Party Shmarty

Alright, so with the boring but ever so mandatory update on school (aka: “the reason why I’m here”) out of the way, let’s get down with the real scene. Since school hasn’t gotten too serious, everyone still hits the bars almost every night, but Thursday was a real good time, especially. Shyia Alam, an awesome girl I went to high school with, is on vacation here with her family, so she came over and met some of the crew and then we were whisked away to Zula on Long Street for some serious tunes. Our friend/orientation leader/heartthrob Asher is the drummer in a band with his sister and two really talented dudes. So although the night started off with some bands that I wasn’t too into, once Asher’s sister came on stage, the whole night started lookin’ up. This chick was so bad ass - rockin dreads and Etnie’s and a ukulele, she did the first few songs by herself in a Kimya Dawson meets Lauren Hill style and then Asher and the crew joined her to fill out the sound and create a really nice blend of reggae and folk. Not only was her voice real and simple and clear (which I really cherish in a world where people try so hard to sound funky and effected) but her lyrics were powerful and interesting in a Rilo Kiley way that makes you think and smile and bop your head all at the same time. After them, a band took the stage that reminded me a lot of the Black Keys. They were really great and everyone just got down so hard their entire set. They had a saxophonist that I would have married, too, so that didn’t hurt.

And Saturday was the Fucking Stellenbosch Wine Festival (please note that this is a Step Brothers reference and not just a tasteless use of profanity). I took the train out there with a huge slew of people and, we ended up on the same train as the group of kids who went with our on-campus travel agency. It was an hour on the train but the time flew by while shootin’ the shit with such an entertaining group of hooligans. As soon as we got there, we had to get situated, find our hostel and eat. This wasn’t a pleasant time for us, so let’s skip that shit and fast forward to the fun.

First of all Stellenbosch is a small town just northeast of Cape Town and it’s known for its breathtaking views and wineries that are quickly being added to the greats of the world. It is home to Stellenbosch University and thousands of people that are just as gorgeous as the scenery. The closer we got to the venue, the more potent the vibe got, the more tangible the excitement. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. The first thing you see is the hoards of people. Young, attractive people. All of them. We thought to ourselves, since when does “Wine Festival” mean classy frat party? Imagine gauzy white tents on bright green, manicured lawns with spidery, Winter worn trees everywhere and a crisp blue sky and rolling hillsides as a backdrop. Amazing. Where were the upturned noses and receding hair lines and St. John’s knits? There were literally a few thousand Ralph Lauren models just chillin. But, I digress. We all split up into smaller pods and wandered around the booths, talking to the vendors about notes and undertones and food pairings and I actually learned a lot about wine while getting pretty drunk in the process. Win win. We met A TON of people that I hope to keep in contact with, as they seem like they know what’s up in the Western Cape and in the end, we collected a bunch of people’s vouchers (that we got upon arrival) and combined them to buy the best champagne I’ve ever had in my life. Lieke and I were the only two left, so we strolled down the street, sipping fine champagne and giggling about the cute boys we had met that day. Heaven.

We wandered around until we met up with a bunch of other internationals only to leave the crew an hour or so later and venture out into the night. Lieke and I met up with some locals that we had met right before leaving the festival. We hung out at this little hole in the wall bar and split some big pitcher of some fruity slushy thing until our political discussion got a little too intense and we decided to go to a club called Terrace and dance instead.

Utter madness. Terrace was just a mess of limbs and drinks and the dirtiest dubstep I’ve ever heard. Everyone was going berserk and getting so sick with it and I ended up with this kid Alex and his friends that we actually met while walking to the festival. We went off on an adventure through Stellenbosch and let’s just say, you can tell how crazy your night is by how dirty your feet are the next day. Don’t worry, Mom.

Internet still sucks, but hopefully I can get some pictures up here soon.

