Origins and the land of Santa

Why does this keep happening?

A shop assistant/ waiter/ neighbor/ random sweaty guy at the gym: So where in the States are you from?

Me: Well... I'm actually from Finland.

A light goes out of the eyes of whoever it is that is posing this question, since they are asking it because they either a) have been to the States b) have family in the States c) would like to visit or have family (me as a wife possibly, who wouldn't) in the States d) they madly love Obama e) all of the above and want to hang out with someone who comes from the promised land of Coca Cola, McDonalds, Oprah and 90210. Sadly, I am not, and will never be, that person.  

This usually follows the dimming of the eyes.

A shop assistant/ waiter/ neighbor/ random sweaty guy at the gym: Oh... well... that's nice. Lots of snow, right? Cold, eh?

Me: Yup, in the winter can be -70 degrees celsius (I have slowly moved up [down?] from -20 celsius over the years). It can be so cold that your car won't start and your dog's paws freeze onto the ground. But that's when the polar bears don't hunt, so it's still safer than normal. Otherwise they might eat Santa when he crawls home from the bar.

A shop assistant/ waiter/ neighbor/ random sweaty guy at the gym: HAHAHA, that's funny! Yea, because Finns all drink like fish, right?

Exactly, you got it, that was my point.  

Heaven on Earth and other pleasant things

I'm so sad the weekend's over. I haven't laughed like I've laughed this past week in a long time. Hanging out with our guest brought back huge chunks of my childhood (that I've apparently drunk away, or possibly my brain has finally yielded intellectual control to my sizable posterior that is just not up to the responsibilities), and reminded me of why I once considered our guest my best friend ever. I'm truly glad she is back in my life. Standing ovation to that guy who invented Facebook.  

As I write this, our guest is on her way back to Finland, and the hubby is away, possibly until the end of April. I'm by myself, and feeling like I'd give almost anything to be back in Ivory Tree Game Lodge in Pilanesberg Nature Reserve, from now on referred to as Heaven on Earth, or simply heaven, as that is where I intend to go when I die, and hopefully many times before that. 

Being the snob that ya'll know and tolerate, I've visited quite a few five star establishments, usually liked them, or even loved them, but none of my previous five star experiences (not referring to anything dirty so go ahead and stop giggling) have ever come close to the bliss that was our long weekend away. 

I'd heard good things about Pilanesberg before, but no one we know had ever stayed in the lodge that we chose. i.e. Heaven on Earth. The cost of two nights being a little bit on the expensive side my expectations were high indeed, which usually does not bode well, as I'm an expert at complaining and generally just finding fault with things. Yup, positive is not an adjective many people would use to describe me, apart from the hubby, but we've already explored the depth of his delusions on other occasions. Anyhow, I'm forced to admit that Heaven on Earth actually exceeded my expectations. And that is no easy feat. 

We arrived on Friday just in time for the lovely lunch set in the nice and airy thatched roof dining room. Having most likely started a widespread movement against buffets in my previous life, from the moment I laid eyes on the set up I was expecting to experience some flashbacks, but ended up having to admit that the chicken was tasty and juicy, the couscous delicious, and even the coffee lovely (and delightfully plentiful). As difficult as this is for me to put into writing, the buffet won me over. And the hotel being merrily void of children (bonus!) I couldn't even resort to my sneezing/coughing/sticky-hands-on-the-food argument. Buffet 1, Snobby Finn 0.

After lunch, as we had retired to our respective cottages, and had had plenty of time to utter small shrieks of delight over the huge bathtub, the outdoor shower, the private patio overlooking the park, the luxurious bath products, and the quiet (only interrupted by said shrieks) surroundings, the phone rang. Our ranger Mike introduced himself and wanted to know what we would like to drink on the afternoon game drive. Trying to play normal as well as wondering whether the lions had the same penchant for the liquid as me, and whether they would try to eat me if they smelled the wine habitually coursing through my veins, I did not order wine, that night. I probably entertained some sort of idea about needing to 'stay alert' lest I'd be eaten by a giraffe or something. On the break between the afternoon drive and the night drive, while in a hide in the wild listening to the sounds of the bush, and staring at the clearly visible milky way, I wished I had that glass of wine to toast the perfect moment though. Toasting with water is just not the same.

I, the hubby, and our guest were the only ones on the drive that first night, and as our ranger Mike turned out to be a true fountain of interesting information as well as being the head ranger in the lodge we were blessed with plenty of cool new facts about South African wildlife while it felt like we were the only humans in the bush. We saw kudus, rhinos, hippos, zebras, giraffes, wildebeest, impala, and some tsessebi, alongside plenty of other antelope-type animals, other critters and birds the names of which apparently did not stick in my, albeit at that point not even foggy, brain. As I've said before, observing the animals in their natural surroundings, doing what they do best - being wild (sleeping, and funny enough, farting like mad) - is an experience very different to visiting any zoo. As opposed to the feeling of pity that normally accompanies such a visit, seeing these animals made me feel a surge of healthy respect for, if not slight fear of them instead. And the first day's catch was only one out of the big five.  

