Burma Wrap Up

Deep-fried grasshopper, red teeth and dehydration, three things I'll remember most fondly during my days in Myanmar. Grasshoppers here are like mammoth size cockroaches and taste the same - crunchy, oily, with a hint of bitterness. I'm still working on a feeler wedged between my two front teeth! Grasshopper is not a national delicacy but popular enough that every outdoor market had them. Because nobody can afford a descent size refrigerator or the electricity to run it, the markets are open everyday. Stalls of fresh fish, live chicken, fly-infested fruit and baked goods crowd the narrow streets. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the killing of a chicken by clobbering it's back spine twice with a club. The paralyzed bird died within seconds. It sounds grotesque but trust me, it's more humane than the throat option. The bird was tossed into a vat of boiling water, de-feathered and ready for cooking. Nothing is wasted in this country. What's not consumed is grounded for flavor. Betal is a chewing tobacco made with tree leaves, mint, lime calcium, rose powder and sometimes cinnamon. From the age of 3, Burmese chew and swallow it. It turns their mouth, gums and lips a nasty color red and eventually all their teeth fall out. Not an attractive feature but they seem to think so. There's a degree of freedom in local transportation here that rivals the U.S. There's no such thing as 'maximum capacity' so Buddhists cram buses and trucks like sardines. Three students and I thought it sounded fun to ride with monks so we hopped aboard for a 2 hour trip into the city. Collectively we lost 40 pounds in dehydration and sweat - all for under 50 cents. Now, that's a cheaper and more productive workout than the Y. I've discovered the poorer the country, the nicer the people. Nothing could be truer of Burma. The fine and delicate features of a skirt-wearing (or longyi) population crossed with generous smiles and bright curious eyes makes this my favorite so far. Capitalism, materialism, western society as a whole really needs to reevaluate it's priorities and who better than the Burmese people to lead by example.

A Fortutious Omen

Kipling called it "a golden mystery...a beautiful winking wonder". He was describing Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon (Rangoon). It's the most sacred site for Buddhists in the whole country. The Stuppa glitters bright gold in the afternoon sun and on very rare occasions a natural phenomenon takes place. A brightly lit circular rainbow appears above the Stuppa. Said to be a prophecy for good fortune, those who see it fall to the floor in prayer. Yesterday, this holiest of rainbows appeared in the heavens for a few short minutes. A fortunate few got to see it, I was not one of them. Consumed with work, I was too mesmerized with the hundreds of Buddists down on both knees in solemn reverence. How was I to know it was a rainbow that had them chanting and humming louder than usual? As bells and chimes rang out, meditation choirs repeated strange verse in strict repetition. Where am I? I've been on hallowed ground before but not like this. A feeling of calm and bliss cascaded over the place. Rico, my Brazilian crush, captured several still shots of the rainbow - photos that could make him a God Sent with National Geographic Magazine. That does it for me - no more burying my head in a black and white viewfinder! Budda is telling me to stop and smell the incense and enjoy this strange land for the next few days and so I shall.

Bagan Bye Gone

From snow-capped Himalayas to coral-fringed Archipelagos to monsoon forests, Myanmar is truly turning into larger-than-life mural painting. In a few hours I'm off to study and document the city of Bagan, north of Yangon. It's the countries #1 tourist destination. Of the 6 million stupas built in the 12th century, 2000 still exist along with Budda statues and monasteries made of glazed tile. I'm anticipating the tantric influence in the artwork and musicians playing the saung guag or Burmese harp. Last nights foreign film flick got me up to speed with what to look and hear for. I'm extremely excited to fly once more too. Unfortunately, transporting a laptop, cellphone or pager is prohibited so there goes my blogging until Saturday night. In the meantime, study your eightfold path and four noble truths and I'll quiz ya when I get back!

