Change In Plans

HO, HO, HO!

Greetings from Cape Town.  A few months ago, I wrote a post which tried to capture some of the vocabulary which had emerged from our traveling-family subculture.  Some of those expressions have endured, but many of them faded from use, to be replaced by a new generation of expressions in India, Nepal, and South Africa.  

Here is a sampling:

“Hey yuh, big boy!” - Tallulah started using this when we were around elephants in India and Nepal frequently, and it has now become a private joke for her.  She says it in a quick sing song, with the emphasis on “BOY!”  She has applied it to elephants, tigers, a large bus, her brother, one-horned rhinos, a snake, and now to waves as they break on the beach.

“Fat Sajak” - months ago, Zola heard this expression while watching “King of Queens” on a flight somewhere.  Julie and Doug get an automated transcript of their fights, and he counts the number of times she refers to him as, “fatty, fatso, fat boy, Fat Sajak.”  Having never seen ‘Wheel of Fortune,’ I’m not sure why Zola thought this was so funny and memorable.  It has become his catch-all for anyone who he thinks is overweight or unpleasant, as in, “That mean old man was a real Fat Sajak.”

“Excuse me …” - this is Zola’s preferred way to interrupt conversation and ask a question to any person.  It could be followed by something awkward with a stranger, like “Why do you only have one leg?” or something insightful, like “Why are the Iraqis fighting against the Iraqis?” or “If the son [Aurangzeb] wanted to be emperor, and he killed all of his brothers, why did he lock his Dad in the fort, instead of killing him too?” or something completely obscure, like “How do we know that Major Tom was dead, instead of his circuit just not working?”  Sometimes Zola unleashes a torrent of questions, touching the awkward, insightful, and obscure within the course of a few minutes.  When he prefaces a question with “No offense, but…” we usually brace ourselves for something horrible and hilarious.

“And you, and you, and you, and Happy Hallloween” - a few years ago, we were at Disney World for Halloween, and this was the song that the skeletons in the big parade sang about a thousand times as they danced slowly past us.  The tune is simple in 4/4 time: “C  F -  -, C  F -  -, C F - -, C G/F E/D C, C  F –, etc.”  For some reason, Tallulah and I find ourselves singing this to each other several times every day, particularly when I want her to do something, and she starts with “No you…” and I respond “No you…”

“Namaste” - this is the universal greeting in India and Nepal, so we all said it a hundred times a day.  I think it translates, literally, into “I salute all that is divine in you.”  Nice.

“Hello, ‘Hungry’.  My name is …” - this one is probably borderline child abuse, but I can’t help myself.  Every time one of the kids whines “I’m hungry” or “I’m thirsty” or “I’m tired” they get a firm handshake and an introduction by that name.  This cracks me up, which proves that I am becoming my Dad.  (”Hello, Becoming My Dad, my name is…”)

“Nahi” - this is the Hindi word for “no thank you.”  It was very helpful for us to have this word on the relatively few occasions in India (Khajuraho temples, Jaipur old city, Pushkar camel festival everywhere) that we had a lot of people trying to sell us things or begging.   

“So you’re the living goddess.  What’s up with that?” - on NBC.com we watched the Saturday Night Live Mark Wahlberg parody and the actual Mark Wahlberg guest appearance, and paraphrased this line.  It refers to the Kumari Devi, the prepubescent living goddess in Kathmandu.  Zola mentioned that she could not attend school, because this is what the other kids would say to her.  I love saying this about everything.

“Can I please have some butter naan?” - even without having diarrhea or other stomach upset, Zola lost about 10% of his body weight traveling in India.  It would have been a lot more if he hadn’t discovered that you can order flat bread dripping with butter.  Many nights he would have two baskets of butter naan as his main sustenance for the day.  Our guide, Indrajit, started calling him “BNB,” for butter naan boy.