Live vividly,

KG

School Shmool

With my first week of classes under my belt, a certain heaviness has been lifted from my shoulders. All of the uncertainty, all of the calamity, all of the chaos that has been registering with UCT has all come together to create a schedule that I’m on board with full of classes that seem like they’re going to be sick. Without boring you with the details, here’s a brief overview of what I’m lookin at in terms of classes:

-Africa in the 20th Century, a really interesting look at events that lead up to apartheid and then furthermore, how the country developed afterwards. I think this will be an important thing to know about here to understand the post-apartheid culture better and kind of figure out why some things are the way they are in Cape Town
-Growing up in Africa, a class that I just signed up for on Friday so I haven’t been to it yet, but from the class description it seems like it’s going to be about how African languages shape the childhoods here and how they grow up. It specifically said it would investigate the process that people go through to name their kids and how those names have such a huge impact on their lives which is something I’ve found really interesting ever since I watched Freakonomics, so I can’t wait for that.
-Africa: Culture, Identity and Globalization... honestly, I’m not too sure what this class is all about yet. It’s fulfilling my cultures requirement and Jake told me to sign up for it with him, but other than that, all I know is that our professor is a super dope photographer/curator and is teaching us through photos and gallery exhibits. Down.
-Finally, this stupid research class called Information Society: Tools and Skills... so elementary. They are teaching us how to access research information, decipher what information is relevant to us and then how to utilize it properly... yeah, because I got to college not knowing how to do that. I thought it was going to be so different and I feel really stupid in this class, but I need the credits and it should be easy.

So, that’s what’s up. UCT doesn’t let international students take any media production courses (which is what I really need to be taking at this point in my life) and therefore kind of screwed a few of us over by not telling anyone that before we came here. On top of that, the administration was all rude, disrespectful and condescending in helping me figure everything out. There was one really awesome lady named Gale that just hooks everyone up with a smile on her face and a sweet little accent on her lips. She rules, but other than that, dealing with UCT left me craving the administration at USF. We have no idea how lucky we are there. At USF, they trust your judgement, hold your hand when you need it and have been known to pull a few strings or sign off on a prerequisite when they know you’re a good kid.I’ve never felt like more of a number in my life than I did when speaking to staff here. So all you Dons, go give your councilors (and professors and clerks and department heads and whoever the hell else helps you out) some props as soon as you get to campus next month because they really are killer folks.

But with that being said, it’s all taken care of and the rest of the semester should be smooth sailing. I joined some clubs and a volunteer program so I’m stoked to get into the swing of things and meet some similar minded peeps.

