This is it my friends.  Tomorrow I leave for the desert and there aint no Wifi where I'm going, so you're going to have to wait a week for it.  Was urged by fellow cleaners to take all my stuff with  in case I happen upon a great traveling opportunity that I cannot refuse.  I hope it all fits into Maurice's car.

So tallyho, so long, till next time.
I love you all muchly.

See you on the flipside!

Alice

The dividing line

Dear Universe,

The Burn will be the dividing line.  In future I will be able to refer to life before the Burn, and life after the Burn.  Things are going to change around here, and the most important of all of those things is:

1. No more checking the Ex's FB profile everyday.  Whatever I think I'm going to get from it I've now proven to myself that I'm not going to get it.  It's over.  Move along.  It's going on three months and it still feels like I'm just on vacation and that at any moment I will be jumping a plane and heading back to a happy family consisting of yours truly, the Ex and two of the cutest cats the world has ever seen.  Not going to happen.  It's gone, caput, finito, overs kadovers.

You know Universe, whilst we're on the topic.  In future, can you please check that when I break up with a guy it comes with much anger and hatred because that would really simplify things in the long run.  Hugging and crying before getting on a plane is preferable to friends and family, not the boyfriend you're breaking up with.  No.  Break ups should be large and theatrical, with things being thrown around the room and loud shouting and screaming.  The neighbours should have absolute certainty about the fact that you are no longer a couple.

Help me Universe, make the pain go away.

Yours truly,

Alice

Bits

Still nothing on the San Diego front.  I guess that means I didn't get it...


Someone did bark at my ass today though.
I have mixed feelings about this. 
(It seems I attract a larger crowd on the harassment front than in the SA.  They like my African bootei.  I  have junk in my trunk and it gets attention!)


Saw two Scientology commercials this week and was accosted by some of those folk in a mall.  They did a "stress test" on me and then became very insistent that I buy their book.  I ticked my diary next to "meet weird people from other cults" smiled and then ran like crazy before they could tackle me.  This is all Tom Cruise's fault.

Wishlist

Dear Universe,


In two days time I will take a six hour journey into the desert with a very friendly gay mexican man who has offered me a seat in his car.  (I had coffee with him don't worry Universe, he cool).  Our destination will be Black Rock City, a city of 50 000 people that exists for only a week every year, and my new temporary home.  I thought I would give you a heads up on what I'm expecting, just so that you're not confused or unclear on my grand expectations for the B Man:

1. As you know Universe, I'm camping with a group called "Big, Puffy and Yellow" and the bulk of their attendees reside in Charlotte on the East Coast. Please make sure that all people camping in this group and wonderful and sweet.  If there are any sex offendors or weirdos make sure they break down in Reno. 
2. More importantly, make sure that everyone at the camp loves me and that I get my two meals a day.  Otherwise I'm screwed.
3. Do not schedule any sandstorms between the 1st and the 8th of September.  This is very important.  Also, cool days are very hip for the desert at the moment and balmy nights make for good dancing and other entertaining bits.  Try it, you'll see.
4. Remind me to pack everything important for my first camping trip in the desert.  I don't want to get there and realise that I don't have any toiletpaper with me. 
5. Universe, put all the good folk on my path.  Help me make some great connections and meet some mindblowing people.
6. Give me a sense of humor.  Open my mind.  Make me playful and free.  If there is a place in the world where I really don't have to worry about what others think, it's Burning Man.  I'm gonna have the biggest load of fun I've had in years!
7. Throw me some awe inspiring curveballs that will roll my brain around and make me change my own perceptions of the world.
8. Traveling folk who have a truck and space in it would be nice.  Then they can invite me to join them on their cross country extravaganza.  LA and San Diego first.  New Mexico would be good, and from there Alabama, New Orleans, hey, I could even go to Charlotte before heading back to the N of the Y and giving it a good roll this time.
9. Make sure there are lots of men with great... personalities Universe. Lots of um.  Keep woman to a minimum.  We don't need um.

I know you are gonna rock my world next week.

Big Love,

Alice

Life from a tree.

Dear Universe,


Living in a hostel room with 2 other people in your thirties is testing to put it mildly.  It's kinda like being back at university except with a constant soundtrack, bad accents and all night parties.  I now spend alot of time daydreaming about expensive hotels where people wait on you all day and you go for free manicures and back massages.  (I could really do with a free back massage after week 1 of being a maid.)


Didn't have a good night's sleep. Guests had a party downstairs till 5am and I live right above. They must have been playing fussball because it would be silent and then suddenly all hell would break loose, punctuated by one specific screaming whooping woman who must have been the drunkest of them all.  Everytime just as I was asleep she would go off whooping again.




This morning I went to take a shower only find that someone had blown chunks in it last night.  The smell when I opened the door was undescribably horrific.  It looked like the person in question had been to a Wendy's buffet before drinking 3 bottles of rainbow colored alcohol.  Been cleaned up since  (luckily not by me) but I still feel traumatised and unsure if I will be able to use that bathroom again.  It was un-nice and put a sour spin on my day.  With my lightning reflexes I quickly escaped back to the safety of my room and slammed the door to make sure none of the horridness followed me.  All was quiet and lovely there as both my roommates are still away.  (Thanks for that!)  However, I'm still perched on a top bunk and spend alot of time feeling like some strange oversized bird.  Which is weird.
After my shower surprise I went to reception to inform someone about it and discovered that my favoritest person in the whole world was at reception today.  Her name is Brooke...  Like in the soapie.  You know, it takes a special kind of person for me to dislike someone instantly.  Brooke is that special lady. She would be that person.  It must be because she's so short that she has that big attitude.  Every single time I've spoken to her I've left feeling that I've offended her in some way.  Talk about a passive aggressive bitch!  She's nasty but never so nasty that you can actually point a finger at her and call her a cow, which will have to be remedied because I'm dying to offend her. Our conversation this morning went something like this.


Me:   (sweet.  innocent. traumatised.) Hi
Her:   (not looking up) O. Hi.
Me:    How are you?
Her:    How would you be if you were earning $10 an hour.
(uncomfortable silence)
         (finally decides to make brief eye contact) I thought you were going to burning man.
Me:    I am.  Starts Sunday night and I leave on Monday.
Her:   Oh well, that's weird because David left yesterday already.
Me:   (Who the hell is David?) He must have an early pass which means he's helping with the set-up.
Her:   (look of disdain) I don't think so... Anyway I couldn't care less, I would rather die than go to Burning Man.  What can I do for you.  (Said with one of those super fako stick-on smiles.)
Me:   (seeing heavy object and wondering what would happen if I threw it at her.)I just wanted to let you know that someone blew chunks all over the bathroom.
Her:   (Looking like I've just insulted her mother.) Well.  I'm not going to clean it.
Me     I didn't think you would, I just thought that I should let someone know?


