Sunday, January 30, 2011

Berlin

Germany is one of the biggest countries and economies in Europe and has a history which, whether we admit it or not, has affected all of us on multiple levels, including, for some, deep and personal ones. Even those of us born many years after the end of the World Wars and the cessation of hostilities have lived under the shadow of those wars and their aftermath and consequences. Catastrophes of that magnitude throw very long shadows, darkening the lives of generations of children and grandchildren, weighing on their lives and spirits, whether they are aware of it or not. Such is my experience, anyway.
So it was with a mixture of feelings that I learned that the venue of a course on which I teach had been moved from Belgium, which I have visited several times, to Berlin, which I had never visited – in fact I had never visited Germany. I was happy at the prospect of visiting one of the great capital cities of the world. Particularly appetising was the possibility that I would be able to at least figure out half of the street and shop names, notices, and the like – not that I can claim to speak German, but I have found that a good knowledge of Afrikaans, and a passing acquaintance with Yiddish through herself’s family, has helped a lot in the past. Coming from a country which is widely regarded itself to have undergone a miraculous unification and aversion of civil war in the 1990’s, I was keenly anticipating seeing the evidence of the “Berlin miracle” of 1989, when the Wall came down and nearly half a century of enforced artificial segregation came to an end. I was excited to visit the city where so many of the leading lights in my field of interest, particularly Robert Koch, had lived their lives, conducted their experiments, delivered their lectures and published their papers. Yet I could not escape the uneasy feeling that I would be visiting the city where Adolf Hitler, arguably the most evil person ever to have darkened our planetary doorstep, and his murderous band of henchmen, developed their pernicious theories and philosophies and then orchestrated and conducted their social engineering and reign of terror during the terrible decade of 1933-45. I would travel past places from which many thousands of Jewish men, women and children, not to mention other “undesirables”, were ripped from their families and communities and sent to lonely and terrible deaths in concentration camps. I had a feeling that I would find that 65 years had not been long enough to lay such ghosts to rest. I wondered what remnants I would find of a once thriving German Christian culture – many of the great Berlin churches were flattened in the Second World War and whilst some were rebuilt at great expense, I wondered whether I would find that Berliners had moved on and dispensed with God and the religion which informed every aspect of the lives of their forebears for so many centuries.
Saturday
I flew on the Lufthansa overnight direct flight from Cape Town to Frankfurt. It was a standard and uneventful flight and the only mildly irritating aspect was that for some reason I could check in online ahead of the flight but could not select my seat – I was told it would be assigned at the departure gate. The same applied when I dropped off my bag – the clerk told me she couldn’t assign my seat “because the plane is very full” – this despite the fact that I got to the airport 3 hours before my flight was due to leave. I threw a mildly hissy fit and was assured that I had a seat – they simply couldn’t say which one, so I retired to sulk on one of the seats next to A3 and read my book (Orsen Scott Gard – “The Worthing Chronicles” – sci-fi). In the end I had a nice seat – left side window, well back. But I could have done without the extra angst that comes with the creeping suspicion that you have been “bumped” but nobody is prepared to tell you so. We took off from Cape Town in a southerly direction around sunset and the captain took us on what I imagine was a courtesy flip over the peninsula – south to Cape Point and then north up the chain. I had a pretty good view of Simonstown, Fish Hoek and then Hout Bay, later Robben Island and then we left Cape Town behind and the view became either monotonous blue or monotonous white until the light faded and after that it was black with a small crescent moon hanging in the western sky.
Sunday
We landed very early at Frankfurt. To my surprise, the captain told us ground temperature was 12 degrees Celsius – I had expected less. I had been following temperatures in Germany the previous week on Google and Berlin had been down at minus 7. Two weeks before that it was in negative double figures. Also, my colleague from Cape Town had arrived in Berlin the previous day and had emailed to tell me that it was extremely cold. In fact his words were, “Make sure you bring something to keep your balls warm, if you don’t want to have an ice-block hanging between your legs!” So this was a pleasant surprise. I made my way to my connecting flight, with a brief pause at passport control and security. I had plenty of time, my luggage had been booked through and I was travelling on a European passport so I didn’t have any problems, despite the fact that Frankfurt is a huge (I find) and confusing airport.
I had a window seat in a rather empty plane to Berlin. Most of the view was cloud but as we neared Berlin we dipped below it and I saw a number of frozen lakes and a lot of snow – not a huge amount else, to be honest. I worried briefly about landing on ice, but no one else seemed concerned so I buried my head in my book and waited for the inevitable bump. It was quite a jolt when it came, and we seemed to slew back and forth a bit across the runway, but I expect the pilot and others knew what they were doing and soon enough we had slowed down and were turning off towards the apron.
Tegel Airport in Berlin is quite a small facility, compared to Frankfurt, for instance. What I particularly liked was that the relevant carousel is right next to each gate so that we literally stepped off our plane, walked along the airbridge and into a warmed room, where we waited a short while for our cases before proceeding to what seemed to be a fairly tame customs and security check – maybe because we had come from Frankfurt, not elsewhere. The fellow in uniform wanted to see my passport and know where I was from and, when he heard South Africa, he enquired whether I was bringing in cigarettes. I assured him I wasn’t and he let me in. I found the exit, stepped out into the freezing cold and wet, and found Bus 109 to the Zooligisches Garten. It was surprisingly cheap – €2 or thereabouts if I recall. I had to get off at the Bleibtreustrasse stop on Kurfurstendamm. All sounds like quite a mouthful, but by the time we left these were familiar names, rolling off our tongues like any others. Kurfurstendamm, I later learned, is like the Oxford Street of Berlin – the premier shopping district - which is odd, because it didn’t really look that posh, or not our section of it, anyway. Further down it got a bit posher.
Our hotel, the “Hotel Kurfurst Pension”, as it said above the door, was easy to miss – the front door was wedged between “City Jeans” and an estate agency, and was rather blandly signposted. I had to press the buzzer, at which a loud buzzing noise emitted from the doorpost and the door miraculously sprang open. I then had a choice of going up the three stories to the reception, in a lift the size of a wardrobe which travelled at about one floor per minute, or taking the stairs. Since I had luggage I took the lift – thereafter I always took the stairs. I was early for check-in, but they kindly changed my room to one of the front rooms with a bay window. I had a very agreeable continental breakfast with my colleague who had already been there a day and we agreed to meet later to do some exploring. I then retired to bed for a few hours to catch up on the sleep I hadn’t been able to get on the plane.
