south africa, part one: field trip follies.

Having attended (and documented) nearly 100 weddings in my lifetime, I truly thought I'd seen it all when it came to witnessing so many "big days."

But when my South African friend and colleague Emily began planning her South African nuptials to my other friend and colleague Justin, I realized I'd soon be invited to attend an elusive genre of weddings even I'd never been to, a hybrid if you will:

The International Destination Wedding of a Co-Worker

Now if Justin and Emily were the kind of "co-workers" with whom I merely exchanged daily pleasantries, I could've easily declined their invitation, and wished them well with a nice gift.

 

But they're actually my friends.  Like many of the people I work with, they're really good friends.  In fact, because of (or maybe in spite of) the stressful nature of our jobs that we have to perform, in close, communal working quarters for long, and sometimes weird hours, we're kind of like a family.

One big, inappropriate, dysfunctional family.  

 

Perhaps it was that feeling of family that moved me to decide quickly when Emily and Justin's wedding invitation arrived, to just say yes.  I have a feeling my sense of adventure, love of traveling and overwhelming and constant sense of FOMO (that's Fear of Missing Out, Mom) also played a part, but without considering any of the specifics, I was in, and more or less assumed the details would work themselves out.

The details did work out (no thanks to me) and in February, alongside seven members of my work family, I flew halfway around the world - that's roughly 16 hours and 8419 miles - to spend 12 days in South Africa.

"Whoa!  What was that like?!" seemed to be the most popular question asked when I told others about my journey.

I'm not sure if the "that" referred to South Africa or traveling with coworkers, but my response was always the same: "It was awesome . . ., and a lot like going on a school field trip."

Permission Slips and Payment Plans 

Like every successful field trip, ours had an instant and natural leader, Mo, who in addition to planning every. single. detail. of our trip, also had the distinct honor of officiating Justin and Emily's wedding. 

Right out of the gate, he saw to it that the five of us traveling with him turned in our "permission slips," or cleared our simultaneous 11-day vacation with our managers.  Seeking permission for so many of us to be gone at the same time was somewhat awkward at first, especially since we were asking for vacation more than a year in advance.  We told them our plan and remarkably, and much to my concern that we could all easily be replaced, management quickly approved our days off.

With our "permission slips" signed, Mo proceeded with meticulous planning, which was almost immediately followed by asking everyone for money.

I'm not going to sugarcoat it, going to South Africa isn't cheap - at least in the way Mo planned it, which in my humble opinion, is the only way.  The flights are expensive, going on safari is expensive, golfing at Leopard Creek (aka the "Augusta National of South Africa") is expensive - but like every good class trip, completely worth every penny.   

The American dollar is strong in South Africa, but in order for us to be able to afford to go, we saved, we skimped, and we did what all field-trippers would do - we fund-raised.  I cannot take credit for this purely genius GoFundMe page that raised more than $1000 in fun money and also raised a few eyebrows from people who thought it was inappropriate to ask for money from our friends to go on vacation.

To those people I say, if 90's R&B group TLC can raise money to make a new album, then why shouldn't we?!

For a year, everyone paid Chaperone Mo in installments, which meant I still don't know how much the trip really cost.   I do know it was paid for before we even left.  Plus, multiple payments meant multiple opportunities to be praised by Mo for turning our money in on time or publicly shamed for not turning it in at all. 

Buddy System 

As if collecting money from six clowns for an international trip wasn't punishment enough, Mo's decision to take charge of planning the trip meant that once we arrived, he also became solely responsible for telling us what to do, what to wear, how to act at nearly every hour of everyday.

While I'd like to think he enjoyed his role as our group leader - I mean, he carried an itinerary - I think he probably could've handled us asking questions like, "What's for dinner?" and "What time do we need to be ready in the morning?" a hundred less times than we did.

Mo also encouraged the buddy system, which meant, "Look after your roommate," and make sure he/she is where they need to be when they need to be there.  This strategy worked for the most part, especially because my buddy was Leigh, the only other female on the trip.  She ranks pretty high on the "awesome travel buddy" list.  She's laid back, up for anything, and best of all, she indulged my "school girls on a field trip" desire to run back to our room after our scheduled activities so we could gossip about the stupid boys we were traveling with.

