Fifty Pilot Whales Beach Themselves in Kommetjie

On Saturday morning, I received this text message from Sean: "Dude apparently 20 whales have beached at kommetjie and they are looking for volunteers to help are you keen to go?"

The answer was yes, and I set about finding more information online. There was one article up already, citing that it was actually around 47 and that more were coming ashore. It was now around 11am, and they had beached just before sunrise at about 7:30am. I saw that one had already died, and that the National Sea Rescue Institute was now inviting people with wet suits to come help them back into the water. Since it was a cold day, I set about getting some warm clothes along with my camera, and ran to meet up with my ride.

We stopped on the way and grabbed wet suits from the diving trailer, and then quickly realized that half of Cape Town was driving there to see the whales. Equipped with a long time Capetonian and GPS unit, we found a bit longer and mountainous, albeit much faster and less congested path to Kommetjie. Score.

When we arrived, I realized how spread out the problem was. There were whales all up and down the beach, each with a group of 3-7 people sitting with them. We headed down to the site, and met up with some friends that had already been there for a few hours. It felt like a disaster zone, with people running around with buckets, and volunteers passing out blankets, food, and drinks for those that had been there a long time. The beach was littered with emergency vehicles, everyone from the neighbourhood watch and the local police to sea rescue and disaster management.

It was like triage. Whales all over.

The towel lady. That's just what I called her, though.

They were getting ready to turn the whale upright.

One whale was already dead when we arrived.

And despite all these officials and being several hours into this ordeal, there was very little organization or instruction for the people that were there to help. After taking some photos, I ditched my camera and clothes when I was asked to help pour water. I shuttled between about ten whales dumping water on them, especially on the dorsal fin to keep it cool. I felt a few, and they were getting very warm. The challenge is that not many people knew how to best take care of the whales, and there was not much direction coming from the officials on the beach. Generally, they were keeping the whales comfortable and keeping them upright so as not to rest them on their side organs or their side fins.

Keeping this one comfortable. Note the water bucket.

So.... I continued with my bucket operations. I asked if there was a plan, and got wild responses like, "They are calling in the navy to help. Whether it be a helicopter or boats or what not, we're not sure, but I hope someone comes." This came from a man that was busy digging sand from the sides of a whale, while splashing water on it and attempting to keep it upright as it rolled. I asked someone else and they remarked, "They are supposedly bringing in some trucks to transport them via road to the bay in Simon's Town near the naval base." I looked around as not much else changed. I wondered why nobody was walking around giving directions, why I hadn't heard anything over the loud speakers on the emergency vehicles, or why nobody seemed to know the plan.

Lots of spectators flocked to watch.

At this point, I saw a few people trying to move one. I had already heard that any whales that were pushed back to the ocean were turning around and swimming right back in, but also heard that some had gotten back out. They were likely going to die on the beach, so why not try? We sat with one for about 45 minutes as we used periodic waves to move it further into the water. It was about 12-15 feet long, and probably weighed about a ton or more. Let me tell you, although it probably can be assumed, pushing a whale is hard work. It gets very tiring. For the whale as well.

We did it though, and managed to get this one into deeper water. Donning our wet suits in the icy water, we walked her out into deeper water, as far as we could. We struggled to keep her oriented toward the ocean, but she was turning back for the beach, partly because of the current. The waves were crashing pretty hard and it felt like she wouldn't get very far without be guided out past the waves. Yet this quickly becomes a dangerous ordeal when you're swimming with a stressed whale in the big waves. I was getting these huge waves crashing into me while I held onto her, getting thrown a few times and swimming back to her dorsal fin. And eventually I realized that this was becoming more dangerous than I was comfortable with, and the prospect of having a sideways whale tossed into me by the huge waves wasn't one I was ready to contend with. To complicate things, the tide was pulling me further out, so I decided that I'd go in. It wasn't worth it to risk the lives of five volunteers for a whale that was turning to rebeach anyway.

A few volunteers swimming with one of the pilot whales.

The breaking waves were pretty dangerous.

I swam back, and later found out that some people made bigger risks earlier in the day. One person needed to be rescued from a near drowning in the surf, another suffered either a broken leg or a fractured knee (or they were different people), and a third may have had broken ribs from being pinned under a rolling whale. So, I kept my safe distance while sitting with them, and decided not to swim out too far. Pushing them out was seemingly futile anyway, since any that were returned to sea were rebeaching a bit further or swimming onto the rocks even further down, causing more problems like cuts and lacerations.

I think this is the one we were sitting with.

Working with the whale on her own.

