Every now and then a girl deserves a lazy day to herself. Today is definitely one of those days. J Considering the adventures of yesterday, I can only say that I deserve a day of lounging in the air-conditioned lobby of Farah, writing in my journal, catching up on email, and planning the next adventure – all to the background of Else and her boyfriend chatting in Dutch, smoking cigarettes, and playing cards. It’s a good life.
SO! Yesterday I woke up at 0515 for a drive down the King’s Highway to Petra! As I rolled over on my small cot, I groaned at Deanna (my newest roommate) that it was time to get up. Fortunately, a spectacular waning Ramadan moon, shining through our window, rewarded our efforts. We caught the JETT bus and rode for 3 hours to Petra. Hopping off the bus at around 10am, it was already incredibly hot as Deanna and I bought our entrance tickets (for a shocking $33JDs…approx. $50USD each). Admittedly, the fees are used for park maintenance, and given that Petra is one of the seven ancient “wonders of the world,” I suppose that it’s definitely a worthy cause to support…
Immediately, as we descended into the Siq, we were met by colorful mineral patterns, carved façades smoothly eroded by time, and cool shadows that escaped the desert sun’s pervasive rays. Thousands of years ago, the Siq was the grand “highway” in which visitors entered the city of Petra. The place has an aura of mystery to it, and I let my mind wander, imagining the fanfare of a Nabatean King, marching through the natural stony passage, and returning to his people. But as much as Deanna and I admired the passage itself, it was emerging out of the Siq into the sunlight with the famous Treasury in front of us that was truly impressive. As our eyes adjusted to the brightness, we admired the full splendor of a structure that, protected from the elements, is a grand Hellenistic style tomb meant for King Aretas III in 100 BC. However, the monument gains its nickname as the “Treasury” when an Egyptian pharaoh, in pursuit of Israelites, stopped to stash his riches in a secretive and secure location along the way. I am just so enthralled to be surrounded by so much history! It’s mind boggling to think of the magnitude of the time spectrum, and all that Petra has witnessed in stony silence – from the peak of a great civilization, to its inevitable deterioration. Deanna and I, after snapping some shots, peeled our eyes away and continued onward.
As we were exploring the numerous other structures throughout Petra, we were inundated by polite but persistent children selling postcards, and even more offers of donkey and camel rides to take up to the Monastery (“I give you good price!”). However, while hiking up the Royal Tombs, we were approached by Yasser and Ghani, two Bedouins who decided the best way to convince us was to match our pace, make conversation, and finally to appeal to our thirst. “Ah, you come for tea! Come, come!” Having heard of the deliciousness of Bedouin tea, Deanna and I readily accepted and followed them up into the cliffs. Deanna and Ghani, and Yasser and I paired up haphazardly, and sat down on a small carpet chatting, sipping the sweet, somewhat spicy tea, and exchanging stories. Our friendship bloomed quickly. Deanna and I even got nicknames. ;) I was nicknamed “warda” meaning flower, and Deanna was nicknamed “ganar” meaning moon. Yasser said he named me “warda” because I apparently am “blooming” with life. Along with the arm brushes and verbal flattery, Yasser was incredibly flirty, but I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy playing along. He was a very nice boy, probably around 16 or 17, and kept playing with his headscarf. He was slender with a delicate bone structure, and beautifully tan from a life lived completely outdoors. His dark eyes were outlined with a thin trace of charcoal to help protect them from the menacing sand that swirled up with the warm afternoon breeze.
After savoring a good three cups of tea, we got up and walked back down to where Yasser and Ghani left their donkeys. At that point, noticing the time (or lack thereof), it took little persuasion to get me on a donkey. Besides, being a horse girl, I wanted to know what these fuzzy stubborn creatures would feel like to ride. At Yasser’s request, I hopped on his donkey (that he named “Michael Jackson” because of his speckled black and white coat, haha!), and began the long trek up to the Monastery. Half-way up, after driving M.J up the trail, Yasser proceeded to hop on in front of me, and we rode double the rest of the way. At first I was surprised, and somewhat embarrassed. I didn’t know what to hold onto when we were taking the really steep parts of the trail! As much as I would have been okay with it, I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to wrap my arms around his middle or hang onto his shoulders. I resolved instead to take the safe ground and just squeeze tight with my thighs and calves and keep myself deep in the stirrups, which is what a good horsewoman would do anyways. ;) I was definitely worried about how our close body contact would draw attention though. But of course, Yasser was totally fine with it, if not completely satisfied with himself for being able to practically spoon upright next to a blonde American girl. I could just tell by the way he gloated as we walked by his other donkey-guiding Bedouin buddies! To be honest, it was kind of cute.
