Everything You Want To Know, Abridged, Part I

It feels like I’ve been here for much, much longer than two and a half weeks. In the past days, I’ve: discovered a new, beautiful city, become acquainted with a group of twenty-three other students, suffered multiple sunburns, and have completed the equivalent of nine weeks of class. Last Thursday, I handed in a midterm paper, today, I got it back and, tomorrow, I am taking a final exam.

I haven’t “blogged” since my arrival because I’ve been so busy: our days are packed with school, activities and, when I’m not doing something organized by the program, I (along with others) am exploring Cape Town.

School

On my first morning in Cape Town, I had my first class. Sophie and I missed the previous day’s Orientation, as well as a tour of Cape Town. We were a bit in the dark. We have class every Monday-Thursday, 9am-12pm.

We are taking four classes over the course of our time here in South Africa. We complete one sequence course, African Civilization I, II, and III as well as a se minar taught by a T.A. Each of the components of the African Civ sequences are condensed to three weeks each. We have three classes for three hours each week. Today, we finished the last lecture of the first part of the three-part sequence. Tomorrow, we have an in-class final. Every Thursday, we meet for a separate course, the “pro-seminar,” taught by an Anthropology graduate student. It is the only course that caries over through the entire trip. (This coming week, though, the seminar is replaced by the final exam for African Civ I; tomorrow’s class is replaced by the final.)

Every Wednesday evening, before dinner, a guest lecturer comes to one of our guest houses (more on that in a bit) for a lecture series, which is tied into the pro-seminar. Last week, Achille Mbeme, a prominent South African political theorist came to speak to us about the nature of, and the necessity to redefine, democratic systems. Tonight, we were audience to Hilton White, a past lecturer at the University of Chicago, who, in fact, used to teach one of the courses on this program. He spoke to us about the re-emerging concept of ethnicity in a new, political dynamic in South Africa.

On Fridays, we have field trips. Last week, we went to a “migrant worker museum” in a township a few miles away from the city center. Tomorrow, after the final, we go off to Clanwilliam, a small town two hours away from Cape Town. It is famous for its remarkable cave and rock paintings, which we will spend two nights looking at. We return to Cape Town on Saturday afternoon. Usually, though, our field trips are just day trips, like last week’s, and we have the weekend to ourselves.

Living

The group of twenty-four is split into two guesthouses. I live in a beautiful place, complete with a large swimming pool, outside deck, and a common area with lots and lots of sunlight. It’s been a real pleasure doing homework by the pool, rather than in the depressing enclaves of the Chicago campus. We are given breakfast every day and four dinners a week (Monday-Thursday). The two guesthouses come together for dinner every Monday-Thursday, and the lieu of our meal switches every week. So far, I’ve been incredibly with all the food that has been prepared for us. A recently-declared vegetarian, I’m incredibly impressed with the veggie-prowess of our chef, Peter. Tonight, we had burgers, and I wasn’t even slightly disappointed with my veggie burger. (The beef ones were à point anyway.)

The guesthouses are in a wonderful neighborhood; there are many restaurants, stores, bars, etc all within walking distance. There is a mall, similar to the one I lived near in Durban, a ten minute walk away, which is home to one of the most wonderful “wellness” stores I’ve seen: I’ve been buying many snacks from there. The mall also boasts a women’s only gym, where I’ve, along with two other girls on the program, bought a two-month membership. I go nearly every day; the three of us have signed up for a “Bums & Tums” class together. My legs have never been in quite so much anguish.

We often eat out for our lunches and dinners Friday-Sunday, sometimes for a quick bite, other times for a longer affair. So far, I’ve determined I have two favorite restaurants. The first, the Daily Deli, is across the street from my guesthouse. It is a simple, quaint little place that boasts delicious meals made from fresh ingredients. I especially enjoy their brick-oven pizza, as well as their delectable tomato-feta-avocado sandwich. Trumor has it that the Daily Del does not have a liquor license, so when one wants to order wine, beer or dry cider (a South African specialty), there is a code to learn: “red olives, please” for red wine, “white olives” for white, “pink” for rosé, “green” for Heineken, and “yellow” for cider. Legal issues aside, the restaurant is a wonderful place with a soothing ambiance. A little more hectic is Royale, Cape Town’s famous burger bar. Aha! Burgers, you say? Aren’t I supposed to be meat-free? Well, friends, Royale has a terrific selection of vegetarian fare: soy burgers, chickpea burgers, black-bean burgers, mushroom burgers… etc. I’ve been twice, and have not regretted my vegetarian choices. Royale is also known for its exceptional milkshakes. A new friend, Alex, tried the Mint and Avocado Shake last time we went, and it was certainly more delicious than I had anticipated.

