Utsikt fra sykehussengen
11 years ago
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Makeover
Why not? Everybody needs one now and then, and while I really should have been writing on my first assignment, alternatively the twelve-page research proposal to be handed in on Friday, I though it a perfect time to update and refresh the blog. The pic is from Kirstenbosch botanical gardens by the way, during a Sunday concert last week. Because that's what we normally do on Sundays here in Cape Town. Peace out.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
TIA
"This is Africa, Maria, this is Africa!" Afra looks at me with comforting eyes, tries to calm my irritable nerves and explains that this is Africa, so I better get used to it. If you can't beat them, join 'em. When in Rome, do as the Romans. I know, I know. I must adapt to the local cultures and vibes, but after of have seen the 12th person at the seventh office in four days I'm getting slightly annoyed with the disorganisation of UCT and wonders why they want to spoil our time along with their own, and not just fix our registration straight away.
It all started on Tuesday last week when we were to register. The twelve of us rocked up at the postgrad humanities building, sat through an introductory lecture and stood in line for 15 minutes only to be told that the form we needed to fill out was unavailable. I know I can get far with a smile and a friendly attitude so went into another line and asked the guy there. Not surprisingly he managed to produce the form we were after. Everyone filled it out and stood in a new line. After 15 minutes we were told it was the wrong line and was sent to a new line, only to be told when we finally reached the office that no, really we should have been in the first line afterall. When we reached the lady there we needed another form from an office that was closed, so come back tomorrow please.
Well, "tomorrow" was last Wednesday when Kari and me went on a winetour instead, but Sigbjørn was stuck at a hot office for hours, filling out loads of forms, none of which were necessary, and paying 300 rand, also unnecessary.
Thursday we wanted to try our luck again and went to IAPO, the international office. Here we were shifted back and forwards between three people, taking copies of passports and in general just doing admin stuff until we finally had the required stamps and could go to the humanities undergrad building. IAPO is located on the lower campus, humanities on the upper, but I was in good spirits and dragged the Zambians and Sudanese all through campus in the schorching heat. When we reached the Beattie-building we were met with signs that due to an appeal their office was closed for the day, so come back tomorrow will ya?
Yesterday my limits were reached, but I nevertheless needed to register so headed once again to the Beattie-building. After waiting for one lady we were told to go to another who marvellously enough had the right form. She sent us back to postgrad humanities building to fetch signatures. Rudi signed one place but refused to sign any other and told us to go back. We knew we needed at least one more signature so asked a second guy who sent us to a third lady who sent us to a fourth guy who signed one place and told us to go and see the dean to get the last signature. As I was about to knock on the dean's office, Charity came running and said I better not, as the dean had nearly bitten their heads of as she had nothing to do with the registration. So we went back to the grumpy lady in the Beattie-building, told her the story and finally got the last clearence.
TIFA - This really is f...fantastic Africa!
It all started on Tuesday last week when we were to register. The twelve of us rocked up at the postgrad humanities building, sat through an introductory lecture and stood in line for 15 minutes only to be told that the form we needed to fill out was unavailable. I know I can get far with a smile and a friendly attitude so went into another line and asked the guy there. Not surprisingly he managed to produce the form we were after. Everyone filled it out and stood in a new line. After 15 minutes we were told it was the wrong line and was sent to a new line, only to be told when we finally reached the office that no, really we should have been in the first line afterall. When we reached the lady there we needed another form from an office that was closed, so come back tomorrow please.
Well, "tomorrow" was last Wednesday when Kari and me went on a winetour instead, but Sigbjørn was stuck at a hot office for hours, filling out loads of forms, none of which were necessary, and paying 300 rand, also unnecessary.
Thursday we wanted to try our luck again and went to IAPO, the international office. Here we were shifted back and forwards between three people, taking copies of passports and in general just doing admin stuff until we finally had the required stamps and could go to the humanities undergrad building. IAPO is located on the lower campus, humanities on the upper, but I was in good spirits and dragged the Zambians and Sudanese all through campus in the schorching heat. When we reached the Beattie-building we were met with signs that due to an appeal their office was closed for the day, so come back tomorrow will ya?
Yesterday my limits were reached, but I nevertheless needed to register so headed once again to the Beattie-building. After waiting for one lady we were told to go to another who marvellously enough had the right form. She sent us back to postgrad humanities building to fetch signatures. Rudi signed one place but refused to sign any other and told us to go back. We knew we needed at least one more signature so asked a second guy who sent us to a third lady who sent us to a fourth guy who signed one place and told us to go and see the dean to get the last signature. As I was about to knock on the dean's office, Charity came running and said I better not, as the dean had nearly bitten their heads of as she had nothing to do with the registration. So we went back to the grumpy lady in the Beattie-building, told her the story and finally got the last clearence.
