Americorps Assignment: "Great Stories"

The next leg of my adventure is unfolding as a year serving with AmeriCorps. I am now almost four months into my term serving at a community health center in Seattle, essentially telling little old Chinese women how to navigate the healthcare system. It's been extremely rewarding, extremely challenging, and extremely fun.

Part of my requirements as an AmeriCorps, Community HealthCorps member is to report a "Great Story" every month (I've only done one so far. oops), so the bigwigs in Washington who fund my program can look at the good work I've been done with more than just numbers (which I am also horrible at reporting. bleh.) I thought I would share with the general interwebs my latest (and only) "Great Story."

I spend a lot of my case management days calling hospital billing centers, so I was really looking forward to handling a case in which I needed to get a low-income single mother some baby and toddler supplies. Our clinic has a partnership with a local organization that distributes free supplies such as toys, diapers, clothes, etc. through providers, so I already knew I could get her some items for free. I also knew there were other programs out there that she could access herself, so I did some research ahead of time and scheduled her an appt. to talk to me. I was so eager to present to her all the resources that she could use, I stayed through my lunch break when she came in late due to car trouble. While I was talking to her, she told me about how she wanted to enrolled her rambunctious toddler into some active programs to give him an outlet for his energy, and I looked up various community centers and organizations that I knew had discounted or free programs. When I told her that she could go to the Salvation Army for help, she asked me, “What’s the Salvation Army?” It then struck me how privileged I have been to have known about so many programs that I could access if I needed help. Having access to the internet has exposed me to many different resources in my community, and it definitely felt great to share them with someone who could really use the help.

Where Did I Put Those Big Girl Pants?

This is about the time of year when people reflect on their life and look forward to the future, right?

I tend to purge out my thoughts via interwebs when I feel like I need to put something out there, and usually, it's been something negative or confusing that I need to work out, so maybe the odd, diligent reader will notice that I haven't really posted anything lately.  The reasons are two-fold: 1) I have been so, goddamn busy, and 2) I am actually really content and happy right now. 

So why the blog post now?

To be honest, a train of thought was sparked by having lunch with a few friends from high school today, and I'm so happy about the warm, fuzzy feelings that came from it, I just gotta share. Two of these friends are now engaged, and my immediate (sister-trained) gut reaction was to say EW. MARRIAGE. WEIRDOS.

But then I realized that it actually isn't that weird to me anymore. It's same argument why gay marriage shouldn't bother people: It's not like they're forcing you to get one too. I'll be honest, My name is Janni Sun, and I think I'm always right (even when I'm not). Usually, I have some sort of opinion about what's the right course of action. But when my sister heard about my friends' engagements and immediately said, "It's a mistake," I knew I disagreed with her. Because maybe it would be a mistake for her (definitely would for me), but maybe these guys are set. Maybe these crazy kids know what they want, so why should they wait to be with the people that make them happy and potentially will for the rest of their lives? Who are we to say what's right for them? What the hell do we know?

This crazy, emotional year has definitely helped me accept the "Guuuurl, you do you" attitude where I can step back and say "I sure as hell wouldn't do it, but hey, if you can do it, not be an asshole, and be happy, sure, screw it, onward, brave soldier!"

And I've learned to apply that attitude to myself more, to stop beating myself up for making the "stupid" mistakes and putting myself in the position to get hurt or look dumb. Because sometimes it's not a "mistake," but just the thing you chose to do at the time, for better or worse, because of reasons good or bad. Because even after all the crap and the angst, I muddled through somehow to this point, and damn, I'm pretty okay with myself. I made some poor choices, I have some regrets, I miss some people, I still hurt about some things and still don't understand a few things, but I sleep at night just fine. I won't let the fear of getting hurt stop me from being myself, with my heart on my sleeve for all to poke at.

I tend to associate too much meaning with and overthink my choices, like "If I choose to do this, then that means I do/am that. I must do/be that."

But now I know I really don't. I don't have to do/be anything I don't want to do/be. And my choices can mean whatever I want them to mean to me. And I can change my mind whenever I want.

For instance, I've been thinking of moving to Portland after graduation for a while now, and I'm hoping to join Americorps to really get hands-on and experience how difficult it is to try to make the world a better place and still remain optimistic. But this time around, I'm also committing to idea of the boyfriend coming with me. I've sworn off indefinite long-distance relationships for good, so if I want him to continue to be in my life after graduation (and I really do), that means being in the same city and for money-saving, practical reasons, moving in together. And yes, it's fricking crazy. We've only been dating for a few months, I don't know where I'm gonna be a year from now, things may fall apart, yada yada.

But the scariest thing to me has been "what it all means." Does this mean I'm settling? Does this mean he's settling? Am I making him settle? Am I still gonna travel? What am I committing to? Who am I committing to? Does he really know what he's getting into? Do I? What about after? Does he think I want to marry him? Do I? Do I even want to get married?

Stop.

Because what it REALLY means is that I want him to be in my life, and since neither he nor I have really specific places we have to be or very specific plans, we can decide to be in the same place. And since I trust him to be civil and reasonable even if we don't stay together, I'm not too worried. I now know that this choice doesn't have mean that we're two sappy, naive kids in love and we're gonna skip off in the sunset. I don't have to look at this as a "dumb mistake."

