Saturday, October 08, 2005
Learning language the fun way...
MAGGIE [MAAGIES]—(AFRIKAANS) noun: a stomach or gizzard…
Aaah, the fun of learning language and the adventure of cooking—Yes, the combination of those to make a great meal…or not.
What do I know? It looked like the most lean and tender filet…I’ve enjoyed ostrich meat before—ostrich mince is now preferred over beef. So, you can imagine my excitement when I see the perfect jewels of ostrich meat…”Ostrich Maggies” they’re called. Mmmm, sounds good, sounds delectable…
After marinating them, seasoning them, putting them in the oven for two hours to broil… Inviting my friends Tim and Guillaume over to partake of a good “meaty dinner” before our viewing of third episode of Star Wars…
I’ve got to give it to Tim. He actually tried to eat it…I still cringe at the thought. They just didn’t look right when I pulled them out and they tasted…well…not delectable.
It wasn’t until three weeks or so later when I see that manager behind the counter at the butchery…”aaah, maggies…” ,he kind of smiles, “those are ostrich gizzards…you gotta stew them for a day or slice ‘em thin and pan fry them…” Something tells me that I’m not the only foreigner to fall into that trap…
Another language lesson…Maggies (said with a guttural, throat-clearing ‘hhhh’ like mawhhhies) means gizzard or stomach. For some that could be great news—gizzards the size of filet minons to eat…For others—be warned.
I’ve posted some pictures of a few of the projects and sites…If it seems ambiguous it is because I should be miscellaneous about it all. As I look at them I can only scheme—am I really telling the truth? Was I there? Yes, and I still can’t believe it…Those projects by the way, look a lot different when you view them in scale, on a plan and you’re supposed to design something…beautiful places and incredible opportunity…
Aaah, the fun of learning language and the adventure of cooking—Yes, the combination of those to make a great meal…or not.
What do I know? It looked like the most lean and tender filet…I’ve enjoyed ostrich meat before—ostrich mince is now preferred over beef. So, you can imagine my excitement when I see the perfect jewels of ostrich meat…”Ostrich Maggies” they’re called. Mmmm, sounds good, sounds delectable…
After marinating them, seasoning them, putting them in the oven for two hours to broil… Inviting my friends Tim and Guillaume over to partake of a good “meaty dinner” before our viewing of third episode of Star Wars…
I’ve got to give it to Tim. He actually tried to eat it…I still cringe at the thought. They just didn’t look right when I pulled them out and they tasted…well…not delectable.
It wasn’t until three weeks or so later when I see that manager behind the counter at the butchery…”aaah, maggies…” ,he kind of smiles, “those are ostrich gizzards…you gotta stew them for a day or slice ‘em thin and pan fry them…” Something tells me that I’m not the only foreigner to fall into that trap…
Another language lesson…Maggies (said with a guttural, throat-clearing ‘hhhh’ like mawhhhies) means gizzard or stomach. For some that could be great news—gizzards the size of filet minons to eat…For others—be warned.
I’ve posted some pictures of a few of the projects and sites…If it seems ambiguous it is because I should be miscellaneous about it all. As I look at them I can only scheme—am I really telling the truth? Was I there? Yes, and I still can’t believe it…Those projects by the way, look a lot different when you view them in scale, on a plan and you’re supposed to design something…beautiful places and incredible opportunity…
Sick of being Sick...
The end of June, July and August seem like one long stuffy nose…
I missed the ride I had trained for—spending a week on my back…all I could do was enjoy the oyster eating festivities of the Oyster Festival. Oh yeah, I eat oysters now. Everything you’ve heard about them is wrong…except that rule about eating bad oysters—I’m not going to try that one.
I would get better, get sick, get better, get sick…I wrote this while I was recovering…
“Living in another country/ continent/ hemsiphere (any of the above) really requires an acceptance of discomfort. I think initially that means the disruption of routine, diet, etc...As the first month progresses, it means catching every little bug and flu virus that you seemed to miss out on either because of the distance or season that you previously lived in. It happened in Turkey and it was bound to happen here. Looking back over my calendar, I've spent approximately a week and a half on my back in bed or on the couch sick with the beginning of flu, the 'big' flu, or a secondary infection caused by the flu. Regardless...the word 'flu' now causes me to cringe and wish people the best if they've caught it...
It isn't good, but misery enjoys company. At one point, in an office of 20+ people, 10 were out with flu or other illness...The office looked vacant and the announcement that someone else went home wasn't out of the ordinary that week. It seemed this round of influenza in Knysna was devastating.
So, it has been about 2 weeks since my last run in with any sickness--I still have a dry cough to remember everything by...I'm also much more aware of any symptoms--almost hypochondriac-like in behavior...Better safe than sorry for the next few months.
Getting sick takes a week, recovery takes two, and trying to put together everything on a blog seems like it takes forever these days. I have really appreciated the concern a few friends have shown over the lack of input on the blog...”
That explains it all. I hate being sick—sorry if I offended those who like it.