The general feeling was, "What must we do?". Despite interspersed rumors of some getting back to the ocean, most of these 55 were either still on the beach, dead already, or much further down on the rocks with other volunteers struggling to free them. And as they became increasingly stressed and resistant, a few started finning and sent volunteers running as it thrashed around in the water. Perhaps it was presumptuous of us to assume that they wanted to live? I'm not sure.

What to do?

This one was fighting quiet furiously once it was in the water.

Down the beach, on the rocks.

It was at this point that I stood next to a woman with a walkie talkie. I heard the instruction that all officials were to meet by the vehicles to make a human shield, removing people from the beach so they could all be euthanized. I went to my friends, still working with a whale, and said this was their last chance to send it out. I watched as officials told volunteers to now leave, give up on the whale that some of them had been sitting with for hours because it was not possible anymore to save them. Volunteers in turn were getting frustrated and emotional with the lack of coordinated response and direction, and refused to leave the whale. "This is a public beach, this isn't your whale, and we're still willing to try. You have no right to kill it." Indeed, many were getting stressed and tired, others seemed active and alert... yet it seemed very few people knew much about the whales or their chances. I didn't, for sure, so who do you believe? Emotions were running high.

More police coming to clear the beach.

Making a plan, just before they told everyone it was closed.

The rest of the officials meet before euthanizing.

Arguing once the man in the blue told them to leave.

More fighting, pointing at the whale in the sand.

Last ditch effort for this one. Calling people to help push.

I asked a police officer, he said, "The beach is officially closed." To me, this sounded like, "Boy, we really screwed this up big time, and since we're police, we are taking control of this scene and telling you to leave so we can shoot them all." It probably also meant, "We've been told that all that the rescue efforts have failed, and it's too late". Maybe both. I'm no expert, but the whales weren't very large, and I've seen how Cape Town responds to fires, with helicopters galore, and I also know how they can really screw things up as well. It seems to me that they weren't prepared, even the ones that were tasked with marine protection. There should have been boats involved, there should have been either trained professionals, more instruction, or no request for the public to come help. But... there wasn't, and the situation was regrettable. So, we complied and left.

I read another account from a volunteer online, and it seems things got very hectic after we left. Many volunteers tried desperately to free the remaining whales as the police started clearing the beach. Shortly thereafter, a police gunman with a rife, flanked by other officials, moved from whale to whale and put a bullet into each one to euthanize it. It was very sad to hear, and frustrating at how insane things got. Volunteers were still there, and officials are now recommending people that were disturbed by what happened to seek counselling. Should have thought of that before you didn't clear the beach and started killing whales.

All of this happened during the day. In the evening, I spent a lot of time online with friends trying to figure out all the questions I had from the day. Can whale rescue be successful? What was happening physiologically to them on the beach? How should we have been taking care of them? What could have been done better? Why did they beach all at once? Is it common?

First and foremost, pilot whales seem to beach pretty often. A few years ago Australia saw 140 beach at once on their shores, and were somewhat successful getting about 40 back out. I doubt very much that it was the result of navy sonar operations or global warming. In fact, the first recorded stranding in South Africa happened on the same beach in 1928, with 108 whales coming ashore. In that instance, whales that were towed deeper also rebeached, so even their behavior has happened before. Beachings have happened in other places of the world and other parts of South Africa since. So... pilot whales have a tendency to do this.

Why do they beach? No definitive cause has been identified, but the best guess is that they follow a leader onto the beach. These ones are also called false killer whales, since they are smaller relatives and travel in pods of many dozens, following a leader. If she is ill, confused, dying, or whatever else and heads for shore, they follow. Sorry to say it, but these whales may have received a Darwin Award on Saturday. The bottom line: these things happen, and a number of things could have been done differently. Beyond this, I've had lots of conversations and arguments with people about what could have been done, and I'm frankly tired of talking about it. The numbers are sketchy, and news reports keep changing on how many lived, beached, and died. It seems now that 44 were euthanized on the beach, and another ten or so died during rescue attempts. They probably didn't have a very good chance of survival once they came ashore in the first place.

I'd like to focus on the time I actually spent with them, rather than the outcome though. It was a very unique experience to sit with a whale. I sat with this one outside of the context of an aquarium, or some type of zoo... but rather in the wild, sitting with it, making my best guesses as how to support it and keep it well. I am glad I was at least able to help try.

It ended up becoming international news. Here are some articles: BBC News UK | Telegraph | Reuters | Associated Press

All photographs © Shaun Aukland

Chasing the Beast Storm

I've mentioned in previous posts that when it storms in Cape Town, they say it storms. Or for example, Steve said, "I promise you that when this weekend is over you can say I'm wrong if you haven't witnessed the most terrifying storm of your life." I love storms, by the way, so this naturally had me intrigued.

