The End of the Chapter

It's amazing how life rolls on... One random Chapter after the next....

CHAPTER 1- Growing Up 

Back in 1984

1984 -1980somrtthing

Also in the 80s

 CHAPTER 2 - Growing a brain 

This is not actually me... it's just a random kid I found on the interweb

2002 - The last day of school

 CHAPTER 3 - Becoming a Grown Up

I've lost my actual university certificates.... but this one's just about as important

CHAPTER 4 - Moving Out

2005 - The housemates.... some of them at least

CHAPTER 5 - Becoming a Gypsy

2007 - The East Coast of Africarish Trip

CHAPTER 6 - Pretending to be European

2008 - Moving to London Land

CHAPTER 7 - Going Places

2009 - A little drive from London to Mongolia

CHAPTER 8 - Thinking of Growing Up

2010 - Getting a job again and contemplating resouthafricanising

I even acquired some grownupy clothes

CHAPTER 9 - Going Down Under

2010 -  2011... In the land of Aus

CHAPTER 10 - The Ultimate Gypsy

 And this last chapter's been a rediculous one... 

 Jan 2012 - Building the beloved raft, the Illegal Immigrant

Feb 2012 - Joining a biker Gang

March 2012 - Cycling across South East Asia

May 2012 - Hitching across China

June 2012 - Sailing across the Indian Ocean 

 And just like that the chapter end... And tomorrow I start a whole new one. I fly to my new home, Cape Town and come Sunday I become a real person, with a job...

It's funny how life goes really - in every chapter you meet amazing people that shape your life and live out crazy experiences that change your life.

I've never been more terrified at the start of a new chapter... this one will be called "CHAPTER 11 - Real Life" - and that might just be the scariest thing I've ever done.... But it will be awesome. Every chapter is. 

Life. (Because you're not dead yet)

Once upon a new years eve... in a car bar... because you don't actually have to go out to have fun...

Bungee jumping, licking a president, reproducing, writing a novel, taxidermising a pet, starting an empire, winning a noble prize…  There were so many things I still wanted to do and now it was too late. The engines had roared to life and I soared towards the light.

I always figured “surviving a plane crash” should be the last thing I tick off my bucket list, just in case I didn’t. But life never really works that way - you can’t tell God/ fate/ Murphy what to do; and even karma doesn’t always behave. 

I gripped my seat and exchanged life accomplishment regrets with the random stranger next to me. She’d gone whiter than I had, and apparently she was actually Indian… 

We were going down fast. This was the end.  We hit the ground. Bounced. Bounced. Bounced again. And then, after two hours of absolute terror, it all came to an end. Random stranger and I flung arms around each other – we’d survived our overly dramatic imaginations.  

What ensued was an awesome reunion with good friends old and new; the most incredible weekend in the Drakensburg, and then a reunion with my ‘long’ lost boat crew - All things that would have been terrible to have missed out on had the plane actually gone down.

The Drakensburg

I also reunited myself with buckie, my seasick companion... we'll be as close as ever  soon enough (I hope)

Sometimes you need near death experiences (or perceived ones at least) to remind you to live more – It’s like when you lose your tooth brush for a month and then, after finding it again, suddenly havefriends again. And even though I’ve now been in Richard’s Bay [where it appears to be fashionable to have 8-12 teeth missing] a week, waiting for one small sail part to be repaired, it’s not so bad – there’s the beach, there’s beer, I’ve learned how to carpet a floor, met some of the strangest people imaginable, and had a rather therapeutic killing rampage…  -although I do still hope to leave soon!

Our lives are short enough as it is, so we really ought to be seizing every second: Doing instead of just talking about it; Running away from regret; Attempting the impossible; Frequently facing fears; making sure you have good stories for the grandkids some day; Making sure you have grandkids some day; Always going to bed happy [when we have time for sleep].

Lick a jellyfish...

Climb a cliff...

Go clubbing barefoot (actually wait - this is not recommended)

Jump off an oil rig

Drink artificially coloured drinks that look like they may poison you... unless of course they are poison , then don't, it's probably best to check first.

My cousin and his wife gave birth to their second kid yesterday…  And I was a little jealous that tiny Cuan had the whole of the rest of his life to live. But then I realized: so does everyone else

If you’re not living, you’re actually dead.

A Day in the Life of a Couch

I’ve made really good friends with the couch of late. There’s something about being the only unemployed individual in a house that leads you to find this kind of companionship. But I tell you now that it’s not a healthy relationship.

While I’ve given the couch a thorough vacuum and a lot of quality time, I’ve also given it popcorn kernels, sand, red wine, cereal and a nice bum-shaped indentation.

