Category Archives: South Africa

African winter

South Africa, ,

I woke up this morning and looked out of the window. Outside, the grass, just touched ice, stretched away to a dam dotted with silent birds. Beyond that, hills gently undulated into mountains, towards, in the distance, a taller peak dusted with snow. The fingers of the sunrise were just painting the snow a gentle pink. Away in another direction, a copse of bare trees reached for the huge blue sky against a background of green hills. I was staying with friends just outside of town but in town was just as beautiful. The winter grass is dry but there hasn’t been much frost so lawns are still green – a perfect contrast to the white frost.

I sit in the garden in the mid-morning sunshine, watching a white cat trying to catch moles. A robin is bobbing from branch to branch in the apple tree. No gloves, not hat, no scarf, just one jersey – I’m not even wearing shoes – but I’m warm. I’m warm. It’s the middle of winter and a cold day but I am warm sitting in the sun, outside.

This is the winter I love. This is the gentle, beautiful winter that warms up in between cold fronts and has so much sunshine, for so much of the day, that a day that doesn’t reach the mid-teens is really, really freezing. The sun was shining brightly by 7:30am this morning.

I struggled with winter in Korea. I found myself much in sympathy with the ancient Europeans who honestly feared each winter that the sun might never return. It shook me. I began to wonder if I was imagining the pleasant winters back home. Everyone around me seemed perplexed because ‘that’s just how it is’. Being back, seeing the beauty and with my heart giving a jump of joy each time I remember that I can go outside, I feel sane again.

This, this is what winter should be like, with the dry grass and the red, red aloes and the birds and the blue, blue sky. There were no birds in the Korean winter, and no sunshine and no warmth and no winter-blue sky. Part of me wants to spend the days just lying on the grass and breathing in the joyful beauty of a proper African winter.

Fest is over

Arts, South Africa

Another Fest is over and I am sad. Not only because it is Fest in all it’s amazingness, but also because it feels as though this finally brings to a close my Korean year. I spent so much time in my last couple of months in Korea thinking about, planning for and anticipating Fest. And now it is past, as if it was elastic stretched to that point and now it is broken.

Fest, itself, was fantastic, of course. I missed 2009, so this year was a particular treat. I also found myself thinking a lot about future years. I think I have now reached the point in my life where I can official become one of those people who gets into the habit of taking a house in Grahamstown for Fest every year regardless of what else is happening. An annual injection of cultural joy.

Of course, there were some duds. One was the awful one-woman opera I mentioned earlier. Another was a particularly annoying production called ‘…Miskien’ that felt interminably like a 15-minute student piece (built around nothing but the supposed ‘shock-value’ of people being Afrikaans AND gay) stretched to fill an hour. Such a waste of time. Another was, sadly, one of the most talked-about productions at Fest. Everyone – from friends and acquaintances to reviewers and radio presenters – was calling it a ‘must-see’. I think they were wrong. It was called London Road and it was fairly sweet, I suppose, but the acting wasn’t great, the characters weren’t believable, they did nothing with the set and the story was bland. It wasn’t magical. It didn’t at any point make me want to forget that I was sitting in a theatre and watching a show. They even did annoying things like pulling full cups of tea out of drawers. I like my shows to make a little more effort, thanks.

The other dud was just bizarre. We later read an interview with the director who seemed to think they had presented a groundbreaking theatre piece that explored sexuality, power relations and transformation in South Africa. I don’t know what she was smoking because what we saw was a play about two women time-travelling in a freezer and eating children, that left us going ‘but why?’. You really can’t get that far and then do nothing with it – it just makes you look silly.

For the rest, we managed to pick shows that made us happy. Choosing a top show of fest is always hard, but I think this year’s was Karoo Moose. Lara Foot directed this stunning story of a young girl growing up in the rural Northern Cape. The cast was great and effectively managed to combine African music, choreography, movement, storytelling and acting to produce a piece that was funny, moving, heart-wrenching and so incredibly real, but without any of the annoying self-indulgent angst that plagues so many realistic South African stories. I loved it and would happily have seen it again had we not caught the last show.

A piece we did see again, and which stole my heart for its simplicity and magic was Hats with Richard Antrobus and Tristan Jacobs. It says something about this piece that, when we were talking about it after we’d seen it the first time, we couldn’t remember if it had any words or not. It doesn’t. It is a physical theatre piece that uses music and visual effects but it communicates so well that it feels like there are words. It was probably one of the saddest, most beautiful pieces on the Fest. It was also the exact opposite of London Road – the audience was drawn into the piece and had no choice whatsoever but to go with the performers on their journey through emotions and moments and friendship and loss.

Another excellent piece, which made me cry and verlang na Stellenbosch, was Dinsdae by Morrie. This is a stage adaption of the Afrikaans version of the best-selling book. I haven’t read the book. I don’t think I will. I’m scared it would spoil what was an exceptionally sensitive, funny, beautiful piece of theatre. This, unlike most of my favourites, didn’t use physical theatre but it did make use of music and captivated the audience as all good theatre should.