The news sites got a little out of hand, forecasting that this weekend would be a 50-year event. Those that were more cautious simply called it a 'beast' of a storm, but the general consensus was that we'd be witnessing winds of 60 mph and waves ranging between 20 and 30 feet high. You can imagine my glee.

Some friends arranged a storm chasing expedition (another thing I'm always keen for). Saturday morning was supposed to be real bad, and would linger throughout the day. Sunday, however would be the 'creature', 'beast', or 'monster'. Whichever animalistic term you prefer. We arranged the excursion for Saturday afternoon, driving in Steve's Toyota Prado.

The Chasers. Ready to rock.

The first stop was Sea Point, where the waves were vicious, and you could hardly stand in one spot from the wind. Much of our trip saw winds like this, but we managed to avoid the wild downpours that characterized the rest of the weekend. This was actually great though, since it allowed me to use my Nikon with less fear of it being totally ruined. You'll recall that my underwater camera was lost to the ocean. Here are some shots from Sea Point:

Tons of sea foam (not the color) blowing onto the walkway!

Rob was prepared. And loving it.

We moved on and also visited Hout Bay, Kalk Bay, Clifton (very top photo), and Camp's Bay. In terms of the trip, the waves were big, but not as big as they said they'd be. That may be because the brunt of the storm hit on Saturday morning when I was asleep, but that shouldn't matter... Sunday was the prize. However, absolutely nothing happened on Sunday. It just rained in the morning. Bummer.

Winding along the coast, in search of deadly hurricanes.

Although part of that is good, because certain parts of the city are really prone to flooding, especially the townships and other informal housing settlements. You figure that most of the houses are already not build to withstand the extreme weather, and in a huge, expansive area of paved roads and highly concentrated houses (both formal and informal), there is very little exposed soil that can absorb water. So the Cape Flats flood every year, which is very unfortunate, and requires disaster management in the area to be on alert for every big storm.

Housing near Hout Bay.

But you can't stop the storms, so one will still come. I'm yet to see "the most terrifying storm of my life", but it could still happen while I'm here. Perhaps when the next one hits I'll be in my rain coat with a mini-umbrella hat and a wind speedometer in my hand. I'll blog about it from the top of a mountain. By the way, we ended our trip with hot chocolate. I also got soup because I'm fat. Whatever.

Storm chasing is hard work.

Click for the rest of the photos.

Rioting and Missing Buses and Flights on the Way "Home"

After a great week of swimming, diving, making friends, partying, close wildlife encounters, and carefree relaxation... it was time to leave. Though this could not happen without a nice "Wisconsin Night" first. After hearing the glorious stories of my hometown and my alma mater, my new South African friends would not be let off without becoming honorary Badgers. And so it was:

If you want to be a Badger...

Now, in the early hours of day 10, our 4am shuttle back to Maputo was looming. We decided not to go to sleep, since it would probably have made things worse. Instead, I started to worry that I hadn't taken enough pictures of the resort, so I grabbed my camera and tripod and set about taking some night shots. I was doing long exposures, and each time a photo appeared on my camera I was thrilled with how cool they were turning out. Somehow, in the black darkness of the 3am night, I was exposing photos of the beach and the resort. Here are a few:

Most of our group packed up and started the half hour walk to the shuttle stop. We stayed behind to make some final pasta and assist in loading the trailer full of luggage, while Sean got his truck ready. Running a bit behind from everything, we arrived at the shuttle stop to find no shuttle stopped or waiting. It had left without eight of us, and the now 4:15am prospect of catching up to the fastest thing between Tofo and Maputo seemed daunting. It would appear that "African time" is quite selective in its application. The driver left promptly at 4:00, even as fellow trip mates explained that we were on our way and had tickets.

Speeding down dirt roads in the darkness and crammed into the uncomfortable back cab of Sean's truck, we caught up to the shuttle, only to find they had filled the empty seats immediately and we were now without transport... sort of. We simply remained in our current seats, with five of us sitting in the back of Sean's bakkie (South African word for truck). That's right, folks, we did the 8 hour chicken bus drive that was previously detailed in the back of Sean's bakkie. To make the ride a bit easier, we grabbed sleeping bags, pillows, and an air mattress from the luggage trailer. In retrospect, it was almost certainly more comfortable that the chicken bus drive, so we again sort of messed up, but actually made the right move.

Crammed into the bakkie for the eight hour drive to Maputo.

Fatima's chicken bus was also dethroned as the fastest thing from Tofo to Maputo... we beat it. Back at the backpackers, we spent one final night in the capital city of Mozambique with a dinner and lots of resting. Still a bit overwhelmed by my malaria medicine and feeling nauseous, I went to sleep early.

