Here I am / Morocco you like a hurricane

A quick and dirty assortment of pics from my trip to Morocco. Morocco is a wonderful - if sometimes bewildering - country and we had a fantastic time during the two week vacation. Our days were filled with of beautiful medieval architecture, magnificent wood/stucco/tilework, delicious food, and more shopping than any person on a student budget should admit to.

In no particular order:
















Lots of interesting things to think about on this trip -- my first into Le Monde Arabe. Maybe I'll take some time to write these thoughts/ideas/uselessobervations down and post them up here. I'm supposed to start my work at Bellevue hospital this week, which would make this difficult, but the paperwork processing is taking far longer than expected. In any case, you'll all be hearing more from me soon. Holler.

we hood, we voting, and throwing it up

I'm hitting the road again (to Colorado, and immediately followed by a 2 week trip to Morocco) -- but I thought I'd leave to with something to watch in my absence:



Pretty catchy, isn't it? Watch this space upon my return for pics, stories, and generally more interesting topics of conversation. Holler.

Abaco; Poem - Draft 1

Worn white coral slides between my toes, as the morning floats by;
this is an imprecise hourglass. The wind- and water-
swept scape hides invisible cities.

A giant sea turtle floats by, beckoning me
into the shallow water with her aged flippers.
Her voice is quiet but clear:
"Marco Polo never arrived on these shores. Ours is a fragile Empire."

I'm not sure what Marco Polo has to do with anything, but I keep
quiet.

In respectful silence, I slip my hands into my swimtrunk pockets
and stare out over the ocean. The modest waves lap my legs
in agreement, adding a few plain-spoken but strongly cautionary
words aboutthe destructive power
of tourism dollars and expensive boats.

How has this lovely turtle learned of nature's potential fate?
Can we make it up to her or is it already too late? She catches
her reflection in my cheap aviator sunglasses and takes off down the coast,
paddling strongly and slowly, her head held high.

The sky has volume here. Clouds building over the clear
aqua sea. Small handfulls of water become flying vapor fotresses,
barreling through.

Me and my sunburnt thighs.

I'll briefly apologize for the temporary break in the blogging action, but I must admit: I'm not all that sorry. Nearly ten days ago this trip grabbed Nate and I by our respectively sun-drenched wrists and sort of dragged us around for a while, eventually leading us to the beaches of Uruguay (which is - I add editorially - not such a bad place to end up.) And now a brief summary of the reasons this trip was awesome:

climbing on stuff
jumping off of stuff
swimming in stuff
waterfalls!
growing beards
lots of delicious Argentine meat and beer
wearing a shirt as infrequently as possible

And now I'm home, watching my sunburn slowly settle into something resembling a tan. I also had what was perhaps my final med school interview today. The school was a very impressive looking place, but perhaps didn't feel like the absolute best fit. I did, however, run into one of my good friends from South Africa who is coincidently beginning her travels along the interview trail just as mine are coming to a close. It made the whole day better to spend it catching up about life in Durban - sharing stories of friends and activities 8,000 miles away.

There's an off chance that I'll be invited for another interview before February is out, but I won't be holding my breath. I'll be so relieved when this whole process is over. In general I'm very positive about how things are going - and I think there's a decent chance that I'll end up in New York City come August - but it has already been more than a year since I began the earliest preparations for my application. That's a really long time to be worrying about the same thing.

And now I'll leave you with two excerpts from an article in The Lancet, depressingly titled, "Crystal meth boom adds to South Africa's health challenges":

"The Medical Research Council (MRC) estimates that there could be as many as 200 000 tik (a South African nickname for meth) users in and around Cape Town. About half the people receiving treatment cite tik as a primary or secondary substance of abuse—far ahead of alcohol. But among the under 20-year-old age-group, this figure rises to 70%, according to the South African Community Epidemiology Network on Drug Use (SACENDU), which is funded by the MRC and the government. In 2002, it was less than 1%. About 90% of patients are coloured, according to SACENDU's November, 2007, update.