Etcetera etcetera.  She needs to find an exercise program that she can commit to.  Maybe she will lose some weight and get rid of that bitter tone in her voice cause its spreading disease.


Anyhoozle:
By the time I get back from the Burn my room will be full house.  I will be bunking with two Russian girls, I think they are both 20, and you know those people have stamina that I don't have man.  They gonna party all night and come back drunk and switch on the light and drive me crazy.  Then I will wake up early and switch on the light and make some noise and that will drive them crazy.  I'm just too old for this party.


Universe, in all your Wisdom, help me to come up with another solution to my current living conditions.  It would be met with great appreciation, clapping, applauding, a dance of joy and mucho indebtedness.  I will spread the word of your good deeds.


Love your work,


Alice

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.

Eisj

Still haven't heard back from the housesitting gig in San Diego...  Cross your fingers for me.

US = Good Medicine.

Here's a little nugget of gold about yours truly:

I'm super-concerned about what other people think of me and it kills me to admit it.  I want to be liked by everyone.  I hide it pretty well (we all hide our little crazies) but when it gets right down to it I'm a real pleaser.  I've improved over the years but I still hate the idea that anyone might walk around with ill feelings for me or (worse) that someone out there (gasp) maybe doesn't like me.  That I've been judged and found too light.  That I don't live up to other people's expectations.  (You have to remember we are talking about deep subconscious stuff here people, just stick with me.) 

On top of that I want to be successful at everything I do, and if for a second I believe that for some reason I might not be really excellent I will rather stop than fail.  Pretty limiting attitude, how many things I could have done in my life if I had managed to get over this fear earlier in my life!  The combination of these two things sometimes makes me feel like I live in a box.  I am forever playing by other people's rules.

But life is a real trickster.  The universe is forever conspiring to rid me of this fear of judgement and obsession with perfection by giving me big desires that I find irresistable, except for the fact that in order to accomplish them I need to not give a damn about anyone else and believe that whatever I have is enough. 

Here are a couple of examples of my work:

1. Acting.  This is all I wanted to do for years and years and years.  I seemed to be pretty successful at it too and it served as a type of outlet that kept me sane through my own younger days.  Then I went to drama school and people shot so many holes in my performance that I pretty much stopped believing that I would ever be the best and so I stopped performing altogether.  It didn't happen immediately, and once again, it wasn't a conscious decision.  I kind of limped from audition to audition for a year or three but couldn't really find the joy in it anymore.  I stopped.

1. However, not long afterwards I ran off to be initiated as a Sangoma!  I might as well have given everyone else live ammo and gone and stood against a wall.  Bone readings?  How do you measure a bone reading?  How do you know if it has been successful or not?  I enjoy doing them so much, I find it deeply satisfying, but people literally have to trip me up to get me to sit down and do one for them.  What if I'm wrong??  What if everything that I say is just utter nonsense and the person's face starts wrinkling and... what if they laughed at what I said???  This has never happened, not even close, but bone readings by nature are unpredictable, as are people, and the combination is quite overwhelming to me on a bad day.  I have to really focus and speak soft words of wisdom to myself in order to let it go.

1. Then there are relationships.  (As I said, the world conspires.)  Inevitably I attract partners that have  exactly the same issues I do and when I finally realise it I am devastated, disappointed and shoot holes in their work because that is what was done to me.  I become judgemental, speak down even, deeply frustrated by the fact that they cannot see the error of their ways and stop caring what others think in a heartbeat.  If they can just fix this one thing, everything will fall into place and they will live a life of integrity and strength of conviction.  Don't they know that that is really what people respond to- integrity to your own being, in spite of everything. 

Relationships have been such a great source of healing for me in my life.  They are always there to help show our bones, to serve as a mirror first of our own excruciating beauty and then to show us the ugly monster that lurks beneath.

Today it feels like if I could change this one thing about myself, if I could truly live without worrying about what my family or friends thought of my actions, that would be freedom in my book.  If I could realise deep, deep inside of me that I am essential to everything around me, that I am part of it, that I am it, and that I am not, that I deserved all the goodness in the world and that it would be ok for me to be even great if I wanted to be, I would be ok.

Being in the US is giving me a tiny bit of this freedom at the moment. Here you can stand out and not worry. No one cares if I'm wearing skanky clothes or singing karaoke.  They are all just faces in my crowd that will disappear tomorrow or the next day and forget all about me.  I don't influence their lives.  Besides for that I am so bland when I'm in a crowd of Americans, if anyone is going to be judged it aint gonna be me!  Americans are all born performers, all of them seem to live like they are the be all and end all, and this in itself is a great example and medicine for me.  It means that I am allowed to do the same.

Have you ever watched a show called "The King of Queens"?  It's a sitcom about a delivery guy and his wife, living in Queens NY.  Personally I've always thought it's a bit far fetched.  A delivery guy could NEVER live in a house that size, or have such  great self esteem.  Let's face it, the man's a delivery guy, it's not like he's found his calling in life, right?  Well here's the clincher.  People in the US don't seem to have this obsession that South Africans do, the one that says that you have to find that thing that you were born to do.  If you are a delivery guy you can make good money and be very proud of your job.  Bus drivers are super cool people and proud of their professions.  Ofcourse there's the crowd that wants to get to the top of the heap, go to Harvard etc, I'm not denying that.  What I'm talking about is an unspoken understanding in the lower and middle class that they are good enough, no matter what.  Maybe its not that South Africans are told that they're not good enough, but rather that they are and that they should make sure to let the world know about it!  Let's face it, we're talking about a country where the white people made a big point of continuously proving for years and years and years that they were better than everybody else, and that's the way we grew up.

I have spoken to a couple of South Africans whilst I've been here and all of them nod knowingly when I broach the topic.  A good example is my cousin Jana.  When I spoke to her about this she admitted that she would never have felt comfortable being a manager at a restaurant in South Africa.  It would feel like she had failed somehow.  She was always the budding artist in the family and it feels to her like the fact that she doesn't do art full-time and make a living out of it woud have been cause for judgement.  In the States no one cares if Jana is a full-time artist or not.  She works at the restaurant during the week and paints over weekends.  Her whole flat is covered in the most beautiful artworks you could possibly imagine.  She has never had an exhibition and doesn't have any plans to change that status in the future.  She just enjoys painting and drawing so that's what she does.

John F Demartini is a well known speaker from Texas.  He says that whenever he gets up infront of an audience he knows for certain that by the end of his talk half of the people will like what he has to say and the other half won't.  That's balance for you.  That's the way the world works.  It's  preposterous to try and be liked by everyone, in fact it's a complete impossibility.  The world balances itself out continuously and as I'm part of it so do I it seems. 

The idea of going back to SA is starting to niggle in the back of my head.  Who will I have become by the time I go back?  Will I be able to (or want to) revert back to who I was before?  Is there anything left for me in Cape Town, and if not, is there anywhere else in SA that I really want to be?  I miss my friends and I love my country, make no mistake.  I am the most grateful South African you will ever encounter.  It's just that right now this feels like opportunity, and it feels pretty goood.