This would prove helpful when we got up at 6:30 to catch our Greyhound again, this time out of Mozambique, back into South Africa and to Johannesburg to catch our 7pm flights to Cape Town. (Did you get that? Lots of traveling, but it was the last day.) This seemed completely viable and timely until we reached the Moz border.

The full view of the border post.

So here is the scoop: It is Easter weekend, so there is an inordinate amount of traffic moving through the border. To compensate for this, Mozambican border patrol created a temporary border post about 3km from the actual border. This would seem fine, but as you can see in the photo, it consisted of several green military tents in the middle of nowhere. There were a few computers at each tent, powered by generators, and had ethernet cables running in the dirt to the satellite uplinked embassy truck. Worse yet, there was practically no signage or organization on how this "post" would be functioning. As a result, you had thousands of people attempting to follow directions, get in lines that were explained to be for this or that (Moz exit stamp, South African entry, Miner's, etc.), yet no visible progress.

We stood in line for about an hour and a half before getting to the front of the S. African entry line. It was at this point that a border agent shouted for everyone to create two lines (in Portuguese). What they were for was unclear at the time, but we did as people started to cut in line and find new spots. Eventually lines were disregarded, and people moved to the front of the tent to figure out what we were supposed to do, and to check on why the line had not moved for 45 minutes now. Lines disappeared, and this lead to a large crowd surrounding the tents, searching for information and trying to do the right thing. I was at the very front of this, and watched on as tensions rose, people began yelling, and the seemingly incompetent, outnumbered Mozambican border patrol agents attempted to shout back, tell people to move, and restore order to something that neither they nor the waiting people understood. I felt very uncomfortable as more people pushed to the front, more shouting happened, and people started crossing the tape to tell their story and get information.

At times, it felt like a full out stampede was going to happen as we were pushed from behind, and five unarmed military officers physically pushed our crowd back into place. Suddenly someone pushed too much, about 10 feet from me, as an officer pulled his spiked belt from his pants and started whipping the man. Some chaos ensued as people ran, others that were accidentally struck fought back, and other border people ran to assist or provoke. At the same time the line had stopped completely, and I thought, "This is getting much worse. This is getting out of hand."

And it did. Over the next 45 minutes, I stood near the front of the line, listening to the directions of macho men with military berets shouting at us in Portuguese while more rioting broke out just 15 feet away. This time more people were involved with more belts, more running, and more shouting and crying. And remember my anxiety issues around this time? My hands were shaking and I was trying to calm my breathing as I considered a full out riot with pushing, belting, and running as the prospect of people stealing the passport stamper became more real. Finally, I was next (and first among our group) to get my stamp. I slowly walked up to the woman and patiently waited for the god damn stamp. With passport in hand, I went back to the bus to calm down. Shortly after I left, things got worse with people pushing, and agents fighting back with clubs this time. I watched from the bus as people ran, some holding children. Apparently a woman was being hit and held her baby up to stop the man, but he didn't. Crazy stuff.


I learned that since this post was on Mozambican soil, there were only two South African guards whom could do nothing but watch, their power limited to observer at this temporary post. Further, I learned that this was not the norm, and it was a result of Easter weekend, understaffing, and bad management. At first I thought this was only overwhelming and dangerous because I'm American, but a woman from Durban, South Africa remarked that it was the most dangerous situation she'd been in in her life, and a woman from Joburg said she'd never return to Moz.

The most recent clubbing had lost our trip members their spots in line, and after a cumulative four hours at the post, we gave up as Greyhound called everyone back to the bus. They had found a South African official that was able to give us a siren escort to the actual border, where we'd have people looking out for us. This proved simple and fast, and the ordeal was quickly over. On the road again, it was now become obvious that we'd miss our scheduled flights that evening in Johannesburg.

This is when phone tag began. Six hours before my flight, I knew we wouldn't arrive in time, and opted to call the airline and rebook for the next day. My adventure seemed to be extending, and at the cost of $75, I blame the whip-weilding, belt-pelting border patrol. Over the course of the following hours our group sat on the phone with airlines spending money, approximating driving time, and asking themselves and others if we'd be there in time even to catch the last flight out at 9:00pm. Greyhound, incredible as they are, sent a private shuttle just for us, in hopes of speeding us to the airport separately. It was for free, and I can't say that would ever happen in America.

Sunset as we drove on South African soil.

This new bus sped down the highway toward the airport, but for naught as at least twelve of us missed our flights, with varying penalty fees and the need for new overnight accommodation plans. Luckily, Steve has family in Joburg that picked us up and brought us back to their house. Here, Alexei, Daniel, Steve, and I recharged, each got a shower, and were treated to an awesome braai the night before our new flights. Once again, I thought things had gotten worse but somehow found that our adventure was getting better.