Around 4 pm we took a walk down Kurfurstendamm in the direction of the Zoologisches Garten. We stopped at Starbucks for a cafe latte – I am fond of Starbucks latte’s, for a number of reasons, not least the fact that they don’t cost the earth and you pretty much know what you are getting. I suppose the same goes for MacDonald’s, but not everyone is a fan of theirs. Entrance to the zoo was €12, so we gave that a miss, thinking we could probably see more wild animals in the streets of Cape Town for free. Instead we explored a few shopping complexes and then came across the “Erotic Museum”. Well, what can I say? – curiosity got the better of me! I imagined that they would have on display Hitler’s fishnet stockings or at the very least some examples of what Berliners through the ages had used on those long cold nights for their mutual amusement and titillation. So I was disappointed to find that it was nothing more than a sex shop selling a large number, but very little variety, of Scandinavian porn, and little else.
From the boringly mundane to the sublime – on the way back to our hotel we stopped into the Kaiser Wilhelm Gedächtnis Kirche – or Memorial Church. It was built in 1895 in honour of Kaiser Wilhelm 1, but was severely damaged in the bombing raids of 1943. After the war it was slated for demolition, largely for safety reasons, but in a referendum Berliners voted not to demolish it. The steeple tower, only half its original height, was preserved, along with the vestibule, and a new church built alongside. The edges of the steeple are jagged and I read that as a result the ruin is known to the locals as “The Hollow Tooth”. It did remind me of one of a cavity-ridden molars I had extracted from mouths of patients in my days as a bush-doctor. I found it all at once beautiful, haunting and very sad. The intended aim is, I guess, to remind the visitor of the horrors of war – in that it certainly succeeds. But I also sensed hope here - hope and light, enduring and resilient strength …
Dinner was at Ali Baba’s. Not very German sounding, but the small restaurant not far from our hotel  had a wonderful atmosphere, great beer, really good pizzas and it didn’t cost an arm and a leg – about €20 for us both, I think. The beer was called Berliner Weise, which I learned is sour beer with a shot of raspberry or woodruff syrup. It is served in what looks like a large wineglass and looks like green (woodruff) or red (raspberry) cold drink. I had the green and my friend the red and we both enjoyed it. We then had a short, wet and cold walk back to the hotel and so to bed. Thus ended my first day in Berlin. Thus began my week long struggle with the central heating system of the hotel, of which more anon.
Monday
I was worried about getting to the Institute on Monday morning – the instructions sounded daunting. My colleague, on the other hand was unperturbed. I needn’t have worried - it turned out he was right – I should have had more faith in the German public transport system. I remember in Washington DC that the metro (underground) had electronic signboards which let you know exactly how many minutes it would be until the next train, but I have never encountered this system for buses. In Berlin they have one at each stop on the major routes and they tell you not only your own bus’s expected movements but a few others besides. Amazing! Couldn’t help thinking that in Cape Town they would be nicked and used as televisions or something…
We caught the 109 back towards Tegel Airport, but got out at the Schloss Charlottenburg – a mansion on the banks of the Spree, and then caught the M45 west down Spandaustrasse for about 10 blocks, over a major highway, to the DR Klinik stop, where we alighted. Simple. The DR Klinik is a satellite of Charite University Medical School, I suppose, and it houses their Institute of Tropical Medicine, which is where I would be teaching / lecturing / facilitating for the next five days. I won’t bore you with the details of the course except to say that it was run with Germanic efficiency and was very successful. Each morning started with a joke or a story – here are some of those I remember:
“A lecture is a process wherein whatever a professor describes is transferred directly to the notepads of the students without going through the brain of either the professor or the students”.
“A minibus taxi was stopped near the South Africa – Zimbabwe border. The traffic officer told the river that his department was running a campaign and that because the driver was wearing his seat belt, he would receive R1000. The driver was naturally delighted.  The traffic officer asked him, “So what are you going to spend the R1000 on?” “Oh, I think I will buy a driver’s licence with it!” said the driver. The main in the passenger seat, sensing that trouble was looming, told the officer, “Don’t worry officer – he only speaks like that when he is drunk!” Another passenger moaned, “I knew we wouldn’t get far in a stolen vehicle!” The officer was starting to get alarmed when there was a knocking noise from the back of the taxi and a disembodied voice shouted, “Hey, are we through the border post yet – I need the toilet!”
“A vaccinologist got married and went on honeymoon. After dinner on the first night he retired to bed with his new wife. As he started undressing and removed his socks, she noticed that he had very odd looking toes and asked him what was wrong with them. “Oh”, he said, “I had toe-lio as a child”. When he removed his trousers, she noticed he had very strange knees and asked about their origin. “Oh”, he said, “I had knee-sles as a child”. When he removed his underwear, she gave a gasp and said “Don’t tell me – you suffered from small-cox as a child!”
Each day started at 9 and ended at 6 or after. This sounded fine, since where I had just come from the sun was rising around 5 and setting at 8. The nasty shock waiting for me on Day One was that by four p.m. the streets were dark and the sky black. We caught the bus back to the hotel in the gloom, but we got used to it after a few days.
I was keen to try Ali Baba’s again, but my compatriot wanted a change so we tried the German Deli on the corner. We agreed to meet in the foyer at 8 and walked the 100m or so to the Deli. It was bitterly cold and we were thankful to step off the pavement and into the warm room. It seemed we were the only guests. The barman greeted us in German. We did our best to respond in kind but he could obviously see we weren’t Berliners and switched to English. We surveyed the menu. Every second item seemed to be either pork or potato or both. I ordered the potato soup which turned out to be very rich and filling. Good choice. My friend had a salmon dish and pronounced it satisfactory. I convinced him that we needed to drink some German beer, although he is not a beer drinker. The barman obliged with two tall glasses (500ml) of a dark coloured draft. Superb. My friend didn’t agree, so I finished his as well!
