THE BUSINESS TOURIST

Page 69: Egypt - Welcome to Cairo.

Tue, 14 May 2013 11:48:25 -0700

Two things struck me when I saw Cairo for the first time: 1) an urgent need to see and learn everything; and, 2) a realization that there was no possible way I could. Egypt, for so many reasons – both obvious, and faint – is simply impenetrable. It’s an intellectual wrestling match with contradictions and stereotypes, tethered to an incomprehensibly vast history. Cairo traces its roots back through virtually everything we know about human civilization. The scope of it is astonishing. One only needs reminding that we live in a time closer to when Jesus lived, than he did to the time of Djoser, builder of Egypt’s first pyramid. The Dynastic Age, the time in which we recognize Egypt as one land, ruled by pharaohs, pre-dates the start of our calendar by 3000 years. And even long before that, a mere 2000 to 3000 years further, the predecessors of the pharaohs, and of the people they ruled, farmed and domesticated animals along the Nile in organized city-states. To fully comprehend this history requires dedicating ones life to its study; so for a curious visitor, the only sane choice is to humbly surrender to the bigness. For what little I did manage to learn, I owe thanks to a young Egyptologist named Randa who – along with my driver – became my two best (and only) friends in Egypt. Welcome to Cairo:

Page 68: Tanzania – Safari Day Seven: Time To Go

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 15:23:31 -0700

A short story about a long trip:

I had already decided, weeks earlier, that Egypt would be my next stop on this journey. When it was time to go, I was unable to reflect even a little on what Tanzania had meant to me. My focus was on the difficult odyssey ahead, one that would start at a remote tented camp in the Serengeti, and finish in a Cairo hotel room overlooking the Nile. Not that I wasn’t aware of how profoundly inspiring my experience had been, it was just that I knew, even if everything went as planned (which itself was uncertain), that the next 36 hours were going to be tough. There would be time to reflect later. I was ready to go. Not necessarily eager, but ready.

Page 67: Tanzania – Safari Day Six: One Last Sunset

Thu, 18 Apr 2013 19:31:30 -0700

My days in Tanzania were coming to a close. On this day – my last full one – I was in was no particular hurry to begin. I woke slowly, arrived at the dining tent late, lingered over my eggs and coffee, and then quietly strolled to the edge of camp just to listen to the morning. There were no more images I hoped to capture. No four-legged inhabitants left to encounter. Africa had kept its promises; the Serengeti owed nothing more to this grateful visitor. I was ready to accept as much, or as little, as this final day would bring.

Here are the images from that day:

Page 66: Tanzania – Safari Day Five and Six: Heeere Kitty, Kitty, Kitty...

Wed, 10 Apr 2013 17:18:40 -0700

So there are two things you need for a great safari experience. The first, luck, is completely out of your control; the other, patience, is entirely under your control. No amount of the latter will guarantee you any of the former, but a complete absence of it, will almost assure a subpar experience. This is a story about both, luck and patience. How I traded six hours of my time (two separate three-hour waits) for the brief thrill of a rare close encounter in the wild with two of the most beautiful creatures in the natural world.

I had been hoping against all evidence to the contrary that there was a leopard waiting for us somewhere out here. Edward had already been managing my expectations downward since Ngorongoro. Often reminding me that a leopard would very likely be hiding in a tree, and that our chances of even noticing were low. Even still, however unfounded, my optimism never lost its simmer. I just sort of believed we’d get lucky. Then, somewhere beyond the hippo pool, on the way to nowhere in particular, Edward and Louis reacted to some chatter in Swahili coming over the CB radio.

“What is it,” I asked

“A leopard. They’ve spotted one… we’re not far.”

Louis purposefully turns onto a nearby trail as if he knows the precise tree (out of millions) that the crackling voices on the radio are talking about. In the distance I see it… no, not a leopard, but a parade of safari trucks pressed bumper-to-bumper against each other. A gathering of safari trucks on the horizon is the smoke signal of the Serengeti – a marker indicating that a rare sighting has been made (and shared). The game amongst safari guides out here involves tipping each other off about where the animals are (especially if spotting a special one). But there’s also a desire to balance how much you say or, occasionally, to even speak in code for selective disclosure. Mouth off promiscuously about every lion or rhino you’re trailing and you will attract a cluster of safari trucks to your location. Nobody wants that. But if you don’t share at all, then you risk getting the cold shoulder from other drivers when its you that needs a hand. Every time drivers encounter each other on a game drive they pause for a moment to exchange intelligence on the nearest herd, pride, or random four-legged such-and-such. From the driver and guide’s perspective, good information on where the animals are moving can be the difference between a mediocre or great gratuity from the herds of German, French, Chinese, and American animals poking their heads out from the top of the trucks.

Heading towards a swarm of humans bummed me out, but I reminded myself that we were the scavengers feeding off someone else’s find. What mattered is that the leopard was there. Hidden, but there. The only question was whether or not she was going to grant any of us a good look. What I didn’t know then, was that the other members of my species, while lucky for making the find, would lack the patience to enjoy the best of it. For the next three hours we waited. Here’s the three-minute version of what happened:

Page 65: Tanzania – Safari Day Five: Eager for the Fifth

Thu, 4 Apr 2013 19:33:47 -0700

Continued from page 64…

After breakfast we were ready to get back out on the Serengeti plains. It was barely past 8 o’clock in the morning… five hours had already passed since waking up and getting lost in the predawn darkness. Well fed, and still on a high from the breathtaking balloon ride, we were ready to begin the next part of our day. The magnificence of seeing the Serengeti by air erased the memory of a painfully early wake up, and the anxiety filled ride getting here.

Now, Edward, Louis, and I were back in the truck where we had spent the better part of the last four days – eager for the fifth.

Page 64: Tanzania – Safari Day Five: Rare and Remarkable Indeed: Part Two

Tue, 13 Nov 2012 16:05:53 -0800

Mildly out of breath from our hurried arrival I settled into my spot inside the balloon. Almost instantly the basket budges, unpeeling from the ground below. I lean against the basket’s cushy corner while wrapping the strap of my camera securely around my wrist. The basket – no higher in altitude than I am tall – glides laterally for a long while as if taking a running start. We were skating quietly and smoothly across the grass when a sustained roar from the burner broke the calm. The flame forcefully rocketed out from the chrome engines like dragon breath, warming the massive hollowness inside the balloon, as well as the faces in the basket looking up at it. The blast propels us higher. This was my first time in a hot air balloon. In anticipation of this day, and in the rush to get there, I had hardly considered my safety until that propane fueled volcano above my head erupted. Now airborne, the primitive nature of the technology in which my life now relied caused me to imagine disaster scenarios from which I naively planned a shrewd “Bond-like” escape. Fortunately, none was needed. With each additional foot of altitude, and each passing minute of the serene hour-long fight across the Serengeti, the experience swiftly cemented itself in my consciousness as one of the most amazing things I’ve ever done. The quiet, the calm, and the profoundly beautiful view of Africa from above were just beyond description. I knew then that I would not succeed in writing about it in a way that did justice to the moment. So I’m inclined not to try. The pen knows when to surrender to the lens. I hope you enjoy the images and video from that special morning:

Page 63: Tanzania – Safari Day Five: Rare and Remarkable Indeed!