Antidrugs activist Naelah Scott says tik has heightened the reign of terror exercised by notorious local gangs as they battle for turf and for their slice in the lucrative drug pie. Chinese triad gangs were initially blamed for bringing tik to South Africa in exchange for endangered abalone shellfish, a delicacy in Asia, but now the trade is believed to be firmly in the hands of the locals. Scott says that the gangsters use minors to do their dirty work, knowing they cannot be prosecuted, and entice schoolchildren with free samples and presents to get them hooked. She accuses the local police station, which is plagued by allegations of corruption, of turning a blind eye to the crisis and allowing the drug lords to operate with impunity."

Pretty heartening, right?

Puerto de Iguzu

Yesterday I got on a bus. Today, after nearly 22 hours on the exact same bus, I arrived at the Argentine-Brazil border where we'll spend the next two days exploring the national park and getting sprayed by a giant-ass waterfall. From the montanas to la jungla in less than a day. Not bad work, but my legs and back haven't taken it lightly.

These long bus rides give you a lot of time to do some serious reading, writing, and thinking. Books I've read so far this week: The Namesake, Lahiri; You Shall Know Our Velocity, Eggars; and today I finishied Diary of a Bad Year, Coetzee. I haven't actually done very much writing, only sketches of things I want to write. I have to finish a poem, a short story, an introspective blog post, and a let-me-into-med-school-NOW letter in the next two weeks - so I don't think any of my notebook scribblings will be going to waste.

Gots to run. Later, all.

In the driving rain (unedited notes from el autobus)

The warm drops pelt against the windshield of our overnight bus to Cordoba. The sound is almost deafening, like TV static turned up too loud. I am also kept awake by the two concurrent electrical storms: the one beyond the windshield and the one inside my brain.

Some of the things I think about:

I imagine myself looking back on this trip with Nate - effectively my brother since we arrived at college that warm August of 2001 - sitting around a table rehashing all of the wonderful things we have experienced together.

And about how Obama pulled out the Iowa caucus, and what that might mean for the future of the Estados Unidos. And science, public health, and everything else rest of the world.

And why does she exclusively refer to her past in the plural. The key, I know, lies in the allieterative Brian, Boyfriend, Brooklyn; the repetition deepened by the Ex- in front of each of the triumverate.

My handwriting is falling apart. Nate is waking up next to me and the electrial storms are now fading. It's time for me to wrap up this missive. We'll have arrived in the morning. Damp, tired, but optimistic about a new day and all of the yet unmade memories in front of us on this trip.

The rain drives us onwards.

Imp't note:

I'm pretty sure all of this writing, or this impulse to write, is fuelled by the limitations of leading my public life en Espanol these past few days.

I can bascially only express myself in the present tense. Trapped in the words of a 6 year old, my brain sends out a clarion call to express - to capture the complexity of tense, sentence structure, and content that my native tongue allows for.

Hopefully, my Spanish will get better - but these 3am scribbling fests are worthwhile too. Goodnight, en serio.

El Tango Argentino

Last night, Nate's family friend and su novio took us out to one of the oldest milongas (tango clubs) in all of Buenos Aires, the Sunderland Club. We sat for a giant dinner of delicious Argentine steaks - which were perhaps even more delicious than the ones I had with my family at Peter Luger's in the Bk last week - at half past midnight. After washing it all down with a couple of bottles of delicious locally grown Malbec, we moved into the converted gym next door where the party was already in full swing.

I can't really do the dancing justice in the few minutes I have this morning, but it was increible. The argentine tango is dramatic, sexy, and transcends all age barriers. The grace with which the dancers move across the floor is stunning. The young, the old, the beautiful, and the not-so-beautiful sliding across the floor with confident turns.

Generally, the women seemed to close their eyes, preferring to be led entirely by feel. The couples' heads are tucked in - almost as if to kiss - as they fly around the stage. The basic moves of the dance are deceptively simple - but there were a few inexperienced dancers out there who allowed us some insight into how hard the whole business actually is.

I caught a couple good pictures, which I'll try to put up eventually. This was the sort of experience that really makes you want to try it yourself (more than partially because good dancers seemed entirely irresistible to the beautiful women dotted throughout the club). Maybe we can try and get some basic lessons before this trip is over.