As we crested the final hill to the summit, and I took in the incredible view, my excited proclamations made Yasser laugh and poke fun at me, especially making fun of my accent. He then proceeded to move M.J forward until we were within inches of the edge of the cliff, and I was trying really hard not to freak out while my head was spinning. “Do you trust me?” he asked, playfully. “Do you?” It was SO far down! But then, looking up to the horizon, we could see the Promised Land through the haze. Absolutely beautiful. “Of course I do,” I said somewhat nervously. “Well then close your eyes, and open your heart,” he said softly and he put out his arms out like wings, gesturing me to follow, and let out a loud “ayyyyyha!” As we listened to the echoes reverberate across the canyons, my heart was pounding, but I couldn’t stop grinning.
After a short break on the cliff top in which we shared some pita (Bedouins rarely practice Ramadan…the hard living conditions with the heat and hard labor make it nigh impossible), we remounted and the four of us started back down the trail. We stopped off at the Monastery on the way down, and I met an amazing little girl named Taman. I picked her out sitting at the opening of the Monastery by her red sweatshirt, sitting there, bored and swinging her legs off the side of the elevated entrance. Once she saw Yasser and I approaching however, she immediately perked up and went into high profile business mode. The transformation was incredible. Climbing up next to her, she peppered me with all kinds of questions about myself. When it was my turn to ask questions, her dark eyes flashed and readily told me that she was 12 years old, and would I like a beautiful turquoise necklace to match my eyes? Taman emanated intelligence, and she had a spark that I hadn’t seen from any other somber Jordanian children that had been forced to grow up too quickly. I immediately loved this fiery little girl, and decided to take a look at the necklaces she was selling. Seeing one that I actually liked, I bought it for $6 dinar and asked to take a picture with her. She happily obliged, proceeding to masterfully snatch my camera from my hand, set it on an automatic timer (which MOM doesn’t even know how to do...love you anyways Mom, haha!), and run back to us with a smile on her face. While the picture itself turned out blurry, Taman’s spunk will be hard to forget. Before we left, Taman reached for me and draped another necklace around my neck as a gift. Refusing to take it, I tried to give it back but Taman would have none of it. Thus, trying to amend my conscious, I made her a deal. “Tell you what,” I said. “I take this necklace and bring you back a watch like the one of mine that you were admiring. Shake on it?” I asked, extending my hand. And smiling, Taman replied, “Deal!” I now must request Mom to send me a $10 sports watch from Target. I couldn’t be more pleased. :)
The descent down the mountain was fast, and I got many compliments from various passing Bedouin about my horsemanship and my ability to keep my seat despite Yasser pushing M.J rapidly down the steep steps with harsh, fairly brutal smacks of his switch. I was invited for more tea, but had to decline due to the dwindling time. I was even lured to a stop with an offer to hold a puppy. You know what they say; baby animals are the perfect chick magnets, ha! When we reached the bottom, Yasser invited us back to his house in the village. Exchanging glances, Deanna and I accepted, but had to decline his next offer to put us up for the night. Apparently there was going to be a wedding celebration that night, but as cool as it would have been to observe the festivities, Deanna had to be back in Amman to catch her flight home.
So now, time to grab a Coke and think about uploading pictures to Facebook…or maybe even Skype home, ha! ;)
coverphoto
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Settling In
Today was an AMAZING day. After a lazy morning spent hanging out with Monica watching a terribly old episode of The O.C. on TV, and repacking my bags for the second time in 12 hours (I wasn’t thinking logically the first time, ha), I went down to have breakfast and ended up talking with this Italian guy…his name is eluding me at the moment. Anyways, nice guy, but he kind of hogged the conversation. It was mostly fine with me because to be honest, I didn’t feel like being social yet. J But after an hour or so, we went about our days, I think mostly contented with the quality of the other’s company and conversation subjects (religion, middle eastern history, future travel plans…the usual, lol).