Thu, 8 Nov 2012 21:53:16 -0800

3:30am…

The alarm sounds. My arm plops around in the blackness like a hammer hoping to smash the culprit. It was dark – Africa dark – night as thick as velvet. If there was moonlight outside, evidence of it didn’t penetrate my tent. Waking in the middle of it was disorienting, almost menacing. I pressed my lids together several times, blinking purposefully as if my eyes had an on-switch that needed flipping. How could it be this dark? No sense of space or time – my own private event horizon. Clutching my glowing Blackberry, I was able to extend my milky-eyed vision to the insect-netted boundary of the toasty bed I was loath to emerge from. Suddenly, a voice… I hear someone calling my name (it’s not a comfort). It was Edward, standing outside my tent checking on me.

“I just wanted to make sure you were up,” he says. “We need to leave by four o’clock.” I mutter something back in what might have been English.

Still gripping my Blackberry in front of me like a torch I pull myself through the mosquito net to face the inhospitably cool pre-dawn air. I find the zipper at the back of my tent that leads to the bathroom. The misery index inside my tent right now is high, but it starts to plummet as dressing warms my body, and thinking about why I am doing this stirs my mind. Edward was right; we had to leave by four o’clock. It was going to take 90 minutes to get there, and we had been warned that they couldn’t wait for us if we were late.

We load the truck with everything we’ll need for a very long day… it’ll be 13 or 14 hours before we return to camp. I slip into my seat, buckle up, and consider how I might get some sleep during the drive. Edward is energized – alert, focused, and on task… he’s 25 years old and, for a moment, I hate it him for it. Our driver Louis is slightly less chipper at this hour, but no less ready. The three of us have been together for four days now and Edward and I already have a running joke at Louis’ expense involving the fact that he can’t go an hour without having to pull the truck over to relieve himself. Louis is the kid in the back seat of a road trip who constantly needs to pee; only on this road trip he has been the driver. Knowing that we needed to be on time this morning, Edward and I start teasing Louis straight away about “going” before we leave. In almost no time we were dressed, fed, loaded, and gone – three souls in a truck venturing into the darkness of the Serengeti.

Page 62: Tanzania – Safari Day Four: The Serengeti

Thu, 25 Oct 2012 19:42:45 -0700

In the Maa language of the Maasai people, the word “siringet” means: endless plains. In its anglicized form, their word has become a famed proper noun to describe a place of adventure, beauty, and wildlife. The Serengeti conjures images and expectations much as any celebrated brand would. I’ve waited for this a long time – here I was, passing through the gate, fulfilling a wish… a chance to pair reality with childhood daydreams.

The first thing you notice is how aptly named it is (credit the Maasai’s literalism). How rare it is to be encircled by so much unbent horizon. On a clear night you can stare straight into space without ever looking up. I was blown away from the moment we arrived. Such wide-eyed amazement probably revealed my urban DNA, like a city mouse marveling over an open field, although, I imagine the landscape might even astound the country mouse too.

This “endless plain” of the Maasai was impressive indeed, and my admiration would only grow in the days ahead.

Welcome to the Serengeti!

Page 61: Tanzania – Safari Day Four: Maasai Village

Wed, 29 Aug 2012 09:59:35 -0700

For the second time in a month I would ascend from the floor of Ngorongoro Crater (having arrived with no expectations) convinced nothing could compare with its majestic embrace. Now, finally, it was time to head toward the Serengeti to see if it could meet the lofty expectations of a lifetime of daydreams. But first, we made time for a brief stop in Maasai country:

Page 60: Tanzania – Safari Day Three: Tarangire & Ngorongoro Crater

Fri, 10 Aug 2012 10:34:36 -0700

The plan on day three was to leave Tarangire early enough to spend a half day at Ngorongoro Crater. Originally, I was thinking of heading straight to the Serengeti, but after my short (yet amazing) weekend trip to Ngorongoro several weeks earlier, I was determined to go back. If you haven’t yet read page 53 about Ngorongoro Crater, now is the time.

To get to the Serengeti one has to drive through the Ngorongoro Conservation Area anyway, so making one more descent into the crater was a layup decision. The day started early, but didn’t start smoothly. Barely out of camp we would hit really bad luck; eventually redeemed by some really good luck. This is day three:

Page 59: Tanzania - Safari Day Two: Tarangire

Thu, 26 Jul 2012 14:37:59 -0700

I awoke on that first morning in Tarangire feeling revitalized from one of the best night’s sleep of my life. The impenetrably dark, cool, and calm African night (not to mention the amazing bed in my tent) completely tranquillized me. I sprung out of bed with the kind of joy and excitement that seems to occur less frequently with age. Honestly, I hadn’t felt this good in years. I just knew that today – no, everyday – was going to be amazing out here.

It’s hard not to exhaust every known positive adjective when describing this experience. Being in a place of such exceptional beauty, a place so special, so rare, lifts you up. It delivers a dose of pure joy that, frankly, inspires and moves you. Even looking back now – editing the photos, creating the videos, and writing about it – alters my mood...

Page 58: Tanzania - Safari Day One: Tarangire

Thu, 19 Jul 2012 17:16:23 -0700

I’ve often told people that the only thing that I ever had outsized expectations of, that met those expectations, was New York City. Now I have a second: an African safari. More than any other experience on this journey, this one seems to overlap most with the desires of people I know. There’s something about it that really captures our imagination: the adventure and exoticism; the air of danger; bonding with the natural world; and the sublime beauty of freedom. My safari ambitions took root early. On Sunday nights in the 70’s back when Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom was the “lead in” for Wonderful World of Disney. What kid of my generation didn’t want to be out there with Marlin Perkins and Jim Fowler? The bigness of the experience seemed forever out of reach and then, with age, impractical. I bought into the stifling cult of “one day I’ll do it.” A boyhood dream denied by the time-deprived adult he became – the id taunting while the ego refuses.

By now, I had already tasted what a safari would be like from my weekend trip to Ngorongoro Crater and Lake Manyara, but this was the big one. The one I fantasized about since my “Wild Kingdom” days - “one day” was now. The safari would begin in the Tarangire forest, followed by a return to the transcendent Ngorongoro Crater, then, at last, a rendezvous with the migrating herds of the Serengeti plains.

