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Published: November 12th 2008
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You know, it's nice when people I don't know message me or leave comments in response to my entries. However in response to the last entry I wrote on how Africa was wearing on me, seriously people, chill the fuck out yeah? I'm not sure if its that real Africa lovers have been following my blog or what, but when I write an entry explaining that I'm tired after 2+ months in Africa, I don't need anybody to tell me... Didn't you do any research before you went?... All the comforts you want are available if you want to spend the cash... Of course I did the fucking research, yeah? I've done the Four Seasons thing in a past life, yeah? I know if I stay in the lodges and do packaged tours, I wouldn't be running into some of the transport, accomodation, and food issues I mentioned. Let's face it though, prime example that you go to Thailand, Vietnam, Lebanon, Indonesia.. and eat like the locals do and the food is fabulous. Not so much here, ok? And I'm not going to go out of my way to search for the non-existent bottles of Chilean in x African village I happen to be broken down in.
However the post was also in response to the fact that sometimes, no matter where you travel, you can get tired of it anyways. You become desensitized, and the really "fun" things of inconvenience don't seem so "fun" sometimes. You get tired of churches, you get tired of the museums, the wildlife, the outdoors stuff.
I've taken cold showers, I've gone days on 400 calories in other regions of the world, but its harder in Africa. Being in Africa does open up issues that start to really nag on your conscience (which is a positive thing really) such as understanding more about war, disease, the nasty business of Aid and volunteering, peacekeeping failures... and it wears on you mentally as well. It is depressing, but in a way I enjoy exploring this realm of my humanity a bit - which is the exact reason I haven't flown home early. I mention in the post as well that I am fully aware of how whiny I sound, but again, I don't give a fuck if you care or not. I'm not recruiting you as a stranger to follow my blog if you dislike
what I write, I write for my friends, my family, and people that aren't going to tell me I'm wrong for what I feel in a certain place, at a certain time. These are my opinions, yeah - not yours, or perhaps you should stick to writing your own. Read or not, as you wish.
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"I think it's about time you re-integrated yourself back into the Western world." - John, my old Managing Director and just about the coolest guy over the age of 35, via e-mail. After three years out of America and 2 months in the third world, I almost forgot just how perfectly looking Christian Bale is. Those eyes, that physique, that heartless yet smooth as silk voice eminating from the beautiful curve of that throat... I am reminded that I am in fact still a sexual being on the ferry ride from Dar to Zanzibar, for as luck would have it they have decided to show SHAFT on the ride over. Did you even know Christian Bale was in SHAFT? The movie also served a bonus purpose of giving me a small dose of very over-the-top Americanism which I think I was
in great need of at this point. I start dreaming about juice dripping from Thanksgiving turkey right about now.
My arrival in Zanzibar marks a kind-of re-entry, reminder back into the Western world. I am meeting consultants and bankers on vacation. I see families again. I can't even remember the last time I saw a Western human under the age of 15 in Africa. A couple days here in Stone Town, a couple days diving up in Nungwei, a couple days on the eastern beach at Paje... A short stint here, I believe, is much needed at this point for me.
I want to tell you about Zanzibar, about the exotic aromas and steamy swirls of Swahili culture that engulf you as you walk through the small pathways through old Stone Town. I want to tell you about the amazing pastas, the delicious fish, the succulent lobster and ginormous prawns. I want to show you volume-wise how much fresh coconut juice I drink from the shell, and how much coconut flesh I eat from the shell thereafter. I want to tell you about a mouth dancing with an overload of spices and fruits, plenty of which I haven't
tried from the remote-est corners of Asia to the widest aisles of Trader Joe's.
I want to tell you about the whitest beaches I have ever seen, parralleled only by some in Indonesia and far-flung Philippine hideaways. I want to describe the clear, turqoise fading to baby blue waters lapping at a pebble-less beach. I want to write paragraphs about diving to 30m with dolphins and harmless sharks in nothing but a bikini. I want to describe massage techniques I have felt only here on this island, accompanied by pure coconut and lemongrass oils.
I want to... but I can't stay in this internet cafe any longer, not when I have all this going on out there. Want to know more about Zanzibar? I believe everybody else (plenty of people) blogging on this island will be attempting to describe it (probably still not doing it justice), using about the same descriptions more or less. I'll let them do the hard work on this one as I've got to get back to my massage and bottomless glasses of rum. That, and I've got to start souvineer shopping for you lot back home!
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Ross
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You're still a hardass
Dude, shake those haters off. I don't know many other CLHS grads with the balls to dive head first into a war zone. Just come home safe.