Knuckles are creaking. Fingers are cracking. What is this contraption in front of me. A keyboard?
OMG, who blogs these days? That's like, sooooo circa 2005.
Here goes.
After a year of bumbling my way around Swahili in Dar, Mills and I returned to Jozi.
"For good..?" Friends and family ask us, with a lilt of hopefulness.
"For now." I always reply.
Is this the epitome of commitment-phobe?
I can't even settle in my own home town.
It's kinda weird being back - it's home, but it's strange. I grew up here, but I haven't lived in Joburg for over ten years. How many locals travel via Melville when trying to get from Greenside to Illovo, doing a round-route which looks more like a drunk earthworm than a plotted path.
View Larger Map
But hey, much like the rest of my life decisions, I get there in the end. Usually. And after seeing quite a few things on the way - sometimes more than once and from multiple angles.
It's good to be back - discovering my old city. As soon as I can remember road names, I think I'll get on just fine.
*Interestingly, when I opened up a new tab to Google map my route home, the search engine returned all my results in German. Wonder what that was all about?
Showing posts with label Relocation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Relocation. Show all posts
Monday, September 02, 2013
Friday, June 01, 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Gautrain - a bonding experience
South Africa is not known for its public transport. There's a bus here and there, which may or may not run around the time that it says it will arrive on any given day. There are private minibus drivers that fling themselves from one side of the road to the other, cramming more bum cheeks than conceivably possible into the back of their vehicles.
But even these run on very limited routes, and during work hours (I only recently learnt that taxis stop running to Soweto after 8pm. This is shocking on two parts - first, that I never knew that simple fact about my own city and second, unless you have your own car, it is incredibly difficult for most people to travel between suburbs overnight in Joburg). But that's not supposed to be my point here. Sadly the Gautrain also runs on - what I think to be - far too limited hours during the day, but... it's an attempt at first-world public transport. And from what I have seen so far, it is working.
I know my enthusiasm stems from the fact that I am lucky enough to live in one of the very few areas that the Gautrain buses already service, which means that I can use this novel creation to its full extent. Walking just four blocks from my house, I can catch one of the buses that come past every 10 - 12 minutes on week days to Sandton and from that station, I can get to Central Johannesburg (one train to Rosebank followed by another bus, which is always on time), or to the Airport, or to Hatfield in Pretoria... all in 40 minutes or less, easily and comfortably.
There are complaints that it is expensive, which it probably is, compared to what South Africans are used to. But we are also used to not paying much and not getting much. I don't think the price I paid yesterday from Randburg to Hatfield was unreasonable at all - a R49 total journey. Getting to the airport is twice that (and then a bit), but airport transport always comes with a surcharge. Always.
I've only used the Gautrain out of peak hours, and don't know if I have a particularly approachable face, or a neon sign on my forehead and incessantly flashes "Talk To Me!", but that's exactly what happens on every trip. People strike up conversation with me. I don't know why, but I am almost always entertained. This whole accessible, functioning, public transport thing is still a novel and exciting experience for most of us in the third-world.
We usually discuss, with great enthusiasm, the marvel of the high-speed train, or the marvel of regular buses that arrive when indicated on the timetable, whether the costs are worth the trip (they are). More often than not, the little fact that no food or liquids are allowed to be consumed on the train or in the station is mentioned. Where else, aside from Singapore, is the public transport so posh that you're not even allowed to chew gum..?
But yesterday was my favourite experience to date. On the train back from Hatfield, two gogos hobbled on and sat at the window opposite me. They were elderly black ladies, I can't imagine they were much younger than 65. Winter has arrived in Gauteng, the one lady had a thick dark green coat on, the other had a more traditional blanket wrapped snugly around her torso. They both had sensible, well-used shoes on, and respectable hats. One was relying heavily on a crutch.
And they were giggling like two naughty teenage girls bunking school.
The lady with the coat was taking pictures of her friend on her cellphone, clearly documenting their train journey. Then she asked me to take a picture of the two of them and - of course - started telling me about their trip. They were going from Pretoria, to Joburg, catching a bus around Jozi and coming back again. A big day out - the gogos' first, and I think I can safely guess only, time on first-world transportation.
