Just back this morning from Delhi, which I found rather unforgettable and lacking character. I said so to people at work with the disclaimer that I wasn't really there long enough to make a judgment and they immediately disagreed--with the fact that I shouldn't judge Delhi. They seem to second my assessment a great deal.
But Agra and the Taj were worth it. It was surreal being there, actually. And here's proof that I was.
If I did one trip to play tourist, I'm glad this was it.
I had a lovely chat the whole train trip back with this British (by way of New Zealand) woman who met her son and son's girlfriend who have spent the last year cycling from Singapore. I love meeting people traveling--we talked non-stop for two hours, but I don't even know her name and will probably never see her again in my life. There's something sort of comforting about that level of transience and acquaintance.
I leave tomorrow night, which is hard to believe. I haven't quite made sense of this whole experience, but I suppose I have 24 hours of travel ahead that will be a great time to do so.
But Agra and the Taj were worth it. It was surreal being there, actually. And here's proof that I was.
If I did one trip to play tourist, I'm glad this was it.
I had a lovely chat the whole train trip back with this British (by way of New Zealand) woman who met her son and son's girlfriend who have spent the last year cycling from Singapore. I love meeting people traveling--we talked non-stop for two hours, but I don't even know her name and will probably never see her again in my life. There's something sort of comforting about that level of transience and acquaintance.
I leave tomorrow night, which is hard to believe. I haven't quite made sense of this whole experience, but I suppose I have 24 hours of travel ahead that will be a great time to do so.
Labels: india, taj mahal, transportation
Two firsts before 10:00 am:
1. I rode the train hanging out the side. Welcome to rush hour.
2. I saw someone get dragged on the platform by the train. I'm not sure how or why he got stuck, but he did. Someone basically tackled him to get him free. Pretty odd and disconcerting.
1. I rode the train hanging out the side. Welcome to rush hour.
2. I saw someone get dragged on the platform by the train. I'm not sure how or why he got stuck, but he did. Someone basically tackled him to get him free. Pretty odd and disconcerting.
Labels: mumbai, transportation
I got here fine. The flight from Vienna was super easy: very empty (so I was able to stretch out), decent movies (Nanny Diaries, Bourne Ultimatum, and then this awesome Bollywood movie about the India National Women's Field Hockey Team...it totally fed my love for teen sports/competition movies), and good food (including good, strong coffee).
I went through immigration etc with no problem, my bag arrived (miraculously), some security guard said I could bypass this entire security/x-ray checkpoint (I was doubting whether he was for real, I understood him correctly, or both...but did it anyway), changed some money, and walked out. Then I panicked. I hate walking through that last step before you hit the masses. I feel protected until then and immediately overwhelmed after. Plus I sort of forgot that I was the white, foreign guy whom everyone wants to "help". I got really anxious and wanted to barrel through (to what, I'm not sure), but fortunately had someone tell me how to get a taxi. I meant to ask at the change forex but forgot, so now I'm relying on someone who may or may not be scamming me. Feeling that skeptical about other people's motives is really uncomfortable, and I'm never really sure if I'm rightly protecting myself or overreacting unnecessarily in those situations. Anyway, there was a taxi stand that is pre-paid, by distance, clearly marked, and ultimately cheap enough that I didn't care (like $8 for a half hour ride). But it was this weird system where the woman who takes your money at the stand assigns you a cab (air conditioned ones are more expensive, for one); you take that receipt with the cab number to stand number two, who gets the driver for you. I skipped stand number two by mistake and just found some dude who found the cab, put my stuff in, and then ran off (with my receipt...see paranoid skepticism above) to find that cab's driver. He was over at some restaurant (don't you love it?) so we drove there and guy #1 ran in to get him. Then we finally got going.
I think I'd psyched myself out about this a little, mostly because it wasn't Africa. If I were going to Nigeria, I think I would have been a little less freaked (at least that's what I tell myself). But for some reason, the true foreign=ness of this place to me was freaking me out. In a lot of ways, I'm that arrogant American coming in with little knowledge of the culture, language, etc; I'm slowly getting better at either not doing that as much or being more okay with it, I'm not sure which (or which is better/worse). Combined with all the talk of how many people there are here, how crowded everything is, etc., I was letting myself get a little wrapped up in it before it had even started. Then in the cab I saw all the people walking along the streets, the commercial stalls that are sort of falling in, the misspelled, hand-painted signs, and I felt okay. It was quite odd, actually, but I didn't really question it. I just sort of had a feeling that it was going to be okay. Something felt recognizable, some analogy to someplace else I'd been, and I calmed down a little bit.