As good as I thought it would be – as good as you think it would be… it’s better!

Page 57: Tanzania - Saying Goodbye to Moshi: Part Two

Mon, 16 Jul 2012 15:26:50 -0700

Saying goodbye to the kids at Magereza flattened me. When we arrived back at home base I locked myself in the “Man Cave” hoping against reality to sleep straight through dinner. However, it was still Christmas Eve and besides the holiday party planned for that evening, we were also taking a field trip as a group to a local orphanage to spend the afternoon distributing food and cheer. There was no way to skip either. Not to mention that early the next morning all but three or four volunteers, including myself, were leaving. So this was the end of the road – time to start saying our goodbyes. Nevertheless, joining my fellow volunteers at the orphanage and then attending a farewell Christmas party felt almost like too much after the unexpected strength of emotion on my final day of school. My heart was full, but my tank was empty. My instinct was to be alone with my feelings until I could control them, but I coaxed myself out of my bunk realizing that I’d regret staying back at home base. And perhaps, continuing to feel the emotion, rather than choking it off, is what I really wanted.

Page 56: Tanzania - Saying Goodbye to Moshi: Part One

Sat, 23 Jun 2012 15:50:16 -0700

Had it been like any other day perhaps it would have been easier. I wanted my last day to be like all the others: morning playtime, lining up at the bell, vocabulary lessons, a little math, classroom games, lunch, and then some quiet goodbyes. But as chance would have it, my last day of school fell on Christmas Eve. We all know that cheerfully distracted feeling at school or work when the holiday is upon us. Nothing really gets done when it’s in the air. We arrived at school feeling it. However, for me, the distraction was amplified, and the cheer muted by knowing that I wouldn’t be returning after Christmas break.

Page 55: Tanzania - Finding Doreen

Wed, 13 Jun 2012 17:36:13 -0700

The week prior to my weekend safari, Doreen (page 50) had been absent for two days. Mama Vicky told me that Doreen merely hadn’t been feeling well, but when she missed school a third time I became a little more concerned. Initially I thought that I would just wait and see if she returned on her own. However, my commitment was winding down, and the thought of leaving Moshi without knowing if she was okay bothered me. Thanks to the well-reasoned advice from a close friend, I found a simple solution: go visit her at home.

The next morning before class I asked Mama Vicky if we could go check on Doreen sometime. Back in my regular life, asserting myself came easy, but here I found myself preoccupied with questions: Was I intruding on her life… am I being presumptuous? Would it be rude to show up uninvited? Before I uttered another word Mama Vicky surprised me by saying, through our translator Daniel, “Of course, lets go right now.” My idea was to send word and then maybe go visit the next day, but Mama Vicky responded to my request with such purpose that within a minute after starting the conversation we were already on our way. Mama Vicky took the lead, guiding Daniel and me on what turned out to be a beautiful 30 (plus) minute walk to where Doreen lived.

Page 54: Tanzania - Lake Manyara

Mon, 11 Jun 2012 08:20:07 -0700

I was half tempted to get up early enough to witness the sunrise over the crater rim for a second time, but the prior day’s game drive had whipped the motivation out of me. Nevertheless, we did leave Ngorongoro early. Day two would be spent at Lake Manyara National Park, whose namesake is a shallow body of water described by Ernest Hemingway as, “The loveliest I had seen in Africa.” If it’s good enough for “Papa,” then… well, you know the rest. Lake Manyara here we come.

Page 53: Tanzania - Ngorongoro Crater

Wed, 6 Jun 2012 15:14:55 -0700

About two million years ago in Eastern Africa a massive volcano violently exploded and then collapsed. The region surrounding the volcano must surely have become one of the least hospitable on earth. While only the earliest and most primitive version of the Homo genus existed at the time, this area would have otherwise already been overflowing with plant and animal life. Undoubtedly, anything alive in the vicinity was wiped out by the eruption. The resulting crater was 2000 ft (610m) deep, and the area of its floor, 100 sq miles (260 km sq). One can only imagine this place as a colossal black smoldering scar on the planet. But while we were all waiting to be born something wonderful happened: life found a way back. In biological and geological terms this event wasn’t even that long ago. We are still living in the scientific era (Cenozoic) in which it occurred. However, more than enough time as passed for this prehistoric caldera to heal. Today it is one of the most inspirationally beautiful places on earth, and as testament to how far the Homo genus has come; its current members travel from all over the globe to see it. It’s called Ngorongoro Crater.

Page 52: Tanzania - Back to School

Sat, 2 Jun 2012 21:56:07 -0700

I was so thankful to finally arrive back in Moshi. Missing a day of school due to the foul up with my flight from Zanzibar really irritated me, and I was keen on diving back in as soon as possible. My weekend getaway made me realize how satisfying my routine in Moshi had become.

Page 51: Tanzania - Zanzibar

Sat, 12 May 2012 14:13:48 -0700

A short personal story:

As a kid I loved looking at maps and imagining what the world looked like from all those faraway places. Not growing up in the country of my birth, but being fortunate enough to make the long journey there to visit, gave me an early awareness (and appreciation) of the world beyond my neighborhood. My imagination was drawn to so many spots, especially the more obscure countries of Africa and Asia, which all seemed so exotic, so foreign… so beyond anything possible.

It was sometime during the seventh grade when I learned that Freddie Mercury, of the rock group Queen, was born in a place called Zanzibar. (In those days when a curious seventh grader wanted to look something up like that it involved opening an atlas). “Zan-zi-bar,” I repeated the three distinct syllables to myself while discovering that it was an island in the Indian Ocean off the coast of Eastern Africa. The name sounded like science fiction or something out of the C.S. Lewis I was reading that year. On a globe it looked like it was about as far from home as I could possibly get; any further, and I’d be heading back the other way (that was an amazing thought for my twelve-year-old mind). I decided – as only kids do – that the “rich and famous” adult version of myself would be a world traveler, and that if I could go to a place as far-flung as Zanzibar then it meant that I could go anywhere – Zanzibar would represent the pinnacle of achievement and freedom.

The thought cemented itself as I grew up; becoming part of the quiet unexpressed conversation we all have within ourselves. But as time passed and maturity crept in, Zanzibar faded with all the other infatuations of adolescence, like owning a dirt bike, or beating my high score in “Asteroids.” In the end I did become the frequent traveler that I once imagined (but much of it was for business). In adulthood’s cruelest twist I found that means is often inversely correlated with time – or so I persuaded myself to believe. When thoughts of traveling to the places I dreamed about as a kid popped into my head, as they occasionally did, I was completely convinced that I lacked the time for it (even while taking yet another commercially justified trip to Asia or Europe). Such was the state of things until this sabbatical.

