Group Life

Group living is always interesting. For example, as I write this, there is a large Swedish man dancing in front of me clown-like asking if I'm going to include him in my blog.  He is a gentle giant, the sweetheart of the group who looks after everyone and who everyone loves.  Every group needs one of these people who provides and cares and is always there with a hug when something has gone wrong.

Then, there the person who he looks after most.  The blissfully unaware person one who thinks only about themselves and makes that nice person worry about them all the time.  We've had a few situations here where blissfully unaware has done something stupid and the gentle giant has had to come to his rescue.  They have been friends for years so I guess that this relationship works for them but it's definitely not balanced.

There are 16 of us living here in the house, plus two leaders who use the house as an office and come in and out throughout the day.  So far we have all gotten along pretty well but mostly that's just because the majority of us are easy going.  However, there is a PhD student who lives in the house who has a very low tolerance for other people.  As a result, a number of signs have appeared throughout the kitchen and living room advising us to keep the door closed to prevent mosquitoes from getting inside, to clean up the leftover food because there are people starving in Africa and that we should clean up the crumbs from our toast.  I'm not sure why she's living in the house right beside the kitchen but, there she is.  She has two friends and I call them 'the unsociables'. Her two sidekicks have already been here for a couple of months so, they feel a certain sense of possession and we are unwelcome.  They walk through the house talking only amongst themselves and make it very clear that they want nothing to do with the rest of us- it's a good thing that we outnumber them.  They have retreated into their bedroom behind closed doors which is perfectly ok with me.  I've tried to connect and they are just not interested so, not worth my time or effort.

Then there's the clueless boy:  young, sheltered and full of self importance- a dangerous mix.  He walked right through customs at the Inhambane airport because he didn't want to wait in line and already had a visa.  It did not occur to him that he had to get a stamp to validate his visa.  As a result, he was in the country illegally and could have been arrested.  Instead, because we have a really incredible local leader,  he only had to pay a fine of 504 euro.  Clueless boy did not have the money and had to borrow it from our Mozambican leader who only makes 7000 Meticais (roughly $240 US) a month.  I truly hope that he pays him back- but I have my doubts that he even appreciates just how much money he's borrowed in relative terms.  Clueless boy will get more money from his parents and not think twice about what an idiot he's been.  When he arrived, he forgot to bring most of the basics with him- deodorant, sunscreen, bug spray, shampoo...I have no idea what he had in his backpack but it wasn't anything useful.  He did however bring a guitar, which he in fact plays quite nicely (he's produced a demo of his own work, but he can't remember any of his own songs- not a good sign for someone who wants to be a musician).

To balance that out there are some very well travelled individuals who tell fascinating stories of travels all over the world.  I spend most of my time with these people.  We tend to group together to find relief from the insanity of the younger crowd.  The 'frat house' gets tiring after a while. 

There are the idealists who came thinking that they would actually be making a difference and are completely disillusioned with the reality of the situation which is that we do one thing, a dive or ocean safari once a day, do a little data entry which may or may not be used in scientific study and spend the rest of the time hanging out relaxing.  Some people spend a lot of time suntanning on the beach and buying souvenirs, while other people drink and party every night then spend the day recovering.  I spend my time somewhere in between- sometimes sleeping, sometimes taking pictures, sometimes writing, very rarely partying and never lying on the beach (I am far too white for that and remember how badly burnt I got at the beginning of the trip)

When we first arrived, we received very little guidance as to how things worked in the house.  It took most of us two weeks to figure out that there were sheets for the beds and that they would be washed every week by our houselady Anabella.  She spends the day in the house cleaning up after us and cooks dinner 3 nights a week.   As she is 6 months pregnant, she actually spends a lot of her time sleeping, but as there isn't that much that needs to be done it is ok.  However, to return to the above point, there is a distinct lack of leadership coming from our 'leaders.'  There favourite line seems to be 'You're adults and can look after yourselves' This is great but, if we don't have any information, it's hard to know how best to look after yourself.  After two weeks, we seem to have figured things out and have settled into the routine of life here, but it could have happened a lot faster if we had been properly oriented.