Live gladly,
KG

Waking up

The other day, I was laying on a patch of grass at Muizenberg beach with the sun and breeze both lapping at my bare legs, staring into the deepest and most infinite blue sky I had ever seen. I spent a minute or so concentrating on each sense. I wanted to soak up the moment to remember for the rest of my life. The taste of the previous night was still in the back of my mouth; it had been a mess of dancing on Long Street with a ton of kids from our program crammed into a bar called Jo’burg that strictly drops ‘90‘s hip hop classics. The aroma of churros or something like them was swirling in the air, mixed with scent of the water a few feet away; the perfect combination of sugar and salt that reminded me of long days on Balboa Island wading by the sail boats and eating frozen bananas. I felt the sun warm my skin as the light breeze stripped the warmth away every few minutes, reminding me that it was still technically Winter, even though it seemed the farthest thing from it. I saw big black aunties with little babies at their side, splashing in the ankle high waves, screaming as the chilly water poked their toes, retreating at the sign of anything more extreme. I saw clouds race by and morph from shape to shape to shape until they disappeared behind rows of brightly painted surf shacks. I heard the sounds of a construction site near by, men working on a city that is so eager to show the world what it has to offer. But beyond senses, beyond tangible feelings and physicality, I felt an immense tranquility. Here I was, laying on a beach on a beautiful day in South Africa with some really sick guys I had gotten to be friends with: Julian, the hilarious Australian who is wild and out all the time; Ramon, the Swiss boy who is too suave for his own good and already known for making extremely inappropriate but solid jokes; and Jake, the good ole All American boy from Boston who can sing for days and is as sweet as can be. Bliss doesn’t even begin to describe the day.
But as most things in this city, my week consisted of extremes, high and low. For as beautiful as my day in Muizenberg was, the day before was heartbreaking. Since it was still orientation week, we were being shown all that the school has to offer us. That includes it’s volunteer programs which I’m almost positive that almost every international student is participating in because the need for aid here is at least part of why everyone came. One of the programs is called SHAWCO and it took a gaggle of gawking students through two different townships to see where we would be working. I thought it was going to be really cool to see these places in person after seeing them on TV and in the news for so long but it turned out to be really difficult. I knew it would be hard, but I had no idea. First we stopped by an elementary school that some of the team would be working with and you would have thought we were movie stars or something. They all ran out of their classrooms and watched us walk in, their eyes huge in anticipation and pure fascination. A little girl reached out and grabbed my hand. Our eyes met, and it hit me. The reality of it all. They were real people, not just gimmicks used to get you to send in 30 cents a week. But after the cheers and questions and claims that I was Hannah Montana and a boy next to me was Justin Beiber (to be fair, he had the locks), we left for another township and this is when I went from feeling like a hero to a complete villain.
Imagine making a shed out of any flat, hard surface you could find. Tin sheets, shingles, plywood, and in an extreme case, posters and old billboards. Now imagine that shed multiplied by hundreds. Fluorescent shades of yellows, reds and turquoises tried to disguise that this shantytown was placed on muddy roads sprinkled with garbage and bones of animals that just couldn’t survive. And fuck, we were driving through this place in air conditioned, luxury chartered busses. We were touring their town in droves, some taking pictures, some looking down in shame. Touring to see how poor they were, how diminutive and desperate their lives. Personally, my eyes couldn’t meet theirs. I felt the guilt of American citizenship. American waste. American ignorance. American consumerism. Capitalism. Selfishness. It was heavy. And I want to ask all of you who are reading this right now, why don’t you do more? Why don’t you help? I’m not trying to be self-righteous and I’m not sitting high on any horses, because those of you who know me know that I didn’t give two shits before I came here. But now that I’m here, I can’t help but care. My heart breaks every time a helpless child or emaciated woman or toothless man asks for my change as I just spent 10 US dollars (70 ZA rand) on lunch. It’s not like the homeless people in San Francisco. You can tell how badly these people need the meal that your 10 cents can provide and they plead, they follow you, they really truly beg. And yet, we’re instructed not to support them because if we do, they will harass us for more. Can we blame them? If I was in there position, I would.
So, why don’t you help? You kids in San Francisco that spend your Daddy’s money on clubs and ecstasy and trendy clothes. You kids in Orange County that throw down for a keg every weekend and fill your gas tanks up every other day. All of you that can help and just don’t. Why? Do you feel like it’s a gimmick? Do you feel like your money should be yours for the keeping? Well, fuck you then. Come here and cry as you walk down the streets hearing women scream at you to tour some other township. To stop invading and pitying her home. Come here and see people who own practically nothing smile at you because you’re American and you’re living their dream. A dream that they can never fulfill because we don’t give a shit about their poverty. Because their government has been corrupt and poor for ages. Because they have no means. We don’t care because it’s a world away, right? Out of sight, out of mind. Well, guess what? I’m in this world. It’s in my sight. And our lifestyle disgusts me. Be a global citizen. Give a shit. If you want to help out with any of the causes UCT works with, contact me and I will let you know how to help.
Sorry about the rant, but heart break is infuriating.
Anyway, the rest of orientation week was an absolute dream. Sorry Mom, but I don’t think I’ve partied this hard in my entire life. I’ve been all over the city, met warm, hospitable locals and realized that chivalry lives on in other parts of the world. American men need to wake up before we all go global. Honestly, the past few days have been a blur of gorgeous men, beer and dancing all night. Every night. Insanity. But the braai (remember, that’s a bbq) we attended yesterday in a township on the outskirts of town was something I will never forget. A short minibus trip away (yes, I have ended up actually using the minibuses that scared me at first. It’s less than a dollar to most places you want to go and as long as it’s daytime, you’re chillin) lies Mzoli’s. It’s an amazing butcher shop that hosts a huge braai every Sunday. MEAT FOR DAYS. All of you American carnivores back at home - but this place on your bucket list. People show up starting at around 11 am. We got there at 12 and it was already pretty packed. You go into the shop, pick out what meat your group wants and they put it on the braai for you. After a few hours (it’s insanely hectic and busy but the time flies because everyone’s drinking the ridiculously cheap and delicious beer, mingling and dancing to some sick Afrobeats played by a DJ on the dance floor... mist machines included), you pick up your meat that’s been placed in a huge bucket. Along with some delicious “fat bread” and some starchy potato dish, you get down to business native style with only your hands. I shared a bucket with Jake, Julian, Ramon and our friend Ernst from Amsterdam and before we knew it, sauce was flying. We all sauced each others faces and I definitely got slapped in the face with a few steaks. Senta (from Long Beach/Santa Cruz) and Lieke (also from Amsterdam) couldn’t escape the calamity and soon we were all dying of laughter with meat sauce and beer everywhere. After another few hours of dancing and chowin down, our local friends Keith, Karlo and Colin gave us a ride back to Jake’s where we zonked out right away. Needless to say, it was an unforgettable day.
Alas, I am here to STUDY (see Mom, I haven’t forgotten), and today was the first day of classes. My schedule is pretty relaxed, I’m only taking three classes this semester and the one I had today was full of my friends and an orientation leader that we like, Asher (swoon). I have heard the classes are really difficult so I’m glad I’m only taking twelve credits because I’m going to try to get a job at this restaurant called Trench Town. I met the manager at a bar and apparently they hire internationals under the table all the time, so that would be cool to get some extra skrilla for adventures. Now, after a full week or so of partying, it's time to wake up and get back to real life. At least it's still real life in Cape Town. My internet is acting up, but pictures are coming soon.