Soon, they were calling one of the (many) train guards over, to include me in their train trip memories. So I sat squished between two large-bottomed grannies on a two-seater Gautrain seat, excitedly sharing their enthusiasm with me.
These two women lived through Apartheid. And there they were, sitting on a high-speed train, overflowing with exuberance... doing the trip simply because they could. It was a wonderful experience just to be with them in their adventure.
I suppose I better get up now. I need to catch a bus, to catch a train, to catch another bus to get work in Braamfontein. Viva Public Transport!
But even these run on very limited routes, and during work hours (I only recently learnt that taxis stop running to Soweto after 8pm. This is shocking on two parts - first, that I never knew that simple fact about my own city and second, unless you have your own car, it is incredibly difficult for most people to travel between suburbs overnight in Joburg). But that's not supposed to be my point here. Sadly the Gautrain also runs on - what I think to be - far too limited hours during the day, but... it's an attempt at first-world public transport. And from what I have seen so far, it is working.
I know my enthusiasm stems from the fact that I am lucky enough to live in one of the very few areas that the Gautrain buses already service, which means that I can use this novel creation to its full extent. Walking just four blocks from my house, I can catch one of the buses that come past every 10 - 12 minutes on week days to Sandton and from that station, I can get to Central Johannesburg (one train to Rosebank followed by another bus, which is always on time), or to the Airport, or to Hatfield in Pretoria... all in 40 minutes or less, easily and comfortably.
There are complaints that it is expensive, which it probably is, compared to what South Africans are used to. But we are also used to not paying much and not getting much. I don't think the price I paid yesterday from Randburg to Hatfield was unreasonable at all - a R49 total journey. Getting to the airport is twice that (and then a bit), but airport transport always comes with a surcharge. Always.
I've only used the Gautrain out of peak hours, and don't know if I have a particularly approachable face, or a neon sign on my forehead and incessantly flashes "Talk To Me!", but that's exactly what happens on every trip. People strike up conversation with me. I don't know why, but I am almost always entertained. This whole accessible, functioning, public transport thing is still a novel and exciting experience for most of us in the third-world.
We usually discuss, with great enthusiasm, the marvel of the high-speed train, or the marvel of regular buses that arrive when indicated on the timetable, whether the costs are worth the trip (they are). More often than not, the little fact that no food or liquids are allowed to be consumed on the train or in the station is mentioned. Where else, aside from Singapore, is the public transport so posh that you're not even allowed to chew gum..?
But yesterday was my favourite experience to date. On the train back from Hatfield, two gogos hobbled on and sat at the window opposite me. They were elderly black ladies, I can't imagine they were much younger than 65. Winter has arrived in Gauteng, the one lady had a thick dark green coat on, the other had a more traditional blanket wrapped snugly around her torso. They both had sensible, well-used shoes on, and respectable hats. One was relying heavily on a crutch.
And they were giggling like two naughty teenage girls bunking school.
The lady with the coat was taking pictures of her friend on her cellphone, clearly documenting their train journey. Then she asked me to take a picture of the two of them and - of course - started telling me about their trip. They were going from Pretoria, to Joburg, catching a bus around Jozi and coming back again. A big day out - the gogos' first, and I think I can safely guess only, time on first-world transportation.
Soon, they were calling one of the (many) train guards over, to include me in their train trip memories. So I sat squished between two large-bottomed grannies on a two-seater Gautrain seat, excitedly sharing their enthusiasm with me.
These two women lived through Apartheid. And there they were, sitting on a high-speed train, overflowing with exuberance... doing the trip simply because they could. It was a wonderful experience just to be with them in their adventure.
I suppose I better get up now. I need to catch a bus, to catch a train, to catch another bus to get work in Braamfontein. Viva Public Transport!
Friday, August 12, 2011
Telephone etiquette
I hate talking on the phone. If you can do it online or via email, please let's. I especially loathe receiving "blind" calls, where you don't have any context. There is a lot of waffling and nicety that you have to wade through before the caller usually gets to the crux of the matter, which is inevitably going to require a follow up email or letter (especially in a work context).
Of course, one of the best things about the Dutch is that they are so good at getting to the point, but this is negated by the fact that our dealings are in English, their second language. Which admittedly is much, much better than if we were doing this transaction in my foreign tongue, but that's not the point here.
