Personal Touches in the Foreign Service

Even though the Foreign Service provides furnished living quarters to the majority of posts, some people bring furniture for a more personal touch. Many people choose to bring their beds of all sizes and personalities: king beds, day beds, sleep number beds, probably even beds made of space moon foam. Mark and I chose not to, instead relying on our 12+ year down comforter which we spiff up every few years with a new duvet from IKEA or Target. To me, it's an essential and perfect part of what makes me feel at home. The duvet has a perfect warmth to thickness ratio: thin enough for 98% humidity laden Recife or the parched 12% of Windhoek, (so long as you stuck one leg out) but warm enough for the blasted winters of Denver, DC, and Bucharest. We love our comforter like other people love their beds. Or bikes.

On this very fine and uneventful weekend, I decided to effectively burrow underneath my down comforter like a hibernating ferret to relieve some muscle aches I developed while fake hip hop dancing under the shade of our braai. I was jonesin' for some serious nap time. Instead, I found something hiding under the covers: my six year old reading a magazine and requesting that no one should bother him. He was reading: FP USA 2015/16. Say what? Yes people, he was reading the annual publication of the Federation of Petanque magazine. This year they've reached 2,000 members and they tout "It's fun! It's friendly! It's exciting!" 

My husband is turning our kids into retired old men who wear white boat shoes and fedoras, brainwashing them in the ways of petanque. Mark had been dreaming of this moment, ever since we got a preview of our Windhoek home, well over a year ago. He did the research and chose his materials carefully- official regulation, unpainted steel balls, two sets of 3. Each set came with an etched design for quick differentiation on the court. After months of waiting his balls arrived, and Mark wasted no time in teaching the kids how to play. At first I was reluctant, not at all interested in standing in the sun and tossing balls around with the intent to land closest to the neon painted cochonnet (aka "the piglet"). But as Mark is thoughtful in so many things, he proved that the kids enjoyed playing- so much so, that my son was reading all about it in our bed under the favored blanket of all time. I can't really argue with that, so we are now a steel ball tossing kind of family. It's an odd kind of personal touch to our new home, but that's a Schlink for you.

Beer: non optional.

Jim getting in on the action.

Margo gaining two points.

Balls. 

Hiking in Mom Pants - Daan Viljoen

When I tried on the pair of outdoorsy pants I'd ordered from REI, my sigh was 98% relief and 2% disappointment- they fit, but were extremely high waisted. I could hide several sandwiches and an orange in them! To complete the image, I tossed on a long-sleeve button down and my chic sun hat. I can't pretend to ever have dressed well, and comfort wins out the majority of the time, but these pants felt foreign and showy despite their dull grey sensible coloring.  However, Mark and I were on a limited time schedule so I couldn't obsess too much, and I needed to stay out of the sun anyway.  The kids were at school on this lovely Thanksgiving holiday, so Mark and I decided to go hiking at Daan Viljoen, a wildlife park not 30 minutes away.

Mark chose the 9km Rooibos Trail and after paying our fees we set off on a hearty speed walk to the trailhead. I'd forgotten how excited he gets when he hikes! The trail was well marked and deserted, just the way he likes it. Despite the crunching gravel, high pitched reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee of the locusts, and the snowpant-like swishing of my pants, it was silent. We hiked up, nervous and terribly excited about what we'd see- several of my friends had seen giraffes at this park which set the bar pretty high. I'll tell you straight away that we never did. Instead we were treated to herds of zebras grazing and scrambling around the mountainside which I didn't expect.  I always figured zebras kept to flatter terrain like what we see on TV.  They're shy too, which meant their camouflaged hides quickly ran away even if we were separated by a valley. It made picture taking quite difficult. 

You know what's not shy? Baboons. Only an hour into our hike we saw a large group of about twenty baboons: in the trees, on rocks, and of course totally blocking the trail. The head honcho sat ominously on the ridge watching our every move. Question: what does a group of baboons with ugly butts, gnashing teeth and sharp claws get to do?  Answer: whatever they want.  Warning us to stop with excessively loud reverberating grunts, we backed down the path backwards. I joked maybe it would be less painful to not see them coming after us but Mark didn't think I was funny. At all. But, like all stubborn creatures, we didn't want to give up our beautiful day so quickly. Once the chief baboon stopped his warning calls, his followers kicked up the pace and continued on their path. Keeping a very respectable distance we resumed the trail, talking loudly, throwing rocks, and pausing every few steps to listen for more warning calls. Mark did anyway, keeping his damsel in drab colored sensible-mom-pants safely behind him 100 paces. About 30 minutes later we gained enough height on the mountain to ascertain the baboons had likely continued down one side while we could take the other. Peering over a ridge we saw them harassing a group of zebras on another mountainside which meant we would likely not be mauled today. Win!

Our hike continued unabated. Then it hit me: halfway through this adventure and I didn't have a single wedgie or pant adjustment to deal with! Everything was still firmly in place and I. Felt. Amazing. Except for my toes which were starting to blister, since we don't have our hiking boots (or the rest of our stuff) in country quite yet. I could ignore that. I was in the gorgeously dry bushveld, (sub-tropical woodland ecoregion) hiking with my favorite person in the world. 