I immerse myself in every bit of freedom that I find:
Bring on Burning Man. 
Bring on more travel. 
Give me adventure and unpredictability! 

Kick me back into existence Universe, let's play a little game.

Meditating on some things.

PMS and hard labor.  That magic combination.  Only to be beaten by being on your period and hard labor.  I've managed to crawl my way out of the kitchen and into the lounge, the hall, laundry, internet room and tv room, all in one go.  Are you feeling me people.  The other cleaning staff came and checked in on me as it was my first day on this shift and anyone with 3 braincells can tell that you need more than one person to clean that much floor. I mopped all of it between 10am and 2pm and my left arm has officially packed its bags and walked out on me.  To top it all off the Korean was practically intimate with me from behind he was following me so closely.  My deepseated disdain for authority is rearing its big ugly head and its not a good sign.  You can take the girl out of Northcliff but you can't take the Northcliff out of the girl. 

I've been thinking about Buddhist monks for most of today, as I stared at the floor I was mopping with glassy eyes and no arm.  You must have seen video footage of them before: they skip down to fetch water at the bottom of some hill in the Himalayas somewhere and then climb the 2000 steps back to the top with a serene smile on their faces.  Then, when they finally get back to the top, the days activities can begin.  They sweep and mop and clean and cook, except that when they do it they like gliding angels.  When I do it I'm more like a tired and unhappy person.  I'm 33 ok, I'm not 20 anymore.  Maybe I'll just lie here quietly until the shaking stops.

DEAR UNIVERSE,

You must be on speed dial today. 

Just bought a tent, 2 sleeping bags, an umbrella, a queensized blow-up bed, a hammer and a flashlight from the loveliest French couple in my hostel for $40.  Read it and weep my friends.  $40!  If I had bought it in a shop it would have been over $300.  They had used it to camp twice and don't want to be overweight when they fly back tomorrow... I saved them folks.  I did them a favor.

Not only that but my days of hard labor hell might be over soon.  Just replied to an ad for a housesitting gig in San Diego as of the 27th of September till the 9th of November... Yaaahoooeweee!  If I get it I can

• come back from Burning Man on the 8th of September,
• work at the Hostel for two more weeks till the 22nd, then
• take the hostel shuttle down to LA for $25 to go and visit my friend Andre for a couple of days before
• shuttling down to Ocean Beach, San Diego to babysit a beautiful cat and live in a duplex all by myself for 5 weeks.

Universe, make it happen.  Let it be so.  I will be the most greatful little South African in all of America.

Still your greatest fan.

Alice.

Just like home. But not.

San Francisco is famous for it's large homeless population. It's also known for Trustafarians, basically referring to someone who has oodles of money or a trustfund, but still begs on the side of the road.  They are young, hip and weekend-homeless.  Strange but true.  They sit by the side of the road holding funny little signs of cardboard that read: "Ninjas killed my parents. Need money for karate lessons," or "Why lie? Need money for beer!" Mostly there is a dog with them, a small backpack, tatty clothes.  Could you imagine something like a trustafarian in South Africa?  Not in a million years.  Just proving how generally safe the States really are if the rich feel safe enough to spend the weekends sleeping in the streets.

The story, as told to me by a tourguide, goes like this:

San Francisco is the centre of Liberalism in the US.  In the 70's or 80's the overly zealous local government decided that it was only good and right to give the homeless people in SF a monthly stipend.  They believed that this small amount of money (something like $300) would serve as support and inspiration for people to better themselves and that eventually they will be able to lift themselves out of poverty and become healthy members of society once more.  Unsurprisingly the exact opposite happened.  Homeless people from across the country heard that they could come to SF and get paid for being homeless!  How cool is that.  So they flocked from around the States to their new Utopia, San Francisco where their drug money would be delivered on a plate.  It took the government something like 20 years to catch on to the fact that their little plan was backfiring something horrible by which time it was much too late to undo what they have done. 

Late afternoons the homeless qeue up for food in long lines in the city centre, and quite a spectacle it is.  They have some serious attitude, sporting crown-hats, faux fur coats, anything I guess they can lay their hands on.  The problem is still nowhere near as severe as in SA, but you definitely feel the impact of it more in SF than any other city where I've been.  I remember noticing a beggar sitting by the side of the road in NY because I hadn't seen any in all the time I'd been there.

At the same time that the liberals started their little experiment a whole new brand of kids were growing up in SF who were being told from a young age by their filthy rich and guilt-ridden parents that big corporations were evil and bad because their intention was to take over the world and that SF was committed to only serving the little guy. In most cases these kids had parents who had made a fortune out of some or another corporation somewhere down the line because God knows it's not cheap living in this city,  but all of that was being hidden and disowned.  Lots of money + denial = deeply dysfunctional kids who think it's hip to be poor.

The Trustafarians stick to the Haight/Ashbury district, famous as the central point of the hippy movement. The real homeless gravitate towards the center of the city and you are confronted by them when you take any kind of public transport.  I spent an entire day being haunted by a woman who was obviously smacked out of her mind and wondered around the subway system for hours, jumping different trains and getting off and back on at various stations where lucidity entered for a brief second.  I ran into her 4 times on one day and each time she saw me she ran for me:
"I'm sorry but do you have a dollar for four quorters?" she would say each time, and I would shake my head again and again, and the next time she would see me there would be no recollection of our first encounter anymore and so we would play it all out again.  Vacant eyes and a wig.  Sneakers too big and dress too long.  She kept falling over it.  Yet there was something utterly defiant about her.  When I finally made it to the bus I was greeted by another beggar who felt compelled to "squirt his choclate over my sweet vanilla because that's the way they play it round here".  Lovely.  My roommate came in the other night and anounced that on entering the building she saw a woman right outside trying to find a neck vein in the rearview mirror of a car with a needle in her hand.

The homeless can get pretty inventive here.  There are a couple of mimes, perched on a beer crate and frozen in position till money enters the cup they're holding.  This afternoon I walked past a woman crying her eyes out, holding a cup and saying that she wanted to go home. An hour later she was still there doing the same thing but her eyes weren't red and no water ran down her cheeks.  I felt little remorse for her and instantly felt guilty for not feeling more remorse for her.  Even though I'm in a different country I still struggle with seeing white people begging and instantly feel like they have failed because undoubtedly they must have had more opportunities than the black man has had.  I wish I could shake that out of my head.

SF has a large contingency of Asians: Japantown, Chinatown.  I'm going there tomorrow to buy an umbrella against the sun at B Man and hopefully some cheap shoes that can get bunged up whilst I'm there.  I have never seen Asian beggars before SF and it's a strange sight.  They don't beg but go meticulously through trash cans, seperating the recycling and then carting it off for small amounts of cash.  They are quiet and dignified, yet deep lines on their faces.  Disowned people.  Forgotten people.  I wish I knew what had happened in their lives.

