Horses, horses, horses, horses...

In every new country I visit, it doesn't take long for me to start hankering to see its surroundings via horseback. And so not too far into my stay in Cape Town I found one place that did rides along the beach at sunset; after a quick scout to get fellow adventurers to come along, I was in!

The horses looked really well cared for, which is always a lovely sign. Occasionally they can look like they've been run too much on too little food, but these were lovely creatures. Mine was called Habana, and had, like the others, an eastern saddle. Thank heavens. Nothing more uncomfortable than a stock saddle, or (ironically enough) an endurance saddle. Or maybe I've just had my rear molded into an eastern fit.

Anyway. Off we went, starting along the roads towards the beach. There were about 10 of us, and only one guide, which was a little unsettling, especially given that the two people I'd gone with hadn't ridden before and were a little nervous. I hung around the back with my friends to keep an eye on them. Then two boys went by on skateboards, and a woman up the front who had professed to be a rider lost control of her horse, which backed into the one behind it, which in turn backed into one of my friend's horse, who (quite naturally) freaked out. I'll say this, though. Given how scared she was and how new to riding, it was the most graceful fall I've ever seen. She hung on until the last possible moment and then just sort of stepped off, not even stumbling over.

Then (and I'm a little ashamed to admit I'm proud of this) I swung into action...

(SWAGGER!)

...and went after her horse, which had bolted into a nearby driveway, shooed it back towards the others, then rode back to the girl and jumped off to give her a big hug for being so brave (she really was, especially that given how scared she was, and once she'd calmed down she jumped right back on the horse!). Meanwhile, completely negating any selfless acts of compassion, I. Felt. Awesome. WOO! The truth is I've just always wanted to rely on my horsey skills in a crisis, and I've always been able to act pretty calmly when things go wrong on horses, but this was a particularly Indiana Jones moment.

Ok, the sad part is the girl who fell soon decided she didn't want to keep going, so I felt pretty bad about getting her to come, and kept an even closer eye on the other girl as we made our way through the brush down to the beach.

It. Was. Gorgeous. The sunset was cold (blues and yellows) but beautiful, just sinking into the sea and lighting all the waves with a bright glow as they crashed into the beach. Wow. And while I tried to convince my horse to canter (it was very reluctant to do so, and kept running in circles instead. SIGH. One of these days I'm going to find a horse riding place that actually does what it says it does, which is offer canters along the beach), the mountains rising up around us, the sun sinking into the sea, it was marvellous. I finally got Habana to shed her inhibitions and go for it, and we had a lovely canter away from everyone else for a bit before I coerced her to the back of the line to walk with my friend there. (Should point out that it's not me in the picture, but I did take it.)

It wasn't the most satisfying ride I've ever been on, but it was pretty spectacular, scenery-wise, and plus there were all my Indiana moments. Pretty freakin' awesome way to spend an evening.

Oh by the way, that cat has ringworm

I've been directed to the cattery to begin my 2 weeks' volunteering in Cape Town, and while I have been known to sneeze around cats, it's becoming clear that I'm much more allergic than I previously thought. Nevertheless, when shut up in a room with a bunch of teeny kittens loose on the floor, I did what anyone would have done, and picked them up and went "A-woo-woo-woodgy-woo". Unfortunately for me, funtime was over when someone came in and said, as a sort of afterthought, "Oh by the way, those cats have ringworm". Awesome.

After being sprayed down with all manner of anti-ringworm sprays, and after exhibiting some alarming symptoms of allergies, including hives, I was taken away from the kittens (including my favourite, electro-kitty, who looked as though it had taken its curiosity one step too close to a power socket) and shunted over to the dog side of town.

Much better. No sneezing...mild requirement to fend off over-friendly dogs, but there you go. There were a number of large dogs who were allowed free rein over the premises, including Skippy, who had distemper when young, and as a result was "a few sandwiches short of a picnic". Quite adorable, with an odd, straight-legged walk, but a generally happy disposition and eagerness to be paid attention to.

Another favourite was Eddie, a Rhodesian Ridgeback who was smitten with one of the clinic workers, to the extent that if you needed to find this particular person, all you had to do was look where Eddie was pointing. Eddie was gorgeous, and friendly, and in the morning would jump up to put his paws on my shoulders and breathe in my face. He was also well-behaved enough to be the only "house dog" allowed in the clinic itself (otherwise he would sit outside and wait for his friend to come out).

Meanwhile I spent a while outside in the kennels, feeding and watering and generally trying to get in and out of each enclosure with all my limbs in tact, and without letting any of the (amazingly strong) dogs out. Never thought I'd stand a chance against a massive German Shepherd, but I grabbed the scruff of its neck and heaved, and somehow we ended up with me outside and it inside. Phew!