There were other favourites. Blood Orange was a very South African one-man piece with Craig Morris, who was so convincing that when the rocket took off to the moon (with no props to create the illusion) the entire audience looked up. Kaput was a delightful piece that, although it touched on some heavy material, was performed with such a light touch that you left feeling happy. Also, the seagull! Stilted, another delightful piece with Richard Antrobus and Tristan Jacobs, stunned the audience with excellent stilt-work (jumping on a trampoline on stilts and other feats of acrobatic insanity) and weaved a subtle tale so delicate it even laughed at itself. Nina Lucy Wylde was excellent in The Human Voice. Breed was a haunting and unexpectedly beautiful piece by Ubom! that I would love to see again. A lecture on the Eastern Cape made me fall in love with my country all over again. Plus several other lectures and a conversation with a travel writer.

Of course, there was also the ballet (which was lovely) and plenty of music, from the symphony and gala concerts to Vusi Mahlasela and Karen Zoid . We also really enjoyed Jeremy Quickfall in a show called My grand(ma se) piano and Lana English (and co.) in Belles and Beaux. It’s hard to remember what else. I keep having to go back to my list. We saw 32 shows.

And then, of course, there is Raiders. Raiders is hard to describe to someone who has never seen one. For starters, you have to like puns. I kept thinking of a friend from Daegu who would have been in punny-heaven. Puns of all shapes and sizes. In this particular Raiders, a box of lion matches becomes ‘he came across some Lions; they were no match for him’. Also, the audience is an integral part of every performance, in this case, for example, as ‘jim’ and ‘morrison’ – the doors. The shows are funny and magical and an integral part of the Fest experience. This year was also the 21st that Raiders has been at Festival so we had the absolute joy of going to their special 21st anniversary evening performance of Raiders of the Lost Aardvark. It was marvellous. I can’t wait to see what they do next year.

Next year. This is, of course, the other sadness of Festival – that we will have to wait a-whole-nother year before it happens again. Ah, well, next years dates are 30 June to 9 July so plenty of time to plan my life and make absolutely certain I don’t miss any of ‘AMAZ!NG’ next time round.

Homeward Bound

Airports, South Africa, Travel, , ,

I spent my last night in Korea at a Seoul backpackers. The next morning I was on my way by 11am, having left a selection of books, heavy jerseys and other bits and pieces behind for fear that my suitcase would be overweight (not that I couldn’t have made a plan if it was but I have an aversion to airport admin and try to avoid it whenever possible).

I rolled my large, heavy case along the uneven pavement (and road where there was no pavement). Two different taxis gawked at the funny-looking foreigner and drove merrily on by. I grumbled under my breath. The third taxi driver was kinder and dropped me at the subway station, even helping me get the large case onto the pavement.

I crossed under the road via the subway (big suitcase + subway steps = fail, btw). I was taking the Airport Limousine to Incheon Airport, the giant airport in the coastal city of Incheon, which is currently being swallowed whole by the capital.  Airport Limousine Buses are a marvellous invention. Although Incheon Airport is connected to Seoul by train and subway, both are a huge mission with luggage. Taxis are an option but are rather expensive. Airport limousine buses run between the airport and most areas of Seoul for a reasonable fee and can handle plane-sized luggage. They also run to all other major cities in Korea (express – no stops in between) so they really are the best way to get to and from Incheon Airport.

I arrived at the airport early and waited for the check-in counters to open. My bag was overweight. Of course. Luckily only a kg or two, so they simply sighed and checked it right through to Joburg. I wasn’t sure they’d be able to do this because my second flight was with SAA but they did – Yay for Cathay Pacific. Sadly, I didn’t get a window seat. I may be alone in this but I deeply resent the new airline policy that allows people to choose seats in advance and links window-seats to ticket-prices. I liked the way it worked before, when I could rock up at the airport early and be guaranteed a window because I was the first person to check in. Window-seats as a reward for being on time – that’s how the world should work! At least I was on the aisle – middle-seats are no fun.

It was lunch time and I was hungry, so I tried to grab lunch before heading through security. The only restaurant that appealed was staffed by a particularly surly Korean who looked me up and down and informed me that they “didn’t seat single diners”. I resisted the urge to punch her in the nose and decided I eat beyond security.

Security check done – and thankfully no taking off of shoes required; next stop immigration. I handed the woman my passport and my Alien Registration Card (ARC) – the card that has been my ID in Korea for the last year. I’d have liked to keep the card as a souvenir but they have to be handed in at departure, I suppose to stop the horrible foreigners coming back. The customs lady asked me if I was returning and warned me in a stern voice that she would have to cancel my visa now. I don’t think she appreciated my broad smile and enthusiastic nod. She scowled and stamped my passport. Filled with joy, I thanked her politely and headed on, into no-mans land and the journey home.

Seoul (Incheon) to Hong Kong
Airhostesses have to be tall. That’s the rule. Or at least it used to be the rule. It’s always seemed arbitrary before. I am more sympathetic to the idea after a tiny, doll-like Cathay Pacific cabin attendant nearly knocked me out trying to stow a suitcase in the overhead compartment above me, while standing on the edge of my seat and swinging it past my head.