My good attitude endured the remainder of the trail. Most of it. I admit the last fifteen minutes of the trail was tough: straight up the mountain, with a full on adult sized kudu decomposing right in the middle of it. I'd forgotten about that special type of smell. Eventually we petered out to asphalt lined with neglected buildings, trash, and a dead lake and dam- a place that was once obviously a thriving hot spot for glamping before Namibia's drought won, decimating the terrain. The reserve had no choice but to abandon this section and rebuild further in. However disappointing it was to see this, the hike was well worth the field trip. We got some exercise, didn't get attacked by animals (the trees and plants are another story. They have some crazy mad thorns here!) and my utilitarian pants solidified their place in my wardrobe. Let's just hope I don't start wearing overalls or housecoats any time soon. 

Emily in the wild.

Oryx.

Chief King Baboon warning heard
loud and clear: don't eff with us.

Windhoek in the background.

Mark considering. We would do it too if I let him.

PANTS! See the coverage?! So thorough.

A Visit to N/a'an ku se Lodge

Yes, I am still here. Over the past 6 weeks I've had a lot going on between Halloween, International Day, Election Day, Veteran's Day. We've had the Marine Corps Ball, a mess of birthday parties (including Margo's), a job interview, car drama, and a regular stream of people coming to our house for a huge landscaping project that couldn't wait any longer (retaining wall/safety kind of thing). The latter has tremendously impacted whatever shell of a routine I managed to carve out since our arrival to Windhoek. I restarted teaching yoga and have signed up for other self-education projects. In short, I've been busy and I found myself without the ability to express pride, joy, angst, confusion, or sadness about these events. I didn't feel like I had any rhythm. Also, I didn't want to sound like a humble bragger or whiner. It's very unbecoming. 

After a pity party and a good dose of STFU, I made reservations to visit an animal sanctuary and lodge to get out of the city limits for the day. The inspiration morbidly came from my friend who took her family the week before, where a lion (the same one we would see), charged the fence in the direction of her five year old kid. Our guide would inform us, it was his way of establishing dominance and had he really wanted to attack, no fence, electrified or not, would stop him. It piqued my motivation so I signed us up for the Sunday 10:00am carnivore feeding at N/a'an ku sê Lodge and Sanctuary. I figured we all could use a bit of savage animal therapy.

Even the car ride out was therapeutic. Though sluggish, rainy season has arrived and the thirsty brown landscape took on a new look with green trees and bushes against a never ending sky and dirt roads. The kids couldn't help themselves. They screamed with discovery when they saw scrappy wild baboons, warthogs, and herds of oryx and zebra from the back seat, losing any hope to take picture. Once we checked in (the customer service here is very good), we explored the premises and not-so-silently tracked colored lizards to the edge of a cliff that houses marmots, turtles, and weird bugs. 

The tour was pretty good. The guide gave the standard wildlife monologue, but also kept the kids engaged. They delighted in his collection of juice box offerings and his bucket of animal meat. He spoke about how the sanctuary's baboons are all vegetarian orphans, no longer able to assimilate in the wild; how cheetahs behave like domesticated dogs; that the African wild dogs always hunt in packs, and will tear an animal to pieces in less than 5 seconds, ensuring a quick death.

At each stop our guide diligently reminded us to be aware of the electrified fences.  Some places we could hear electricity humming, others not so much. Anxiety raged through my body only once or twice when the kids walked too close to the fences as they enthusiastically waved sticks around. Visiting the caracals, one lady announced that she had touched the fence and found it wasn't electrified at all. She seemed royally disappointed, and the guide seemed to not quite register her declaration. I decided ignorance was bliss on this matter especially when we got to the lions. After a few minutes of calling the kitties over, the same lion that charged our friend's son, sprinted toward Mark as he wandered up the dirt road, separated only by 2mm thick wire. Feeling that was probably a good end to the tour we finished up unharmed and exhilarated. 

We returned to our car dusty and hungry. Thank goodness for intelligent design- the lodge has solar panels built on finely lashed wood supports, which double as shaded parking spaces. It saved us from hot seats, warm water bottles, and spoiled turkey and cheese sandwiches. Normally I would pack heat durable PBJs but the kids don't like them! They are so weird. But the children devoured their meals like the wild animals they are and passed out in the merciful air conditioning for a quiet rode home.  

Coming up over this hill literally stopped us in our tracks. 

A crabby, screeching marmot and his sidekick.

Lunch 

Waiting for her brother and sister to join the party.
As siblings, they cannot and do not mate in the wild or captivity.

Spotted leopard.

Full of attitude: a hissing caracal. 

After calling for several minutes, the dogs were a no-show.
We headed to the other side of the property where they appeared
out of nowhere and rapidly closed in on their object of affection: meat waiting to be tossed overhead.

Taking his sweet time to get lunch.