A consolation dinner fit for kings.

Don't worry, this story does actually end. We got up the next morning, were politely shuttled to the airport by Steve's uncle, and finally, successfully caught separate flights back to Cape Town, only to reunite on the other side and head into town. This is about the point that I started thinking, "how in the world do I blog about this trip?" I hope I've done it justice. In the way of souvenirs, I didn't get a whole lot. In fact, I lost a number of Wisconsin shirts in the way of gifts, but I did gain tons of stories, over 700 photos, and some sweet as heck African trousers.

Three of the pictured pants are yours truly's.

As you've seen over the last few posts, and as I mentioned originally, my trip to Mozambique was truly an adventure of variety. Most notably as we got around: By planes, Greyhounds, chicken buses, taxis, cars, boats, and a bakkie for good measure.

A Week With Family!

As you know, I spent last week with my older brother Erik and his wife Jana. It felt like we had a packed week of doing things, but we also took it easy. They were on the last leg of a Spring Break through Europe as well, and all three of us felt sick at some point of the week. It retrospect, we visited lots of restaurants, but they were all delicious and varied.

For a change of pace, I made a video slideshow to show what we did over this week of relaxation. Make sure you watch it in HD, since the photos will be much better. I also love the song!

Click here to watch in HD!
For those desiring the back story on the photos, here's a list of things we did:

• Started out at the V&A Waterfront with sightseeing and seafood.
• A tour of my house and neighborhood, Observatory, as well as a stop at a nearby restaurant. This was followed by pool at a local bar (the billiard balls are much smaller here, like Snooker balls).
• Dinner at Mama Africa! It is a popular restaurant on Long Street, downtown, featuring African cuisine and game. Our dishes included crocodile, ostrich, Springbok, and chicken curry. This was followed by hanging out with the live Marimba band.
• A visit to the Stellenbosch vineyards. We went back to some of the wine farms that I toured and posted about. We had an intimate tasting with the actual winemaker of Hoopenburg Wines. After a day of visiting, we had a Cuban dinner and walked around in the town of Stellenbosch.
• Cape Point. Erik and Jana went to the Cape of Good Hope while I was in class one day. They saw the baboons... fighting, being monkeys, doing how they do.
• Fork Restaurant. This was another unique restaurant, that served only small Tapas dishes. Some of the best food I've had since arriving though (and most expensive, unfortunately). We had fried goats cheese, kudu, prawns, ostrich fillet on spiced potatoes, fondue, yellow tail, among other things. Yumm! (Great mojitos, too)
• Surfing at Muizenberg. As I mentioned on Twitter, we were hoping for good weather and waves. Amazingly, both were delivered, and Erik and I hit some waves while Jana lived in the sun.
• Took the train to Kalk Bay. It is a unique ocean-side town further down the coast, with a beautiful view and a fishing industry. We had fish and chips at Kalkies, and then saw all the fresh fish laid out by some of the local fisherman. A very drunk guy, claiming to be the skipper of a boat) had large seals hanging out, while he threw them chunks of bloody fish and told them to do things for the tourists. I had no idea that seals here spoke Afrikaans. At Kalkies, I got the prawns... they were too graphic for me, all the pieces and body parts and such.
• Another night of dinner and Long Street. This time we enjoyed a large sushi dinner before meandering over to Long Street for another night at Mama Africa. The marimba band was so good before, we decided to just hang out at the bar and enjoy the music. Things got a little out of control when I had a few drinks and was invited up with the band to play. I was fearless at the time, and also thought I had the best rhythm in the world. Honestly, in my head, I thought I was on fire. After seeing the video, not so much. I would later be asked out by two prostitutes, and not knowing their profession and thinking they just wanted to party, started talking to them until Erik took me away. Too many cocktails. "They were just being nice!"
  
• Beach Bums! We spent a few hours the next day at Clifton Beach, one of the most beautiful and popping beaches in the area. It was gorgeous, except for the few leathery-skinned, old, bronze men that were sitting out naked with their damaged, bleached hair. Eeek, go inside and let your skin heal! I wanted to buy them aloe vera and a fire blanket.
  
• Addis in Cape. This traditional Ethiopian restaurant is similar to Buraka in Madison, but a bit more beefed up (as you could expect in Africa). We got a fixed menu, three course meal, trying lots of different entrees and a few appetizers. Dessert followed, with a coffee ceremony where they burned Frankincense.
• Hemisphere. We got dressed up and visited Hemisphere, a posh club on the 31st floor of the ABSA building, which towers over the center of downtown Cape Town. It was a bit odd, but a fun experience. I'm not sure how the strict "dress code" exempted the overweight lady in the red "Jeep" t-shirt with Crocs on. She must have been super-VIP.
  
