TravelStream™ news feed for member troseen on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/troseen en-us Copyright ©2010 TravelPod.com Wed, 08 Apr 2009 07:39:36 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/troseen/9/1238844960/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/troseen/9/1238844960/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/troseen/9/1238844960/tpod.html Wed, 08 Apr 2009 07:39:36 -0400 Morocco/sierra leone

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Fes, Morocco

well, there you have it. the ride is complete...nearly (i will be teaching classes on Wednesday, you should be on the section "How to Write-off Enlightenment this Tax Season" if you have been following your syllabus). As always, i,d like to use this final blog opportunity, to give a special shout-out, not only to the things/people that made this journey more enjoyable, but to also to the things/people that made this journey more memorable.

to Deet. although you deteriorqte the very label of your own bottle with your harshness, and although you will probably cause any of my future offspring to having missing toes, you kept me malaria-free, at least i hope.

to Doxicyclin and Fanta. ditto the whole deet-thing, but minus the stuff about the label.

to free laundry and ironing services at Family Kingdom Hotel in Freetown. you made it much less stinky for me to work with only 3 shirts, 3 pairs of pants and 3 pairs of undies for 3 weeks. i thank you, as will the person sitting next to me on the flight home.

to my new Patgonia travel tote. a bag that says,"i might have wheels, and enjoy a good stroll through the airport, but i can take a beating with the best of them, and i don,t need a guitar bungeed to me to be cool." (and has backed up every word)

to the airport baggage handler, who rifled through said Patagonia tote and swiped my Bodyglove sunglasses (that i use usually when i'm surfing), my Target-special mini-video recorder, and my celly. all things that i needed perged from my life anyway. enjoy listening to my Tangled up and Blue, Bob Dylan ringtone until the battery runs out. you forgot the charger.

to my new pair of 6 dollar "RayBan" sunglasses that i got in a back alley in Fez (wait, Fez is all a back alley...in a good way), for helping me let other people know i'm someone PRETTY special...and that i hate to squint.

to the 3 pepto Bismol tablets that i brought. i know! who brings only 3 peptos to Africa?! but, hey, it's worked out...so far.

to Nescafe 1-cup individual packets, the most important and most used part of my First Aid Kit.

to music. music can be very soothing on those bumpy flights, when all the crosswords are done, and your eyes are a bit buggy from watching more movies in one day than you've seen in 6 months. Soothing, except when you turn on the Ipod and the random shuffle takes you to the not-so-confidence-building song "knockin' on heaven's door," by bob dylan (stewardess, another drink, please?). it made up for it, by shuffling itself to Stayin' Alive by the BeeGees as the wheels touched down. not kidding!

to ATMs qnd credit cards. i know you guys have had a rough-go of it as scapegoats in the past year, but i love you. in sierra leone, it's all cash and no ATMs. 100dollars equals 300,000 Leones, which are most often dealt to you in 5,000 Leone denominations. i was a walking money pinata. it's a good thing my pants have a lot of pockets. (speaking of...)

to my Carhart pants. light (kind of), yet rugged. perfect for when you are baling hay or when you're trying to get that perfect photo from the seat of your pants in Sierra Leone (i actually think that is their motto). if i could only convince Carhart to come out with a yoga line.

to the cold tile on the bathroom floor (and the baby cockroach that held my hair back) at the Tghat Hotel in Fez. So far, ive only had one night of stomach unhappiness, i'm ok with that.

to the Sierra Leoneans and Moroccans that had to deal with me. Huzza, my friends, Huzza.

to those of you on my email list, even if you didn't read them or read them all. thanks for giving me a great opportunity to at least attempt to capture a fragment of this adventure, for my own selfish needs. and maybe along the way, making you pee yourself a little bit (in a good way).