TIFA - This really is f...fantastic Africa!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Norwegian Inherited Stiffness Syndrome
Mama Rosa was sitting on a chair in the corner, and despite her body fighting cancer, her bones fighting the brittleness, and her seventy-plus-years fighting gravity one could not overlook the shine in her eyes and the decire to dance. The tea cup was bouncing up and down on her lap, and the feet, covered in big woolen socks were tripping along with the African rythms on this night of love.
Her daughter, Portia, who is in my class, had invited us all for dinner, and it was an experience I will not soon forget, and probably always connect with Valentin's Day. Portia and her mother are quite good at speaking and were both sharing memories of loved ones lost, and the ones that were still around to experience the ups and downs of ones life. We went through compulsory introduction rounds everytime someone new dropped by for a visit and in the end I realized I've had more hugs from strangers today than what I've had in total since I arrived in the country four weeks ago. Being Norwegian it is fantastic to see that there actually is some root in the old Ringnes commercial from a few years back. Norwegians are terrible in unfamiliar social settings, and we have something to learn from our African fellows. After dinner we were forced to join the dancing and singing and actually had some great fun at it as well.
People who know me knows I think Valentin's Day is a "shameless commercial exploitation of people's insecurities day", and I see no reason why to fill up homes and trollies with toys made in China (although I do like flowers, but that can be any day of the year). And although Portia was dressed in red and jumping of joy for the flowers and chocolate we brought her, she was clear on directing the love towards all people, not just the better half.
Tonight was about having friends and family around you in sickness and in health, for better and for worse, until death do us apart. Cheers.
Her daughter, Portia, who is in my class, had invited us all for dinner, and it was an experience I will not soon forget, and probably always connect with Valentin's Day. Portia and her mother are quite good at speaking and were both sharing memories of loved ones lost, and the ones that were still around to experience the ups and downs of ones life. We went through compulsory introduction rounds everytime someone new dropped by for a visit and in the end I realized I've had more hugs from strangers today than what I've had in total since I arrived in the country four weeks ago. Being Norwegian it is fantastic to see that there actually is some root in the old Ringnes commercial from a few years back. Norwegians are terrible in unfamiliar social settings, and we have something to learn from our African fellows. After dinner we were forced to join the dancing and singing and actually had some great fun at it as well.
People who know me knows I think Valentin's Day is a "shameless commercial exploitation of people's insecurities day", and I see no reason why to fill up homes and trollies with toys made in China (although I do like flowers, but that can be any day of the year). And although Portia was dressed in red and jumping of joy for the flowers and chocolate we brought her, she was clear on directing the love towards all people, not just the better half.
Tonight was about having friends and family around you in sickness and in health, for better and for worse, until death do us apart. Cheers.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Picture vs thousand words
This cartoon perfectly demonstrates a person's attention span after a wine tour of Stellenbosch and 25 different tastings.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Three week crisis
Sigbjørn is listening to Joni Mitchell and the melancholic tones of Both Sides Now are entering every room of the house. It's not the first time I've been out of the country for a long while, rather like the tenth, but amazingly enough one never fails to experience what the experts calls the three-week-crisis or the end of the honeymoon-period. As entering upon a new culture (or one you know well from before, i.e. after countless visits to Australia), you are met by new people and places, new cafés, restaurants, pubs, beaches and shops. All this is all new and fantastic for a certain amount of time and then it hits you: Ugh, Norway has nicer food, Norway has better transport system, in Norway you won't get mugged while going for a run, in Norway you can count on the police, in Norway there are no coachroaches and so on. And you end up thinking about all the jolly things about "home", while actually just trying to overcompensate for a slight tingle of homesickness.
When I worked for a high school exchange program sending students to the US, we were very clear on telling the children that not every singe moment during their next year would be all sweet and fantastic, and they assured us they were totally aware of this and would not react by crying down the phone to their mums, blocking their thoughts for their hostfamilies and eating nothing but cheesecake and chocolate. Yet, three weeks after departure we had the first dads on the phone, wanting to fly across the Atlantic to go and fetch Susie or Joe as the offsprings were terribly homesick and would have a disastrous year if they weren't flown back home at once. Luckily we managed to stop most of these parents, and Susie and Joe lived happily ever after.