I had been told that the speciality of Berlin is curry-wurst and that I must be sure to try some. Sure enough, there was a fast food on the corner advertising all types of wurst but emphasizing their curry wurst. I ordered one to take away. It turned out to be quite a messy affair. They sliced the sausage transversely and then slopped a fair amount of curry sauce over it. The bread was tasty, but very crumbly. Eating all of this in the hotel sitting room with a diminutive plastic fork and no napkins was a challenge and resulted in an appreciable amount of the meal ending up on the floor. As for the taste, it was interesting, pleasant, but I wouldn’t travel all the way to Berlin for it. Maybe we picked the wrong shop. Also, it didn’t seem very “German”.
 Tuesday
We had another long day of lectures, discussion groups and the like. The weather was still wet and icy. Instead of taking lunch in the clinic’s staff cafeteria which is a 5 euro, sit-down affair, I walked up the road to a small convenience store and  bought a large tin of peanuts which filled me up and gave me some exercise at the same time. I found those peanuts immensely satisfying – maybe they made me feel vaguely African again amidst the miserable Berlin weather.
My friend and I had been invited out for dinner with a colleague who originally comes from India, but has lived in Europe for many years and in Berlin for eight. He took us on a drive through the city centre, pointing out some famous structures and landmarks. We stopped alongside an old looking building which he indicated was the site of Robert Koch’s famous public lecture where he announced his discovery of Mycobacterium Tuberculosis, well over a century ago. There is a plaque on the wall commemorating the occasion. He also took us to Checkpoint Charlie and the section of the wall which remains next to Hitler’s bunker, which they are making into some sort of museum. All very interesting, but the biting cold prevented us from spending too much time sight seeing. We had dinner at a Thai restaurant. I ordered a tofu vegetarian dish, which was a mistake. It wasn’t unpleasant, just nondescript. The others had some spicy seafood which they said was excellent. We washed it down with a nice bottle of South African Chardonnay and topped it off with banana (mine) and deep fried ice cream (my friend’s) deserts. All in all a very pleasant evening, and we were back at our hotel and in bed by 11 p.m.
Wednesday
Much the same sort of day, except that this time we had a Faculty Dinner at a German restaurant across Kaiser Friedrich Strasse from the Schloss Charlottenburg. It was a wonderful evening – great conversation, good food (I had the Bavarian wurst) and wonderful “seasonal” German beer, brewed on site in one of those huge copper contraptions, and again served in those long glasses by the half litre – it slipped down like honey. I liked it so much I had another glass, and then had to join two of my older colleagues, who are intrepid walkers, in electing to avoid the 109 bus back to the hotel and instead cover the 2 or 3km on foot. It was a cold but dry evening when we started and it only began to drizzle when we were a few blocks away from the hotel. I thoroughly enjoyed it. On the way, my Belgian colleague, who is a retired professor, educated us both on the tortuous convolutions of 20th century European history – normally one would have to pay a fortune for such an erudite tour guide!
Thursday
Our one free evening! Also the last evening before most of the European faculty would be going home to the UK, Belgium and elsewhere. It was rainy and miserable when we finished the sessions for the day, but we decided none the less to try and do some site seeing. We dropped our bags at the hotel and took a bus down Kurfurstendamm towards the Zoo, then transferred to another which would take us to the Fernsehturm tower in what was East Berlin. We found the tower and it was even open for visitors, but the person in the ticket office told us that there would be virtually no view from the top on account of the mist and cloud. At 12 euro that would be a bit steep so we decided against it and instead walked around the area to see what we could see. There was an impressive church nearby – the St. Marienkirche, which looked well preserved but was closed. Unfortunately the rain got worse so we eventually admitted defeat and took the bus home. It took us down Unter den Linden – originally a bridal path linking the royal residence with the Tiergarten, later the city’s most fashionable street, and then past the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag, and through the Tiergarten to the zoo. We had all the upstairs front seats in the bus to ourselves, but unfortunately it was raining heavily by now and the windows were all misted up so we didn’t see much. For dinner we headed back to Ali Baba’s where we had another delightful meal of pizza and beer. Ironic that in a week in Berlin I should eat more Italian food than German, but there you are.
Friday
The course finished in the early afternoon. We had lunch in the DR Klinik cafeteria with our colleagues and bade some fond farewells, headed back to the hotel to drop our bags and then walked down Kurfurstendamm to the bus station at the Zoo. There is an area of central Berlin up near the Tiergarten called the Kulturforum – it houses a few churches, museums (and some “church-museums”) and the Philharmonie and Kammermusiksaal concert halls when the Berlin Philharmonic is based. I had a vague notion that I might be able to get into a concert although, my friends had warned me that concerts are sold out well ahead of time. They were correct – I could have heard Yo Yo Ma playing Shostakovich for €70 a seat (all the cheaper seats were sold out), but thought better of it - a decision I may live to regret. Instead, we walked through the Sony building, with its remarkable modern architecture, down to the Brandenburg Gate, with all that it means, and past the Reichstag. The weather held and we had a very interesting time, albeit most everything was closed. From the station under the Bundestag, we got on the U train which took us back to the Zoo, and then walked along under and next to the S line until we found a likely looking restaurant (which also turned out to be Italian!). After another pizza and another beer, we returned to the hotel.
Saturday
Blue sky! We had agreed that if the weather was good we would try and go for a run on Saturday morning, so at 7 a.m. I phoned my colleague and confirmed that he was still game – he was. At 7.30 we met, in tracksuits, if not quite in gloves and beanies, and began our run – down Kurfurstendamm to Breitscheidplatz (don’t you love these names), down Tauentzienstrasse, past the Europa Centre, past Wittenberg Platz and into Kleiststrasse, then left up An der Urania, Schill Strasse, and Klingelhoferstrasse (in Central Berlin the same strasse is wont to change its name every block or two, it seems, which gets confusing) to the Tiergarten. We ran up Hofjägerallee to the Grosser Stern and then along Strasse des 17 Juni (evidently named after a workers uprising in 1953 in former East Germany), back to the Zoo and the hotel. Nice light run – maybe 4km all told.