When in Mynamar, Eat Thai

If you know a Thai person, you might hear them say "gin khao yung". It means "have you eaten yet?" or more precise "have you eaten rice yet?" I'm in Myanmar not Thailand and still everyone greets you with "have you had lunch yet?" instead of "hello, how are you?". With food on our minds, 5 of us took Lonely Planet's advice and ate Thai at Sabai, Sabai in Yangon last night. The locals insist it's expensive but appetizers, drinks, entrees and 1 dessert only came to $15. In a country where the average salary tops 49 cents a day, everything here is affordable to Americans. My favorites include the Mee Krob as an appetizer and Tomyam Kung - a spicy lemongrass soup with coconut milk, lime leaves and galangal, a dry flavorful root. Top that with mushrooms and chicken and I had sweet dreams the whole night. It's not polite to pile a plate full of food so you just take a spoonful at a time. Imagine how hard this is to do with Thai food. I so want to buy seasonings here but in 2003 President Bush placed strict sanctions against importing mass-produced Burmese goods including clothing, food, artwork and souvenirs. Informational literature and music is allowed but all else incurs penalties up to 250,000 and 10 years behind bars. I'm still pondering if Thai food might be worth it....

Military Myanmar - Buddist Burma

Rudyard Kipling wrote all about it's magical qualities in his book "The Road to Mandalay". But it's Myanmar's military, not it's magic that concerns most of us right now. Myanmar, formally called Burma, just welcomed 750 American tourists to the city of Yangon. This is a momentum time in history for the Semester at Sea program and the students. Not since 1962, when the military regime or Junta took over, has this many tourists entered it's borders. Myanmar is a tightly-controlled socialist country run by a military dictatorship that does not allow rights like free speech, free assembly or free press to exist. Strict US sanctions are in place making it illegal to purchase products that benefit the government. Nearly everything made or sold supports strong centrist interests. Narcotics and HIV/Aids remain a growing problem. Ambassadors for the U.S. Embassy are aboard briefing us on do's and don't and actions that could land us in jail. Photography and video are limited to monasteries, pagodas and temples but taking a shot of a bridge, military installation, tunnel or certain buildings can get you 20 years behind bars. With this heightened degree of apprehension and caution nobody can guarantee that my work won't be confiscated. You'll find out in a couple days...

Torture or Treatment?

'Welcome to Prakriti, the Ayurvedic Center' the sign reads. 4 over-shopped girls, that's us, enter the massage center with therapy on our minds. Ayurvedic is all the rage in India, especially among German tourists. It cleanses the body of stress and tension and rejuvenates energy levels. I rarely afford myself the luxury of a message so I'm not sure what to expect. 2 Hindu ladies who speak Tamil and very little English escort me to a back room. "Please take off your clothes Mam". I pause. Off comes the shirt, shoes, socks and pants. "Please take off your clothes Mam". I pause again. There's not much left but here goes. Off comes the jewelry, glasses, a hair band, and the skimpy stuff. "Please sit here Mam". "I'm blind without my glasses so you'll have to help me", I insist. This better be legal, I think to myself, as hot oil is messaged through my scalp and soft Indian tunes warm the silence. "Please lay down now Mam". I stretch out on a rock-hard message table build with etched mahogany wood. It's really beautiful but it reminds me of execution file footage. Oil is poured from my feet to my face and the human car wash begins. Up and down and side to side, I'm rubbed down like a 15th century Rajah. Feet have pressure points but mine tickle so badly I laugh myself off the table. The ladies aren't amused. Indian-versions of Broom Hilda and Helga have work to do. They toss me over on my backside and repeat buffing, lubing and polishing every crevice. If you can hang on until this point, and that's a big if, there's no sense in turning back. Stress and tension aren't going anywhere and now the smell of peanut oil has me feeling nausea. "Please come to shower Mam". Finally, I can scrub this stuff off and be done with all this craziness. Not so fast, the ladies offer proper cleansing and bathing techniques even in the shower. I went from feeling like a Rajah to a hospital patient. I'm truly at their mercy until my clothes are belted back on. With dripping hair, I walk into a room full of friends sipping hot chai with relaxed looks on their faces. "That was amazing!" smiles Krista, "I can't wait to go back". "Yes, I feel reinvigorated too" repeats Melissa. I pause. "Good God, who are you people?!" I shout. Then I think to myself. I'm the only one who didn't like it. Maybe I should be asking myself that question....