So three decades later, volunteering at a school in Northern Tanzania, I found myself a measly 235 miles from Zanzibar. Naturally, I knew exactly where I was going on my first weekend off. From here it was almost too easy. How ironic that the impossibly faraway and infinitely mysterious island off the coast of Africa that I had contemplated in seventh grade was now just a weekend trip away, like going to the beach in Orange County as a kid. From the plane I get my first glance of Zanzibar’s coastline – this elusive childhood trophy rising up at me. As we touch down I’m remembering the atlas, and for a moment, 30 years vanish.

Welcome to Zanzibar...

Page 50: Tanzania - Magereza Morning

Thu, 26 Apr 2012 12:16:27 -0700

A volunteer organization such as CCS relies on routine (and softly applied discipline) to keep home base functioning well for everyone. Each day was deliberately structured to maximize our time. On weekdays, breakfast was served by 7:00am, and by 7:45am everyone was in a van heading to work. Our driver, John, joyfully chauffeured my teaching partner, Craig, our interpreter, Daniel, and myself to the Magereza School, where we continued to rely on an equally dependable routine, starting with morning play.

We could always count on the first children trickling into the schoolyard just as we arrived. The morning games would revolve around the swing set at first. As more children arrived, the growing scrum would then engulf a nearby slide. Eventually, one of us would grab the jump ropes and soccer balls and the clammer of racing, chasing, and jumping would expand to all corners of the yard. When the clang of the old-fashioned triangle school bell sounded we’d gather up the kids and get them lined up to enter class as a group.

This was the Magereza morning:

Page 49: Tanzania - The CCS Lifestyle: Part Two

Wed, 11 Apr 2012 10:12:53 -0700

Never has a blank screen menaced me more than in recent weeks. The question of how to condense and share the bigness of my experience in Tanzania has deviled me. Writing what little I have has involved revisiting my journal, reviewing a thousand photographs, flipping through my old notepads, and recalling many overlapping memories. There are simply too many stories, observations, memorable people, and interesting moments to share. Composing a detailed essay about each would swallow me whole.

Page 48: Tanzania - The CCS Lifestyle

Thu, 5 Apr 2012 07:50:32 -0700

Living and working in Moshi was unforgettable, and the CCS compound was at the hub of the experience. Sharing it with a patchwork family of volunteers and staff made it – if only for a while – feel like home. Beyond its walls were the challenges and joys of Tanzania, the language and customs we did not know, and the volunteer work that we hoped might matter. Inside the walls we found safety, hospitality, and most importantly, friendship. The CCS compound was more than shelter, it was our school, our cafeteria, our game room, our conference center, a library, and most importantly, it was the safe place where you could process your experience alone or with fellow volunteers. For all its simplicity, and despite an occasional cold shower, or the loss of electricity, it offered every essential human need. In the finest hotel you would not find people that care for the property and its inhabitants with more dedication or pride. As I reflect on more than 30 countries I cannot think of a people with more concern for my well being than the Tanzanians. For a traveler, hospitality often represents a transaction, however in Tanzania – throughout Africa actually – it seemed like a personal matter. It’s humbling to be on the receiving end of that kind of kindness, especially in a place where material comforts are virtually nonexistent. More than humbling actually - for the transaction-minded, I’d say it was a lesson.

Page 47: Tanzania - The Magereza School

Sat, 21 Jan 2012 20:40:01 -0800

It’s difficult to trace my steps back to exactly where the idea of doing volunteer work came from. It feels like the notion had always been lying dormant inside of me – an unexpressed thought waiting for a release. Before arriving, all volunteers provide CCS with basic background information so that they can match your experience with needs in the community. I expected to be placed with an organization involved in micro-finance, or some other sort of economic development (things where I have real world experience). As it turned out, I was asked to teach at a school. Work with kids? “Okay, I can do that,” I thought to myself. The e-mail that held my assignment instructed me, amongst other things, to prepare for leading the class through lessons in basic mathematics and English vocabulary. Wait a minute… this isn’t a middle or high school. As I read further I learn that my placement is at a three-room elementary school… four, five, six, and seven year olds. On second thought, could I do this?

Page 46: Tanzania - Introduction to CCS and the "Man Cave"

Thu, 12 Jan 2012 10:29:05 -0800

I was told the accommodations would be modest. My expectations were met. Arriving at night left little time for questions or looking around. It was all about getting my room assignment, unpacking, and trying to sleep. I was already popping malaria pills for breakfast, and now it would be Ambien for dinner. The air was warm and dark… Africa dark. Everything outside the walls of the compound seemed cloaked in it. The inside was only slightly less mysterious. I would have to wait until morning to really see where I was. My bed – a bunk bed – was six inches short of ideal and draped by a mosquito net. Next to it I see a fan… three speeds, and an oscillation button – rapture! I put the fan on high then ducked under the mosquito net hoping that the trek towards tomorrow isn’t spent staring sleeplessly at the bunk above me. Honestly, when I saw my room I wasn’t sure if I could do it, but a month later I was wiping away tears when it was time for me to leave. This is where the story starts:

Page 45: Tanzania - Getting involved

Sat, 24 Dec 2011 16:16:57 -0800

John Steinbeck said, “people don’t take trips – trips take people.” I was about to learn what he meant. Leaving Mombasa would be the last time I felt fully in control of my path. From Brazil to Uruguay, Argentina, Chile, then South Africa to Kenya I had been at times both spontaneous and deliberate, like a conductor composing a symphony of experiences on terms he understood. But now everything was about to change. My attention to the richness of the observable world would shift inward. Arriving in Tanzania was like passing through a gentle portal where thought and curiosity gradually yielded to feeling. At first the change was imperceptible, then uncomfortable, and in the end, rewarding. There is a Chinese proverb that says:

Tell me, I forget.
Show me, I remember.
Involve me, I understand.

Involvement, as apposed to analysis, changed how the inside of me related to the world that I was so interested in learning about. It’s no coincidence that this is the period when I stopped sharing my trip through the blog in favor of living it just for myself. Now reflecting back, telling my stories through these essays, I hope that I have the capacity to describe it well, and the courage to express the emotions. By the time I got to Tanzania I had been gone long enough to escape the gravitational pull of my old life, everything was different, and it would remain so from this point forward. Mr. Steinbeck had it exactly right.

