The Painful Realization of Too Many Things

Back in Nhkarta Bay a Peace Core friend had told me that Livingstonia was a place not to be missed. He informed me that it was a 10 km hike uphill and that it may be wise to drop off my traveling home. This could have easily been a possibility if I had gotten an early start that morning, but of course my sluggish packing habits only had me out of the hostel by 10:00 am.

                I arrived at the road block that signified the turn off to Livingstonia at approximately 3:00 pm. Apparently signs are over rated in Africa making it stressful to get off the bus halfway when I often have no idea where I am. The PPS system is normally the best strategy but do to my quite disgusting and awkward experience with the passengers surrounding me I had to go off what the PCV had told me. Sooner or later I expect that I will find some place in Africa that is not so spectacular but the 1000 m ascent in front of me had me hoping this was not that time.

                Have I mentioned before that my bag is ridiculously over sized and weighs more than the average African. Well it is so I assumed what normally took the average tourist four hours to hike would take me upwards of five hours. There is the option of having the Mushroom Farm transport pick you up but the outrageous cost of forty dollars was not welcome to an already stretched budget. The sun sets between 6:30 and 7:00 pm so I decided not to drop off my enormous back pack and just go for it.

                 After the first km I began to despise myself for this decision. Not only did I have my fifty plus pound bag on my back but I also had a thirty pound bag on my belly that hindered my leg movements. Whatever I’m stubborn young and dumb I can do it. After the third kilometer I was not so sure especially with the locals that were passing me effortlessly with the same sized bags balanced expertly on their heads.

I pushed on finding a way to forget about the weight by thinking of all the ways I would bitch out my Professor Dr. Chad Thatcher for his overkill packing list that I made sure to meticulously follow. I thought maybe I won’t have to say anything and I can just give him a swift kick to the shin and then leave him wondering why.  So after many diabolical scenarios had run through my head on how I could punish him I figured I had made it about halfway. Or at least hoped that I had because the sun was starting to set and my lonely planet guide did not have a good explanation of the location of the hostel.

I made it this far I can make it the rest. At this point I began to think of all the fun times where my stubbornness had got me into painful situations. Times like the lower glaciers of Denali mtn. where my 16 oz arm curls and a pack of cigarettes a day turned out to not be the best training method. Or the random decision to participate with my father in a sprint triathalon when I hadn’t been on a road bike in two years. Surprisingly all these memories gave me a boost because of all that I had overcome.

Two local boys had been quietly walking behind me whispering to themselves which seemed pointless because even if they were shouting I still wouldn’t have known what they were saying. However it was bothering me so I decided to take a break to let them pass. They both stopped with me and began to play charades in front of me which was quite confusing until after I let them dance around for a while and realized they were offering to carry my bag. Have I mentioned that I’m stubborn yet? The idea of having someone else carry my things is not acceptable to me I’m guessing because of me being a guide. Or that I’m from America where the word porter doesn’t exist.

After a smoke and the last of my water I attempted to stand up. My legs were not agreeing with my pride and after multiple embarrassing tries I sunk my head to my chest and agreed to give each porter three dollars to haul my luggage the rest of the way. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so humbled as I was in that moment. I gave up my bag and then watched these locals unceremoniously toss the gargantuan backpack onto their head and begin to almost run up the road as if there was a bluebird on their shoulder. I followed on rubbery legs wondering why I was not strong enough to complete the task at hand. No worries at least I’ll get there.    

We arrived at the turn off to Mushroom Farm shortly there after and I paid the porters and threw the bag on for the last sprint to the hostel. The lodging was beyond all expectations with beautiful rustic grass huts and a very entertaining older English couple that ran the place. I hung up my hammock style home on a ledge that was right on the edge of a large drop where I could hear a waterfall but not see it. As soon as the last piece of my bed had been put together I heard a call for dinner. Life is good I thought and settled in for a fantastic local meal with three other travelers and a sense of accomplishment that will give me boosts to finish tasks long into my life.

Boil Boil Toil Squirt and Slap

So it’s hard to start this off without a small warning that some experiences while adventuring are truly disgusting. Ever since I left the states I had a rock hard little zit in my earlobe. I never thought it was that big of an issue until after I realized that it was growing around Blankyre, Malawai.

Having had a similar experience while raft guiding with Adventure Bound River Expeditions, I knew relatively what to do. Leave it alone because I want to snorkel in Lake Malawai. Interesting fact, freshwater lakes that are balanced along the equator are not only unique habitats for incredible diversities of fish, but also bacteria as well. My lobe was never open while in the lake so no worries there. Except for maybe, the skin worms that can eat your brain if you don’t take the right meds!

I was preparing to get  on a Dala Dala (minibus) from Nkhata Bay on the upper northwest section of Lake Malwai and had to go through the difficult “see you later’s” that occur so often when meeting so many interesting people while traveling. It is truly hard to find so many amazing places and then go through packing your bag again. I had to catch a train out of Mbeya, Tanzania by Saturday so I had to move.

The ride was pleasant and uneventful for the first hour or so, until my ear had started to hurt. At that point I had to switch to another bus that became intensely crowded. My seat was in the front row all the way against the right hand side window. Sometimes this is a wonderful place for a tall guy, but this time a new imaginary row was added facing to the back effectively turning a four seat row into an eight seat row. This distracted me from my ear enough to try meeting some of the people I was intimately snuggling with without much of a choice. I was also rather happy about being against a window because then I could check my thumb knuckle sized boil on my right ear lobe.