This lqst pqrt is zritten in prepqrqtion of ,e using q stqndqrd Q,ericqn keyboqrd in the very neqr future:

Rock on, everybody, rock on (and thanks again for being a cyber PFD).
Love;
Poomway.
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saint paul, United States

cue the airplane engines...
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saint paul, Minnesota, United States

cue the airplane engines...
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Freetown, Sierra Leone

i got back onto the smooth roads of Freetown yesterday evening, no worse for wear, actually if anything, maybe a bit fitter, considering my attempts to tame the wild bronc that is The Bush. it felt good to have my feet back on the ground, in fact, real good; real, real good. my eye began to twitch. my bruised toe nails began to ache. my runner senses began to tingle. from the bottom of my suitcase my running shoes began to flutter, and my bandanas began to stretch. as i sat in Shark's hotel restaurant waiting for my 10,000 Leone chicken shawarma, i knew what i must do. Saturday morning, i woke up early (not too early, mind you, after all, i'm still kind of on vacation) to beat the 90 degrees that tend to hit by around 9am (damn that equator and its equator...er...-ness). Family Kingdom Hotel in Freetown is right across the street from where the ocean lives, so i laced up the runners and hit the beach (road), knowing full well, that this was not only going to be a new experience for me, but for many Sierra Leoneans, this may be the first time that they've been exposed to so much white leg. to my surprise, there were a TON of runners out. if there would have been a Dunn Bros Coffee on the corner, i would have sworn i was running Lake Calhoun...well...kinda...ok, not really...but, there were a lot of runners. and, as i learned the hard way in India, but it still doesn't make it any less painful as a runner who prides himself on being a "passer" more than a "passee," just because someone is wearing flipflops doesn't mean they aren't faster than you.

there was no ipod on this run, just the sound of the ocean, and the universal sound, no matter in what language, of "wow, look at the white guy." as hard as it may be for some of you to believe, no Garmin GPS either. even without it, i felt like i was going fairly fast. i felt i had to. the sticker on my anti-malarial pills says, "Avoid prolonged or excessive exposure to direct sunlight while taking this medication." don't burst my bubble here, but i'd like to believe that if you're moving within the sunlight, it can't be "direct." as if the sun doesn't have time to settle on my skin, as long as i keep moving (it's like the runner's version of the movie Speed (the role of Ted of course played by Keanu Reeves (or Mickey Rourke))). and that's why i ran just a little bit faster, just in case.

the beach and the roadside were hoppin'. if you were a pedestrian on the road that WASN'T running, you were performing the incredible feat of carrying something on your head. you name it, someone here can balance it on their head. it's amazing. it's like everything below the neck can be doing whatever, while the neck and head are just easy-cheesy floating on the river like a bobber. i can't take a full cup of coffee from the maker to my chair without losing half of it. i've had stocking caps that look less secure on my head than the 5-gallon bucket of water that was on the head of the teenage girl that just walked past. by the way, she was also clapping and singing, while she did it. and i don't just say that for dramatic affect, if anything, i think she was doing it just to spite me and my coffee carrying inadequacies.

the beach was just as busy, if not busier, than the roadside. the beach folk were mostly comprised of frolickers, fishermen, and footballers (which from this point forward will be referred to as "soccer players," for after all i am an American and Hey, right or wrong, that's what we call them, but for alliteration's sake, sometimes you have to go against the grain. am i right?!) i know this sounds like the punch line of some tasteless joke, but i even got to see the Amputee Soccer League at work. each player missing a leg. each player using arm braces. each player more than capable of leaving me buried in the sand. [when the war moved through Sierra Leone, the rebels tortured many by hacking off a limb and leaving them to die, or amazingly enough for some to transcend and not only live, but play soccer]

i also passed on the beach the Maltina Kiddy Park, a park comprised of a sign acknowledging its existance, a 5-foot dinosaur statue, and, of course, Maltina, the ever-so-loveable 5-foot statue of a malt liquor bottle with arms and legs and an adorable button nose. Gather round kids, let the fun begin. who needs a pinata, when we have Maltina!

the trick was with all of this, i still had to keep one eye on the road, because sometimes that canvas bag you were about to run over, scratches its fleas and saunters away. i even saw someone doing yoga (kind of). the person looked strangely familiar--german tour group, Marrakesh? but, there was no time to doddle and find out, i had sun to make sure stayed off my skin. watch out, sierra leone, these legs are functional, too!

