Category Archives: Friends

Of Mirth and Merriment

Daegu, Food, Friends,

I remember once having a conversation with a tourism expert from New Zealand or Aus who said that South African tourism differs from tourism in many places because South Africans still tend to go away on family holidays. It was the first time it had occurred to me that the South African traditional holiday-time rituals of spending lots of time with the family, at the beach or a resort or around the braai, might be unusual. I still can’t really imagine a world in which people don’t do family holidays. And family Christmases are probably the best example. Which, of course, makes a Christmas 10 000 km from home, half-a-world-distant and in the wrong hemisphere, a strange and chilly experience. I am lucky to be in a country that does do Christmas, at least to some extent, so I haven’t felt it as much as, say, Richard who spent Christmas in Sudan, but I have still been very aware of the differences and the things – most prominent being sunshine and family – that I’m missing.

Luckily, I had some lovely friends, along with plenty of tinsel and presents, to make more bearable. I spent Christmas Eve alone, partly because I was working until nearly 11pm – a completely foreign and rather objectionable experience for me! – and partly because it was the best way to align the timezones so that I could talk to my family back home. Of all the merriment and gifts of Christmas, I think the opportunity to talk to my parents and siblings in Stutt, just before they sat down to dinner on Christmas Eve, was probably the best present of all. It was accompanied by the gifts from them that arrived in the post a week or so before – all of which were lovely and South African and made me very happy.

Christmas day was spent quietly pottering around the house, opening the last couple of presents and watching Christmas episodes of QI (who wouldn’t?), at least until the early evening, when I set off for Christmas dinner. Maeve Binchy talks in one of her books about the idea of a group of ‘chick-less hens’ celebrating Mother’s Day together because they don’t have families with whom to celebrate. This was a little like that – a group of foreigners, orphaned by distance this Christmas time, gathering to share an evening of determined delightfulness and merriment. Our excellent culinary champion tried hard to ensure that there was something familiar for each of us, which resulted in a slightly unorthodox mixture of foods but made for a great dinner, nonetheless. Of course there was no roast – as there would have been at home (and was this year without me) – because the facilities required to roast things (i.e. proper ovens) don’t exist in most of our flats  We did however have (a lot of) pasta salad, green salad, beef-a-roni, rice-and-beans, chicken, beef strips, biscuits (of the American type – thanks to KFC), humus, salami, a variety of cheeses (yay!) and several other bits and pieces. I added some biltong to the selection because I felt there needed to be something from South African. To drink, there was, along with soju, makju and ridiculously expensive spirits, mulled wine, which was lovely and hot and familiar. The pièce de résistance was the Yorkshire pudding which our excellent culinary champion managed in a toaster oven and which cooked pretty much perfectly, once the oven was plugged in – although those of us closest to British heritage were made a little uneasy about the suggestion that it should be eaten with syrup and sugar. There was also a beautiful Christmas cake, complete with Christmas penguins.

Along with the delightful meal, there were Christmas decorations, Christmas attire, an actual tree and – because, as I said, I have lovely friends – stockings for everyone. When we arrived the stockings were beautifully hung along a gas pipe near the ceiling, adding even more Christmas-ness to an already festive apartment. The evening involved much merriment and friendship and an hilarious game of Charades.

Eventually we said our goodbyes and ventured out into the freezing cold of a Northern Hemisphere Christmas night and home to bed, another Christmas celebration come and gone. I have missed home and sunshine and a thousand little traditions, like decorating the tree with my siblings and singing carols, my Mom’s amazing Christmas dinner and sharing good wine with my Dad, but I’m glad I wasn’t all alone in a foreign country, and I’m particularly thankful for the ability to talk to loved ones far away and for friends with whom to create together our own little Christmas in a far-off Asian land.

One step nearer

Admin, Friends, Travel,

Well, perhaps more than one. I now have flights. This is certainly a whole lot nearer than I have ever been before. I am still not assuming that it will all go well. In fact, I am trying to cultivate a healthy cynicism about the prospect. Regardless of this, I went through this morning (thanks to some marvelous friends) to Pretoria to complete the visa application process. Applying for a teacher’s (E-2) visa for Korea involves sending a whole bunch of crucial and hard-to-obtain documents to Korea where the school will start the process and then, once you’ve received a visa issuance number/visa certificate from them, applying at the local consulate or embassy – which, by the way, are in different places in the South African case.

It was a beautiful day for a drive to Pretoria. For those who have never done the drive, the trip between South Africa’s economic hub and her capital, is generally less than pleasant for the driver. There used to be miles and miles of open space and quiet road between the two cities. These days most of that has been filled with cluster-housing developments and the quiet roads have morphed into raging, over-subscribed highways. One of the reasons for the development of SA’s Gautrain is to try and deal with the congestion on the N1 and related routes between Joburg and Pretoria.

Anyway, the drive, for a passanger, is quite enjoyable when the winter sun is shining from a clear blue sky and the company is good. The trip doesn’t take all that long. In fact I think we probably spent more time wandering around Menlyn Park shopping centre (which is huge and definitely designed to confuse) than driving through. At least it felt like it, but that may just have been the result of an innate dislike of shopping centres, even when they’re pleasantly empty on a Monday morning.

Eventually heading off to find the Korean consulate, we spent a slightly nerve-wracking little while following various roads, almost (but not quite) certain we were going in the right direction. Eventually we drove past the address listed in my guide-book as where to find the Korean Embassy. Isn’t it inevitable that you will always drive past the place you need to be. When we turned back and reached the Embassy, we were informed that the consulate was around the block and down the road.