“You don’t see this every day, do you?  This is very rare, isn’t it?”  - Zola went through a phase when he needed some affirmation that what we were seeing was extraordinary.  The phase started when we were swimming with the crown prince of Jodhpur.  He increased its use while we were in Varanasi, and it peaked while tracking tigers.  I guess things are getting dull for him, because he hasn’t asked very frequently since we left Nepal.

“This is C-R-A-Z-Y, Dad” - Zola would whisper this to me on many days in India and Nepal (particularly in big crowds, near bizarre religious ceremonies, or when things were very polluted).  It is self explanatory, if relatively polite for an eight-year old.

“Was I born yet?” - Since we arrived in South Africa, India and I have been boring both kids with stories of what we did when we lived here.  Tallulah frequently asks this question, which may just be an innocent request for us to shut up or talk about topics which are relevant to her.

As we have slipped into more of a stable, if not entirely normal, day-to-day existence in Cape Town, many of these  second-generation special family expressions are also fading away.  The intensity of the shared India and Nepal experiences seemed to breed the vocabulary.  Now the novelty has worn off, and the need is not so great.  Perhaps we will have a third generation of vocabulary when we leave Cape Town for Namibia in the New Year.

ZOLA AND ALEC

RUNNING TALLULAH

Greetings from Cape Town, early in the morning of the longest day of the year.  Rereading the post about Zola’s birthday, written early yesterday morning, I realized that it is barely coherent.  One reason for the incoherence was that a large bird somehow flew into the house, and spent 45 minutes bashing itself repeatedly against the skylights above my head.  Eventually I was able to shoo him out.  The more abiding reason for the choppy writing is that I am completely distracted, thinking about moving back to South Africa when we finish our trip.

India and I were very happy living here from 1991 to 1993, and again from 1996 to 2000.  In early 2000, for reasons that I can’t really articulate, I became desperately eager to leave Cape Town and move back to New York.  The basic motivation was some vague but deep professional/personal desire to be closer to the vitality of “the center” and to not be languishing on “the periphery.”  There was no real push factor, except some sense I felt that it was “now or never”.  In moving us back to the U.S. in late 2000, I subjected India to a fair amount of professional and personal disruption and anguish.

At any time in the last eight years, India would have returned to South Africa on a single day’s notice.  She loves her family and her U.S. friends, but this is home to her.  During each year’s vacation here, the topic of moving back comes up for more or less serious discussion.  But each year, there was some determinatively strong factor pulling us back to the U.S. - runup to partner election, trying to have a baby, having a new baby, just moved to New Jersey, just moved to a new job, planning to move to San Diego - and at the end of some number of glorious weeks in Cape Town, we packed our bags and flew home.

This year is different.  The appeal of Cape Town is very strong, particularly after traveling for most of the previous six months.  Even acknowledging that we are living a vacation, not a reality, we have all felt remarkably happy, relaxed, and comfortable.  In the midst of this place infatuation, even the practical challenges of living here (e.g., earning money, finding a house, putting kids in schools, getting immigration documents, ensuring safety) seem easily surmountable.

The draw back to the U.S. is also weaker than it has been in previous years.  I have some professional opportunities in the U.S. under discussion, but no definite job to return to.  By the way, the U.S. economy seems a little rocky at present.  We are legally resident in Tennessee, but haven’t bought a house, or committed to a school.  Our friends and our families are important to us, but a few months ago we had been committed to moving to San Diego.  Practically speaking, South Africa isn’t that much further away: we would get back to our families and to our Catskills cabin just as frequently.  

So what is holding us back?  Again, assuming that the practical challenges can be overcome, the main issue is me.  At the core of it, I wonder if am I ready to sacrifice my abstract desire to be close to the center in order for my family to live what would likely be a happier life?  