After breakfast and checking out we met a South African colleague who is working at Charite University and together we made the trip to the town/suburb of Potsdam. It takes half an hour or so by train and is well worth it. The train was clean, punctual and quiet, but it seems even in Berlin the graffiti artists had been busy on the windows with some sharp objects. Nothing that a horse whipping wouldn’t cure, say I. The track winds through suburbia and then snowy woodland and over one or two rivers and canals, I recall – very pretty. We arrived at a fairly large station and were almost immediately accosted by a short man with a large handlebar moustache, who was intent on being our tour guide. We listened politely (he spoke English), accepted the free map he offered us, and then told him we didn’t have time as we needed to return to Berlin in a few hours. We walked around the town, admiring some fine churches, including the very impressive 1830 Nikolaikirche, with its huge dome, the rows of beautiful red brick tenant houses in the 1733-42 Hollandisches Viertel, the “New Gate”, which looked fairly old to me, and finally the Neuer Garten, a lovely bit of parkland next to the Heiliger See, with its Marmor Palais (Marble Palace) and the manor house style Schloss Cecilienhof where Churchill, Stalin and Truman met to decide Germany’s fate and carve her up in 1945. It is now a hotel with a small museum.
I was a little concerned about making my flight, so probably didn’t stay in Potsdam as long as I should have – certainly worth another visit. We bought some food and drink (cheese roll and baked cheesecake for me) and took the train back to the Zoo, where we parted with a “give my love to Cape Town” from our colleague. A quick visit to a curio shop (I didn’t buy anything) and then back to the hotel.
The rest was pretty uneventful – Bus 109 to Tegel, check-in, long wait, short flight to Frankfurt, another long wait, and then the long flight home to Cape Town where I arrived a little after 10. The trip had been too short, but I know that I need to go back sometime, preferably with herself, to whom these sights, smells, sounds and names will mean a lot more. I cannot say “Ich bin ein Berliner” with JFK, but I can say that I loved Berlin, in a strange way that is difficult to articulate.

The amazing architecture of the Sony Building
St Marienkirche and the Fernsehturm tower
The Brandenburg Gate
St Nikolaikirche, Potsdam
A really impressive building just next to it.
The Heiliger See

Some interesting contrasts at the DR Klinik, Charite University.

Monday, January 17, 2011

The Old School Tie

I left The Old School 30 years ago. Since leaving I have only lived in Johannesburg for about a year when I was in the army, and even then I was mostly out of town in Heidelberg, some 50km away, so I’ve never really been in any danger of becoming one of those Old Boys who find it difficult to divorce themselves from the institution and sever the umbilical cord. Having said that, the institution has always held a very special place in my heart – more special than that held by my university, for which I now work, I must confess. I think it has something to do with my having been happy, popular and successful there, whereas at University I was never particularly happy, not remarkably popular nor unpopular and not particularly successful either.
Five years ago we had the Great 25 Year Reunion. Old Boys from the Class of 1980 came from far and wide – Australia, Europe, North America – it was quite remarkable.  I was asked to make a speech at the dinner. I made the mistake of trying to be too philosophical, speaking about the war we had fought in, the lack of recognition we had received, the passage of time, our own vulnerability – 10 of our class of 150 were already dead by then. My mistake was failing to realise that half the guys would already be half pissed by the time I spoke. Some listened, others drank more, most just waited politely for me to finish banging on and for the party to resume.
Friday
This time there were far fewer of the class present – maybe 30 out of the remaining 140. One from Europe, a few from Cape Town, mostly just the local lads. At the previous reunion I had been shocked at how jaded, overweight, and seriously unattractive we all looked. This time I guess I was more prepared and actually thought we didn’t look too shabby for a bunch of nearly 50 year olds. We started off by attending an assembly in the school hall with the boys. They respectfully let us sit whilst they stood at the back and in the gallery. The head boys of the classes of 1960 and 1985 spoke briefly about what the school meant to them. I was off the hook and was able to just sit and take it in. The huge arch, the immensely high ceilings, the long gilded lists of names on the dark wood panelling – head boys and captains of sports teams stretching back 108 years. Nothing had changed much in 30 years.
Well, not quite true. The kids are now well mixed – black, white, coloured, Asian – while in our day they were all white. Great! As one of us remarked, that was simply normalising a deeply abnormal situation. The school choir in our day was an embarrassment, mainly because any boy with the slightest musical talent, apart from being a Rock Musician, was immediately considered suspect in terms of his sexual orientation, and consequently went to great lengths to pretend that he was tone deaf, was now a thing to behold and to hear. Mainly black kids, with one or two token whities, but what a sound!
The boys treated us to the War Cry in the quadrangle after assembly. They have changed the rhythm and cadences a little in 30 years but the words are the same – “Itchy Balla Goota, Skeeta Ramma Doota, Suss Kanada, Sunna Kanassky, Boom …” Total gibberish, which is why it works. None of your “Ra, Ra Hockeysticks, we shall overcome, we will be true” crap. “… Bodias, Bodias, Bodias, as, as. Jimela! Jee! Jimela! Jee! Teddy Bears! Wah! Who are we? Teddy Bears!!” The last and only intelligible lines in deference to King Edward VII – “Teddy”. The roar of the boys reverberating off the walls of the quad made our hairs stand on end.
We checked out the new Pavilion, donated by a wealthy old boy who is younger than me, to the tune of R7m, we were told.
Next it was the Golf Day. Dread! I hadn’t played since the last reunion, 5 years previously. On that occasion, I decided that I would play better if I had a few beers before starting, which I did. Only problem was that there was a beer wagon following us around and by the time I got to the eighteenth, I could scarcely focus on the ball and was managing some shots which would not be found in any golfing book. I didn’t get the prize for the worst golfer but I must have been close. So this time, I started sober and tried to remain that way. I was playing in a four ball with an old mate, who is a reasonable golfer. Now the nice thing about this four ball idea was that you could pick your ball up if you hadn’t sunk it by Par plus 2, which meant that most holes I picked up and left my mate to do the honours. Only the better score of the two counts. I find drivers and woods very difficult and a source of much embarrassment, so this time I stuck to irons until near the green. In fact I stuck to a 5 iron almost exclusively. To cut a long (very long) story short, I hacked my way around 18 holes, back and forth from stage left to stage right, in and out of trees and bunkers and lakes, until we finally and thankfully got back to the clubhouse. My borrowed golf shoes were killing me on account of being a size or two too small.
Then it was a quick shower, a drink (Rock Shandy for me), the inhalation of a lot of second hand cigarette smoke, a raffle (yawn!) and a reasonably nice barbequed dinner. We again missed the “hosepipe” – the prize for the worst foursome – they give it to you with the words, “Stick to gardening!” I drove home.
Saturday
I spent the first part of the day playing cricket with my seven year old godson. Of course he won. When you’re seven you can change the rules, the umpires decision – in fact you can change reality. Good kid. Was too stiff after the golf to manage rugby.
