Back to school haircuts

Nothing like a ritual or two to help the transition from holiday to school. Hmmmmm. I need a back to work ritual. Maybe a margarita.

Plane Stories

An American colleague in Haiti told me that Haitian rum is well worth taking home. Unfortunately, I hadn’t had any time or means to get to a store to buy some during my days there. I had no hope that I would be able to buy it at the airport given my experience at arrivals. Picture an old, small, run down arrival terminal with one baggage carousel . My guess is that it never was a luxurious airport to begin with but now even less so since half was destroyed during the earthquake. So, after clearing security, imagine my delight when I saw a tiny closet of a room with a pass through window where the only product for sale was duty-free Barbancourt Rum. Had a bit of communication difficulties at first – my poor French, lady behind the counter doing her best with English. I wanted to know what kind of rum, of the 5 available, she recommended for a mojito? Cocktail? Mixed drink? None of these words worked, and I realized when she pointed me to the cafe/bar next door, that she must have interpreted my efforts at communication as desperation for a cocktail then and there. I managed to convey that I was not a drunk dying for a fix and I ended up with 3 nice bottles – one white, one reserve, and one fruit (just to try it) for $27 total.

Arriving at JFK
The Good News: almost without exception, every official I encountered was friendly and helpful. Friendly immigration guy with a classic Brooklyn accent took the time to inform me about hotel shuttle procedure; Information desk guy gave excellent AirTrain instructions; guy at Federal Circle AirTrain stop was almost overbearing in his effort to be helpful.

The Bad News: It is winter in New York and that is depressing. Everyone on the AirTrain looked drawn and pale, even brown skinned people looked pale. And why, oh why, oh why, do we insist on wearing dark, drab colors in winter. You look outside and everything is grey. The color has simply drained away. Why then wouldn’t we choose clothes that look like gardens to get us through these cold lifeless months? Imagine how different our moods would be if everyone wore winter coats with flowers on them? Big gold sunflowers, bright red dahlias, soft pink tulips? Of course, I wouldn’t expect that everyone could pull off the bold garden coat. But is it too much to ask that instead of the navy down jacket we insist that the store carry coats that are willow tree green, sunshine yellow? Can someone please make this happen before I come back?????

Back at JFK in the morning to take the final leg of my trip NYC to Joburg. Do the “Hands in the air or I’ll shoot” pose at security. Wait for the call to come through. This time my head and left arm raise no suspicion. But apparently my rear end does. A rear end pat down. Very nice way to start the day.

Just FYI there is No Starbucks in Terminal 4 at JFK. There are at least 3 Peets, which I know is fantastic for all the dark roast lovers out there, but I was jonesing for a Starbucks Chai given my Pavlovian Addiction (and you would get this if you read my last post from the trip over). Peets, which never used to carry Chai, must have decided to lower its standards because I see on the menu board, which is titled in big capital letters HAND CRAFTED BEVERAGES (ridiculous), that it now carries a Masala Chai Latte. My conclusion: It is expensive and yucky and best to take it off their menu of “HAND CRAFTED BEVERAGES.”

I am guessing that there must be a law in NY that restaurants – or maybe just coffee shops –post the calorie count of their offerings. I realized that after my Medium Chai, egg/ham thingy, and a medium peppermint mocha (which I tried to see if I still like them – I don’t), I came close to consuming my entire recommended daily caloric intake. Wow. Good to know. Thank you government regulation!

Today’s copy of USA Today – you know the free copy that comes outside your hotel room door and that you enjoy with your Peets chai -- had an article about this new sampling machine which registers your age through some sensors and if you fit the right profile - in this case, an adult – it will dispense a sample of Temptation dessert. Comment from Stephen Keith Platt, director of the Platt Retail Institute, a research and consulting firm specializing in the consumer experience, “This is wow. I’ll now have the ability to interact with a cool device that dispenses a unique product versus walking up to some old lady with a white apron on.” I think I wouldn't like this S.K. Platt guy very much.

