Ride

We did finally make it to our friends' house after nearly three days
of transport. Our last ride was the type that made me question my own
sanity. Nice car. However, the driver drank three beers, though he did
offer us one too, and told us an hour into the drive that he was
headed to the police station to pick up the accident report from when
he rolled a truck last week.

Luckily he was driving so fast we didn't spend long in the car.

Plane, train...

What i would give to travel by any other method right now. Day two of
our epic trip across zambia and dear lord this bus makes hitching look
good. We sat on the bus five hours this morning before moving an inch.
Currently we are stopped at a weigh station (surprising it even
exists! Who knew?) that we went through three times already. No way
We'll get there before dark at this point, though we are starting to
wonder if we will get anywhere past here. Trevor actually suggested
hitching.

Ride

The new drivers license does me no good on vacation, as we have no
car. I was feeling money anxiety so we decided to hitch to Lusaka (on
our way to visit friends) instead of taking the bus.

Bad idea. Bad bad bad. After leaving home at six, we caught a ride two
towns down, then stood by the road til noon. We were about to give up
and go home when a pickup stopped. Good except we had the misfortune
of experiencing the coldest day ever in zambia going the fastest i
have traveled here.

The good news is i learned how to create instant dreadlocks. Just add
wind! Now how to get rid of the dreads. Tre suggests shaving my head.
Hoping for something slightly less drastic.

Legal

We went back over to the office this morning while doing a little last-minute cramming about road signs and speed limits. My driving test consisted of ferrying the driver office boss over to the bank, waiting while he used the ATM, and delivering him back to his office while he read the newspaper. He didn't ask me about road rules and I didn't kill (or nearly kill) anybody, so I passed.

Eventually, I will be able to go back to the office and pick up my official license. There was a basket of them on the counter; apparently you wait awhile, then show up and paw through the cards for your own. Meanwhile, I've developed a new appreciation for my bike.

Driving (me crazy)

I spent most of the day in pursuit of a Zambian driver's license. This involved three trips to the motor vehicle office, one trip to Chipata General Hospital for a "medical exam" in which the doctor gave me perfect marks even though I swear he did not even look at me (and even though I have a Minor Visual Defect that always causes major consternation and calling over of managers at the American drivers license department), and one stop at the office place (escorted by the motor vehicle office guard) to copy a form that says in three places, "This form is provided free. No photocopies will be accepted!"

All that, and we kept ending up at the window of the surly guy, so tomorrow I get to go back and take the driving test. To prepare, the official PC driver and I took a little spin around town this afternoon (my first time ever driving on the left and the first time I've driven a stick shift in at least five years) in which I very nearly ran over a bicycling rastafarian who was crossing against Chipata's sole traffic light. He yelled some insult at me that touched upon my whiteness and our PC driver made me stop so he could chase the guy to defend my honor, since it was Not My Fault. (He didn't catch the rastafarian. I was kind of disappointed since it's been quite a while since anybody tried to defend my honor and was wondering what he would do with the rasta if he caught him.)

I kept reminding myself it's no fun to get a license in America, either.

The Trevor Report

Trevor has spent the entire week ensconced in a project review with local groups and the NGO he's helping. The week has involved lots of group work, flip charts and instant coffee. He's done a lot of doodling and wandering away from sessions in search of sausage rolls.

He got home a little earlier than usual this afternoon, and when I came home from teaching yoga I found him laying on the couch looking somewhat comatose. It's not even 8:30 and he's already headed to bed.

While he was busy working, I spent the morning helping our outgoing PCVL sort through her accumulations in anticipation of her move to Americaland, "help" mostly taking the form of filling up a sack with her cast-offs, the PC/Z equivalent of a semester-end trash pile. I snagged a few of Trevor's favorite things: maps, stickers, chocolate, random photos of strangers.

Unrequited reading

With all its free time and eventless evenings, Peace Corps seems like a great opportunity to catch up on the books I've been meaning to read for years. (See "painfully understimulating," below.) We will still be here until well into 2010, but as I see our finite time left here shrinking, along with the sock-knitting mania, I've tried to conquer my to-read pile, starting with Jane Austen. As a writer, recovering English graduate student, and acquaintance of several members of the Jane Austen Society, I have always felt I should read her.

I was disappointed in myself when I only got about a third of the way through Emma before realizing that, while it makes for good bedtime reading since it puts me to sleep instantly, I will never have enough free time to care about the romantic foibles of a bunch of self-absorbed upper-class British people way even more understimulated than myself. I like gossip, but I also prefer soundbytes to page-long chunks of polite dialogue.

So I tossed Emma and picked up The Gift of Fear, which I can report is gripping.

Trevor doesn't have my problem. Currently on his bedside: Buddhist meditations, Jared Diamond, and Mad magazine. No angst whatsoever.

Piggy

It can be surprisingly entertaining to live in a place that is in many ways painfully understimulating. For example, I spent the lunch hour with the PC house's housekeeper and guard knitting (all of us) and watching (for the second time in Zambia, oddly) the movie Babe.

Esther doesn't know how to work the VCR, so she found me in the kitchen to ask me to put on "the one with the pig he talks." The movie itself is a bit of a tearjerker (well, at least to this vegetarian) but the best part was Esther's color commentary, which is a mix of the wonder of a little kid and all the off-color slang PCVs have entertained themselves by teaching her over the years.

The second best part was Esther swearing she will never eat pig again. OK, she did say she has never liked pig to begin with. And she probably can rarely afford meat anyway. But still.

