Extremely random things.

Indeed. 

Getting back to South Africa sans the hubby just to find out that yes, the house still stands, yes, the nice neighbor hauled my trash can to the curb even though I only slipped a note under her door right before leaving, and no, the tree I got for my birthday and that the hubby 'planted' wearing his gardening clothes - his good Vans (Is it against the rules to own 'good' Vans?) and his bestest Diesel (my brother's discards, so we think they're really from Bangkok) - hasn't died and has not even seemingly dried up, was rather anticlimactic. Now, what remains are fingers frozen to the keyboard (glad the laptop tends to overheat so I can warm my hands), and a maid who seems to think I'm evil for having floors, and bathrooms, and having cooked last night.

So not much going on, hey? I've had plenty of time today (hiding from the maid) to wonder very random things. 

Like, why does my new toothbrush immediately look like I repeatedly used it to clean the kitchen tiles, when the hubby's corresponding object is spick for a month? And how does it fit into this equation that the Hubby has far nicer teeth than me? 

Like, why if you want to sell me something from hair wax to auto accessories all you have to do is call it some food name, such as 'fudge', 'banana' or 'vanilla'? Am I a complete sucker for this? Yes, dammit. 

Like, what is it with South Africa's fascination with Italian mockitecture? I mean, painted-on cracks on your house. As if you were smack in Tuscany. Really.

Like, what are the odds of me not drinking a bottle of wine by myself today to 'keep warm'?

Like, if I was given the choice between either posing very tastefully but still nude for Playboy or not so tastefully for some obscure Asian porn-mag no one will ever see, which one would I do?  

Like, why Slumdog Millionaire trumps Q & A? Is it supposed to be oxymoronic fun? If so, it's just sad.

Like, why do the gas station guys always point out that my tires need more air? Are they saying I'm fat, since the car seems fine when I'm not in it?

Like, why is it that my roses apparently died purely from my touch?

Like, why is Madonna so intent on adopting from Malawi again? Is it because Oprah has dibs on South Africa and Angelina on Ethiopia? 

Like, can you rip your tongue off if it freezes onto a metal pole, and you are not able to pee yourself free, like they did on Bucket List? 

Like, every time I google myself do my ears burn, or am I speaking of the devil?    

I think my brain's a little frozen, or melting. You take your pick. 

At least I got invited to participate in a cool project called Balderdash.  

Advances (on me?)

I must still look extremely bored and as if I have absolutely nothing to do in the world. Or I have just been propositioned in a very roundabout, yet disturbing, way by a very much older, and shorter guy in a slick suit.

As I was making my way to the hotel bar this morning (Don't gasp. We've been over this before: they have the best internet, rocking lattes [spit-girl is not at work], and bonus cake. And I only start drinking in the afternoon... well after noon anyway), a man in a suit stopped me in the corridor: 

(I swore to myself I wasn't going to do another dialogue, but I can't help it, I'm on a diaroll. And apparently superbly funny. Ha.)

Suit guy: Are you on your way to the bar? I always see you writing away on that computer of yours (he proceeds to air-type - always suspicious). Listen... (he takes something out of his jacket pocket) I want to give you my card. If there is anything you need, don't hesitate to call me. Anytime (looks me in the eyes).

Me: Huh, Oh?!?! (cue eyebrows - this is my new, more polite, WTF?!?!). Well, thank you (I start moving away, quickly), I... will.

According to the card he is the Deputy General Manager of this here accommodation. But, boys and girls, the fun doesn't end there. A couple of hours on I have taken over one of the sofa groups (my bracelet demands its own chair) and there he is again, walking by:

Suit guy: There you are, typing again (air-typing - even more suspicious done a second time). I wish you would tell me what you are writing. A book?

Me: Hrhm? Ah? Huh? (Yup, I am just that quick) I'm supposed to... but I'm not (I was afraid he was going to ask to see it and I'm currently having too much fun with very crap sex-scenes).

Suit guy: Reports or something?

Me: Hrhm? Ah? Huh? (quick indeed) No, nothing like that, I'm just, you know.... (How do you tell people you can easily surf a whole day?)

Suit guy: (looking into my eyes) Well, maybe you'll tell me sometime.

I suddenly feel the need to pretend like something weird is happening on my screen and I have to peer into it and frown.

What's your take on this folks? Am I bored, making the whole thing up, completely insane, or in line to be the next missus Deputy general Manager? The hubby need not comment.    

Homesick for Mexico

I thought that once our stuff finally arrived here in South Africa, I would start feeling properly at home here, I really did. That's how I remember it working when we moved from Denmark to Mexico. For expats, having your stuff often equals having your home with you. The place you put your stuff is just a canvas to paint your desired environment on, in our case a mishmash of streamlined Scandinavian design, quirky Mexican artifacts, odd pieces designed by yours truly, and Ikea. The house on the inside now looks like me. Still...  