Well I don’t know if anyone else has had a really annoying zit or ingrown hair and had the irresistible urge to toil with it, but this desire was unquenchable. So after I had met John to my left, Benjamin to the front, and Ungwa (I think) to the back I gave an ever so gentle squeeze. Well that action led to a reaction that could not have happened at a worse time. I was dirty in a very dirty place and now had a large hole in my ear that was draining puss and blood. Yay Africa! I grabbed my ever present toilet paper roll and prepared to drain the boil before I could wash it. The thing about REI travel rolls is that the paper is extremely thin. Hopefully you can’t see what is going to happen next because I’m rather glad that I didn’t.

 I applied pressure to the wound a bit more aggressively and the contents evacuated in response. The small amount of paper was apparently not prepared for the barrage and the disgusting missile took flight completely unknown to me. In claustrophobic spaces accuracy is not something to brag about but due to the contents and the landing zone this is one moment I won’t forget. The majority of the insides of my ear cavity soared through the air and landed directly between and a little above Ungwa’s eyes. Still this was not known to me as I thought I had contained the collateral damage.

I was then surprised by a nonviolent but firm slap that brought with it gifts much different than skin. My fingers ran across my face to assess the now coagulated, dripping wet beard. I found the leftovers of my boil and the horror of the moment was… well I guess you would have to be there. As I whipped my hairy face a glob with the diameter of a dime ended up all over my hand. I can’t imagine what was running through Ungwa’s mind after and during the incident. Out of shear terror I avoided asking suspending any contact after I am so sorry.  My mission still was not yet complete, but I learned to double up on the TP. My ear was successfully drained and now after a good swab of alcohol and a band aid I was off to Livingstonia for a 10 km hike!

P.S. I partially blame Mark Shoberg for the inspiration to blog about this.

Where the PCV's Reign

Nkharta Bay was introduced to me by Peace Core and the large majority of people I met there were Peace Core as well. Being surrounded by Americans was a relief from the grind of solo travel. Many things have been grand since I split with the Mesa State group but they were all shared by me, myself, and I. Although I think I make pretty good company if I hang out with me too long myself kind of turns into a dick.

                This was also the place where I had hoped to catch up to Mark and Annie or Justin. Travel is funny that way though because according to the sign in book Justin had left the day before the Shobergs, and I arrived the day after they left. Well no hurry because I don’t feel like rushing Lake Malawai.

                This ended up being a place where I read a lot and got a bit sick. Good thing two things Peace Core Volunteers have in mass amounts is movies and books. Also there were two rather charming young British women who accompanied me on the few adventures I went on in Nkharta Bay. The place was definitely not lacking adventurous activities, I was just adventured out and needed a reboot.

                A short run in the rain ending in a great European pub for shelter after a very pleasant day chilling on a beach and doing a small amount of snorkeling was the only venture I partook in there. I had at least one of those great memories of nightlife I can’t seem to remember as well.

With the help of my British friends and the local volunteers I was able to plan my route to Livingstonia, and then Mbeya Tanzania to catch a train straight to Dar es Salaam. By reading Marks blog I found that there was a slight chance to catch up to them and I sent them one of those nifty e-mail things. Not Justin though that guy is off and running he’ll be in Russia by the time I reach Zanzibar. Off to Mushroom Farm, just that name makes me think it will be great!

Vacation from Holiday

My second overnight ferry was a two night three day journey offering very few options other than books, beers, blogs, and bed. This at first was challenging, but the excitement of the last few days had caught up to me and I went comatossed do to sea sickness and exhaustion.

                After a few boat rides in the turbulent waters of Tofo Mozambique, I had not expected the glassy waters of a lake to cause nausea. With the absence of stabilizers the sixty year old Illala ferry was a rollercoaster ride that kept my tummy swimming for the beginning of the first day. Thankfully I had heard of an old sailors remedy to tempered seas, it involves drinking whiskey. I thought that was a pretty good idea and saddle up for some local brew. Not only did this solution help the ache of the last few days, but it also put me to sleep like a baby.   

                I was reading the new Dan Brown book the Lost Symbol so the second day flew by rather quickly. The baking hot sun reacted with the Doxicycline molaria medication and my skin burnt in minutes even with spf 30 sunscreen. Thank God for shade! The food was expensive and the water double mainland price which kept me kicking myself as I had done no shopping for the duration of the trip. Oh well, if I could remember all the lessons I’ve learned along the way I wouldn’t be able to fit anything else in my head. Yay journals and blogs.

                During the last night and into the final morning we experienced some heavy lightning, wind, and rain storms that demolished the shade/rain cover and turned first class into no class. The first class section of the Illala Ferry is completely exposed to the elements from all sides and on the uppermost deck. I had set up a tent for the first two nights but had taken it down because our arrival time was as early as 5:30 am. After the storms began to rock the unstabalised boat I found the use of the extra Tipo Tinto rum I had brought from Tofo. After three quarters of a bottle was down the hatch the storm became a lot of fun. Surrounded by Malawain military that reminded me a lot of hanging out with Marines I was out in the middle of the deck cheersing the storm and partying all by myself. I don’t know how insane I looked, but tell me where the fun is in sanity.

