It will be a dark day for African democracy if Julius Malema is allowed to legitimize his violent racism with a coating of populism and the previous generation's struggle against apartheid. It will be only made worse if it comes about through handing the judicial proceedings over to the most buffoonish white people the country could find.
"Justifying these wrongs in the name of apartheid gives carte blanche to yesterday’s liberators to become tomorrow’s oppressors,"
From the New York Times
[http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/01/world/africa/01southafrica.html]
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Arriving in Dubrovnik. (9/4/10)
So, Croatia thus far tops Paris for a pervasive sense of hostility. I don't know if its just not knowing their country's mannerisms, but I'm pretty sure as soon as I say a word of English, it activates a "don't be particularly helpful" reaction in most people here. Whether its a newstand lady refusing to give me a single kuna for the train station lockers, despite asking to simply break a bill, then offering her a euro for just a single kuna (slightly less than 18 cents).
Or the bus driver that either didn't know his own route or was playing a mighty prank on me -- He even pointed to the street multiple times and said "Dubrovnika" (the street I'd asked for); the indicated street was actually Moskowska and the street I needed to be on was roughly across town. At 10 at night, when it is quite dark here. Suffice to say I didn't have a map either, having arrived after everything was closed. And when I asked a local guy for directions, he assured me the street I needed (still across town) was just up the street that-a-way "500 kilome- meters." I guess I shouldn't have turned down his offer to rent me a room for the night before I asked directions. Pervasive sense of hostility.
It was quite a pickle.
Luckily, there were two highlights. The first was that at the bus station I met a nun. Now, she didn't seem particularly eager or pleased to help me, I think she may have simply seen it as another test from God, but she did provide me with a 1hr bus pass, and in limited English made it very clear to me, multiple times, exactly where to go and which number bus to get. I had the feeling she thought I was rather dim, but hey, I got helped by a nun, how often does that happen?
The second highlight was a guy who's name I sadly did not get, for it didn't seem appropriate to try and make friends, but who turned out to be the most generous person I've met thus far on my trip.
As I wandered about Moskowska, with no clue where to go whatsoever, and two backpacks draped off me, I eventually walked up to a house where two people were sitting on their porch. Explaining my situation to them from the street, they indicated that where I needed to be was on the "other hill, very far that way." Not good. I wandered away down the street -- a hill, mind you, everywhere you go you are repeatedly going down and then back up one steep hill or another -- figuring that I'd pretty much lost, but hell, I could always go rent a room from that rat-bastard that gave me crappy directions.
Things turned out stranger, and far better though, as a (younger, maybe late 30s? There is a lot of old people in Croatia, but more on that later...) guy and his girlfriend/wife pulled up in their small VW, getting out of the car with bags and such. I tried not to look too terribly awkward a few feet away until he called over, asking if I needed help getting somewhere. I explained my situation yet again, but instead of crappy directions and worse English, I got a nod and "yeah, one second let me get my GPS." I was relieved. Well, until it turns out the specific street I needed (Uz Giman, off Dubrovnika) didn't exist in GPS world (no surprise, picture to follow) -- luckily this savior had further methods, an uncle that is a taxi driver! A quick phonecall, another explanation that I was in the completely wrong place, and as I figured 'oh well, he at least tried' he motioned to his car and said get in. Figuring he had a girlfriend, a cat, and didn't particularly look like a criminal or rapist, I threw my bags in the back and off we went. As we drove around I learned he had been working as the second hand on luxury cruise liners for two years, on oil tankers before that, and that he thought Portland was a very nice city, but he didn't get enough shore leave to see much. We drove around for probably 20 minutes or more, weaving through tight alleys, hitting dead ends and reversing through said alleys (or as he muttered it "fuck, fuck!"), and generally not finding the location whatsoever. The street apparently didn't exist -- we even stopped and he asked a guy in his yard for directions, he had no clue. Eventually through triangulating between the vague directions I got online, the vaguer GPS ("GPS is shit"), and the clueless gentleman's wave off towards one direction, we did manage to find it. He seemed a little relieved to be able to finally go home, but all in all, despite numerous thank-yous, it didn't seem like it was any big deal to him, no problem. Now there is a genuinely nice person.
But I had finally reached my hostel. I checked in late, but I "am not the first and won't be the last", and the bed was comfortable and clean. There was even a pool for tomorrow. I was finally where I needed to be.