We finally made it to the apartment after a number of wrong turns and having to ask for directions a handful of times (that made me feel more comfortable, actually). I walked up the (unlit) stairs and found the place. I felt bad for ringing the doorbell so late, but it seemed like everyone was up once I walked in. There are six guys living here in three bedrooms (I'm sharing a room), so there's a lot going on just within the apartment already. One of the six is the main guy (I don't think he owns the place, but it's clearly his to be renting), who is very nice, self-employed (software developer or something?) and works from home. Another is the manager of a big department store (some UK chain I'd vaguely heard of) at this huge mall nearby. One guy works at JP Morgan, although I don't know doing what. One guy I don't know much about. The department store guy (my roommate) and JP Morgan wanted to talk, so we were up until 2 talking. They both wanted to know a lot about Harvard, which was fine to talk about. I'm avoiding being very specific about what I'm here to do because of its ties to the gay community (and who knows how that might go down...my sense is probably fine, but you never know), so I'm planning on not talking about my own work very much.
Last but not least is the full time servant, who is one of the six who lives here. I think that's more than standard, at least among all the other places I was looking to stay, but it's still so weird to me. He cooks all the meals, cleans, does the laundry, etc. Like, he brought me tea in bed (at my roommate's request, since I still have no idea what the hell's going on and I don't think Sanjay, the servant, speaks much English). I think I just equate this level of "help" as either extravagant and unnecessary or makes me think of slavery. Either way, it's weird.
The one thing that I can now smell and otherwise understand is what this weather.com forecast means. The general forecast is always "Sunny", but the actual details are:
Right.
So the goals for the day are to head out to the mall, get a SIM card, walk around the neighborhood a bit, call the people I'm working with to connect up with them, and just kick it. I also have to go to the supermarket for bottled water and toilet paper (I so forgot about that, and there's clearly none here).
I went through immigration etc with no problem, my bag arrived (miraculously), some security guard said I could bypass this entire security/x-ray checkpoint (I was doubting whether he was for real, I understood him correctly, or both...but did it anyway), changed some money, and walked out. Then I panicked. I hate walking through that last step before you hit the masses. I feel protected until then and immediately overwhelmed after. Plus I sort of forgot that I was the white, foreign guy whom everyone wants to "help". I got really anxious and wanted to barrel through (to what, I'm not sure), but fortunately had someone tell me how to get a taxi. I meant to ask at the change forex but forgot, so now I'm relying on someone who may or may not be scamming me. Feeling that skeptical about other people's motives is really uncomfortable, and I'm never really sure if I'm rightly protecting myself or overreacting unnecessarily in those situations. Anyway, there was a taxi stand that is pre-paid, by distance, clearly marked, and ultimately cheap enough that I didn't care (like $8 for a half hour ride). But it was this weird system where the woman who takes your money at the stand assigns you a cab (air conditioned ones are more expensive, for one); you take that receipt with the cab number to stand number two, who gets the driver for you. I skipped stand number two by mistake and just found some dude who found the cab, put my stuff in, and then ran off (with my receipt...see paranoid skepticism above) to find that cab's driver. He was over at some restaurant (don't you love it?) so we drove there and guy #1 ran in to get him. Then we finally got going.
I think I'd psyched myself out about this a little, mostly because it wasn't Africa. If I were going to Nigeria, I think I would have been a little less freaked (at least that's what I tell myself). But for some reason, the true foreign=ness of this place to me was freaking me out. In a lot of ways, I'm that arrogant American coming in with little knowledge of the culture, language, etc; I'm slowly getting better at either not doing that as much or being more okay with it, I'm not sure which (or which is better/worse). Combined with all the talk of how many people there are here, how crowded everything is, etc., I was letting myself get a little wrapped up in it before it had even started. Then in the cab I saw all the people walking along the streets, the commercial stalls that are sort of falling in, the misspelled, hand-painted signs, and I felt okay. It was quite odd, actually, but I didn't really question it. I just sort of had a feeling that it was going to be okay. Something felt recognizable, some analogy to someplace else I'd been, and I calmed down a little bit.
We finally made it to the apartment after a number of wrong turns and having to ask for directions a handful of times (that made me feel more comfortable, actually). I walked up the (unlit) stairs and found the place. I felt bad for ringing the doorbell so late, but it seemed like everyone was up once I walked in. There are six guys living here in three bedrooms (I'm sharing a room), so there's a lot going on just within the apartment already. One of the six is the main guy (I don't think he owns the place, but it's clearly his to be renting), who is very nice, self-employed (software developer or something?) and works from home. Another is the manager of a big department store (some UK chain I'd vaguely heard of) at this huge mall nearby. One guy works at JP Morgan, although I don't know doing what. One guy I don't know much about. The department store guy (my roommate) and JP Morgan wanted to talk, so we were up until 2 talking. They both wanted to know a lot about Harvard, which was fine to talk about. I'm avoiding being very specific about what I'm here to do because of its ties to the gay community (and who knows how that might go down...my sense is probably fine, but you never know), so I'm planning on not talking about my own work very much.
Last but not least is the full time servant, who is one of the six who lives here. I think that's more than standard, at least among all the other places I was looking to stay, but it's still so weird to me. He cooks all the meals, cleans, does the laundry, etc. Like, he brought me tea in bed (at my roommate's request, since I still have no idea what the hell's going on and I don't think Sanjay, the servant, speaks much English). I think I just equate this level of "help" as either extravagant and unnecessary or makes me think of slavery. Either way, it's weird.