Well I guess the storm wasn’t impressed with the defiant young man and decided to give me a rude awakening after I had uncerimoniously passed out wherever the Tipo decided.  Early morning I was konked and opened my eyes after a small drop had hit my face. My eyes still blurry I saw a large mass moving towards me. Gurgle gurgle was all that came out of my mouth as I had opened my mouth to shout. With the tent cover above shredded the rain water had been allowed to collect in mass amounts. With a whip from the wind of an oncoming storm the contents of the resevoir broke loose directly on to my chest and face. Whelp, there’s my shower for the next three days.  It was also the way I met Gregg from the Malawai Peace Core who was more than happy to help me around Nhkarta Bay.

               

A Childlike Pickup Line

I woke up to an invigorating Lake Malawai breeze and looked on the surroundings of Venice Beach where my hammock style tent had provided me with a relieving rest after my Mongochi experience. I packed my bags, ate a tasty omelet, and prepared to head off on the 2 km, 70 lb portage to the Illala Ferry. The walk was tiring enough to help me despise the fact that I was carrying around 20-25 lbs of gear that I wouldn’t get to use on Mt. Kilomanjaro. I got to the toll booth and was relieved to set my bag down as I paid for my boarding pass. The process went smoothly and I now had a ticket for two nights to Nkhata Bay. Procrastinating putting my leviathan gear bag on I hung out with the local craftsman and bought a few souvenirs. In about the middle of the bartering a young three year old boy came up to me called me by name and then grabbed on to my hand. I’ve had a soft spot for children ever since the mud huts in Mwandi Zambia that I built with my group so I thought it was pretty cute. But even after I had to play the twister style game of paying the street vendors the child would still not let go of my hand. At this point I was rather confused so I asked my friends what was happening. Apparently this youngling was supposed to accompany me to the ferry while his mother did some shopping. Heh, what the hell? Once again the strength of the youth of Africa surprised me as the little guy’s vice hold would not give. I gave in and headed for the boat. Along the way I had all sorts of interesting questions like, “Is that your son”? or, “How old is your child”? were asked of me. This is the part where you say is this guy dense? The answer is yes because I trudged on, boy in hand. I made it to the very old boat and said hi to few friends I met in Cape Maclear and tried to explain to them why I now had a very cute African child attached to me. A peace officer began to come around and check passports and as he came to me you can only imagination what my story would be to explain my new found companion. I guess you don’t have to be Angolina Jolie to procure an African child. The crew began to search for the mother and an audible sound that manifested itself was a lot like kidnap. Oh shit!!! As I was being escorted off the boat, and the child I learned was called Roland was crying on the deck behind me, we eventually ran into the mother who was oh so kind to tell the policeman what was going on. After I thankfully was allowed to return to the boat the mother explained to me that she was shopping and that a good way to meet men was to send her child. All is well, I am not a kidnapper and her pickup line failed miserably. Nothing left to do but soak in the sun for two days. Phew!

A Simple Prayer An Extraordinary Answer

       As I left off before I mentioned my next challenge was getting to Mongochi, Malawai to get to a bank before the Illala ferry left from Monkey Bay. I had just spent three wonderful days in Cape Maclear and found a cheap ride into Monkey Bay late on the third day. I arrived around 4:00 pm and new that I had to make it to Mongochi and back that night if I wanted to catch the ferry the next morning. I grabbed my gargantuan bags and headed off on a sweltering 1.5 km hike to Venice Beach Backpackers. After a quick drop of everything but basic travel essentials I turned straight back around hoping to still catch a ride. Africa has no shortage of escorts and tour guides but through this experience I found many only tell you what you want to hear which is often no where near reality. This guide convinced me that my ride that was leaving at 5:00 pm would be back to Monkey Bay by the latest of 7:00. NOT! On my ride the first foreboding realization was watching the sun slowly set and knowing transport ends when darkness falls. At this point I turned to the money man and asked whether getting back to Monkey Bay was realistic. His response was a cackling that brought no hope to an already bleake chance. With nothing but a torch, med kit, and rain gear the idea of staying the night was not a welcome one. In my own head I began to laugh and think of how much fun it was going to be wandering around a town I've never been to and trying to find a bank in the dark. I was feeling very nervous and began to pray. It was calming and confidence began to grow the closer I got to Mongochi. After arriving I used the People Positioning System (PPS) to find the nearest bank and found that it was nearly a km away down an ominously dark road. Trust is hard when someone directs you into the dark. I got a couple of second opinions not wanting to wander into oblivion and then went for it. The road was full of bells unseen and reckless objects careening past creating a gauntlet of unlit cars, bikes, and baskets precariously balanced on the heads of locals. Ducking, jumping, strafeing, and limboing down the road a beacon of light appeared in the distance. Around me I saw there were lodges so it was a comfort knowing I could have a roof over my head even if it meant not catching the boat. Successfully dodging my way down the street I made it to the bank not looking forward to reversing the process with pockets full of cash. Then the extraordinary happened. While in a line of about fifteen men under a partially lit ATM a man began to talk with me. It was the basic greeting, hello, welcome, my name is, where are you headed? He seemed like a nice man and I told him I was stranded in Mongochi for the night. After a little more small talk he told me that he was a priest in town and might know a friend that could help me get back to my lodging that night. I didn't have my hopes too high but after I had finished my money grabbing he told me to get in his car and he would take care of me. Heh, I was still pretty nervous about this whether he was a priest or not. After we drove out of the bank he took me to a little hole in the wall bar where he shared the knews that he had a ride to Monkey Bay for me and that this was the spot we were meeting the driver. A simple prayer an extraodinary answer! After sharing a couple of beers his friend came and the priest Israel, the ambulance driver Gabriel, and the travelor Michael met and laughed about God being good all the time. The ride was free and very comfortable in a Toyota Hilux. Ha the universe really is on your side if you are after your dreams.