We ultimately found the consulate and handed in all the documents. Which was remarkably easy. I am torn between joy at the lack of bureaucractic hoops to jump through and fear that this may simply indicate that everything will now go pear-shaped and fall apart again. I am hoping for the former and trying not to think to much about it.

Instead I’m focusing on how lovely a day it is in Gauteng. And it really is. A slight breeze, pale blue sky, stunning sunshine and dry winter grass. It really is lovely to be able to spend a little bit of time here before, all things being equal, I head off into the sun… rise, actually… and summer.

Other people

Friends

Preparing to move half-way across the world (quite literally) can be a little daunting. Particularly when everything keeps going pear-shaped (and elephant-shaped and emu-shaped and penguin-shaped). A friend was describing his experience of a similar move and mentioned that it’s hard to visualise being in another country that is completely different to your own. No matter how much you learn about the place, you cannot truly picture what it’s like to be there because it is completely unknown. Which makes it more complicated to prepare yourself psychologically. Moving to Cape Town was an upheaval but I already knew what Cape Town looked like and ‘felt like’ and had friends there and places that were cool to go.

The closest to my current dilemma was probably going to varsity for the first time. Those who didn’t go away to varsity will not have had this experience. In fact, those who didn’t attend a residential university probably can’t understand that incredible other-ness of the first few days of varsity. The night before I first went to Rhodes, I spent the evening at a typical Stutt party with friends. Then I got into the car with my folks and headed off to Grahamstown. I’d been there before, of course. On a school trip in Standard 3. And briefly to visit the varsity in matric. But that was it. I didn’t know the place. I didn’t know what to expect. I remember feeling quite terrified. Everything else about those first few days is a bit of a blur. A snippet here, a scene there. I remember sitting on the grass in a circle ‘getting to know each other’, I think with one of the House Comm, but I can’t remember which bit of grass. I remember the early-morning wake-up to be serenaded by the boys’ reses. Which day? Which reses? I can picture sitting in the common room drinking coffee. I remember feeling terrified and exhausted. I remember being out, until 2 in the morning one night, with some people from res and some of the people I’d known years before in Queenstown, and then walking up the hill with someone. Candice? I’m not even sure where we were. The Rat, I guess. But it’s not clear. I remember meeting a boy. On Valentine’s Day. The memories are like a mixed up pile of old photographs. Later, of course, I settled very happily and have many, many happy memories from Grahamstown, all of which fit into somewhat more logically organised chronological order. In many ways it became home and I still feel comfortable there. But the beginning was terrifying

Going overseas feels like that. I suppose partly because it’s the first time in many, many years that I’m committing to being somewhere I don’t know for a significant period of time. And because I don’t know anyone. I’m pretty shy at first and not particularly good at meeting new people. I’m bad at beginnings. I quite like to be familiar with the place I’m in. I suppose it’s a control thing. I hate feeling at the mercy of fate and, well, the mercy of strangers. I know the kindness of strangers is fantastic and inspirational and supposedly what makes us human – but I hate to be dependent on it. The idea of getting on a plane to another country doesn’t scare me. The idea of landing in another country does. I fixate on the little things – what will the airport look like, who will meet me, how will I get from the airport to my apartment, how will I know how to get from my apartment to the school. I get nervous about the little things. I get nervous about being out of control. And when I am by myself, I get more and more nervous. I start to panic.

Short-term travelling is less scary. Less scary, I suppose because you don’t need to be competent – because the loss of control is unavoidable and, to some extent, the point. There is no sense of having to settle and fit in and know your way around. The alienation of travel is a shelter – because you are only passing through, you don’t need to know your way around or be in control or know people.
This past week, I’ve spent time with friends. Some of them have known me since those first crazy varsity O-week days. Some know me from work, often from work-related travelling together. Many have travelled with me to various debating events. Some have been travelling companions on recent meanderings. All of them are close and important and with each of them I have shared some new beginning or experience. And their company and advice and the sheer joy of laughing together make the prospect of a totally foreign new beginning less terrifying. Of course, those who have done this themselves and who can reassure and share knowledge are also particularly precious. And very much appreciated.

It’s important sometimes to be reminded that these people (‘my people’) are still here. I sometimes think the secret to life is to remember that friendships and support structures and community are not place-bound, at least not any more. These same people, and with whom it is precious to sit down and talk and share a good bottle of wine or a good coffee, are the same people who are just a phonecall or an email or an sms or an online chat away when I’m in another province or another country. That the same conversations and the same ordinary everyday things can still be shared no matter how many miles lie between us. Many people lament the loss of personal contact that they feel results from facebook and blogging and gchat, etc. I think they’re wrong. The joy of face-to-face, real contact is still there. But the reality – at least for my generation and at this time – is that we’re scattered over many continents, through many countries, so for us, the ability to carry on ordinary, everyday conversations, the ability to chat about the mundane and the ridiculous, as well as the existential and important, is crucial. Perhaps it is this ability to stay in contact – with no fuss and without the weighty importance of elegantly scribed letters – that makes the incredibly movement of a generation of people possible. Perhaps it is simply what makes it bearable.

New beginnings in new places with new people will always be a little terrifying for me. But the continuity, the ongoing ordinary conversations with friends and family, make them bearable. The secret for me, I suppose, is other people.