I missed the ride I had trained for—spending a week on my back…all I could do was enjoy the oyster eating festivities of the Oyster Festival. Oh yeah, I eat oysters now. Everything you’ve heard about them is wrong…except that rule about eating bad oysters—I’m not going to try that one.
I would get better, get sick, get better, get sick…I wrote this while I was recovering…
“Living in another country/ continent/ hemsiphere (any of the above) really requires an acceptance of discomfort. I think initially that means the disruption of routine, diet, etc...As the first month progresses, it means catching every little bug and flu virus that you seemed to miss out on either because of the distance or season that you previously lived in. It happened in Turkey and it was bound to happen here. Looking back over my calendar, I've spent approximately a week and a half on my back in bed or on the couch sick with the beginning of flu, the 'big' flu, or a secondary infection caused by the flu. Regardless...the word 'flu' now causes me to cringe and wish people the best if they've caught it...
It isn't good, but misery enjoys company. At one point, in an office of 20+ people, 10 were out with flu or other illness...The office looked vacant and the announcement that someone else went home wasn't out of the ordinary that week. It seemed this round of influenza in Knysna was devastating.
So, it has been about 2 weeks since my last run in with any sickness--I still have a dry cough to remember everything by...I'm also much more aware of any symptoms--almost hypochondriac-like in behavior...Better safe than sorry for the next few months.
Getting sick takes a week, recovery takes two, and trying to put together everything on a blog seems like it takes forever these days. I have really appreciated the concern a few friends have shown over the lack of input on the blog...”
That explains it all. I hate being sick—sorry if I offended those who like it.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Welcome Rugby Fans!
WooWoo!! Rugby!!!
Yes, I’ve become a fan. I don’t understand the game one bit—except that one team needs to run a fat, laceless football past the other team and to the goal line. Hey, that’s all you need to know when you go to a vamped up, crazy, stadium to see FRANCE get demolished by the SPRINGBOKS!!!
Alright, I still get all excited when I think about it. My friend Guillaume set up the event and we went to a city three hours away—Port Elizabeth. Besides learning a bit of ‘conversational Afrikaans’ (which I don’t think I’ll ever use in conversation) I had a great time yelling my head off. I have to declare that a stadium of 20,000 hard core rugby fans consume more beer in 80 minutes than any American football game I’ve ever heard of…Don’t worry, Americans still can eat more hot dogs…
They have these little green trumpets and besides the Springbok paraphernalia, the hat, and the outrageous fanaticism—there is no better support you can give a winning team than a long drawn out moose-call-like flat note. This combined with other ‘variables’ creates a dream like dizziness…that only enlightens one as to what the game of rugby is really all about.
Okay, a little drama doesn’t hurt a story. If any of you ever has the chance to see a rugby game. Don’t forget to take a trumpet and your favorite jersey—and go crazy.
Yes, I’ve become a fan. I don’t understand the game one bit—except that one team needs to run a fat, laceless football past the other team and to the goal line. Hey, that’s all you need to know when you go to a vamped up, crazy, stadium to see FRANCE get demolished by the SPRINGBOKS!!!
Alright, I still get all excited when I think about it. My friend Guillaume set up the event and we went to a city three hours away—Port Elizabeth. Besides learning a bit of ‘conversational Afrikaans’ (which I don’t think I’ll ever use in conversation) I had a great time yelling my head off. I have to declare that a stadium of 20,000 hard core rugby fans consume more beer in 80 minutes than any American football game I’ve ever heard of…Don’t worry, Americans still can eat more hot dogs…
They have these little green trumpets and besides the Springbok paraphernalia, the hat, and the outrageous fanaticism—there is no better support you can give a winning team than a long drawn out moose-call-like flat note. This combined with other ‘variables’ creates a dream like dizziness…that only enlightens one as to what the game of rugby is really all about.
Okay, a little drama doesn’t hurt a story. If any of you ever has the chance to see a rugby game. Don’t forget to take a trumpet and your favorite jersey—and go crazy.
The Great Outdoors
I started mountain biking near the beginning of April…maybe March…
The fond memories…my friend gary…good times with friends…that all fades as you begin to ride more and more and more…I set my goal to ride a race in July—the infamous Oyster Festival 85K (52 miles). I ask myself why? —for the sponsorships, the prize money, the women, the crazy life of the tour…Okay, okay…how about for fun. And it has become noticeably easier (not easy—there is a difference).
My first ride here in Knysna was a grueling 25K…I looked pathetic and my friends (they become friends quickly in situations like this) were patient and supportive throughout my first rides. By June I was riding up to 50K and enjoying myself. The first ride is now a ‘fun’ ride—something we attempt after work and hope to get home by dark. The scenery is still spectacular and I’m continually being overwhelmed with the beauty of this place. I haven’t had any confrontations with Baboons since my last mention.
I also took a great hike with some friends. Robberg Island-- an incredible hike with almost constant sea views…and there are no sissies allowed. We started at around 2p.m. and finished at dark. As if I had any expectations when I arrived here in Knysna—hikes like this just surpass them.