Page 44: Kenya - Mr. Omondi and the “Nairobbery” Detour

Thu, 15 Dec 2011 12:28:50 -0800

What do you do with a four-hour layover? My flight from Mombasa to Nairobi was short (no more than an hour). My next flight to Kilimanjaro International (yes, that airport exists) would be about the same. I would spend more time waiting for flights today than actually flying. I didn’t want to wait in the airport though. Nairobi was within reach so I thought that I should definitely have a look around…

Page 43: Kenya - Final Footnotes from Mombasa

Thu, 8 Dec 2011 11:50:27 -0800

On my last day in Mombasa I succumbed to the isolated paradise of my hotel. For someone like me, who doesn’t like the sun, the palm-shaded lawn above the beach represented perfection. I found a cluster of palms and a cool ocean breeze where I alternated between napping and studying basic conversational Swahili. Tomorrow I would be off to Moshi, a small town at the foot of Mt. Kilimanjaro in northern Tanzania to fulfill a commitment to do volunteer work. My assignment: teaching basic math and English vocabulary to children. I was excited to get started on the next chapter of my trip. Staring at the ocean I luxuriated in self-congratulatory thoughts about embarking on yet another one-way trip to a new country with no set departure date. I had seen and done so much already (improvising all along the way) that my confidence lulled me into an unwarranted calm about the job ahead. There was no way to know what living and working in Moshi would be like, but I imagined myself meeting any challenge and relished the opportunity to make a contribution. My self-assurance was totally idiotic. I understood nothing about where I was going or about the things I would feel once there. I was completely naïve about the depth of the experience waiting for me. What I didn’t know was that the most important time in my journey was about to begin… but I shouldn’t jump ahead in the story. On this day there was still time for daydreaming, and still plenty of time for blissfully not knowing what I didn’t know.

Page 42: Kenya - The Tale of Mtawali and Kambi

Sat, 5 Nov 2011 14:39:29 -0700

Dusk had turned to night by the time I swam back to the beach and dried myself off. A couple of local guys approached me trying to sell wood carved key chains depicting Kenyan wild life. They introduced themselves with English-friendly names: Daniel and Mufasa. Daniel? Mufasa? I asked to know what their real names were, which they shared without hesitation: Mtawali and Kambi. We shared a laugh over Kambi choosing to use the name “Mufasa” from The Lion King. I found it interesting how aware he was of The Lion King’s cultural reach in America.

Page 41: Kenya - Exploring Mombasa II

Wed, 2 Nov 2011 14:19:28 -0700

Continuing my day in Mombasa with some images from the water front near Old Town:

Page 40: Kenya - Exploring Mombasa

Mon, 24 Oct 2011 23:10:21 -0700

When you’re near the equator the sun feels like a heat lamp above your head that you can’t escape from under. The sun just follows you down the street as if some cosmic prankster is shining it directly at you. I grew up in Las Vegas so I understand hot, but this is something else. The level of humidity is just weird. It’s like inhaling steam. Tiny beads of sweat condensed like dew on the hair of my arms. My clothing clung to me with every move. It was like walking through oatmeal. I can’t even imagine what it felt like to the women wearing burqas. The heat added to the inhospitable energy that I sometimes felt. Mombasa is exotic and edgy, which is a polite way of saying it’s strange and a little dangerous. Exploring the narrow streets brought to mind Charlie Munger’s humorous quip about wanting to know where he was going to die, so that he would know never to go there. I felt eyes on me at every turn – it’s the sort of thing that keeps you alert in a not relaxing way. Looking around I imagined the city unknowingly hosting a cadre of clandestine intelligence officers from competing governments. In the downtown district I’d see the name of a shipping company or commodity trading outfit on a door and think what a perfect front that would make for the CIA. The city just has that sort of feel about it. If a Bond villain from Mombasa doesn’t already exist, he needs to be written.

Page 39: Kenya - Two Worlds

Wed, 19 Oct 2011 11:47:23 -0700

I woke slowly - drifting in and out, lazily rolling side to side. My face was creased and my eyes moist. The night before, I arrived in darkness, drunk with exhaustion. I wanted to stay in bed but I knew that my driver, Abdalla, was coming to pick me up soon. Mombasa was out there to see, but the urge to stay put was strong. Looking out my patio I saw what I couldn’t see last night: the grounds of a beautiful beach resort inviting me to spend the day. After a long journey from South Africa, topped off by an anxious arrival, my room, and this hotel, felt like a sanctuary. I was straddling two worlds: the pampered and secure one inside the compound of my beachside hotel, and the genuine Kenya beyond its walls. I knew what I was going to do all along: get my ass out of bed and go see Mombasa. As comfortable as I was, my curiosity was way too strong for me to spend the day lounging. I dragged myself into the bathroom, stepped in the spacious shower, and revived myself under luxuriously “first-world” water pressure.

Page 38: Kenya - Throwing a dart at the map.

Wed, 5 Oct 2011 15:07:58 -0700

It’s 11:00pm… what’s with the traffic? Why aren’t we moving? I’m trying to figure it out but I don’t say anything to my driver. I’m exhausted; it’s taking everything I have to stay alert. Ahead I see a truck blocking the road, and beside it – unconcerned with the cars backed up behind them – a few men stand in discussion. From a full stop my driver makes a hard right onto a road I hadn’t even noticed was there. It’s dark, no streetlights… he makes another turn with the conviction of someone who knows where he’s going. I pray he does. I’m certain he does actually; if I’m at risk, it isn’t because of him not knowing. Occasionally I glimpse evidence of a community in the darkness; another car will pass or a small house or building appears, but it still feels remote. Everything outside my window is a complete mystery. I don’t even think “Google Maps” would know where I am.

Page 37: South Africa - Brasfort Park

Tue, 20 Sep 2011 16:36:28 -0700

A brief story:

In 1877 a young Englishman named John Mapstone arrived in South Africa. He was only 20 years old but already a veteran of long sea voyages. John and his three brothers had originally traveled to post civil war America, but for reasons unknown (maybe the economic depression following the panic of 1873) they would return to England. They ventured out again though, this time setting their sites on South Africa. There they found a new life, and in just four years John managed to buy a farm. It was called Brasfort Park and it was situated in the lush country halfway between Durban and what is today the Kingdom of Lethoso. John married and in 1893 had a son; they named him Leonard Forest Mapstone. Leonard grew up on the farm and eventually took over Brasfort Park. Leonard then started a family of his own. His son, John Alexander Mapstone, was born to the 20th century and would spend his life on the farm as well. Following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather John Alexander would raise his own family there. His son, Peter Mapstone, runs the farm today, and is raising the 5th generation of Mapstones on the land his great-grandfather bought 130 years ago.

Page 36: South Africa - Heading Into Unseen Corners.

Tue, 23 Aug 2011 15:24:09 -0700

Who doesn’t wake up excited on the day of a trip? I do. Cape Town had surpassed my expectations, but now my expectations had shifted elsewhere. It was time to move on. I had made some big decisions about the path ahead... decisions that would take me much deeper into Africa very soon, but in the meantime, I had one more stop to make in South Africa. I didn’t want to think too far ahead. South Africa had been good to me so far, and there was more of it to savor before leaving. I was about to trade the hum of the city for the rare opportunity to live in rural South Africa for a few days. Now all I had to do was find my way there.