Rickshaw Rocket Ride

Shark diving in Africa, zip-lines in Mauritius and waterfalls in Venezuela - mere child's play compared to riding in the back seat of a 'rickshaw' in India. The 3-wheeled yellow pill box tops 40 mph and navigates through buses, trucks, cars, bicycles, ox-carts and pedestrians. There are no road rules in India so anything goes. With what little pavement exists everyone shares to sleep on, eat on, walk on and die on. "Good God, Watch Out!", we scream, as our rickshaw pulls a U-turn into on-coming traffic. I grip the loose canopy iron bars and brace myself for impact. The rickshaw balances bravely on 2 wheels as the driver kicks out his left foot, like Fred Flintstone, and swerves into place. "Honk, Honk, Squeeeeeal, Beep, Beep". We can't die yet, we haven't tried chappati, paratha, poories, dosa, and kachori! Our driver has a semi-sadistic grimace on his puss as we find space. He's enjoying scaring the wits out of us! Suddenly, the rickshaw slows to a crawl and the driver jumps out and starts pushing. Good God, now what...are we out of gas? "Please Madam, I need 50 rupees to buy diesel, buy diesel". Will we ever get to the restaurant?, I think to myself. The gas station is a block away and the poor sap starts pushing his heart out to get us there. We try to help but he refuses. "It's a ruse for more money, just a ruse!" lobs a frustrated passenger next to me. "Oh yah, as if another 50 rupees (under a buck) will make a bit of difference in this man's life!" I bark back. We make it to the restaurant just fine and tip the gent another 100 rupee. Ruse or not, the measure of his ingratiating smile is worth more to me than a million rupee

Look But Don't Touch

Mahatma Ghandi referred to them as "God's Children" and after eating, sleeping and meditating on their turf, I can see why. They are warm, kind, respectful and proud. They are called Untouchables or Dalits, a Sanskrit word meaning 'to split, crack, or open'. Figuratively, they are persons who are cut, split, broken, or torn asunder, scattered and destroyed. They live below the four castes, treated with social discrimination and brutal violence. It's one of the last contemporary forms of slavery; rooted in an ancient system that's condemned people to dehumanizing conditions for over 2000 years. Of the 300 million Dalits in India, we met 1,047 in Kodur, a village of limited electricity, no running water, no sanitation, no phone, TV, school or medical services. They live in mud huts with thatch roofs and eat from the land. But don't mistake them as poor; they're not beggers. They're rich with curiosity, intellect, creativity, humility and generosity. Nothing but friendship was exchanged and I couldn't stop hugging these so-called 'untouchables'. The next evening I ate dinner with a greedy real-estate mogul who had a lousy disposition and a poor excuse for the Dalit's situation. "I don't feel sorry for them" he argued, "I can't because in today's unstable economy, I could be there tomorrow". Right......