Because all it means is that we'll find jobs that may not be the best but pay the rent, take turns cooking dinner, watch Doctor Who on the couch together, and have the most awesome dog. And that sounds like happiness to me.

So congratulations, Cameron and Zane, I wish you guys all the best! May all the naysayers be delightfully proven wrong. And may 2014 be the year when we all get rid of the notion of "mistakes"and just live and let live.

"There is nothing like returning to place that remains unchanged to find ways in which you yourself have altered" ~Nelson Mandela, 1918-2013, Hamba Kahle Madiba.

This Goodbye Town

I have been in Spokane for seven months now. I now understand why the people who had taken a semester off at home said, "Oh man, taking a leave of absence? Let me know if you need to talk."

There really is something to be said about this surreal period of time because no, Kid After Dentist, this is not real life. At least, my personal experience wasn't. I could get lost in all the negative things that happened, all the things I don't understand, but everything happens for a reason, and I'm going to focus on what I've learned and what has changed me for the better.

I'd like to think that I am a nonjudgmental person. I have my own opinions, but I try to respect other people's choices, even if it doesn't seem like I am. Honestly. I swear! Seriously, guys! But, I have usually been in a "position to judge" since I am a chronic over-achiever. School, adventure, fun times... I was never the type to sit back and just kinda let life happen. I'm a go-getter. Proactive. Obnoxious. Whatever you may call it. That being said, I have judged myself a lot these past few months. I always swore to get out of this place, get out of my parent's house ASAP, be as financially independent as possible. I worked multiple jobs my freshman year and was so proud to never have asked home for money. Now, here I was at home, using my dad's money, stuck in my nostalgia, being generally unproductive, and underachieving. I had plenty of reasons why I was in my situation, but I'm still trying to decide which were reasons and which were excuses.

I've felt a little bit of this judgment from my peers as well. Some of it came as concern, some as doubt, some as skepticism, a majority was well-intentioned, but I could sense the undertone of "What are you doing here? Why are you wasting your time?"And it stung because my answer was "I have no frickin' clue. I am unhappy. I am not being myself. I should be doing something about that." But what I kept saying was "My mom is sick, I'm taking care of her,"because no one really can argue with that. Again, I'm still trying to decide how much of that actually affected my decision-making process.

I felt like I needed to logically, productively, constantly legitimize that I was stuck physically, emotionally, mentally. Having felt that kind of judgment, I would really like to never be responsible for making someone else feel like they need to give a reason for not being in the best place. Because sometimes you are just temporarily paralyzed. And after a year of moving really fast, experiencing big events, leaping first then looking later, sometimes it's nice to be stuck, to have an excuse to slow down. Like way down. Okay, maybe there was a little backward movement on my part.

I'm a big believer in managing your own destiny, but sometimes, life puts you on your ass or flat on your face, and it takes a bit to get your bearings again before you can stand up and move on. Of course, the important thing is to take the reins as soon as you can and charge forward, a little sore but wiser (mixed metaphors ftw). But even when I was ready to travel on, I didn't really have anywhere to go yet, so I was in a multiple month layover to get on a different flight (another one! I am on a roll!).

ANYWAY

I'm excited to get back to my real life. I mean, I'm not going to instantaneously forget the connections I've made this past year because they were meaningful and I owe them a lot, but as far as I'm concerned, Spokane is a "goodbye town" now. There's really nothing to keep drawing me back here (unfortunately?), so it's time for this merry wanderer to pull up her boots and keep marching. I can't wait.

Confessions from a Grocery Snob

My name is Janni Sun, and I am a Pretentious Grocery Shopper. 

When I'm perusing the produce section, inspecting the items, I occasionally sense the poor store employee stocking the celery turning toward me to give the customary "How are you finding everything today?" only to change their mind and instead avoid eye contact. Do I look like a street hoodlum? Violent thug? Perhaps. I did just recently chop off most of my hair. No, it's more likely that I am in GROCERY BITCH MODE.

Sometimes, I catch myself in an an expression best described as:

faire la moue [French]: to slightly pout one's lips to express discontent. (sometimes shortened to "moue")

Like so.

I believe I was introduced to this phrase by Celine, the French exchange student at Rhodes, a fabulous, gorgeous, Parisian that perfected the look that says, "Well, that's... well."

I can't help it. Since my shopping-cart-sitting days, my father, the agriculturist, has been imparting the secrets of selecting the best food:

"If the stem or pip is still there, that means it's fresh."
"Look for the one that is more round on the end, that means it ripened on the vine."
"Check the bottom. Look at the edges. It's not in season."

I try to apply all of these tasty wisdom nuggets, but unfortunately the side effect is that I deliberate twice as long as the average shopper with this "moue" on my face, evoking thunderclouds and probably scaring small children. I will tap every 15 lb. watermelon until I find one that resonates perfect crispiness. I'll rake through the beans and only select the most tender and fresh. Each peach must be checked for the stem and tested for firmness before I select it. I am that girl.