Small Explanation

Hello Readers!
         After some helpfull feedback from some family and friends I thought that I would clear a couple of things up. One I was asked why I called my long hikes through towns and cities called "death marches" and also why my poem sounded so Dr. Seusian?
         The Death March: I began using this term when I was separated from the group. At times the main reason to not go out into an unknown town is because I am alone. This at the beginning was a deathly fear comparable to droping into grade 5+  rapids or shooting for a crux move with a big fall out if you miss while climbing. In all situations you just have to commit and go for it. The second reason is because I am always moving or marching which leaves me dead tired at the end of the day.

          The Seusian Poem:  One of the greatest and best experiences I have had was reading Cat In the Hat and One Fish Two Fish to children and then playing football. The ryhme schemes are simple and playful making it stick in your head as well as fun to play with.
           Another post will be coming soon, i'll be in touch.

From Separation to Now (Jan18th-Jan27th

Hello Friends,

                I think the best place for me to start is when I split ways with the rest of the group in Tofo, Mozambique. It was a bitter sweet time where everyone was sad they were leaving and I was bummed because I was far away from my puppies, family, and friends. Our group of Mesa State College Travelers was coming to an end. After each of us took a turn reflecting on where we began and where we are now, I realized I had a group of lifelong friends sitting all around me. We shared experiences like swimming with Great Whites, jumping off the edge of the earth, exploring the mighty Zambezi River, and waltzing down Bree Street in downtown Johannesburg. The lessons we all learned have been an important memory to reflect upon as I continue my journey. It’s hard not to drift back to holding a Stay Positive banner under the water at Mike’s Cupboard in the Indian Ocean with Joel. Or charging down Upper Moemba Falls as the last thing Heidi, Sarah, Conner, Chad and I did in 2010. Then there was picking up a robot named Kenny and dropping him off to kids in Mwandi, Zambia who had no idea that Joel was controlling Kenny with a remote. Back to sitting at Blue Mountain Backpackers with Nick, Joel, Kenney, and Conner until 5:00 a.m. entertained by one street corner. Also the glorious smoked salmon, cheese, crackers, and wine with Mark and Annie. We also had the precarious swim above Victoria Falls where Justin chose to walk against current rather than swim. Times in Africa that seemed to go by so slow and, yet flew by so quickly. Good times!

                That leads me to January 18^th 2011 the first night I got to spend away from one more comfort zone. I stayed in Tofu, Mozambique one more day just to settle in because my nerves would not calm down and there was a full moon party at Dino’s Beach Bar that night. I’ve always been a sucker for a party. It was a great decision that convinced me to stay in Tofu for another four days when I went to sleep. Some new friends woke up to go scuba diving and I decided to be on my way even though it was very hard to leave such a paradise behind. Next stop Villancullos by Chapa. Anyone who has traveled has some terrifying public transportation story. All stories are interesting whether the story had to do with the driving, the bus being over crowded, or the smells that dance in your nostrils. Sometimes if you are lucky you get all three in one and that explains a Chapa.  I got in a screaming match with a driver who only spoke Portugese and all I could think to yell back was “loud noises!” He felt I had to pay for two people because my bag was so big, yet he didn’t charge any locals even if they brought three bags that size. Well assertiveness paid off because I at least got a lower rate for raising my voice back. The transfer in pace from a beach paradise to overland travel up the Mozambique coast was shocking to say the very least, and the addition of being alone for the first time wasn’t much of a comfort.” Stay Positive Michael”, I kept telling myself.  Positive is the way things went to, I ended up in a paradise much like the one I just left at a hostel called Baobab Beach Backpackers. This was the first place I realized that I enjoy a slow pace while traveling. I am not going to continue writing everything that happened day by day because frankly I don’t have that much time. I will touch on the high points and some of the low as well that happen along the way.

                January 20^th 2011 was my very first death march. A death march includes the basic day bag loaded with a camera and if I’m lucky a map and then a sprint as far across the town as I can go. In Villanculos I got to play football with locals with jerseys and everything. That was a wonderful experience that left me humbled, tired, and happy. After that I found my way to a primary school where the school children and I played hacky sack for a long enough time for my cheeks to hurt from smiling. I never knew so many great things could happen if you just step out with an open mind and no itinerary. After my six hour death march I ate at this beautiful little beach restaurant that gave me the best fish I have ever had and I don’t even know the name of it. When I sat down for the two hour wait, that is common when out for food, it gave me time to breathe and think. Often the only thought that runs through my head is holy shit I’m in Africa! At that moment I sat with my lonely planet and realized I can go and do whatever I want. It is a free feeling even if terrifying at times. Next stop Chomoio, Mozambique!