The fond memories…my friend gary…good times with friends…that all fades as you begin to ride more and more and more…I set my goal to ride a race in July—the infamous Oyster Festival 85K (52 miles). I ask myself why? —for the sponsorships, the prize money, the women, the crazy life of the tour…Okay, okay…how about for fun. And it has become noticeably easier (not easy—there is a difference).
My first ride here in Knysna was a grueling 25K…I looked pathetic and my friends (they become friends quickly in situations like this) were patient and supportive throughout my first rides. By June I was riding up to 50K and enjoying myself. The first ride is now a ‘fun’ ride—something we attempt after work and hope to get home by dark. The scenery is still spectacular and I’m continually being overwhelmed with the beauty of this place. I haven’t had any confrontations with Baboons since my last mention.
I also took a great hike with some friends. Robberg Island-- an incredible hike with almost constant sea views…and there are no sissies allowed. We started at around 2p.m. and finished at dark. As if I had any expectations when I arrived here in Knysna—hikes like this just surpass them.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
May!-CATCHING UP
May was a great month. It seems so far away…Yes…It was the last time I posted anything significant.
An incredible designer, a successful landscape architect and former professor of mine at Texas A&M University came to work and visit for four months. At **years old…Don Austin is an inspiration. He was an accompanying professor during my semester in Italy and one of my academic advisors. His story is too long to even try to summarize—but I’ll tell you this—he’s still writing chapters in his life. It was great to visit with him and his wife Maria and for those who ever ate Maria’s food—she’s a wonder.
So, Don, Maria and I visited much, drank many a glass of wine (just Don and I) and ate many good meals. Don and Maria have been coming annually to South Africa for the past 5 years or so and for a few months of the year they connect with more people than the average person might in several decades.
On May 21, we all went to Addo Elephant Park. The accommodation was incredible and despite being warned about the 2 hour safaris, Don decided it would be the best way to see the park. Yep, I saw some buck, a warthog, a secretary bird…and ELEPHANTS!!
I’ve never seen elephants like this before. Absolutely indescribable…graceful, intelligent, and very social—just an attempt. Our tour guide turned onto a road where a mother and her family were crossing…They watched us as we watched them, the tour could have stopped there…but after spotting a heard on the hillside, our guide drove us to a private (restricted access) mud hole. There we watched as family after family came and cooled down.
We stayed for an hour as she described the ritual, the family politics and the maternal side of the hierarchy. Each family was run by a mother, who took care of the young ones. Elephants played, they pushed each other in the mud, there was a confrontation as a young bull was confronted by a female…As each ‘family’ approached the mud hole, the elephants would communicate…those in the mud hole would wallow for a little while longer and then together they would all leave…and the next family in line would get all muddy.
200-300 elephants…You would think that would make a racket. All you could hear was mud and movement. No thuds, no big noises, just quietness…
Besides the pictures posted, all I have to offer is a small video clip. If you’re interested you have to email me and I’ll try to send it to as many people at one time as I can.
May…it seems like a long time ago.
An incredible designer, a successful landscape architect and former professor of mine at Texas A&M University came to work and visit for four months. At **years old…Don Austin is an inspiration. He was an accompanying professor during my semester in Italy and one of my academic advisors. His story is too long to even try to summarize—but I’ll tell you this—he’s still writing chapters in his life. It was great to visit with him and his wife Maria and for those who ever ate Maria’s food—she’s a wonder.
So, Don, Maria and I visited much, drank many a glass of wine (just Don and I) and ate many good meals. Don and Maria have been coming annually to South Africa for the past 5 years or so and for a few months of the year they connect with more people than the average person might in several decades.
On May 21, we all went to Addo Elephant Park. The accommodation was incredible and despite being warned about the 2 hour safaris, Don decided it would be the best way to see the park. Yep, I saw some buck, a warthog, a secretary bird…and ELEPHANTS!!
I’ve never seen elephants like this before. Absolutely indescribable…graceful, intelligent, and very social—just an attempt. Our tour guide turned onto a road where a mother and her family were crossing…They watched us as we watched them, the tour could have stopped there…but after spotting a heard on the hillside, our guide drove us to a private (restricted access) mud hole. There we watched as family after family came and cooled down.
We stayed for an hour as she described the ritual, the family politics and the maternal side of the hierarchy. Each family was run by a mother, who took care of the young ones. Elephants played, they pushed each other in the mud, there was a confrontation as a young bull was confronted by a female…As each ‘family’ approached the mud hole, the elephants would communicate…those in the mud hole would wallow for a little while longer and then together they would all leave…and the next family in line would get all muddy.
200-300 elephants…You would think that would make a racket. All you could hear was mud and movement. No thuds, no big noises, just quietness…
Besides the pictures posted, all I have to offer is a small video clip. If you’re interested you have to email me and I’ll try to send it to as many people at one time as I can.
May…it seems like a long time ago.