Nevertheless, I've now spent three weeks in South Africa and can feel the twitching returning to my stomach, an urge to glorify the mothercountry and all things Norwegian, not to mention the lack of a certain better half. It has caused me to do irresponsible things like booking trips half across southern Africa, not to mention that I'm contemplating jumping off parts of Table Mountain (in a paraglider, but none the less).
As a remote comfort the only thing I can say is that the three-week-crisis can at the longest last for a week until I've reached the four week mark and will have a totally different perception of the abroad stay. But just in case of pro-longed depression, I've booked a wine tasting tour for Wednesday and I have every intention to swollow.
When I worked for a high school exchange program sending students to the US, we were very clear on telling the children that not every singe moment during their next year would be all sweet and fantastic, and they assured us they were totally aware of this and would not react by crying down the phone to their mums, blocking their thoughts for their hostfamilies and eating nothing but cheesecake and chocolate. Yet, three weeks after departure we had the first dads on the phone, wanting to fly across the Atlantic to go and fetch Susie or Joe as the offsprings were terribly homesick and would have a disastrous year if they weren't flown back home at once. Luckily we managed to stop most of these parents, and Susie and Joe lived happily ever after.
Nevertheless, I've now spent three weeks in South Africa and can feel the twitching returning to my stomach, an urge to glorify the mothercountry and all things Norwegian, not to mention the lack of a certain better half. It has caused me to do irresponsible things like booking trips half across southern Africa, not to mention that I'm contemplating jumping off parts of Table Mountain (in a paraglider, but none the less).
As a remote comfort the only thing I can say is that the three-week-crisis can at the longest last for a week until I've reached the four week mark and will have a totally different perception of the abroad stay. But just in case of pro-longed depression, I've booked a wine tasting tour for Wednesday and I have every intention to swollow.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
An open invitation
Although I am having a great time here in Cape Town by myself, I'd like to extend an open invitation to anyone who have a few days off at the end of February to come and join me for some South African fun in the sun. Last time I tried the same thing, inviting strangers to faraway places, I ended up in a relationship, so you never know what's going to happen, but I can promise you, it will be memorable.
I know I live in a little coachroach-infested house in Mowbray, a few kilometres from the action in Cape Town, however, there is plenty of room for one more, and the housemates have already welcomed your visit. We have two cute bathrooms with hardly any bugs at all, and our little, but sunny backyard if overflowing with frangipani flowers. It's pretty. You should see it.
The university is only 15 minutes (half an hour if we are walking with the Sudanese) away, and during your week here, I'll probably have to go there twice or so, but you can come and explore the big ivy-covered buildings, run tracks on the rugby field or take a snooze in the library.
Anyway, Mowbray and Rondebosch isn't why you've come to Cape Town! You've come to take a cable car up to Table Mountain, and weather permitting we'll be hiking back down. We might even wait til the sun has set and watch that go down in the Atlantic Ocean before admiring the view of the starstruck city. Then we'll head to the Waterfront and have dinner and enjoy the Jazz musicians next door.
The next day we'll do some historical sightseeing and head out to Robben Island. The guides at the museum are formers inmates or guards, and although you probably won't bumb into Nelson Mandela, it is supposed to be worth a visit. We'll have lunch at a veggie place called Portobello in Long Street, and if you're scared of veggies I can promise you the chocolate muffin will win you over to the green side. After Robben Island we'll head back to Long Street and to Nyoni's Kraal. A typical touristy, although fantastic restaurant with yummy food and good wine. You should be looking forward to it!
I think it's time for some sun! Today we'll catch a minibustaxi to Camps Bay. It's where Cape Towns rich and famous tan their delicious bodies, and although the glare from the Ferraris lining the street can be a bit too much, at least we'll get a huge ice cream from the Italian place at the plaza and lie on the beach for a few hours. Beach should be followed by something else on B - and then a burger at Royale (again in Long Street) will be the perfect end to a perfect day. Top it up with a Choc Brownie milkshake and you'll be in heaven.
After a scrumptillidumptious day yesterday we'll go to the Botanical Gardens. It is famous for it's flowers (naturally), but also for it's Sunday evening concerts, so if today is a Sunday we'll head there.
You can't go to South Africa without exploring the rich wine regions, and I think we should head to either Stellenbosch or Frenschoek to taste some delicious local wine today. We'll go on a tour so we won't have to fight over who's driving, and I suspect the jokes will become worse and worse proportionally with how many wineyards we've visited.