I find myself feeling homesick for Mexico. And yes, by homesick I mean feeling like that is where my home is, where my real life is, and where I would like to return to. I don't just miss my friends, or Mexican food, or speaking Spanish, or being able to walk everywhere, or our apartment, or our flower guy, or the oh so juicy arrachera cuts of meat, or my local Starbucks (even though I do desperately miss all of these, especially Starbucks). I really feel homesick for Mexico.

Now WTF?!?! Why can't I feel at home in this awesome country?

Well, if I really take a proper look at my life I might just understand. Even looking back at my postings on this blog I can see that there are far too many complaints concerning boredom, not having deadlines, or not having stuff to do. The unfortunate truth is that no matter how hard I have tried to start up stuff - volunteering, a book club, sports, traveling, etc - things just don't seem to pan out for me. And to top it all, it seems that the hubby is going to be away pretty much every week at least for the next three months. 

Don't get me wrong, we have had  a bunch of good experiences, braais up the wazoo, different activities, and such things that are part of getting to know a new country. However, that does not a life make, and I guess that's what I'm missing. A life outside of this estate that is beginning to feel like a prison more and more every day. A life that I have chosen, filled with activities that are right for me, and with like-minded people.

Thankfully in my darkest hour I found this. Perhaps there is light (and life) at the end of the tunnel. I can't wait.

The 'beauty' of uneventfulness

There is absolutely nothing going on. 

For a person who thrives on a certain amount of drama that is a really bad thing. The highlight of today has been finding maggots in the bottom of the trash can and the subsequent 'Dooming' of them. 

I need a deadline. I function well on deadlines. I kind of have a deadline for unpacking, since we are getting visitors for dinner on Friday, but I find it very hard to experience house work as something so important that it deserves a deadline. My apologies to all of you housewives who feel differently, but I just don't have that kind of domesticity in me. 

Someone give me an interesting task and a deadline. Please (and dear hubby, no, finding out what to eat for the next two weeks and shopping for it is not an interesting task, and neither is filling out the insurance claim).  

Corrective measures

Yes, there are some horrifying things going on all the time in South Africa, and no, there is not much one person can do to change things. Or is there?

How can I make this place better?

In Mexico I volunteered, which I loved, but in the end as usual I got myself so involved in the whole operation, and actually took the lead (I hate being bossed around, even if leading will give me an ulcer) that it was very hard to finally extricate myself, as our move came closer. There are still certain babies' faces I prefer not to remember, because remembering would mean finding out what happened to the souls behind the faces. And what happened is not always a positive in a society like Mexico.  

However, I'm getting more and more ready to throw myself in the game again, as days stuck with the, now extremely frustrating, presence of my maid seem longer and longer by the minute. I know, I know I should just be happy someone saves me almost daily from drowning in filth, but...

I have been researching some volunteering opportunities in Gauteng, and as I'm ruling out all clearly (and sometimes overly) religious instances, here are the potentials:

Ikholwa Children's home. They take care of children infected or affected by AIDS. (And, I met the founder at a fundraiser and he seemed like a good guy)

Tshwane Place of Safety. They take care of babies and toddlers in distress.

Global Crisis Solutions. They promote human rights through practice and policy.

Mohau Centre. They provide care and support to orphaned, abused, abandoned, neglected and terminally ill children and their families who are infected or affected by HIV/AIDS.

SOS Children's villages. They take care of orphaned and abandoned children.

These all seem like very good possibilities, and I'm anxiously awaiting the arrival of our second car, so I can get out of the house every once in a while and maybe change a diaper or two, or if I'm lucky a policy or too. But, seeing as I have plenty of diaper-related experience from Mexico, and no sense of policy or politics, I'll most likely end up doing the former. I can't believe I'm actually looking forward to feces in sticky paste form. I must be bored indeed.

I'm also trying to recycle, which surprisingly has been made nigh impossible in this country. So far I'm the official empty-bottle pack mule of our bunch, and thus am always storing empty wine bottles in various ingenious places (taking my cue from the queen of weird, yet spacious hiding places, the maid). This I do, since there actually is a glass bank only kilometers from where we live and driving there once a month must be the least we can do. Still, the 'recycling' we do here in SA is nothing like what comes almost naturally (or under threat of a fine) in Northern Europe, or even in Mexico. 

We just have to keep trying, I guess. However, before the nation's attitudes and awareness about environmental issues change, the task ahead is hard. In the US people who drive vehicles (since simple cars they are NOT) that could fit their entire extended family in the back and still have room for some neighbors as well, are generally at least aware of how much their gas-guzzlers are hurting the environment, and are just choosing to be A-holes. Here so far the major concern seems to be financial, and environmental concerns don't even come into the picture. The same goes for using electricity, water, etc. I can't honestly say which option is worse.

I seem to have ranted some again. Well, I hope I have made you feel guilty enough to go and do this.

What to do in Jozi, if you are an unadventurous 'widow for a week'.

The hubby is leaving town for a week and I'm left to fend for myself.

I could go to some of my favorite restaurants and have some sushi, or some sizzling steak ('cause Zeus knows I won't be cooking for myself).