NJ mom with 9 and 13 year old girls getting ready to board flight to Joburg. Dad sits only a few feet away but with his nose buried in his centimeter wide blackberry, he has created a mile of psychic distance. Clearly, the mother has a plan for getting the family through this flight and ready for SA. Says, “girls, get ready because in a few minutes I am changing my watch to the time where we are going.” To younger daughter, “you will be going to sleep at 4:00 this afternoon because that is 11pm SA time. I have medicine to make you go to sleep.” When she implements the next phase of her plan it become evident that she has lost the power to boss her elder daughter. The elder one reads while Mom leads the younger one in pre-board exercises. I don’t think she has much longer with younger daughter as I have never seen such lackadaisical arm circles. As I move away, I hear her say, “well, honey, why don’t you do downward dog.”

I got a little panicky yesterday when I saw I was reaching the end of the one and only novel I brought along on this trip and still had the 14 hour NY-Joburg plane ride ahead of me. (The book is The Help – which I could do a whole other ranting blog post about but probably won’t.) So, I treated myself to a browse at Hudson books in the airport. When traveling in the states I would occasionally allow myself to buy a book at the airport, but always felt somewhat guilty about spending the money as I could always get the book at our local library. Now, though, with books so expensive in South Africa, and the libraries not very well stocked, I treated myself to not one but two books! It made me realize that good libraries are in my top 5 things I miss about America.

At 9:55 am, boarding time, I am waiting by the gate when a slightly disheveled young woman with shiny gossamer threads in her hair arrives just as a tall (as tall as me and I love her for that) well put-together late thirties woman arrives. Shiny thread girl turns to well put-together woman, and with a big bubbly grin says, “I knew it - you too for gate B 26. I knew I recognized your accent!” Just then an announcement informs us that our boarding will be delayed for 20 minutes due to flight crew caught in NY traffic. Bubbles turns to new best friend and says, “Come on, let’s go get a margarita!!” Well put-together woman, smiling uncertainly, follows Party Girl Bubbles without a word, as if caught in the spell of her shiny threads.

Can I make two movie recommendations from my there and back viewing? Win-Win with Paul Giamatti is excellent (great story with multiple threads, believable dialogue, likable and real characters) as is a South African film, Black Butterfly (about poet Ingrid Jonka). Two very strong unrecommendations: Larry Crowne with Tom Hanks (Tom, you disappoint me with this silliness) and The Notebook (reminded me of that schlocky Titanic).

It's the Small Things that Make Life an Adventure

Following are some little things I noticed on the journey from Johannesburg to Haiti. Of course, the big things will be in Haiti itself, but that is a different blog.

1) I’ve come to the conclusion there really isn’t such a thing as a workable sleeping position on an overnight flight. I would find a comfortable position, only to find my head dropped down to some awkward place or a body part aching after about ½ hour. So I’d change positions - ahhh, this feels better, this is the right position. In ½ hour another part of my body would be aching. After about 3 rounds of this, I realized the "ahhh" was just the relief of giving that particular body part a break at the expense of another. And that was with having the seat next to me open. Eish, maybe on the way home I'll find the magic position.

2) Despite what travel agent says, you must collect your baggage at JFK even if connecting to another international flight. Despite what flight attendant says, you must pass through customs even if you are connecting to another international flight. Which normally for a law abiding citizen like me wouldn’t be a problem, but I was carrying highly illegal contraband – biltong. I chatted up the customs agent so he would be distracted from my obvious criminality. In hindsight this is probably exactly what he is trained to notice – nervous chit chat. However, he choose to let me go. You might want to make a note – do not include me on any criminal adventures you may be contemplating as clearly I would give us away in no time.

3) Check-in kiosk for my connecting flight didn’t pull up the Port Au Prince part of my itinerary - just the return flight to Joburg. Made me a bit nervous – glad I had 3 ½ hours between flights. All was better though when the desk ticket agent looked at my passport and saw that we shared the exact same birthday, month, day and year. I took it as a good sign, if not for the whole trip, then at least for the JFK airport part of my journey.

