Adrenaline

Adrenaline is an enormous pump of goosebumps that you can feel flow from your heart through every artery and vein till it hits the tip of toe and finger, bounces back in less than an instant and focuses the brain on the sight, sound and sensation of a startling action. I felt it rebound against the restriction of my skin many times thus far…two months, over a dozen cities, more friends than I can remember the names of and moments upon moments of joy. The adrenaline that has been so constant in my South African adventures has been caused by the excitement of both ecstasy and fright. At the end of the day, both root the smile that brews when I tell the story around fire, letting my hair soak up the scent of musky Braai while I get my fingers sticky with smoky meat. I’ve jumped off Bloukrans Bridge, the highest bungee jump in the world at a wicked 708 foot drop. I’ve taken deep breaths of immensely different cultures as I stumble into feasts, rhythms, conversation and spirits of other tongues. I’ve watched the sun set as we rolled over the mountain range that surrounds Cape Town. I’ve climbed up Table Mountain 1000 meters in the air, gripping the trees, dirt and stone like a baboon. I’ve danced to beautiful bands afterwards in little restaurants and held my bag safe from pickpockets as I swayed to the freedom of the annual Jazz Fest in Green Market Square. My calves were burning and my joints felt like they had aged decades but music that good needed the applause of a moving body. My eyes couldn’t be wide enough to watch the lush peaks of the Garden Route pass along the coast of the Western Cape. I couldn’t squint hard enough to see the detail of orange and gray stones swirl jagged rain-induced miracles as we left the absolutely mandatory Cape Town along the N2, inland across Afrikaner farm towns and vineyards that put Sonoma to shame. Many of my adventures have been accompanied with my P.I.C. (partner in crime), Alexis, another Suzy-Q San Franciscian who laughs the dance and walks the talk. My solo stride will truly be tested in month’s time when I huddle on the red-eye bus ride from Port Elizabeth to Stellenboch on the journey to my mentor and former teacher at SF State, Trevor Getz, and his family. There I will do a bit of poking around the Afrikaner lifestyle while I drink their wine, eat their meat, butcher their language and carefully word my questions about the ever-intriguing past. Then it’s through the townships and over the hills to Long Street to make friends with the fabric sellers and sewing vendors. My fingers are itching to stretch cloth and stitch something. They have been kept mildly busy with shooting the images I’ve experienced through the means of my most beloved camera and the occasional grit of clay but man! I could really enjoy the meditative repetition of a sewing machine pounding a pattern in to place…and the most wonderful result of a new garment!
Love and happiness is what it is…there’s nothin’ wrong with it but it will drain you, especially if it pulls your heart and limbs across continents. Whew. It’s been a few minutes of deep breathing and remembering why I am here, by myself, learning what the purest form of Maddy can bring to the red dirt slate...I sleep beneath many roofs but the sky that always covers my heart continues to be a thick band of Milky Way stars and a reggae rhythm that keeps my shoulders up beat.