One of my favourite sections was the "hospital" which housed a few of the dogs who were sick, but not so much that they needed constant supervision. The best part about this was taking them for their walks -- in particular I remember a teeny, tiny, wriggly little brown thing, called Archie, who was so eager and friendly that it was hard not to scoop him up every time I visited. Of course he did pose a problem when it was time for me to leave. Big heavy gate, tiny, slippery dog... There were two black labrador pups there, one of whom was suffering from mange, and very timid. Had to carry that one to the park and try to encourage it to walk. It did, but only when my back was turned, and in the opposite direction. The other pup was gorgeous. Bright and friendly -- all he wanted was to play, and who was I to resist?

The other place I hung out was in the clinic. Poked my head in there at the start of my stint, and got hooked on chatting to all the poor sick puppies housed there. I also got to look in on some surgeries -- many sterilisations, a cat tail amputation (Paris, pictured, who bit her own tail off to the extent that the vet had to dock it completely) and a dog whose ears had to be cut off. It wasn't always pleasant, and in some cases it was really sad, like when the dog showed up whose owner had chopped off its front leg with a machete. Or the cat that had to be put down due to feline AIDS. But sometimes there were success stories. Like the teeny little Siberian Husky pup, who came in very sick, and wasn't eating. After a blood transfusion (with a massive bull terrier cross) it perked right up, much to the chagrin of everyone in the clinic. Ever heard a husky pup howl? It's sort of a cross between a cat, a lamb and a baby, all of which sound as though they're being skinned alive. So it fell to me to take the little bundle out of its cage at these times and cuddle it -- it would look up with its little wibbly eyes and fall completely silent -- entirely happy for someone just to love it. And I fell in love in about two seconds.

A woodgy-woodgy-woo.

9,000 feet and falling

So there I am, 9,000 feet above Cape Town, wondering, as I suppose many in my position do, why the hell I'm doing this.

I mean, really. When was it ever my idea of entertainment to jump out of a tiny plane and plummet towards earth? Turns out, it started just last week, when fellow volunteer J said "want to go skydiving?" and like a fool, I said "yes".

So before I know it I'm strapped into the world's most unflattering harness, and onto the front of a guy whose name I don't remember (this is my tandem instructor), and we're edging out of the plane door and into the gaping void below...goggles on...harness tight...are you coming out, miss?

I wish I could say I was graceful under pressure, but through no fault of my own, really, as soon as we dropped -- and it was an out and out drop -- my mouth opened and a scream came out. This happened until I was turned onto my stomach, and could no longer intake enough air with which to continue screaming. From here there was nothing to do but open out my arms into the wind, breathe through my nose and try to smile for the video camera guy who was now zooming towards us, apparently with a desire to get a good look at my nostril hairs. One of them yells "We've got a screamer!", which is less than helpful. But once I got all that into line, it was fantastic -- there really was nothing around us but air, nothing above but sky, and nothing below but, well, everything.

After about 15 seconds of free-falling (though it felt like about 10 times that), the chute opened and whooshed us back into the sky and upright, and now it was a lovely floating drift over Cape Town -- Table Mountain to the South, to the East the beautiful sun-lit mountains, and over to the West, the deep blue sea. It was so quiet, so peaceful, and lovely to be floating swiftly through the air, fingertips stretched out into the sky. Closer we drifted to the landing area, where I could make out my friends below, waving. One last roller-coaster whoosh downwards and we were touching down (some of us less gracefully than others) onto the sand, blood pumping and endorphins racing, the general feeling being that I wanted to do that again.

PS - the video footage of this is less than flattering. Ever wanted to see your hair flying, terrified, back from your forehead, your cheeks billowing like two puffy pink sails? No, me neither.

Jetlagging through a work day

Howzit!

So I just woke up, which startled me as I wasn't aware I'd fallen asleep at my desk. This isn't just your usual brand of lazy, though. I've been in Africa for the past 5 weeks, and I'm a little jet-lagged. Where's a fluffy pillow and a big mug of chocolate when I need it?

As for Africa, since I've completely failed to update this blog in the interim (not entirely my fault, as 2.5 of the 5 weeks were spent without the company of computer access), I think I'll space it out over the next few days, in a sort of retrospective blog ("retrospective", here, being a big word that means "late").

Cape Town:

Arrived without too much ado, although it turns out my fitness regime has been pretty ineffectual, this becoming clear as I huffed and puffed my way behind a porter at Johannesburg Airport who grabbed my bags, saying something about getting me to my flight on time, and took off down the stretch at a gallop. At any rate, after tipping him the equivalent of ten taxi-rides, I hopped the plane to Cape Town and was transferred to a house near the beach where I would be staying for the next two days.