So I apologize to anyone who runs into me at the grocery store. I promise I'm not judging you, just the freshness of this tomato.

Thunderstorms

A year and a few days ago, there was a thunderstorm just like the one that is happening tonight in my home skies. The sky lit up with violet webs of lightning that danced through the clouds. Big, fat raindrops poured out of the sky and quickly soaked the hot pavement and anyone standing outside.

It was my last night home. The next day, I was getting on a plane that would lead me to New York for the night and then to South Africa the day after; I was about to embark on my most epic adventure to date.

And I was miserable. My dad decided to pick huge fight with me. My mother was sick and going to have major surgery in the morning. We didn't know whether the giant mass in one of her failing kidneys was cancer or not. I still hadn't packed. After a stressful couple of months of taking care of her all by myself, all I wanted was to spend one last night with him, but my dad didn't approve. He was angry. I was hysterical.

I don't know what I would've done if he hadn't offered to throw all of my unpacked stuff in his truck (we had to move it inside our respective cars as the rain kept pouring down) and let me cry and pack and repack at his house. If his mother hadn't quietly given her approval as she saw my puffy red eyes and sopping clothes while I sniffled out apologies and words of gratitude. If I hadn't spent the past few weeks sleeping on his couch so I wouldn't have to go back to my empty house after working for eight hours then seeing my mother in the hospital. If his mother hadn't let me cook dinner with her night after night and talk about simple things like vegetables and flowers and the best way to prepare fish. If he hadn't had been the last thing I saw after I packed all the stupid clothes that I wouldn't need into my giant bags and passed out for a couple hours in the heat of Mid-July. If he hadn't said goodbye when he left for work early that morning and then let me sleep for a couple more hours.

A year ago, I started the most amazing experience of my life. But I'll never forget the crashing thunder and blinding lightning through my tear-blurred vision of the worst night of my life that started it. And I will never forget the love that got me through it.

Why Elephants are my Favorite

The book Elephant Whisperer is the nonfiction story of Lawrence Anthony, a man in South Africa who adopts, rehabilitates, and develops a strong bond with a small herd of elephants that would have been killed otherwise because they were troublesome. After a few years, he and his team noticed a strange phenomenon. On the day that he was due back from a trip, the elephants would travel hours across the reserve to the main lodge; they would be waiting to greet him at the house. One time, he missed his flight home and arrived a day later than planned. Apparently, at the exact moment that he found out he had missed his flight, the herd stopped partway on their way to the house, turned around, and went back the way they came. However, when he arrived the next day, they were there waiting for him. Anthony attributes this to the elephants’ ability to transmit and receive low-frequency rumbles, below human hearing range, that can potentially travel hundreds of miles, even through solid objects. This is just one example of elephants’ amazingly developed communication skills. Biologists still do not completely understand how elephants use these rumblings to communicate, but it is a strong indicator of their greater intelligence.

On the day that Anthony died, the elephants, which by then had split into two separate herds, all arrived at his home. They had not been to the house for over a year, yet they knew to come back. Elephants have been known to mourn the deaths of their fellow kind, and they spent two days near the house, mourning their friend’s passing. 

At the Elephant Sanctuary in Knysna, a teary-eyed keeper told us the story of a very sick man who was dying of cancer who came to see the elephants. Apparently, the younger elephants, sensing something was wrong, would not approach the man, but the matriarch came up to him and appeared to try to comfort him. The man wept the entire time. Later, his wife told the keeper that it had been his dying wish to touch an elephant. A few days later, the man passed. 

It has been proven time again that elephants are capable of a huge emotional range, including empathy, rage, playfulness, depression, tenderness, and even post-traumatic stress disorder. They are fiercely protective of their families and have social rules that guide interaction. Their low-frequency rumblings ensure that no elephant is ever truly alone. 

Nansi Ingwenyama, Sthandwa

Everyone who has seen me talk about my travels knows about the twinkle in my eye as I REFUSE to shut up about how beautiful, different, stunning, amazing, and all those superlatives S.Africa/Zimbabwe is.

I apologize that this post is, oh I dunno, half a year late. But as the anniversary of the beginning of my epic adventure approaches (and I am bedridden with some sort of weird cold), I thought I would share some of the BEAUTIFULEXCITINGAMAZINGDUMB things I did pooping around the southern bit of the continent with my glorious sister:

For more on our adventures, check out her hilarious blog: youvebeenminged.blogspot.com

We backpacked the entire Garden Route then went up to Victoria Falls with my Zim. friend Lesley, spending a magical few weeks full of sibling rivalry, bad eating habits (read:chips), cheeky Australians with Asian twin fetishes (shudder), and gorgeous scenery. I'll give the quick and dirty.

1. Refilwe, Lanseria, South Africa

For the first couple of days, my sister and I hung out at a small little setup outside of JoBurg that a church had set up for families and stayed at the "Baby House," which was an orphanage for the littlest ones. That translated to my sister and I cuddling with adorable little babes, and my sister telling me "You're doing it wrong" about numerous tasks I attempted to help with (I was doing it wrong most of the time).