Page 35: South Africa - Satisfying Yesterdays...

Tue, 16 Aug 2011 13:04:10 -0700

When my days in Cape Town were through I felt an equal measure of excitement for the path ahead and satisfaction in the experience that had just passed. I suppose that’s how one would always hope to feel. Tomorrow should excite us without disengaging the brain from the present as we steadily accumulate satisfying yesterdays. That was my thought when I went to bed on my final night in Cape Town. The city and the entire Cape Peninsula had given me so many satisfying yesterdays to remember. In the morning I’d be on the move again… a plane to Durban and then a drive into rural South Africa where my next hosts awaited me.

Page 34: South Africa - Prisoner 466/64

Fri, 12 Aug 2011 11:48:05 -0700

I was in high school the first time I heard of Nelson Mandela or about apartheid in South Africa. The imprisonment of an opposition political figure in a far away country was, and is, an abstraction. It’s difficult for most of us to relate to that sort of hopelessness and injustice. Today Robben Island is a museum. People from all over the world visiting Cape Town line up for the limited amount of tickets for the ferry out there. I wondered why so many go. I wondered why I wanted to go. The experience is solemn, and sometimes tedious. The island is bleak; the grounds of the prison are monotonous and dingy. Guides share the shady history, telling the stories of those that came. You see the tiny cells, the shabby facilities. How does someone face the impossibly grim prospect of living out their life behind these walls? What would my world look like if my ideas were a crime? And that’s precisely why you come, to ask the questions, to stare it in the face, to chip away at the abstraction of it all. It’s a chance to relate to experiences you’ll never know, and to be inspired by people who faced it, especially the man who came out the other side to promote reconciliation between the races as President of South Africa. Your own troubles shrink in a place like Robben Island. Here are the scenes from my day:

Page 33: South Africa - Road Trip to “The Cape”

Mon, 1 Aug 2011 13:16:11 -0700

I woke up excited that morning. It was an idyllic blue-sky day, and I knew – even before it started – that it was going to be memorable. What is it about a road trip that stirs us… the adventure, the self-reliance, the freedom? The promise of the road creates a sense of anticipation even on well-worn paths, and a thrill on unfamiliar ones. No matter how much you map it out its always an improvisation. And in the end there’s the reward trigger of completion, perhaps even triumph. But as its often said, “getting there” is better than the destination itself. My destination on this day, the Cape of Good Hope, had me pretty pumped up, but true to life “getting there” was indeed the best part. Here’s how it all came together:

Page 32: South Africa - Arriving in Cape Town

Tue, 26 Jul 2011 16:55:05 -0700

Judi was very nice on the phone. I called her from the taxi to let her know that I was on my way. She and her husband Eben had just brought home their newborn son Max, and now they were welcoming a stranger as a houseguest. As my cab climbed the hilly streets of their neighborhood I began to wonder if they were regretting the decision to do this. And who would blame them? If I was adjusting to life with a newborn baby I don’t know that my appetite for a houseguest would be high. Especially one I had never met… a “friend-in-law” so to speak. Under the circumstances, Judi and Eben’s graciousness was remarkable to me. I couldn’t have asked for better hosts. They were smart, and had a relaxed welcoming demeanor that greased the wheels of conversation. A young educated upwardly mobile couple who was starting a family had a lot to offer their curious guest about culture, business, politics, and social issues in South Africa. Both are athletes, former members of South Africa’s respective national men and women’s water hockey teams, giving them the additional perspective gained from traveling around the world competing. Eben was even able to share impressions with me about living in New York for a bit. The dinner party they hosted during the week was an added bonus. It afforded me the opportunity to meet some of their great friends. On occasion if Max was fussy, Judi might apologize for his cry, but the way I saw it, I was at his house, he wasn’t at mine. And besides, he was awesome. Max even ventured out with us to a fun waterfront restaurant on my last night in town and got through it like a champ. I was so appreciative once again for the privilege to spend my days with a South African family at home. To Eben, Judi and Max: thank you so much for sharing your life. I truly hope to see you again.

Page 31: South Africa - Braai, Boerewors, Koeksister... Huh?

Thu, 21 Jul 2011 18:17:35 -0700

In 2007 I read an article in the New York Times about “couch surfers” – an online social network where people were meeting each other through travel. The idea is to experience a cultural exchange by hosting travelers at your home, or by requesting an invitation to stay at someone else’s home when you are traveling. For a business traveler like me, it was impractical to even consider it back then, and yet I was deeply intrigued by the authentic experience one might be able to achieve if they opened their mind and embraced an unconventional idea like this. When I was preparing for my sabbatical a friend from Boston had reminded me of the couch surfing site, and a powerful idea took root. Rather than finding anonymous hosts, what if I asked my existing network of friends to make introductions on my behalf? I could just as easily find the authenticity I hoped for by staying with people with whom I already shared a connection. I wanted to spend time in

Page 30: Brazil/South Africa - A One-way Ticket

Sat, 20 Nov 2010 17:58:03 -0800

What a sensation… what a thing to feed the imagination – a one-way ticket to Africa. Knowing that I would arrive there without a flight booked to leave was exhilarating. Naturally I had some ideas about what I wanted to do, and certainly I had made some essential arrangements, but for the most part I was going to follow my curiosity through Africa and see where it led me. When to leave would remain an open question. On the morning of my flight to Sao Paulo (where I would connect to Johannesburg) I felt the nervous excitement of the first day of a new school year. Living in Brazil had been all about me. Understanding where I came from and who I might have been had I never left. It was graduate level work on the self. Going to Africa represented the opposite. I wanted to dive into the vast unknown, stretch my mind, and meet new people. As Henry Miller suggested, I wanted to forget myself. I had no idea how much I would do just that.

Page 29: Brazil - Goodbye Porto Alegre

Fri, 19 Nov 2010 00:00:00 -0800

Time is what I think about. The unknowable calculus between how much of it I’ve wasted and how much I’ve used well, and naturally, how much I have left. A few months into the journey – on these final days in Brazil – my internal metronome has finally changed the rate at which it marks time. For years the financial markets set the tempo of my day – the tyranny of the opening bell, the scrum of the final hour of trading, and then Asia throughout the night. Suddenly it’s so different. Time goes by without the markers that previously informed me of what I should be thinking about. Nobody is waiting for my call, and nobody has me in their calendar. I sleep when I’m tired, and wake when rested. If I make plans I remember them in my head. Wednesday feels the same as Saturday. If not for the day yielding to night I might hardly sense the change in time at all. A weekday afternoon in the park is where I feel it most. Without anywhere to be, I read and I think in what seems like a private retreat – nobody is around, the playground is still. I turn pages of a book, entertain childish daydreams, and think about what I might have for lunch. Sometimes I wonder where the “S&P” or 10-year Treasury is trading, and astonish myself that I don’t actually know or really care anymore. It’s as if I’m playing hooky from the compulsory demands of the world. And in essence, I am... happily. I accomplished everything I wanted living in Porto Alegre and in a few days I would be on a plane for Africa. The mystery ahead coaxes my attention away from fully reflecting on my days here. I’m grateful that I’ll have the time to do that later though, for now I say thank you and goodbye to Porto Alegre.