                January 21^st 2011. Well in many real life dreams there comes a reality check at one time or another. I was not expecting mine to come so early in my wandering, but when can you ever really see it coming? After an eight hour bus ride I hopped into the last seat of a chapa not wanting to wait for the next one to fill. The ride was pretty hard but better than most. I got off in Chomoio and just wanted a cold beer and a shower really bad. I was a bit grumpy. My mood was not helped by a young man who thought it would be helpful to grab my bag and take off with it. Grumpy survival instincts took over and I chased him down knocking my bag off of his head. Instantly I was face to face with four guys all shoving trying to get to my bag and be the one to help me for a fee. I had to physically push them away to get enough space to get my bag on. About this time I was shocked to feel a hand inside my wallet pocket with both of MY hands busy. Helpful hint; if you are surrounded by guys that all work together and you catch one in your pocket do not react with violence. My grumpy survival instincts decided to throw an elbow in the direction of the thief.  The worst part is that it landed square on the nose of the guy digging for gold. Before I knew it there was four guys on me, but with a pack in front and in back and a chapa to the other side only my ribs could be reached.  Locals saw what was going on and ended a fiasco that started in one second and thanks to them ended in five. Needless to say I was a little shook up and after a short thank you I hurried off to the Pink Papaya Hostel with great haste. There I was greeted by a very motherly old German lady who helped me with my bags and got me that cold beer I wanted so bad. I drank it, smoked three cigarettes, grabbed my day bag, and went straight back to the scene knowing that if I didn’t do it now it would be exponentially harder the longer I waited. In the midst of chaos in the middle of the downtown market I was able to calm down and realize that I didn’t lose a single thing and everything is okay. Next stop out of Mozambique!

                Crossing borders always seems to be a stressful process to me.  The interesting thing about the border between Malawai and Mozambique is the border is almost 30 km wide. This creates a monopoly for the local taxi drivers allowing them to charge a good sum of money to get through. Other than that the trip went relatively smooth. In Africa there is no such thing as an isle in a bus. From the front to the back and side to side there are seats. I was the lucky guy to ride very center front with the second guy I’ve met in Africa that is taller than me. At first I mumbled and grumbled a little bit, but then the seat ended up turning into a blessing. Our bus driver continuously was dozing off for little cat naps and swaying the bus from side to side. I got to be the annoying American that kept poking him in the side. At times that seemed more dangerous than just letting him sleep drive. It is all fun and games in the journey of overland travel. After thirteen hours of various cramps and poking fights I arrived in Blantyre Malawai surrounded by beautiful mountains and the most luscious green forests my eyes have seen. I stayed at a lodge called Dooglas Backpackers Lodge and it was neighbors with the bus station. Convenient. After the long trek to Malawai the sight of a clean pool, rocking bar scene, and the best pool table in Africa was very welcoming. They also had very fast internet. It was the kind of place you walk into and think I could spend a lot of time here.

                With a fun bar the choice to sleep in is often made for you with good times often stretching past sunrise. So after I slept in I woke up in my hammock style tent read a few chapters in my book and then thought, I wonder what I can find in Blankyre. Death march number two away! I took off with a very basic map, of what I found to be a very large city, and the adventure possibilities seemed endless. I saw a few churches and some very beautiful gardens along the way to a very cool resturaunt called TJ’s pub and grill. The pure bliss of just walking around was a feeling I hope and pray to have even one more time. I was so happy sitting in the garden at TJ’s reading and writing in my journal that I had to take pictures just to remind me of how happy that time was. They also served me the most enjoyable chicken burger I think I’ve ever had. Travel is full of such drastic highs and lows it is overwhelming. After the happiest meal I’ve ever had alone I picked out a school area for my next stop. It was a good choice because I got the opportunity to read Cat in the Hat books to a group of twenty plus orphans. I think I was having more fun than them because I got really into reading those books. After we got to play football and their energy and the purity of their smiles will be in the top of my list for best moments in Africa. Hey and if you ever stop in Blankyre you have to see their market! It is beautiful and central so it is an easy walk from anywhere. No way in hell being hung over will ever stop me from the great experiences of the death march. Later that night I had my very first experience with Skype. How freaking cool is that thing. Talk to friends and family from around the world for dirt cheap, I’m in for sure. I was so excited about it that I forgot to pack my things and ended up thinking I’ll do it in the morning.

                So 5:00 am roles around and yep the packing didn’t happen. There is a blessing as well as a curse of traveling alone. The blessing is there is no where you have to be at any certain time. The curse is at times it is very hard to motivate yourself. A mantra for this is an old saying. The grass is always greener on the other side. All in all there is absolutely nothing wrong with having a day where you do nothing but read a good book, surf the net, and catch up on journaling.  So no regrets eh?

                So I started the day planning to head to Liwonde National Park with maybe a short stop in Komba for some hiking. The problem is I ran into an Ausie named Dan. Dan was the man and he was headed to Cape Maclear on Lake Malawai. So a last minute jumble and all my plans change. I don’t know what I missed, but I am pretty sure I’ll find plenty to do in Cape Maclear. The bus ride was flawless all except for the fact that I spent more money on snacks than I did on the ticket. We arrived in Cape Maclear just as the sun was setting and whoa what a welcoming comitee that was. There had just been a large storm so the sun cast a brilliant display in color and depth of yet another paradise. It is now very slow season for tourism ravel. Quite different from the start of the trip going into Christmas and New Years.  I was pretty much all alone except for three wonderful Swedish ladies who were getting there open water certification. Life is good relaxed and slow. I could get used to this.