Live Wholly,

KG

How to Give Up On Not Being A Tourist

1. Take pictures of the super tasty food before you scarf.

First legal beer! And an amazing goat cheese sandwich in the London airport.

2. Take pictures of boats.

Calk Bay!

3. Ask people to take pictures of you by yourself.

Chillin with the Twelve Apostles

4. Take a ton of landscape pictures, especially of beaches.

All the beaches are blurring together and I can't remember their names, but this one was a gem.

5. Invade a native animals habitat

Such a little cutie at Boulder Beach! Unfortunately, our group was so big that it crowded the whole beach and I didn't get to get any face time with any of these little guys so we're definitely going back.

6. Do really stupid poses.

Me and my buddy Chip cheesin on Boulder Beach.

7. Take more landscape pictures.

Super fresh view from the top of Cape Point.

8. Give a thumbs up.

The biggest goof in the world (Louie) on top of the world.

9. Get a picture with something for someone at home.

Cape Point light house. Thinkin of you daddio.

I have a feeling that having my mind blown is going to be a regular occurrence. Yesterday we took 9 chartered busses (yes, we mob Africa deep) all around the southern coast of Cape Town. This included a bunch of beautiful bays, Simon’s Town (home of Boulder Beach where there’s a colony of penguins!), Cape of Good Hope (the southern most tip of the African continent. At one point, my buddy Andrew pointed out that if you took a boat out and headed South, the next land mass you would hit would be Antarctica. THAT’S NUTS!) and a lot of awe-inspiring mountains, grasslands and beaches that I just stared at in disbelief. We stopped for lunch in the township of Ocean View and a bunch of the local kids put a show on for us. There was a kid who belted out the most gnarly a cappella hymnal and a few insane dance crews, including a Michael Jackson tribute. Probably the sickest ever. I think what gets me the most is the hospitality we were shown. No matter how much or how little they have, they are stoked on living and giving and creating music which is so inspiring. Makes me wonder why so many people, including myself, can’t have that simple outlook. Anyway, we basically just spent the day enjoying the gifts that Mother Nature gave this country and let me tell you.. Homegirl hooked it up.

Live beautifully,
KG

Hello From Cape Town!!!!!

Two days of travel. Two days of airport food and security lines and terminals and and surfing on clouds and begging my body to sleep in the awkward positions I pretzled it into. And when I saw my first African sunrise from the air just north of Cape Town, it was all worth it. Distinct, saturated layers of various, vibrant warm shades. Just like you see in the movies. No lights below us, just dirt. Just dirt and mountains and faint silhouettes of trees. Africa. “Surreal” might be the only way to describe it. There’s a certain out-of-body feeling constantly lurking, constantly perched on my shoulders trying to convince me this isn’t real. But, luckily, it is.

