the Raj

Speaking of buildings, after our visit to the fishing communities, we went the other extreme to see the still-functioning remnants of the Raj (British rule, which ended in 1947). First was the Victoria Terminus, one of the few (if not the only) still-operating UNESCO heritage sites. Ornate does not begin to describe the outside of this massive structure. Inside is no less so—gold leaf, marble and fine carvings all about. And it very clearly is still used as the main railway station. We were there a bit after the morning rush hour, and the crowds were about what you’d see in Grand Central Station in New York at rush hour. The trains looked a bit scary—they were packed to the gills, with people quite literally hanging out the doors. No air conditioning, so probably not a comfortable ride, but a very efficient way to move people in and out from the suburbs where so many reside. With 20 million residents of Mumbai, that is much needed.

Though we saw a lot of people at the station and elsewhere, we probably missed the real crowds. As mentioned, the day before (a Thursday) had been the Diwali festival, celebrating Rama’s return from exile, and so many people had also taken Friday off to make a long weekend of it.

Our other taste of the Raj was a visit to the University of Mumbai, with its fine old buildings and statuary. Some statues were of British men, some of Indian with the various headdresses and garments showing the many different religions and cultures of the country. Sandhya explained the British habit of ignoring people’s actual names and instead assigning descriptive names; thus, we were amused to see the statue of Mr. Readymoney, a philanthropist who’d done much to finance university affairs.

Life in Mumbai

We then paid a visit to Mani Ghavan, the house where Gandhi stayed when he was in town (for a total of about 14 years). It is now a museum devoted to the Mahatma’s life and philosophy. Very moving and inspiring.

When we returned to the streets of Mumbai, it was nearly lunchtime, and thus time for a sight I’d heard about and was anxious to see: the Dhaba-Wallahs going about their jobs. This is a brigade of some 5,000 men who pick up lunches from the office workers’ home in the suburbs every day, bring them into the city center by train, then deliver them by bicycle. Many of them are illiterate, and yet they manage to deliver some 175,000 meals each day with almost complete accuracy, using a color and number coding system that is the envy of Harvard Business School. It’s a very affordable service that brings home-cooked meals to workers each day (and if you saw how those trains were packed coming into the city, you’d see there is no way they could carry these lunches themselves).

Later that day we visited another example of a massive, complex business operation organized by a coding system that is run with nearly 100% accuracy: the Dobi Ghats. This is a huge municipal laundry done in rows of open troughs, where more than a thousand washermen soak garments, then beat them against rocks smoothed for the purpose, hang them to dry, then iron them in what must be very hot enclosures at the center of the troughs. They do laundry for individuals and families, for hotels and for clothing manufacturers. We could tell from the clothes lines where what was being done: white sheets flapping were from the hotels; little pink children’s dresses from the clothing manufacturers, and mixes of clothing for families. While we visited the largest Dobi Ghat, there are several of them around the city. This one handles some 250,000 articles of clothing and linen every day.

We also visited Malabar Hill, the posh section of town, and toured a Jain Temple there, filled with lovely carvings and shrines, while Sandhya explained the purposes and philosophies behind what we saw. The Jains do not believe in harming any animal, down to the tiniest insect, and so you will see Jains covering their mouths to prevent insects from flying in and being harmed or gently sweeping the ground in front of them to ensure they don’t step on and kill and insect. They seek nirvana by, little by little, letting go of attachments and desires. It seems a beautiful religion, and one that our guide was able to explain with an intricacy and enthusiasm to which I cannot do justice.

From here we paid a quick visit to the Hanging Gardens, which had been built on a water tank (hence the “hanging”), a favorite local picnic spot, and got a peek at the top of the Towers of Silence—the only view available to the casual observer. These Towers are important in the Zoroastrian religion, and serve as the funerary location—they do not bury or cremate their dead, but instead put them atop the Towers for nature to take its course.