Food here is simple.  Breakfast is cereal or white toast.  Lunch is some sort of sandwich on white bread.  Maybe mayonnaise and cucumber or  peanut butter and banana or sometimes we have instant noodles for variety.  Dinner is rice and either beans or matapa (spinach and coconut milk). Please note how white everything is- white bread, white rice, white noodles... there's not a lot of fibre or variety in our diet in the house which means that on the nights when Anabella isn't cooking, most of us head out to the local restaurants for something to eat. Really, anything would do, but pizza is a particular favourite.  The other night gentle giant and blissfully unaware prepared a barbeque for everyone which was actually quite good.  I think it was mostly because they wanted to cook over a fire to satisfy some primal need but, I'm not complaining because the barracuda was delicious.  Needless to say, although invited, the 'unsociables' did not come.

As I said, during the day Anabella watches the house and makes sure that everything is safe and at night we have “the guard” which is really two different guys who sit on the porch from sundown to sunup.  They don't do anything except drink coffee and occasionally eat some of our left overs.  However, they do create a presence near the house which keeps people from exploring where they are not wanted.  I guess that makes it worthwhile.

That my friends is our house.  I guess that our house isn't too much different from any house or our family any different from any other family.  There's always the strange cousin, the bratty little brother and the hard to live with Aunt.  We've found a balance and it's a good one.  Things shift within it as we learn and grow and by the time it's all over, there's a part of me that will miss this.  However, there is also a part of me that will love having a bed that isn't parabolic in shape (definitely sunken in the middle), food that has some flavour and nutritional quality and personal space.  Home is home, and it always feels good to be back there, but for a short time, it's nice to experience something new.

   

Diving

I love diving.  It is an incredible feeling to be under the water, breathing; and the things you see are absolutely amazing.  I imagine that it's a little like what it would feel like to fly.  You float over the reef looking down, sometimes drifting lower to check something out, sometimes soaring higher above everything.  For the most part it is peaceful and calm but, there are parts of the process that are far from zen-like.

Take the wetsuit for example.  Putting on a wet suit is not fun, especially when you have a little extra girth.  It takes me 20 minutes to get the suit to my waist.  I skinned four of my knuckles and the dive doctor has videotaped the process twice for what I assume is his own amusement, however, should you find it on YouTube, please let me know.

Second is getting in and out of the boat.  Diving here in Tofo is quite interesting.  It is virtually impossible to moor a boat because the sand is deep and continuously shifting, and anything that they try to anchor ends up drifting away.  So, they use a boat with inflated pontoons and a hard plastic bottom and they beach it.  This makes it quite an adventure at the beginning and end of each dive.  To start, the boat is driven to the beach on a trailer and backed into the water as far as it can go.  Then, we all stand at one side of the bow and push it away from the shore.  Quickly we divide so that half of us are on one side, half the other and we push the boat further into the water.  When the boat reaches waist high water, they yell girls in and the women jump into the boat.  The boat is usually up around my shoulders at this point, as I am vertically challenged, and I have to jump really high- definitely not my forte.  What usually happens is that I beach myself about halfway in and someone unceremoniously throws my legs in, rather like tossing a dead seal into the boat.  It's not at all graceful.  During the dive, the process is similar except at the point, there is no bottom to jump off of and I barely make it to the half point.  I am definitely not impressing anyone.  It is my goal to be able to do it effortlessly by the end of the trip.  In the meantime, I get a little help from my friends.

At the end of the trip, we put our feet in foot straps, hold onto ropes that run from the front of the boat to the back and they put the boat full throttle and head for shore.  It's so strange to hear the motors get louder and know that you're heading straight onto shore.  If the boat happens to ride a wave in, the boat gets dumped on the shore with a thud and everyone in it is thrown into the boat with a thud.  Everyone hops out of the boat onto the shore and they pull the boat up a little further with the truck.