love you all, and we'll see you soon, but first back to Morocco! (hey, i think i got burnt. hmm.)
Poomway.

p.s. since initially writing this, i've realized that running during the weekday has a different effect. during the week, you get more people clapping for you and cheering "Go, man!" and "You can do it!" as if to say, "there goes another crazy american trying to run across something for some cause."

p.p.s. i did find a race that i could have run while in Morocco. a cute thing called the Marathon des Sables. but, i thought 7 days, and 130 miles running through the Sahara was stupid, even for me (i'm not saying i couldn't do it...ok, yes i am...i definitely am (am i wrong, but didn't The Black Stallion even struggle with that?))
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Bonthe, Sierra Leone

They call him Ishmael, and he is my driver. He took over for Sulu once we got into "the bush." He told me he got an award for his driving last year. Well...I'm still alive, so I guess I believe him. I wrote to you last time about the rough roads we had as we moved into the up-country, at least we had roads then. Moving east of Koidu, is moving into what is known as "the bush." Have you ever walked part of the Superior Hiking Trail? Well then, I've just one-upped you-I've driven it (and not the fun, flat parts). Or at least I have now done the necessary pre-requisite for driving it. And when I say "drive it," I mean have Ishmael drive it, and I'll take the trophied seat belt bruise sash (you don't even have to take it off in the shower!). the jostling flattened my Coke within 2 miles!



[to those of you confused and/or a bit intrigued by all the mention of Fanta and Coke, by a guy who tends not to drink the stuff stateside, it's just that I tend to believe that it's the best anti-parasitic ever. You try living in Red #5. plus, I believe (within reason) that if someone is kind enough to offer you something, you should take it (don't ask me why I've never been abducted). For god's sake, I had liver and onions for dinner tonight. I think that's tough enough for a person that DOES eat red meat.]



For those of you who haven't heard of the term the "oh, sh*t bar." It's the handle in cars, but more frequently vans and trucks, to not only help passengers into their seats, but also to help them in those "Oh, sh*t" moments. It gives the passenger the opportunity to "white-knuckle" something. The beast of a vehicle we drove, appropriately, had 2. one in the usual place above the passenger side window, the second was on the dash above the glove compartment. I used both, sometimes the side one, sometimes the front one, sometimes both simultaneously. sometimes the glove compartment one may have been better suited for my foot. my pilates instructor would have been most impressed at my ability to "recruit my core" today. i'm going to have the sweetest 6-pack of abs if i continue to train like this for the Superior Trail Grand Prix (either that or a milkshake for innards).



[break]



Ishmael and i and another local staffer named Tomba spent the day going from village to village (i'm sorry if i make that sound like an easy process). the lack of a sufficient road has really isolated many of these communities from the rest of the world. lots to take in on both sides. i was informed by a couple communities that i was the first white person some of them had ever seen. instead of following the advice of my buddy mike, of what to do if found in such a situation: "...tell them you are sent from the heavens to destroy them and their people. After they express their surprise, you can tell them that you are just kidding, and you will all have a good laugh...," i decided to take the more subtle approach and just apologize to them that i was their first and that it wasn't Angelina Jolie or Bono. i felt a bit like a combo between the Pied Piper and Rocky, with the tail of children that i tended to pick up, with their chorus of "poomway" (whiteboy), interspersed with excerpts of English 101. Friends hearing this would come ripping out of their houses. but, sometimes not even the hype can prepare you for the real thing, because a few of these kids who just a moment before burst out of their houses with eager anticipation, caught a glimpse of me, stopped dead in their tracks, and started to bawl (i've had blind dates like that--not real good for the ego). but, for the rest, i swear, if i didn't say, "Bye," (followed by their chorus of byes) they would have followed me right into the truck.


[in the time it's taken me to finish this entry, i've traveled to the bush of the southern lowlands of Bonthe, and found much of the same to be true as the eastern highlands of Kono, i describe here.]