In the afternoon we went through to a sports pub in FourWays somewhere and met the crowd again to watch the Springbok / Wales rugby match. Got off to a shaky start, but they rallied and eventually won. I am not a huge rugby fan, but I enjoyed the atmosphere and seeing the guys again. Then we headed home and had a quiet evening with a braai.
Sunday
Sunday was the day of the Memorial Parade. My old school has the distinction, so I have been told, of having the longest roll of honour in the World Wars of any school in the Commonwealth. Not sure if it is true, but I do know that the roll is very long and takes the headmaster a good 5-10 minutes to read.
The parade starts with the guard of honour (Grade 11 boys) falling in on the fields with their heavy old rifles (Boer War?) and then marching up to the school’s main entrance. They then slow-march into the quadrangle, while the pipe band flanks the entrance and plays “The Skye Boat Song”. When the pipes cut, a lone snare drum continues until all the troops are in place in the quadrangle. It is very impressive. Then there are sundry hymns, the laying of wreaths, readings and so on. The climax is the reading of the Roll of Honour and the one minute’s silence, which is timed to happen at 11:11. Of course for some of us it means more than for others – I think of my late uncles who both fought in the SA forces, and of my father whose family faced the bombers in London and Surrey during the dark days of 1940 and 1941. But I also think of some of my own friends and acquaintances who were killed in the South Africa Border War in the eighties and whose names are now of the Role – Daniel de Klerk, Steve Watts, Howard Remmington, Mark Mason  … there but for the grace of God went I. After the silence, the words on the cenotaph are repeated: “Sons of this place, let this of you be said, that you who live are worthy of your dead. At the rising of the sun and the going down of the same, we will remember them. We will remember.” And we do remember.
As if that wasn’t enough, we then have the lament. A lone piper plays “Flowers of the Forest”. He starts in the quadrangle, but then moves to the stairwell and playing, down the stairs and out to the fields. The effect is that the notes fade away gradually and then disappear. Powerful stuff, and then it is over. Tea and cakes, a display by the band, chat with a few old connections and home for lunch.
A braai, a beer, a trip to the airport and a flight back to Cape Town and another anniversary is over. I guess we’ll continue to do this every five years until there is no-one left standing, or at least no-one capable of making it to Johannesburg. As the years slip by the numbers will diminish, the representatives of the class of 1980 grow more stooped, less active, more confused perhaps (is that possible?). No doubt the school will change, so that the institution which we come to visit will look less and less like the one we remember. But my guess is that there will always remain behind enough of the old friendship, camaraderie and, dare I say it, love, to make it worthwhile and meaningful. If you don’t agree, or simply don’t understand where I am coming from, go and see the movie “Spud”.  Extremely strong bonds are forged in the “coming of age” years.


 Quad and cenotaph
  Clocktower and main hall
 
New pavilion
Honours Board in the main hall
Matric exams and the choir warming up

Egypt

Egypt


Sunday
No blog for some months. Partly because nothing terribly exciting has happened. OK, there was a trip to the US and UK which was possibly worth a blog, but I just didn’t get to it. But mostly because things have just been too hectic and I have been, frankly, too buggered.
I was up in Johannesburg two weekends ago attending a school reunion – okay maybe that is worth a blog as well, I’ll get to it – when my boss phoned me with bad news about a project we have been working on. A technical hitch had put the whole thing in jeopardy. Probably about 2 months’ hard work. Having ruined my day with that pearl, he went on to say, in parting, “And there’s a meeting in Cairo I’d like you to attend – I can’t go. 29th November to 1st December. Can you go?” Well, what was I supposed to say? So here I am.
I have now visited quite a number of countries in Africa outside of SA: Mozambique, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Namibia (somewhat extended stay courtesy of the SA defense force), Zambia, Malawi, Swaziland and Lesotho (both of those by mistake, the first driving and the second hiking), Burundi (in transit), Rwanda, Uganda, Kenya, Tanzania/Zanzibar, Ethiopia, Mali and Senegal. I make that 17, including SA. I think there are 50, so I am one third of the way there. But Egypt wasn’t on my list. My boss said “Take a few extra days, see the pyramids …” But that wasn’t possible either. Contract workers don’t get much leave and I had already put in for 2 weeks in December.
So here is what I discovered. Egyptian visa’s are free for South Africans. Of course you still need to pay the travel agent and the courier, because your passport needs to go to Pretoria. But the visa itself is free. It took about a week. Probably would have been quicker were it not for the fact that I happened to send it on the same day as Eid (little Eid, not Big Eid, but still Eid). Anyway, it was duly returned complete with one less blank page and an elaborate purple ink stamp in arabic which told me and anyone else that I had a single entry visa valid for 3 months. Nice.
There is a direct Johannesburg Cairo flight, operated by Egyptair, code share SA/Star Alliance. Great. Now the sponsors of the meeting were prepared to pay business class for anyone travelling over 6 hours. My flight was 8h + 2h. Greater. The snag was there were no business class seats available.  The alternative was flying via Dubai on Emirates and that was going to cost nearly double. I did the decent thing and agreed to fly economy. Bad move.
I have flown SAA many times now and have to say I have seldom had problems with them. They once lost my luggage in Dar es Salaam, but I did get almost all of it back (minus a cheap camera and cell phone charger), 12 weeks later. Apart from that we have had a good relationship. Until yesterday. My flight leaving Cape Town was delayed about 30 minutes – the incoming flight was late, reason not specified. So instead of getting to Johannesburg at 19h50 I got there at 20h20. They couldn’t book my luggage through to Cairo – security issue. So I had to wait for it at domestic arrivals and then re-check it in, after a compulsory plastic wrap (free) [This is now standard on KQ Johannesburg-Nairobi flights as well]. Well that took until 20h40, mainly because I got the wrong terminal – A not B. Finally checked in, got my boarding pass, looked at it and saw boarding time 20h45, Gate A18. For those who don’t know Oliver Tambo International Airport, that it the very very last gate in the new international terminal. I was a bit puzzled because the flight was only supposed to leave at 21h45. To cut a long (very long) story short, I made it at 21h50 and there was no problem. Thank goodness the queues at passport control were short. I asked the guy at the gate why we were checking in so early and he gave me one of those “you moron” looks and said, “because the captain wants to leave early”. Which of course was total BS. We left at 21h45. Still mystified.