The one thing that I can now smell and otherwise understand is what this weather.com forecast means. The general forecast is always "Sunny", but the actual details are:
Right.
So the goals for the day are to head out to the mall, get a SIM card, walk around the neighborhood a bit, call the people I'm working with to connect up with them, and just kick it. I also have to go to the supermarket for bottled water and toilet paper (I so forgot about that, and there's clearly none here).
Labels: airports, india, mumbai, transitions, transportation, travel
It's a resurrection.
I knew that school and life would be the downfall of this blog. It didn't have staying power and was likely doomed from the start. I couldn't get into writing much beyond a new status update on Facebook, let alone regular blog posts that take time, thought, and effort. I'm still unsure if I spent time, thought, and effort on all of my coursework last semester. In any event, I knew it would falter and that I would pick it up again when I travel.
I'm writing this from Vienna, on the way to Mumbai, which constitutes travel for sure.
I celebrated the new year somewhere over the Atlantic, likely watching a fragment of Knocked Up, The Simpsons Movie, or The Lookout (I couldn't seem to get on the movie schedule and caught each somewhere in the middle). Mumbai's 10.5 hours ahead of Eastern time; I couldn't really figure out what to do about sleeping, so I kept myself up until I couldn't anymore. I figure showing up tired is better than being stuck in another time zone and wanting to sleep all day and be awake all night. My flight gets in at 11:20pm tonight, so I'm going to get my bag, a taxi and go where I'm staying as fast as possible to get to bed.
I'm renting a room in an apartment in a nearby suburb called Malad. I'm going to be almost exclusively in the northern part of the city, which consists of the airports and much of the nicer parts of town (including expat neighborhoods and beaches). The southern part of the city where the accommodations were more of my budget was thought to be too far away, or too long of a commute. I may not have shortened that by much, but at least I'm not going to be living in a hotel for three weeks. The thought of doing so seemed dreadful.
I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do about getting downtown everyday--there's a rail system that will get me where I need to go, but to say that it's crowded during rush hour is a huge understatement. Anything that has something called Super-Dense Crush Load just isn't messing around. So I'm going to give myself the better part of the week to get oriented, try it out, and see how it goes. This whole trip should be flexible, so maybe I'll just rock an 11-6 sort of schedule. I doubt the roads are much better, but maybe I'll take an auto rikshaw. That's definitely a step up from the Mchinji bike taxi.
And speaking of work, that remains a bit up in the air. The long of the short of it is that I'm going to be working with a GLBT (more GBT to be accurate) health organization in some capacity, likely working on some data or something else in the background. The history of this trip is more or less the following:
1. The place I worked before going back to school does work with them.
2. I got reconnected with them through a circuitous route that involves a HMS professor who is on the board of the organization and also holds an appointment where I used to work.
3. He suggested this as a practicum for last summer; Malawi came up and I thought this might be a better Winter Session experience. January isn't monsoon season, for one.
4. I applied for some funding to do a needs assessment of HIV+ transgender persons whom this place serves. Got the funding.
5. Reconnected with folks I used to work with, four of whom are going to be in Mumbai for shorter periods of time to do some work there. It seems to make more sense to tag along with their programs, even if that means I don't know what exactly I'm going to be doing while I'm there. Like Tim says, we'll make it work.
I want to have something to show for three weeks somewhere (and have some ethical obligation to do so given that I'm traveling on someone else's dime), but I'm trying to go easy. I'm trying not to force anything, just show up and go with the flow. No expectations + lots of footwork = something good will happen.
In the meantime, I'm planning on chronicling here how it goes. I'll have internet at the apartment, so catch me on email, GChat or Skype. It might be the airport, but my phone doesn't seem able to get a signal here, so I'm not actually too hopeful that AT&T will pull through with their ridiculous ad campaign (think Washvienumbai) and get service in all those places. But let's see.
Sitting with a good cup of coffee, watching gentle snow fall (albeit on airport machinery), with free wireless in Austria isn't a bad way to kick off the new year.
I knew that school and life would be the downfall of this blog. It didn't have staying power and was likely doomed from the start. I couldn't get into writing much beyond a new status update on Facebook, let alone regular blog posts that take time, thought, and effort. I'm still unsure if I spent time, thought, and effort on all of my coursework last semester. In any event, I knew it would falter and that I would pick it up again when I travel.
I'm writing this from Vienna, on the way to Mumbai, which constitutes travel for sure.
I celebrated the new year somewhere over the Atlantic, likely watching a fragment of Knocked Up, The Simpsons Movie, or The Lookout (I couldn't seem to get on the movie schedule and caught each somewhere in the middle). Mumbai's 10.5 hours ahead of Eastern time; I couldn't really figure out what to do about sleeping, so I kept myself up until I couldn't anymore. I figure showing up tired is better than being stuck in another time zone and wanting to sleep all day and be awake all night. My flight gets in at 11:20pm tonight, so I'm going to get my bag, a taxi and go where I'm staying as fast as possible to get to bed.