Chennai, India Awakens

It's been a bona-fide struggle getting up in the morning. This is due to a heavy schedule, malaria medication, not having a port hole and the gentle rocking of the ship. I envy those that can burn both ends and not need more than 5 hours. I'm not one of them. However, great anticipation and motivation for India programmed me to hurl my body out of bed at 5AM for an early sunrise. As in the states, it's autumn in Chennai but they call it the Monsoon Season. A cloudy gray overcast sky made for an uneventful sunrise but who cares, this is India - home of the caste system, 5 foreign films a day, Naan with Chicken Marsala, yoga, sanskrit, Indian Prince Rama and nuclear proliferation. Some good, some bad, but for God's Sake (I mean Shiva's Sake) it's India! The heavily industrial port is laden with concrete, steal towers and blue-suited workmen. There's a welcoming community of Dalit women (untouchables) sweeping water puddles and dust from the empty lot where we disembark. There are 5 Indian musicians playing a tabla set, sarod and tambura (Indian instruments). There are 15 military officials armed but with friendly happy faces. At first glance, it may be poor and grossly overpopulated but surprisingly, it's meticulously clean. There's no garbage, no filth and no unsightly refuse anywhere to be found. People are working and taking pride in whatever job they have. Unlike the townships of S. Africa, favelas of Brazil or barrios of Venezuela, Indians of all economic and social classes are working, yes working. Suddenly, I find myself a proponent of the caste system. It's not just the caste system though, Indians have a great diversion of unsanitary polluted areas, it's part of their religious and ethnic make-up. If only western society and democracy could instill this philosophy, the US could especially benefit.

Half-Way Point

Tonight Captain Jeremy and Deans John and Beverly invited staff and faculty to celebrate Day 50 or the half-way point on our voyage around the world. Yes, 50 days have come and gone in a blink of an eye. In 50 days we've lived more than most people do in 50 years. In 50 days we're made 50 friends, enjoyed 50 foreign foods, touched 50 children's hearts, taken 50 photos, worn out 50 shoes, mailed 50 postcards, spent 50 dollars (minimum), gave away 50 dollars (minimum), spent 50 minutes learning Salsa, memorized 50 words in different languages, sat in on 50 Global Studies classes, ate 50 cafeteria salads, wrote 50 emails, slept less than 50 hours and of course, enjoyed 50 beautiful sunsets. It's mind-boggling how much can be accomplished in 50 days but it's late, 50 past midnight, and I'm 50 minutes late for bed so I'll close this 50 words short and be back in... you guessed it 50 days!

Olympics, Sea-Style

Yesterday the students took a break from studies to take part in the "Onboard Olympics". Decks and Cabins were broken down into competing "seas" and everything from pie-eating contests to synchronized swimming to tug-of-war events took place. I'm part of the purple colored staff and faculty "sea". We dubbed ourselves Vitamin C Sea because of all the geriatrics in our group taking meds/vitamins during this voyage. Our mascot was "Scurvy" the Purple People Eater - because that's what happens when you don't get enough Vitamin C. Anyhow, I don't think we won any of the events; surprise, surprise. Not even the ping-pong tournament or the potato-crafting contest. The talent show showcased SNL skits, comedy routines, scantily dressed Spears routines and poking fun at our well-loved Global Studies teacher, Kevin Murphy. Pretty Boy Rico, Jason the Genius and my shooting prowess assembled a 5 minute edited skit of our own. It had the audience rolling in the aisles but still... by 19:00 the Red, Yellow, Vitamin and Mediterranean were no match for the Aegean Sea, sweeping most of the days events. The reward - bragging rights, 20 seconds of extra footage in the doc and well, bragging rights. Not exactly the same as real Olympics but hey, when your half-way around the world, you improvise.

The Great Soul

"The one who breaks out of the cage of the "I" and "My" is forever immortal. He who is a slave to his egoism and temptations is a poor deplorable devil." This is the word of Mahatma Gandhi - The Great Soul. In preparation for India, film documentaries, books and lectures are consumed by our appetite-rich minds...or at least mine. I find the teachings and life of Gandhi the most appealing and can't wait to meet the freedom fighters who spent time in jail with him for his philosophies. India is obsessed by religion, plagued by naturally disasters and overpopulated beyond a billion, a child is born every single second. Still, Gandhi's teachings of selflessness and love permeate this spiritual culture. In his search for truth and higher learning Gandhi always had hope for the helpless and mercy for the cruel. It's the Dalits or the untouchables who I'll be videotaping for the documentary. Dalits are the lowest in the caste system and even though globalization has helped the middle classes, Dalits have suffered as a result. There's even a chance I'll be spending the night in a lonely floorless hut, one like Gandhi's. Gandhi, a truth seeker, an aesthetic, a nonviolent man who died with 3 bullets to the chest. I sure hope I can do this country and the memory of this man justice.