I then went back up to my room to make plans for the day. It’s nice to have the luxury of time to play with, and not feel like I have to cram everything into 2-3 days. I think that’s one of the things I like most about living abroad. You can slow down enough to truly understand the vibe and rhythm of a place; that you don’t get caught up with the checklist of things to see and do. It’s generally a much nicer experience.
In any case, as I was up in my room, flipping through my Lonely Planet book and sewing my backpack together for the second time (soon to be third), a guy from the hotel staff came in to tidy the place up. We ended up talking together for a while…about how as a Palestinian he came to Jordan for urgent medical care a couple years ago and is now not allowed back into Jerusalem. All alone and separated by his family, he will most likely never see his true home again, and only his wife and son on rare occasions. He tells me he works to survive, as being an immigrant to Jordan, he is legally limited from pursuing certain job opportunities or careers. Thus, instead of being able to work with what he is qualified or trained to do, he must be a menial laborer in a cheap hotel, dealing with annoying backpackers from around the world. He’ll never be able to even consider buying a car, house, or other common luxuries that most Jordanians enjoy. But most of all, he wants to know why. Why he is banned from returning home. Why he has witnessed Israeli soldiers kill young children. Why his mother, breaking long nationwide house arrest to pick grapes needed to feed her starving family, was shot in the back by a soldier perched in a neighbors open window. Why President Obama continues to support Israel when so many injustices have been committed. All points well taken. However, he is Palestinian. In the back of my mind I couldn’t help but think: haven’t Palestinians also wrought terror upon the helpless? Haven’t both sides engaged in equally horrendous acts of violence and political tyranny? Can anyone EVER justify their cause against another when they too have oppressed the “other”?
With these thoughts swirling in my head, I left Farah Hotel for an afternoon of walking the city. I wandered Amman for a little over 3 hours, which for being a city built on many hills, can actually be a pretty good hike! J Amman is really incredible, with narrow avenues splintering across the city, steep stairways tucked into back alleys, and mosques sitting at the top of every couple hills in view.
I did two big loops today. One making my way from Farah Hotel to Rainbow St., and circling back to the hotel and walking out to the Roman theater (which I ended up passing by because I was so incredibly thirsty the only thing I could think about was getting some water! I will go back tomorrow though). Because I was out walking right after noon, hardly anyone was out and about, so I got to really explore without feeling uncomfortable or rude in my curiosity. Plus, it’s Ramadan which means that Muslims can’t eat, drink, smoke, or have sex between sunrise and sundown. In a Jordan summer, that is one hell of a long day, especially when it’s so hot! I don’t know how people go without drinking water or anything. I tried to go as long as possible during my hike without water, but didn’t last very long despite my lukewarm constitution…
Tonight was the cherry and chocolate sauce on top that made this day a highlight. Feeling a bit lonely, I decided to knock on the door of the Brits in the neighboring room. Turns out Jeremy and Chris, two brothers from Oxford, were game to go out to dinner, so the three of us left Farah together in search of grub. Having only walked a few steps down the alley outside of our hotel room, we were hailed down by a man we came to know as Shawki and he sat us down right off the street to share his Ramadan dinner of curries, chicken, saffron rice, and the famously sour middle eastern yogurt. YUM. But of course, after exchanging some lighthearted bantering, we discovered that Shawki is a businessman of the finest sort…and spent the whole rest of dinner cleverly reminding us of all the good deals he could give us as a taxi driver. :) After dinner, we then drank Arab coffee, which to be honest blows every other coffee I’ve ever had out of the water. Delicious! Then, naturally, came dessert. And boy! Do Jordanians LOVE their dessert. I think I definitely picked the right country, although not if I gain 20 pounds, haha! In any case, we enjoyed a delicacy of haloumi cheese dipped in flour, sugar, and then fried. It is literally a gooey, oozing mess of a salty-sweet heart attack waiting to happen. But oh! It was incredible!