4) As I walked the long journey from one place to another at JFK, I kept feeling like I should recognize someone. After all, I was in my native country. Not one person though! Weird.

5) Security in America is intense. You walk through this machine and hold your hands in a “Hands Up” position and then it x-rays you – right down to your body parts. Then you wait by the TSA agent till she receives a call on her radio telling her what to check. Person in front of me got her left and right forearm patted down. The call for me came through – left forearm and HEAD! Head? Yes, I got my first head pat down. And my right arm felt a little left out.

6) Addiction or Pavlovian response I’m not sure. Every airport in America has a Starbucks, so the minute I touched down – actually before we even took off – I started thinking about a Starbucks Grande Nonfat Chai – my beverage of choice from years ago. Even though my gate for Port Au Prince was 12, I had only a momentary hesitation when I found out the one and only Starbucks was at Gate 47. The walk was worth it - tastes so delicious – just like I remember it.

7) Waiting now at Gate 12. At least 250 people waiting. Only a few white faces sprinkled in amongst the Haitian and Haitian Americans. Creole all around me. I am definitely not going to Kansas.

8) At least 10 elderly passengers have been wheeled up in wheelchairs. There is a story there.

9) Waiting in the gangway to board the plane. AA agent comes pushing someone in a wheelchair down the gangway saying, “excusez moi, s’il vous plait” over and over so she could pass. You should have heard the angry chatter from the waiting line. No idea what folks were saying as it was all in Creole, but they were pissed!!

10) Once on the plane though lovely to see how helpful folks were to one another. Particularly a couple of men who took it upon themselves to help the elderly (and the short) put up their baggage in the overhead bin and find their seats.

11) Hats must be big in Haiti. One lady got on the plane with 6 hats, all nested inside one another, on her head. Another had a sporty little hat on, tag still hanging off the back. An older man had on a very dapper little hat with an identical one just underneath. I had to take a close look at one lady as she looked like she was wearing a covered lampshade on her head, but I realized that it was just protection for the hat underneath.

Oh Holy Night

Anyone who has spent anytime with me knows I am a Halloween Scrooge (early costume trauma), a Thanksgiving Scrooge (cook bland white food all day, eat it till you're stuffed, then spend the rest of the day cleaning up the mess - can someone please tell me what is appealing about that) and an Easter Scrooge (crappy chocolate, crappy weather). But I love Christmas!! I am the anti-Scrooge. I love the decorations, I love the lights, I love the Christmas tree, I love the Christmas cookie baking tradition, I love the family time, and I especially love Christmas carols. As soon as Thanksgiving is over - and I mean the day after - the Christmas carols start ringing away in our house. That is until we moved to South Africa.

Warm sunny days just do not go with Christmas. I see the decorations at the mall, I hear the carols, I see the big Christmas trees, and just don't feel it. It does nothing for me - no stirring of Christmas spirit, no happy thought of pulling down the boxes of Christmas decorations, no desire to sing my all time favorite carol, Oh Holy Night (nothing better than actually falling to one's knees while belting it out at the top of your lungs.) Oh Holy Night just doesn't sound right when you sing it while wearing a tank top and short slip of a skirt.

But tonight we did go to the Pridwin Carol Service. And I must say I was pleased to feel twinges of my old Christmas spirit as we stood and sang Joy to the World, The First Noel, Oh Come all Y Faithful. (No "Oh Holy Night" which is probably just as well as I would have felt compelled to fall to my knees and people just don't know me well enough there to appreciate my particular love for this song). It was a rainy cool night requiring long pants and sweater and this no doubt tricked my Christmas spirit into peaking out.