Page 28: Brazil - Gre-Nal

Thu, 18 Nov 2010 16:56:06 -0800

I’ve been to the Superbowl. I’ve been to the World Series. I’ve been center court at Wimbledon and the U.S. Open. I’ve seen Michael Jordan dunk, Tiger Woods putt, and Wayne Gretzky score. I’ve had the privilege of attending lots of amazing sporting events. Yet my long held goal of experiencing the passion and energy of a Brazilian soccer match remained unrealized. Settling down in Brazil for a few months made it certain that I would realize that dream. But it wasn’t just any match that interested me. My aim was to witness a game between the two professional clubs that represent the city where I was born, Porto Alegre. On one side of town you have the blue and black of Grêmio Foot-Ball Porto Alegrense, known as “Grêmio,” and on the other side of town, with a stadium on the edge of the river, you have the red-shirted Sport Club Internacional, referred to as “Inter.” The storied rivalry between these two clubs is so tightly woven into the cultural fabric of southern Brazil that a game between the two has its own name, “Gre-Nal” (Gremio vs. Internacional). It began in 1909 when representatives from the newly formed “Sport Club Internacional” approached officials from the more established Grêmio about playing a match. Grêmio showed the upstart club no respect and proposed fielding their back-up team against them. The reps from Internacional insisted on a game against Grêmio’s starters, to which Grêmio’s board eventually agreed. Grêmio so thoroughly dismantled Internacional 10-0 in that first game that it birthed a grudge that is now 102 years old.

Page 27: Brazil - Gramado

Wed, 17 Nov 2010 12:13:56 -0800

Most people associate Brazil with sunny beaches, Samba rhythm, and, of course, Carnaval. The mind tends to coalesce around familiar ideas, which is why stereotypes cement so easily. However, in any country there are places that defy the conventional ideas people hold of it. It’s the same everywhere. What is America? Is it Salt Lake City or is it New York City… is it California or is it Alabama? The answer is “yes” – it’s all of it. Similarly, there isn’t just one Brazil. From the Amazon Basin, to Bahia, to Copacabana, to Rio Grande do Sul, the different accents, expressions, and cultural traditions all represent pieces of what Brazil is. Really knowing a place involves viewing it through a genuine prism that reflects every shade of that place. That’s what traveling is all about. Henry Miller said, “One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” And that’s been my mission: seeing things in a new way – especially here, in the country of my birth, and in the language of my parents and grandparents.

One of those places that challenges the stereotype of what’s Brazilian is just two hours north of Porto Alegre. Nestled amongst the high pines, lakes, and cool air of the Gaucho Mountains sits the small resort town of Gramado. Known for its numerous chocolate factories, Gramado could pass for an alpine village in Europe. The food, architecture, and culture carry the echo of the Italians and Germans who settled this part of Brazil in the 19th Century. The town is a popular destination for Brazilian families looking to escape the city. Gramado has the picturesque charm perfect for weddings or a romantic getaway. The town hosts film, culinary, and music festivals throughout the year. Visiting reminded me of Aspen or Park City in the summer. It’s not at all what outsiders imagine or expect to find in Brazil, but for those looking for “a new way of seeing things” it’s exactly the kind of spot to seek out.

Page 26: Brazil - Business Tourism Part 3: Caxias do Sul

Mon, 15 Nov 2010 12:45:03 -0800

In my continuing effort to get a sense of the business climate in Southern Brazil I took a two-hour road trip to Caxias do Sul, the second largest city in the state behind Porto Alegre. “Caxias” sits in the mountainous Serra Gaúcha region mostly settled by Italian immigrants in the late 19th century. Not surprisingly, numerous vineyards and wineries define the cultural identity of the area. Additionally, the Italian-Brazilians who live in the region have a reputation for entrepreneurism and hard work. Indeed Caxias do Sul is well recognized as a manufacturing and export hub. I attended an industrial trade show to have a look at some of the companies who are providing new manufacturing technology and addressing infrastructure needs. Walking around a trade show is a great way of sleuthing for information about business conditions, competitors, and product innovation. Talking to the salesman and company reps working the floor of a trade show often yields a perspective that you don’t get from higher-level executives. Four years ago at this particular trade show there were around 200 exhibitors; this year there were nearly 700. You would have to know almost nothing else to get an accurate sense of which direction Brazil’s manufacturing base was heading. I pocketed a lot of notes on this field trip – it felt like being back at work, and I admit that it made me miss my work a little.

Page 25: Brazil - Business Tourism: Part 2

Sun, 14 Nov 2010 11:30:25 -0800

The advantages of being a good listener are plain, but for the business curious it’s also the lifeblood of opportunity. The expressed preferences of the people around you are like breadcrumbs in a forest of ideas. Shortly after settling in the Moinhos de Vento neighborhood in Porto Alegre I was told that I “must try” the ice-cream cake at a small café and bakery called Torta de Sorvete, which literally means “Ice Cream Cake.” I took the recommendation seriously. Anyone who would appropriate the noun that describes his or her product and use it as the name of their business has got to be serious about being good.

Page 24: Brazil - Business Tourism: Part 1

Sat, 13 Nov 2010 18:31:47 -0800

I used to visit companies as part of my professional life, that’s where the name of this blog comes from. Almost more than anything, I enjoy talking to people who start and/or manage businesses (of any size). I like their take on things, I’m interested in where they see opportunity, and I like their passion and sincerity. Business is largely the prism through which I learn about the world. Commerce touches every subject so my curiosity about a topic is often only sated after I understand the commercial angle. I was especially keen to do this on a grassroots level in Brazil where I think the economic opportunities are large. As the case with Claiton at Dometila Café, I tried to get to know the small business owners in the neighborhood. As I looked around I saw more new business formation in Brazil than I thought I would. Ironically, while the behavior I observed reflected a lot of optimism, in conversation locals questioned the sustainability of the growth. It reminded me of my experience in Macau in 2002-04 just before and after gaming concessions were granted to outside companies (which broke the gambling monopoly of Stanley Ho). There was a tremendous amount of optimistic behavior measured by business formation and capital deployment, and yet on the ground, locals strongly questioned the sustainability of the growth. Often times the closer you are to something the harder it is to see – it’s the outsider who sometime sees things insiders cannot. I found that true in Macau, and I think there might be some of that in Brazil too. Brazil’s history of economic underperformance, and in particular, the years of hyperinflation have left many Brazilians understandably skeptical. Compounding the doubt is the existence of a massive underclass and the very serious crime problem that comes with it. Poking fun at the government (and themselves) has been so commonplace in Brazil that it seems to me that the people have a hard time articulating an optimistic narrative about the country, even as their choices reflect one. In one example I had dinner with a highly educated upwardly mobile couple in their late 20’s who told me that they were seriously considering leaving Brazil, principally because of the crime that they have to constantly protect against (and have been victims of). He works in the tech field, and she is an English teacher – smart, interesting… precisely the kind of people the country needs. However, both had serious concerns about Brazil’s future. Interestingly, at dinner he was excited to share with me that he was accepting a new position with a global consumer technology company expanding in Brazil (the company: Apple Inc.). So for now they are keeping their chips on the table and betting on Brazil.