2. My Sister is a 'Fraidy Cat, Storm's River, South Africa

We flew down to PLZ to start our BazBus journey, and I was excited to show my sister the place (and maybe person) that stolen my heart, hoping that it wouldn't disappoint. This place was also one of the highlights of our adventures because I (re-)discovered that my sister is the BIGGEST WUSS EVER. 

Baboons

We ran into (almost literally) a pack of baboons while hiking through the Tsitsikamma Natl Park. The reason my sister almost stumbled over an adult male baboon chilling in the middle of the trail was because I made the mistake of telling her about Black Mambas, so to her, every one of the many vines/roots on the path was potential death, and her eyes were glued to the forest floor. After being (sorta) chased away from the subsequent pack of baboons by some non-friendly-looking mother baboons, my sister was very reluctant to approach, but they were blocking the path. We grew up in the PNW, so we know how to act around bears, coyotes, and cougars, but baboons? Nope.
After a frantic call to the backpackers, the amused woman assured us that as long as we didn't have food we'd be fine. So I figured as long as we made noise and let them know where we were, they would leave us alone, but my sister was convinced I was going to get us killed.

Obviously, we were fine. and were rewarded with these views:

See, doesnt she look okay now?

Bungee Jumping

As previously mentioned, I jumped off a bridge, and now it was my sister's turn. And boy, was she excited!

And by "excited," I mean "pants-pissing terrified." I went along for moral support, and before her jump, she was uncharacteristically quiet. I tried to be encouraging, telling her how great it was when I did it, how it's totally safe, but when the time came, she was one of those that that had to be essentially forcefully thrown off the bridge. Of course, she immediately loved it after the choice to jump was no longer hers, but the video caught her slight breakdown prior. Just a little. 

3. Plettenberg Bay, South Africa

I met Elephants. Need I say more???

Pure, Unadulterated, Joy.

4. Capetown, South Africa

 We did some of this:

Some of this:

A little Robben Island:

A bit of Cape Point with a tour group:

And a little bit of goodbye, because next we were headed to...

5. Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, Natural Wonder of the World

BAM.

I really wanted to go horseback riding, so we did a safari:

Had just a couple of drinks and good times with the lovely Lesley Ncube:

Just a couple.

 Did a sunset booze cruise, complete with wildlife:

But mostly important, did this:

Is it too late to cry "uncle?"

Class 4/5 rapids all the way down, including one that did this to us:

I'm at the bottom of the pile, just FYI

Janni's Inner Monologue: Don't Panic. At least this is an epic death.

I was pretty damn sure I was going to die, but in the end, I prevailed (one contact short)

It was a damn good way to say goodbye to the most amazing five months of my life, because after this, we flew back to JoBurg, and I prepared to leave for Germany while my sister spent a bit longer with the Rainbow Nation.

Hallo! Enschuldegung! Bitte!

Deutscheland was such a good choice, despite the fact that I started making poor (good?) choices almost the instant I arrived there. I dont have a lot of photos, so I'm gonna stick with a couple of anecdotes/observations

Firsts

Immediately, within hours of arriving in Köln (Colgne), I lost my wallet (again).  It was dark, rainy, cold, and I was in a foreign country, already missing SA. BUT I AM A SEASONED TRAVELER. I CAN HANDLE ANYTHING.

So I only cried a little bit.

BUT things were vastly improved the next day when Mack showed up to cover my sorry ass and I got to experience my first Weihnachtsmarkt (Christmas Market) with this girl:

Mulled wine in an adorable mug. Day=Better

Deike was the German contingent amongst the exchange students at Rhodes, and... well... a picture is worth a thousand words right?

This was the first night after we met. Yup. We are on a table.

Needless to say, she was a kindred spirit, and getting to see her in her home environment was a lovely treat. Plus, this:

On a rare sunny day, even!

Old Friends, New Places

While I was there for four weeks, I got to see a couple of familiar faces including the fabulous Maureen in Mannheim:

With mustache flats!

And the adorable Nick in Hamburg (ask about our 3-Aussie Night, we dare you):

I'm introducing him to the delicious phenomenon know as the Döner

As well as spend a ridiculous amount of time with Andrew, Mack, and Steph (our actually German friend), my gracious hosts.

Germany Makes You Fat

I think the photo that best describes my time there is this though:

Mandatory suggestive bratwürst eating photo

My god, the Deutsch know how to do warm, hearty winter food. All of the weight I lost from my "Zimbabwean Heat Diet" (Oh My Gawd it is So Hot, Too Hot to Eat Anything), I gained right back. For Christmas dinner, I ate bacon and cheese (and onions) with Steph's delightful family. I understood about 5% of the dinner conversation, but it was so much fun, and I learned a lot. Speaking of which...

German Stereotypes

I know, I know, Germans are supposed to be notoriously grumpy. 

IT'S TRUE

Jokes, Jokes!

Seriously, some of the Germans I met were the warmest, friendliest, loveliest human beings. However, it is true that the average German resting face in public doesn't invite sunshine and bunnies and cupcakes... or idle conversation. From what I gathered, it's mainly because they tend to just mind their own business when they're out and about. Maybe that's why they are amazingly (ridiculously?) efficient and punctual. 