                I woke up in the morning determined to do something active feeling as though I had been quite lazy over the last few days. Lucky for me I was staying on a beach littered with sea kayaks and snorkel gear. There are also multiple Island mountains that are not far off shore so my goal seemed very reachable. I ate a pancake breakfast that was not pancakes but more like crapes and then set off to find my transportation. The Mubasa Camp where I was staying offered both a kayak and snorkel gear to me, but I have found that the easiest purchase is often the most expensive so I chose to walk around town to see what bargain price I could find. After a walk all the way through town and back half way I had found the best deal which was about half off my first offer. Then I got even more lucky and ran into my friend Sky that I met in Blankyre. She had already connected with a local guy who got me an even better price for a kayak and snorkel equipment.  I took off with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, my camera, and a lot of energy. Some locals had given me beta on the best places to snorkel and route to take so I was confident and happy to go out on an outdoor excursion all on my own. Paddling was invigorating and my limbs were rejoicing due to the rhythmic strain stroke by stroke. Peaceful, quiet, beautiful beyond expectation and then I arrived to my first snorkel destination. I slowly meandered out of my boat soaked in the Malawai National Park scenery and suited up for a body temperature crystal clear swim. I clumsily stumbled, slipped, and tripped my way into the water and before diving in I took my first peak underwater. Apparently my clumsy commotion attracted quite a lot of attention because what I saw caused me to jump back with surprise and fall into the water. I was surrounded by hundreds of fish all different and unique and it left me questioning how I would even enter the water without having masses of over curious water creatures crushed by me. I hadn’t come all the way to Africa to be scared off by fish so in I dove in. Brilliant, fantastic, awesome, it was like swimming in a pet stores aquarium if all the fish were in one tank. The incredible thing was the fish were more interested in me than I was in them. I finned slowly around with a caravan of fish swimming right behind me. With about 20 meters of visibility there was no shortage of things to see especially if I looked behind me to check on my finned followers. Without a lot of snorkel or free diving experience every breath was a refreshing surprise that kept my head under and me floating on cloud nine. I got my open water certification in Tofu, Mozambique and learned how to equalize pressure and partially hyperventilate to hold my breath longer. That coupled with the fact that I often get into trouble pushing myself when there is no one around me I started to free dive deeper and deeper. What an incredible feeling that is to go deep under the surface just mozying around with literally every direction at your disposal. After about forty minutes of a phenomenal experience, I said goodbye to my intrepid followers. Off to another adventure, sweet!  I sluggishly came to shore and did a safety check and then off to dive sight number two. I came around the point of the island and was shocked to have a blindingly fast missile contact the water only a few meters off my left hand side. A Malawaian fish eagle had caught a late breakfast and soared into a nearby baobab tree indifferent to my presence. Click click snap snap yes, pictures worthy of National Geographic were now mine. I set my eyes on a large granite slab that gently dipped into the lake and was shaded by two impressive baobab trees. That looks like a nice lunch spot I thought. I arrived had a few freshly baked PB and J sandwiches and adorned my snorkel gear for another colorful journey. As before so was it now, completely surrounded by hundreds of fish I began to feel nibbling. It is a very disconcerting feeling being surrounded by so many fish that you can’t see the lake and then being chewed on. Although the nibbles were not painful I sprang into the flight response and kicked my way out of the confining hoard. These little guys were persistent so I began to swim in a large arcing circle and found that the fish were again following my path dutifully. I soon began lapping the stragglers and shortly after I was immersed in the school as the awkward giant. A familiar feeling to me. I then dove down to about three meters and turned around witnessing an unforgettable wonder. The fish had continued their circular path and followed me down creating the perfect replica of a tornado with the epicenter being me. I could gaze up in the center disoriented by the throngs of colors or stare in awe at the outside of the ordered spinning funnel of my fishy friends.  The experience was overwhelming and caused me to completely forget that I couldn’t breathe. Being three meters down is not very deep, but after my lungs began to ache from the lack of air the surface seemed to be  an unreachable feet. I kicked and swam surfacing like a breaching whale gulping air deeply. I swam directly to shore got out and all that my mind could muster was WOW. It was so exciting I’ll even state that thought backwards WOW! I had similar and yet unique experiences on the rest of my four snorkel destinations as I got more comfortable and went deeper and deeper. I was so content and knew I would be able to reenter this moment with the time portal of photography. Then a disturbing realization came to me. As I looked at the viewing screen of my camera an unwelcome message flashed across the top. No memory card! Oh well, even a disappointing mistake such as that could not ruin such a fun experience. Another learning experience of a beginning photographer. Without a depth gauge my best guess was that I had made it between eight and ten meters down. I have rarely if ever felt so free and at peace in the presence of merely myself. I had covered about three quarters of the circumference of the island and was nearing the end of my last swim when I came around a boulder and saw the horizon over the lake. Oh shit! I had been so enthralled by the fish, foliage, and eagles that I had not seen a fast approaching thunder storm. It is a constant adventure around every turn. The mainland was about an hour long paddle and I estimated the storm would hit in only half that time. Decision time, do I hold out on the island and wait out the storm or do I kick it into overdrive and race Mother Nature? Of course being myself I constantly make the more difficult choices and took off across open water willing my estimation of the storms speed to be wrong.  I made it halfway across the distance I needed to cover and realized that a rarity had occurred. I was right about the storm. Although it is nice to be correct at times this was definetly not one of them. A new kind of energy began propelling me forward as my scalp began to tingle and the hairs on my body became rigid. Swells began cresting my boat and also taking me to shore faster as I surfed and sprinted my way to the shore. Boom, crack, and flash the storm was now on me as rain began drenching me making me feel even more wet than when I was swimming. I was so close and almost there but still felt no comfort in this. My limbs were no longer rejoicing but rather crying out for help at each stroke. I pushed forward being quite used to entering the third and sometimes fourth wind of physical exercise. Phew I reached my destination in only about forty minutes and pulled my kayak onto the mainland with an audible sigh of relief. I returned my gear and started the walk back to my campsite fulfilled and happy that what I had set out to do that morning was completed past any expectation I could have hoped for. Life is good here in Africa and thank you Cape Maclear for an unforgettable experience. Now it is off to the Ilala ferry but a new challenge arose. I’m out of money with the closest ATM seventy kilometers away in the town of Mongoci.