Today or tomorrow we're headed out of Buenos Aires. Our first stop: Rosario, one of the other major cities in Argentina. We'll use this as a jumping off point to head further north and west into the Andes, where we'll probably do some good hiking and visit Che Guevara's birthplace.

Alright, it's time for me to hit the shower before heading out for the day. Nate managed to get in touch with an ex-girlfriend of his who coincidently has been living in BA for the past year plus., The world is getting smaller and smaller, kids. Happy Sunday, and I'll write more when I can. Peace out.

Live from high atop Buenos Aires

I know, I know - it's been a million years since I've written anything. And even longer since I've written anything of substance. But here I am, on the 20th floor of an apartment building in Buenos Aires, Argentina sharing a few of my thoughts and gross generalizations. I'm just starting out on a 18-day trip with one of my closest homeboys from college.

BA is a big and beautiful city. Lots of parks, tree lined streets, old buildings with decorative wrought iron balconies, newly constructed skyscrapers, and interesting stories behind them all.

It is notable that I once again find myself in a place where I'm not marked as an outsider. The Argentinians are snobbish about their European decent - marking them, in their minds, as superior from those descended from the indigenous peoples who make up the bulk of the population in other Central and South American countries. As a result of this caucasian bent - and my outrageously manly stubble - everyone here assumes I'm a local. My mediocre spanish betrays the reality of the situation.

It's 12:22 in the am, but Nate and I are about to head out for some late night drinking and dancing. The sun doesn't set here until 9 or 10 (it's verano in el hemisphero del sur, silly) and Argentinians are known for their night owl tendencies.

I've liked writing this post a lot. Hopefully I'll be able to find some more time to write as Nate and I begin our travels up into the Andes, back across the country to Iguazu Falls, and finally into Uruguay where we'll lie on the warm Atlantic beaches and ogle the local beauties. I also have my camera, so you'll get to see some of my pictures eventually. Adios.

Let's begin here.

On my way home from South Africa, I stopped in London for a week-long crash course in Reimmersion. Everything was outrageously expensive, the weather was cold and grey, but a long day at the Tate Modern made it seem worthwhile.

The piece currently occupying the main hall is called Shibboleth, an installment by Doris Salcedo. Here's a decent article about the work - which essentially looks like a giant crack running the entire length of Turbine Hall - from Time Out London.

I found Salcedo's thoughts about hidden racism and segregation in the developed world particularly thought provoking having arrived directly after a year in South Africa. 'Shibboleth' is also a specific comment on London - a place thought of as multicultural, inclusive and ethnically diverse. From an interview with Salcedo: 'You have on one level a society that considers itself homogenous, but I've been wandering around, visiting estates near here, and the [global] north/south divide is very evident.'

And here are some pictures of the I've collected from around the web:

American Gangster.

So, I'm back. An understatement, but true nonetheless. New York: what a strange and wonderful place.

Let's get to writing.

Take me down to the Paradise City

What a wonderful trip I've just gotten back from. What a beautiful place South Africa is; and so full of interesting complexities. I'm going to miss it terribly. Some of the highlights of these past 4 days:





I'm still basking in the glow (both literally and emotionally) and don't feel like writing much just now. But I'll try to follow up on this experience sometime soonish. Hope you've all had weekends as nearly as lovely as mine! I'm out.

More blocks than Zo

I feel like I have started to lose confidence in my writing. I was churning out pages upon pages of material I was happy with just a few months ago, but have recently been beset by an insidious self-consciousness not conducive for finishing up these last few application essays or attempting to consolidate my thoughts as my departure from South Africa looms ever larger.

But, I also feel like I've been learning a lot these past few weeks. About how I function best living on my own; about why I am drawn to certain people and certain types of relationships; about why these experiences in South Africa have felt so damned thrilling - if outrageously challenging - so much of the time. The type of stuff that I feel like sharing with friends over a couple of hours and a couple of beers when I finally get home.

And with that pleasant image, I'm out. Hopefully this particular strain of Writer's Block passes through my system relatively quickly; my writing suffers tremendously when it comes off as overwrought. And I'll post some pictures of the amazing Zulu festivities I went to this weekend in Highflats. Far and away the best engagement party I've ever been to. All the sheep intestines stew and traditional Zulu dancing a man could hope for. Later.