The last few days are all water colored blurs, puddling into each other, overlapping with a dreamy quality. We lived in dorms the first day or so as we waited for all of the international students to arrive, and the halls were filled with the same type of rushing excitement that you felt in your blood the first day of freshman year. Who were this people? What corner of the world are they from? And as the names were repeated and repeated and repeated (so many Norwegian names, so little time to make up American nicknames for them), I began to realize that everyone here goes hard. Anyone who wants to come to Africa when they have the chance to go to Barcelona, Madrid, Paris or any other study abroad hot-spot, is definitely looking for something. And in talking to my new classmates, I think we’ve found it.

We began the festivities by napping. Quickly followed by a trip to Rondebosche (a neighborhood close to campus, Cape Town’s version of the bars on Geary) where we really solidified the fact that we were all here to have a good time, see some awe-inspiring sights and maybe even stare a shark in the face. And although this night led to a sluggish campus tour the next morning, I still got super jazzed when I saw the amazing view from our school. Aside from the bar that overlooks the rugby field, or the stereotypical African trees that stand on the hillsides like candles on a cake, or the fact that you have never seen a sky that blue, or the ocean twinkling in the distance.... aside from all that, the school had a lot to offer a little chick like me. However, other views awaited us a short train ride away at Calk Bay. Reminiscent of Laguna Beach, Calk Bay made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It sits on the edge of the mountain side and is spotted with bright beach cabanas and beautifully beaded street art. Shallow pools kept some turquoise water from the rest of the sea while little boys dove in and out of the waves like Flipperkids. But, I don’t know what’s better: the degree of natural beauty I was surrounded by, or the fact that as we were waiting in line at a cafe tucked deep in the docks of the bay, we witnessed the cook buy the fish from the fisherman who had just caught them, bring them into the kitchen, fry them and serve them to us as the best fish and chips anyone has ever had. I don’t care how British you are.

After we walked off the Heaven we had just eaten, we caught the train back to UCT and prepared ourselves for a night of international insanity on Long Street. For those of you who have never heard of Long Street (which I’m guessing is most of you) it is like a fully clothed 4th of July in Newport Beach with people from all over the world. Nearly every night. The wackiest bars, the most jaw-droppingly handsome men and the best music around. (But honest side-note here, since when is Cape Town a secret goldmine for ridiculously good looking people? Every other one is just scorchin and it’s sure been nice to get some eye candy). The night was filled with cultural debates followed by getting crazy low and funky on the floor followed by meeting a million more people.

Speaking of people, they might just be my favorite part. Sure, not all of them like Americans and to be perfectly honest, I was inches away from being hit by a bus today. However, that is attributed to the fact that in Cape Town, the pedestrians don’t mean shit. Mini busses (really mini-vans) packed to the brim with 20 people will run you right over, all while screaming at you to get in their cab. Convincing. But, the orientation leaders and a lot of other Cape Townians have been golden. And it’s the kids I’m with now, the girl from Santa Cruz, the boys from Norway (actually, the mass majority of people in this program are either from California or Norway). It’s them and the rest of the gang that are really amping me up for the rest of this year.

On another note, today we moved into our house. It brings the funk so hard. This is a house I could see myself living in forever. Not only is the entire house adorably special and oozing with groove (our living room walls are lime green) but it’s a historical landmark in Cape Town from 1800, we have two balconies (one large enough for a nice-sized dinner party, one that’s perfect for having a few drinks [that’s mine]), and we are connected to our Norwegian friends by a cobble-stone path that leads from our gorgeously green garden to theirs. So today, we celebrated. We braai’d with the neighbors and met a few more new ones all while relaxing in a warm African winter night.

Alright, so that’s generally what I’ve been up to in Cape Town. Pictures tomorrow.

Staying Gold

I've been trying to write this entry for a while now. But between last minute errands, saying goodbyes and this gnarly rush of emotions I am understandably feeling, it's been rough. See, I don't exactly know how to convey what I'm feeling because I can't really pin point what I'm feeling, so here goes my best attempt at defining the contradictory cocktail of emotions that is sloshing around inside of me.