The communities were very hospitable and very eager to describe their daily lives, that included some of the daily struggles they face. one community that i visited had no water well, and their section of the river was close enough to the ocean to exclude it as a drinking source. so, they use a small 15' diameter natural pool to get their drinking water, which might not have been so bad if not for their lack of latrines. the pool is between the section of woods designated as toilet and the river. you might see where this is headed. the pool isn't crystaline (or Crystal Light, for that matter). but, it's what they have, and the elders have a hard time believing that water can do anything, but give life. another community didn't yet have a government funded primary school, so created what they could from mud, sticks and volunteers. you think our teachers are over-worked and underpaid (i do)?! what about having only 2 teachers for 4 different "grades," each teacher in charge of 2 classes, both classes happening at the same time, all 4 classes under a thatched structure approximately 10'x30'?! you couldn't pay me to do that. they don't pay these gentlemen. they're volunteers. i smell sitcom, NBC(if only it was true only on TV)!

but, truly, i saw it again and again and tried to capture at least a glimpse of it through the lens of my camera--the word "community," at least in my eyes, reclaiming it's true definition. people fueling their lives through the resource of people, the resource of neighbors, rather than through the resource of things. and not fueling to survive, but, even with their lack of modern conveniences, fueling to thrive. i think i learned a bit more not to let the convenience of life lull me into an isolation from the resource of people. let me now step off this soapbox, because i know for most, i'm preaching to the choir. bottom line: roads bad, people good.

and sharon, i still haven't been able to wrangle you up a baby giraffe, but a community did give me a chicken and 40 bananas. i'm still trying to iron out the logistics of sneaking them them through customs and airport security (not to mention the stream of 14 children that followed me from Bonthe).
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Koidu, Sierra Leone

today was my first experience "up-country" in Sierra Leone (and it's not even remotely similar to going up to Duluth, i've found).

but, before i continue, an observation. Remember the whole making a fort thing? with a blanket draped over the great infrastructure that is couch cushions? i was never huge into it (a bit of a claustrophobia thing), but nevertheless i feel a bit transported back to those days. i write this to you from the confines of Fort SkeeterNet. my blanket has been replaced by a mosquito net and the couch cushions replaced by strings at the 4 corners of the top of the mosquito net that are anchored to the ceiling. The edges tuck under all sides of this king-size foam mattress to complete my boy-in-the-bubble motif. apparently, i should have insisted upon a mosquito net as my fort roofing material as a child, it's much less claustrophobic.

it's 9pm, but it's still got to be around 85 degrees inside and out. it's a good thing i have my handy oscillating "EuroCool" fan (included, no extra cost!) to keep me from creating the "SnowAngel's" evil twin -- the "SweatAngel." hopefully it cools down enough by 2am, when the hotel's generator is shut off, and along with it, my EuroCool, not to be resuscitated again until 7pm tomorrow night.

[i just looked over at this wonderful fan with it's big hub cap logo oscillating "EuroCool" at me again, and i responded aloud, "No, you are." is that the first sign of malaria tightening it's grip? delusions of very complimentary appliances?]

now back to our regular scheduled programming...

Freetown is a capital city of around a million people, but since the war electricity is run not on a national or even local scale, but by people's own generators that they got at Hardware Hank (or the SL equivalent). but, generally many people in Freetown own one of these generators. there is low hum throughout the city from the generators after 7pm, but still much of the city lights up. Tonight i am in Koidu in the east, a diamond mining town, which was ravaged by war less than a decade ago. This town that used to be a bustling up-and-comer, now, after the war, literally disappears after 7pm (you can see more people in dowtown StPaul after 7). Very few families have generators here. The only traces left behind are what can be seen from the light of the candles or kerosene lamps from which the roadside merchants continue to sell their wares. As we drove to dinner, it was like driving through an Italian restaurant that was experiencing a black-out. lots of people still out and about, but the awareness of them restricted to candlelight and headlights.