I'm renting a room in an apartment in a nearby suburb called Malad. I'm going to be almost exclusively in the northern part of the city, which consists of the airports and much of the nicer parts of town (including expat neighborhoods and beaches). The southern part of the city where the accommodations were more of my budget was thought to be too far away, or too long of a commute. I may not have shortened that by much, but at least I'm not going to be living in a hotel for three weeks. The thought of doing so seemed dreadful.
I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do about getting downtown everyday--there's a rail system that will get me where I need to go, but to say that it's crowded during rush hour is a huge understatement. Anything that has something called Super-Dense Crush Load just isn't messing around. So I'm going to give myself the better part of the week to get oriented, try it out, and see how it goes. This whole trip should be flexible, so maybe I'll just rock an 11-6 sort of schedule. I doubt the roads are much better, but maybe I'll take an auto rikshaw. That's definitely a step up from the Mchinji bike taxi.
And speaking of work, that remains a bit up in the air. The long of the short of it is that I'm going to be working with a GLBT (more GBT to be accurate) health organization in some capacity, likely working on some data or something else in the background. The history of this trip is more or less the following:
1. The place I worked before going back to school does work with them.
2. I got reconnected with them through a circuitous route that involves a HMS professor who is on the board of the organization and also holds an appointment where I used to work.
3. He suggested this as a practicum for last summer; Malawi came up and I thought this might be a better Winter Session experience. January isn't monsoon season, for one.
4. I applied for some funding to do a needs assessment of HIV+ transgender persons whom this place serves. Got the funding.
5. Reconnected with folks I used to work with, four of whom are going to be in Mumbai for shorter periods of time to do some work there. It seems to make more sense to tag along with their programs, even if that means I don't know what exactly I'm going to be doing while I'm there. Like Tim says, we'll make it work.
I want to have something to show for three weeks somewhere (and have some ethical obligation to do so given that I'm traveling on someone else's dime), but I'm trying to go easy. I'm trying not to force anything, just show up and go with the flow. No expectations + lots of footwork = something good will happen.
In the meantime, I'm planning on chronicling here how it goes. I'll have internet at the apartment, so catch me on email, GChat or Skype. It might be the airport, but my phone doesn't seem able to get a signal here, so I'm not actually too hopeful that AT&T will pull through with their ridiculous ad campaign (think Washvienumbai) and get service in all those places. But let's see.
Sitting with a good cup of coffee, watching gentle snow fall (albeit on airport machinery), with free wireless in Austria isn't a bad way to kick off the new year.
Labels: airports, mumbai, transportation, travel
I flew out of Lilongwe on a Tuesday. Like the flight in, the plane was about 3/4ths Americans, which was a little odd. In fact, someone I knew was on the plane The azungu magnet is really strong, no doubt.
I got into Jo'burg around 4:00, picked up my bags, got some cash, and went to find the information booth to find a bus that apparently goes from the airport to the bus station. I find a police officer instead, who tells me there is no such bus, but to take a taxi instead. I needed to get to the bus station ultimately for an overnight bus to Maputo, but since I couldn't hang out at the bus station (or get there for cheap on this bus to pick up my ticket before heading back out), I take him up on the suggestion.
He directs me to a driver, and I pay what seems like an exorbitant amount of money to get into Jo'burg (it was like $35, which is cheaper than to get into Manhattan from JFK, but seems like an arm and a leg compared to Malawi prices). There was traffic on the freeway, so we cut through town, which they're not actually supposed to do because of crime, particularly car-jacking, but it actually made for a nice tour of the city. At Simon's suggestion, I went to Melville, which is this cute neighborhood on the west side of the city, sort of like the South End in Boston or Dupont in DC. I got out of the cab, making up some story that I was meeting friends for dinner, and the driver was insistent on seeing me inside. He sort of rubbed me the wrong way the whole drive in--he was a nice enough guy, I didn't feel unsafe, but he wouldn't stop complaining about everything that was wrong with South Africa. Apparently, it was the Nigerians, Congolese, and Zimbabweans who were ruining everything and making it unsafe. Right. In any event, I tried to ditch him as best I could, knowing full well that he would want to take me to the bus station later. I told him I'd call him if I couldn't get a ride from my friends, and hoped he'd bugger off.
Simon had suggested a particular intersection of Melville, so to avoid looking like I didn't know where I was going, I just went in the first place I could find. I had a nice meal, essentially mediterranean/greek food, then walked down the block to a bakery and hung out there for a while, hit a bookstore next door to pick up books in English while I had the chance, and then got in a cab (the girls at the bakery called it for me) and went to the bus station.