The point is that any call is usually a frustrating process as we try to spell things phonetically. They can't understand my pronunciation and there is always the confusion between the wonderful vowels.
In English, a = ay; e = eee and i = eye.
In Dutch a = ah, e = ay and i = eee.
You can see where the problem comes in, right?
"Okay, Meneer Fokker, you have convinced me to sign up to your mailing list for cheap bike deals. My name is Koekie, Kay-oh-ee-kay-eye-ee."
"Kay-oh-eye-kay-ie-eye-ie-eye-oh?"
"No. Kilo, October, Echo, Kilo, India, Echo. We haven't even gotten to my surname yet, which is Flamiefaejihg."
"Zegt..?"
Also, if I see a call coming from a blocked number to my mobile, I am not going to answer. Okay, I can't do this at work, but in my personal life, it's a general policy.
So now you know not to take it personally, because I realise this can offend friends and family. But I have received far too many "blocked" calls from unsolicited credit card/insurance/telecom providers, who chose to hide their calling details - and for good reason. So now I do not answer if I don't know who's calling.
Based on the fact that the unrecognised number is not saved on my address book, I probably don't want to be speaking to you. If you've chosen to keep your mobile number hidden for personal reasons, I can respect that. Just don't cry to me when I don't immediately guess that it's someone I know and probably wouldn't mind speaking to.
So I have ignored your blocked number and you are now required to leave a message, how about adding a bit of context? Voice message protocol - if we don't have a personal relationship or previous communication, leaving your name and number is not enough to entice me to call you back.
"Hi Kate, this is Tim. Please can you call me on oh-six-five-five-four-four-
Yes I could, in theory, call you back. But I'm not going to. Because I don't know you. I don't know who you work for and I don't know what it's regarding. Based what you have not provided, I am going to extrapolate that you already knew if you had divulged this information, I wouldn't want to talk to you anyway.
If it's that important you can call back - and this time, leave me a message, so that I can make a more informed decision as to why I won't be returning your call.
*BEEP*
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
This is not a drill
I don't know if I'll ever take summer sun for granted again. I see friends back in SA complaining about how miserably cold it is in winter, and I know I used to be like that. I would bitch and moan when day-time temps did not soar past 15 in winter. But now, I choose to take my breakfast on the balcony as long as it's in double figures and sunny.
With 90mm rain received seemingly solidly over two weeks, and gusts of wind 90kmph to boot, July was not a good month for summery breakfasts. The average temperature was a whopping 15 degrees across the Netherlands and according to the KNMI weather website, we accrued a grand total 157 hours of sunshine. We're supposed to get about 15 hours of sunshine a day in theory, at this stage of the year. So of the 465 hours of potential sunshine, we got barely a third of our allocated share. Bastard rain clouds. Amsterdam received a solid 179mm over the month, only slightly higher than the 81mm average. Other areas of the country received as much as almost 300mm.
Good news though, the Netherlands is no longer in drought... not that I realised we were experiencing this in the first place. I cross more than a handful of canals on my way to work every day. They all looked pretty damn full last time I checked.
But my point today is that when the sun came out and it soared to a whopping 26 degrees yesterday, the entire country wasted no time in getting out and getting semi-clad. I took the opportunity to cycle (fully-clad) to a small town along the Amstel river, for no reason other than "get outside! Get some sunshine! This is not a drill!"
And today, again... what is this strange bright burning ball in the sky? It makes my eyes hurt, and it burns my skin when exposed. What is it called again? I have faint recollections of days gone by when this was a normal experience.
Everyone is out and enjoying as many summery things as possible, because we know it can't last. It's going to rain again and it's going to rain soon (probably tomorrow).
So this is what I hope to be doing by 7pm this evening.
Get your summer on, folks.
This is not a drill.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Not so proudly South African
The problem with trying to watch any rugby in this country is that the sport is not readily available on a private level. It is certainly not to be seen on local or any commercial TV providers. If you want to avoid the smelly after-taste of pub patrons, you can stream most games in the comfort of your own home... sort of... but usually through back-end online distributors and at very unhandy low-res. So we usually go to sports pubs.