(Ain't it funny) how time slips away?

Lately I've been finding it hard to think about going home to New York. Obviously I miss my friends and family dearly, but South Africa has started to feel like home in a way that I wasn't necessarily expecting when I arrived here 9 months ago. One of the ways I've been dealing with these feelings of ambivalence is to commit myself to having a wonderful time while I'm still here. This hasn't proven to be much of a struggle so far, and I have another fun weekend ahead of me.

Tonight, I'm going to see the Durban-Maputo Connection: a high-energy concert of original music and well known South African and Mozambican songs performed by four Mozambican musicians, from Maputo, and four South African musicians, from Durban. Tomorrow I've been invited to a Zulu engagement party - called an umbondo - out in a small town called Ixopo (that 'x' isn't a typo. it represents one of the click sounds in Zulu). These parties are known to be a rollicking good time - several days full of food, song, dance, and liberal doses of Zulu beer. Can you tell I'm excited? I've been encouraged to bring my camera to capture the awesomeness. Hopefully I'll have some good pictures to share with you guys, as I can only imagine that you might have a difficult time envisioning it from my description.

But first, a quick nap. There are plenty of other things I'd love to tell you guys about, but I think I'm just going leave you hanging for the time being. (Fine, a brief teaser.) I'm also trying to put together some of my concluding reflections about my time in Durbs, South Africa - especially in comparison to what my original thoughts/expectations were when I first rolled up in January.

In heavy rotation:
Al Green - Funny How Time Slips Away
(the video's a bit random, but the only one i could find of al's original version)

The Brevity Thing

Oh, snap. 280 million bills for TB research.

Old Skool cutz. They wanna bring '88 back and, frankly, I agree with them.

Vaycay. (I can't believe I just used that word on my blog. Whatever. crap.)

looks pretty sweet though, doesn't it?

Smaller and smallest

This is the sort of article that makes this one hilarious. Pitchfork can be really ridiculous and pretentious sometimes.

I do actually have much more exciting things to write about up here, but I don't have the time to write about it now now. Here is a picture to pique your interest:

This is the biggest plane I rode in today!

(thanks to Kerry for the Onion link!)

It's official.

My return ticket has been purchased. Now I just need to head down to the airport later this week to pick it up.

The thought of my eventual arrival back in the US clutters my brain with strangest mix of exhilaration and terror. It’s going to happen either way, I guess, so I might as well get used to it.

And so begins the (longish) final stage of my adventures here in South Africa.

Round 2: Amphitheatre

Day number two in the Northern 'Berg entailed a serious hike up onto the top of the Amphitheatre, a huge rock formation that rises a nearly kilometer above the surrounding terrain. At the top there was some snow, some killer views, and a series of chain link ladders to lead you down nearly 15 stories of sheer rock face to the path back to the base area. It was a blast, and reminded me how much I love to spend time outdoors doing some intense hiking. The weather was quite crisp in the morning and evenings (hence the heavy jacket), but during the middle of the day we couldn't get our layers off fast enough - and I even came back to Durban with a nice suntan.

But, enough of my blathering; I think I would be best served by letting my pictures do the rest of the talking. Just in case you notice some glaring discrepancies between pictures: some of the pix were taken by Lara's beautiful Cannon Rebel SLR, replete with many fancy lenses. And, as always, a whole bunch more photos can be found on my Flickr site.

Round 1: Lesotho

This weekend away in the 'Berg was lots of fun. Our first day was spent touring around a few villages in Lesotho, led by a very interesting guy who introduced himself as "Power" (for effect, he flexed his muscles when he said this). He's a middle school Maths teacher at this school just on top of the edge of the mountain, and was an amazing guide. He was very knowledgeable about Lesotho's history and was interested in making sure that he took time to answer any questions we might have before moving on to the next place.

First he took us to his school and showed up the dedication plaque on the main doorway. The school was one giant classroom - although they are raising funds to complete and partially-finished second building - housing 150 kids in 4 or 5 different grades. Each grade sits in desks facing a different wall, and the teachers rotate from class to class throughout the day.