I was catching a 10:00pm bus and got to the station around 9:00. It was *so* sketchy. The station itself is quite large and enclosed, but getting into the drop off area was dark and not well lit. The driver chided me for putting my wallet in my back pocket. "This is Joburg, man. Keep that where they can't get it," he said. I was a little weirded out, but I wasn't really feeling unsafe until he suggested that I should be. I quickly went from the car inside to find the ticket office, and sit and wait. I saw three other Americans waiting for the same bus, which made me feel slightly better, but there were a bunch of drunk guys around inside asking for money which made me stay a bit tense. In retrospect, it was not entirely unlike being at Port Authority at night, which is sketchy in its own right. But by virtue of it being notoriously unsafe Joburg, I just felt tense the whole time.
Fortunately we got on the bus and took off no problem. I had strategically placed myself with a bag next to me and ended up getting two seats to myself, which was a gift on a crowded bus and actually afforded me a few hours of sleep. Including the two hours that we were essentially parked on the road at the border waiting for it to open.
Once the border opened (at 6:00), we were told to get off the bus, and not really much more than that. I grabbed my stuff and followed people into this building, waited in line, handed over my passport to be stamped, and then dismissed. I thought, "wow, that was really easy. I didn't even have to pay for my visa afterall." Oh naive me. It was only after being dismissed did I realize that I had only just left South Africa.
We leave that building and have to walk up this hill, across the border. It wasn't far, but it did seem pretty weird to be crossing the border by foot.
The Mozambique side was not nearly as calm and efficient as the South African. There was just a crowd of people standing outside the building in a couple of different lines, with an armed guard blocking one door. We realize that one of the lines is for mine workers only (Mozambicans coming back from the South African mines), so we went to the other one. And while there was plenty of space inside, the guy wasn't letting anyone in. After a little while of waiting patiently, I looked back at the other Americans, one of whom suggested that she use her US Embassy badge (they were peace corps volunteers and so she had something from when she was at one of the embassies). I said that I would go and see what an American passport would get me before that. I walked up, looked the guy in the eye, showed my American passport and walked in no problem. It's very good to be an American sometimes.
Then the problem arose that I didn't have a visa and needed to get one. There was absolutely no direction or help as to how to do that, so I just got in line. It wasn't until I got to the front of the line that the bus driver saw me and pulled me aside. "Yes, I need a visa," I told him. He grabbed a form, scribbled it complete for me, and told me to say that I was with these three other passengers he was helping get visas. I did that and proceeded to wait with them.
And wait. And wait.
In total, we were there for 2 hours. He finally emerged again, behind the actual immigration desk where he must have been pushing these through. One of the women was waiting on like 14 different passports for her whole group, but it still seemed like we were there for four times as long as it "should have" taken. I'd heard that it was easy (and about half the cost) to get a visa at the border than from one of the Mozambique embassies. I was quickly disabused of that idea.
We finally get back to the bus, with the driver announcing as we ran to the bus that the other passengers were getting annoyed. Oh well. We hopped on and quickly took off. Only to stop about 3 kms later, pulling off to the side of the road for no apparent reason. After about another half-hour, some guy comes on the bus yelling at the woman who was waiting for the 14 passports, and it became clear that we'd left him behind. Oops.
Within another hour and a half and we're in Maputo after all.
I got into Jo'burg around 4:00, picked up my bags, got some cash, and went to find the information booth to find a bus that apparently goes from the airport to the bus station. I find a police officer instead, who tells me there is no such bus, but to take a taxi instead. I needed to get to the bus station ultimately for an overnight bus to Maputo, but since I couldn't hang out at the bus station (or get there for cheap on this bus to pick up my ticket before heading back out), I take him up on the suggestion.
He directs me to a driver, and I pay what seems like an exorbitant amount of money to get into Jo'burg (it was like $35, which is cheaper than to get into Manhattan from JFK, but seems like an arm and a leg compared to Malawi prices). There was traffic on the freeway, so we cut through town, which they're not actually supposed to do because of crime, particularly car-jacking, but it actually made for a nice tour of the city. At Simon's suggestion, I went to Melville, which is this cute neighborhood on the west side of the city, sort of like the South End in Boston or Dupont in DC. I got out of the cab, making up some story that I was meeting friends for dinner, and the driver was insistent on seeing me inside. He sort of rubbed me the wrong way the whole drive in--he was a nice enough guy, I didn't feel unsafe, but he wouldn't stop complaining about everything that was wrong with South Africa. Apparently, it was the Nigerians, Congolese, and Zimbabweans who were ruining everything and making it unsafe. Right. In any event, I tried to ditch him as best I could, knowing full well that he would want to take me to the bus station later. I told him I'd call him if I couldn't get a ride from my friends, and hoped he'd bugger off.
Simon had suggested a particular intersection of Melville, so to avoid looking like I didn't know where I was going, I just went in the first place I could find. I had a nice meal, essentially mediterranean/greek food, then walked down the block to a bakery and hung out there for a while, hit a bookstore next door to pick up books in English while I had the chance, and then got in a cab (the girls at the bakery called it for me) and went to the bus station.