Complete Stupidity

You know how school kids love to "call seats," as if the back of the bus or the right side of a vehicle is some coveted ground where only they should be allowed to sit?

We did that.  Right side for life!

You know how adolescents always seem to find the smartest one in the group to tease relentlessly for seemingly everything he does?  

We did that.  Sorry, Devon.  But you shined a safari floodlight on a complete stranger's neck for the entire night drive! 

 

You know how when your most favorite teacher named Oupa, who had always been a wealth of information about Kruger National Park and animals, told you a joke but he did it with a straight face so you thought he was serious and you believed every word he said? 

We did that.  And we shared what he told us with others, as if it was fact.  (FYI, newborn baby giraffe hearts don't just start beating when they hit the ground after falling from their mother.)

 

You know how when you were younger and someone would mention poop or sex and you'd completely lose your mind and giggle like an idiot?

We did that.  However I'm fairly certain if I was ever forced to identify safari animal dung, I could do it.   We also said things like, "Is that monkey mounting that other monkey?  Oh. My. Gahhhhhh.  Are those monkeys doing it?!!!  You guys, those monkeys are doing it!"

Then we would all laugh and take a thousand pictures like this one:

And you know how sometimes on school trips when you got forced into tour groups with people you didn't really know that well or maybe didn't like and you swore you'd separate the minute your group merged with another group but you never did because you found out you really liked your group the best?

We did that.

Wonder & Awe 

One of the suckiest things about getting older (besides hangovers, responsibility, wrinkles and gray hair) is that I also feel myself becoming more jaded.  I suppose that also has something to do with also being a journalist, but anymore, I feel like it takes a lot to excite me, a lot to rile me up.

Yet, there were so many moments on this trip that I found myself rendered speechless by the beauty of what I was seeing around me, the opportunity I'd been given - by God for giving me such a great life, by Justin and Emily for inviting me to this wonderful place, by Mo for planning it all.

As I'm sure you can imagine, there wasn't much quiet time with this group, but I'm certain my travel mates felt it too, for there were moments when we'd all be silent together.  I guess it takes going to South Africa to impress six journalists enough for them to shut up - and not just because we didn't want rhinos or elephants to charge us.

There were times toward the end of our safari experience, we got used to seeing impalas and zebras on our drives and began looking for more.  We got spoiled and wanted to see families of lions or National Geographic-style attacks, but mostly we were amazed, feeling the wonder and curiosity I thought only happened to school kids on a field trip.

At night, back at the charming Buhala Lodge where we stayed, we'd drink good wine and delicious food under the stars, served to us by our favorite bartender Moses.  We'd talk about personal stuff like the last time we cried, then quickly go into lighter things like what our favorite part of the day was.  Then we'd spend the rest of the night making fun of each other.

Best. Field Trip. Ever.  

bad luck's a-changin'

According to a study last year by the Department of Agriculture, the average cost to raise a child in the United States is $245,000.  

Now $245,000 is a lot of money by any standards, but when I consider all of the "oops taxes" I cost my parents, I became increasingly aware that the cost to raise Baby Stephanie into Teen Stephanie was likely much higher than average.  Thanks to case of ADD, a lead foot, and just general bad luck.  I've wrecked cars, boats and a lot of other expensive toys over the years - some of which belonged to me and others that did not.

So naturally, when I discovered a dent in the back bumper of my car that was parked in my parents' driveway, I immediately assumed it was my fault.  Because it usually is.

I scanned my memory and tried to come up with a time and place when I might've caused the damage. Could I have hit something and not remembered?  Did I hurt anyone or anything else when I did?  I couldn't come up with anything.  I was confused. 

I was also amused at just how much bad luck I have had when it comes to cars, considering I'd picked up my car from the shop where it was having another dent repaired just days before.  The last dent was courtesy a valet driver in a hotel parking lot.  Getting it fixed took several months and involved dealing with the parking company's insurance company.  Really fun stuff.

Last weekend's new dent brings the total times my car has been damaged in the last five months to two.

When I went inside to tell my mom, I couldn't hide the look of complete bewilderment on my face. Two dents in five months is really bad - even for me.  She stepped outside to take a look and when she returned, she had a mischievous smile spread over her lips and a twinkle in her eye.