It is a big decision, and is obviously more complicated than I am making it sound.  That said, the idea has infected my brain like a virus.  I can’t sleep, it is hard to concentrate on reading, and (obviously) I can’t write coherently.  I need to find a way to put the topic on the mental back burner for the next two weeks, and to re-evaluate with some distance and perspective.  Maybe then it will seem like a ridiculous idea.  Maybe not.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Greetings from Cape Town.  This short post is about celebrating our son’s ninth birthday in style.

On Friday morning, we drove up to Tulbagh, which is a small village north and east of Cape Town.  Incidentally, the drive to Tulbagh is almost exactly the same distance as the drive from Agra to Delhi (150 km), but it took an hour and half, instead of six hours.

Our friends, Paul and Lucille, have a wine farm on the western slopes of the Tulbagh Valley.  The farm is only 200 meters or so above the valley floor, but has spectacular, 20-kilometer views across to the low mountain range on the other side.  It is an amazingly beautiful and peaceful place.  They have owned the farm for nine years, and I think we have gone up to spend the night in all but one or two of those years.

The mid-summer weather, as always, was sunny and very hot.  We spent most of Friday afternoon playing in the pool, which looks out over the long views.  The pool water was slightly warmer than body temperature, so kids could literally stay in for hours. 

Being Irish, Paul likes the game of hurling, and has a bunch of hurleys at his house.  Hurleys are the crude, war-club looking sticks used to play this ancient Gaelic game.  Paul and I spent a couple of hours playing the hurling equivalent of catch, which meant standing 40-50 meters apart and whacking the hard, fist-sized hurling ball back and forth to each other.  

In the late afternoon, Per and Nada, other old friends Cape Town, arrived with their boys.  Between the three families, the posse of kids had grown to six: Tallulah and Sienna who both just turned four, Luca who is six, Zola and Alec who are both nine, and Ashlyn who is twelve.  Zola loves Alec, and immediately started with “Dude, let’s go swimming.” and “Dude, did you bring your DS?”  

Due to some wonderful and unexplained social dynamic (Ashlyn’s calm presence setting the tone), the kids all played happily together with minimal adult supervision.  This left the adults alone to build big big fires, cook, and drink wine.

Per and Nada had brought a small restaurant’s worth of exotic meats: smoked kudu, dried biltong, enormous beefsteaks, boerewors sausage.  We added a small chicken, and had a proper South African braai, cooking it all over an open fire.  Zola got to open a few presents, even though it was still the day before his birthday: a long-coveted Swiss Army knife with seventeen attachments, some other camping/survival tools, and a few books.   

After dinner, we sat around the fire until late in the evening, swapping stories of travel and work, talking about living in South Africa, and generally catching up.  Paul went off for an hour to entertain the littler kids with an elaborate story of fairies and princesses and naughty children living in a forest.  Much later, when kids and wives had all gone to sleep, the conversation had moved on to topics like free will and fate and aspirations and mortality. Paul, Per and I opened a bottle of Vin de Constance.  This is the same sweet dessert wine, from the same Cape Town vineyard, that Napoleon drank during his great campaigns, and (reputedly) that he requested on his deathbed.  It was a noble end to a fun evening.

The next morning was Zola’s birthday, and he was up early to start celebrating.  Before breakfast, all of the kids were in the pool, playing a game which involved hitting each other with foam balls and racing from wall to wall.  At Zola’s request, I cooked bacon and dozens of pancakes, which the kids ate with Nutella and with jam and whipped cream.  As the adults lingered at the table, or out in the sunshine, the kids went back in the pool.  The conversations of the night before picked up again.  Zola opened a few more presents.  At some point, a loose baby tooth that he had been wiggling for the last few weeks fell out, and he presented it proudly to us all.

India made a Nutella-frosted chocolate cake, and the little girls helped to decorate it with sprinkles, and candy and chocolate chips.  We all sang, and Zola blew out the candles.  After devouring the cake, the kids all leapt back into the pool, to continue the never-ending foam ball and lap-swimming game.  Paul and I went back out to the garden and to the hurleys.  