As if that wasn’t enough, Shawki then asked us if we were interested in catching a cab for an excursion outside the city. Glancing at each other, somewhat skeptical but curious, we nodded, hopped in, and drove out to a hilltop outside Amman to enjoy the splendor of the flicking skyline, and the glow of the increasingly permanent Palestinian refugee camp below. The warm breeze wafted up to us as we sat down in lawn chairs with hot tea and hookah. I’m proud to admit that despite my resolve to never smoke, I tried hookah. I’m only proud of it not because of the act of smoking itself (which I still think is GROSS), but rather that I was open-minded enough to try something that I am so adamantly against. And lets be frank. Hookah is not really something to worry about getting addicted to. It was very much a social experience in which it would have been rude to refuse trying a puff or two. Such is the culture here. Smoking is social, because drinking is very much frowned upon for fervent Believers. So, yes, hookah was nice especially for the moment, but not something I really need to be into. Besides, I can still enjoy the syrupy sweet smoke within most cafes secondhand to be satisfied.
We stayed up there for hours, talking, laughing, and exchanging stories; very much a Jordanian example of tremendous hospitality. An absolutely amazing experience that couldn’t have been foreseen when the three of us walked out our door that evening. The spontaneity of it all is truly remarkable.
When we got back to the hostel, the guys and I walked up to our rooms, exchanged goodnights, and proceeded to sleep off our significant food babies. After today, who knows what adventures tomorrow will bring?
I then went back up to my room to make plans for the day. It’s nice to have the luxury of time to play with, and not feel like I have to cram everything into 2-3 days. I think that’s one of the things I like most about living abroad. You can slow down enough to truly understand the vibe and rhythm of a place; that you don’t get caught up with the checklist of things to see and do. It’s generally a much nicer experience.
In any case, as I was up in my room, flipping through my Lonely Planet book and sewing my backpack together for the second time (soon to be third), a guy from the hotel staff came in to tidy the place up. We ended up talking together for a while…about how as a Palestinian he came to Jordan for urgent medical care a couple years ago and is now not allowed back into Jerusalem. All alone and separated by his family, he will most likely never see his true home again, and only his wife and son on rare occasions. He tells me he works to survive, as being an immigrant to Jordan, he is legally limited from pursuing certain job opportunities or careers. Thus, instead of being able to work with what he is qualified or trained to do, he must be a menial laborer in a cheap hotel, dealing with annoying backpackers from around the world. He’ll never be able to even consider buying a car, house, or other common luxuries that most Jordanians enjoy. But most of all, he wants to know why. Why he is banned from returning home. Why he has witnessed Israeli soldiers kill young children. Why his mother, breaking long nationwide house arrest to pick grapes needed to feed her starving family, was shot in the back by a soldier perched in a neighbors open window. Why President Obama continues to support Israel when so many injustices have been committed. All points well taken. However, he is Palestinian. In the back of my mind I couldn’t help but think: haven’t Palestinians also wrought terror upon the helpless? Haven’t both sides engaged in equally horrendous acts of violence and political tyranny? Can anyone EVER justify their cause against another when they too have oppressed the “other”?
With these thoughts swirling in my head, I left Farah Hotel for an afternoon of walking the city. I wandered Amman for a little over 3 hours, which for being a city built on many hills, can actually be a pretty good hike! J Amman is really incredible, with narrow avenues splintering across the city, steep stairways tucked into back alleys, and mosques sitting at the top of every couple hills in view.