I thought I had scored a coup by securing a window seat in a full plane. 48A, which is near the arse-end. Maybe my body is changing shape. I have never had such an uncomfortable chair! It was just awful. No matter how I contorted, realigned, or adjusted myself, I just couldn’t find a position to sleep in. This was going to be a long 8 hours. I decided to skip dinner, had a glass of water, pulled on the visor and turned onto my left side, ramming my head up against the window and the excuse for a pillow they provided. Somehow I made it through. At about 4.30 the lights came on and the cabin controller announced, first in lengthy Arabic and then in rather abbreviated English, that we would be landing in Cairo in 90 minutes and that they would be serving breakfast directly. No fine. The breakfast wasn’t bad. Orange juice, fresh fruit and bread rolls / croissants. I skipped the tea/coffee – it always seems to taste really bad at 30 000 feet and above. No sooner had we finished breakfast than the pilot came on the blower – “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are going to land at Luxor because of bad weather at Cairo”. Wonderful. I had visions of having to take a bus the last few hundred kms. We went into a steep descent, which felt precipitous to me, but what do I know, and then leveled off and had a fairly smooth landing at Luxor. We stopped in what looked like the middle of the apron. Passengers started getting up and getting their luggage down, only to be told to “sit down, we will be waiting here until the weather in Cairo is good”. I think we waited about an hour. Again I tried unsuccessfully to sleep. They played some really nice classical music over the PA – I recognized some Bach, Mozart … for which I was very grateful. It could have been Lionel Ritchie (it was later). Finally the crew got the command – “Close all doors and cross check”, or whatever it is they say, and we were told that the weather in Cairo was now better and we would be leaving shortly, expected flying time 50 minutes.
By this time the sun had risen and I could make out the Nile and the Sahara. The lasting impression was, apart from the flood plain, of unbelievable barrenness. I was taught in school about the fertile crescent, which included the Nile. I don’t realize how narrow the prongs of the crescent were. I marveled at cultivated fields which seemed to have been created out of nothing more than desert sand, judging by what lay alongside them. But mostly it was just sand, and a huge amount of it, as far as I could see to the West. There were some fairly sizeable hills, but they too seemed to be made of sand, or at least sandstone. Everything was the same colour – “sand”.
Cairo appeared. From above it looked very densely populated, but not squalid. The houses and apartment blocks seemed pretty ordered and neat, just packed together rather tightly. And everything seemed to be one colour – sand! Not unattractive, as the morning sun caught it and threw long shadows. I didn’t spot much in the way of trees. The airport is a bit back from the river and city centre, east I think. There was some fairly thick low lying mist, which was presumably the reason we had had to wait at Luxor. Our pilot navigated his way through it – or maybe his instruments did – and the runway appeared as if by magic. We hit it fairly hard and swerved a little left and right but not uncontrollably. We were offloaded and bussed to the terminal. I grabbed an arrivals form and joined a queue. Inevitably, the slowest one in the room. I was a bit worried as I had forgotten to print out all the supporting documentation I had submitted with my visa application – invitations and the like – but the immigration officer hardly looked at my visa and passport and waved me through.
My shuttle guy was waiting and after a short wait for a fellow passenger who never materialized, I was ushered to a waiting Volvo Estate, and driven about 5km (I think) to the JW Marriott Hotel in Heliopolis, at a cost of 134 Egyptian Pounds, which is about R150. Thankfully someone else is paying. The hotel is set in a golf estate. The rest of the estate appears to be under construction – many unfinished mansions, lots of workmen around. I say mansions because these are multi-million dollar constructions – 3 or 4 storeys, multiple verandahs and balconies, huge entrances and colonnades which make them look more like DC museums than houses … goodness knows who owns them and lives here. I didn’t think Egypt had oil sheikhs but maybe I am wrong. The hotel itself is luxurious but not totally over the top. Every hotel has its plusses and minuses. This one has probably the best fitness centre and sports facilities I have seen – all complimentary with the $135/night room rate.
My room is next to the hotel’s main swimming pool. There are about 20 rooms, I guess, in an oval around and facing the pool. It is quite nicely done, with walkway on the top and overhanging gardens. I walk out of my double doors straight into the pool area, straight into the pool if I am not careful. I am also very close to the tennis courts and the Mirage Beach – an artificial beach with a wave machine.
I slept for an hour or two. When I awoke I was quite hungry but didn’t feel like a full sit down affair so went in search of something light, which I found at the Mirage café in the form of a Swiss Chocolate ice cream, bolstered by a Danish, a ring donut and a jam donut. Why all three? Just felt like it. And then immediately felt pangs of guilt and had to go for a run.
I ran around the golf estate this afternoon – one can pretty much run around the perimeter road, and it takes about an hour, so maybe 8km – I wasn’t going very fast. You are not on the fairways and greens themselves – the route follows the roads which service the houses on the estate. Someone has gone to a lot of effort to create the garden of Eden. Where all the water comes from I don’t know – maybe, being close to the Nile, ground water is not difficult to access and pump. There are lots of palms, and other trees and these huge mansions, as I have mentioned, which tempts me to go on a bit of a rant about golf courses and golf estates, but I won’t.
The fitness centre pool in shaped like an eight, with half of it inside and half out, joined by a narrow channel which underpasses the running track (75m circuit, all indoor) and the glass façade of the spa – cool! Found a new piece of LifeFitness equipment I haven’t seen before – like a mix between a cross trainer and a stepper. Managed to burn 130 Cal in 10 minutes without too much effort, which is more than I manage on a stepper and burning at that rate on a cross trainer takes more effort, I think. Have taken a picture and will be suggesting it to Virgin Active when I get home.
I enquired about a Thai massage, having had a great one in Bangkok a few years ago. That one cost $40 and a friend who is married to a Thai said I had been ripped off. In Cape Town they are, I am told, about the same. These guys wanted 600 Egyptian pounds plus taxes, so about 800 EP total, for 90 minutes. That is around $120. I took the pamphlet, but not the massage.
