The road was much longer than the fairy had expected, but it was more fun now when she had Hindsight by her side, and as they wandered he got more and more talkative. When they finally reached the Boulders and sighted the first penguins, once again it was dusk. “Hindsight! That wasn’t yesterday.” One of the penguins cried out and came jolting in their direction. “What brings you down here?” Hindsight told the fairy’s tale to the first penguin, and the story quickly spread like a wildfire among the chattering flightless birds. They all di [View Full Entry]

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�Good monin�.� November�s smile filled up every corner of the little shack, and so also did the smell of pancakes. �I�ve made yoo samm breakfast� The fairy sat up on the colourful couch. Next to a plate of pancakes - towering three feet high - laid her flute. �What happened?� Asked the drowsy fairy as she smeared apple-cinnamon ice cream on her first pancake. �I summoned the spirit of Ubuntu and told her what had happen to yoo. Then it didn�t take long for she to convince Despair to give the flu [View Full Entry]

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Long was the road that led to Llandudno, and as the fairy passed the shipwreck of Antipolis she was very tired, and she had still a long distance to cover. It was already dark as she looked down upon all the lights that shimmered out from the over-sized villas and lavish manors that clung to the steep mountain slopes of Llandudno. As she descended into Llandudno she was very tired. Many times had she considered leaving the pipe and the flute somewhere, and at one time she’d even thought about leaving her wings. Luckily she didn’t, since left or forgotten [View Full Entry]

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It was the annual gathering of the fairies and this time Africa was the host continent. The Fantastic International Fairy Association (FIFA) had decided that South Africa was the nation among all the African nations that best met the requirements for such an event. Then - to be more precise - the South African Gnome Authority (SAGA) had chosen Cape Town to represent the rainbow nation, and the Cape Town Pixie Council (CTPC) had selected Table Mountain, in particular, to embody the city. Finally the Elfish National Parks and Forest Reserves Board (ENPFRB) selected t [View Full Entry]

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As we rushed down from Gaborone to celebrate New Years Eve in Cape Town, we had been arrested by Karma police a mere hours drive before the big city in the small town of Worcester - and sentenced to a 10-day meditation course. Therefore I sat in silence on my small meditation cushion, contemplating, focusing. Around me were 35 other meditators, all doing their best trying not to move, not to look, not to plan for the future, and not to drift into the past but to follow the teacher’s instructions and be in the present moment. Often I would catch [View Full Entry]

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The train had stopped. My thin sarong and I had spent the night in a stillborn struggle against the cold night air that blew through the broken window of our compartment. To be awoken by the chattering of a thousand voices was nothing but a well-earned relief. A hodgepodge of odds and ends was offloaded in a commotion of big-mamas, then stowed into already cramped taxis and taken to Mozambique in search of new owners. I was in dire need of a strong cup of coffee so we stumbled along the streets of Mutare in search of a quick fix. At [View Full Entry]

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One by one the big overland truck companies arrived. To the chorus of the Soft-Rock band Toto’s “Africa” the trucks would park, open their doors and - like if someone had opened a tap - emptying its content of party-longing-tourists in yet another place to spend their greenbacks. Some pitch their tents - others head straight to the bar. The Victoria Falls. A guaranteed stopover on every tour along the East- to South-African tourist trail. People come for the adrenaline sports, Vic Falls themselves and of course for the overlander-mandatory booze-cruise. [View Full Entry]

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GENTLEMEN The sign on the door announced. Not that there was sign of any gentlemanly behaviour hitherto in the small toilet. On the contrary - the urine sprayed walls indicated of a squalid border police force. A squalid border police force that - led by their smirky police chief - had done a descent job delaying our entry by three hours. Accompanying us in our frustration was a Namibian truck driver, though delayed for a full 24 hours he was too seasoned to show any sign of frustration. In fact, he was so seasoned that he didn’t show any facial expressions [View Full Entry]

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Soon a boat came to our rescue, we boarded it and a few minutes later we arrived at Kinshasa’s harbour. First class, third world, hustle and bustle, just like we’d expected. Moneychangers carrying plastic bags full of currency and all sorts of police, guards and custom officials hurried around. Someone in a uniform took our passports and disappeared, and it was only with the help of a friendly priest that we finally got them back and could leave the confusing harbour area. The priest helped us to our guesthouse - another Christian mission - and then left us for his [View Full Entry]

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There he stood. Half a head taller than me with skin of a beautiful mahogany colour that was almost radiant. His dress was immaculate; the dust filling the air didn’t seem to stick on his newly ironed shirt nor his black trousers. He had a short and sharp haircut that looked as if he’d just stepped out of the barber’s and his cheek was freshly shaved, revealing his strong cheekbones. Pearls of sweat were breaking through the pores on his nose and at his temples the sweat was so imminent that it had clustered into drops that now ran slowly down [View Full Entry]

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