For our visitor, who had according to her own words already fallen in love with South Africa, meeting our brown-eyed ranger offered yet more to love about this wonderful country. I don't think this visit will be her last. As my 'crush' days are long gone (luckily, as I seem to have let even basic grooming slip), I'm loving the possibility of vicariously experiencing this long distance crush. I had forgotten how much fun it is to talk about boys, and it used to be my favorite pastime.

After indulging in a bottle of Hamilton Russell Pinot Noir (one of my all time faves) at dinner, the next morning's wake up call at 5:30 in preparation for the 6AM game drive was almost too much. However, after having mine and our guest's cups of coffee's worth of caffeine in my brain, and a warm blanket around me I was ready to see the sun rise over the mountains, while watching the animals either wake up, turn in, or rip a tree from the ground. The drive was amazing. Our surroundings were rife with bird and animal calls, and even as the cold air whipped my face (note to self: It can be cold in Africa, wear a hat), I could definitely see why the Dutch stayed. 

Regardless of the frosty morning, and as so often happens here, as the sun climbed higher and higher the temperature rose exponentially. When we got back from the drive to have breakfast, freshening up in the cottage involved changing into a swimsuit. I had brought Jasper Fforde's 'The Eyre Affair' to read by the pool, but my newly found friendship with our visitor and the pleasure I took in speaking Finnish after such a long time, not to mention the nice bottle of white we consumed, meant that the time sped past and I only read about four pages. Before we knew it it was time for lunch, followed by another game drive. We did manage a dip in the pool, and I am again multiple sunburns richer. Awesome, if potentially skin-cancerous, fun in the sun.   

The evening's drive offered us excitement indeed. After almost crashing into a 6-ton elephant by the name of Half Tusk who did not feel the need to yield to the right, we managed to spot some lions who were after some tasty wildebeest, only to be approached on the other side by a hippo out of water who probably did not understand how close it had gotten to us and quickly fled when our ranger shined the light towards him. Since our guest had a hard time looking away from the ranger's pretty brown eyes, and the hubby was desperately supporting the camera apparatus possibly permanently attached to his face, yours truly was left to shine the light into the bush in search of the hunting lions. Cool as my task was, it should not have been done by the half-blind me, and after the first glimpse of a female running through the grass, and a male (or really only its mane) moving away from us, the lions eluded us. Still, officially I have seen a real live lion. I can tell you that even just the glimpse of the mane, or something moving through the grass at a wild speed really truly demands your respect, as does seeing an elephant 'flex his muscles' in front of a tiny Toyota Yaris whose driver is not backing up quickly enough for him. Points to wild SA.  

The next morning, after the last game drive, and after our guest had contemplated several extreme ideas - from chaining herself to the vanity in her room to quitting her job in Finland on the spot and asking for work at the lodge - we finally left Pilanesberg. I guarantee you, not only our visitor, but all of us are already busy scheming ways of returning, especially to the lodge, and both I and the hubby are all excited about learning what comes out of this crush.

I feel like a sixteen year old again. 

Cocoon life

As I've previously mentioned nothing bad has happened to us here in South Africa. That is, apart from being ripped off by a devious hotel (do not stay at the Protea Waterfront in Centurion, I tell you) where they make you pay for a suite, but put you in an ordinary room and then as a goodwill gesture, because the internet is not working, 'upgrade' you to a better room (this also taught the hubby to read all documents properly...). Some of the staff was nice though, but truly gave us oodles of insight into the various meanings of the phrase we have already come somewhat too used to: 'I'll call you right back madam/sir'. Kind of like the meanings of 'ahorita' (in a little while, meaning anything from 2 seconds to in a couple of years) in Mexico. 

Anyhow, nothing bad has happened was and is  the starting point of my post (I just enjoy random rants). We are hitting the half year mark in a short time, our stuff still isn't here (another day, another rant), but we have been very fortunate and really have never come closer to violence or any such thing than hearing about it from our friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. There was that police operation gone awry near where our friends run  their business, and some people got killed (we think the bad guys), another friends' house has now been burgled quite a few times in the past year, my husband's colleague's sister in law was shot and killed in a carjacking turned nasty, and literally every single person we have met so far has at some point had some sort of unwanted visitor in their house, had their cellphone stolen at gunpoint, or endured an attempt at some sort of check fraud. Unfortunate but true. 

We have listened to all of the stories and the warnings (even Lonely Planet says to talk to the locals about security) and really tried to take from them what we can, so that we could avoid something similar happening to us: we live in a secure neighborhood, lock the car doors while driving, do the infamous 360º at every stop light, keep walking outside to a minimum, don't blindly follow the GPS, and definitely don't flaunt what we have. I mean, I drive a tiny Daihatsu, and regularly look like a hobo. So far, we are good, but we are also beginning to feel like our caution might just be getting the better of us. I wonder if this caution isn't keeping us from properly experiencing South Africa? Are we living the kind of cocoon life, I used to make fun of in Mexico? 