THE 2008 TULBAGH HURLING TEAM

Eventually, Per and Nada and their kids drove back to the city.  Paul and India spent some time taking photos of the little girls together, trying to replicate a picture they had taken two years earlier.  When we finally packed up and left, Tallulah fell asleep before we had driven out of the long driveway.

Back at our rented house in Llandudno, Zola opened up the rest of his presents.  India got him two elaborate Star Wars Lego sets, which may provide countless hours of quality Dad and son time.  He also got some more books, and some cool surfer clothes.  I ran down to the beach for a quick swim in the freezing water.

At Zola’s request, we went out for pizza in Hout Bay, a few miles away.  We sat out on the deck, watching the clouds chase in over the low mountains.  When dessert came, the waiters sang an elaborate cadence-style birthday song, leading into the more traditional “Happy Birthday to You.”  Tallulah explained that because he was getting a second birthday cake, he was no longer nine, and had advanced to ten.  At least she is consistent in applying the algorithm which advanced her own age to seven.

After so much sun, and swimming, and playing and cake, both kids are completely exhausted.  Tomorrow is the longest day of the year, so we hope to be surfing and boogie boarding and enjoying the sun.  I think Zola had a very happy birthday.

ZOLA READING ON LLANDUDNO BEACH

Greetings from Cape Town.  This short post describes what we have been doing over the last several days. We have moved into a beach house in Llandudno where we will be staying for nearly four weeks.   As we hoped, our family is falling into an idyllic daily rhythm which is familiar from our previous December holidays.  

The specifics vary a little from day to day, but basically here is what the daily routine looks like:

• Everyone awake at about 7:30 am.  The sun comes up at about 5 this time of year, but only spills down over the mountain and into this house at about 7.
• India goes out for a run a little after 8, and the kids and I eat breakfast and play.  Zola does home schooling for about 90 minutes (including daily on-line math sessions through Stanford, which have been a huge boost to the home schooling program).  
• Kids and I pile into the car, and pick up India along the coast road between 10:00-10:30.  She is a running maniac when we are in Cape Town, averaging 15-25 kilometers a day on the road.
• About 50% of the time, we drive down to Muizenberg and go surfing in the warm water and gentle waves there.  Usually, Zola takes a lesson, I rent a long board and surf on my own, and Tallulah and India play on the beach.  This week, India mixed it up by buying a wetsuit and getting out in the waves with Casper, the handsome surf instructor.

MAMA-SAN SHREDDING IN MUIZENBERG

• If we don’t go surfing, we usually run errands instead.  We have done all of our Christmas and grocery shopping over the last few days at the huge V&A Waterfront mall.  I like when Tallulah calls it “the waterfight.”  I generally hate shopping and hate malls, but from some reason the Waterfront is a carve out, and we all seem to like going there.
• In the late afternoons we have been hanging around at our house, going down to the beach, and/or going on a walk together.  One of our family favorites is the path down to Sandy Bay.  This is traditionally a nude beach, but we have been able to shield Zola and Tallulah from any psyche-scarring visual images (though Zola has high hopes)

DON'T LOOK NOW, ETHEL!

• Most evenings we have been meeting friends for early, kid-friendly dinners.  Last night we had a Cape Town classic, outdoors at a beachfront restaurant in Camps Bay.  When we all met at 6:15, the glare from the sun was blinding, and half of the party went off to buy baseball hats.  When the sun set at 7:45, the temperature dropped and the wind really picked up.  Suddenly our table cloth was getting blown off, and all of the drinks were knocked over.  From sunburn risk to survival situation in 30 minutes.  It was a great dinner, but we had to retreat before dessert.
• Both kids have been pretty much staying awake for dinner, but definitely falling asleep in the car on the way home.  We are all usually asleep before 11.  Party, party.