To finish off a wonderful holiday we might take the leap and tandem jump off Lion's Head, check out a safari or go face to face with the great white. It's up to whoever accepting my offer.
See you soon!
I know I live in a little coachroach-infested house in Mowbray, a few kilometres from the action in Cape Town, however, there is plenty of room for one more, and the housemates have already welcomed your visit. We have two cute bathrooms with hardly any bugs at all, and our little, but sunny backyard if overflowing with frangipani flowers. It's pretty. You should see it.
The university is only 15 minutes (half an hour if we are walking with the Sudanese) away, and during your week here, I'll probably have to go there twice or so, but you can come and explore the big ivy-covered buildings, run tracks on the rugby field or take a snooze in the library.
Anyway, Mowbray and Rondebosch isn't why you've come to Cape Town! You've come to take a cable car up to Table Mountain, and weather permitting we'll be hiking back down. We might even wait til the sun has set and watch that go down in the Atlantic Ocean before admiring the view of the starstruck city. Then we'll head to the Waterfront and have dinner and enjoy the Jazz musicians next door.
The next day we'll do some historical sightseeing and head out to Robben Island. The guides at the museum are formers inmates or guards, and although you probably won't bumb into Nelson Mandela, it is supposed to be worth a visit. We'll have lunch at a veggie place called Portobello in Long Street, and if you're scared of veggies I can promise you the chocolate muffin will win you over to the green side. After Robben Island we'll head back to Long Street and to Nyoni's Kraal. A typical touristy, although fantastic restaurant with yummy food and good wine. You should be looking forward to it!
I think it's time for some sun! Today we'll catch a minibustaxi to Camps Bay. It's where Cape Towns rich and famous tan their delicious bodies, and although the glare from the Ferraris lining the street can be a bit too much, at least we'll get a huge ice cream from the Italian place at the plaza and lie on the beach for a few hours. Beach should be followed by something else on B - and then a burger at Royale (again in Long Street) will be the perfect end to a perfect day. Top it up with a Choc Brownie milkshake and you'll be in heaven.
After a scrumptillidumptious day yesterday we'll go to the Botanical Gardens. It is famous for it's flowers (naturally), but also for it's Sunday evening concerts, so if today is a Sunday we'll head there.
You can't go to South Africa without exploring the rich wine regions, and I think we should head to either Stellenbosch or Frenschoek to taste some delicious local wine today. We'll go on a tour so we won't have to fight over who's driving, and I suspect the jokes will become worse and worse proportionally with how many wineyards we've visited.
To finish off a wonderful holiday we might take the leap and tandem jump off Lion's Head, check out a safari or go face to face with the great white. It's up to whoever accepting my offer.
See you soon!
Saturday, January 24, 2009
We're concerned about your safety
If there is one thing I dislike it is to feel unsafe. My heart starts pounding, palms gets sweaty, I start thinking about worst-case-scenarios, which are usually quite horrid and terrible, despite me never watching anything scary on tv at all, but anyway, I hate not feeling safe.
Yesterday we had had a beautiful drive around Table Mountain in a very typical tourist manner, but we got to see a lot of what is surrounding Cape Town. Kari and two of her friends decided to head back to their place, while I felt the need to just chill out and relax at home. It was around 6pm and the sun wouldn't set for hours, yet the driver of the tourist bus nearly freaked out when I told him I was planning to take a minibus taxi by myselves. "It is not safe, it is not safe" he kept saying. The pusher on the bus was a little more calm and offered to take the train with me to Mowbray, but as I am not fully orientated yet I declined and said I might have troubles finding home from the train station. He then insisted on following me to a bus which would go along the main road (same as the minibus taxis), and at least I was sure to get to Mowbray safe. After walking me across and through the central station he asked me if I wanted him to stay with me until the bus arrived, but I politely declined and said I would be fine along the 20 or so other ladies in the queue. "Ok, but go straight home now," he said, and I did.
As a white girls in Cape Town you feel everyone is looking out for you. Either because they want to rob you - or because they want to make sure you get home safe. It is extremely frustrating to always have people minding about your safety, which is after all something most of us take for granted back home. Sigbjørn came home later last night and also told me that the ladies on his minibustaxi had told him it was stupid of him to catch it by himself and a local girl even offered to follow him to his point of interest. He accepted.