And whilst it has comforted me through the pretence of novel writing, the plottings of my million dollar empire, far too many Tarintino movies, and the aspirations of job hunting, it has also lulled me into a deep slumber on far too many occasions. It’s an evil couch.

The couch and I have become so close that yesterday, when the gigantanormous plumber walked in to fix our shower, I actually felt it squirm. And, when the plumber sat down to catch his breath after climbing two flights of stairs, I shared it’s agony in seeing its cushions pancaked to the floor. It pained me mostly because I’d never felt such a close connection to a couch.

And so, when plumber man finally left, so did I – it was exactly the motivation needed to inspire a jog.

And with my life potentially ending tomorrow with me boarding a flight (that’s right, I said the ‘F’ word), I need to put some distance between us (it makes tomorrow’s farewell easier too) and get out and make some real friends. Besides, couches offer no guidance in the ways of airplane survival and that’s what I need most in life right now (apart from coffee).

Rotted Milk

There are two types of choices: good ones; and bad ones.  Life’s a whole lot better when you make the good ones…

I should have realized this last week already. But I didn't  No, instead I didn't smell the milk before I used it on my cereal and coffee… At first I thought it just tasted bad because I had brushed my teeth first… Half way through I thought it might just be a new brand…

I thought I’d be a nice sister and cook dinner. But apparently chilli sauces aren't all the same.  Side-of-the-road-Mozambiquan-chilli-sauce is a force to be reckoned with. Dinner was severely diluted with milk. I forgot the milk was off…

3 hours into the document search....

SUCCESS!

And then came moving to Cape Town.  In an attempt to find one very
very very horrendously very important document, I took a trip to Benoni (Think mullets and wife beaters and children who are older than their parents). While it was lovely seeing family and having my first braai since 2010, I knew my mission. It took the better part of five hours, and courage I never thought I could cough up (I also coughed out a lot of dust and cobweb) – but I fought through four households of stored ‘stuff’ (our family being the first to have invaded the cousin’s garage) and came out with not only the document, but a lot more of my earthly belongings than I ever thought I owned. I’m pretty sure they bred and had offspring in my years of absence.

All my worldly possessions...

and the bicycle...

This made relocating home a lot harder than it should have been. Flying was out of the question. I had a full car load of ‘stuff’ so driving was out – not only do I not possess a car – but there was no way I’d drive the 1400 km alone. There are too many luggage limitations on the bus and well, I’d never taken the train…

Sunday morning I rocked up at the train station hoping there would still be tickets. “Sorry” said the friendly Malawian behind the counter “sold out till mid-Feb”. But I pleaded – “there’s no tickets at all??” and that’s how I bought my R340 third class hard seat on board the Shoshaloza Meyl to Cape Town. Like I said, it was a week of bad decisions.

The Zimbabwean next to me was under the impression that it was a 5 hour trip. I probably shouldn't have said anything about the ETA – I’ve never seen a black person turn that white.

Look at all the happy faces!

For every grown up on board there were 37.5 infants and for every seat between Klerksdorp and Kimberly, there were 3 grownups…

The toddlers joined their vocal chords to create a sound track to stay awake to and the plastic non-reclining seats made sure we did. But it could always be worse…  By 3am our carriage was full of police to break up the fights bought on by excessive quantities of alcohol and seat/ floor space reclaimage.

I made friends with 6 year old Kabelo who taught me all about fairies and princesses and marveled at the giftings her 3 year old sister possessed in finding and eating second hand chewing gum. I discussed business plans with people from 4 different African countries and finished reading a book I’ve carried for the last 3 months. But ask any person on that train and none of them will ever take it again. Not economy at least….

A very hot and smelly toilet overflowingly 29.5 hours later – past some breathtaking scenery and some sheep and 3 ostriches and a plethora of other stuff - we pulled into Cape Town. I felt like I’d just single-handedly fought the Vietnam war or run the comrades marathon… and won… and to make it even better, all of my belongings survived too.  

I suppose bad decisions are all part of life and they help you learn and become a better person… but they also get you upset stomachs and sleepless nights and possible diseases… From now on I aim to make only good ones. Life’s too short for 29.5 hour train rides…. 

How to make a Million... Maybe.

It was a bright and sunshiny Sunday evening. The pizza was ordered, the black label drafts were flowing… across from us sat a man with far too much butt crack showing, but the alternative views were Cape Town traffic or the smoking mob of under-agers out the back. It was the perfect setting for an epiphany. They always come when you least expect them.