All In All...

Germany was full of up and downs, but most importantly, I started to reconnect to the Old World in multiple senses. And it definitely was not "Goodbye" or "Auf Wiedersehen" but rather "Bis Später," "See you later."

You're Still the Only One that Feels Like Home

Being home has been rough to say the least. I arrived in Spokane in the midst of a snowstorm and full of excitement to see my bestest Hallie, who had graciously volunteered to pick me up from the airport and let me crash with her for a few days while I adjusted to being home, just to avoid the familial dysfunction a little bit longer (that's how you know it's true love, folks).

I hit the ground running, expecting to swirl myself in a tizzy of productivity, cleaning the house, finding employment, and reconnecting with the person that had been pulling me back from the instant I had left. None of those things turned out as planned, however. The biggest thing that has affected my time in my hometown is the falling out I had with the aforementioned person. He had been my rock for a majority of 2012, giving me support when my mother got sick, comforting me when I was worried about fitting in with a whole new group of people, listening to all my rants, and urging me to come home so he could take care of me. He was the only thing that could make me consider coming back to Spokane and staying... I'm still not sure what happened exactly, but bottom line, we're not in contact anymore, and that, in combination with severe reverse culture shock on so many levels, taking care of my sick mother, a messy house, a sullen cousin... I became very depressed and a little lost, wondering what the hell I was doing home.

The month of February is always bad for me. It happens to be the same month as my birthday and Valentine's Day which is unfortunate, but them's the breaks. I spent a lot of time in a cycle of depression, anger, hope, and bitterness and came out of it more or less in one piece and maybe a little worse for wear. But I learned, or better yet, remembered an important thing: I never want to let my regrets and heartbreaks make me bitter. 

I have witnessed some people later in their lives becoming haunted by their past choices, and they become cynical and bitter thinking of the things they cannot or did not change. I will never let myself get to the point. A lot of my close friends wonder how I can still want this person in my life, I can not resent and blame him, and once again, I've come to the realization that I could never replace the love I have for him with hate. Why would I do that and bring more ugliness into my life? My heart is open, and for the most part, always will be; hearts tend to get beaten up this way, but if that is the price I personally must pay in order to not become jaded, then I pay it willingly. Call me stupid, call me blind, call me hopeless.

So now I've been giving myself time to ponder, to reflect without regret, on everything that has happened this past year. And I am content. My empty wallet, obligation, and the need to finish my education is holding back my wanderlust, and I threw away my completely destroyed travelling boots. But now that things have changed, and there's not really anything to make me stay in Spokane anymore, I'm excited to start planning for the next adventure! I have called so many different places home already, and I wonder where the next place will be. The World Cup is in Rio next year and I happen to know a soccer fanatic that speaks Portuguese now...

November 17-23: Durban

The Intl Studs on one of our last nights. I miss them already!

Hello Lovelies!

It's been a while, and there are many (mis)adventures to report. But first, a word on final exams. Final exams here (and pretty much everywhere else except the US) are spanned over the course of a month, and that is because it is worth A WHOLE LOAD OF YOUR GRADE. So, naturally, I barely studied. results are posted on Dec 19th; we'll see if I passed anything.

After my final final on Nov 14, I headed off for a week in Durban with the ladies. My goodbye to Grahamstown was bittersweet. On one hand, I successfully finished two Jam Jars (among other libations), spent my last night in Friar's (good riddance!), and tipsy-snuggled with my good pals late into the night, but on the other, somebody stole my leather jacket. Thankfully, my money, phone, and knife were in my boots (best investment ever), but the bastards got my lipstick. I still miss that lipstick. There's a special level of hell for people like that.

In the morning (4 hours later), I blearily carried all of my stuff (ALL OF IT) out of Res, held back tears to say goodbye to sweet, dear Gemma, met up with Deike, and schlepped my sorry still-drunk ass to the bus station. Deike and I were pretty sure that the world was about to end when the bus showed up TEN MINUTES EARLY and we left ON TIME. IT'S A MIRACLE, HALLELUJAH! Or a sign of the apocalypse. Either way, we gleefully got on the bus for a 14-hour ride, most of which I spent sleeping off my hangover.

This is what Durban should look like. However, while we were there, it was raining most the time and a little sad-looking.

We arrived in Durban at close to midnight, scoped out our hostel, and chatted with some locals before collapsing exhausted into the most uncomfortable beds ever. The next day… Oh the next day. We had been invited by the local people living in the hostel to attend the German Bierfest in town. Since Deike is German, and I have a slutty German barmaid dress, we hopped onto one of the local taxis with them. The local taxi system is all over South Africa and consists of minivans that will take you and 13 other random passengers to a certain common area in the city for 5 Rand. Very cheap, and if you know where you're going, very safe (except in JoBurg though). We got to the tacky tent, got ourselves liters of beer, tasted all and proceeded to have a grand ol' time. The pictures prove it, oh boy, they sure do.