In Australia the diving was pretty easy comparatively.  We'd leave from a pier and the back of the boat would have a dive platform- easy in, easy out.  When you got to the dive site there was a mooring line so, you stepped off the boat, found the line and followed it down to the bottom.  Here, you roll backwards off the boat, head straight down and aim for the orange line which is trailing behind the lead diver.  Again, everything is a little bit more difficult here.

However, even with things being more difficult, the whale sharks and manta rays definitely make it all worthwhile and hey, if I can get passed the dead seal stage and can actually get into the boat somewhat gracefully, I will have learnt something new and that's always a good thing.

Whale Sharks

Whale sharks rock! Today I went snorkeling with a beautiful 9m whale shark- what an incredible experience.

Getting a boat in and out of Tofo is an interesting experience. There is not public dock or mooring line so you have to launch the boat from shore every time. Everyone gets to the bow of the boat and pushes it around so that the boat is facing the ocean. Then we go on either side and pull the boat into waste deep water at which point the girls are allowed to jump in over the side and grab a seat. Then, the boys drag the boat a little further in and when the motors can be lowered, the boys jump in and off we go through the waves holding on for dear life.

Then comes the fun part of looking for the whale sharks. Two people at the bow and one perched high up on a chair, they scan the ocean for something dark and moving. We zigzag back and forth parallel to the shoreline and wait. We were out for about 40 minutes before anything was actually spotted but then there she was. Fins, mask and snorkel on, we slip into the water as best we can and follow. Now when I say slip in, it is not nearly so graceful as that. It is nearly impossible to enter gracefully with you have fins on and are trying to slide in over the side of rubber, inflated boat. However, it's important to try not to make too much splash as it scares away the shark.

Once in the water, it's every man for himself. There were three boats around the shark, which meant approximately 30 swimmers. I was lucky that I was at the front of the pack for most of the swim, but if you got left behind a little all you saw was the bubbles and fins of the person in front of you. I did have a couple of unfortunate moments where I ended up behind this guy who kept flashing me as he pulled his swimsuit out from between his butt cheeks, but that's another story.

We were lucky today for many reasons. 1. She was a girl. Tofo gets a lot of whalesharks but most are immature males. It seems that Tofo is the equivalent of an all male junior high. 2. She was a little bit older. Whalesharks reach their maturity at about 10m and she was around 9. 3. She was just out for a leisurely stroll and she wasn't really concerned that we were around. She put up with us for about 40 minutes which apparently is almost unheard of. 4. She didn't swim quickly. It was quite easy to keep up with her.

All in all, an excellent first experience. I could definitely get used to this.

From Joburg to Tofo- one long day of travel

I woke up early on Monday. I had set my alarm for 7 so that I'd be ready for my 8:30 departure for the airport but woke up somewhere around 4 but was able to go back to bed and sleep until around 6:30 at which point I gave up and got out of bed. I wandered into the lounge where I was met by the guy who was taking me to the airport and, as happens in Africa where organization is not a strong point, he asked if it would be possible to leave at 7:30 instead because they had to pick up another group for the airport and they didn't want to be late for the start of the tours that they were also driving that day. OK, 7:30 it is, but will I get breakfast before I go? Yes, but you have to eat quickly.

We picked up a group of retired teachers who were doing a tour of South Africa and off we went to the airport. I arrive really early and took my time checking in and had time to buy another plug adaptor as somehow I managed to bring two adapters which were the wrong size. The Johannesburg airport is a shopping mall. Once you are through customs you can spend your pre-flight time shopping at Hugo Boss, buy all your trekking gear from the outdoor store or sample some of Africa's finest snacks. It truly is amazing. In fact, they only put about 8 seats at each of the gates in an attempt to get you to shop more.

In the departures lounge there was a large board which displayed all the flights and their gate numbers. I found my flight and the gate had changed from A29 to A20. Off I went to A20 where I was able to find a plug and sat down to with the computer to write in my journal. Nearby there were two guys who seemed completely stressed out. They were yelling into their phones and pacing back and forth and generally disturbing the energy of the airport with all their extra emotions. However, it was because of those two guys that I found out the gate hadn't actually changed and that the plane was now boarding from gate 29. Ah, modern technology. It's only useful if it is working- otherwise it's just very expensive junk.