"Do you think your dad hit it?," she said. 

My mom, like me, has had some unfortunate incidents with cars so she knows, like I do, that where there is bad luck with vehicles, disappointing looks/sighs from Chuck (dad) will most certainly follow. 

My dad, on the other hand, is the complete opposite from my mom and me.  He takes extra special care of every toy he's ever owned, and while I do remember him receiving some speeding tickets over the years, I can't recall him ever getting into an accident or causing damage to his vehicles.  And despite having no financial stake in my car, he never wastes an opportunity to remind me to get mine washed, my tires rotated, and my oil changed.

Finding out that my dad - the same guy who has driven 220,000 miles on his current car and still manages to keep it looking brand new - was the culprit of the latest dent brought my mom and me so much joy, so much redemption.

When I talked to my dad, he apologized profusely for hitting my car and gave me several reasons why the mishap occurred: he said it was dark and he forgot I was coming home and parking in his driveway.  He also said when he saw the damage, he assumed I'd never fixed Dent #1.  He knows me so well. 

I really didn't need an apology.  The satisfaction that bad car luck happens to us all - even my dad - is worth all the money and hassle it'll take to get it fixed.  Besides, the money that I've cost him and my mom over the years, he could put a dozen dents in my bumper and not come close to making things equal.

But still, let's recap:

FOR THE SECOND TIME IN FIVE MONTHS, DAMAGE DONE TO MY CAR WAS NOT CAUSED BY ME.  TELL EVERYONE YOU KNOW. 

This is cause for celebration.  

Also, despite his annoying car reminders, my dad is still pretty much the greatest person ever and we recently made good on our promise to go to Fleetwood Mac together.  Stevie will always be number one girl-crush and hero, but I'm so glad Christine McVie is back with the band.  We danced, sang, passed my dad's binoculars back and forth (yes, he brought binoculars and why haven't I ever done that at a concert before?), and had a great time.   

And we didn't talk about cars once. 

the great equalizer.

Several years ago, my mom and her friend Ellen were in Charleston (for reasons they now say they don't remember, but I suspect had something to do with shopping) and around lunch time during their trip, they started to get hungry.  With neither of them carrying smart phones to search for nearby restaurants, they chose another strategy to find a place to eat.     

"We saw a line and we got in it," my mom told me.  Then she burst out laughing.   

Without paying much attention to where they were actually going, my mom and Ellen saw other people in line for food and assumed all those people couldn't be wrong, right?   

Only mid-meal, the ladies both became hysterical upon realizing that the line they waited in to eat, in a city with an overwhelming amount of award-winning restaurants and delicious southern cuisine, was for Jason's Deli.

Jason's. Deli.

No disrespect to Jason's Deli - they are one of the few places that puts edamame on salad bars and for that I'm supremely thankful - but eating there, in Charleston, South Carolina when there are so many other wonderful places to go?  It's borderline criminal. 

The "seeing a line, getting in it," mistake my mom and her friend made has stayed with me (and with her.)  Every time I find myself in a line, I try to make sure I fully understand just what it is I'm waiting for.  When it comes to traveling, this involves researching places ahead of time and asking locals what tourist destinations to skip.  I've even gone as far as to ask others waiting in line, "Have you been here before?  Is this worth it?," afraid that if I don't, I could follow the popularity train right into Times Square to listen to a Nickelback album. 

On the other hand, not all things that are popular are bad.  I rode out a two and a half hour wait at Momofuku in New York on New Year's Day in 2014 and I haven't stopped talking about it since - it was one of the best meals I ever had.  Taylor Swift's popularity transcends several generations and I happen to love her catchy songs.And against my better judgment, I caved and bought an iPhone like everyone else and aside from it completely zapping my productivity, I've never regretted it.

Still, when Jacob and I visited Nashville last week, I was hesitant when, in three separate scenarios, we found ourselves facing long lines and long waits.

 Great Equalizer #1: Edley's BBQ

The first was at Edley's BBQ, which was the suggestion of my friend, Nashville native and former colleague Jeremiah.  Of all the lines I'd waited in, I was least concerned about this one, because this visit was as much about catching up with Jeremiah and his wife Mary Claire and our former boss Lucia as it was about eating.  But also the place smelled heavenly from the parking lot and I knew Jeremiah knows good food because we pretty much ate every meal together for six months when we were on the road and we were both considerably fatter then.   