Dinner was in the Mirage Café. I expected a lot of delegates there but it turned out to be just me and one paediatrician from Zimbabwe.  Clearly the others had either not arrived, weren’t hungry or were just too tired to attend. We chatted about some matters of mutual interest – researchers we both know, projects we are both involved in, travel options (she had also come via Johannesburg on the flight that got delayed in Luxor). She told me that she is busy with a PhD through a University in Oslo, focusing on MTCT but seldom finds any time to do the research or write the papers, because of such a heavy clinical and administrative workload. She said her department is very short staffed – the posts are there but no one applies for them. Even those who are there are more or less obliged to run private practices in order to provide for their families. Odd, I thought – I would have thought one could raise a family on the salary of a specialist / lecturer. I mentioned the salary ranges for academic doctors in Cape Town, starting at around $40k and going up to over $150k per annum. Her eyes widened. At her establishment senior lecturers might earn $15k. I thought she had said $50k, which would still be very low by SA standards. No, $15k, she said. And the professors don’t earn much more.  Well, that explains it – I couldn’t raise kids on that either.
The menu was somewhat over the top. I hate having too much choice. I had some vegetable soup with bread, and then settled for the seafood option, along with some interesting looking flatbreads and hummus (there was an eggplant variety and a chickpea variety, both made with sesame seed oil – delicious). I couldn’t resist the pudding, so piled up my plate with fruit salad which made me feel more virtuous about the 2 scoops of Hagen Daas ice cream (one vanilla, one mango) and the chocolate crème brulee which accompanied it. All washed down with a bottle of the local beer which is called Sakari and is not half bad. I hadn’t expected to find local beer here, it being a Muslim country, but there you are. There is little hope for any country which does not brew its own beer. And there is even less hope for a country which does, but makes bad beer. I am happy tosay that Egypt falls into neither category.
We decided to head for bed, it being late and both of us very tired. I popped into a stationery / curiosity shop on the way out and made the mistake of mentioning to the guy there that I was looking forward to the upcoming encounter between Bafana Bafana and the Pharoahs, otherwise known as the SA and Egyptian soccer teams. Well that set him off. He knew a lot more about soccer than I do. He even knew more about my own team than I do – which UK clubs Steven Pienaar and Benny McCarthy play for, for instance. He explained the history of Egypt in about 5 minutes, including the recent unrest between the government, the Muslim community and the Coptic Christians over church building. I promised to come back and buy some of his teeshirts and he promised to give me a 15% discount. That would make them about the same price as everywhere else.
I finally managed to extricate myself from the shop and back to my room. It was very quiet – I suspect I am one f the few tenants in the block. I thought about a quick pre retirement dip ion the pool but decided against it. I flipped on the huge-screen TV and watched about 3 and a half minutes of some movie about a long haired wrestling champ who was working in a Deli telling little old ladies which ham to buy. It looked like fun but my eyes got the better of me and I drifted off. Slept like a baby.
Monday
I was up with the sun but not in the mood for a run. Showered and dressed and headed for breakfast. Tried to be healthy – lots of fruit, low fat yoghurt, salmon and hummus on whole wheat bread and only one cup of coffee. Avoided the mixed grill options, which I have found to be fatal in the past.
The meeting was being held in the golf club ballroom. Go figure – why would a golf club have a ballroom? The club is – what is the word? Handsome? Well appointed? Elegant? Yes, elegant – an elegant building just next to the hotel, wedged between the driving range and one of the fairways, flanked by manicured lawns and ponds with fountains.
The morning consisted of lectures by various experts from around the world, q and a sessions and the like. Quite interesting. No wireless so couldn’t do my emails, but the Blackberry worked. I skipped lunch – fatal. A colleague recently explained to me the clinical science behind post prandial somnolence, commonly known as why audiences fall asleep after lunch. His theory is that one should avoid the carbs and just have fat and protein. I have a better solution – avoid the lunch, have some water and save your appetite for dinner. Which is what I did. The afternoon was more interactive, which is shorthand for “they made us work”. And now we are being taken out to dinner at Le Tarbouche restaurant at le Pacha, which I gather is in Cairo somewhere. Bon apetit!
We met in the lobby of the hotel. For some reason I drifted across to a group which was largely from England, and started discussing the snow, the cricket, the rugby and English things in general. Our departure was delayed because we had to wait for the tourism police to give us an official escort! Well, I guess they have had some nasty incidents in the past and are just being careful. Finally we left. The bus driver nosed the huge beast out into the traffic on the 3 lane highway, amidst much abuse from those he cut off. We trundled along happily, down other highways, then narrower streets, across bridges over the Nile, through downtown Cairo. All looked very busy and a bit chaotic. After about half an hour we stopped and were told this was it – we could get off.
La Pacha turned out to be a large floating restaurant, moored to the bank of the Nile in downtown Cairo. Or rather a group of restaurants. I think there are 12 in all. We were at Le Tarbouche, which sounds French but I think was Egyptian, or at least middle Eastern. We had a table at the window and I sat with colleagues from Belgium, Sri Lanka, India, and Bangladesh. The meal was superb. We started with something like naan bread, but in small rolls, on which we spread a selection of hummus type preparations available in bowls in the middle of the long table. Or one could dip pieces of pickled carrot, cucumber or turnip in the bowls. A lot of eggplant. Then there was grilled chicken breast with rice. And finally a desert which included caramel sauce and ice vanilla cream and I don’t know what else, but was delicious. All washed down with some very respectable Egyptian red wine, one bottle of which was labeled “Omar Khayyam”, and had some of his poetry on the back, even though he was Persian, and the other of which was called “Cape Bay” and had a blurb about Cape Town, but said “product of Egypt” on the back. All very odd, but not at all unpleasant.
Dinner finished around 10 and we made our way back to the waiting bus. Soon we were back at the hotel. I was too tired to do any preparation for the next day, so after scanning the TV channels and coming up empty handed, I killed the light and slept.
Tuesday
I was awakened by loud voices. English. Turned out to be in the room next door – there is an interleading door (locked). It was enough to get me up. I thought about a run, the gym, a shower, and finally decided on a swim, which I took in my sleep shorts, having forgotten to bring a costume with me and not wanting to wet my running shorts and risk chaffing before the race on Saturday.
BBC news seemed to be all about Wikileaks and the embarrassment it is causing all and sundry. Interesting times.
I skipped breakfast – too much food last night – and made my way to the clubhouse where some of the organizing staff were already hard at work preparing for the day.