This simple rhythm will change once we get into Christmas and Boxing Day, and once my sister and her family arrive.  With our eagerly anticipated guests, we will go and see all of the beloved sights: penguins at Boulders Beach, climbing Table Mountain and Lion’s Head, the Aquarium, Cape Point.  

In the meantime, it is great to feel temporarily settled on familiar ground, and for the kids to have some sense of daily routine.  In the midst of a trip which is basically a super long, work-free vacation, this is the first time in a while that we have felt like we are on vacation.  Cape Town is just an awesome place.

TALLULAH AND STYLING NEW HAT IN CAPE TOWN

Greetings from Cape Town!  This short post is about feeling lucky: lucky that we changed our original plan for the second half of 2008, lucky that we have had the opportunity to take this amazing trip while so many people are struggling, and lucky that we have all been safe and healthy in our travels to date.

 Way back on June 7th, when I wrote my first-ever blog post, I started with a list of blessings that I was grateful for.  Six months later, I am even more grateful.

Many times, particularly on days when the stock market haS tanked, friends have written or said, “You really picked the right year to be taking this trip.”  I appreciate the sentiment, but I have to say that the year picked me, rather than the other way around.  

Up until late May, our plan was: move from New Jersey to San Diego in June, continue working hard in my job as President of a medical-devices company, hope for the best.  Until the evening that my boss and I had the conversation that led me to resign, I was totally committed to that plan.  We had sold our New Jersey house, gotten our kids into a great private school in La Jolla, and were a day from being contractually committed to buying a house in San Diego itself.  We had even mapped out the daily travel plan for our drive out to California.

During our trip, I have reflected countless times on where we would be if our plans hadn’t changed.  

• We would be carrying a colossal mortgage on a house which was worth 10-20% less than what we paid. (We managed to get our down payment back in late June, and the house eventually sold in late July for 15% less than our agreed price.  It has almost certainly gotten worse since then.)  
• We would be frantic about money: all of our savings would have been in the (evaporated) equity of a house we stretched to afford, and I would not have been receiving the bonuses I needed to cover the mortgage.  I seem to behave erratically when I feel financial pressure, so who knows how badly I would be acting.  
• We would have unresolved marital and parenting issues, mostly related to me working so hard and traveling so much, compounded by financial pressures.
• Although San Diego seems like a wonderful place to live, we would be newcomers in a city far from our friends and family.

When I think about this, I thank God (or gods plural, when we were in India and Nepal) that things have worked out the way they have.  Basically this was dumb good luck.

We have also felt very lucky to be financially insulated and far away from New York during the financial crisis.  Watching it all from a distance, and sympathizing with friends and family members who have been directly affected, has been gutwrenching.  Seeing friends in the Catskills and in Manhattan when we were in the U.S. in October made it all more real.  No one seems to be having fun at work, and no one seems to be making money.  

To be honest, I have felt occasional flashes of “Stockholm Syndrome” guilt, for not being in the thick of it, suffering alongside my friends and peers.  The few times I have mentioned this emotion, though, the immediate response from each listener has been: “Don’t be ridiculous.  How could that possibly help anyone or make anyone else feel better.”  Fair point, I guess.  

As India (the person) described it: “We are in a bubble.  It is a bubble we can see out of, and we can see the effects in the U.S. and in the countries we are visiting.  But it is a bubble.”  We know that some time in early 2009, the bubble will be popped, and we will go back to the daily realities of our lives.  In the meanwhile, we feel lucky in our bubble.

Finally, we feel lucky that we have not had any health or safety problems during the trip (knock wood).  I am still surprised that none of us got food poisoning during our seven weeks in India and Nepal.  Despite having to struggle mightily (and with only limited success) to get Tallulah to take her malaria medicine, we appear to have escaped malaria as well.