The pubs themselves aren't necessarily the problem. They're as grimy, greasy and gritty as can be expected. This can be tolerated on most occasions. What bothers me more is that other South Africans frequent these places too. I don't mind meeting up with SAffers, as long as they are my friends. My friends are cool; these are people I want to see. But there's always that element of patriotic supporters who go to games with the apparent end goal of actually accruing new friends. Yuck. These are the ones who also assume that because we're shouting for the same team, in the same location, we should therefore be chums for life. More often than not, they are wrong.
When we first arrived in The Netherlands, I was amazed to see that there were so many young South African girls - dotted all over the country, and gathering in noticeably wild packs for any rugby game. They are predominantly Afrikaans, so the language is an easy transfer*, they are cheap labour (aaaah, the subjugation of Africa lives on) and they are out of their parents' control for the first time in their lives.
When they amass in the pubs, it's never pretty. It's usually downright embarrassing.
They always travel in packs of 10 or more. They are usually very, obnoxiously drunk - or get to this stage very quickly. They make a sport of screaming often, and are as shrill as humanly possible, any time anything representing their chosen team is shown. This includes: the players, the coaches, the mascot, the bench, supporters, team shirts or even just the associated colour. Blue Bulletijes are particularly fond of this tactic. They seldom actually watch the game, choosing instead to scream in each other's faces through the full 90 minutes. And after the game, they will try to strike up conversation with anyone wearing a shirt that might vaguely be construed as South African.
For this reason, I've become hesitant to wear my cute little rugby top to international games. Dear god, those kids might try to communicate with me. Worse yet, people might think I'm one of them! I cannot be having with that. I can be patriotic incognito, right?
* I have to admit to a stage when I contemplated similar employment when I first arrived in the UK. It was a desperate and short-lived fragment of an idea. A bolus of bile gathers in the back of my throat at the very recollection.
The pubs themselves aren't necessarily the problem. They're as grimy, greasy and gritty as can be expected. This can be tolerated on most occasions. What bothers me more is that other South Africans frequent these places too. I don't mind meeting up with SAffers, as long as they are my friends. My friends are cool; these are people I want to see. But there's always that element of patriotic supporters who go to games with the apparent end goal of actually accruing new friends. Yuck. These are the ones who also assume that because we're shouting for the same team, in the same location, we should therefore be chums for life. More often than not, they are wrong.
When we first arrived in The Netherlands, I was amazed to see that there were so many young South African girls - dotted all over the country, and gathering in noticeably wild packs for any rugby game. They are predominantly Afrikaans, so the language is an easy transfer*, they are cheap labour (aaaah, the subjugation of Africa lives on) and they are out of their parents' control for the first time in their lives.
When they amass in the pubs, it's never pretty. It's usually downright embarrassing.
They always travel in packs of 10 or more. They are usually very, obnoxiously drunk - or get to this stage very quickly. They make a sport of screaming often, and are as shrill as humanly possible, any time anything representing their chosen team is shown. This includes: the players, the coaches, the mascot, the bench, supporters, team shirts or even just the associated colour. Blue Bulletijes are particularly fond of this tactic. They seldom actually watch the game, choosing instead to scream in each other's faces through the full 90 minutes. And after the game, they will try to strike up conversation with anyone wearing a shirt that might vaguely be construed as South African.
For this reason, I've become hesitant to wear my cute little rugby top to international games. Dear god, those kids might try to communicate with me. Worse yet, people might think I'm one of them! I cannot be having with that. I can be patriotic incognito, right?
* I have to admit to a stage when I contemplated similar employment when I first arrived in the UK. It was a desperate and short-lived fragment of an idea. A bolus of bile gathers in the back of my throat at the very recollection.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Know your passport, Mr Armstrong
Last night, Mills had a little mini-rant (mini, in comparison to the rage he flies into about hippies and Australian and Australian hippies), about a tweet that he saw from Lance Armstrong: "Well, made it in to SA. Not the friendliest welcome I've ever received but we've all seen immigration officers like that."
You see, Lance's passport was full so there was nowhere for the SA official to stamp on his entry. Apparently you are supposed to have at least two blank pages when entering SA, and I think this stands for several other countries too. Yes, it does feel that some of these regulations are in place simply to inconvenience us (me) personally. Yes Lance, we've all had our experience with pain-in-the-ass immigration officers. Trust me... every single bloody time I take a step to the left or the right. But it's highly unlikely that any passport official in any country would let it slide. Can you imagine? Sitting with their little dated stamp ready to whack down on any available spot, licking their lips in anticipation of their important step in your commute... until they realise that there is nowhere to stamp....