Full day’s lectures and groupwork on Pneumococcal disease. Spare us! No some of it was interesting and I think I learned something so not all wasted. Managed to miss lunch again as I had some urgent safety work to attend to which required fetching faxes from my room, reviewing them and sending Blackberry emails to various people. Had to get them faxed because I wasn’t prepared to pay the data charges on roaming for 3 3MB files. After 3 attempts they finally came through and I was able to review the hard copies and send an email response via the Blackberry. They want 75 Egyptian Pounds for an hour of internet access, which I find a bit willing. That is over 10 dollars. I have been very careful with emails and sms’s on the Blackberry, given that I have to pay for all this myself – reading them is free – it is when you reply they nail you, and when you download bulky attachments, they really take you to the cleaners. I have steadfastly refused to answer calls on my cell phone which come up as “Unknown number”. All that came crashing down when I was forced to take a crisis call from a colleague who then spoke for 6 minutes+. Damn!
The sessions finished a little early today and I thankfully came back to my room, changed into shorts and a T shirt, and my running shoes and headed for the gym. Did 10 minutes on that funny new machine (120 Cal) and then 20 minutes on the treadmill at a relaxing 9 kph while watching Tom and Jerry. No Cal count for some reason but I would estimate about 220. The cartoons finished and I switched to sport. They were screening the Wales – New Zealand game at the Millenium Stadium in Cardiff. Those Welsh can sing! Unfortunately, their singing was better than their rugby. When I left it looked as though the AB’s would make a sweep of it.
I went and sat in the hot Jacuzzi for a while, and read my book – “More than matter”, by Keith Ward, in which he does his best to explain some basic philosophical thought around the question of what is real, to mere mortals like me. Must have looked a site. Followed that with a swim and then headed back to the room. Dinner was in the Italian restaurant at the hotel, but wasn’t particularly Italian if you know what I mean. I think there was one pasta and olive salad which said something about “Italian”, but otherwise it looked remarkably similar to what I ate in the “Mirage Café” 2 nights ago. All the same, pretty good.
And so, to bed. Having sorted out some more paperwork, emails and the like, the land of nod beckons. Tomorrow is the last day and we fly out tomorrow close to midnight. Groan. Shall make the most of the afternoon in the gym. Have a half marathon booked for Saturday and at this rate someone will have to wheel me around the course in the barrow…
Wednesday
Fariyl uneventful morning, with some talks about pertussis. Didn’t realize it was still such a problem. This guy has documented incidence rates of nearly 10% per annum in The Netherlands. Problem is the vaccine only gives 10 years’ protection, or less, so the pool of susceptible is being constantly replenished.
Nice lunch and some fond farewells. It has been a good meeting, although I am not sure it was altogether cost effective, but then it wasn’t my money that was being spent.
I checked out around 3 and left my suitcase with the concierge. Then I went down to the gym for a last workout, Jacuzzi and swim. I fell asleep next to the pool reading my philosophy book. Must try harder. Then another Jacuzzi, a shower and I finally had to say goodbye. It has been a happy association – for me anyway. Now I am sitting in the lobby waiting for the rest of my party and for the transfer to the airport which should be here in about half an hour. In front of me about five people are busy putting up a huge Christmas tree. I couldn’t swear to the religion of the 2 men and one of the women, although I would guess Muslem. But certainly two of the women are wearing headgear. How funny! Well, I have heard that Moslems revere both Jesus and Mary, so why shouldn’t they have a Christmas tree? And maybe I am wrong – the shopkeeper told me that the Egyptian Orthodox church is quite big here, as well as Coptic and Catholic. He himself was an Orthodox Christian. He said they have a Pope-equivalent here in Cairo.
On the BBC today they featured “The Battle of the Billboards” – evidently the Atheist Society of America has erected a sign, at a cost of $20 000, next to one of the main tunnels (New York?) which reads something like “You know it’s a myth – this season rather celebrate reason!”, to which the Catholic church has predictably responded with a separate billboard reading “This season celebrate Jesus”. Personally I’ll settle for celebrating love, a la Christina Rosetti – “Love came down at Christmas, love all lovely, love divine…”Celebrating reason doesn’t do much for me. Who would bother, apart from some crusty old scientists and maybe the odd philosopher? Have we really become that boring?
It is going to be a long night, with the plane only due to leave around 11.30. They will probably try to feed us dinner after midnight. I shall try to be polite. I have found Egyptians to be quite touchy. I expect that as long as we get around to taking off, we shouldn’t have any interruptions, but you never know.
My colleague duly appeared and we found our taxi. I asked the concierge whether 10 Egyptian pounds was a reasonable tip for a taxi driver – he said it was more than reasonable. The taxi turned out to be a 7 series BMW, but a rather old one. When we got there I took my case, produced the ten-ner and the driver looked dyspeptic, then started laughing. “That is little money” he said. “Oh,” I said, “I’m sorry – it is all I have in your currency.” I should have known – he was more than happy to accept euro’s, pounds or dollars. Was I conned? Yes, probably. Do I care? No not really. He got us there comfortably and safely and that is probably worth more than 10 Egyptian pounds.
Airport security was officious and somewhat unpleasant, but I guess they are worried and a little jumpy. The prices at the “duty free” shops were unbelievable, even by airport standards. So no tee-shirts, girls.
Thursday
We eventually left late, after midnight, the reason being that the inbound planes from Heathrow  and elsewhere had been delayed by the foul weather. This greatly irritated some 20-something year old South Africans who were returning home and had had the same thing happen to them the previous night – except that the Johannesburg flight had not waited for them, and they had spent a very uncomfortable night in the airport.
The plane was quite empty so ample space to stretch out, but nothing really to stretch onto. Something about the design of that plane, but even with the arm rests up, impossible to lie down. The airline meal was inedible. They said it was fish but it could just as easily have been chicken or rubber or cardboard. I don’t often leave food on my plate but I sent the whole lot back to the galley, put on my mask and tried to sleep.
We were late landing in Johannesburg. The breakfast was slightly better than the dinner, which is not saying much. I missed my connection to Cape Town but was able in consequence to have a shower in the business lounge whilst waiting for my plane. Life saver.   
So … 5 days later. Been there, done Egypt, none the wiser, need to go back.


 One of the hotel pools
 Go figure
I thought this hippo was quite cute - with the frog sitting on his nose
 The Nile by night
 The golf club where we had our meetings
The view from my front door - my room was like those in the pic