The flight was short and the plane had propellers. When we arrived in Inhambane there was one customs official and about 12 people who needed visas. It's a very small airport and this man was having a very bad day. When you get a Mozambican visa you need to have your picture taken and the background of the picture must be blue. The man's blue screen broke. Over the next 10 people he had to fix the screen everytime before he could take the picture. You also get finger printed and have to pay 85 dollars. Needless to say, it was a long and painful process made even longer by one of the girls on the project who did not have any cash to pay for the visa. The visa costs $85US (which I think is a ridiculous amount of money for a visa) and she only had $20 so, she had to come to group leader to ask to borrow money. Not a great way to make a first impression. The group finally all made it through customs and by this point it had started to rain. A quick sprint through the raindrops and we were in our chapa which is essentially a well worn minivan that carries between 15 and 40 people. In our situation we had fifteen people with full lugage. The luggage is put on the front bench precariously balanced while we sit behind it hoping that the Grand Canyon sized potholes would not dislodge a bag into our laps. The windows fogged, the potholes huge and many girls who had to pee, we headed out. We were on our way to our final destination of Tofo.

In group style 5 people needed to change dollars or South African Rand into Metacals which meant that we had to stop at the bank/gas station. Over an hour later, we were back on our way. It seems that they lose their internet connection every couple of minutes and cannot process people's transactions without the internet. A very efficient system.

Driving into Tofo, we stopped at the local backpackers Fatima's to pick up two more people. Where they were going to sit, we weren't sure, but in the end we got them in. Some people scooched over and “skinny guy” was able to lean on the luggage. However, “skinny guy” has a problem remembering things. First he took forever to come to the van and then he had to go back into the hostel 3 times. This does not a popular guy make.

We arrived at the house and not really knowing anyone, had to decide who our roommates would be for the next four weeks. It was a free for all. The house has two floors with bedrooms on both. It was difficult to tell which beds were empty and which were taken and in the end, the girls who had already been here for a month were able to get a room to themselves because they left their stuff lying around to make it look like all the beds were taken- sneaky and not very friendly.

A brief organizational meeting and some dinner and we were free for the evening. Off we went to Fatima's for a drink and to get to know each other.

A long day, but a good start to the project.

A 9 hour car tour of Johanessburg

*Disclaimer- I am not a historian nor have I researched what I am writing about. A self proclaimed ignoramus on the history of South Africa, there are probably many historical mistakes in the following post.

Yesterday I was a tourist. I did a 9 hour driving tour around Johannesburg. I'm not sure why I did it other than the fact that I figured if I just hung around the lodge, I would just sleep and that wouldn't help the jet lag in any way. So, off I went on a 9 hour tour.

The mode of transportation was a very small Chevrolet which was meant to house a very large tour guide and three passengers. I was luck enough to be sitting shotgun which was great from looking out the window and seeing the sights, but it also meant that every gear shift and lane change I would receive a gentle nudge in the leg or arm. Pastor was a lovely guide but perhaps had been doing this a little too long. I was the first to be picked up which meant that I had the pleasure of being in the car as we drove to pick up the other two passengers. This gave me lots of time to chit-chat with Pastor and really get to know him...it was a long day.

Our first stop was to drive through Hillbrow which is the area of town with the highest crime rate. Apparently last year there were over 2500 crimes in that one area alone including rape, human trafficking, drug dealing, prostitution and murder, and those were only the crimes that the police know about. It was once an area where white people lived but after the end of apartheid all the white people moved out because it became a popular area for “foreigners” meaning Nigerians, Zambians, Zimbabweans... It seems that racism exists all over the world. Nigerians are definitely seen as the lowest of the low- according to the tour guide anyway. Now the area is just a haven for crime, poverty and illegal activity. However, “the crime only happens at night so, we were perfectly safe driving through the area during the day.” Interesting.