More dramatically, in August we flew out of Madrid airport only a few hours before a jet crashed on the runway there.  We missed being at the Taj Mahal Hotel in Mumbai during the attacks by about 36 hours. Without a change in plans that sent us to Kerala for three days, we would have been there as well.  We have shuddered to think how our lives would be different if we had been in Mumbai, left the kids with a babysitter, and gone downstairs for dinner.  

BIG BIRD-SIZED HOLE IN THE WING

Finally, we feel extremely lucky that our ancient Yeti Air Twin Otter airplane did not crash when we hit a bird and ripped a big hole in the wing.  In October, an identical Yeti Air plane crashed near Mt. Everest, killing all 16 foreign tourists aboard.  We are glad that we have never shared that bit of Yet Air aviation history with our nervous son.

So, I hope I haven’t jinxed us by talking about how lucky we feel.  The small challenges and stresses we have dealt with while traveling are nothing, compared to how bad it could be. The joy and learning and family time are all a bonus.

This has been an extraordinary six months, and an extraordinary gift we have been given.  We are all looking forward to the rest of the trip.

FEELING LUCKY IN OUR BUBBLE

SUNSET IN SEA POINT, CAPE TOWN

Greetings from Cape Town!  We have been here for two days.  The “why did you make us leave in 2000?” question is coming at me from all members of my family.  Even Tallulah, who wasn’t born when we moved back to the U.S., is grilling me.  This short post is about our two full days here, which have been great. The mighty wind has subsided, and the clear skies and warm sun make it easy to have fun outside.

Yesterday morning, India went for a long run, and then I went for a considerably shorter one.  Both of us ran along the coastal road that connects the Atlantic Ocean beach towns (Camps Bay, Clifton, Bantry Bay, Sea Point).  There is a lot of new construction, and there appear to be many more recent arrivals from other Southern African countries (more on this later), but aside from that, everything looks pretty much the same.

After a surprisingly productive home-schooling session, we all went down to the beach.  Zola ran to try out a new “boy in the bubble” ride/event/attraction.  We had read about this new innovation in beach entertainment in an in-flight magazine.  Basically, Zola climbed into a huge transparent beach ball, which was zipped shut from the outside.  A Chinese attendant connected one end of a large air hose to an electric pump, and inserted the other end into the ball.  30 seconds later, the ball was fully inflated and sealed, and Zola could run inside it like a giant hamster on a wheel.

Zola rolled himself and the ball down to the waterline, and had a grand time riding waves as they broke onto the beach.  The ball was buoyant enough to float on the surface of the water, and Zola could stand or sit or lie down as the surf pushed the ball around.  Another attendant held a tether, so that Zola couldn’t get washed out to sea.  I stood, a little nervously, in the water next to the ball, in case the attendant dropped the rope.  It was great to see Zola in the ball, laughing and shouting and stomping around on top of the waves.

It’s a shame we don’t have a picture.  Unfortunately, after about 15 minutes, a policeman showed up on the beach, and made the attendant reel Zola in.  Sorry kid, ride’s over.  We turned, and there were seven or eight “takkie patrol” officers on the beach, confiscating the other giant beach balls, the air pump, and the generator.

A quick explanatory aside.  ”Takkies” are the Afrikaans word for sneakers or athletic shoes.  The “takkie patrol” is the police officers who have been assigned to patrol the beach (wearing takkies instead of boots).  In the bad old days of apartheid, their main job was keeping blacks off of the “whites only” beaches.  Since the democratic elections in 1994, their main job has been enforcing the laws against topless bathing, and ensuring that beach vendors are licensed.

The leader of the takkie patrol told us that these Chinese did not have a license, and that the giant wave-riding beach balls were “veddy dengerous.”  The officers wrote up a bunch of citations and asset-seizure receipts, and took all of the equipment away.  After a brief moral dilemma, and amidst all of the other activity, I quietly went over to the Chinese and paid them the 50 Rand for Zola’s beach-ball ride.  I think that was the right thing to do.  It was too bad that I didn’t get a chance in the beach ball, but it seems encouraging, I guess, that the laws are being enforced.