Career change application.

Dear Universe,


Day 3 of cleaning a kitchen used by 350 people and I am in serious need of a career change. My entrepeneurial brain has suddenly switched back on and ideas are pumping round my harddrive at lightning speed.  This can't go on I tell you!


I made sure to meet the owner of said establishment this morning as I heard that he will also be attending The Burn and now that I know what he looks like I will make a point of finding his ass, befriending him and convincing him to employ me as a secretary/anthing else that might require me to use my brain before I go completely and utterly loopy.  I am being trained by a Korean who has been working here for over three years (do the math, the man's illegal) and a stickler for cleanliness.  I don't think that he feels my work is up to scratch.  (Just one call to the right people...) That's right Universe, I am a failure when it comes to cleaning.  I feel the same pain I felt when I was five and my kindergarden rapport card said that I was struggling to use scissors.  I'm left handed ok, sort out the scissors buddy, don't bag on me cause you can't sort your shit out.  And here I am again, 28 years later, failing.


Besides for that my feet are totally killing me Universe, my back aches and my hands are dry and cracking.  It's driving me to drink.  I am rapidly going off the idea of staying in SF altogether and find myself daydreaming about all the wonderful people I will be meeting at the Burn.  I strongly anticipate being whisked away on a free cross country trip by someone who thinks I'm the cutest thing they've ever seen.  It can happen you know.  It could even be Cowboy.


Dear Universe, in all your Wisdom, PLAN AN INTERVENTION.  My hands and tootsies deserve better than this.


Your friend and great admirer,


Alice

In your head.

The soundtrack to the movie you are watching is currently Deathcab for Cutie. 

Oh Joy!

A night spent in the Elbo Room with the marvelous and lovely Edward and Nicholas who are back in SF for a couple of days before heading back to Cape Town.  These guys win the prize in my book for living the most adventurous and lovely life.  Happy people!

On Target

Alice has decided that Cowboys tend to be wreckless homebreakers and are not to be trusted.  Thusly she is going to Target with Emily this afternoon to purchase a one woman tent for $40.

And that's the last of it.

It does not vibrate.

Hard labor does not vibrate with me. 

I had a sense of that today whilst on my knees cleaning floors.  And then again when I dug into the largest pile of dishes the world has ever witnessed.  And finally when I scraped clean the bottom of a toilet and retrieved a clump of black hair out of it, it dawned on me.  Hard labor isn't really my gig.

The last time I had to do any kind of hard labor was probably in my 2nd year at varsity when my best friend and I volunteered to spend a night working at Kuzmaz, a restaurant in Rondebosch, because we hung out there all the time and the night staff were on strike.  The idea of Kuzmaz having to close for a night was completely unacceptable.  We washed dishes from around 12pm till 6am and had a blast for about the first 3 hours after which we slowed down substantially and started having deep philosophical conversations about hard work and what it meant.  The owner didn't appreciate this much and urged us to stop talking about work and actually do some of it.  We slogged on with absolutely no enthusiasm towards the end and left with deep concern about the obvious cockroach problem and the disregard all the staff seemed to have for them. It didn't stop us from still spending a large portion of our time there though.

I'm a heady kind of person.  I'm kind of all about ideas and splashing them onto paper and that sort of thing.  I can sell people ideas as well and even employ the odd actor to stand up and recite some of the stuff that I splashed onto paper earlier AND GET PAID FOR IT!  What a wondrous thing.  This morning my enthusiasm waned substantially quicker than the initail 3 hours Thain and I had in us 13 years ago.  My back got sore from bending over alot and that really got me grumpy.  I kept wanting to stop my accomplice who was supposed to be teaching me the ropes to say to him: 

Actually I'm of no use to you here, honestly.  This.  Scrubbing business.  Did I tell you I'm from South Africa?  I grew up with a maid who cleaned up after me and a father who loved doing the dishes and did so every night.  Spell it. P-r-i-n-c-e-s-s from A-f-r-i-c-a...

I have moved into a new room and at least it has some perks.  My roommate, Analisa from Italy, leaves tomorrow for a week to go LA, Las Vegas and then to cross the Mexican border and come back into the country (to cover her illegal ass) which means I will have the room all to myself!  Something I haven't had in quite some time.  Also, I have a tv in my room and as I won't have to move again for awhile I've packed out some of my clothes and there are even hangers with my things on it.  All and all I can't complain. I do have a bit less time for my favorite pass time which is blogging and that isn't too great.  I will have to wake up earlier to make it happen.

Exhaustion also doesn't vibrate with me.  Terrible things happen when I'm not 100% conscious and able to fend for myself.  A good example of this is what happened yesterday.  After my first working day, a full 4 hours of cleaning house I went off to wander the streets of SF when unexpectedly I had an epileptic attack inside the gap, blacked out and only woke up a number of hours later with various bags containing the loveliest winter clothes I did ever lay eyes on.  The attack was triggered by a sign that read: 2 for the price of 1 SALE.  Today only.  The rest is history. 
Damn that blackout.

Cowboys n Crooks

I'm still at a loss for a warm place to sleep and a cave to protect me from sandstorms at Burning Man.  After some virtual hook-ups I have now been offered a spot in a 6 man tent (with an air mattress!) and as far as I know only containing one man called Cowboy whom I've never met and know nothing about.  He found my details on a burning man site and sent me an email offering to share his lovely and spacious tent with me. 

The question is:  Is it safe to share a tent with  a complete stranger?  Especially a man who calls himself Cowboy?? Probably not.  BUT: Is it a good idea to run out and buy your own tent for $80 and sleep without an air mattress??? Cowboys may be wild but they're our friends.  I'm certain he will be a kind and gentlemanly kind of fellow.  Hold thumbs.  Maybe I should add his email address here just in case none of you ever hear from me again...

Last night with Thomas

My favorite.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.


"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."
"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?
"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"


"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.


"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.

Big Sureee you big meaneee

I am a lawless jay-walker.  Walking the streets in my $15 tekkies, shaking my ass and pretending to be in the Know.  And when everyone else stops at the red man (even when there are no cars for miles) I look right, left and right again and then cross even though I'm not supposed to.  I must be so mean because I'm South African. I'm the evil jay-walkin travelin gypsy girl, hangin with my homeys in SF and talkin the talk.

My tekkies took me out to buy a pile of equipment for Burning Man including water bladders backpacks and glosticks today.  Feeling more prepared although I'm only realising now what I'm letting myself in for.  Think it's going to be a biggy, maybe even a life-changer.

Off to Big Sur for the weekend my friends, and word is that there will be much fun had and no time to check in.  So this is it.  Goodbye for now, I will miss writing you but take lots of pictures and give detailed reports on Monday.


Rock on Mofo's!

Found a great, short article about the Burning Man Festival.