Refreshing

An increasing number of buzzing visitors to our bed inspired me to re-repel our mosquito net today. The process requires untying the thing from the ceiling, shaking out the carcasses and termite poops, and soaking it in a solution that comes with a disturbingly intense brochure of safety instructions.

I managed to wear the plastic gloves properly, but I also flicked a few drops of the solution on my face, so I've spent the afternoon burning off the skin by my eyebrow. Yay!

When I hung the net back up (where were the gloves for that part??), I positioned it so the door opening is on Trevor's side so he will be the one who has to make sure the saggy fabric is safely shuttered against our malarial foes, a constant struggle in our bedroom.

Trevor just came home and said, "This is good, because I feel that you are not entirely vigilant in that regard." I swear that is what he said. He also brought me a ginormous avocado and thinks he may have damaged his insides by chewing an entire pack of sugarless gum today.

Viewing

The thing is, you don't even have to spend hundreds of bucks on a safari to see some wild and/or entertaining things in Zambia.

One of my favorite sights is a lady strolling down the road balancing a bulging suitcase on her head. Three people riding one bicycle. An old guy wearing a Yogi Bear t-shirt. There's no shortage of people-watching opportunities in a place with so darned many people.

The saddest sight of the day: the chocolate shelf at Shoprite, normally stocked with two brands and a dozen varieties, big bars and little ones. Today it was completely bare. Still no granola or tomato paste either, but they did have a nice new shipment of pears and apples and Windhoek beer. Sold!

Creatures & comforts

Did you know that an elephant poop looks like an overcooked loaf of bread? And that not only do they trumpet as a warning, they also fart to announce danger?

Just a few of the animal facts we picked up in South Luangwa as we spent three days trolling the park on foot and riding in seats bolted onto the bed of a 1972 Land Cruiser. We saw everything from a python trying to slither up a tree (on the walking safari: kind of terrifying!) to a leopard stalking puku, hippos scarfing down weeds as they floated in an oxbow, elephants tossing dirt on their backs, and birds picking bugs off water buffalo.

Also: Vultures, giraffes, crocodiles, kudu, antelope, warthogs, herons, zebras, civets, mongoose, baboons, green mamba, fish eagles, water buck, owls, a lilac breasted roller and an ant lion (the closest we got to the king of the animals, sadly). You get to the point where you start thinking, "Another elephant? Eh."

I have to admit I was also pretty taken in by safari tents with real beds inside, delightfully hot showers, and sitting at a table (with a tablecloth!) on the banks of the Luangwa at sunset, sipping wine (boxed wine, but still) while a guy brought around chocolate cake drizzled with cream.

On the drive back, we stopped at a fabric-craft workshop called Tribal Textiles, which provides employment for local folks doing starch-resist painting for bags, wall-hangings, bedspreads, and table linens. Their discount room was stripped clean when we left.

Safari

This has to be one of my life's more surreal moments, lounging in my
tent in a safari camp on the bank of the luangwa river while writing
email.

Between this morning's game drive and the evening walk, we spent a few
hours at the thatched bar watching hippos float in the river and
monkeys scamper around the pool. On the walk, Trevor filled his
pockets with seeds so we will soon have our own little piece of bush
camp. The guide says tomorrow We'll look in elephant poop for more
seeds. Can't wait for that.

--
TravelswithTrevor.blogspot.com

Monkeys, elephants, etc

Guess who leaves on safari today?

We'll be back Sunday. Pictures will have to wait until next time we're in Lusaka, but we'll give you a rundown of the critters.

Man

Last night we watched a borrowed bootleg of Ironman, the kind of bootleg that's taped right in the movie theater, complete with folks walking by with their popcorn. The sound was terrible and the subtitles were unintelligible but who cares? It's not like the movie has a plot anyway.

Our dinner included peppers that have grown almost too hot to eat. Having flaming hot residue on my fingers, I've learned just how often I scratch my face. Yowza!

Trevor has a new sporty buddy, a fellow NGO type who may be the first East German I've ever met. They went running yesterday and have hatched a scheme to join the squash club the Indians here run. We've heard women aren't allowed.

Beady

After lugging a bunch of junky old magazines, string, and glue over to the orphan school, I spent the afternoon teaching some kids how to make paper beads. I fretted about only having one pair of scissors to share, but it turned out that several kids had razor blades in their pencil boxes.

Let's all take a moment to imagine an American third grader pulling out a bare razor blade in class. I'm guessing the teacher wouldn't say, "Hey, let me use that for a second," like the one here did.

Paper beads were a big hit, we had a nice chat about Barack Obama's heritage and a giggle about the crazy contortions in the yoga catalog we were razoring up, and I hightailed it outta there in time to make pizza with homemade mozzarella for dinner.

(Slick how I threw that in, huh? I know this isn't a food blog, but jeez.) Trevor is
fine, by the way. He's pretty excited about the mini safari we leave for Friday and is working on some more radio programs even though the ones he sent to our hometown radio station have never aired.

Soysages

The soysages turned out more like exploding globs of beans and vegetables, so they wound up getting baked in a pan, so it was more like Soy and Stuff Casserole, aka Veggie Slop, a longtime menu staple in our household.

The evening's more popular dish was the chocolate chip cookies from a mix my mom sent (she is feeding us from afar). I was saving them for a "special occasion," which I found last night: The oven was already on!

You can't buy chocolate chips in Zambia, so chocolate chip cookies are a rare treat. Fresh-from-the-oven, homemade-tasting chocolate chip cookies are a religious experience.