9/13/15,
“Birthday Celebrations”
Hwange,
Zimbabwe (Hwange National Park)
20 years
ago, we went to the Bronx Zoon for my birthday.
This wins. I am in Africa,
looking at zebras, warthogs, kudu, crocodiles, hippos, waterbucks, elephants,
wildebeasts, and all sorts of birds, in their natural habitat. This was where Cecil the Lion lived. It should be a very familiar scene to anyone
who has watched the new “Wildest Dreams” music video. This is exactly what I am doing here. Living out my wildest dreams. All that’s missing is a girl in a nice dress
with red lips and rosy cheeks saying that I’m so tall and handsome as hell.
I am now 28 years old, and my life is not at
all where I expected it to be. A year
ago today, in Andorra la Vella, I wrote almost the exact same thing, but I am
much happier now than I was a year ago today, and I am enjoying this trip far
more. For all of my travel
goals, my single wildest dream, the same as it was last year, the same as it
has been since I was 16 is the happy life with a loving wife and two kids,
living in a nice house, not seeing zebras in their natural habitat. All the people who tell me how jealous they
are of my travels, they are all either married or in happily committed
relationships. I never tell them how
instantly I would trade places with them, give up all the travels to be happily
married.
I am 28, and I feel old. I am ready to settle down, but, until I do,
until I find the person with whom I will spend the rest of my life, I will
continue my travels, to pursue my travel goals, to live out my wildest
dreams. On that note, when I was at NYU,
a girl and I talked about getting married in 2013. We were at least half serious. She got married this weekend. It came as such a shock seeing her in a white
dress, marrying someone else. I haven’t
seen her in 7 years, but that didn’t make it any less shocking to see it come
through on my Facebook feed. Alright,
enough about this.
After I closed last
night, I was so comfortable, and the weather was perfect, I could have slept
out there for the night. I wound up
napping a bit in the chair before I headed in.
I wanted a little snack, well, dessert.
I stopped by the bar and asked to see the dessert menu. They said they would bring something to my
room. I opted for the brownie with ice
cream. Afterwards, I had my Castello as
I published my entry and uploaded my photos.
I overslept, not waking up until almost 7 AM. I was supposed to be up at 6 AM. I threw on my safari gear (sneakers, cargo
shorts, button down short sleeve shirt) and headed to breakfast. It was a traditional English-style breakfast
buffet, and I got the works, along with English Breakfast tea. I was behind schedule, so I didn’t really
have time to enjoy it. My driver was
waiting for me. We got on the room,
stopping at an ATM along the way so that I’d have money for his outrageous
fee.
As we drove, an easy drive, with
easy navigation, I realized that I should have just rented a car. I lit up a Davidoff Escurio (robusto, not
toro) and listened to “State of Grace.”
We were soon at the park, and I switched to “Wildest Dreams.” When we got to the camp, we made all of the
necessary arrangements, and I got a much-needed Coke Zero. I also did a little bit of filming for the
music video I want to post to Snapchat.
I will also do a more involved full-length version for Facebook. We got in the vehicle, and I lit up a
Montecristo.
We saw a few
animals, but the main attraction was the platform by the watering hole. I filmed the scenery shots as I finished my
cigar. I then headed up to the platform,
where I lit up a Padron and proceeded to write this entry, as I watched the
animals. I will now close so that I can
finish filming for the music video. My
next entry should be from Zambia.
Livingstone,
Zambia (Mosi-oa-Tunya/Victoria Falls World Heritage Site)
One might
think that, for the travels I have done to exotic places, I would learn how not
to get conned. How then have I managed
to get conned out of a not insignificant amount of money this afternoon? Technically I wasn’t conned, as everything I
spent the money on was a great price. I
just spent far more than I wanted to spend.
I’ll be glad for the souvenirs when I get home, I’m just a little
annoyed I got pressured into it.
After I
closed, we filmed the videos and then went back to the camp. I wanted game meat. I got some souvenirs at the camp, but the
selection was limited. We found a
restaurant at the Hwange Safari Lodge.
My readers of last night’s entry should find the name familiar. They said they had some impala chops, which
they would cook up for us. I ordered a
beer and lit up a Four Kicks while we waited, in view of the watering
hole. The impala was delicious.