[for those of you who still may be saying to your self, "Self, i understand why Morocco, but WHY Sierra Leone?" the quick and easy of it all is that i got commissioned by the development organization World Vision to photograph some of the many issues that their projects deal with in Sierra Leone from war devastation, to diamond mining, to health and education, and the list goes on.]

i ate dinner with Ambrose, a World Vision staff member. if i were to make a TV mini-series about this trip, the role of Ambrose would be played by Don Knotts. Ambrose is a short late-middle aged fellow, with a slight stutter that tends to be shy within conversation, but a boisterous laugh when you tickle that funny bone (or when you just tickle him, which i haven't done YET, but i'm assuming that the results would be aforementioned). we walked through the kitchen of Aries Restaurant, which was comprised of a wonderful young woman squatting by 2 coal fires with a cooking pan over each, one which would eventually cook up my chicken and veg, the other pan was in charge of my chips (french fries). They love them their chips! we had been on the road for most of the day, limiting our consumption to the classic road trip food: 2 orange Fantas and a great (in size and taste) loaf of French bread, so the chick chick went down easy. and i raise my Fanta in honor and memory of the chicken who won't be going home tonight.

my driver's name is Sulu. the mode of transportation for most of the aid organizations in SL are these tank-like Toyota Land Cruisers (basically Range Rovers). after you've experienced some of the roads here, you'd understand why (and suddenly MN potholes are nothin'!) Sulu explained to me that the best way to experience the bumps and potholes the LEAST are to go as fast as you can over them...mom, i'm glad you weren't with us. oddly enough, i think it worked. but now, add to that image, me drinking (trying to drink) my Fantas. maybe that's why i ended up having 2, because not much reached my mouth.

the 2 geckos on the wall have started chirping, which could mean one of 3 things, they either want me turn off the light bulb, want me to re-direct the fan, or want me to save lots of money by switching to Geico. i'm going with the first one. good night everybody. more soon. and, um,...could somebody hit the switch, i'm kind of tucked into my net here, already.
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Casablanca, Morocco

Introduction:

many of you know exactly what this is, for those of you that don't -- it's a travel blog. somewhere along the way, some ego-maniacal joe/jane got the bright idea that somehow their life was important/entertaining enough for others to care about. along comes Al Gore and his witch-like "internet," and a vehicle for said ego-maniacs was born. so, let's get something straight from the get-go (what is a "get-go?"), i like myself and i like other people to like me, but i'd like to think that i write these travel blogs less to inflate my own importance and more as a mental pressure release. when i travel by myself in a new place it's hard not to soak up every aspect like a sponge. but, after a few days, and the realization that my camera, albeit quiet and seemingly attentive, is not listening, i need to squeeze that sponge. comparing everybody to a mop bucket was not the intended goal.

i know that a chunk of you have already hit 'delete' (i'll be the first one to admit that i often fall into that same catagory). i tend to think the word 'blog' is a bit onomonopiatic, and when i receive one, i tend to catagorize it next to, and get the same feeling from, the word 'flog.' and in most instances would rather press my luck with not responding to a chain letter then to read about about someone's trip to aunt kate and uncle steve's (by the way, now forward this on to 10 of your friends). i know some of you more vehement (yet efficient) folk might go as far as to 'block sender' (or now that i said that, many of you are using the 'options' tab to find out how to do that). or maybe your one that reads just enough, so that if i ask you about the blog when i get back, you've got a nugget or 2 you can throw out to pacify me. then there are those of you that find a perverse entertainment out of imagining my Frogger-like abilities crossing the street in india or of how it was at all possible that i did not get eaten by a bear or a lumberjack while in Alaska.

no matter what you do with this email once you receive it, thank you for giving me an outlet and being a part of this on-going experiment (whether it's purposely, or by the luck (good or bad) of me stumbling upon your email somewhere along the way) in any capacity. sometimes it feels like a soapbox, and sometimes like a therapy session, but hopefully it mostly feels like second grade Show-n-Tell (in a good way). and bearing in mind, that when i write, i tend to take on the voice of a 2nd grader with ADD, who has just discovered the magic of Pixie Stix, i will try to include moments to take a "that milk tasted really, really good, but i forgot to breath" gasp. If you're finding yourself getting a bit anxious, these are great opportunities to take a break and come back later, or come back later with a drink. and for those of you already likening my use of punctuation to that of a 2nd grader, i say, "good day, sir!" i've always found myself to be more esthetical than functional when it comes to punctuation (especially those pretty; pretty parenthesis). the challenge of reading this could only be possibly met by the challenge of writing it on this freakish keyboard (qnd when i say 'freakish' i mean "foreign to me; and therefore i fear it"). a heads-up to those letters that slip through -- Q sometimes mean A, ? sometimes mean M, and : often means . . Those of you that frequent the Cryptoquip section of the newspaper should have a leg up.