I was catching a 10:00pm bus and got to the station around 9:00. It was *so* sketchy. The station itself is quite large and enclosed, but getting into the drop off area was dark and not well lit. The driver chided me for putting my wallet in my back pocket. "This is Joburg, man. Keep that where they can't get it," he said. I was a little weirded out, but I wasn't really feeling unsafe until he suggested that I should be. I quickly went from the car inside to find the ticket office, and sit and wait. I saw three other Americans waiting for the same bus, which made me feel slightly better, but there were a bunch of drunk guys around inside asking for money which made me stay a bit tense. In retrospect, it was not entirely unlike being at Port Authority at night, which is sketchy in its own right. But by virtue of it being notoriously unsafe Joburg, I just felt tense the whole time.
Fortunately we got on the bus and took off no problem. I had strategically placed myself with a bag next to me and ended up getting two seats to myself, which was a gift on a crowded bus and actually afforded me a few hours of sleep. Including the two hours that we were essentially parked on the road at the border waiting for it to open.
Once the border opened (at 6:00), we were told to get off the bus, and not really much more than that. I grabbed my stuff and followed people into this building, waited in line, handed over my passport to be stamped, and then dismissed. I thought, "wow, that was really easy. I didn't even have to pay for my visa afterall." Oh naive me. It was only after being dismissed did I realize that I had only just left South Africa.
We leave that building and have to walk up this hill, across the border. It wasn't far, but it did seem pretty weird to be crossing the border by foot.
The Mozambique side was not nearly as calm and efficient as the South African. There was just a crowd of people standing outside the building in a couple of different lines, with an armed guard blocking one door. We realize that one of the lines is for mine workers only (Mozambicans coming back from the South African mines), so we went to the other one. And while there was plenty of space inside, the guy wasn't letting anyone in. After a little while of waiting patiently, I looked back at the other Americans, one of whom suggested that she use her US Embassy badge (they were peace corps volunteers and so she had something from when she was at one of the embassies). I said that I would go and see what an American passport would get me before that. I walked up, looked the guy in the eye, showed my American passport and walked in no problem. It's very good to be an American sometimes.
Then the problem arose that I didn't have a visa and needed to get one. There was absolutely no direction or help as to how to do that, so I just got in line. It wasn't until I got to the front of the line that the bus driver saw me and pulled me aside. "Yes, I need a visa," I told him. He grabbed a form, scribbled it complete for me, and told me to say that I was with these three other passengers he was helping get visas. I did that and proceeded to wait with them.
And wait. And wait.
In total, we were there for 2 hours. He finally emerged again, behind the actual immigration desk where he must have been pushing these through. One of the women was waiting on like 14 different passports for her whole group, but it still seemed like we were there for four times as long as it "should have" taken. I'd heard that it was easy (and about half the cost) to get a visa at the border than from one of the Mozambique embassies. I was quickly disabused of that idea.
We finally get back to the bus, with the driver announcing as we ran to the bus that the other passengers were getting annoyed. Oh well. We hopped on and quickly took off. Only to stop about 3 kms later, pulling off to the side of the road for no apparent reason. After about another half-hour, some guy comes on the bus yelling at the woman who was waiting for the 14 passports, and it became clear that we'd left him behind. Oops.
Within another hour and a half and we're in Maputo after all.
Labels: malawi, maputo, south africa, transitions, transportation, travel
Emily, Heather and I went to the lake the last weekend I was in Mchinji. We were going to have a fourth, Simon, but he broke his arm the previous week and couldn't deal with the minibus in an arm sling. At one point, we were going to go further north on the lake and the weekend prior; we were all busy with work and couldn't make it happen, so we chose the following weekend (losing a few people in the process) and a place that was still in the central region, Senga Bay, to save some time. We'd never been there before, but some of the people who were here last year had gone, as had D, and offered good advice. We wanted to go to this place on the beach that had permanent tents set up instead of chalets, but they were full. We booked a room instead for one night at the Livingstonia Beach Resort (yes, it's as posh as it sounds), and then to another place for the following night because Livingstonia only had one night free.
We decided to go Saturday for a variety of reasons: we were all going to be tired from finishing things up that week with our work, that you couldn't do it all in one day unless you took the day off or overnighted in Lilongwe, and so to compromise, we thought we would have a farewell party of sorts on Friday. The party itself was a bit awkward (okay, very awkward) in the end, and felt like an obligation to attend. It consisted of most of the staff and some european relatives of the owners who were staying there and a few random drunk people who heard music off the road and came in. One in particular was completely unintelligible and kept getting passed off between me and the other white dude to deal with him until he finally got the hint. In any event, it didn't quite pan out as we'd hoped, but I was glad to have the night to pack, rest and get ready to go.
Getting there was another episode of planes, trains, and automobiles.