A Playful Thought

Africa alone

What made me choose to stay

Why is my home so far away

Did I need to prove to myself that I’m free

Did I need to show myself there is more to see

I don’t know why I’m here

Since I’ve been the reasons are not clear

I have a loving family and plenty of friends

My job is adventure of all kinds of blendes

Africa? What brought me all this way

Was it my idea to learn or rather just play

It’s a walk in the park what’s the worst that could happen

Till you round the bend and watch a dream flatten

Maybe I should say what I think not from then but from now

I came with misconceptions of who what where and how

I realized I’m good at what I know and I know very little

My mind is on fire set ablaze by a solvable riddle

I’m here for experience knowledge and therefore wisdom

I’m here for play here for work and yes here to celebrate my freedom

The riddle is this “I really don’t know”

But picture me this prepare for a show

Ignorance is temporary I can learn new things

I don’t have to sit back and wonder what the future brings

I’ll be assertive try new things challenge perceptions

I don’t have to listen to no or naysayers deceptions

I’m here because I wanted could and did come

Despite my own objections and excuses to run

But what is the big picture the lesson in this rhyme

I’m here to find me and I’ve found that takes time

A Playful Thought

Africa alone

What made me choose to stay

Why is my home so far away

Did I need to prove to myself that I’m free

Did I need to show myself there is more to see

I don’t know why I’m here

Since I’ve been the reasons are not clear

I have a loving family and plenty of friends

My job is adventure of all kinds of blendes

Africa? What brought me all this way

Was it my idea to learn or rather just play

It’s a walk in the park what’s the worst that could happen

Till you round the bend and watch a dream flatten

Maybe I should say what I think not from then but from now

I came with misconceptions of who what where and how

I realized I’m good at what I know and I know very little

My mind is on fire set ablaze by a solvable riddle

I’m here for experience knowledge and therefore wisdom

I’m here for play here for work and yes here to celebrate my freedom

The riddle is this “I really don’t know”

But picture me this prepare for a show

Ignorance is temporary I can learn new things

I don’t have to sit back and wonder what the future brings

I’ll be assertive try new things challenge perceptions

I don’t have to listen to no or naysayers deceptions

I’m here because I wanted could and did come

Despite my own objections and excuses to run

But what is the big picture the lesson in this rhyme

I’m here to find me and I’ve found that takes time

First post, Stories of lost wandering

Hello Friends,

                I think the best place for me to start is when I split ways with the rest of the group in Tofo, Mozambique. It was a bitter sweet time where everyone was sad they were leaving and I was bummed because I was far away from my puppies, family, and friends. Our group of Mesa State College Travelers was coming to an end. After each of us took a turn reflecting on where we began and where we are now, I realized I had a group of lifelong friends sitting all around me. We shared experiences like swimming with Great Whites, jumping off the edge of the earth, exploring the mighty Zambezi River, and waltzing down Bree Street in downtown Johannesburg. The lessons we all learned have been an important memory to reflect upon as I continue my journey. It’s hard not to drift back to holding a Stay Positive banner under the water at Mike’s Cupboard in the Indian Ocean with Joel. Or charging down Upper Moemba Falls as the last thing Heidi, Sarah, Conner, Chad and I did in 2010. Then there was picking up a robot named Kenny and dropping him off to kids in Mwandi, Zambia who had no idea that Joel was controlling Kenny with a remote. Back to sitting at Blue Mountain Backpackers with Nick, Joel, Kenney, and Conner until 5:00 a.m. entertained by one street corner. Also the glorious smoked salmon, cheese, crackers, and wine with Mark and Annie. We also had the precarious swim above Victoria Falls where Justin chose to walk against current rather than swim. Times in Africa that seemed to go by so slow and, yet flew by so quickly. Good times!