So how do I choose to spend Christmas when the usual doesn't work? Last year we spent Christmas Eve and day at the Cheetah Game reserve with sister Quince. This year we will spend it with my mom, and two sisters at Lions Valley Game Reserve driving around in an open vehicle looking at animals which I still find miraculous - the rhino with its prehistoric head that is so huge you don't know how it holds it up; the gently elegant giraffe; and the industrious dung beetle which has soared into my top 5 favorites. No Christmas carols, not a decoration to be seen, no tree to trim. Feels just right.

Weaver Birds

All of a sudden, about a month ago, I noticed the yellow weaver birds were yellower and busier and all over the place. Spring is the time for romance, so the males had replaced their dull winter coats in favor of bright lemon yellow ones in hopes of attracting a lady friend.

Although an attractive plumage will get a female to look his way, the ultimate test comes in his home construction skills. The male works diligently, pulling leaf fibers into fine strips, and using only his beak, masterfully weaves them and twigs and grass into an elaborate pouch shaped nest.

The female, using criteria known only to her, inspects and gives the nod of approval or the thumbs down of rejection. If not happy, she will dismantle the nest and the weary male must begin again.

P.S. Shhhhhh, don't tell anyone. Not one of these photos is mine - I just can't take a good bird photo,especially with my phone, so I resorted to stealing from the internet.

The Fantastical Baobab

I was looking through Chapter 5 of The Little Prince trying to find a clever quote to include in this little bit about baobabs, but the Little Prince doesn't like these magnificent trees and in fact digs the babies up as soon as they become distinguishable from rosebushes. I guess if left to grow they would soon overtake his asteroid and the roots would tear it to bits, so it is understandable that he views them as quite a menace. But they don't seem to pose any such threat to earth and so I love them!

I have been thinking about doing a blog on baobabs for a while now - well actually just a blog where I posted a bunch of pics of them. But then, the universe had other plans for me. While at the local library with Q and A, what was on the return book cart but a children's book, This is the Tree, The Story of the Baobab. So the book inspired me to learn a bit more about these plant mammoths.

My favorite fact - "the flowers begin to open around sunset, lasting only until the next morning. They give off a strong, rotting smell which attracts bats, bluebottle and nocturnal moths." Bats pollinate the tree when they crash into the flowers as they are chasing insects. But don't pick the flowers because legend has it that you will be killed by a lion.

Baobabs are ginormous - up to 10 meters in diameter. They have been hollowed out and used for prisons, stables, bus shelters, dairies, and weavers workshop.

We went into one 47m circumference tree that had been made into a pub, which I felt was a bit degrading for such a noble tree. This tree has been carbon dated to +-6000 years old!!!! When the compost that had formed inside the tree was cleared out there was evidence of both Bushman and Voortrekers having lived inside.

All parts of the baobab seem to be useful as food or medicine. If you find yourself hungry and stranded, cook up the leaves or roots. Need mouthwash - dry the root and pound into a powder, which just might cure your malaria too. And don't worry too much if you cut the bark in the process as it will heal itself.

If the Little Prince had only known how wondrous these marvelous trees are he surely would have figured out a way to have at least one on his asteroid.

The Girl Who Loves to Read

One year ago, we were at my mother's house in Maryland - our last stop before boarding a plane to come to Johannesburg. Quince would beg my mother to read to her, and my mother would oblige being the good grandmother that she is. Quince absolutely loved books and loved being read to, but she struggled with reading herself. Being the Tiger Mom that I am, I would insist that Quince read to my mother before my mother read to her, or that she read one page, my mother the next. Now of course I was worried. After all, Alexander was reading Harry Potter by the time he finished 1st Grade and here Quince was struggling with the most basic sentences. Maybe she was dyslexic, or had ADHD, or was a drug addict. Was it a huge mistake to even go to South Africa?

But our bags were packed, so I packed up my anxiety too, and off we went. One year later we don't have a drug addict on our hands, but rather a reading addict. She can't get enough. Big books, little books, books she's already read, on the sofa, at Alexander's sporting events, on geocaching expeditions, in the car, at dinner parties - it doesn't matter - she just needs to read.