If you have no idea what I'm on about, go read more about

this amazing gathering at

www.arischindler.com/burning_man/

Oi.

9 Days to go before the Burning Man officially starts।

I'm getting nervous. I havent' been to a friggin outdoor party since like 2002 and now I'm going to the Grand Daddy of outdoor parties. Talk about extreme camping! Goggles to fend off sandstorms?? Huge steel pegs to keep your tent down?? I don't even have a tent yet!

At least it seems I have found a lift।

It's going to be fine... I think.

Travel tip #9 a-la Mel.

It is a well known fact that one tends to feel kind of lost when traveling. From time to time you wake up going: "Where the hell am I? And how did I get here? And why did I decide to come here again??"

My friend Melanie did The Travel herself and send me some great tips to ward off The Lost. She suggests doing whatever you possibly can to make whichever dorm room you are currently staying in home. She used to do this by throwing her favorite sarong over the bed and placing a book next to her bed. Instant home!

It seems I have developed similar habits. I make my bed absolutely perfectly every morning and get great satisfaction from seeing it in all its perfection when I come back after a long day on the discovery trail. Similarly, Cellini Euroline has found a home in one specific corner in my room, and has to be in a certain position for me to feel good and comfortable. Small things become important when you have nothing.

Two can.

"I never ask advice about growing," Alice said indignantly.

"Too proud?" the other inquired.

Alice felt even more indignant at this suggestion. "I mean," she said, "that one can't help growing older."

"One can't perhaps," said Humpty Dumpty, "but two can. With proper assistance, you might have left off at seven."

Now I know...

Home is where the people are.

To blog or not to blog.

Alice is drinking whiskey out of a snapple bottle and wondering how she can expand her readership.

Or get more people to join her blog.

Or people to comment on her posts.

She wants to interact with the folk out there. It seems she gets a kick out of it.

Ideas anyone?

Packing tip no #8

Don't go traveling with only 1 pair of jeans bought believing that you will just have to walk them in. Jeans don't walk. You do. And you will need to have more than one pair of pants if you plan on anything longer than a two day trip.

Also, make sure that you are not on any medication whilst packing, and that you are sound of mind. It might be useful to ask a friend to check if you are. You might hate them in the moment when they say you should leave the outfit you wore to the last wedding you went to at home, but a day will come my friend, when you will want to send them a postcard to thank them for their wisdom.

Chopped

I can live a pretty frugal life if I have to, but a haircut... that's a problem I'm willing to throw money at.

I am addicted to haircuts. It's a quick-fix, feel-good solution to most of my problems. Depressed? Haircut! Bored? Haircut! Sexually frustrated? Haircut! I am forever in search of that one hairdresser that will finally find the style that will absolutely define ME. As in who I am and what I am destined to become. A haircut that will open the skies and let the sun shine down on my head. Ah yes, that final destination haircut!

I was in need of some destination yesterday so off I went. Cut by the cutest girlie I ever did see, just around the corner from where I live. (Let it be known that I only decided to get my hair cut there after extensive research, this was not an easy decision.) When I got back to the Hostel the Irish declared that it was a good cut indeed and gave it a thumbs up. And so my need for good hair has been satisfied once more!

The three of them left this morning, off to the happy Land of Las Vegas, where the drinks are free and the gambling not. They left "Twilight" and "New Moon" by Stephanie Meyer on my bed for me to read. It was unfathomable that I hadn't and didn't care who Robert Pattinson was.

Forgetting

"The horror of that moment," the King went on, "I shall never, never forget."

"You will though," the Queen said, "if you don't make a memorandum of it."

Settling in

It's official.

As of next Monday I will vacuum, dust and mop for 4 hours a day, 6 days a week in return for a warm bed, free wi-fi, free washing of clothes and even a free breakfast thrown in to top it all off. Should I decide to shove off I need to give a weeks' notice, which really suits my fear of committing to anything beyond my next meal at this point. Oh happy day! I will be sharing with 2 others, which is one person less than I share with now and I can live with that.

Meanwhile back at the ranch I have befriended the Irish and now drink and swear with the best of them. I still don't know their names but for some reason names doesn't seem to be too important when you're drunk.

Burning Man is now two weeks away so I made a list of everything I need. This includes:

• a lift to and from
• tent
• sleeping bag
• torch
• glosticks (to avoid being run over by bicycles at night)
• goggles (in case of sandstorms)
• waterbottle (very important in the desert!)
• cup with lid (to carry with at all times in case free drinks come my way)
• lip ice, sunscreen, heal cream, vaseline and anything else that replenishes moisture.
• earplugs
• Emergen-C

You might sense at this point that I have not come prepared to camp.

You are right about this.

My Homeboys.

The Irish have arrived and moved into my dorm room.

There are three of them, all younger than 23 and on day 2 of a one year traveling expedition.

So far they live up to their reputation: drinking like sailors and swearing like troopers, but luckily they're still jetlagged and go to sleep nice and early. No snoring either.

Divine intervention.

Always

"And what does it live on?"

"Weak tea with cream in it."

A new difficulty came into Alice's head, "Supposing it couldn't find any?" she suggested.

"Then it would die, ofcourse."

"But that must happen very often," Alice remarked thoughtfully.

"It always happens," said the Gnat.

Opening

San Francisco.

Home of steep rolling hills, the golden gate bridge and Alcatraz, homeless people, gays, queers and Mr Harvey Milk, trustafarians and The Grateful Dead.

With earthquakes, continuous fog and a wide array of different and fluctuating climates, this is one amazing and diverse city. Home of the Beats and birthplace of the Hippies, its still considered the liberal bastion of the US. My new friend Dalia lives two doors down from where Janis Joplin used to live and on their steps is a small spray-painted sign that reads: Janis Joplin threw up here. How cool is that.

This city has blown my mind. It's the most liberal place I've ever been. Anything goes. You can be anyone, do anything. I have this amazing sense of expansion in my chest, and everyday it opens a little more. The people I've met here have been the kindest I've ever encountered. Even the homeless people in this city are treated with respect and kindness and it's not uncommon to see someone engaged in a lengthy debate with a homeless person on the corner of the street. These people don't just give you directions, they take you there personally, give you their phone number, invite you for dinner and introduce you to the family. It makes me feel bad because I know that if they were in SA I definitely wouldn't be as kind. As a South African I'm suspicious of pretty much everyone I meet that's a stranger, and I'm not particularly proud of it.

Today was spent with Arthur Pearley, who is a friend of a friend of a guy that I met in NY. As in: I met a guy in upstate New York, who lived on a shared piece of land. On that piece of land was another house that is sometimes housesat by a guy from New York, a guy I never met but spoke to on the phone after Guy 1 thought we should meet. This housesitter had a friend in SF called Arthur who owns a wine shop and had gone to Burn the Man in the past, and so he thought I should go and meet with him . Which I did. Arthur offered to take me wine tasting in Napa and Sonoma, and I didn't fight back.