• The township tour. You can't very well visit Cape Town without visiting a township to see the other side of life here. My friend Andrew brought us through Nyanga for a few hours, which was really nice. I might post more about it later. Highlights included visiting a huge braai, a community gardening project, drinking homemade beer, seeing a bed and breakfast, and lunch at Andrew's.

Enjoy the video!

Addis in Cape Ethiopian restaurant.

The Cost of Studying Abroad

You are asked constantly, "How did you find yourself here?" A standard response is generated, linked to disjointed thoughts of "I like Africa", "I wanted to go somewhere exciting", "South Africa doesn't imprison gay people", "I wanted to learn about the post-apartheid society."

But, I ask myself, what's the real sequence of events under which I find myself, on March 23rd, in Cape Town? It seems distant, the planning, and almost automated and laced with expectation. Yet being here is more than just choosing a destination, applying, and completing a checklist of plane tickets, visas, fees, and registration. Rather, it is a conscious decision to uproot yourself and go seeking discomfort and transformation.

A mentor of mine once told me, in high school, that it is far easier to live with pain that you're used to than to go through the agony of fixing things. That people will continue on with problems, addictions, and dysfunctional patterns that evoke a familiar, dull pain before seeking out and throwing themselves into change, which can be much harder to deal with.

It is insane really, and so very true. In regard to studying abroad, it must be similar. I knew what I was choosing, but why do people? I've read countless stories of how students feel uprooted, and unable to find "home" once they go abroad. They feel culture shock once arriving, they struggle to belong and understand, only to eventually get things and after finally feeling adjusted and comfortable, they are ripped back home to do it all over again. The books even say that most people find reverse culture shock, or the return back home, more difficult to deal with than the initial adjustment abroad. Relationships have changed, home has changed, and more importantly you've changed. What if I like who I am? Even more, once they are home, many people start planning their expensive returns to the foreign country, or get that unsettled traveler's itch where they must continue seeking new places and new cultures. And I knew I was in for this. So why do people choose to leave the comfortable and opt into this cycle?

Well, I have some ideas on that. For me, at least, I needed to.. There is this small voice, hints everywhere, that there is more out there. I felt uninformed about the world by sitting in one country, by knowing only my current realities. Yet that doesn't make it easier, and it certainly isn't a reason for most people to go, and there is nothing wrong with that. It is perfectly fine to live your life, in your setting. There are costs to both, I suppose.

In January, I remember laying in bed at night thinking that I had just one or two weeks left before departure, and that this could be the last week that I had my wonderful boyfriend and my TLC manager job. Two of the things that I cared about the very most, the two things that practically define me, would very likely not be waiting for me upon return because of circumstance. Who chooses that? Matt just held me as I fell asleep crying, neither of us having the words for each other or ourselves. "People do this and it is worth it" was the best mantra.

That's just leaving. The abroad experience itself is a time of enormous transformation. I'm walking around the city with my eyes open all the time, being challenged and being affirmed, learning and growing. At times I'm adventurous and running around with my camera and my mental notebook, seeking out new things and planning new escapades. "I should blog about this, they would be amused." Other times I go to my bedroom, listening to music for who cares how long to find my bearings again, and to remind myself where I fit in this big new story and setting. Once comfortable and rooted, I can walk back out the front door with some degree of confidence. Ready to re-confront the ever-present contrast between squalor and luxury that is Cape Town.

I know that I've already fallen victim to the textbook stages of culture shock, and will continue to, and I'm fine with that. Read any student's blog, and you'll identify the stages of euphoria and honeymoon, annoyance, and adjustment. There is nothing wrong with that, who doesn't? And I know perfectly well, also, that I'll be very excited in the weeks leading up to leaving. I'll be excited to go home, to see friends and reconnect, then sad and hurt that I'm leaving. I'll be thrilled to see everyone, and probably soon complain about how I miss Cape Town, that I need to go back and feel "at home." I'll be missing my South Africanisms, everyone will drive on the wrong side of the road again, and all that jazz. It comes with the territory, I suppose, and anticipating it probably won't make it easier.