if you've read and signed off on all of the above, prepare to be blogged!!!

p.s. those of you that may have received this email twice or even 3 times, credit it to me liking you more than the others.
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Casablanca, Morocco

For those of you that don't know, and might be waiting at a yoga class or a coffee shop for me, i'm in Morocco. Casablanca, Morocco to be more exact, and won't be home until Tuesdqy, April 7 (yogis-i will hold you fully accountable for your practice as of 4/8. i am in morocco for 7 days; then sierra leone for 11 days, followed by 4 more days in morocco.

the flight over was fairly uneventful (as you hope flights will be). i don't know which was more difficult, finding that perfect 2 airplane seat yoga pose to sleep in, or refusing to give up on the movie "The Day the Earth Stood Still." As far as food on the plane goes, now a days, i'm every bit tickled just to get a bag of peanuts; so on these international flights i feel like i'm feasting. i'm a growing boy. i like to eat. but, i always feel a bit like a homeless man, when licking out those airline travel tray bowls to get the last remnants of any greenbean juices. if my plane maroons me on a deserted island, i'm going to be sure that i got all the food freebies i was entitled along the way (i've read Lord of the Flies, i know what happens if you're the weak one). and i guess i worked up a bit of an appetite when watching the video on "Air"obics. who knew rolling your neck, circling your shoulders, and shaking your feet could be so complex?!

[break]

by monday night, i had arrived in Casablanca, grabbed a train into the city, jumped into a taxi, and was enjoying a well-deserved beer at at my hotel by 830pm. casablanca is not exactly like the movie, but seeing that the laundry man at my hotel is a spot-on Humphrey Bogart, and that the menu at Rick's Cafe includes 300 dollar bottles of champagne, it can't be all that far off. from what i've seen so far, it's like downtown Chicago with twice the cafes and cars. Peugots, Renaults and Fiats may be small, but they can really clog things up when they come in herds. My kingdom for my scooter. i'd probably die on it, but i'd die being much more efficient with my time. when you are using a taxi it's a good test in patience, especially when you realize, although it is too far to walk, you could probably walk to your destination in the same amount of time. and when you don't know your cabby's language, there's a lot of uncomfortable laughter at the old lady he just about took out.

But, i gotta tell you, my French does become amazingly clear when i'm in the cafes -- "cafe au lait." The cafes are great for people watching as well as coffee,croissants and crepes, because most all of them are open air with all the chairs (rows and rows) facing street side. so, as a passer-by, you almost feel as if you have an obligation to trip and fall, or at least to shake some jazz hands as you sidle past. But, haven't any of these cafes read my "25 Random Things About Me" on Facebook? -- sliding a nice bowl of olives right up next to my espresso?! not cool. but, don't worry, i knew many of you would be upset that i'm letting these beautiful olives go to waste, so my pockets are full, and should be ok as long i'm not randomly checked at the airport...uh oh.

i took a day trip to Marrakesh the other day. with me, i had my Lonely Planet guidebook, my camera, a book for the 3hr. train ride, 2 baguettes and 2 hard-boiled eggs (that i harvested from the free breakfast buffet at the hotel). Patagonia really needs to design a coat with more of a traveler like me in mind. Where's the special hidden pockets for baguettes and hard-boiled eggs? And where's the EXTRA special pocket where i can use my guidebook without looking like i'm using my guidebook (even though there's no guidebook map that can save you from the maze of souqs in the heart of Marrakesh (you're better off just sticking close to the old woman with her donkey, and hoping that where she is going is at least close to a place you want to go (if not, at least it will have water and warm hay))). i've gotten over the whole "i don't want to use a guidebook and look like i don't belong" issue relatively painlessly, when i remembered that i'm a guy from MN in Morocco -- i don't blend, guidebook or no (except with that German tour group i keep running into). Marrakesh is not exactly like the movie (Raiders of the Lost Ark), but seeing that monkey try to feed a poisonous date to that gentleman, it can't be that far off.