Next was a quick jaunt past two of the soccer stadiums used for the world cup and a drive over the Mandella bridge into Newtown. It looks very much like old town. It is home to the Market theatre and Mary Fitzgerald square named after a famous woman labour leader. She helped to bring better working conditions to the coal mines in the 1920s.

From there we drove through downtown Joburg which is very similar to any other city in a developing country. Definitely not pretty and almost empty because it was Sunday. There was the usual assortment of KFCs and Macdonald's but most of the stores were closed so I couldn't really tell what else there was behind the metal grating. Many of the buildings downtown have been abandoned because of crime and the dangers of the city. Most businesses have moved to the suburbs or shopping malls where people aren't afraid to come. What were once beautiful old buildings are now falling apart because no one is interested in investing the money for upkeep.

We left the city proper and visited Soccer City, home to the opening and closing game of the world cup. A stunning stadium in the shape of a calabash, the outside panelled with rectangles of red, brown and white. The outside of the stadium was impressive but apparently inside it was the same stadium that was built in 1989 they just wrapped it up pretty for the world cup.

Next we headed to the “township.” This was a new concept for me. I wasn't exactly sure what was meant by this term that was being thrown around so casually. A township is where the black people were sent to live and is the equivalent of a slum. The most famous township is Soweto. It's divided into three distinct classes. The upper class people live in houses very much like any other suburb. Made of cement blocks and stuccoed, most of these houses had large walls surrounding them and security systems installed. The middle class is divided between old style “hostels” and the newer government provided housing. The hostels were made for the miners a long time ago and do not have electricity or running water. They are rows upon rows of basic block buildings with tin roofs. The government supplies port-a-potties for bathroom facilities and they are emptied every couple of days. The newer developments, which are built surrounding the old hostels, because that is the only land they have to develop, are made of brick, have electricity and running water and house 4 families each. The problem is that these newer houses are not being built very quickly and while you wait for one to be built you have to live in the slums and even then, the house that was meant to be for you, may be given to someone who “has friends.”

The slums are exactly that. On the outskirts of the township there are people who live in tin shacks stacked up against each other. Again there are port-a-potties provided but it doesn't seem as though there are nearly enough. The people collect scrap metal and recycling to earn any money that they can. They use communal water taps and have to carry the water in whatever containers they can find and if there's a fire, the whole little shanty town goes up in flames.

After Apartheid, the human rights declaration states that everyone shall have a home. They way that they have done this is once you are in government housing, you own the house and the land that they've given you. That means that even when you have a job and earn good money, you don't need to pay for the land or the house and you can do whatever you want with it. So, you have people who have built beautiful homes beside the relative simplicity of their neighbours house or, you see people living in a single room house but who drive extremely expensive cars or where designer clothes or both.

We left the Soweto to go and see the street where both Desmund Tutu and Nelson Mandela lived. It is amazing that two Nobel Peace Prize winner both lived on the same street.

That amazing street is also very close to where the 1976 school protests took place. I was really quite ignorant about all the things that happened in South Africa so really didn't understand what it was all about. Through a series of events, the language of instruction in black schools was changed from English to Afrikaans. From what I understand, Afrikaans was a language created by the Dutch because they wanted to control what happened in SA. They wanted to show dominance over the black people. As a result, the students were taught in the their own language in elementary school (one of 9 dialects), then in their first years of high school were taught in English and then for their final years were expected to switch to Afrikaans. This meant that the students were not succeeding which may have been the intention all along. The students tried to talk to their parents, teachers, principals and they all agreed that the system wasn't working but there was nothing they could do. The politicians wouldn't be told what to do by a bunch of students so they arranged a peaceful protest. Three high schools coordinated together and the students took to the streets to walk in protest. It didn't take long for the police to start shooting rubber bullets, then tear gas and finally real bullets. Students died and it was enough to get the attention of the international media which eventually lead to the end of apartheid. So, we saw the street where the students were killed and the Eric Pieterson museum. It very nicely summarized the events leading up to the killings and the actions that resulted.