This part of Cape Town was populated by beautiful houses, mostly white people, and dogs. Lots of dogs. Went for a walk along the beach and 60% of creatures met were of the canine variety. The house is lovely and restful, and feels comfortingly like a real home (convenient, as it is one). Woke up on the first day to a lovely sunrise over the ocean, unfortunately followed by 30 degree heat. (Heat, in Africa? Who would've thought? Certainly not me, having been informed, so I thought, by the ever-trustworthy weather.co.uk...)

Ok, the "white" thing? It comes up. This is a country for whom apartheid has only been over for 14 years (!), and despite the fact that they've come on a heck of a lot faster than the USA, there's still an awkward sort of divide there.

Went up Table Mountain, which was pretty stunning in terms of views, if a tad over-populated by tourists, and then on one ill-fated and frankly unwise trip to "Seal Island". "Island" is somewhat misleading, as it conjours up a decent land mass, whereas the Island actually consists of a large rock in the ocean. And, and I can't stress this enough, it smells. Bad. If it weren't enough for me to already suffer from a failure to inherit my mother's sea legs, the smell would have tipped me over the edge. As it was, I had both, and it was a miserable trip from start to finish.

The rest of the cape is beautiful, though, and it has a laid-back lazy sort of feeling to it. Africa time, they call it.

It's a flower, you nudnik!

Today I've been learning about history. This comes on the heels of having finally gotten around to watching The Last King of Scotland, and Forest Whittaker's beautiful performance. Half the time he seemed like a decent guy, and then, oh then, he was off raving lunatic, and you remembered how much power he had in his grasp and how disturbing that was.

Anyway, history. Turns out in the 1600s there was this massive mania stirred up over the ownership of tulips. Just in case you're not imagining the right kind of "massive", I'll give you a rundown of what you could get in exchange for one viceroy tulip bulb:

8 fat pigs + 4 fat oxen + 12 fat sheep + 24 tuns wheat + 48 tuns rye + 2 hogsheads wine + 4 tuns beer + 2 tuns butter + 1,000 lbs cheese + 1 silver drinking cup + 1 pack clothes + 1 bed + 1 ship.

Then one day the market just crashed, and all of a sudden there were people standing about, letting it dawn upon them that while they used to own a bevy of animals, food, clothes and boats, they were left to console themselves with a Single Freaking Flower. Ooo, de lally.

History is a funny little bugger.

Meanwhile, I'm going to have some chocolate, because I'm sure one day that the scientists are going to tell me how good it is for me.

O

Rabies, and other concerns...

Ok, so my Oscar picks were way off. Well, 13 of them were, anyway, which is not exactly comforting.

Time for something new! Today I shall be waxing lyrical on overseas travel, as I am soon to embark on the same. Yesterday I went to ask people to jab me full of vaccinations and learned that a) whatever your expectations, tetanus injections are going to hurt, and b) the same goes for rabies. Mmm. Rabies. There's a conversation stopper. What I find more disturbing, however, is that if I happen to get scratched by an animal at any time, I need to go have two more rabies injections immediately! Woo!

While I was waiting to be jabbed, I was sat down with six or seven big, burly policemen in overalls, the kind that the Police Force sends to public relations events. Good heavens. All I wanted from then on was a high pitched scream to come from one of their vaccination rooms.

Why is it I'm so afraid of needles? It's only a tiny piece of metal, after all. And some chemicals. And it's going into your arm in 3...2...1... It's the anticipation, I think. You know, when they hold it up and flick it to get the air bubbles out and you remember why they're doing it and what air bubbles can do to a person, and the idea that you know that in a moment something is going to hurt you, and that you're going to let it. Your various systems argue with each other: the brain tells you to stop being a wuss and take it; your muscles get all tough and tense; your stomach has a sort of vicarious nervous reaction and your nerves are backing away going "Hey hey hey, I remember this! Get that thing away from me!"

I still wonder why, with all that modern science can do, they haven't invented oral vaccines for all of these things. Seriously. I mean, thanks for penicilin and bubble wrap and ipods and everything, but come on...is anyone thinking about the vaccines? Are you just going to give up and say "well, we've got that far--who wants ice cream?"

Meanwhile, the day of departure advances, with a worrying sort of too-soon inevitability. Am I ready? Do I have everything I need? Can't someone else do all this for me? The answer to all these questions is, regrettably, "no". I still need boots, documents, phones organised, itinerary sent, doctor's letters assuring the people I'll be staying with that I'm of sound mind...that sort of thing. Hmm. I've travelled quite a bit for someone of my age, I suppose, and on my own, so I should really be used to all this by now. But really what it is, is that somehow it all seems to come together ok.

I think I'll choose to find that optimistic.

O

ACK!

February 24: 1 Sleep to go

ACK! So unorganised. So procrastinatory. I’ve cleaned out my wardrobe now, though, so all that remains is to write this damn thing.