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There’s much more to say, and much more to do, but, sleep is calling.

I'm back.

Well, I’m back! Yesterday, I arrived in Cape Town to start UChicago’s abroad program, “African Civilization in Africa.” Getting here, though, was not as simple as intended: I arrived a full twenty-four hours after my scheduled arrival.

It all started at O’Hare International (to which I had flown to early in the morning of January 2), where I was going to meet Sophie to fly out to Amsterdam and, from there, to Cape Town. We checked in without a problem, and were even able to arrange to have seats next to each other. At the gate, were notified that our flight was to be delayed for a half hour, but we weren’t too worried: our lay-over in Amsterdam was for four hours, so a half hour delay didn’t cause us much stress. After about an hour’s worth of delay, KLM kindly informed us that our plane was in fact missing a vital mechanical part, a part that, oddly enough, could only be found in Amsterdam. As a result, the flight was to be delayed twenty-four hours. We were assured time and time again by KLM agents at the airport that, were we to show up again, at the same time, the following day, everything would be just fine: we would be put on the same flight, and be secured seats on the Amsterdam – Cape Town flight twenty-four hours after our original reservation.

Interestingly enough, while on the phone with the airline, my mother discovered that, in fact, there were no seats available on the Amsterdam – Cape Town flight the following the day and, had we flown to Amsterdam on the 3^rd, we would have been stuck there until Friday: only then would we be able to get seats on a flight to Cape Town. Despite Amsterdam’s clear charms and interesting history, Sophie and I were adamantly against this plan. We searched for an alternative. Finally, after much, much debate on the phone with the airline, my mother and in person with the sly, good-for-nothing, rude KLM agents, we settled on an itinerary that would first take us to Atlanta, then to Johannesburg, and then, finally, to Cape Town. It seemed easy enough: our bags were to be checked all the way from Chicago to Cape Town, we were to have plenty of time in both Atlanta and Johannesburg to make our connecting flights. We would be in Cape Town by 8:15pm.

Well. Things went smoothly enough, until we reached Johannesburg. Having already landed thirty minutes late, and gotten of the plane at the very end (we were seated in the second-to-last row), we only had forty minutes to make our connection. Immigration. Fifteen minutes gone. And then, as if only to make our lives more miserable than they already were, we were informed that we would, in fact, have to pick up our luggage at baggage claim, and then recheck it at the check-in counter. Our flight had already departed by the time we reached the check in counter.

But that wasn’t the end. At the check in counter (our flight was on South African Airways), we were told that we could not simply be put on the next flight that evening, but that Delta would have to provide us with some form of documentation that would allow for that. Off to the other side of the airport to obtain said document. But no, of course not. You see, that would be too easy. Instead, Delta initially refused to accommodate us, since the delay was due to weather conditions, a matter entirely out of the control (but clearly in ours). Well, I wasn’t prepared to accept that as an answer. After reminding myself , and demonstrating to others, that I am a debater, along with Sophie’s angry and exasperated quips, Delta caved. Off to check for the 8:15pm flight to Cape Town, with just over an hour left.

Oh, you thought it was over? Too bad. South African Airlines tells us that we need a new ticket number to check in, and we must go to the ticket counter before checking in. Sure. Until, surprisingly, the ticket counter tells us that there is no need for this new ticket number. Great! Back to check in. But only if we agree to pay the fees for our baggage, something that we already did back in Chicago, when we – remember – were assured that our bags were to go all the way through to Cape Town. Mom had told me of an agreement that Delta and South African Airways share concerning international luggage, which should guarantee that, once paid for, bags do not need to be charged twice. South African Airways enjoyed my mom’s ability to create mythical tales.

Finally. On the plane. Finally, two hours later, a 10:15pm, in Cape Town. Finally, after a pre-arranged taxi to our living quarters, home.

(More to come about what it's like here soon.)