"Oh I give up," says the passport official with a wink and a smile as he hands back the unmarked pamphlet, in this hypothetical and completely-unrealistic situation, "so we'll just let you through this one time. We all know that passports are just another means of intergovernmental control anyway, ensuring that you will never find out who really instigated the 9/11 bombings and caused global warming. Have a nice day now!"
Not. Likely.
The fact is, annoying or not, your passport is full. It is not something that has a little monitor that beeps at you when you are starting to reach maximum capacity. It is something that you should consciously be aware of. As much as I hate airports, I love travelling, and I have to take responsibility for my travel documents. Even the almighty Lance Armstrong, be he a god in so many other fields, still has to assume mere mortal status and go through border control just like the rest of us bleeting sheep. As such, he or (if he really is far too busy and above checking his own documents) his PA or manager perpetrated a major oversight by not being aware that his passport is running out. This is not the fault of the poor bloody (admittedly bureaucratic because it's his bloody job) passport official. Incompetent he was not. He was just doing a shitty, shitty job and it was made all the worse because he had to do it to someone who is held in such infallible high esteem. Sucks to be you, dude.
Unlike people with an EU/GB or US passports, who often take visa-less entry for granted, I have the unenviable privilege of proving residence, gainful employment, liquidity and health clearance on an all too regular basis. With the various visas and permits ranging from EU to UK to US approval, the pages in my passport are worth at least R15,000 easily. Never mind the time, sweat, blood and tears that have gone into acquiring permission for each of those precious documents.
On our recent trip to SA, I realised that I only have five blank pages remaining in my passport. The rest are full. Choc-a-blok. Considering that I've only had it for four years, the chances are very likely that my passport is going to fill up before the expiration date in 2016 and I'm guessing that there will not be a public outcry on my behalf when I am informed that entry is denied due to lack of stamping space. So, despite six years remaining, I have already put in an application for a passport renewal. Not just any renewal, I've asked for a maxi-pad, I mean maxi-passport. 64 pages, baby.
If anything, I have learnt to play embassies and consulates at their own game. I have a visa folder. It includes, but is not limited to:
So the maxi-passport will take up to 20 weeks (I nearly typed "20 years"... it feels about as long). But It's not a straight forward renewal - I've requested that I keep my current passport as it has at least three valid visas. So, I am hopefully going to have a massive passport for my stamp collection, as well as the old passport with the ongoing visas still running in that. I can't wait wait to explain that to passport control.
Maybe I'm too unsympathetic towards people who have no idea about when their passport will expire, or exactly what is required for entry into any given country. Maybe I'm far too aware of my passport, because I travel on third world status. I know that if I need a new visa in my passport I will need at least - at least - one blank double page. Not two pages somewhere in my passport, but two pages directly opposite each other.
I also know that if my passport is expiring within the next few weeks or months, I'm most likely not going to be allowed entry into various countries because they require that your passport run past a certain date after your expected date of return. This little point came as a rude surprise to a British friend who was recently not even allowed to board her plane for Cape Town as her passport expired within three weeks from that date. Here's a tip to any other international travellers to SA... not only do you need to have space to stamp in your passport, but you also need to be aware that it cannot expire within one month of your scheduled return date. They will not even let you on the plane.
You see, Lance's passport was full so there was nowhere for the SA official to stamp on his entry. Apparently you are supposed to have at least two blank pages when entering SA, and I think this stands for several other countries too. Yes, it does feel that some of these regulations are in place simply to inconvenience us (me) personally. Yes Lance, we've all had our experience with pain-in-the-ass immigration officers. Trust me... every single bloody time I take a step to the left or the right. But it's highly unlikely that any passport official in any country would let it slide. Can you imagine? Sitting with their little dated stamp ready to whack down on any available spot, licking their lips in anticipation of their important step in your commute... until they realise that there is nowhere to stamp....