We spent the day cruising through small wine towns and stopping in at a couple of them to taste. By sheer luck we arrived at a famous winefarm just as the aged owner made a guest appearance. Arthur was totally taken aback when Mr. Grgich himself walked in whilst we were wine tasting. This guy is the father of wine-making in the States and has solid rockstar status over here. I had no clue who he was but he had the most profound air of humility and happiness about him. Later in the day we met another wine maker who had the air of royalty about him, like he was living the most profoundly beautiful existence and his life couldn't possibly get any better. Joy and playfulness just radiated out of this guy.

All and all it was a perfect day. A stranger took me on an adventurous trip to a place I'd never been before, to taste wine and meet the happy locals. It doesn't get much better than this.

District 9 - PRAWN STEW ANYONE?

I was so excited about this movie that I ran out on the opening day to go and see it. Now, usually when I go to the movies the audience is South African and the film American, but today it was a South African movie with an American audience. That alone was enough to do my head in. Besides for that, I KNOW SOME OF THEM FOLK IN THAT FILM! The strangeness can't be explained.

Furthermore, I was referred to as an Alien the day before going to see this movie (when I went to open a bank account) and it kinda stuck with me. I'm an alien in America, watching a movie about aliens living in a township in SA... Can someone please switch the light on in this rabbit hole???

To top it off, it's a sci-fi-skop-skiet-en-donder, fueled by director Peter Jackson of "Lord of the Rings" fame's producing skills. The whole concept is hard to even think about. Where have you ever seen a sci-fi movie set in SA before? NEVER I tell you. Until today. And, I'm sad to say, in my humble opinion it should have stayed that way.

Now before I continue, let it be known that this movie is getting rave reviews over here. It was referred to as "the art house version of Independance Day" and got an 88% on the rotten tomatoes website. Which is high. It must make a difference when you don't really have a reference for SA like I do, because I thought it was absolute hilarity. However, the movie has stayed with me over the last 24 hours. But just because it managed to traumatise me doesn't make it a good film.

If you would like to get an idea of what it's all about, go watch the trailor on Youtube, or you can watch the original short film that Blomkamp based the movie on, also on Youtube. It's called "Alive in Joberg".

I thought the actor who played the lead was great. For an absolute nobody (he might not be but I've never heard of him) Sharlto Copley did an excellent job. Even if he was playing the most stereotypical white South African male you could possibly imagine. Oh the horror. Even the bad guy (that evil oke called Kobus) was very well cast and snarled really nicely. Still. It's one of those movies that make you cringe to be South African.

District 9 tells the story of Wikus van der Merwe (original...) who goes from zero to hero after accidently spraying some goo found in an alien township in his face. The goo starts to turn him into an alien (also called Prawns) and subsequently various people are after him for various reasons. It becomes an epic tale of survival and escape for him and his new Alien buddy, Christoper, filled with blood, guts and shoot-outs gallore. The film is raw in the most blunt sense of the word: dissected alien bodies in labs, slabs of cow given to the aliens to eat, their eggs also attached to cow parts and the lead character spends most of the movie with a very raw arm that gets progressively more bloody and infected. The shoot-out scenes are theatrically violent, with people popping into bloody splats after being shot with alien weaponry. Most of it is shot as a mockumentary, complete with shaky cameras et al. You have to have a strong stomach to sit through this movie.

The Aliens are refugees in South Africa, live in townships and love cat food. That's right. They love cat food and will do almost anything for it. So the Nigerians are selling it to them for large amounts of cash blah blah blah. I kept looking round me in the theater to see if anyone else thought it was utterly hilarious, but they all seemed to be looking rather serious.

The script is unrefined and coarse and the film is indulgent. It made me feel like someone had skim-read a history of SA, taken all the worst and contentious parts of it (apartheid, townships, poverty, desperation, conservative whites, segregation, muti murder etc etc) thrown it in a pot, mixed in a drop of sci-fi and a can of catfood and Bob's your uncle: District 9! But hold onto your seats people, there's more! They are planning a sequel to District 9 in the near future...

So maybe I'm supposed to just think of it as fiction, as a sci-fi movie. Maybe I'm supposed to not get so emotionally involved, but I AM. I'm in a foreign country having mixed emotions about the place I call home and I left that theater feeling like someone had thrown cold water in my face. There wasn't a single good or nice thing about SA in it. It capitalised on the violence and segregation that has been part of the fabric of SA for so long, and it depressed me no end.

Maybe if the director had seen the humor in what he was doing and sent it up it could have worked as a kitsch sci-fi comedy. But he didn't.

If you want to feel the happy, don't do it people.

Stay far away.

Speechless

GO IMMEDIATELY AND WATCH THE TRAILER FOR DISTRICT 9

A NEW FILM SET AND SHOT IN SA, PRODUCED BY PETER JACKSON OF LORD OF THE RINGS FAME.

You're not going to believe this people.

Mingi has left the building.

Pass the alcohol please.

I'm going into Tori Amos withdrawal here and it ain't pretty.

Besides for that I had the most awful hostel night ever. Mingi checked out yesterday and my new roomie (also Asian... Where do they come from?!) checked in at 02h30 this am. Niiice one. When she finally stopped slamming her locker door the British woman across from me kicked into a snore that would scare most wild animals.

(Note to self: Always make alternative arrangements when two people check in together and the one carries earplugs with her everywhere. There is a reason for this.)

Two good things happened today:

I opened an American bank account. Which was surprisingly easy. I had less hassles than if I had tried to open one in SA. (No wonder their economy %&$#@* out.)

AND

I met up with Arthur Pearley who is totally hooking me up with some great folk for Burning Man. I now officially belong to a camp people! Yes I do. I am BIG, PUFFY and YELLOW. The name was birthed after one of the founding members had an hallucination about a large floating Cheetohs that spewed the truth. Yup that's me. BIG PUFFY AND YELLOW.

The best singer/songwriter that ever existed ever ever in the world.

At this very moment receiving photographic coverage from homegirl Jana who is at the Tori Amos concert in my place tonight at Radio City Hall in NY.

Oh. The. Pain.

The island.

Day 3:

Thomas and I studied together at UCT back in the day and I haven't seen him in a good couple of years, until this morning. He's in SF for 2 more weeks and then heading off to Chicago to continue his studies. (Lucky bastard.)

Meeting up with him was like finding a friend in a club at 3am when you've dropped acid by yourself and you're sort of freaking out and discovering the person is on exactly the same trip as you are.

Oh happy day! After meeting up we sat and talked and talked and talked until it felt like I was all talked out to the bottom of my being. Like everything I had been carrying around inside of me was finally systematically laid out on a table to be observed and it felt so good. Like I suddenly came into focus.

We spent the rest of the day walking aimlessly round the Mission district like two kids lost at a Fair: big eyes, amazing smells, some very strange sites, giggling and feeling utterly astonished at the craziness of the world around us. Everything brand spanking new.

