My dear, dear friend
So long has passed since last I wrote I
hardly know where to begin. I found myself trapped in the
procrastination cycle—the more I thought about writing again, the
more I realized I had to catch up on and so, I would wait for the
overwhelmed feeling to pass. Usually, this meant I would delve into
my latest fantasy or sci-fi novel, or perhaps even while away the
afternoon catching up with an old TV show I'd long since abandoned.
Either way, my procrastination skills are in peak condition, meaning
my punctual writing priorities have fallen woefully to the wayside.
And there is much to tell you :]
If I'm going to go about this
pseudo-chronologically, or at least with chronological intentions,
then I had best start around mid-May.
Saturday, May 12th
It was the weekend—that blessed,
blessed weekend after the
last day of classes. Of course there were exams to look forward to,
but those weren't for a few weeks at least; there'd be plenty of time
to forget to study and subsequently freak out later. But for now, it
was time to celebrate!
I'd
had the most wondrous good luck during the term to befriend several
multi-instrumental young men: one of these, perhaps the best
of these, is our connection. Daniel* told me, perhaps five minutes
into our acquaintanceship, that he played guitar. Being the pompous
little twat that I can be, I shrugged this information aside, saying,
“Yeah, you and everyone else.” Well, I was about to be quite the
abashed little snot.
You
see, Daniel forgot to mention that he had a hook. And that hook was
named Sophia...
Since
finals weren't yet looming and classes had stopped, my friend Summer
and I decided to go see Daniel, our mutual friend, perform at a place
called St. Clements in Durban.
St.
Clements ended up being a charming little place: cafe and plant
nursery by day, breezy outdoor concert venue and art shop by night.
At any time of day, they have pastries, making it a definite win.
However, getting there turned out to be the night's biggest
challenge. A couple hours into late afternoon, I phoned Summer to
see what she was wearing that night. It's a good thing I did,
because that's how I found out she wasn't going, even though we'd
made our plans weeks ago. But there wasn't time to get my
chick-angst on. I needed a plan. I needed to plot! If I was going
to see this show, then by golly I had to do
something about it. I wracked my brains for a game plan.
And
now this is where I get to whine. This, this is why I hate Durban.
More specifically, this is why I hate South Africa. Anytime I want
to get somewhere, see someone, or do something, I have to whip out my
negotiation tool box. I don't even have a shadow of independence in
this place. For everything, I have to deal, barter, bribe, or
impress the somebody who can take me somewhere. Why? A few reasons,
that of course end up stacking themselves against me. The first
reason is my own fault: I can't drive stick. I've learned and
practiced a bit, but I'm nowhere near competent enough to drive
myself through the spaghetti monster of a maze that is the Durban
freeway. Second, despite the fact that Durban and its suburban
outcroppings are part of the third largest port city on the
continent, it has no comprehensive, efficient, cheap, or safe public
transportation system. Translation: you kinda need a car to get
places. And this is really something I'm not used to; thank you
California for spoiling me with your lovely, easy to use systems.
And thanks UCSD for the free bus pass :] Third, most women I am
acquainted with don't drive. I would say the approximate age range
we're looking at in my sample is 17-28. To get your license here,
you need to be eighteen, but hardly anyone actually gets their
license then. At least, hardly anyone I've met at school. And
fourth, the gender divide here as such makes it pretty certain that a
fair majority of my friends are women. What are we left with? No
public transport and a very, very small female only pool of drivers
that is even further diminished to females living in or nearby my
suburb. Problem.
...Solution?
Megan.
Megan
was a girl I had met briefly several times. She has the class before
mine at the ballet studio I've been going to. In between our
lessons, while I was putting on my shoes and she was taking hers off,
we would chat etc. It wasn't long until we exchanged numbers; she
said we should hang out soon.
Now,
fast-forward to Saturday night: me, desperate, friendless, and
itching to go to this promised-to-be-epic night of music! I do the
only sensible thing I can think of then, by going through everyone
remotely nearby in my cellphone contacts. By the time I got to the
M's, I had my speech prepped and ready to go. The conversation went
something like this
Me:
Hey Megan! What are you doing tonight?