We then headed back towards the town, and I
was really tired, just wanting to sleep until we got to Vic Falls. We stopped at a curios market, where I got
some more small carvings of animals. We
were soon at Vic Falls, and my driver took me to the Elephant Walk, where I
ordered my custom carving yesterday. It
was perfect. I asked how much he wanted. He told me to tell how much I was willing to
pay. I asked him for his price. Again, he refused. I named my price. He laughed and told me it was too much. I doubled it.
He laughed again and finally stated a number 8 times my original price. I told him it was too much and handed it back
to him. We haggled. In the end, we agreed on a number 3 times my
original price, less than half of his price.
I made my way back to the car. I
went to the hotel, settled in, and headed right back out to Zambia. It was later than I had expected, and I had
stuff to do in Zambia. I was soon at the
border, escorted once more by my friend, and I lit up an Hoyo de Monterrey for
the walk. The border crossings were mere
formalities. I saw the bungee jumping,
and I decided against it, both due to time and money constraints, and fear to a
smaller degree. When I got to the entrance
to WHS, I learned that the Devil’s Pool was not sold out, but it was done for
the day, and the timing would not work tomorrow. Fuck.
That was when I walked into the souvenir market. I wanted two things: an ashtray and a flag
pin. I got the ashtray but not the flag
pin. They had this ingenious scam, which
I kept falling for, way too many times.
They offered to give me two free things in exchange for my cigar, but,
when I picked out the two things, they said the second one was too expensive,
and they needed some more money. We’d
haggle, I’d get the cigar back, and I’d wind up buying something I didn’t
really need.
I quickly learned to switch
to my cheap Cubans, but the cigar was just a gimmick for them. A way to start the sale. Eventually, after I got a coffee mug, an
ashtray, some carvings, two paintings, and two keychains, I was almost out of
cash, and I was fed up at this point. I
switched tactics and loudly announced that I wanted a flag pin and nothing
else. After a couple of false alarms, I
just started walking, knowing that if anyone had it, they’d run up to me with
it. No one did.
I got a soda and ice cream and headed to the
park, where I took some ceremonial pictures and found a bench with a great
view, where I lit up an H. Upmann and proceeded to write this entry, which I
will now close so that I can head out and get to dinner.
Victoria
Falls, Zimbabwe
In perhaps a
marked sign of maturity, this is the first birthday for as long as I can
remember where I didn’t get utterly and royally toasted. I’d say that Zimbabwe is not exactly a place
to get toasted, but then neither was Andorra la Vella, which didn’t stop me from
drinking the better part of a bottle of local wine at dinner and and in my hotel
room after dinner with a cigar. Bermuda,
fine, that’s a party town, but Victoria Falls is a place where classy British
tourists go on holiday.
The locals drink
a lot, but not the tourists. The only
bars around are really at the hotels. I
doubt there is a strip club in the whole country. It’s a classy place by those standards. As for the locals, when I told my taxi driver
I didn’t drink too much, he asked, “Oh, so only like two or three beers a
night?” Wait, seriously? That’s their definition of “not a big
drinker”? If a friend told me he had two
or three beers every night, I’d think he had a drinking problem.
When I’m New York, I think two or three
drinks a week is more typical. However,
it’s my birthday, and I’m expected to celebrate. I celebrated.
In a different way, and it’s going to go down as one of my best
birthdays of all time. A Full English
breakfast in Zimbabwe, followed by seeing animals in Hwange National Park,
having locally caught impala for lunch, getting the ultimate souvenir custom
made for me, seeing the falls again in a new country, local goat stew for
dinner, going to the casino, winning at the casino, and coming back to my hotel
to write in view of the bridge was how I spent my birthday.
It was amazing. I don’t want to go home. Unfortunately, I will be heading to the
airport in 12 hours, but I can hardly believe that just 12 hours past I was at
Hwange National Park. It feels like a
lifetime ago, and it feels like I have been here for weeks, not less than 36
hours. I’m pretty tired now, and I’m
seriously considering sleeping out here on this lawn chair, for at least part
of the night. I want to see the falls
again in the morning, but that only takes an hour, which means I could sleep
until 9 AM if I want, and I have a 15-hour flight tomorrow to sleep some more. I’m not worried about sleep. It is like my last night in India.