Great Equalizer #2:  The Bluebird Cafe

Later that day, Jacob and I arrived at the Bluebird Cafe to a line of at least 100 people outside the door.  If you're a fan of the show Nashville, you're probably very familiar with the Bluebird - it's a Music City staple.

I don't watch that show, but I did know about the Bluebird before going there thanks to the 1993 film, The Thing Called Love, starring Samantha Mathis and the late River Phoenix (with supporting actors Sandra Bullock and Dermott Mulroney).

Remember that movie?  Anyone?  

Located in a strip mall next to a children's consignment store on Hillsboro Pike, it's probably the last place you'd think a music venue would exist - much less one that has launched careers of singers like Garth Brooks and Kathy Mattea, as well as countless other songwriters.

 

If the movie is true to life, prospective performers try out during the day for the e and if they are picked, they return to perform for an audience later that night.  On Sundays, the Bluebird hosts singer/songwriter night.

There were lots of things to consider regarding whether or not we should wait in line - first, it was cold.  Second, there are only 90 seats in the Bluebird Cafe, and they don't allow standing room only.  Third, and most important, what if we waited for two hours only to find out this was the biggest racket/tourist trap and not worth it?  I mean, the only people who may have time to wait in a two-hour line to see music are people who are vacationing, right?

After a lot of back and forth, several conversations with the door man to understand exactly what our chances were, as well as some heartfelt, albeit strange involvement from our cab driver, we decided to wait.  Actually, first we decided to buy a few beers from the gas station next door and then we got in line to wait.  

Once we made the commitment, it was easier to submit to waiting and just make the best of it.  We made friends and shared beers with some newlyweds who live in New York and they made the time pass quickly.  Two hours later, we were in, and were led to our seats at the bar.

The Bluebird, as far as venues go, is really not much to talk about.  But the energy inside was palpable, and I felt like we were witnessing these artists making their dreams come true.  I've had the privilege to see this before - watching individuals doing exactly that it is that God intended for them to do.  It's special.  

I would be a fool to try and predict which of the artists that we saw might become a big name like Garth Brooks - the music business is predictably unpredictable.  But I definitely had my favorites so just in case, I want to go on record as having said, I saw them back in the day, before they were famous!  Janet Hattabaugh is an effortlessly beautiful singer who reminds me of Allison Krauss.  David Ashley looks and sings like every guitar-playing guy I went to college with.  My favorite - Jessa Taylor could be the next Miranda Lambert.  She's got a raspy voice and is edgy . . . and she's all of 15 years old.   

 

Others we saw, if you're interested in following them - Skip Robey, Matt Prater, AJ Schubert, Eric Burgett, Dixie Jade, Dan Bowman & Greg Wilson

Great Equalizer #3: Arnold's

The last line we maneuvered was for Arnold's a meat-and-three restaurant that came recommended by our Uber driver a couple of nights before.  "Get the roast beef," he advised.  Jacob and I skipped breakfast and walked over around 11:30am on Monday to find a line already outside the door.

Full disclosure, I never met any country cooking served buffet style by old ladies in hairnets that I didn't like, so I never doubted Arnold's.  Fried chicken as big as my head, green beans cooked in so much grease they lose all nutritional value, creamy mashed potatoes and gravy and pecan pie so delicious, it'll make you want to slap your mama.    

One of the many complimentary articles about Arnold's hanging on the wall called waiting in line, "the great equalizer."  How poetic, I thought, to assign the same comparison used for concepts like education and death to waiting in line for southern cooking.

The theme completely fits.  Every time I'm in a line, regardless of how impatient I feel, there's some grander sense of justice and community - like we're all in this together and no one waiting is any better or worse than someone else.  We all have the same advantages, or disadvantages and we share in the exciting suspense that comes in the uncertainty of what awaits at the end of the line. 

I hesitate to simply follow my mom's plan of seeing a line an getting in it, but if my trip to Nashville is any indication, very often good things do some for those who wait.  In line.