Celine arrived the next day, and we hit the town. We went to the Victoria Market, where colorful vendors hawk even more colourful spices and beaded jewelry. Then, we took a taxi to Ushaka, the touristy Water World by the ocean, and scoped out the attractions. We had some of the delicious local fair: bunny chow.

Fun Fact: Durban is home to a large percent of ethnically Indians and is famous for the extra spicy food that has it's own South African twist.

Bunny chow is a South African, specifically Durban, dish which involves hollowing out a loaf of bread, dumping hotter than Heidi Klum curry into it, then setting the fluff from the middle of the bread on top, mimicking a bunny's tail. It was a gloriously sunny day, and Durban's sun is notoriously as hot as it's cuisine, so we cooled down with a walk on the beach. We walked the entire length of the beach in Durban and marveled at how warm the Indian Ocean is.

We had decided we had enough of our stuffy, slightly dirty hostel so we switched to another one that was right next to Florida road, a nice hub of nightlife. This one had free wifi and a hot Scottish man working at the counter who starting playing and singing beautifully along with Michael Bublé. Hot Damn. As Teresa and Siina joined us, we continued exploring the city. We were also planning on partying hearty, but after a long day of walking around in the sun, we ended up just coming home and crashing every night. Like the cool people we are. But never fear! We had fun as well. We spent a whole day at Ushaka going on the water slides, floating along on tubes, gaping at giant fish in the aquarium, watching schticky seal and dolphin shows, and adding to our sun burns. There were also very good-looking Aussies (as always), Thanksgiving Hookah, and your average shenanigans. After relaxing for a week together, I said goodbye to my dear Europeans and headed to the Durban Airport for a flight to JoBurg to meet up with the Sis. More on our adventures later! I am now in a Starbucks (!) in Heidelberg, Germany, so obviously, I have quite a bit to catch up on, but I promise I will... just now :P

My Life is Awesome

Disclaimer: none of these photos were taken by me. They were either purchased, googled, or stolen from my companions.

I am so exhausted. It's the kind of exhaustion that comes from running on no more than 4 hours of sleep at a time, adrenaline, and pure, unadulterated happiness. It started with the start of SWOT week. I've heard several variations as to what SWOT stands for (Study Without Teaching; Study, Work, or Travel), but for universities that have an entire month allocated for final exams (in every country except the USA), it's the week-long break between classes and the beginning of exams that students are supposed to use to study.

Naturally, the Intl Studs decided to travel instead.

We took a trip to Storms River, the town associated with tourist activities in Tsitsikamma National Park. The area is absolutely beautiful, on a wave-beaten rocky coast with iconic mountains to the north. It's very lush and green, with many springs and frequent enough rain making it an ideal spot for tree farms and a source for a water bottling company, which is kindof interesting because…

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Fun Fact: Storms River and the streams in the area are all dyed brown from the natural tannins in the plants of the area. So pretty much it means that the water all looks like strong tea or coffee. It's a little weird at first, but you get used to it. Even the ocean is stained brown at the mouth of the river.

Our encampment waiting in Grahamstown

We arrived at about half past 1 AM on Oct. 27 after the longest 4-hr bus ride ever during which our POS bus played loud more-than-slightly racist standup comedy sketches and weird PG-13 movies. As if it wasn't enough that the bus was two hours late and forced us to wait in the cold wind and rain.

Still, we were in good spirits as we were picked up by people from our hostel. There was William, the driver that the hostel regularly uses, who wore a sparkly silver-sequined fedora (always), assured us that he loved us, he loved God, and that "safety is first." However, I'm pretty sure he was a little drunk haha. Nonetheless, his driving that night and throughout the trip was impeccable, and never once did I doubt his skill. He was one of the many locals we met that were simply super cool. We were also picked up by Yolande (sp?), the coolest mom you will ever meet who was staying at the hostel with her 12-yr old daughter. They were celebrating her daughter's birthday in style with bungee-jumping, sky-diving, and other outdoors adventures. She had volunteered to come help drive us since we couldn't all fit . The next night, she would pay for me to get sufficiently sloshed at the hostel bar even though all the rest of the IntlStuds were in bed. More on that later. Just know that she was freakin cool.

These are the guys that work at Dijembe Backpackers, the place where we were staying: Severiano (Sev) and Gerhard.

Sev (Left) dishing out the Milk Tart Shots, Gerhard (right) dishing out the smiles

Sev is a local guy, half-Scottish and half whatever the hell he feels like. He helps with the river tours and keep Dijembe running. He is secretly a neat freak and not-so-secretly an adrenaline junkie, cajoles guests to sign up for activities, tinkers with electronics, and generally shows off like the cocky SOB that he is. I kinda like him.

Gerhard is your typical skateboard bum who doesn't want to have a real job and just wants to live his life, carefree. He is a knife appreciator; he recognised my Buck knife and said that it reminded him of his uncle with quite the collection. His passions include listening to other peoples' stories and telling his own, dicking around, and making inappropriate comments. A pretty awesome dude.