I was impressed with the volume of entrepreneurialism and upward mobility that I encountered living in Porto Alegre. It was easy to find people who had left jobs to start small businesses or who were thinking about it. Improbably, even as I was contemplating these trends and considering writing about it, a member of my own family in Brazil approached his employer about pursuing an independent business idea. Despite some clear problems in the country, Brazilians are advancing themselves. With inflation bridled, a genuine consumer class on the rise, and strong private property rights – not to mention a commodity based economy in a world consuming more resources – Brazil has all the fundamentals to keep moving in the right direction. Below is a small sampling of the people and small businesses strengthening Brazil’s future:

Page 23: Brazil - Dometila Café

Thu, 11 Nov 2010 16:57:54 -0800

What makes a restaurant special? The standard prerequisites are delicious food, first-rate service, and great atmosphere, but what makes a spot truly memorable is personality. When I walked into Dometila Café for the first time I knew that this place was all about personality. I had barely stepped inside when a casually dressed guy with a sly closed-mouth grin stepped from behind the bar and tossed a handful of rose petals over my head. It was impossible to not smile and accept an invitation to sit for a drink after that sort of reception. I took a small table on the sidewalk next to the wide-open double doors, which contribute to the feeling that the inside of the café and the sidewalk outside are one space. The perpetrator of the whimsical Rip Taylor-like welcome was Dometila’s owner Claiton Franzen. Picking up on my American accent, Claiton swiftly joined me at my table to satisfy his curiosity about this newcomer.

Page 22: Brazil - Home Sweet Home... well, sort of.

Wed, 10 Nov 2010 14:47:48 -0800

There’s no easy way back to Porto Alegre from Santiago. What should be a two-hour flight is a day-killer because of the absence of direct flights. The only single-carrier option forces you to make a lengthy connection through Sao Paulo. Instead I took a seemingly out of place “Air Canada” flight back to Buenos Aires where enough direct flights to Porto Alegre exist to make it the faster – if slightly costlier – option. I couldn’t wait to get back. I missed Porto Alegre and knew that my time there was running out. One of the principle objectives of my sabbatical was to get to know Porto Alegre, the city of my birth. Cities turn me on and I like collecting experiences in them. I like that I know my way around Hong Kong and Paris, or that I have a favorite restaurant in Rio de Janeiro. I take pride in knowing my way around. It always felt like a shortcoming that I didn’t know much about the city where I was born. Although, by the time I boarded the flight back to Porto Alegre it really felt like I was going home. For the prior two months I had begun to develop the relationship with Porto Alegre that I always wanted. I had walked the streets, shopped in the stores, enjoyed the parks, and met the people. From day one I dove head first into the experience of living there. I was a regular at a neighborhood café, I went to the theater, attended sporting events, played tennis, made friends, saw family, and of course, enjoyed my favorite restaurants. I was excited to get back to the life I had created, but the temporary nature of that life made me feel hurried about getting back there.

I walked out of the airport terminal in the best mood. It was a perfect evening. The sun, minutes from setting, made the sky glow. I hopped in one the city’s distinctive blood-orange taxis and headed home. Speaking Portuguese, and being understood, after nearly 2 weeks of stumbling through Spanish, was so satisfying. Equally satisfying was knowing the route back to my apartment – I could’ve driven myself. That night I took a walk to the local market to buy some groceries. I had a smile on my face and a confident stride. I thought about all that I had done, and all that still remained in front of me. In three weeks it would be over and I’d be on a one-way flight to Africa. But until then, it was thrilling to feel so at home here.

Page 21: Chile - 36 Hours in Santiago

Tue, 9 Nov 2010 20:41:36 -0800

Every Sunday in the travel section of the New York Times there is a column called “36 hours in insert city name” that suggests a list of things to do if you only have a day and a half to spend in a particular city. When I woke up that Saturday morning in Santiago the “36 hour in…” column from the “Times” popped into my mind. I had been in Chile for roughly 12 hours and I had 24 hours left before my flight back to Brazil. With a third of my time already gone I wanted to get up early to take on the day. On the surface if seems like a mistake to fly into a new city when cornered by the clock. Yes and no. Countless times I’ve gone someplace on business and tacked on a free day to have a look around. If you’re by yourself and free of negotiation or compromise then you can get a lot done. The irony is that I did end up spending most of the day with someone (more on that later). There wasn’t any good reason for my hurried pace; no reason to treat my day in Santiago like free time at the end of a business trip. There was nowhere I had to be. I could have stayed as long as I liked. The truth is I was eager to get back to my flat in Brazil. I was already uneasy over the fact that I had only 3 weeks left in South America before I was scheduled to leave for Africa and I wanted to spend it in Brazil. I couldn’t push Africa back. I had made commitments in South Africa with local hosts. Not to mention a larger commitment sitting out in front of me in Tanzania… but I’m jumping ahead. Santiago was waiting for me.

Breakfast would hardly merit mention if it wasn’t for my fidgety smiley-faced waiter Rodrigo. The sight of a city map wedged between my cup of coffee and plate of eggs pushes his start button.

“Where are you from” he says.

“The United States” I tell him.

Page 20: Chile - Santiago, should I or shouldn’t I?

Mon, 8 Nov 2010 15:33:39 -0800

I was enjoying Buenos Aires so much that on my last night there I started thinking about shelving the next leg of my trip in favor of staying for the coming weekend. I had booked a Friday morning flight to Santiago to have a quick look around the city before returning to Brazil Sunday morning. Like an insane person trying to drink from a fire hose, I allocated a 36-hour window of time to get in and out of Chile. I’ll admit that the only reason I was going there was to satisfy some vague long-held curiosity about Santiago. Ironically, the way I planned it ensured that I couldn’t possibly have the time to fully satisfy that curiosity – but then, maybe I could? I’m more of a pragmatist than a time optimist, but I decided to get on that plane anyway.