I am thinking of that Aerosmith song (“I Don’t
Wanna Miss a Thing”). If this is going
to be the end of my trip, then I would have it be such an end as to be worthy
of remembrance (yay LOTR!). That was my
thought process in India, when I stayed out in the garden until 4 AM. Maybe I’ll do the same thing tonight. What does it matter? This is my birthday, and I will remember this
night the rest of my life, instead of the drunken flashes I have of Hamilton,
Bermuda and Andorra la Vella, Andorra. I
was depressed each of those nights. I
was drinking to forget. Tonight, I am
happy. I am staying sober so that I
remember all of it.
After I closed, I
found a taxi driver who said he’d take care of me for the rest of the
night. He’d take me to find my flag pin,
then to the restaurant, then come back for me to take me to the border. The price was reasonable, but I was out of
dollars and short on kwacha. The ATMs in
Zambia only dispensed kwacha, and I didn’t want to be left with any extra. We quickly found my flag pin, and the price
he quoted seemed outrageously high. The
reason being I had the wrong exchange rate in my head, since the ice cream and
soda guy had apparently gipped me on the change, giving me only half the change
in kwacha, or maybe he did the exchange wrong.
Either way, I had thought it was four to one, but it was actually eight
to one. The price I quoted, in kwacha,
he scoffed at, and we haggled a little, coming to a price that was still too
high for a flag pin, but I needed it, and he seemed to be the only one who had
it.
The driver then took me to an ATM,
where I withdraw a very small amount, but it was enough to pay him. For dinner, I went to a place called Zambezi Café,
which had all sorts of local, African, and Caribbean offerings. I lit up my Ardor pipe and ordered a local
beer, appropriately named Mosi. I then
asked for a dinner recommendation. She
said the local favorite was the goat stew.
I got it. It was delicious. Not as good as the impala but, still,
delicious. I finished my pipe as I
waited for the check and got a coffee and cookies to go. It was probably the cheapest birthday dinner I’ve
ever had. I think it was less than a
tenth of the price of my meal in Andorra la Vella last year, and I’m sure my
meal in Rome next year will be ten to twenty times as much.
We went to the border, and, to call Zambian
emigration procedures a formality would be a gross understatement. They were having their dinner, so the woman
came over, and she held the stamp in one hand.
I figured her other had food on it, and I didn’t want to get my passport
dirty, so I opened it up to the page with my visa. She stamped the page without even looking at
the photo page. My driver met me on the
other side. Apparently they have
specially designated taxis to go through the transit zone, since he used one of
those. I used pretty much the last of my
kwacha to pay him, though I still have a little left as souvenirs. Zimbabwe immigration actually scanned my
passport, but it was still a mere formality.
I was then on the other side, a mile from my hotel, and it was pitch
black. No one else was around. Wait, I wasn’t going to walk back to the
hotel. I man shining a flashlight soon
approached and asked if I needed a taxi.
I did. It was quite cheap, but I
didn’t have enough left between kwacha and dollars to pay him, so we had to
stop at an ATM. I got a small amount,
just enough to get me home and have a little leftover in case I wanted to head
into town at Jo-berg. However, the
banknotes were large, and he didn’t have change, but we sorted that out. I needed a nap. I crashed almost as soon as I got to my room,
having no idea what I wanted to do for the night.
I woke up close to 10 PM. I wanted to go to the casino, but I wanted
dessert first. They confirmed the casino
was open until past midnight, but there was no food. However, they arranged for me to get a
dessert. The waiter remembered me from
last night and asked if I wanted the same thing as last night (a brownie with
ice cream). I did, along with a
coffee. After I was finished, I asked if
it was safe to walk down the road to the casino. He said it was, but I needed to watch out for
the elephants. I’m not sure if he was
joking. Long story short, since I’m
really tired now, I won a nice amount at the blackjack table, gave a little of
it back at the slots, had a beer, lit up an El Credito, and headed back to my
hotel. I went to the room to change and
came back outside.
I got another local
beer (my fourth drink of the entire day, as opposed to four drinks in 2 hours
as has been more typical on my birthday celebrations), and went to look for my
lounge chair from last night. It was on
the opposite side of the pathway but still in view of the bridge. I sat down, where I proceeded to write this
entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and take a nap. I really don’t want to go home tomorrow. If had the money and vacation days, I’d hire
a driver and have him take me to every country, capital, and world heritage
site in southern Africa. We could
probably do it in a month, 18 days if we pushed it.
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