Today we've been at Old Bisquit Mill Market. It is a large area with lots of stalls with yummy food - olives, cheese, freshly baked bread, muffins, crepes, and bubbly for 15R a glass (10 NOK, 2AU$). The market was situated at the end of a long road, where all you could see was black people loitering, but the second you entered the market, the demographic changed completely and it felt like you were back in Europe. Happy, white people enjoying the sun and the champers. As we walked back a minibustaxi stopped and asked us if we were going to Mowbray, but as it was only the driver and the cashier in the car we declined. Didn't want them to run away with us did we, and jumped in the next taxi with more people in.
To be honest, the system, the segregation and the social differences due to the colour of your skin makes me sick, but as the pusher on the tourist bus said last night "Better to be safe than sorry", and I can do nothing but agree with him.
Yesterday we had had a beautiful drive around Table Mountain in a very typical tourist manner, but we got to see a lot of what is surrounding Cape Town. Kari and two of her friends decided to head back to their place, while I felt the need to just chill out and relax at home. It was around 6pm and the sun wouldn't set for hours, yet the driver of the tourist bus nearly freaked out when I told him I was planning to take a minibus taxi by myselves. "It is not safe, it is not safe" he kept saying. The pusher on the bus was a little more calm and offered to take the train with me to Mowbray, but as I am not fully orientated yet I declined and said I might have troubles finding home from the train station. He then insisted on following me to a bus which would go along the main road (same as the minibus taxis), and at least I was sure to get to Mowbray safe. After walking me across and through the central station he asked me if I wanted him to stay with me until the bus arrived, but I politely declined and said I would be fine along the 20 or so other ladies in the queue. "Ok, but go straight home now," he said, and I did.
As a white girls in Cape Town you feel everyone is looking out for you. Either because they want to rob you - or because they want to make sure you get home safe. It is extremely frustrating to always have people minding about your safety, which is after all something most of us take for granted back home. Sigbjørn came home later last night and also told me that the ladies on his minibustaxi had told him it was stupid of him to catch it by himself and a local girl even offered to follow him to his point of interest. He accepted.
Today we've been at Old Bisquit Mill Market. It is a large area with lots of stalls with yummy food - olives, cheese, freshly baked bread, muffins, crepes, and bubbly for 15R a glass (10 NOK, 2AU$). The market was situated at the end of a long road, where all you could see was black people loitering, but the second you entered the market, the demographic changed completely and it felt like you were back in Europe. Happy, white people enjoying the sun and the champers. As we walked back a minibustaxi stopped and asked us if we were going to Mowbray, but as it was only the driver and the cashier in the car we declined. Didn't want them to run away with us did we, and jumped in the next taxi with more people in.
To be honest, the system, the segregation and the social differences due to the colour of your skin makes me sick, but as the pusher on the tourist bus said last night "Better to be safe than sorry", and I can do nothing but agree with him.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
On the slopes of Devil's Peak...
This is how some random internet site described Mowbray, which is the suburb of Cape Town which will be my home for the next 64 days (but who is counting...?). I arrived Cape Town, or the Kappstaad as written in Afrikaans last night after a 1400 kilometre drive straight through South Africa. Despite someone might wondering why I didn't get a direct flight to CT, it was definitively worth the time, and the drive was through a landscape one would never expect could go on for so incredible long time. The whole first day was nothing but flat, flat, flat. We stayed overnight at a little bed and breakfast somewhere after Springfontein and was served typical South African for dinner, served by an Afrikaans lady speaking like the muffin man in Shrek. After the nice meal we went to bed listening to a ceiling fan working overtime and the growls of the watch-dogs outside. Neadless to say - I didn't sleep much.
After another 800 km on the road yesterday we got to Cape Town yesterday afternoon. We were dropped off at our house in Mowbray and quickly started to orientate us. The nearest shop close at 6pm, and so does almost everything else, so it actually becomes kind of dead quiet after that time. We have five big rooms, a livingroom and a kitcken filled with coackroaches, but we can see Devil's Peak from the front door and there are frangipani flowers everywhere.
Today we bought the food we couldn't get hold of last night and headed towards the beach. Not sure which beach we were going to but the taxi driver let us off at Sea Point and we walked along Cape Town's "riviera" to Clifton's 1st beach. He has four. It was an amazing place, hot, yet windy so not too hot, and just a amazing change from the 20cm of snow that Oslo is currently battling. After a nice meal at a restaurant in Long Street we caught a taxi home around Table Mountain, sprayed up two insect repellent boxes to try combat the roaches in the bathroom, and will soon get up to more mischief and mayhem.
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