The best sushi I've had in Joburg came from Cape Town Fish Market. They are a little (if not a lot) classier than my other favorite fish place, even if it is a little fast food-ish, Ocean Basket. CTFM actually has a sushi bar, the conveyor belt kind that is, which always takes me back to our stay in Taiwan, and just wins me over no questions asked. On top of being sushi-heaven, their wine list is decent, and their other dishes pretty awesome as well. At least my husband seems to enjoy them, personally I can't seem to get off the sushi-wagon once I'm on it.

In Cape Town my favorite sushi place so far is 221 in the Waterfront. I say so far, since their sushi is the only sushi I've had in CT. 

The best steak round our way - and after the world renowned Argentinian beef we kept splurging on in Mexico, finding this was a task indeed - is to be had at either Karoo or Cattle Baron. Karoo does not win hands down, since their steak is only good if you are smart enough to ask for it without the horrid basting all South Africans seem to be very fond of. But, Cattle Baron does not win hands down either, since even though the meat was excellent, the service and the atmosphere weren't, and they actually charged us for an unfiltered red (what we ordered), but brought us a regular one. Shame.

I could go to the movies. 

There are two movie theatre chains in South Africa: Ster-Kinekor and Nu Metro. They show the same movies and the theaters themselves are pretty identical. Last weekend we went to the Nu Metro movie theatre in Menlyn Park Mall in Pretoria to see Australia. We opted for the Privé theatre, which according to our friends should be the theatre with the most comfortable (airline-like) seats. The seats were nice and my butt vouches for that since miraculously it did not fall asleep or tingle uncomfortably at any moment during the loooong epic. At a staggering R33 (€2,5 or $3,5) we'll definitely go for the Privé again. As for the movie: well, it was an epic, I liked it, kind of. It was very long, and every time you thought it was finished it picked up again, for almost three hours. I've heard that Burn after reading should be far more butt-friendly, and funny too, so perhaps I'll try out the Ster-Kinekor privé equivalent (and actually find out what it is called, since it is not obvious from the website). 

Still, sadly South African movie theater magic is centuries behind Mexico. Check out their VIP theater, Platino Cinemex. Why oh why, can I not satisfy my craving for a cocktail or a slice of pizza in the middle of a three-hour, numb-your-b'cheeks, cinematic experience?!?!? All I ask is a waiter to crawl to me on his knees and take my order, crawl back while balancing a  fancy glass and some nachos, and let me enjoy an exorbitantly priced glass of (possibly quite bad) white wine while I'm meticulously ogling Brad Pitt, or possibly Hugh Jackman.   

I could go get drunk and listen to some live music. 

My singular 'get drunk to the sound of loud live music' experience in South Africa took place some months ago in the suburbia of Centurion, north of Joburg, at a place called Firkin Pub. The music was good, but obviously I'm past my bar going days, unless we're talking snobbish, martini-galore, quirky-little-finger-food-at-high-prices kind of establishment. I'll still feel out of place in the more snobbish venues too, but at least I won't feel the need to stuff toilet paper in my ears to avoid the searing headache the volume is causing me. In the end, I think I'm simply more of a 'get drunk with your friends over a nice braai' kind of gal. I won't host them without the husband with the mad braai skillz, but I'll graciously accept invitations. And, you you can always count on me to bring the wine.

I could go shopping. 

In a country that has never heard of department stores (No, Woolworths is not one) the shopping is surprisingly good. I happen to adore Woolworths and all of the malls, Sandton City, Nelson Mandela Square (links to Sandton City), Brooklyn Mall, Menlyn Park Mall, Centurion Mall, etc, that we have visited offer a wide variety of different shops and boutiques. As opposed to Mexico the shoe shops here actually stock my size (I'm a big-footed Scand, as you might have guessed), which means that in my shoe-mania I've so far acquired quite a few pairs. Unfortunately, the dress code here being far more relaxed than anywhere else in the world that I've ever experienced, I've yet to have too many opportunities to flaunt my black and gold stilettos, or my Hilfiger wedges. Double shame. 

I could go to Montecasino and gamble away my husband's pay check or see The Beauty and the Beast.

Well, I've already seen The Beauty and The Beast, and have no interest in seeing the premiering one - The High School Musical. I saw the movie and strongly prefer Grease and even Grease II to it, so we'll just leave it at that. However, Montecasino is definitely something to see, especially if combined with a visit to Soweto, the sprawl of former townships Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu once called home. Montecasino is designed to imitate a Tuscan village, probably by someone who has never been to Italy, or even Europe. Fake laundry hangs over the 'alleys', walls have cracks painted on them, and looking up you are faced with either a hot pink sunset or an eerily blue sky. I seem to recall some twinkling stars as well. Luckily or unfortunately, you take your pick, Montecasino also houses quite a few good restaurants and drinking spots. Montecasino is so kitch it almost borders on cool, and is most definitely best served with a hefty dose of the other side of South African reality, the townships.

I highly recommend a pre-Montecasino visit to a Soweto-shebeen. Get a glass (or a pickle jar) of the local brew. I did, from a communal mug nonetheless.