I'd run into this taxi driver I'd hired before in the boma on Thursday and asked him to come pick me up at 9:00 on Saturday because I was going to have my luggage (as were the others), and getting in without a car ride would have been difficult. He didn't show, and solid hour later after waiting for a number of other drivers we called, I was going to go in by bike taxi and get one myself. One showed up just as I was on my way out; we left and the car broke down not 100 yards from the inn. Fortunately, it was easy and quick to fix, but hilarious and somehow ironic at the same time. We get to the boma where I have a shirt for me and one for D to pick up at the tailor. (sidenote: mine is a straight up mu-mu. no joke. it could probably fit two of me and falls about mid-thigh). Once I have them, I start eyeing this Toyota 4x4 hoping that I can hire it to take us to lilongwe (there were five of us with all our luggage and we knew a minibus wasn't feasible; a taxi would be like $8/each) when some other guy comes up and says that he heard that I need a car for 5 to lilongwe. I'd mentioned it to my first driver and word travels fast; go figure. But dude had a station waggon and agreed to our price, so off we went.
We got to Lilongwe, had lunch at the favorite pizza place, and then off to the bus station for a bus to Salima. We had to walk a ways to find the bus itself, as they're all in different areas by destination geography and we didn't know where this one was. We finally get on, it fills to appropriate crowdedness (20-something people; I couldn't really put my feet on the ground, but I have had worse), and was a generally a fine ride.
From Salima, you basically hitch a ride to Senga Bay, which is another 15km east. Apparently Saturday afternoon is the official drinking time in Salima because everyone was out and loud around 3:00pm. There are 10 or so men who at one point or another get a little too close and offer to help us find a ride, once we'd already found one. The rides are basically the back of a pickup truck, and even once we were in ours, they wouldn't let up. One was just a little too close to Heather, to the point that I thought I might shove him off. It was just chaos. There was our truck and another one that was quite full already; to attract more people, they just honk relentlessly. Then the trucks start moving around, one in front of the other, for no apparent reason besides what we could gather as to suggest that they were more ready to leave than another. (One of our activities was to figure out who was who: we later found that this person, the honker, is just that--his job is to honk and move the car until full; similarly, there are the guys who comes to fetch people, one of whom then transitions into the money taker and the rest fall away; the driver is a third person entirely). Then, at one point a fight erupts outside a bottle store (bar) nearby between a man and a woman--it's unclear what started it, but they were both actively hitting each other. We just wanted to get out of there, and fortunately left shortly thereafter with about 6 of us in the truck bed.
Along the way, we gather what I liken the 12 days of Christmas: 27 adults, 8 pots/tubs/boxes, 7 children (including one breast feeding baby), 6 20 lb bags of maize and rice, one log, and one child holding a small chicken. Just when you think it's too full, someone else gets on. But we got there. And then we convinced them to drive us directly to our hotel, which was another 2k from Senga Bay town, for a $3 more. So we end up showing up to the nicest beach resort, and in fact the oldest hotel in Malawi, in the back of this sky blue, old pick up truck. A great sight, for sure. Emily appropriately started singing The Beverly Hillbillies theme song when we pulled through the gates.
The place was everything and more. It felt a lot like where I stayed in Mombasa, except nicer: white-washed walls, nice room, big bathroom, private beach (which is key, as it prevents people from harassing you to buy their stuff while on the beach), pool, hot tub, etc. It felt easy to forget that you were in Malawi, which at first felt a bit disconcerting, if not blatantly like we were the "bad" kind of white person in Malawi because it felt good to forget Malawi was outside the gates and live in this extravagant bubble. In the end, it became abundantly clear that it was a good thing: it was relaxing and easy, with good food and company, and worth every penny.
It was a great end to my time in Malawi. I swam every day (in the pool, not the lake), laid out a bit, just took it easy. the second day we got up early to see the sun rise over the lake which was exquisite, took an early breakfast, I got in another time for laps in the pool, and then we headed off. Not 10 feet outside the gates and I heard, "Azungu, give me bottle!" Back to reality.
We did the same trip, including crowded (and now slow) truck, and minibus back to Lilongwe. In fact, the minibus was also slow. There were three police check points: one we were more or less waved through, one the driver had to go with the police officer into this non-descript grass hut where I can't imagine anything but a bribe payment happened, and then at a third where the driver got a hard time because the vehicle's insurance papers were outdated. Only to add excitement, we actually hit a goat (and kept going) along the way.
But for all of the travel hilarity, it really was a perfect wrap up. I did feel like I had ended my time in Mchinji by Friday evening. Not to mention that I needed a distraction more than I realized--I had worked through the previous weekend so was going on two straight weeks of work. I also feel like I didn't "do" much of Malawi (which was a choice, granted), so it was good to round out my time there by seeing one of the must-sees.
We decided to go Saturday for a variety of reasons: we were all going to be tired from finishing things up that week with our work, that you couldn't do it all in one day unless you took the day off or overnighted in Lilongwe, and so to compromise, we thought we would have a farewell party of sorts on Friday. The party itself was a bit awkward (okay, very awkward) in the end, and felt like an obligation to attend. It consisted of most of the staff and some european relatives of the owners who were staying there and a few random drunk people who heard music off the road and came in. One in particular was completely unintelligible and kept getting passed off between me and the other white dude to deal with him until he finally got the hint. In any event, it didn't quite pan out as we'd hoped, but I was glad to have the night to pack, rest and get ready to go.