[break]

my eyes are starting to cross from staring at the keyboard so hard. where's mr. tomzik my 8th grade keyboarding teacher when i need him. he did not prepare me for this. using the Moroccan keyboard must have been in Keyboarding 2. hopefuuly you're hanging in there and using your breaks wisely. but, how do i transition into a story about Narwhales and peppermint tea? that's a good enough transition for me.

I returned to Casablanca from Marrakesh after a pretty mind-numbing 3 hour train ride home. it was dark, so nothing to see outside the train, 3 gentleman already asleep in my berth (didn't think it would be kosher to poke them and ask if they had Travel Yatzee), so i read half-heartedly, not b/c i don't like the book (i love it, dad. thanks.), i just forget how fast i read when i actually sit down and give myself time to read, and didn't want to blow all my reading material before i was even halfway through the trip. I needed to unwind from the excitement of the ride and went to grab a cup of tea at the cafe across the street. a good exercise i've found to help me brush up/learn another language (besides pestering people)is to watch TV in that language. I didn't think a documentary on Narwhales was going to be any help, but i thought i'd give it a go and snuggled in to one of the only seats left (a prime whale watching seat, if you could see through the cigarette smoke). i sat, making whales sounds in my head (at least i hope it was in my head), and watched; watched the interworkings of the cafe and narwhales swimming gayly. when i got my tea, i caught a great wiff of mint -- peppermint, perfect! just what the body needs after a long day with monkies, snake-charmers and hard-boiled eggs. how perfect? i had no idea. i took a sip of the tea, and i felt like i knew what those Narwhales were feeling, with their cute little Narwhale horns, and cute little Narwhale smiles. this tea was laced with a good pound and a half of sugar. each sip was like the first bite of that mint gum with flavor crystals. my teeth were rotting, but, man, they'd never been so happy to do so. how sweet it is.

After a week in Morocco, the Morrocan people have really been very helpful when faced with the fluency of my English-Spanish-French-Pictionaryese mix, and i knock on wood [i really just did] when i say that aside from the normal travel hitches (like the shower incident (i'll get into that next time)), i am enjoying my time on my quest to meet everybody in the world.

i know electricity is not always a given in Sierra Leone, so i assume internet access may not be a guarentee either. but don't mistake my silence for lack of adventure or lack of love back to my peeps. use these next 2 weeks to rest up, because i am sure to have more than plenty to say when i return to Morocco (freakish keyboard or no).

That's it for now, i've got to get back to the hotel in time for my next French lesson. i have found that CSI: Miami has given me the greatest insight into the French language (but there is still no man, even in French, that can make David Caruso's voice sound cooler than David Caruso.

i love you all and i'll connect with you soon.
ted.
to be continued...
*Arabic Lesson of the Day:
Does anyone here speak English?
wash kayn shee hedd henna lee kay'ref negleezeeya?
-i think by the time it would take me to get all that out, i would have another bowl of olives.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/troseen/india2007/1208283720/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/troseen/india2007/1208283720/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/troseen/india2007/1208283720/tpod.html Tue, 15 Apr 2008 15:41:38 -0400 A journey to india

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Saint Paul, Minnesota, United States

It's that time everybody. after 3 months back in the states, i invite anyone who is reading this to come join me in a celebration of India. bring family. bring a friend. bring the family of a friend. but, don't let them talk you into bringing that friend of the other family's friend...unless he's nice...and pays for some gas...

all the info you should need is attached below. but, let me know if you have any questions, and we'll see you then...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/troseen/india2007/1190039580/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/troseen/india2007/1190039580/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/troseen/india2007/1190039580/tpod.html Sat, 19 Jan 2008 08:49:57 -0500 A journey to india

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Saint Paul, Minnesota, United States

this is where it all begins.
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