"Land Ho Mateys!"

"The MV Explorer is sailing mighty close to a secret communications military base!" Jason, our onboard factorial guru rushes outside to further declare, "It's the island of Diego Garcia!". Binoculars and cameras reappear to photograph the elusive Diego Garcia. Jason waxing poetically about how it was used as a strategic launching point for B1 and B2 Bombers during the Iraq war, the size, the shape, etc... "Coconut palm plantation workers used to live here until the US took it over and reassigned everyone to Mauritius. This was in the 1970's. Right now, about 20 military personnel keep vigil here. And hey check out the surf". Gigantic surf breaks at the reef splashing water several hundred feet in the air. Several student surfers are chomping at the bit to ride the monster out. Jason continues. "The island runs 10.5 miles in length, 7 miles in width and is said to be more beautiful than Mauritius". Okay Jason, you had me up until that last statement. More beautiful than Mauritius? My article for GoNomad is nearly finished, I'll let my readers decide that after it's posted!

Keeping up w/ Current Events

As we near southern India, the recent Kashmir earthquake calamity is on everyone's minds. Even though the crisis is thousands of miles away from Chennai (Madras), philanthropic requests are mounting. How can we help? The internet keeps track of current events for us while Global Studies enlightens us on India's political secularism, Hindi nationalism and the Muslim separatists. Our brains are boiling over with information about each country we visit. Naturally, staying in a country you already know so much about, even for a few days, promotes a sense of benevolence and compassion for it's people. Not all students feel this way; a quarter are here to party and 2 lone Bush supporters pray for our souls every night. The rest of us are overwhelming thankful for this opportunity and skip partying and pool nights to internalize how the trip is impacting our view of the world. India will be a cultural shock unlike Venezuela, Brazil and South Africa. Reading the NY Times, listening to NPR or watching PBS could never prepare anyone for a place like India. The faculty know this. There's no way of sanitizing the truth when it's right in front of your face. We arrive October 19th.

Sand, Surf and SCUBA

Germans who go topless on a non-nudist beach, a Hindu elder selling pineapples for photos and a lanky Brit with wild frizzy white hair. His name - "Capt. Cock". I'm not kidding! Rainbow diversity welcomes me to the creole/french Isle de Mauritius today. First up, a 30 minute dive 80 feet under to an abandoned shipwreck. Capt. Cock doesn't seem to care that I forgot my certification card or that our taxi driver is 30 minutes late. His boys fit me with a BCD, regulator, snorkel and fins. We're off to dive to a submerged hull that attracts tropical fish by the throngs. I'm so distracted by the powder-soft coral beaches, I don my wetsuit backward and forget my weight belt. This lagoon is ideal for windsurfing, sailing, or diving and the visibility is ideal for photographing the lush barrier reef. We're suppose to stay with our scuba buddy but giant pools of purple fish hypnotize me into following them. I can't help it. I'm boldly swimming alongside hundreds of multi-colored marine life and feeling at one with them. The signal is given for me to surface but I can't leave just yet... though it's really not up to me. Soon my oxygen tank reads empty and I bounce to the top for air. Sand, surf and scuba - does life get any better?

Better than Skydiving

Mauritius Island is made up of steep trenches, gorges, and valleys. It's quite breathtaking. And smack dab in the middle of the world's oldest sugar plantation, is a zip-line business. You know, Zip-lines! Zip-lines are a growing thrill ride unlike no other. It requires a love of adrenaline, dizzying heights and lightening speed. It also requires a harness strapped to your waist and legs and signing an affidavit. The cable lines stretch from one side of the gorge to the other. Sometimes the cable stretch can be as long as a 1/4 of mile across and 1/2 mile from the bottom. Operator #1 buckles you in, pushes you off and lets you go. There are no brakes, no stirring method and you're at the mercy of gravity to pull you to the other side. The heavier the passenger the more velocity builds. Poor Dean John came to a screeching halt when he smashed into the other side, nearly taking out operator #2. It truly is aerial suspension at it's best. After surviving 6 of the 11 zip-lines, there's time for a cold swim in a natural pool. But swimming is much too easy, instead I climb to the top of the waterfalls and jump off. 30 feet and 3 seconds of risk-taking bliss and I lived to tell the tale!