I did two big loops today. One making my way from Farah Hotel to Rainbow St., and circling back to the hotel and walking out to the Roman theater (which I ended up passing by because I was so incredibly thirsty the only thing I could think about was getting some water! I will go back tomorrow though). Because I was out walking right after noon, hardly anyone was out and about, so I got to really explore without feeling uncomfortable or rude in my curiosity. Plus, it’s Ramadan which means that Muslims can’t eat, drink, smoke, or have sex between sunrise and sundown. In a Jordan summer, that is one hell of a long day, especially when it’s so hot! I don’t know how people go without drinking water or anything. I tried to go as long as possible during my hike without water, but didn’t last very long despite my lukewarm constitution…
Tonight was the cherry and chocolate sauce on top that made this day a highlight. Feeling a bit lonely, I decided to knock on the door of the Brits in the neighboring room. Turns out Jeremy and Chris, two brothers from Oxford, were game to go out to dinner, so the three of us left Farah together in search of grub. Having only walked a few steps down the alley outside of our hotel room, we were hailed down by a man we came to know as Shawki and he sat us down right off the street to share his Ramadan dinner of curries, chicken, saffron rice, and the famously sour middle eastern yogurt. YUM. But of course, after exchanging some lighthearted bantering, we discovered that Shawki is a businessman of the finest sort…and spent the whole rest of dinner cleverly reminding us of all the good deals he could give us as a taxi driver. :) After dinner, we then drank Arab coffee, which to be honest blows every other coffee I’ve ever had out of the water. Delicious! Then, naturally, came dessert. And boy! Do Jordanians LOVE their dessert. I think I definitely picked the right country, although not if I gain 20 pounds, haha! In any case, we enjoyed a delicacy of haloumi cheese dipped in flour, sugar, and then fried. It is literally a gooey, oozing mess of a salty-sweet heart attack waiting to happen. But oh! It was incredible!
As if that wasn’t enough, Shawki then asked us if we were interested in catching a cab for an excursion outside the city. Glancing at each other, somewhat skeptical but curious, we nodded, hopped in, and drove out to a hilltop outside Amman to enjoy the splendor of the flicking skyline, and the glow of the increasingly permanent Palestinian refugee camp below. The warm breeze wafted up to us as we sat down in lawn chairs with hot tea and hookah. I’m proud to admit that despite my resolve to never smoke, I tried hookah. I’m only proud of it not because of the act of smoking itself (which I still think is GROSS), but rather that I was open-minded enough to try something that I am so adamantly against. And lets be frank. Hookah is not really something to worry about getting addicted to. It was very much a social experience in which it would have been rude to refuse trying a puff or two. Such is the culture here. Smoking is social, because drinking is very much frowned upon for fervent Believers. So, yes, hookah was nice especially for the moment, but not something I really need to be into. Besides, I can still enjoy the syrupy sweet smoke within most cafes secondhand to be satisfied.
We stayed up there for hours, talking, laughing, and exchanging stories; very much a Jordanian example of tremendous hospitality. An absolutely amazing experience that couldn’t have been foreseen when the three of us walked out our door that evening. The spontaneity of it all is truly remarkable.
When we got back to the hostel, the guys and I walked up to our rooms, exchanged goodnights, and proceeded to sleep off our significant food babies. After today, who knows what adventures tomorrow will bring?
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Changes in Latitude, Changes in Attitude
Made it into Amman this morning around 8am after a completely crazy flight pattern. In fact, I left Harare around 1:30pm on Monday, flew into Lusaka, then onto Addis Adaba where I got to experience a lovely 7-hour layover fending off creepers at the bar, and took off at 3:30am today for Amman. J I can’t believe I’m here. Everything just seems to be going so fast. I almost feel guilty for being so excited about what’s coming next. Yes, I’m sad to have left Zimbabwe, but WOW. I am PUMPED already for the upcoming months.
I stepped off the plane this morning, only to wait for about an hour at the visa counter, waiting to exchange currencies. It was a rude surprise to discover that $1US is worth only about $0.7JD, so $150 materialized into only $103. Boo. Anyways, I was helped by an incredibly handsome Jordanian (with piercing blue eyes!), got my visa and headed out to grab my bags. Feeling like a donkey, I stumbled out and snatched a taxi from Ahmed, a nice older man in his 60s with graying temples contrasting against his dark skin. He gave me a ride in which I barely escaped death multiple times. First impression: Jordanians are CRAZY drivers! After exchanging greetings and formalities (in semi-Arabic I might add), Ahmed asked me: (1) are you traveling alone, and (2) are you married? I had to laugh…so predictable! J Upon finding out that I was alone AND single, Ahmed proceeded to try and set me up with his 28-year old son! HA! We took the rest of the ride in relatively comfortable silence, my face pressed against the window, admiring our drive into Amman, the city built on 20 hills.