I’m no exactly sure how you take five and a half years of random gypsyism and turn it into an exciting income generating backdrop. I can’t really remember all that much from varsity days and I’ve been out of touch with the real world for so long that I’m not sure I can return to a former type of employment. My major skills are falling, licking things, not dying, and generating random meaningless conversation with strangers. My CV has gaps. But this year I will make a million bucks. Or at least that’s the New Year’s resolution.

I’m nearing 500 days of absolutely no income (and proud of it) – it’s the perfect foundation for my quest.

Minimum wage comes to about R26 000 a year – which is only R974 000 short. If I sell everything I own and my second kidney I can probably push that up to R27 400 so it looks like I’m going to have to be getting crazy creative on this endeavor!

I’ve looked at the figures and will probably rule out cake sales and begging at the robots (traffic lights) but to succeed, it’s going to take every other sort of everything. I’ve decided to make Cape Town my base and also decided that I’d prefer not to be arrested, lose my soul, or die – but everything else goes.

I have no idea who ever takes the time to read these blog posts (if anyone) – but if you (whoever you may be) have any suggestions, please send them my way – I will give them a shot!

I tried really hard to make New Year’s resolutions this year. But I’m a goal orientated person… I need them.  And that’s why this is the year I become a millionaire…

Could this be how I make my millions...??

Take any Old Year - Turn it Stupendously Epic

I’m not sure how I’ve survived 2012: I’ve fallen 869 times, crashed 3 motorbikes, blown 17 bicycle tyres, licked any and everything, hitched 2687 km, cycled 2953 km, motorbiked 3214 km, sailed some 13 060.8 km,  shipwrecked, probably contracted rabies, and today celebrates 396 days of unemployment... not to mention surviving the predicted world’s ending...

I’ve always pretended to be ballsy. I’m not particularly - I’m a woman, we don’t have balls. I think my could-be-any-race-group complextion (currently leaning towards Nigerian), calloused bare feet and mangled mop of gypsy hair gives me that caveman-style untouchable aura. But I bruise, I bleed, I have sleepless nights of worry and I’m generally just as scared as the chickens who live across the road from the KFC... 

A year ago today I was sat on a friends balcony in Singapore staring worryingly at the world map wondering where to go next... My goal was a flightless mission to Spain, maybe. But the terrified little girl inside had only a giant teddy bear and a gianter backpack to cling to. And the bank account probably wasn’t very happy already.  A pep talk with myself, and excessive amounts of prayer later I missioned off into the abyss and let life unfold. 

It’s easy to have a good year when you play it safe. You know what’s going to happen. You know who and where your friends are. You have a secure job where you can budget and plan bonuses. You have a cellphone contract and you know that when you walk into a local supermarket or a restaurant that you’ll find the brands and the flavours that you’re looking for and if you don’t you can at least speak the language and ask. But an excellent year involves a bit of roulette.

You never know what you're going to eat next....

“Never try, never know” is one of the many catch phrases of Asia (normally used to promote drug sales and prostitution). You don’t. Think back to the year that’s just past and how many times you turned down offers that made you nervous, conversations with people who smelt funny, travels to places you’d never heard of; how different would life have been if you’d said ‘yes’ more (or, in a few selective cases “no” more)?? 

After 2 and a half years of being away and 5 months of sailing, I arrived home. We moored in Richard’s Bay (South Africa) a little over two weeks ago after some incredibly hectic seas and a good many sleepless nights of holding on for dear life. I was looking forward to seeing friends and family and familiarity. I kissed the ground (which tasted very similar to dirt the world over, if you were wondering), and spent a couple of hours bouncing up and down in happiness (before I wore myself out and took a 4 hour power nap). It was so good to be back but I’d subconsciously already decided to run away again. 

The purple show's the radar's reflection of the storm surrounding us

The tattered remains of our gib

The crew and the friendliest immigration man I've ever met who gave the biggest welcome hug

I missioned to Cape Town (car-bus-car-car-car-car-bus) for the first sibling reunion in 3 years and found a whole lot more than I’d bargained for.  The best year of my life (so far) just got even better and ends with me dating my best friend of 10 years.... And that’s more than definitely worth sticking around for.

The fam

Aren't we an attractive lot???

I’m about to give the realer world another shot [GULP] - but this doesn’t for a second mean that the adventures are over. It simply means a new sort of gypsyism and I’m both excited and terrified - I have no idea where 2013 is going to take me.

And now it’s time to check my bank balance for the first time in 2 years - this is officially the scariest thing I’ve done all year... 

Happy 2013!! Go crazy. Be awesome. Say yes a lot. Come Visit. Don’t die.