Sorry Kenya

"Due to Terrorism, the fourth leg of our journey has been cancelled". The message was read loud and clear by the Executive Dean a few days ago. Kenya, the place of wild safaris, Mnt. Killamanjaro and beautiful balloon rides has terrorists looking to sabotage American Maritime Vessels. The code-red alert came directly from Washington and not a minute too soon. Captain Jeremy and the organizers of Semester at Sea scrambled into action to find another country we could dock at. All of Eastern Africa is listed as potential problem spots so it came down to Madagascar, Sri Lanka, the Shayshells or Mauritius Island. Students pleaded for an island paradise to frolic and have fun on - I was hoping to help victims of the Tsunami disaster in Sri Lanka. The students won out. Tomorrow, we dock in Mauritius, a volcanic and mountainous island where the exotic Dodo bird flew before it's extinction. The 205 mile coastline is surrounded by the largest unbroken coral reef in the world. There's scuba, snorkeling, shopping and Sega, the national dance. There's galleries, gardens and great food. There's anything anybody's heart could desire. Ok, okay, twist my arm, I guess I can succumb to living large for the next couple days.

Photogs Need Not Apply

Salsa is a Caribbean rhythm extremely popular among students. Filming this sexy dance during rough seas is a hilarious adventure. Lessons are given twice a week with 4 Spanish and Latino students showing off moves genetically impossible for me to repeat. Rico, the ship's hot-shot Stanford grad motions me to join him. Is he kidding? I'll bust a hip, break a bone, crash into him and crush his toes. He's Portuguese and I'm left-footed single white female. There's a reason I failed cheerleading squad try-outs when I was 12. But Rico refuses to take "no" for an answer. I'm 5 lessons behind him and his patience for my shakin' and shimmying in the wrong direction is exhausted in minutes. It takes an hour but I master the simple 1-2-3-4 step syncopation, the spot turn and the spin. I'm feeling confident, like a real pro, until Rico passes me off for a better partner. Where did I go wrong? I'm back to the "bumping and bruising trend" with a new partner, David. A new move is introduced that includes playfully running our fingers through each others hair. This is Salsa? I better stick to shooting this moves rather than practicing them!

Shark Bait in Cape Town

The Pit crew, those of us in the bowels of the M/V Explorer, gave each other nicknames the first day we set sail. "Shark Bait", my own, doesn't fully register until I'm 4 feet under in the shark-infested waters off the coast of Cape Town. "Down, Down, Down" yells the boat Captain. Holding our breaths in an open hulled cage we submerge ourselves as the shark nears. Bait is dangling on a rope in front of our cage. The Great White approaches with great stealth and precision. It has hunter instincts and won't attack unless it's prey appears alive. The Captain wiggles the line, feigning movement from the dead carcass. The Great White goes for it. Her jowels open to the size of her body. It's beady eyes staring straight into mine. She's only a few feet from the cage and I'm holding my breath in sheer terror. Gulp, Gulp! The bait is swallowed in a blink of a second and the shark takes off into the murky deep. Up I surface, gasping for air. "My lady, did you see the shark?" shouts the Captain from above. "Eye, eye Captain, I saw her, I saw her!" I yell. "Down, Down, Down, another shark is coming back!" Again we plummet into the deep, cheeks full with oxygen for about a 1 minute thrill ride. Up and down, up and down, this repeats until everyone has their turn seeing the Great White in it's natural habitat. Naturally she's well fed by the time we leave but I wouldn't risk surfing here today, just incase.