Missing SA makes you do lovely things. Later this week I'm going to visit him in Oakland to listen to a David Kramer album, live at the Baxter nogal. It's a double LP from 1982 and called "Jis Jis Jis".

Today was an island.

Saud Afreega

Day 5 at Hostel USA. Alice is now affectionately referred to as "South Africa" by the staff, as in: "Heeey Saud Afreega, where you goin?"

They had a karaoke night last night and South Africa sang karaoke for the first time in her life. The song was dedicated to Mister Easton North who holds the #1 position for Sweetest Showing of Affection for serenading her in 2002 with a ripping rendition of "Sexbomb" by Tom Jones at a skanky bar in Bloubergstrand. Complete with hip-thrusting and sliding on knees etc.

South Africa reciprocated last night Mr North, you are now officially even. She sang her heart out infront of a bunch of drunk hostelers who egged her on and she did gooood.

It's all good.

3 days, 3 dates.

DAY 1:

Dalia Burde. Friend of many of mine and beautiful person.

Before meeting up with her I got super lost in Golden Gate Park after going to see the Tutenkamun exhibition which was amazing. (Not so much getting lost though.) I had to trip a jogger for directions out of that place. Eventually found Dalia (or Dalia found me) and we drank beer and she gave me a lift on her scooter: tiny scooter, tiny Dalia, gigantic me holding on for dear life and feeling a bit like the BFG. Up and down the hills of Frisco we went. It was grand!

DAY 2:

The lovely Kate, cousin to Jess, who believed me to be a stalker (and possibly still does). I know this because she said: "It's like you were stalking me or something." (I was early, she was busy, that's the story.) She has a promising lead for a place to stay and will see if she can hook me up.

DAY 3:

That's tomorrow you know. I'm meeting up with Thomas Alberts! Good old Tom! From SA! I have no idea who he is but I will definitely find out in the morning. Either way he sounds lovely and happy to see me. How awesome. Thanks to Kate Soal and Facebook for that one.

www.sfoutsidelands.com

I need your advice people. This AMAZING festival has some AWESOME bands lined up over 3 days. Including:

• Peal Jam
• Dave Matthews Band
• Incubus
• Thievery Corp
• MIA
• Ween
• Modest Mouse
• Mastodon
• Calexico
• Band of Horses
• And much, much more!

Tickets are like $80 per day, and there are 3 days...

The budget is tight people... but, but, I mean, PEARL JAM!

Do I just close my eyes and hand over the moola??

Don't. Wake. Up.

"Not you!" Tweedledee retorted contemptuously. "You'd be nowhere. Why you're only a sort of thing in his dream!"

"If that there King was to wake," added Tweedledum, "you'd go out - bang! - like a candle!"

CELLINI EUROLINE

Cellini Euroline waits patiently in room 215 of USA Hostels in Post Street San Francisco for his BFF to return. She has disappeared off into the streets without a word of love or comfort and has been out all day. Hopefully she will be back soon with small snacks and diet coke, he thinks to himself.

Then suddenly the door bursts open! Cellini Euroline gets so excited he decides not to move. But wait! It's only the Korean returning from who knows where with her little pink guitar. She is eager to re-apply her make-up. Cellini Euroline observes only because he has no say in the matter. The Korean (or Mingi, as she is called) twiddles her hair and giggles and bobs her head from side to side as she carefully applies a new layer of base and then glitter to most of her body. She looks so happy and content that you would swear that she just got laid but no, decides Cellini Euroline, who would sleep with a woman attached to a small pink plastic guitar?

After a new change of clothes and fussing over the exact placement of hair number 23200054, Mingi flits back out into the Tenderloin district of Frisco, and Cellini Euroline whimpers softly to himself: "Where could she be? Why has my BFF deserted me??"

The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.

- Mark Twain

Step Aside

Step aside people the pity party is over.

Action taken!

I spent last night phoning every single connection that I have been offered. The list includes:

• The lovely Roxanne's friends: Marisa (who might be able to hook me up with a place to stay before she heads to LA) and Dahlia (a beer later today)
• Patrick (whom I met at the Blue Deer Center) son: Terry (message)
• Patrick's friend Kurt's friend: Arthur Perley (message)
• The lovely Jessica's cousin: Kate (message)

THEN:

I'm walking down the street this morning when I see one of the woman who were performing in the Theatresports show the other night and I can't stop myself so I say:

"Hi!" and she says:

"Hi" and kind of flinches since she thinks I want her to give me money but I say:

"I saw you in the Theatresports show the other night and I used to play in Cape Town and now I'm here for 3 months and I would love to hook up with you guys," and she says:

"Oh wow you're not going to believe this but I'm on my way to a workshop that's being hosted by KEITH JOHNSTONE RIGHT NOW, do you want to meet him?" And I'm like:

"NO WAY." and she's like:

"WAY."

So I went. And met all the players. And then I shook the hand of the awesome and amazing Keith Johnstone!

It's a beautiful day. Later I will go for a walk on the beach, and then head to the De Young Museum in Golden Gate Park to shake the hand of Tutenkahmen.

All is well in SF.

The Nasty.

God opened his Hands and dropped the formidable and lovely Nicholas Spagnoletti and Edward van Kuik into my lap for the weekend. What a lovely surprise! We went and watched the local Theatresports troupe, had dinner and a laugh.

It was marred only by a small case of The Nasty and Evil Jealous on my part:

Nicholas and Edward both had someone else to hold the camera and take the picture.

Impossible things

Alice laughed. "There's no use in trying," she said, "one can't believe impossible things."

"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

Rollercoasters

No normality for Alice.

None whatsoever.

Falling down the rabbit hole has given me exactly what I asked for: zero predictability, personal space or routine.

What I wouldn't give today for my own room! I used to live in the most beautiful 3 bedroom apartment right across the beach, with a view of Table Mountain, Robben Island and the endless blue sea. Now I'm living in a dorm in a suburb affectionately known as "the tenderloin" because of the prostitution trade in the area. (Moenie worry nie Ma, ek maak 'n plan.)

4 beds is very decent as far as dorms go, but 4 people coming and going at all hours of the day and night is enough to drive me completely batty. The Korean currently bunking beneath me felt compelled to re-organise all the plastic bags in her suitcase at 2am this morning. I smelt blood in the air. She also bought herself a tiny pink guitar with which she seems endlessly happy. She made me take many photographs of her pretend-playing it.

I feel tired today. Like I've been running in circles for weeks and just realised it. My diet has descended into the depths of hell. I used to be mostly sugar/wheat free, now I eat whatever is available and cheap. (Except if it's beer. Always money for beer.) I've been assessing my budget and it hasn't been fun. I've spent half of it a month too early and my costs just seem to be escalating. (Beer had nothing to do with it.)