Jess spending some sun time w/ us

Baria and Gemma, snuggling

The other regulars include Brad, the owner, who borders on the edge of creepy once in a while but is overall a pretty chill guy; Helena, the German woman who, like many others, got "stuck in Storms River" when she fell in love with the place and has been there ever since; three beautiful horses Baby, Baria, and Gracie and a pony named Smeagol; three spunky dogs Tiger, his son Achmed (named by Sev for the Dead Terrorist), and an adorable little spaniel Jess; Patches the cat; at least two maids who make delicious home-style food and keep the hostel in tiptop condition among others.

So back to the first night. We got there at about 2 AM, and after a couple rounds of Lemon Drops (a sugar-coated lemon slice with a shot of vodka. Suck, Shot, and Slice.), which I abstained from due to having just barely recovered from a cold, we went straight to bed. We all agreed in the morning that it was the best night's sleep we have had in ages. It's sad when the bed in a hostel is better than the bed one has been sleeping in for the past few months. The next day, the group split up, five going mountain biking, the other five, myself included, laying around in the sun for the morning, getting sunburnt, doodling in henna, bantering with the staff, then going horseback riding in the afternoon.

It was great because the horses were just hanging out in the yard prior to our ride, so we got to hang out with them. Since I was the smallest person, I rode on Smeagol, the plucky grey pony who made up for his size in spunk and attitude. Apart from an incident when me speeding Smeagol up a hill spooked Gemma's horse and we both ended up on our bums and when Gemma's horse quit on her and rolled over her leg (no permanent injuries, thank goodness), it was a beautiful sunny jaunt through the woods, led by Brad, who was slightly judgemental at our lack of experience and vigour. After our nature ride, we were given the option of continuing through the township to a trail by the freeway. A few of the group were pooped, so only Anna and I continued. There were two kids on our ride, so I switched out Smeagol for Tracy (I think?), a beautiful almost-black gelding. We slowly rode along the tree farms, Sev on foot leading the pony, appreciating the gorgeous sunset. After spending almost four hours on the back of a horse, I was surprisingly not sore and full of energy when I made the most epic entrance at Dijembe, confidently trotting in on the back of a horse. Too bad the only photos from the day of me are on my short little pony :P.

After a delicious braai, we shot the breeze around the fire with the young German volunteers also staying there and hung out at the bar. Brad needed to make a liquor run to the township tavern to restock the bar, and on a whim, Wout, Bec, Merel, and I hopped in the back of the truck and went with him. The township in Storms River can barely count as a township. There is still poverty, and the living conditions are not as good as the nice villas and cottages in the town, but most the roads are well-paved, and according to Sev, the crime rate is almost nonexistent, which is believable. Apart from the quite drunk creeper who almost immediately approached me, proclaimed that he liked me, came on to me (I assume; I couldn't tell, it was slurred and half in Afrikaans), and tried to grab my arm, I didn't feel threatened at all. Also, those guys really know how to shoot pool.

Sadly enough, I'm completely sober in this pic

We got back, and the group headed to bed. I had stayed behind with some of the other guests and was chatting with Yolande, Camilla the Danish girl (Hey Nick, she goes to university in Aarhus!), and the female half of a honeymooning couple when Sev impishly locked the doors of the bar to keep all of us inside. I protested, siting my lack of cash and my date with the bungee cord in the morning and a desire to not be hung over while hanging upside down, but Yolande insisted. She gave me some sketchy looking white powder which turned out to be Grand-pa, a South African staple of crushed aspirin and caffeine which will apparently get rid of any hangover if taken before bed, and then paid for two glasses of wine and three Springbok shots.

Yeah. I woke up still a little drunk in the morning. I was a little nervous about jumping 216 meters with a headache, but thank goodness for South African Time, which runs slower, for I had a couple hours to recuperate. By the time Deike, Chloe, Bec, and I got the bridge, I was nervous about the drop but at 110% enthusiasm. We were joined by three German girls who looked terrified but seemed to appreciate the nervous energy and Yolande and her daughter, who were doing the jump for the second time after originally coming to watch and keep us company but then deciding that they couldn't be left out of the fun.

Bloukranz Bridge, World's Highest Bungee Bridge

Guys, it was So. Awesome. Check out the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8usYKAuOiYs. I look like a pro. Except strung out on coke. I was so nervous, but I knew the drill already because four of our group had already done the jump during spring vac. They had a DJ playing pumping music, a cool bunch of guys working the ropes who seemed confident, and a setup that didn't let you look over the edge until you got to your turn to jump. The worst part was the 218 meter catwalk alongside the bridge to get to the platform in the middle with wire grating that gave a little underfoot. I danced around the entire time; Deike and I are probably were in every person's video, rocking out and booty shaking in the background. I was the first of our group to go and determined to set a good example. I was surprised that when I got to the edge and looked down, I thought to myself "Oh, that's pretty," not "Holy Shit." It didn't even look real, more like a picture from National Geographic. I had no concept of how far down it was, even though I knew it was the world's highest bungee bridge. It was the initial split second when my toes left the concrete and I felt myself naturally tip head first that my heart went to my mouth and I had to hold my breath to keep myself from panicking. After the first bounce, which my eyes were shut tight for, I opened my eyes, felt the rush of adrenaline from escaping death and gave my best WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-Hoo! When I heard the amazing echo, I had to do it again and again. I arched my back to look around at the the distant ocean and the surrounding mountains and marvelled at the river of coffee below. There might be taller bungees from structures, but the man, I don't think they could possibly be more beautiful. I came back up exhilarated and enthusiastically reassured and cheered on the other jumpers. Aaaaaaand destroyed my newly-recovered voice. It's just gone now.