Megan:
Oh well, I was planning on catching up on some study—
Me:
No you're not.
Megan:
But I—
Me:
No you're not. It's a Saturday night! You're
young and remember that time we said we should hang out? Let's make
it tonight! There's this awesome concert happening in Durban and—
Megan:
All the way out in Durban? Checks, man...
Me:
Let's do it!
Several
bribes and phone calls later, Megan, Stacie, and I were heading out
in Megan's car to St. Clement's. I was going to have my night.
And
what a night! The place was decked out in every kind of
old-fashioned loveliness: fairy lights were strung from tree to tree,
lighting the little tea tables below with their soft, amber glow.
The stage was set, complete with drums, guitar, and three tall mics,
waiting. But of course, not every plan I concoct is flawless. I had
forgotten to book a table and there wasn't standing room that didn't
block the people sitting or the waiters. So I casually walked
around, scoping the place out. I'd hardly begun my search when a man
and a woman sitting a larger table asked us if we needed seats; their
friends had been unable to make it at the last moment and they had
not one, not two, but three
extra seats. Can you say “purr-fect?”
 |
| probably my favorite April Fool's prank of all time |
Our
rescuers, Alain and Susana, ended up being not only generous, but
fabulous conversationists and foodies. It also proved to me, yet
again, how small the world really is. Not only were both parties
fluent in Spanish (what are the odds of running into other people who
speak Spanish in Africa?!), but Susana is actually from Spain! We
had a lovely time talking about my recent trip there and why she had
moved to Durban of all places. Alain—which is ironic, since I'm
pretty sure that's the name of my high school Spanish teacher's
son—was even familiar with my university back in the States!
Seriously, what are the odds? He and I also agreed on one other
important thing... In the midst of the show (which I promise to get
to), we saw a waitress streak past with two plates of fruit-topped
cheesecake. Both Alain and I's eyes followed her trail. We looked
at each other are were like, um, whoa, whoa, whoa—we need
cheesecake! Stat**!
As
if a perfect night couldn't get any better, there was the performance
itself. Let me tell you, these ladies know how to dish it out!
Natalie, the sexy, minxy alto; Sophia, the bright fresh soprano; and
Jessica, the melodic lead. The girls were a smashing success. The
first half of their set was strictly a capella, but even that had
quite the range: “I'll Fly Away” from O
Brother, Where Art Thou?
to “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.” What truly impressed me was the
arrangements they did themselves, in particular, their coffee and tea
number. Additionally, they were dressed to the nines: these adorable
little boatneck red dresses with a black ribbon to cinch the waist.
Iconic. And while they did a few Andrew Sisters numbers, they had a
different kind of vibe themselves... more sassy, more edge. They've
got a bite to them. That is something I absolutely look for in my
favorite groups—it sets them apart and makes you question that
sugar-sweet exterior. It complexifies them and we all love a good
mystery.
And
when you thought you couldn't bear to love them any more than you
already did, the second half of the show began. They had each
changed into a more gray and black toned, grungy looking outfit and
brought the boys on stage with them: Alex Smillie on the drums and
Daniel Basckin on electric guitar. And well, let's just say I was
proven wrong. Because he was really, really good.
I promise to write again very soon. I just really felt that it was time to break this little impromptu hiatus of mine and give you something real to start with again. I've missed you.
Promise.
-----
*I'd
toyed for awhile with the idea of assigning all my characters in
these anecdotes pseudonyms. My choices in the early stages went
something like this: Alain = “Little Rock,” Susana M. = “Tobit
S.” Stacie = “Sutton,” Megan = “Welsh,” Summer =
“Season” But then, you know, I decided to be honest instead.
Essentially, I decided to run the risk of looking like a jerk. Go
figure.
**Since,
you know, saying “stat” after something like you're in a hospital
makes it super imperative.