It's a beautiful day in California but my heart aches for everything left behind and lost. Cats, flats, relationships, friends, family. Some days it feels like I might burst with the amount of love and emotion inside of me. I search rather aimlessly for someone to connect with in a city I don't know and find nothing around every corner. My exploration has little to do with monuments, galleries and museums. It's humans I have come searching for. A sense of belonging to something.

I haven't found it yet.

Maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow will be better.

Maybe I need to take a closer look at the Korean at hand and take up the guitar.

San Francisco at last.

No other city has had me as much from the word go as San Francisco.

Driving here (in a porsche, then a train, then a bus), I was literally giddy with excitement. I feel like a 5 year old in a candy shop! First glimpse of the city made my heart jump. It looks alot like Cape Town in a way (if you close one eye, tip your head to the side and ignore all the bridges) and let's face it, if you're a city, looking like Cape Town is by no means an insult. I'm amazed at how instantly I feel either an affinity to a place or expelled by it. This place feels like a warm comfy sofa that I can flop into for a month or three.

There's a sense of destiny about SF - like everything up to this point has been preparation for this. I've been here an hour and already I'm waxing lyrical.

Now I just need to find a room to rent for next to nothing, a lift to Burning Man, a tent for BM, a sleeping bag for BM, shade cover, nice people, a couple of drinks and everything will be fine.

Nice people should be at the top of that list.

San Francisco baby!

"I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is "Who in the world am I?" Ah, that's the great puzzle!"

- Alice in Wonderland

Ode to my Best Friend.

Oh Big, Large Black Bag.

You are Cellini Euroline.

(Maybe that means you were only supposed to travel Europe.)

How big you are!

And plastic.

With brown patches that attempt to hold your old ass together.

Oh Large, Humungous Bag,

And old at that.

Already your one foot is missing

and a rib has cracked in two.

Not long it will be before you carry your last load

and shuffle off your zippy-ness.

You follow me everywhere I go.

When everyone is gone I turn around and there you are,

just sitting there,

not moving or saying anything (which tends to be creepy).

Sometimes you can be stubborn, o yes.

I drag,

I push,

I carry.

Cellini Euroline.

You are my BFF.

Or maybe a stalker.

Hah!

THE END

Unexpected things.

I didn't anticipate that I would have to be brutal bitch from time to time on this journey.

Young, innocent unworldly females traveling alone (yes, that's me) often times find themselves in dark/twisty/uncool places or situations that call for fast getaway action, quicksilver reactions and thinking on your feet. (Your ninja training really pays off here.)

I have encountered this phenomenon a couple of times on my trip and had to untangle myself from things that I either perceived would be bad for my journey, or was bad for my journey. A traveler is only concerned with that which will make the journey better and more fun.

The implication is that I have run from a number of places, rather than having slowly sauntered off in a sexy kind of way. I'm not proud. Sauntering off in a sexy kind of way is important and can leave lasting impressions on previous home-givers. But it is complicated when lugging previously mentioned large coffin-like suitcase and falling over your own feet alot.

Second unexpected thing:

I imagined that it would be amazing to re-invent myself wherever I went. Today I could introduce myself for instance as Helga from Antwerp, tomorrow maybe Barbara from Bloemfontein. The joy of being whatever the hell you would like to be, of not being put in a box and labeled immediately. Well. I've failed miserably as far as that is concerned. As previously mentioned, I am a traveling gypsy fortune teller which entails telling people that I am a fortune teller, which entails them asking what kind, and me saying I'm a Sangoma, and them saying huh o wow. And then they say:

"WOW. HOW DID YOU END UP BECOMING A SANGOMA?"

At which point I have the overwhelming urge to fall down and pretend I'm dead. This question, this one question, has followed me around and stalked me for the last 8 years. In Cape Town it wasn't such a concern anymore. Everyone who needed to know knew, and on average I was meeting a new person once a year (hence the trip), but now I meet on average 4 new people a day, heck, sometimes more than that! And as I am a traveling gypsy fortune teller it is my DUTY to tell them so, and then the questions. The same ones. Four times a day. And I can't skirt it if I want to do the readings. In fact, I need to embellish and tell the story well! With feeling and what!

I don't know what the solution is. Maybe I will write it out on this blog and just send people here when they ask me. Maybe I need to print flyers.

Sigh.

Alice doesn't know.

"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said in a rather scornful tone, "it means just what I mean it to mean - neither more or less."

"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many things."

"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be the master - that's all."

Alice in Old Sacramento

Some things I bought yesterday:

1. Three red stars to sew on my skirt.

2. Some flames to go with the stars.

3. A lace mask for the Burning Man.

4. A pack of bindis.

5. Ten postcards that include:

• The guys from Chips
• Batman
• Wonderwoman
• Bettie Page wheeling a whip
• The others are a bit hard to explain here. Maybe you're lucky. Maybe you get one in the post!

Buying these few lovelies completely blew my budget for the day.

But hey, I'm living on the edge!

Some tips

Being a traveler means leaving everything considered normal behind.

So long nice clean outfits without wrinkles! So long updated and edgy haircut and manicured nails! First thing in Seattle I changed some of my clothes (at Buffalo Exchange) because I realised soon after my arrival in the US that I had packed for a business trip, definitely not a 6 month cross country backpacking experience. Hell, I packed this little grey pin-striped mini-number that I never even wore in SA! What was I thinking.

This weekend I went on a camping trip to the coast of Oregon, a place called Rockaway beach. When I took out my electric toothbrush I got such condescending looks you would have blushed if you were there. No I'm not a seasoned traveler! Can you tell? This is my first time and I'm loving it! I'm considering a career change and taking up traveling permanently even though I'm lugging around this humungous black suitcase everywhere with me and have more things to carry than anyone else when I get off the train/plane/bus! Yes that's right! I'm not phased by it at all. So here's a list of things to consider for anyone out there who is considering giving it all up and taking to the road for a lengthy period of time:

1. Buy a proper backpack. No seriously. Spend the money, even if your parents gift you with their favorite suitcases that they've had for years and years and years that are bound to start falling apart on you the moment you arrive. There's a reason they are giving them to you. They are UPGRADING and you are not going on a weekend trip, no. You're going away for a LONG TIME. Think about it.

2. Leave your expensive hair straightener at home. By week 3 you will be using it as a heater late at night when you're freezing your ass off in a hostel where you need bedding and you have none. Which brings me to point 3.

3. Take a good sleeping bag.

4. Don't pack anything that you haven't worn in the last year.

5. Take as little as humanly possible. Whatever you have will now become yours to carry/lug/drag to your next location, and even when on the internet the hostel swears that they are only a 10 minute walk from the busstop, don't believe them.

6. Take good shoes. You are going to be walking/dancing/running/climbing. Hopefully lots of dancing!

7. Consider writing out a small check list of everything with you that is really important and that you don't want to leave behind. You don't want to realise at your next location (which is 16 hours on a train later) that your phone's charger is still plugged into the wall of some stranger's house. It's gone now. Let it go. Make a list.