These are some kids that were hanging around the school property. I think they're probably a bit too young to attend, but are extraordinarily cute and deserve many pictures being taken of them.


Then Power took us to the 'local brewery' - which simply means that he has this friend who brews traditional Basotho beer. It was delicious, although passing around a giant coffee can-looking container wasn't exactly the most hygienic option. I got a couple of good chugs in when it came back around.


Then we hiked up one of the local sandstone rockfaces and ate our lunch with a killer view. In looking at this picture, it seems that everyone else decided to wear boring colors that day. I'm keeping it real in the bright green.


Another picture of an extremely cute child!

And, finally, we got to spend an hour or so with a Sangoma - a traditional healer. She didn't speak a word of English, but was a riot nonetheless. Power translated for her, but as the pictures below demonstrate - awesomeness needs no translation. Her 'specialty' as a healer: Male Problems. Which sort of explains why she has 10 kids (and 33 grandchildren).

All jokes aside, she was very interested in sharing information about what ailments she can and can't treat, how she became a Sangoma (her Ancestors spoke to her in a dream - which is an honor that you aren't allowed to ignore in Basotho or Zulu culture), and how she treats different illnesses. All of this provided me with a lot of new information about Southern Africas' widely-practiced healing traditions.



And just because everyone loves a good Group Shot with some striking vistas in the background...and some serious studs in the foreground.


I also have some good pics from the hike we took up to the top of the Amphitheatre the following day, but upload speeds are slow at the moment. So, I'll take a break for dinner and some work - and I'll try to get up some of those other photos soon. Later.

Where the streets have no name. Or two names, oftentimes.

From the front page of the New York Times website this morning: Where the Road to Renaming Does Not Run Smooth.

This article addresses a hotly debated topic here in Durban - the renaming of many major roads to honor the architects of the New South Africa. These changes, while originating from a very reasonable and progressive premise, have made it exceedingly difficult at times for a newly initiated Durbanite to navigate the streets of the city. As you can see from the picture above, some of the old street names have temporarily been struck through with a red line, while other street signs with outdated names have been removed entirely - further complicating things.

Unfortunately, I don't really have time to share supplementary commentary at the moment; I have to finish up this work before I can head out to the Northern 'Berg for a weekend of camping and hiking with friends. But please take a look at the article if you get a chance, and I'll contribute my personal experiences and observations about this issue when I get back into town on Sunday.

In taking a look at posts from the recent past, it looks conspicuously like I've been shilling for the Times these past few weeks. I would be more apologetic, but I think it's just that NYT is one of my main sources of news here - and there has been a real wealth of interesting articles for me to share with you guys as of late.

Alright, I'm out of here; catch you all later.

This is ourselves, under pressure

Today I was volunteered by one of the doctors I work with in the hospital to give a talk on Management of Hypertension at Grand Rounds in July. I mean, I'm flattered because it means that he thinks I'm pretty competent - and I can't deny that I'm kind of excited to present a room full of doctors and interns - but the panic quickly set in when I realized how much information I'll have to sift through and digest between now and then. What do I know about Management of Hypertention? At the moment, remarkably little.

My research has already started. The American Heart Association has some good annually updated guidelines that I was directed to, and I was able to find some good review articles in the New England Journal of Medicine archives (a big thanks to my Dad for providing his username and password).

It actually seems like an interesting topic, especially when considering the cardiovascular complications associated with patients with HIV (particularly notable in patients who have been on multi-drug ARV therapy for any extended period of time). If I come across anything that seems to be of more general interest, I'll be sure to share.

This weekend I am going to be heading inland to check out the Amphitheatre, one of the most striking features of the northern portion of the Drakensberg Mountains. I'm not sure if I'll get around to posting again before I leave, but I'll do my best to get the pictures up as soon as I get home.

Writing these narrative posts is harder than it looks. Seeing so many 'I' statements starts to make me feel queasy, but I guess I'll just have to cope if I'm going to keep writing about this stuff. I'll holler at you guys again soon.