"Oh I give up," says the passport official with a wink and a smile as he hands back the unmarked pamphlet, in this hypothetical and completely-unrealistic situation, "so we'll just let you through this one time. We all know that passports are just another means of intergovernmental control anyway, ensuring that you will never find out who really instigated the 9/11 bombings and caused global warming. Have a nice day now!"
Not. Likely.
The fact is, annoying or not, your passport is full. It is not something that has a little monitor that beeps at you when you are starting to reach maximum capacity. It is something that you should consciously be aware of. As much as I hate airports, I love travelling, and I have to take responsibility for my travel documents. Even the almighty Lance Armstrong, be he a god in so many other fields, still has to assume mere mortal status and go through border control just like the rest of us bleeting sheep. As such, he or (if he really is far too busy and above checking his own documents) his PA or manager perpetrated a major oversight by not being aware that his passport is running out. This is not the fault of the poor bloody (admittedly bureaucratic because it's his bloody job) passport official. Incompetent he was not. He was just doing a shitty, shitty job and it was made all the worse because he had to do it to someone who is held in such infallible high esteem. Sucks to be you, dude.
Unlike people with an EU/GB or US passports, who often take visa-less entry for granted, I have the unenviable privilege of proving residence, gainful employment, liquidity and health clearance on an all too regular basis. With the various visas and permits ranging from EU to UK to US approval, the pages in my passport are worth at least R15,000 easily. Never mind the time, sweat, blood and tears that have gone into acquiring permission for each of those precious documents.
On our recent trip to SA, I realised that I only have five blank pages remaining in my passport. The rest are full. Choc-a-blok. Considering that I've only had it for four years, the chances are very likely that my passport is going to fill up before the expiration date in 2016 and I'm guessing that there will not be a public outcry on my behalf when I am informed that entry is denied due to lack of stamping space. So, despite six years remaining, I have already put in an application for a passport renewal. Not just any renewal, I've asked for a maxi-pad, I mean maxi-passport. 64 pages, baby.
If anything, I have learnt to play embassies and consulates at their own game. I have a visa folder. It includes, but is not limited to:
Passports (old and current, relevant pages copied);I smile, and have a friendly chat, and then absolutely drown them in paperwork. "... and here are two copies of my ID, here's by birth certificate in copy and original, here's my father's ID number and place of birth, here's my most recent pay slip and a copy for you, here's my contract indicating intention to extend... " Inevitably they don't know what to do with it all, hand it back and tell me my application has been approved.
Dutch residence permit (in original and both sides copied);
South African ID book (and copy);
Unabridged birth certificate (certified and copied);
Certificate of non-marriage status (certified and copied, this is apparently important in the Netherlands for some reason);
Police clearance (certified and copied);
Three months of recent bank statements (and copies);
Letter of motivation for why I am applying for passport renewal/more pages in passport/visa for particular country;
Letter from employer indicating gainful and ongoing employment;
Letter from hosts in respective country (if appropriate);
Planned itinerary or booked flights (if appropriate);
At least four bio-metrically accepted ID photos (no teeth showing, no head gear, hair away from face, generally a peculiarly bemused facial expression);
Sometimes this folder will also include a letter from a doctor stating my continued health and (on one occasion) x-rays showing a TB-free set of lungs.
So the maxi-passport will take up to 20 weeks (I nearly typed "20 years"... it feels about as long). But It's not a straight forward renewal - I've requested that I keep my current passport as it has at least three valid visas. So, I am hopefully going to have a massive passport for my stamp collection, as well as the old passport with the ongoing visas still running in that. I can't wait wait to explain that to passport control.
Maybe I'm too unsympathetic towards people who have no idea about when their passport will expire, or exactly what is required for entry into any given country. Maybe I'm far too aware of my passport, because I travel on third world status. I know that if I need a new visa in my passport I will need at least - at least - one blank double page. Not two pages somewhere in my passport, but two pages directly opposite each other.
I also know that if my passport is expiring within the next few weeks or months, I'm most likely not going to be allowed entry into various countries because they require that your passport run past a certain date after your expected date of return. This little point came as a rude surprise to a British friend who was recently not even allowed to board her plane for Cape Town as her passport expired within three weeks from that date. Here's a tip to any other international travellers to SA... not only do you need to have space to stamp in your passport, but you also need to be aware that it cannot expire within one month of your scheduled return date. They will not even let you on the plane.
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