Getting there was another episode of planes, trains, and automobiles.
I'd run into this taxi driver I'd hired before in the boma on Thursday and asked him to come pick me up at 9:00 on Saturday because I was going to have my luggage (as were the others), and getting in without a car ride would have been difficult. He didn't show, and solid hour later after waiting for a number of other drivers we called, I was going to go in by bike taxi and get one myself. One showed up just as I was on my way out; we left and the car broke down not 100 yards from the inn. Fortunately, it was easy and quick to fix, but hilarious and somehow ironic at the same time. We get to the boma where I have a shirt for me and one for D to pick up at the tailor. (sidenote: mine is a straight up mu-mu. no joke. it could probably fit two of me and falls about mid-thigh). Once I have them, I start eyeing this Toyota 4x4 hoping that I can hire it to take us to lilongwe (there were five of us with all our luggage and we knew a minibus wasn't feasible; a taxi would be like $8/each) when some other guy comes up and says that he heard that I need a car for 5 to lilongwe. I'd mentioned it to my first driver and word travels fast; go figure. But dude had a station waggon and agreed to our price, so off we went.
We got to Lilongwe, had lunch at the favorite pizza place, and then off to the bus station for a bus to Salima. We had to walk a ways to find the bus itself, as they're all in different areas by destination geography and we didn't know where this one was. We finally get on, it fills to appropriate crowdedness (20-something people; I couldn't really put my feet on the ground, but I have had worse), and was a generally a fine ride.
From Salima, you basically hitch a ride to Senga Bay, which is another 15km east. Apparently Saturday afternoon is the official drinking time in Salima because everyone was out and loud around 3:00pm. There are 10 or so men who at one point or another get a little too close and offer to help us find a ride, once we'd already found one. The rides are basically the back of a pickup truck, and even once we were in ours, they wouldn't let up. One was just a little too close to Heather, to the point that I thought I might shove him off. It was just chaos. There was our truck and another one that was quite full already; to attract more people, they just honk relentlessly. Then the trucks start moving around, one in front of the other, for no apparent reason besides what we could gather as to suggest that they were more ready to leave than another. (One of our activities was to figure out who was who: we later found that this person, the honker, is just that--his job is to honk and move the car until full; similarly, there are the guys who comes to fetch people, one of whom then transitions into the money taker and the rest fall away; the driver is a third person entirely). Then, at one point a fight erupts outside a bottle store (bar) nearby between a man and a woman--it's unclear what started it, but they were both actively hitting each other. We just wanted to get out of there, and fortunately left shortly thereafter with about 6 of us in the truck bed.
Along the way, we gather what I liken the 12 days of Christmas: 27 adults, 8 pots/tubs/boxes, 7 children (including one breast feeding baby), 6 20 lb bags of maize and rice, one log, and one child holding a small chicken. Just when you think it's too full, someone else gets on. But we got there. And then we convinced them to drive us directly to our hotel, which was another 2k from Senga Bay town, for a $3 more. So we end up showing up to the nicest beach resort, and in fact the oldest hotel in Malawi, in the back of this sky blue, old pick up truck. A great sight, for sure. Emily appropriately started singing The Beverly Hillbillies theme song when we pulled through the gates.
The place was everything and more. It felt a lot like where I stayed in Mombasa, except nicer: white-washed walls, nice room, big bathroom, private beach (which is key, as it prevents people from harassing you to buy their stuff while on the beach), pool, hot tub, etc. It felt easy to forget that you were in Malawi, which at first felt a bit disconcerting, if not blatantly like we were the "bad" kind of white person in Malawi because it felt good to forget Malawi was outside the gates and live in this extravagant bubble. In the end, it became abundantly clear that it was a good thing: it was relaxing and easy, with good food and company, and worth every penny.
It was a great end to my time in Malawi. I swam every day (in the pool, not the lake), laid out a bit, just took it easy. the second day we got up early to see the sun rise over the lake which was exquisite, took an early breakfast, I got in another time for laps in the pool, and then we headed off. Not 10 feet outside the gates and I heard, "Azungu, give me bottle!" Back to reality.
We did the same trip, including crowded (and now slow) truck, and minibus back to Lilongwe. In fact, the minibus was also slow. There were three police check points: one we were more or less waved through, one the driver had to go with the police officer into this non-descript grass hut where I can't imagine anything but a bribe payment happened, and then at a third where the driver got a hard time because the vehicle's insurance papers were outdated. Only to add excitement, we actually hit a goat (and kept going) along the way.
But for all of the travel hilarity, it really was a perfect wrap up. I did feel like I had ended my time in Mchinji by Friday evening. Not to mention that I needed a distraction more than I realized--I had worked through the previous weekend so was going on two straight weeks of work. I also feel like I didn't "do" much of Malawi (which was a choice, granted), so it was good to round out my time there by seeing one of the must-sees.
Labels: beach, Lake Malawi, malawi, transportation, travel