One minute I'm beaming. Jumping around my room, fantasizing about the sites, people, food, music, colors, animals, beaches, wishing the days away so that I can just be there already. And then, I'm feeling strange. Uncomfortable. Sadness wants to eek it's way into my eyes, and it almost does a million times. Because, the reality of the situation is that I'm not going to be with people I really know and love for a good minute. And while it's true that I will be having the time of my life, exploring a fantastically different culture and continent, I will inevitably feel lonely and foreign and exhausted and home sick. Very home sick.

And you hear things about Cape Town being unsafe. Especially when everyone you encounter looks horrified that you're voluntarily putting yourself in this situation and reminds you constantly to be safe. I have attempted to seem unfazed by this minor detail (there are - on average - 6 murders a day in Cape Town and an unreal amount of rapes and robberies), but I am actually pretty damn scared. And I'm feeling unsure in ways that reach deeper than physical safety. I'm eerily aware of the fact that this trip will undoubtedly change me. You don't go to Africa and stay the same spoiled, domestic, naive American you have been for the previous 20 years of your life. Shit is heavy over there. And my instincts are telling me that this is going to be a huge part of my path. Not to mention, I'm getting signs left and right. First, I started reading a book called To Timbuktu about a couple that travels (and I mean really travels, soaks up the local flavors and truly immerses themselves) all over Asia and Africa in their early twenties and just finds themselves and their passions. It's a true story and it's inspiring and exciting to think that I could be feeling these beautiful, humbling, majestic things that they write about feeling during their trip. I want to be humbled and given a new perspective. Then, I saw this show on Fuel called Surfari where this other awesome couple travels to remote surf spots around the world and they went to Liberia and it just got me so amped. For the beauty, the water, the smiles of the people. For hearing how people on the other side of the world feel about life. I guess, maybe just to see how similar we might be. So, although I like who I am very much, I know that I will be a different version of this person when I come back, but it's the knowing that feels so strange because I don't know how I am going to be different, exactly, I just know I will.

The fact that I am able to go on this trip is such a blessing. My parents are amazing, giving, supportive people who want nothing more than for me to be happy and I owe them everything in the world for their blind faith in me and this endeavor. I can't even imagine being a parent and letting my baby daughter do this all alone and I give them crazy props for trusting me and loving me so insanely. That's another ingredient of this mix of emotions - I'm going to miss everyone so much. I am going to miss everyone so much that I already miss them and I'm not even gone yet. I'm trying to soak up vibes, and burn faces into my brain so that I can bring some things with me. It breaks my heart that I can't just pack up all of my friends and family and bring them all with me, but I know that going at this alone is the only way to do it up the way I want to. I'm clearly planning on making this more than just a study abroad trip, it's going to be a turning point. A catalyst. I know it will spark an inextinguishable fire in me that I have felt coming for a long while. So, at last... I think I'm ready.

---

On another note, this has been an amazing summer. I've fallen back in love with all of the kooks I grew up with, and truly started to see that everyone is starting on their own journeys and it's so sick to see everyone so stoked on the lives they're making for themselves. In addition to that, bonds with my family have never been tighter and I know absolutely exquisite people from the two years I've already clocked in college. I feel so blessed to know them all. Here are a few flicks from the summer daze:

My perfect baby niece, Ryder Levelle Gaines that I met for the first time this summer. I fell in love with this little princess right away, and knowing her parents - she is going to be one kick ass little chick. She always looks so curious and just look at that nose!

RARE SIGHTING of all 5 Gaines babies at the family 3rd of July soiree. My bro's and hoe's are the greatest around and it's been awesome to get to know them in adulthood.

Taking Ali (and Jazzy) to the airport at 4 in the morning for their trip to Spain!!! These little globetrotters are living it up in Madrid RIGHT NOW! So happy for them and can't wait to be in a closer time zone.

Babe Convention at Matilla's going away/birthday party. It's something about that house - everyone always has a crazy fun time.. maybe it's the family that lives there, they're pretty cool.

This is why I love my friends: These dudes walk up to me and ask to get some thumb-to-thumb contact to feel my energy. Before you know it, we're all interconnected by thumbs. Dredders, man.

I love you all so damn much and will miss you with the intensity of a thousand suns. I promise to rep California so hard that every Afrikkaners will want to come back home with me. See you all in one glorious year!

Follow your bliss,

KG