I have been to Soweto, which was truly an awesome experience (also because I was there with someone who actually lives there), and that is more than a lot of the locals round our way can say. I have been to downtown Jo'burg - granted because of the GPS (which seems to be on crack sometimes) and completely by accident - which again is not something people from the security estates normally include in their day. I really hope the inner city facelift succeeds, since it is the kind of environment I would frequent, if it was safer. But, I still can't help feeling I'm missing out on some of the sides of the rainbow nation. 

We have a great bunch of friends, who love showing us the good sides of South Africa and telling us about the not so good, but I am also realizing that this group we love seems awfully pale. I can't help but wonder how our experience would change if we actually made some friends with other kinds of backgrounds. 

Argh, to hell with being politically correct. I think we should make some black friends.

Anyone?

Salon, shmalon.

I've never been one for fancy hair cuts, manicures, pedicures, facials, massages, or any kind of dealies where strangers touching me (sometimes in my no no areas, as with hair removals and such) is involved. In this respect I am an apt poster-girl for my small, but proud Finno-Ugric tribe, representatives of which (at least in the part of the country I come from) really like their personal space. Never try to hug a Finn, unless they initiate the action.

However, perhaps I'm shedding some of my Scandinavian baggage, or I've finally crossed over to the dark side - also called being friendly and affectionate in some parts of the world - where friends exchange bras in the middle of a drunken party (true SA story), kiss each other on the mouth while wishing 'compliments' of the new year (also a true SA story, and yes, I've yet to fully recover from the shock), or comfortably discuss their Kegle-experiences in a unisex setting (a true MX story, and yes, afterwards I had to google Kegle, the prude that I am), since I actually seem to have found a hair salon where I can go without feeling an overwhelming urge to bring the hubby, or a friend to help me through the ordeal. 

I even got highlights. 

In this Gary Rom salon I can actually relax and enjoy the experience. The stylists, and the entire staff in fact, are super cool, never up your butt about the awesome natural tone to your hair,or overly aggressive with their chosen line of products. Instead they are jokey amongst themselves making the client feel included in the jokes, while giving her the breathing room she needs to survive someone wielding a pair of scissors an inch from her eyes, and they are definitely not fake. The people, not the eyes, that is. And as a total bonus, what I before considered an instrument undoubtedly inspired by the Chinese art of water torture - the washing station - in this salon gives you a very nice, yet mechanical, back massage.

I wonder whether, after our time in SA is up, I can justify jet-setting to Jo'burg for my hair appointments? Must start working on the hubby already now, and device an ingenious plan... Muahahahahahah (world domination laugh in case it's not obvious).  

Preparations

Somewhere in the midst of 2008 taking its last breaths, I quietly (but aided by a husband, two great friends, and two bottles of Veuve Clicquot Brut yellow label) turned 30. Practically no one was here in Joburg to celebrate. Now the party is on.

Well, in truth the preparations are on. Since I'm notoriously excellent at procrastinating (this used to only include school work and cleaning, but now seems to have meandered its way into my everyday life as well), I only came up with a 'menu' and a shopping list Saturday morning, a whole whopping week before 40 people in quirky costumes show up at our door, and demand drinks, food, and music. Today, I'm thinking perhaps I should get some decorations as well... Hmm. 

The only aspect of the party I seem to have a firm opinion on is the drinks. No guest should have to drink wine which Platter's gave less than two stars to. Hence the white wine selection will be Fish Hoek Sauvignon Blanc 2008 (3 stars in Platter's) and John B. Sauvignon Blanc-Colombard 2008 (2,5 stars), whereas the reds include Truter's Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon-Merlot 2004 (3,5 stars) and Kleine Zalze Merlot 2007 (untasted, but 05 3,5 stars, 08 2,5 stars). 

Furthermore, naturally we will be serving 2 excellent tequilas, one available in the country, and one clandestinely smuggled into SA all the way from mi querido México. 

The tequila available here in SA is one of Mexico's leading tequilas, Don Julio . DJ is not one of my favorites, but still miles ahead of what generally passes for tequila in the bottle stores (liquor stores) of South Africa, Olmeca (no Mexican I know seems to have heard of it), Cactus jack (I crinkle my nose so hard it almost falls off), or Good ole Spring Break favorite, Jose Cuervo. Of course, these tequilas in their unmatured (or matured for that matter) state are suited for shooters (shots) to be ingested with the 'made famous by American party animals': salt and lime. However, I thoroughly snub this tradition, and dare I say it, find it a tad 'White Trash' (what else is new). 

My favorite tequila on earth, which I now own three whole bottles of thanks to the smuggling hubby, is none other than 1800. This tequila in its añejo (very matured) state rivals the always talked about and praised aged whiskies, and will only be consumed with salt and lime OMDB (over my dead body, and No, I'm not coming as a dead body) at my party. A tiny glass of this precious liquid should be enjoyed with a tiny glass of sangrita, A tomato based juice mix that complements the aftertaste of tequila beautifully, never ever shot down, without savoring the taste. How can I start a petition to bring 1800 to SA, and to stop people from drinking shots of bad tequila? Important issues.

Drinks under control, all the other preparations seem a little less so. The almost-thieving aside, the maid can stay at least until Monday.