I've hit the ground running.

Phew.

I'm finally relaxing with my feet up. My swollen feet and ankles (I guess these things happen after you sit on a plane for a ridiculous number of hours. Mom, any pointers on de-swelling my cankles?). Marita and I figured out how to get myself onto the internets (who knew you had to buy internet for yourself at the grocery store?), so now I'm sitting in the flat, blogging and enjoying a pleasant summer breeze.

It's been another whirlwind of a day. The flight to Cape Town was enjoyably short. I had another interesting travel companion at my side. Samson, a native of Ethiopia, who has been living in DC for the past 4 or so years, is meeting up with a friend in Cape Town to do some traveling for 10 days. (We may all meet up together for some adventuring!) During the flight, we talked about politics (I picked his brain about DC during inauguration week; he bartended at the Commander's Ball!), our work, racism, traveling, and wine. Easily, the most amazing moment of the 24 hours of traveling came after we had begun our descent. I, without expectation or any real thought, glanced out the window -- only to literally have my breath taken away. I'm not sure there are words to describe the view. A positively stoic and breathtakingly inspiring Table Mountain and Lions Head sat in dark shadow. Only to be contrasted by the magenta and crimson skies of a Cape Townean sunset. Stunning. My new friend and I just kept quietly muttering "oh my god".

A few short minutes later, I was on the ground. Marita and Ben picked me up at the airport, only to sweep me off to catch the tail end of a braii (South African barbecue) at Vernon's house. Vernon is a colleague of Marita's; among many other things, he coordinates the placement for the student's internships. Classified coloured, Vernon is a native of South Africa, and was a part of the struggle; he fought apartheid. He is a kind and gregarious man. He proudly served me a glass of Pinotage, a fantastic red wine native only to South Africa. I look forward to future conversations with him over additional glasses of Pinotage!

We were back at Marita's flat by midnight local time (5pm EST). I had about 3 sips of brandy (don't ask), took a shower, and passed out. Up this morning at 7:30am feeling tired, but not jet lagged. Marita, Steve (a colleague of Marita's from UConn who was visiting for one week), and I were off to Robben Island at 9. The rickety ferry boat had us on the island in under an hour. We toured the island and I learned some fascinating history. From the leper cemetery to the prison guard's church, the shipwrecked tuna boat from Thailand, and the former hospital (which is currently a grade school for the 18 children of the roughly 200 current residents; for secondary education, students must travel to the main land). And the limestone quarry where classified black prisoners were forced to work day after day after day without shoes or bathroom breaks. The reflection of the sunlight off the lime caused blindness in many prisoners, and to this day is the reason why Nelson Mandela literally cannot shed tears (his tear ducts were destroyed). It was in a small cave in the quarry that he and his fellow comrades quietly and dangerously educated themselves. (Each former political prisoner was referred to as Comrade.)

Our tour of the actual prison was led by a witty and cheerful gentleman, with a larger than life voice, who was imprisoned their for seven years, until everyone's release in 1991. He, like so many men and women, was a political prisoner for being a part of the ANC and fighting apartheid. When asked how he was "caught" he shared with us that, "even within the struggle, there are always informants."

During the tour of the maximum security prison I had many moments of being awed by history and struggle and intersectionality and "life is so much bigger than just any one of us." I felt all of that when I was looking at Nelson Mandela's cell and standing in the place where his manuscript for Long Walk To Freedom was found. I am humbled by the realization that I laid in my bed at home in Newton reading his autobiography not too long ago, and then today stood in the exact place where he risked his life to write it.

Before leaving Robben Island, I shook our tour guide's hand and thanked him. I asked him if he was angry. He smiled and compassionately responded, "not at all. Not at all." I couldn't quite comprehend the weight of such forgiveness, so I smiled and walked away with tears in my eyes.

On the ferry ride back to the city, dolphins swam and played and gallivanted beside the boat. It made me giggle.

Back at the waterfront, Marita, Steve, and I had lunch. I had a chicken masala rooti (think: Indian food wrapped in a crepe) - delish! We sat outside - people watching galore! There were street performers and carnival-like games for children and tourists and locals and black and white and Muslim and young and old and African and not. I probably heard 35 different languages in the short time we were having our lunch (not that I could even begin to guess all the languages). It was fantastically overwhelming.

So Steve has departed for Jo'Burg, Marita and I did some mini-grocery shopping, I still have cankles, I'm sunburned and happy, and I'm finally going to unpack.

Oh! And:

Cell: 079 320 4312. But from the US., you have to use the country codes and stuff, so first you have to dial 011 + 27. So let's try it one more time, folks: 011 27 079 320 4312. Or you could just email me and then we can set up a Skype date.

And one last "and": go Steelers!