I remember receiving the itemized cost sheet for the program, eyeing it up and down, "This is doable." The real cost, though, includes feeling isolated and alienated at times, with mismatched expectations and an utterly broken relationship. It includes missing a full semester of friends and family, and having limited luck negotiating time zones, voice mail, and messages that don't get responded to for whatever reason. Feeling so distant from even the closest of friends. It includes expensive internet, sleepless nights, weird dreams, dirty bathrooms, being sick, diarrhea, losing jobs, and cell phone bills that keep going because AT&T is the antichrist. It includes losing debit cards, fighting with UW Credit Union because my replacement still doesn't work almost two months later, and the constant discomfort at how much money you're spending. It includes missing a full, important semester of WASB and all the rewards of friends and events that go hand-in-hand. Missed opportunities because University Housing doesn't value or accommodate employees abroad. It includes questioning how you view the world, how true knowledge and fact can be, and constant vigilance for your personal safety.

And, of course, there are rewards. One invaluable reward is knowing that Africa is not as dark, scary, or distant as so many believe. Others include beautiful scenery, new friends, and enough stories for 20 years without repeating. Scuba certification, vacations at Mozambique, neato photos of mountains on fire, and finding more than just shacks and disease in townships, but also friendships, people, hope and benevolence. Certainly there are countless others, which will show themselves at unexpected times, and will pop up in my blog over the next few months.

Yet so it is... the cost of studying abroad must surely be greater than a $12,000 student loan. Is it worth it? There's no doubt in my mind, I get that. I'm loving my time here, and I'm acutely aware of the incredible opportunities before me, and the amazing experiences I'm having. Yet it is more complicated than a simple yes, and it bears mention.

Beaches are a plus, too.

Trying to beat the heat

The last few days have been scorchers! The temperature has been above 90ºF every day, if not at 100º. I keep finding myself very sweaty from just walking around Obz or campus, which isn't very pleasant. It is actually nice to have all the sun most of the day, but getting to sleep at night has been difficult.  It is now March, so the temperature should start to get more moderate soon.

With the arrival of the weekend, we got a lot of pool time. We've found ourselves getting more creative, and put lawn furniture in the pool to have underwater parties. I was hoping for my scuba gear.

Kara was having a bit of difficulty with her underwater comfort level, as you can see. I also mentioned that I would be going diving on Saturday. We went to Long Beach at Simonstown. It was a gorgeous day, warm, and the water was perfect. I didn't realize at first, but the beach is near the naval base, so you can see ships docked that belong to South Africa's navy. Here are some photos of the bay and my very heavy dive gear after the first dive.

Long Beach, the dive site.

We actually did two dives, which went great. I did some skills tests, and also just some swimming around at about 15 feet depth. We found some smaller kelp forests and a small boat wreck that sunk. Nothing amazing, though.

And yes, I did bring back the mustache. It wasn't for any particular reason, but I suppose I could offer some options.  You decide:

1. For a change of pace this week. 
2. To look more intimidating the next time the burglar comes back.
3. Lyndsey said my mustache was outta control in my last scuba photo.  Had to fix that.
4. Kara encouraged it.
5. I wanted to scare all the other UCT students, that have surely never seen as American of a mustache as mine.
6. To continue to rub it in everyones faces (especially Kyle, David, and Eric) that my mustache is far superior.
   
7. I'm entering a lekker sleaze contest soon.

Actually, they are all true except number seven.  In other news, Daylight Savings Time has begun in the US. The time doesn't change here, but I really like that it has changed at home. Instead of being eight hours apart it is now just seven, and oddly enough, that matters. There is something very psychological about the time difference that makes me feel so much further away.  The limited 'awake overlap' is frustrating at times.  Even an hour less has me feeling closer to home. It means that Wisconsin will be starting their days earlier in the afternoon for me, I'm not sure why I care, I just don't like wanting to call and having to wait until like 6pm so as not to bother someone too early in the morning.

Lastly, I have gotten sick. I'm not sure what it is from, maybe once the temperature dropped after the heat wave left, but I've got some head cold and was up all night with a very sore throat and the such. I need Advil, I don't like the "Compral" that they sell here. I'd rather take acetaminophen than this 'paracetamol' mixed with aspirin and caffeine. I don't even know what paracetamol is.

Wrapping Up A Mostly Relaxing Week

It's a bit weird for me. I think most people at UW are preparing for midterms, and I start classes tomorrow (Friday). Actually, scratch that, the first day of lectures is actually on Monday. But here at UCT classes "meet" tomorrow, on Friday. And someone said that by "meet", they mean that you follow your Tuesday schedule... but lectures haven't actually started. I don't really understand, but I'm just going with the flow. When in Rome...

And since classes haven't started, I've been a real bum. I've been spending time in the pool everyday. It is the only way to stay cool! I mean, what is it, summer in Africa here? I've even found a hobby. I like to clean the pool. We have a vacuum that attaches to the filter, and I really enjoy using it to dive and suck up leaves and dirt. It is therapeutic and productive. As a result, I've been crowned the Pool Doctor. I'm not sure if this is true, but I heard that they don't use the term 'pool boy' here in South Africa because of the wildly negative historical connotations with the word 'boy'. Either way, I am now the pool doctor. And I do good work.