The food on Cathay Pacific was fine and the in-flight entertainment was good. It was a short flight – 3 or 4 hours, so not too much time to kill but I find I’m always more restless on a plane when I don’t have a window to look out of. I found some episodes of Glee to watch instead.

In Hong Kong (my 6-hour stop-over) I went through the quick transit security check and set off to explore this sprawling air transportation hub. Hong Kong Airport is one of the busiest in the world. In 2009, over 46 million passengers used the airport. That’s nearly the population of South Africa. Shops, pharmacies, liquor and cigarette duty frees, bars, restaurants, spas and lounges dot the area around the many, many moving walkways. At intervals, electronic signboards show destinations from Paris and Sydney to Beijing and LA. I walked and walked and walked. You hear all the time about people who spend hours and hours travelling and get all sorts of aches and pains from lack of exercise. Do these people not have stops on their flights? Or do they simply not feel the need to wander around the airports where they stop? I like exploring airports. I like airports. This one was spacious and classy, although I did end up having Burger King for dinner, but mostly because I wasn’t sure whether the other restaurants would take the currency I was carrying.

Hong Kong to Johannesburg
I sat down in my aisle seat (again) and waited for the rest of the passengers to board. People came in ones and twos. Eventually, the cabin crew started closing overhead lockers and talking people through safety procedures. There was a window seat next to me. It was empty. I watched and waited and then, before I knew it, they were preparing the doors for take-off. Joy of joys – not only could I claim window but I had two whole seats to spread out across.

I watched a rainy Hong Kong fall away below me and relaxed into the South African accents and languages floating back and forth. In thirteen hours, I would be back in the RSA but already, just being on an SAA flight I was a little bit closer and a little more at home.

The flight to Joburg wasn’t bad. SAA isn’t the world’s best for in-flight entertainment but you can usually find something to watch. My jet-lag kicked in, of course, so I was awake from about 3am SA time. This did mean that I got to watch the sun rise over the stunning clouded edge of Africa. I kept the window blind open for the whole flight and no-one made me shut it, unlike previous east-ward flights, so I was able to watch the whole sky-scape turn from night into dusky-dawn. At one point, a tray of typical SAA breakfast in front of me, I watched the early sun reflecting the SAA colours from the wing-tip across the wing-surface towards me. It could have been an SAA advert.

Joburg. South Africa. ‘My’ airport. I tried to hold back the tears as we dropped, lower and lower, across the highveld but there was no point. As the plane touched down, with the sun slanting through the red winter grass, I cried and cried. I was home. The familiar form of OR Tambo rose before us. The voice, the same voice as always, welcomed us to Joburg with all the words I remember from all those flights.

We disembarked and followed the signs to passport control, which was efficient and organised and clearly very ready for the Soccer World Cup. The whole plane-load must have passed through in about 10 minutes. Baggage claims took a little longer. I suppose that much baggage takes a while to off-load. While we waited a guard, with something like ‘agricultural products control’ on his vest, led a small dog in and out, letting the dog sniff at people’s baggage and clothes. It was unobtrusive and non-invasive and seemed a very efficient way to check things. I loaded my bag onto a trolley and walked out into the circular arrivals area of the new OR Tambo.

The airport was looking great – all sparkly and new and decked out in bright colours for the World Cup. I had several hours to wait for my domestic flight but this wait was more of a home-coming than a delay. I had breakfast at Wimpy and only just managed to avoid crying into my first proper Wimpy coffee. I wandered around a bit to see what they’d done to the place. I found a spot, on the departures level, from where I could comfortably look down on the arrivals circle and people-watch. To my left, a group of police-men stood chatting, interrupting their conversation frequently to give directions or help out lost foreigners. The taxi drivers, the porters, the airport volunteers – everyone was helpful and competent. Down below, a group of Argentineans got into a singing match with some Chile fans. Their hearty singing was complemented by the occasional Vuvuzela blast. Everyone watched and clapped. The atmosphere was fantastic.

Eventually, tired after all the flights, I checked in, went through security (ah, so good to be back at a familiar airport) and spent some quality time in the premier lounge. I was flying 1time but I figured I’d be tired so paid the extra for the lounge – definitely worth it if you want to get work done or have a long wait. Nearly 24 hours after leaving Incheon, I landed in East London, where I was greeted by singing and dancing. The singing and dancing was obviously intended for someone else but it was still pretty awesome. We (my parents and I) stayed in EL for a few hours and did fun things like buying Fest tickets. I should have been exhausted but I was buoyed by the joy and wonder and relief of being home.

I’ve been back for two weeks now. I can’t believe it has been so long. I keep finding things I love about this country and reasons I’m glad to be back. The moment that made me realise just how homesick I was in Korea, the moment I keep coming back to and that I suppose will always be a reminder of why I’m not cut out to be anywhere but Africa, is that joyful, tear-filled moment when the plane touched down in Joburg and the morning rays of sunlight softly touched the winter-red grass.