From the museum we headed around the corner for lunch. We ate at a typical South African corner restaurant which served BBQ beef or chicken, papa(a corn products with the same consistency as cream of wheat cereal), mashed potatoes, gravy, beet salad and cow's head stew. All sounds pretty good, doesn't it, until you get to the stew. There were parts in that stew that I recognized and parts that I didn't- it was the parts that I didn't recognize which caused the greatest concern. All in all, pretty delicious.

We quickly drove past a church where policmen opened fire on a group of people who were holding a meeting to protest against the ruling party and arrived at the Apartheid museum. I had high hopes. Having been at the museums at places like Hiroshima Japan where the nuclear bomb hit, seeing the high school and killing fields in Cambodia, and touring the Viet Nam war museum, I had expected to be moved and emotional. Instead, I got bombarded with political facts and information. The layout of the museum was confusing and it weaved back and forth a lot making it hard to figure out which direction to go in. I found that it was too specific in its details and didn't contain enough emotion and personal histories. After the first hour I was tired of reading and was only half way through the museum. There were pictures but they weren't well captioned. I left knowing more about Apartheid but it didn't create any feeling in me. I should have left feeling outraged at what the white people had done and feeling compassion for the black people. Instead I just felt tired and my head hurt. However, if you are person who enjoys reading long descriptions about political happenings, this would be a great museum for you. For people who know me, and anyone who's travelled with me, you know I appreciate the visual part of a museum more than the written and I just found that this museum was lacking.

So, after that long day (and don't forget that I'm dealing with jet lag because there's a seven hour time difference between SA and Canada) I got to sit in the car as we dropped off the other two girls and then we finally headed home (or back to the lodge- at this point home is where ever my backpack happens to be) Beyond exhaustion I have some dinner at the lodge and try to get to bed early to be ready for another travel day.

Arrival

     I arrived in Joburg yesterday afternoon.  23 hours of travel and feeling ok.  First order of business is to find a bank machine.  People crowded the arrivals lounge, each with their own sign to identify who they were looking for.  In the span of less than two minutes, 20 signs were thrust in my direction and I was asked if I was Emily, Jennifer or Dan.  Lining the arrivals lounge were the Traveller's Exchanges, each with their own huge line up as people frantically changed their American dollars, British Pounds or Euros.  I didn't need an exchange.  I just needed an ATM from which to extract some South African Rand.  Some of the exchanges offered ATM Tellers- like an ATM but a person, charging a commission and giving a bad exchange rate.  I'm sure many a tourist has been loured into their trap because it seems to be the only option.  However, if you leave the chaos of arrivals behind you and travel further into the airport, you get propositioned by taxi drivers trying to scam you into taking their non-metered taxis but you also find the ATM.  Rands in hand, or should I say in travel purse with zipper closed and flap buckled, I went back to arrivals to meet my airport pickup.
     Such an odd thing travelling.  Before I left home, I booked a hostel through a website based on what I assume is other people's reviews.  For all I know the hostel owner himself could have posted all the reviews to attract gullible tourists such as myself.  Then, I send an email to said hostel requesting an airport pickup.  I receive a reply saying to meet a guy with a MoAfrika Lodge sign next to the Tourist Information Centre.  So, off I go to the tourist information centre and meet a guy with a worn, laminated piece of paper that says MoAfrika.  He grabs my bag, we head to his van and there I am driving down the highway in Africa with a complete stranger.  There are so many things that we are warned about.  Safety, safety, safety!  Yet, something like getting into a car with a stranger is inevitable when you are travelling.  These are the small risks we need to take everyday to get around the world.  To me, these risk are well worth the results and a little bit of trust accompanied by a greater sense of respect has never caused me harm.

First Impressions

I first saw Africa through an air plane window. Flying somewhere over Namibia, I saw flatness. Unbelievable flatness. So flat that the small white clouds left exact replicas of themselves strewn across the landscape. As if the sun were shining straight down with the cloud the only thing standing in it's way. There is no depth to the ground just brown crisscrossed with the straightness of roads. The first brown was spotted, like the neck of a giraffe- brown on brown in irregular pentagons occasionally interrupted by a meager stream trying hard to go somewhere but ending no where. A large body of water somewhere mid country shows its edges surrounded by glaring white which is assumed to be salt. The giraffe spots have been replaced by large sheets of mottled brown lacking any definition except the clouds leaving their footprints. There is no lushness here. No imagination; only the harsh reality of a world where the sun beats down relentlessly and life struggles to survive.