Now, I’m lying out on the top bunk in a cozy, four-bed room in Farrah Hotel. My roommate, Elizabeth, is from Italy. I’m going to take a nap, and later I think we’re going to go out and walk around town, maybe grab some drinks and dinner. It’ll be nice to have a buddy my first night here while I get more comfortable. Until then, I’m exhausted. Time for sleeeeeep.
[Later]
Elizabeth and I had a great time tonight. We were moved out of our room by two British blokes, but it was no problem. She and I then went out to Books@Café, and lounged around drinking mint lemonade and chatting for about five hours. Delightful! May I say that already I have developed an incredible affinity for fresh mint lemonade? I think it’s positively the BEST thing one can drink, (except for maybe mango juice), especially when it’s so hot outside! Absolutely refreshing! I could definitely go on a mint lemonade diet, haha! Anyways, Elizabeth has done extensive work with her NGO to aid Palestinians in their struggle. Secretary by day, advocate by night. She’s unmarried, doesn’t believe in God, and believes that she can actually do some good by helping others. An admirable woman by far. She’s from Genoa. I got her email, so I hope to keep in touch with her. Maybe one day I can go visit her or something. We definitely hit it off very well. J I’m off to bed now. I’m exhausted. I even started dozing off while listening to Monica and Elizabeth chat about their Middle East stories. I love hostels for this very reason: meeting new people, and thus exchanging life stories and worldviews…mostly with other young people. YAY.
I stepped off the plane this morning, only to wait for about an hour at the visa counter, waiting to exchange currencies. It was a rude surprise to discover that $1US is worth only about $0.7JD, so $150 materialized into only $103. Boo. Anyways, I was helped by an incredibly handsome Jordanian (with piercing blue eyes!), got my visa and headed out to grab my bags. Feeling like a donkey, I stumbled out and snatched a taxi from Ahmed, a nice older man in his 60s with graying temples contrasting against his dark skin. He gave me a ride in which I barely escaped death multiple times. First impression: Jordanians are CRAZY drivers! After exchanging greetings and formalities (in semi-Arabic I might add), Ahmed asked me: (1) are you traveling alone, and (2) are you married? I had to laugh…so predictable! J Upon finding out that I was alone AND single, Ahmed proceeded to try and set me up with his 28-year old son! HA! We took the rest of the ride in relatively comfortable silence, my face pressed against the window, admiring our drive into Amman, the city built on 20 hills.
Now, I’m lying out on the top bunk in a cozy, four-bed room in Farrah Hotel. My roommate, Elizabeth, is from Italy. I’m going to take a nap, and later I think we’re going to go out and walk around town, maybe grab some drinks and dinner. It’ll be nice to have a buddy my first night here while I get more comfortable. Until then, I’m exhausted. Time for sleeeeeep.
[Later]
Elizabeth and I had a great time tonight. We were moved out of our room by two British blokes, but it was no problem. She and I then went out to Books@Café, and lounged around drinking mint lemonade and chatting for about five hours. Delightful! May I say that already I have developed an incredible affinity for fresh mint lemonade? I think it’s positively the BEST thing one can drink, (except for maybe mango juice), especially when it’s so hot outside! Absolutely refreshing! I could definitely go on a mint lemonade diet, haha! Anyways, Elizabeth has done extensive work with her NGO to aid Palestinians in their struggle. Secretary by day, advocate by night. She’s unmarried, doesn’t believe in God, and believes that she can actually do some good by helping others. An admirable woman by far. She’s from Genoa. I got her email, so I hope to keep in touch with her. Maybe one day I can go visit her or something. We definitely hit it off very well. J I’m off to bed now. I’m exhausted. I even started dozing off while listening to Monica and Elizabeth chat about their Middle East stories. I love hostels for this very reason: meeting new people, and thus exchanging life stories and worldviews…mostly with other young people. YAY.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Sara Zvakanaka (Goodbye!) Zimbabwe. It's been real.
Here's some snapshot impressions that I hope will be able to remind me of the good memories and experiences when I miss Zimbabwe most.