Tips for avoiding early broadcasts of the Oscars:
· Don’t talk to ANYONE. Safe, but kind of anti-social, and a little extreme, so you might want to use this as a last resort.
· Don’t sign out of hotmail. Ever. Because then you’ll go straight to the ninemsn site, who will spoil it all quicker than you can say “antidisestablishmentarianism”.
· Don’t listen to the radio.
· Don’t watch TV. Especially Channel nine. They SUCK.
· Perfect the fingers-in-the-ears/la-la-la-I-can’t-hear-you technique. Sure it’s immature, but it works.
· Prepare apology letters for anyone you offend while employing any of the above.

In non-Oscar movie news—I just saw Stardust, of which I had heard almost nothing, but should really be given more credit than it’s gotten. It’s a fairy tale, no doubt about it, but it’s humour is along the lines of The Princess Bride, and like that classic, best viewed without cynicism.

But it’s time for the last big BEANIE of the season, and it is the:

And What Have We Learned Award

Which goes to:

All Babies Want to Get Borned, from Juno

Now I don’t want to seem like I’m supporting or not supporting any kind of view here, other than the fact that it’s a catchy tune, belted out in mantra-form by Juno’s classmate outside the Women Now abortion clinic (“because they help women now”). Little light on the grammar, perhaps, but the intention is there.

Juno is one of my favourite films of 2007—for one thing it’s so refreshing to have a comedy among all the darkness, but for another it’s just damn good. Excellent acting by Ellen Page, who I would so love to win an Oscar, and a snappy script that manages to be cynical and adorable all at once. Arrested Development’s Jason Bateman (woo!) and Michael Cera are fantastic, and Allison Janney and JK Simmons (“Hey there, big puffy version of Junebug!”) are beautiful as Juno’s parents. Even, as a friend of mine grudgingly admits, Jennifer Garner pulls out some real acting chops here. (What the heck are “acting chops” supposed to be, anyway?) (complete aside borne of too much internet searching: “chops” actually refers to musical ability, or more specifically, the mouth, and for someone to have “real chops”, it means they’re really going for it on whatever wind instrument they’re playing. Anyway…)

What I love most is the fact that from the minute you’re plonked in this world you feel like its familiar. It’s grounded, quick, honest in its intentions and just plain funny.

Let’s have a look at Juno’s chances on Monday night:

Best Picture
Oh, how I would love for this to win. I don’t think there’s much chance of that, though, considering the rave reviews surrounding No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood. Still. Stranger things have happened in this category. I mean, Crash won, didn’t it?

Best Actress—Ellen Page
There’s a very small chance that Ellen Page might take this from Julie Christie, but even if Ms Christie doesn’t win, there’s still Marion Cotillard, whose performance in La Mome is receiving a lot of attention. Still, if life were mine to control…

Best Director—Jason Reitman
Again, it’s possible, but I think it’s far more likely that any upset of the Good Ship Cohen will be made by Julian Schnabel for The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.

Best Original Screenplay—Diablo Cody
Yay! Juno’s biggest hopes are in this category, and I shall be pleased as a very pleased person can be if it wins. Any movie that includes the line “Thundercats are go!”, you know. I’m pretty sure that was what was missing from Casablanca.

No, in all seriousness, I love this script. Very naturally written, with wonderfully rounded characters, a great heart, lovely exposition, and lines that are plain hilarious.

In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood. Ugly, pretty. Handsome…what have you. The right person will still think the sun shines out your ass. That's the kind of person that's worth sticking with.”
—JK Simmons, Juno—

PS—I suppose I should mention all the other BEANIEs I never had time to devote a whole Omail to:

Most Brilliant Use of Nudity

Bart skateboarding to Krustyburger, from The Simpsons Movie

Is it juvenile that I found this so hilarious? Because I really did. Ahahahahaha.

Best Use of Animals in a Motion Picture

The Swan, from Hot Fuzz (I know, again)

Picture it: a car chase through English county roads. Bullets fly back and forth between the cars as inhabitants of each lean out the window and fire. They fly around the bends faster and faster, they’ve almost reached the highway, when—“SWAN!”

It’s a real stretch not to give this film all the awards. I’ll be restrained. But you’ve got to hand it to that swan. Masterfully evading capture throughout the entire film, only to pop up at the end to kick some ass. Also it gives us this lovely exchange earlier between Simon Pegg and Stephen Merchant:

Angel: Yes, Mr. Staker, we'll do everything we can. Can you describe it?
Peter Ian Staker: It's about two-feet tall, long slender neck, kind of orange and black bill...
Angel: Anything else?
Peter Ian Staker: Well... it's a swan.

Best Performance by an Inanimate Object in a Motion Picture

The Pee-Stick, from Juno

There it is, that unholy little plus-sign, signaling a complete about-turn for the life of one Juno MacGuff. As that guy from the American version of The Office (whom I can’t stand) says, “It ain’t no etch-a-sketch. That’s one doodle that can’t be un-did.”