Well, until I realized I was here alone. I had a roommate for a few hours, an Aussie who left in the morning for one of the island, who also said he'd signed up for a 12 person dorm, but we'd both ended up in a 2 person room. But the high season is winding down/over, so it made sense with only a few guests... yet today I was told that I couldn't stay a third night because they were booked up with a four person party (??), but not to worry, he could arrange a place just two houses down. The manager seems quite nice (and thankfully is fluent in English), but it all just seems a bit weird. So here I am in an empty-yet-booked hostel, in the middle of an out-of-the-way residential neighborhood that even bus drivers and GPS can't find.
Suffice to say, Croatia has been a culture shock from the inviting, if at times sketchy, buzz of a city like Amsterdam.
Speaking of which, this good mood brought to you by: G13, Greenhouse Ice & Happy Haze
Let it not be said that Happy Haze is false advertising. Amsterdam Coffee: turning crappy into alright since the dawn of civilization.
So, Croatia thus far tops Paris for a pervasive sense of hostility. I don't know if its just not knowing their country's mannerisms, but I'm pretty sure as soon as I say a word of English, it activates a "don't be particularly helpful" reaction in most people here. Whether its a newstand lady refusing to give me a single kuna for the train station lockers, despite asking to simply break a bill, then offering her a euro for just a single kuna (slightly less than 18 cents).
Or the bus driver that either didn't know his own route or was playing a mighty prank on me -- He even pointed to the street multiple times and said "Dubrovnika" (the street I'd asked for); the indicated street was actually Moskowska and the street I needed to be on was roughly across town. At 10 at night, when it is quite dark here. Suffice to say I didn't have a map either, having arrived after everything was closed. And when I asked a local guy for directions, he assured me the street I needed (still across town) was just up the street that-a-way "500 kilome- meters." I guess I shouldn't have turned down his offer to rent me a room for the night before I asked directions. Pervasive sense of hostility.
It was quite a pickle.
Luckily, there were two highlights. The first was that at the bus station I met a nun. Now, she didn't seem particularly eager or pleased to help me, I think she may have simply seen it as another test from God, but she did provide me with a 1hr bus pass, and in limited English made it very clear to me, multiple times, exactly where to go and which number bus to get. I had the feeling she thought I was rather dim, but hey, I got helped by a nun, how often does that happen?
The second highlight was a guy who's name I sadly did not get, for it didn't seem appropriate to try and make friends, but who turned out to be the most generous person I've met thus far on my trip.
As I wandered about Moskowska, with no clue where to go whatsoever, and two backpacks draped off me, I eventually walked up to a house where two people were sitting on their porch. Explaining my situation to them from the street, they indicated that where I needed to be was on the "other hill, very far that way." Not good. I wandered away down the street -- a hill, mind you, everywhere you go you are repeatedly going down and then back up one steep hill or another -- figuring that I'd pretty much lost, but hell, I could always go rent a room from that rat-bastard that gave me crappy directions.
Things turned out stranger, and far better though, as a (younger, maybe late 30s? There is a lot of old people in Croatia, but more on that later...) guy and his girlfriend/wife pulled up in their small VW, getting out of the car with bags and such. I tried not to look too terribly awkward a few feet away until he called over, asking if I needed help getting somewhere. I explained my situation yet again, but instead of crappy directions and worse English, I got a nod and "yeah, one second let me get my GPS." I was relieved. Well, until it turns out the specific street I needed (Uz Giman, off Dubrovnika) didn't exist in GPS world (no surprise, picture to follow) -- luckily this savior had further methods, an uncle that is a taxi driver! A quick phonecall, another explanation that I was in the completely wrong place, and as I figured 'oh well, he at least tried' he motioned to his car and said get in. Figuring he had a girlfriend, a cat, and didn't particularly look like a criminal or rapist, I threw my bags in the back and off we went. As we drove around I learned he had been working as the second hand on luxury cruise liners for two years, on oil tankers before that, and that he thought Portland was a very nice city, but he didn't get enough shore leave to see much. We drove around for probably 20 minutes or more, weaving through tight alleys, hitting dead ends and reversing through said alleys (or as he muttered it "fuck, fuck!"), and generally not finding the location whatsoever. The street apparently didn't exist -- we even stopped and he asked a guy in his yard for directions, he had no clue. Eventually through triangulating between the vague directions I got online, the vaguer GPS ("GPS is shit"), and the clueless gentleman's wave off towards one direction, we did manage to find it. He seemed a little relieved to be able to finally go home, but all in all, despite numerous thank-yous, it didn't seem like it was any big deal to him, no problem. Now there is a genuinely nice person.