As we got closer to Johannesburg the landscape became more familiar. You could see blocks of land allocated to agriculture and farming. The occasional house could be seen and things got greener. Areas of rock could be seen emerging from the flatness; small lakes and bodies of water. Many farmers fields are round, following the outline set by the irrigation lines. Fields vary in colour- some red, others black, many a dull yellow. As we descend to the ground, there are trees and suburbs and it feels like flying into someone's scale model train set- things seem just a little too perfect. The houses are cookie-cutter, the trees too green. There is a lot of space- which is strange coming from a Canadian.

Random Observations during a flight

As I walked through the departure lounge he attracted my attention. Someone trying so hard to look so cool. Latino, pinstriped pants, denim button down shirt buttoned down, newspaper boy cap turned backwards, his body language saying I am a man- one leg bent, other outstretched, slouching, hand in crotch gently emphasizing his manhood, brown suede jacket. He was painting a picture of how we should perceive him and trying to hide the fact that he was aging. The flecks of white in his hair gave him away.

As I walked into the plane, tiny and cramped, I looked toward my seat and who should be beside me but the man himself. Barely acknowledging my presence he shifted his body to let me into the window seat, promptly fell asleep, mouth agape, and small streams of drool slowly trickling from the corner of his mouth. How quickly a persona can be shattered.

The couple across the aisle can only be described as typically American. She blonde and blue eyed, him broad and dark haired. Drinking beer, they played Yahtzee through the entire flight. It was refreshing to see a couple play together and genuinely enjoy each others company. The skeptic in my wondered how long it would last.

Airports

It's amazing how the landscape of the airport has changed in the last 10 years.  I remember when I first started travelling, I would arrive at the airport and use the public phone to call my parents or friends to let them know what was going on.  Then, there were small internet terminals where you could pay a small sum of money to use a computer with a weird red ball as a mouse and hit or miss internet connections and definitely not high speed.  Today, as I sit in the airport for two hours waiting for my flight, I look around me and everyone is connected.  I mean everyone.  People on their blackberries, laptops, iphones connecting and working while they wait.  I see Kobo e-readers and nintendo DSs.  I even uploaded a new version of Nortel while I sat here to make sure that my computer doesn't crash while I'm away.  What a wonderful world we live in where we can be connected where ever we go.  From what I understand, there will even by WIFI on the flight. 

What did we use to do before we had such conveniences?  How did we manage when we couldn't work or write status updates or play angry birds as we wasted away the hours?  I know what I used to do.  I would relax.  I would watch people or strike up a conversation with the person beside me.  I'd go and look in the airport book store which inevitably had a wonderful selection of paperbacks just ready for reading.  I would connect, but in a different way.  I would connect with what was immediately around me.  I'd live in the moment no matter how dull or boring and find a way to enjoy it.  Now I see people panicking as their battery starts to die and they can't find an available plug.  I see people doing their jobs and tension in their necks visible as the pound the keyboard.  I see people with phone tumours attached to their faces and they have no idea whose sitting around them. I see children trying to get their parent's attention to tell show them something they've seen but their parents are too busy talking to notice either the child or what's happening around them.
Yes, I'm sitting here on my newly purchased netbook blogging away but that's mostly because I'm using this platform as my journal for the trip.  I could just as easily be sitting here writing in a notebook.  I'm not plugged in.  I know that the woman beside me is playing solitaire on her iphone and that the two people across from me are travelling on business and I just made eye contact with a really cute guy who just walked past.  Travel has definitely changed.  You will know what happens on this trip pretty much as it is happening.  I will be emailing and posting on facebook.  I wonder if I will miss the sense of getting away from it all.  I think that I used to like being unreachable and being in a place where no one can find me.