In other news, I got my wallet back. And I'm now thoroughly convinced that I was pick-pocketed. I was down on Lower Main Street at a restaurant, and went up to the bar for a moment. My wallet was gone shortly thereafter, but luckily with no money in it. I was contacted by a woman about a mile away that said one of her employees found it. So yes, I got everything back, and no they didn't get any money, which is satisfying. My first experience with crime in South Africa? Probably, and luckily it wasn't very eventful.

Also, our landlord is having people come tomorrow to spray for cockroaches in the kitchen (pesticide doctors, if you will). I'm a bit worried about all the chemicals, so we've all moved our food and dishes into our bedrooms, but I suppose that is of little comfort. I am way sick and tired of seeing cockroaches, though. I don't even try to kill them anymore. I don't want to deal with it. They aren't nearly as cute or amusing as the movie Wall•E would have you think.

I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by the sun tonight also. I spent another day at the beach surfing today, and got a bit burned. The problem is that no matter how much sun screen I put on, even waterproof, it washes away pretty quickly from the salt water. And my scalp is burned now, to which there is little that can be done. Surfing went way better today. The waves were better, my wet suit fit better, the board was nicer... things were just all around more legit. I got up for my longest time ever, and rode a wave for quite a while. Cowabunga!

I suppose that is it. This has been mostly a hodge podge update, but it is probably in order. I've been craving a Chiptole burrito a lot today. Also, I'm not sure what to expect for my first day at school tomorrow. For now, I leave you with this random South African fact: Instead of calling them traffic signals or stop-and-go lights, the things at intersections are called "robots" here. They even have ROBOT painted on the road as you approach them sometimes. I think Matt would like that.

And lastly, here is a long exposure photo that I took of our backyard tonight. It looks pretty lit up, but it is actually quite dark. And yes, that is the moon in the sky, as well as stars. I love our backyard! Good night, friends!

A Day of Surfing at Muizenberg Beach

I went surfing today!

I still don't start class until Friday, so we've been taking advantage of the time off by seeing and doing! We got up at 9am this morning, and headed off to the Observatory train station. I've not yet taken the train, but have heard stories. It is very cheap, and a good deal during the day... but you don't take it after night (unless carrying your glock). We bought our round trip tickets for a little over a $1 each, and hopped on about 20 minutes later.

It was about a half hour ride to Muizenberg beach, where we heard there is good surfing, as well as rentals at a nearby surf shop. There was lots of graffiti everywhere on the train and along the route. After getting all prepped, it was time for an obligatory pose photo...

Okay, down to business. On the way into the water, I stepped on some shells, which I then cracked, and cut my foot. It was minor, but a bit unnerving to be entering the infamous shark infested South African waters with an open wound. I figured I was overreacting though, and ran in. The water was a bit chilly, but the wet suits quickly helped that. We stayed in for about two hours, which was how long we rented the boards. It turned out to be a great deal, the surf shop charges only $10.00 for the board and wet suit rental for two hours. Is that normal? I thought it was cheap.

A word on wet suits and the African summer sun: I've been in our pool a lot this week. Like everyday, because it has been very hot. And since I have arrived, I've been wearing a lot of sunscreen. Like, 30-50 factor even to go toward campus. And I'm sick of wasting sun screen, because I'm sometimes not in the sun much! So, I didn't wear it the other day while in the pool for a few hours. I got quite red, particularly on my shoulders and neck. Scared of a beach with reflective sun, I put on a lot of sunscreen today to surf. Somehow I forgot that I'd be wearing a wet suit, but whatever. So, no, I didn't get burnt today for the most part. But the salt water washed off the sunscreen from my hands, and they got very red. And I look like I have red gloves that stop at my wrists. It is a bit irritating.

Two hours of drinking salt water was enough, though, so we headed home. I noticed along the way how much security is out to combat crime in the city. It seems that not only the city government has people out, but it is also common to see (I think) neighborhood watch volunteers with green vests on patrolling with walkie talkies. There were about 14 train stops between the beach and Obz, and I saw a security person at every stop. And on the way there we had an armed Police Constable riding with us. Similar to the security system on the house, I am comforted to have them around, but not sure if I should be nervous by the need for so much patrol and enforcement.

In any case, surfing made for some nice photos. Here are the rest. I'm so glad I bought my waterproof camera a few years ago. It is pretty jacked now, but still takes great photos, and can handle the salt water well!