Wise Man of the Magi

I haven't read a newspaper, watched tv news, used a cell or drove a car in over a month and you know what? I don't miss any of it! Foreign flicks, Pan-African music and playing pedestrian fills the gap quite nicely here in Cape Town. Skip pizza, cereal and p&j sandwiches, in Africa it's Big Game or nothing. Ostrich, Springbok and seafood are staples for dinner this week. I tried the first two smothered in "Dark Chocolate and Chili sauce" and was ever so thankful I wasn't a vegetarian. Even in the poor black townships, a fare of bar-b-que chicken and mashed potatoes was reason to celebrate food. Biltong or dried salted beef, boerewors or lamb sausages and rock lobster rounded off the bill Friday night. The place was called Belthazar, not Balthazar, like in Soho, but the largest "wine by the glass" wine bar in the world - that's 710 in total. Balthazar was one of the wise man of the magi who brought muir to the baby Jesus. Here though, he brings wine and lots of it. How do you say no to a sommelier who buys one of the last four 1966 Port Wines in the whole country? You don't! When in Port drink Port - yah, this country definitely tops Brazil, Venezuela and who knows what lies ahead...

Robben Island

The sign reads "Lepers Cemetery". I ask the bus guide if I can jump off for a minute and grab a shot. "Oh no Miss, this island was officially declared a World Heritage Site years ago. Nobody is allowed off the bus". And with that is my first introduction to Robben Island. My guide, a former inmate, goes on to explain that UNESCO preserves the structure and grounds exactly as they were when the place closed in 1991. For 400 years, Robben Island served as a place of punishment for exiles and prisoners. Those with mental illness and incurable diseases were also abandoned here. It's best known for the jail cell where Nelson Mandela spent 27 of his 33 years as a political prisoner. The outcropping of granite and sand is only a 30 minute boat ride from Cape Town. Its deserted, empty and hallow ground now. Desmont Tutu spoke about this place crossing the Atlantic so taking this tour was pivotal. Mandela's blankets still sit on his cell floor along with a food dish and cup on the sill. I stray from the group long enough to spend some solitary confinement in one of the courtyards. I drop my camera to the ground and feel the crushed rock and exposed earth. It's easy to capture the loneliness and desperation where grass and trees don't grow - hopelessness literally permeates the air. Walking back to the bus, a large colony of African Penguins bark goodbye to me from the shore. For them and hundreds of bird species this place is still home, for everyone else, an invaluable history lesson in inequality.

Cape Town Crib Notes

Cape Town is contributing to major sleep deprivation of the best kind this week! Not wanting to miss a thing I'm limiting myself to 5 hours a night. How else do I cover South Africa, a country twice the size of Texas? Monday: Robben Island Tour, Tuesday: Cape of Good Hope Tour, Wednesday: Amy Biehl Foundation Tour, Thursday: Shark Diving Tour, Friday: Operation Hunger and Music Tour, and still 2 days left. A tiring adventure for the senses. Everything from Aparteid, Nelson Mandela, squatter camps and the disenfranchised black townships to dining at opulent 5-star restaurants and sightseeing wealthy beach front property. Cape Town has either extreme rich or extreme poor, there's no in-between. The problem is my ethnocentric view of the world is having a hard time adjusting to this economic scale. I want to help but I can't. Years of living in a wasteland of filth, garbage and unsanitary conditions cannot be solved with a coloring book and a box of crayons. Toy gifts are expected from us but education is what's really needed so I found a way of distributed condoms to the men, hand sanitizer for the women and new shoes for the barefoot children. Will this change their value system? Will a new pair of shoes even be worn? Will women use the sanitizer before handling food? It'll take days to process the impact this country is having on me. For now the ship is docked alongside BMW dealerships, art houses, cinemas and shops galore. Tonight it's a fusion of five of South Africa's best acoustic fretboard virtuoses. Pan-African music at it's finest!