But I had finally reached my hostel. I checked in late, but I "am not the first and won't be the last", and the bed was comfortable and clean. There was even a pool for tomorrow. I was finally where I needed to be.
Well, until I realized I was here alone. I had a roommate for a few hours, an Aussie who left in the morning for one of the island, who also said he'd signed up for a 12 person dorm, but we'd both ended up in a 2 person room. But the high season is winding down/over, so it made sense with only a few guests... yet today I was told that I couldn't stay a third night because they were booked up with a four person party (??), but not to worry, he could arrange a place just two houses down. The manager seems quite nice (and thankfully is fluent in English), but it all just seems a bit weird. So here I am in an empty-yet-booked hostel, in the middle of an out-of-the-way residential neighborhood that even bus drivers and GPS can't find.
Suffice to say, Croatia has been a culture shock from the inviting, if at times sketchy, buzz of a city like Amsterdam.
Speaking of which, this good mood brought to you by: G13, Greenhouse Ice & Happy Haze
Let it not be said that Happy Haze is false advertising. Amsterdam Coffee: turning crappy into alright since the dawn of civilization.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Escape from Amsterdam
So, two missed trains on, I'm still in Amsterdam on the 2nd. I was supposed to meet David and Steph in Dubrovnik yesterday, and it's a 24hr train ride to Split from Amsterdam... but third time's a charm and I'm making a third attempt at the same train tonight. If I can't get this one, I think I'll just give up and trade in my eurail pass for a visa and just stay. Yesterday evening started out in a very frustrating way, suffice to say. I briefly considered simply rescheduling my tickets and making this just a nice trip to Amsterdam -- partially out of defeat, partially out of a sense that solo wandering might not be the direction I'm looking for. But not long after, I was reminded of exactly why I'm here, and exactly why I should continue.
By the time I wandered back to the hostel in defeat, for a second time, I'd already convinced myself that dignity and an empty sack was worth an empty sack, and at least the beds were comfortable... Not that there were any available, of course. However, what I was greeted with was sympathy, a bit of deserved laughter, and a helping hand from a group of great people I've met over the last few days. Kirin found me an empty (and free) bed in the employee's dorm (someone had left the day before, and his replacement was late, and we just had to act nonchalant near the reception desk...), Perseu was in the middle of cooking up a delicious pasta dinner... a meal and a joint at the park down the street, and a bit of faith in this trip's aim was more or less restored.
If I'm not stupid or rude, then I'm betting that I can more or less set myself in a general course, then let the current take me where I need to be. It's not perfect, but thus far... not so bad. Not so bad at all.
But I should probably mention who some of these people are. The Flying Pig Uptown hostel has been full of a great cast of characters, some more important than others. Chief amongst them has to be my new friend Perseu, a Brazilian lawyer and a damn good challenger at chess.... and here he is. Time to go out for a last walk about Amsterdam before my train. More to follow.
By the time I wandered back to the hostel in defeat, for a second time, I'd already convinced myself that dignity and an empty sack was worth an empty sack, and at least the beds were comfortable... Not that there were any available, of course. However, what I was greeted with was sympathy, a bit of deserved laughter, and a helping hand from a group of great people I've met over the last few days. Kirin found me an empty (and free) bed in the employee's dorm (someone had left the day before, and his replacement was late, and we just had to act nonchalant near the reception desk...), Perseu was in the middle of cooking up a delicious pasta dinner... a meal and a joint at the park down the street, and a bit of faith in this trip's aim was more or less restored.
If I'm not stupid or rude, then I'm betting that I can more or less set myself in a general course, then let the current take me where I need to be. It's not perfect, but thus far... not so bad. Not so bad at all.
But I should probably mention who some of these people are. The Flying Pig Uptown hostel has been full of a great cast of characters, some more important than others. Chief amongst them has to be my new friend Perseu, a Brazilian lawyer and a damn good challenger at chess.... and here he is. Time to go out for a last walk about Amsterdam before my train. More to follow.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
People
- An Australian and his brother. He thought Anne Frank was a street nearby.
- A well-traveled Brazilian woman with a guitar and a beautiful voice... and a liking of spiteful gossip.
- A jolly swiss guy named Fabian. He could understand me just fine, but the Aussie was completely beyond comprehension. I english-english translated.
- A well-traveled Brazilian woman with a guitar and a beautiful voice... and a liking of spiteful gossip.
- A jolly swiss guy named Fabian. He could understand me just fine, but the Aussie was completely beyond comprehension. I english-english translated.
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