A Seaside Holiday or Things Fall Apart Part 2

Seven American kids decided to escape the city for a weekend holiday at the beach. We knocked off of work early, filled our backpacks with peanut butter and potato chips and swimming costumes, and hopped on a double-decker bus headed South.





Our destination was Durban, the largest city in the KwaZulu-Natal region and home to the second largest Indian population in the world. We rented a cottage from a hostel called "Smith's Cottages" and had a mediocre supper at a glitzy art-deco style casino. The next day was spent at the beach before returning to our cottage to order mind-blowing Indian food and watch movies. The vacation seemed like the perfect antidote to the feelings of homesickness and malaise that pervaded our program.








The next day we ventured to the Jumah Mosque, which is the largest mosque in the Southern hemisphere. At the Victoria Street Market I bought a large bag of garam masala for less than a dollar and a red scarf to cover my head. The mosque itself was smaller than I imagined, and our tour was abbreviated because it was Ramadan. Afterwards we decided to find the beach but detoured to a bottle store (liquor store) to buy gin and lemonade. After we made our purchase we were walking down the street, a group of giggling Americans, when two men stepped in front of me, one of whom brandished a gun in my face. It was a hold up. All in all there were six men, two guns, and a street full of witnesses, none of whom gave a shit. My wallet and my phone were in Sam's bag, but the men still went through my pockets even though I told them that I wasn't carrying anything valuable. They reached into Sam's purse and grabbed her wallet and phone, but didn't see my possessions. In total our group lost two wallets, two purses, two phones, one journal, one pair of sunglasses, and a heck of a lot of bravado. I lost nothing material. I guess I am lucky.

Afterwards we sought refuge in a McDonalds and called a cab. We were silent on the ride home, but as soon as we got back to the cottage, a violent argument errupted between two of my travelling companions. The proprieter of the hostel scolded us for not screaming, said that we should have defended our possessions, but how does one stand up to a gang of armed men? She made me so angry. Later that night things had settled down so we ordered more Indian food and drank gin until everything tasted like Christmas. The next day we returned to the tacky casino because it felt safe.




Then we caught the bus home.