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We got back midday, and I joined a few of the group as well as two Dutch girls to zip line. It was great fun, and I was still hopped up from the bungee, but the experience was a little short-lived, with only 8 cables across a canyon formed by the river. Still, the views over the waterfalls were great, the staff lively and friendly, and the company good.

After a lovely dinner prepared by Gemma (she was head chef of the three dinners we cooked and did a marvelous job. I had missed good home-cooking), the group hung out at the bar. Ashley insisted that she wanted to go the tavern after hearing about our adventure the night before which she had missed due to a delayed bus. After the rest went to bed, Sev and Gerhard took Simon, Deike, Ashley and I to the tavern. Sev paid for all our alcohol (including the worst tequila of my life; I retched a little), Gerhard and the locals taught Simon what it looked like to get trounced at pool, and Sev's friends taught Deike, Ashley, and I how to dance to African music properly. Good times to be had by all. We walked back under a cloudless night sky with a ripe full moon. I rediscovered how it feels to run while drunk. Amazing.

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The next day was river tubing. Sev and another river guide (Jacques was his name, maybe?) took Wout, Ashley, Bec, Deike, Celine, and I as well as the Dutch girls and a travelling Spaniard from the hostel down Storm River's tiny rapids in individual tubes. The day was overcast, and it rained quite a bit, but we were wet anyway, the forest and the river were stunning, so we agreed that that had been the best way to spend a rainy day. My short stubby little arms struggled a little to keep up, but I muddled through. The wetsuits kept us warm enough on the river, but once we were out it was quite cold. Dijembe's wonderful hot monsoon-style shower felt really good afterward, as well as the provided hot chicken stew for lunch, which I ate like a starving madwoman. The rain wasn't letting up, so the group, along with an Italian-Brazilian diving instructor/lawyer living in Australia that we adopted, stayed in and watched movies in front of the fire all night.

The next day, we were due to leave on a bus at 16h00 but the bus company called us in the morning and told us it was delayed until 4AM the next morning. We weren't too pleased to have to stay awake all night, but Dijembe said it was no problem for us to just hang out until then. I don't know about the others, but I was secretly a little happy for an excuse to stay. Although the day was rainy again, we decided to make a group trip to the national park for a light walk around to check out the suspension bridges and the coast, which I hadn't seen there. Ten of us piled into William's chariot plus the Brazilian and a ridiculously tall Swiss man that we also adopted. It was a cramped trip, but we laughed and joked the entire way. The national park is gorgeous. We were at the mouth of the river, where all the tannin stains the ocean brown and makes kinda grody looking foam.

All these are Chloe's

There were some gorgeous views, and I did a little off-road exploring climbing around cliffs and up a waterfall. We took our sweet time, meandering about on and off the path, but when I got back I was devastated to discover that my trusty knife had unclipped from my waistband. 1 km of trail and my knife was floating about in the middle of it somewhere. I kept my head and sprinted back to the end of the trail, where I knew I had slipped a little while climbing around. Out of sheer luck, it was right where I thought it was, in the middle of the bushes off the trail next to the waterfall. If I hadn't had gone to find it, it probably would have been lost forever. As many people know, that knife is completely irreplaceable to me, and it definitely would have ruined my trip for me if it had been lost. Luck has been on my side though, and I got a rush of joy and energy as I sprinted along the slippery composite board path. I didn't even twist my ankle! We got back to Dijembe, made dinner, and settled down to watch a few movies. Celine, our Frenchwoman, had never seen Chocolat before, which we thought was a travesty and sought to remedy.

We got dropped off at the gas station that the bus comes to at about 3:30 AM. At half past 4, we figured the bus was just late as usual. The local police were friendly and talked to us, and we were with a local guy who was quite chatty. I think he was there to make sure we got on the bus safe. Yeah. Too bad the bus never came. We kept calling the bus company, and at about 7:30 someone finally answered and told us that the bus had just completely bypassed our stop. Bastards. We had dozed outside the gas station, on the concrete, in the cold for a couple hours by then. We were pissed as hell, but the good trip and the fact that the gas station wasn't so bad and we felt safe kept us from going into a blood frenzy. The local found us a transport guy who took us to Grahamstown for 200 Rand (a steal! esp. since the van was nicer than the bus we would've taken), and we all stumbled back to our dorms for a shower and some much needed rest.

All in all, the best vacation of my life. I don't think I've ever experienced that much perfect happiness in such a long time. I have been truly blessed. Now, I'm staying in bed, resting my voice, and trying to forget that I have three exams next week that count for the majority of my grade. Wish me luck! I've been having so much of it, it seems impossible that I could have any more. Hope I'm wrong :P