We stayed on the beach for a few hours, mostly sitting in the sand, but Lu and I played in the waves for a while. The Atlantic Ocean seawater is definitely brisk, to say the least.

India and Zola bought a beach cricket set, so he and I went to the playground across the street from our little house, and we played for a while in the late afternoon.  Tallulah found a little girlfriend, and the two of them swung on the swings, climbed the wooden jungle gym, and slid down the slides while Zola whacked my slow-motion cricket bowling.

LU-PROPELLED MERRY-GO-ROUND

After a late lunch, and a trip to the giant waterfront shopping area (another “welcome to Cape Town” ritual for our family), we found a great new playground in Sea Point.  Both kids were thrilled to climb on the big wooden structures, to swing, and to ride the self-propelled merry go round.  There were no playgrounds in India or Nepal, and I think both kids had sort of forgotten how much fun they are.

By 8 pm, and without dinner, everyone had fallen asleep.  The combination of jet lag, sunburn, and lots of running around did us all in.

 This morning we met up with our dear friend, Arnold, as he was having a rub-down in the Sports Massage tent on Camps Bay beach.  He had been playing touch rugby since early in the morning.  When India got back from her run, Arnold treated her to a massage from the same therapist.  Despite her Puritan dislike of spa treatments, India seemed to think this was pretty OK.

The highlight of the day was surfing down at Muizenberg, on the Indian Ocean.  We rushed down for Zola to be almost on time for a lesson at noon.  We have been renting boards and taking lessons from the Surf Shack on Surfers’ Corner for a few years.  The instructors there were so friendly and welcoming to Zola (”Welcome back, bru!  Howzit, bru?” “Where have you been, bru?”) that it made his feel at home.  

ZOLA SHREDDING

As we drove to Muizenberg, everyone in the family got to hear, for the hundredth time, about when I was a graduate student, and I used to put on my wetsuit at our apartment in Rondebosch, ride the train with my surfboard for about 15 kilometers down to Surfers’ Corner, and walk directly from the train into the surf.  Even Tallulah is bored with my stories now.

For novices like Zola and me, the surfing today was spectacular: long, slow breaks about 150 meters from the beach.  It was one of the very best days I have had at Muizenberg.  A few times I actually thought to myself, “I can surf!” but these delusions were quickly erased by missed waves, clumsy falls, and a few spectacular wipeouts.

Finally, we spent the leisurely late afternoon and evening with our friends, Paul and Lucille.  They have just moved into a lovingly renovated house above Sea Point, with great views of the Atlantic Ocean and Lion’s Head mountain.  One of the things we missed most being back in the U.S. was South African-style socializing: a glass of wine merges into sunset drinks merges into dinner merges into a long conversation. Or maybe we were the hellguests who wouldn’t go home.  

In the meantime, the kids played happily together.  Their daughter, Sienna, is only a few days older than Tallulah, so they could play dress-up, watch “Charlie and Lola,” and jump on the trampoline.  

TRAMPOLINE PRINCESSES

When we got a tour of the house, Zola was particularly excited about Paul’s basement workshop.  Later on, the two of them disappeared back down there, and Paul let Zola cut up some pieces of wood with a big table saw. Zola was thrilled beyond words, and managed to not sever any extremities.

PAUL AND ZOLA CUTTING WOOD

India and Nepal were exciting, thought-provoking, and challenging.  So far, Cape Town has only been about having fun (and doing laundry).  The wind is supposed to blow from the northwest tomorrow, which means that the Indian Ocean surfing will be even better.  We are all sunburned and tired, but feeling very happy to be here.

Greetings from Cape Town, South Africa.  It took us nearly 36 hours, from the time we left Dwarika’s Hotel in Kathmandu (for the first, aborted, departure) yesterday morning, but we are delighted to be here.  This short post is about the back end of our air trip, from Abu Dhabi to Cape Town, and the small “welcome to South Africa” rituals that we all seem to be performing now that we are here.