Religion, Language and History

A word about religions in India: 85% of the populace in Hindu, but India has the 3d largest number of Muslims in the world. Four religions were founded here: Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism. Christianity was introduced 2000 years ago by the Apostle Thomas. India is the primary home to Zoroastrians, also known as the Parsis, who fled Persia in the 9th century.

Diversity also shows up in India’s languages. India has 17 major languages as well as hundreds of dialects. Hindi is spoken by the largest number. Tamil is India’s oldest living language. Most languages are derived from Sanskrit. English is spoken , and like in the Middle East, is the language of commerce.

Mumbai is an island on the Arabian Sea connected by bridges to the mainland. It’s India’s financial center and home to Bollywood. The Portuguese acquired it in 1534, then it went to the British in 1661 as part of the dowry of Catherine of Braganza when she married Charles II. It was leased to the East India Co. for very little. By the 18th century, it was the major city on the western coast.

Elephanta Island

So much for my aside on religion, language and history: back to the travelogue. The above was the highlights from the first day. On the second day, a Saturday, we met Sandhya bright and early, and headed straight for the pier in front of the other two famous Raj landmarks: the Gateway of India, built to commemorate the visit of King George V in 1911, and the Taj Mahal Hotel, built by the industrialist J.N. Tata when other “grand” hotels of the time refused him admission because he was a “native.” The joke was on the snobs—those other grand hotels are gone now, but the beautiful Taj dominates the waterfront.

At this pier, we boarded a ferry for the hour-long ride to Elephanta Island. The ferry itself was a great slice of Indian life, as it was filled with families and couples headed over to Elephanta for a day outing. Upon arrival at the island, we packed onto a little train to take us to the entrance. It would have been a fairly easy distance to walk, but exposed to the direct sun, so a hot walk to start the adventure. Off the train, we began the climb up the 135 steps and intervening inclines, all the way lined with vendors selling all manner of trinkets. We were, however, grateful for them, as they were all under tents that kept the walkway shaded from the intense sun. Sedan chairs also were offered, and one of our group took the climb that way. The rest of us trudged, and were rewarded at the top by a breathtaking sight: the caves of Elephanta.

Inside the caves were pillars that had been carved from the sandstone some 1300 years ago. They each have intricate carvings at their top, and the walls are filled with larger carvings, each with much activity in carvings surrounding the focal point carvings. They were all designed to teach the moral lessons of Hinduism, and while some destruction—either deliberate or through the elements—has occurred, the carvers’ intent is still very clear. Within the main cave, no matter where you stood, you could see at least one of these carvings. Also in the cave were active shrines, where Hindu adherents came to practice their faith.

The trek back down was easier than the one up, and we had more leisure to watch the antics of the monkeys that live on the island, and haggle a bit with the vendors. By this time, the festive life of the island as a local family destination was in full swing: vendors selling roasted corn on the cob and other delicacies to passersby, and locals and foreigners all mixed in together for a colorful crowd. The ferry ride back was fun, as we were right behind a large extended family, whose children charmed us. The interaction of the family could have been anywhere in the world, except that here the women were in colorful saris, and thought nothing of getting on the floor of the ferry to ease a child to sleep. One mother put her son on her lap, and proceeded to gently and rhythmically slap his forehead. But it certainly worked; he quickly went to sleep and stayed asleep through all manner of activity and noise.

A Literal Feast

Back in Mumbai, it was time for a little shopping—a stroll through the crowded markets of the Colaba district. Then, the most fabulous lunch yet: a visit to Samrat’s, a vegetarian restaurant serving a thali-style meal. With a large metal tray in front of each of us, and individual bowls within the tray, they just kept piling on all manner of vegetables, legumes, pickles and other wonderfully flavored treats, all to be scooped up with bread or mixed with rice and eaten with the hand. It was delicious, and quite the feast. Stuffed and happy, we returned to our ship to sail off to our next India stop, Cochin. And that will be my next entry.