Things I'm going to miss about Zimbabwe:
- The crazy combie drivers
- All my uncles, aka. Joseph, Jonathon, Courage, James, and Davis (drivers)
- Hearing Nick giggle while at the consular window
- The constant aroma of B.O.
- The sting of smoke from burning trash
- Full cream milk, and plastic cheese. Ew.
- My badge with American eagle holograms
- Zimbabwean accents and phrasing tones; Ex: “So you thinking about going out tonight? Well let me know when you’re ready, hey?” J
- Teasing Hector, and Hector whining about wanting to gain weight. I still owe him a cheesecake for Christmas…
- Living in a 4-bedroom, 3 bathroom, swimming pool, backyard bar, and tennis mansion. Yeah, and also walking around almost naked because no one could ever see through or over that big concrete wall.
- Getting up at 5:59am to let out the security guards. FUN. Not.
- Guava juice!! Yummy and lots of good fiber.
- Rooibus tea (because you rarely can get coffee to go)
- How everyone wears suits and dresses nicely
- The odd weekend business hours – virtually non-existent
- SPAR!!! So much selection from so little.
- Fiery orange sunsets
- AXIOM, the hippest club in town! Also where you can find renaissance art, sculptures, pole-dancing, and creepy older men. And I mean old. Like over 40. What type of guy goes clubbing at 40 anyways?!
- Lori’s amarula coffees obsession
- Deli-licious! ‘nuff said.
- Sticky pans and burned food
- Triton gym (and the Rhodie Chris who couldn’t take a hint and stop hitting on me every second. Shouldn’t sweat and headphones be enough to keep them away?)
- Sharing a tent with Gretchen at Mana Pools. That woman’s laugh is contagious!
- ZESA – oh how can I live with electricity? Boo.
- Storytelling to and from work with the drivers
- Women carrying baskets on their heads
- “Just now” or “now now” time – like island time, but slower, if you can believe it.
- Trash strewn everywhere
- Georgina, Tatenda, Amon, and little son; 8 Bassett was just that great.
- Sara’s crazy driving and explicit language. Oh, and most definitely her cat stories J
- Axa and his four Jeep 4x4s…just in case.
- Braais please!! Lots of heart attack inducing, red, bloody, barbequed meat! YES.
- Sadza, because Zimbabweans can’t go a day without it.
- Noreen and how she couldn’t stop laughing and bringing up a funny wedding story I told at lunch one day. She spoiled me with lots of free food…especially samoosas.
- Diplomatic Social Club @ Amanzi’s
- Ambassador Ray’s walk out with EU and other Western delegations at Mugabe’s sisters’ funeral after being told to “Go to Hell.” It was especially funny when a Zim reporter asked the German ambassador where they were going, and he responded, “Well, we were told to go to Hell, so we’re trying to find it!” Diplomacy at its finest.
- Camping in Nyanga with Asa, Jayke, Kirsty, Stan, and Max.
- Making out under the most amazing starry sky I’ve ever seen in my life. It almost distracted me, ha!
- Hanging out with crazy Marine boys. Ray, with his southern drawl is my favorite.
- SoCo and lemonade at Blue@2 with Roger and Danielle!
- Getting lost around town because its pitch black and streets are poorly labeled.
- Don’t forget the potholes!
- Msasa trees are so cool. So are Baobab trees.
- I’ve learned more about animals and ecology in the last few weeks than I have since the days when I worshiped animal planet.
- Hanging out with Erin and having to take the backseat in a conversation. Finally, I’ve found someone who likes to talk more than me J
- The pelvic thruster machine, dust angels, and Asa’s 5-minute monologue in the kitchen using the oven gloves as puppets. Other people’s hangovers are so entertaining!
- Did I mention burning trash? Ew.
- Enlisting my security guard’s help at hacking at my avocado trees one night to get a single, scabby, unripe avocado. I didn’t tell him it was too awful to actually eat it, lol.
- Having to go to Zimbabwe to find a boyfriend. Who would’ve thought? J
- My consular family! Jim, Hector, Trudee, Lizzie, Virginia, Nick, Esther, and Wayne. I will miss them SO much!
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