We were all very excited when we landed in Johannesburg.  The newly renovated O.R. Tambo airport seemed like a model of space-age efficiency after the dilapidated chaos of Kathmandu.  For example, the immigration and customs processes are completely paperless, driven by computers and optical scanners.  Much faster even than the U.S. and E.U. entry points.

We figured out that this was the fifth time that Tallulah has traveled to South Africa, and the eleventh trip for Zola.  For India and me it must be at least 25 trips over the last 17 years.  South Africa feels as much like home as anywhere, I think.  

Each year, when we arrive in Johannesburg, on our way to Cape Town, we have about an hour to wait around after rechecking luggage, going through security, etc.  Without doing so consciously, each of us has developed consistent little rituals to fill this time.  As is normal, this morning:

• Both kids went and bought ice cream cones and gummy bears at the Cosmic Candy shop.  This was slightly more special than usual, because we had been too nervous about hygiene in India and Nepal to let them buy ice cream from sidewalk vendors for the last six weeks.  
• India went to the Exclusive Books store, bought a pile of South African newspapers and magazines, and figured out which new books she would buy later in the week.  She also got a South African Coke Light, which she believes tastes better than the ones anywhere else.
• I went to the TotalSports shop to look at, but not buy, cricket shirts.  Then I went to Cosmic Candy to buy barbecued biltong (dried beef) and South African soda.

  When we arrived in Cape Town a few hours later, India had her much more important welcome ritual, which is going to a gourmet food shop on Kloof Street called Melissa’s.   Without fail, she and Tallulah always buy butternut lasagna, sugar cookies, sea salt, and a few random things, while Zola and I wait in the car.  If Melissa’s ever closed or moved, I’m not exactly sure what we would do.

Since Tuesday, Cape Town has been experiencing what is called a “black southeaster.”  Although this is a country where many, many names have racial overtones, this one does not.  It refers to a howling wind that lasts for several days.  When we lived here, after every southeaster I would go collect shingles from our lawn and climb up and replace them on the roof.  Right now it is blowing a consistent 50 kilometers per hour, and gusting to 60 or 70.  The high-velocity sandblasting made it difficult to enjoy our first trip to the  beach; we only lasted about 15 minutes on Camps Bay, before Lu led the retreat to the grass.  India went for an afternoon run (another ritual) and at times found herself blown to a standstill.  The wind should die down in a day or two, and in the meantime it keeps the mosquitoes (far) away.

We had a small change in plans when we arrived in Cape Town, but it seems to have worked out well. We have rented a house in Llandudno for the next few weeks, but we can’t move in until Sunday.  We had made reservations at The Bay, which is a beautiful hotel on the beach in Camps Bay.  When we arrived, however, we were told politely (but firmly) that The Bay has a strict “no kids under 12″ policy.

The hotel staff helped us find and rent a small cottage elsewhere in Camps Bay for the next few days.  Ironically, it costs a lot less than staying at the hotel anyway.  We walked to the local Pick ‘n Pay grocery store (the same one we went to for years), stocked up on supplies, and have made ourselves at home.  Both kids got very excited about putting clothes into drawers, cleaning the pool, putting away groceries.  Normal stuff if you live in a house.

Right now we are joyfully doing laundry for the first time in six weeks.  We prepared a simple dinner, including Melissa’s butternut lasagna, and we ate sitting in the kitchen.  Everyone is so happy to have some semblance of a normal home life, with no one picking us up for sightseeing in the morning.  For the first time in a long while, we feel like we have complete control over what we are doing, and when.

It was wonderful, and indispensable, to have guides in India and Nepal.  We were fortunate to have great ones.  Now on our home turf, it feels wonderfully normal to be in a house, on our own.  We are very happy to be here, and can’t wait to see friends and do all of the stuff that we love in Cape Town.