                That leads me to January 18^th 2011 the first night I got to spend away from one more comfort zone. I stayed in Tofu, Mozambique one more day just to settle in because my nerves would not calm down and there was a full moon party at Dino’s Beach Bar that night. I’ve always been a sucker for a party. It was a great decision that convinced me to stay in Tofu for another four days when I went to sleep. Some new friends woke up to go scuba diving and I decided to be on my way even though it was very hard to leave such a paradise behind. Next stop Villancullos by Chapa. Anyone who has traveled has some terrifying public transportation story. All stories are interesting whether the story had to do with the driving, the bus being over crowded, or the smells that dance in your nostrils. Sometimes if you are lucky you get all three in one and that explains a Chapa.  I got in a screaming match with a driver who only spoke Portugese and all I could think to yell back was “loud noises!” He felt I had to pay for two people because my bag was so big, yet he didn’t charge any locals even if they brought three bags that size. Well assertiveness paid off because I at least got a lower rate for raising my voice back. The transfer in pace from a beach paradise to overland travel up the Mozambique coast was shocking to say the very least, and the addition of being alone for the first time wasn’t much of a comfort.” Stay Positive Michael”, I kept telling myself.  Positive is the way things went to, I ended up in a paradise much like the one I just left at a hostel called Baobab Beach Backpackers. This was the first place I realized that I enjoy a slow pace while traveling. I am not going to continue writing everything that happened day by day because frankly I don’t have that much time. I will touch on the high points and some of the low as well that happen along the way.

                January 20^th 2011 was my very first death march. A death march includes the basic day bag loaded with a camera and if I’m lucky a map and then a sprint as far across the town as I can go. In Villanculos I got to play football with locals with jerseys and everything. That was a wonderful experience that left me humbled, tired, and happy. After that I found my way to a primary school where the school children and I played hacky sack for a long enough time for my cheeks to hurt from smiling. I never knew so many great things could happen if you just step out with an open mind and no itinerary. After my six hour death march I ate at this beautiful little beach restaurant that gave me the best fish I have ever had and I don’t even know the name of it. When I sat down for the two hour wait, that is common when out for food, it gave me time to breathe and think. Often the only thought that runs through my head is holy shit I’m in Africa! At that moment I sat with my lonely planet and realized I can go and do whatever I want. It is a free feeling even if terrifying at times. Next stop Chomoio, Mozambique!

                January 21^st 2011. Well in many real life dreams there comes a reality check at one time or another. I was not expecting mine to come so early in my wandering, but when can you ever really see it coming? After an eight hour bus ride I hopped into the last seat of a chapa not wanting to wait for the next one to fill. The ride was pretty hard but better than most. I got off in Chomoio and just wanted a cold beer and a shower really bad. I was a bit grumpy. My mood was not helped by a young man who thought it would be helpful to grab my bag and take off with it. Grumpy survival instincts took over and I chased him down knocking my bag off of his head. Instantly I was face to face with four guys all shoving trying to get to my bag and be the one to help me for a fee. I had to physically push them away to get enough space to get my bag on. About this time I was shocked to feel a hand inside my wallet pocket with both of MY hands busy. Helpful hint; if you are surrounded by guys that all work together and you catch one in your pocket do not react with violence. My grumpy survival instincts decided to throw an elbow in the direction of the thief.  The worst part is that it landed square on the nose of the guy digging for gold. Before I knew it there was four guys on me, but with a pack in front and in back and a chapa to the other side only my ribs could be reached.  Locals saw what was going on and ended a fiasco that started in one second and thanks to them ended in five. Needless to say I was a little shook up and after a short thank you I hurried off to the Pink Papaya Hostel with great haste. There I was greeted by a very motherly old German lady who helped me with my bags and got me that cold beer I wanted so bad. I drank it, smoked three cigarettes, grabbed my day bag, and went straight back to the scene knowing that if I didn’t do it now it would be exponentially harder the longer I waited. In the midst of chaos in the middle of the downtown market I was able to calm down and realize that I didn’t lose a single thing and everything is okay. Next stop out of Mozambique!

                Crossing borders always seems to be a stressful process to me.  The interesting thing about the border between Malawai and Mozambique is the border is almost 30 km wide. This creates a monopoly for the local taxi drivers allowing them to charge a good sum of money to get through. Other than that the trip went relatively smooth. In Africa there is no such thing as an isle in a bus. From the front to the back and side to side there are seats. I was the lucky guy to ride very center front with the second guy I’ve met in Africa that is taller than me. At first I mumbled and grumbled a little bit, but then the seat ended up turning into a blessing. Our bus driver continuously was dozing off for little cat naps and swaying the bus from side to side. I got to be the annoying American that kept poking him in the side. At times that seemed more dangerous than just letting him sleep drive. It is all fun and games in the journey of overland travel. After thirteen hours of various cramps and poking fights I arrived in Blantyre Malawai surrounded by beautiful mountains and the most luscious green forests my eyes have seen. I stayed at a lodge called Dooglas Backpackers Lodge and it was neighbors with the bus station. Convenient. After the long trek to Malawai the sight of a clean pool, rocking bar scene, and the best pool table in Africa was very welcoming. They also had very fast internet. It was the kind of place you walk into and think I could spend a lot of time here.

                With a fun bar the choice to sleep in is often made for you with good times often stretching past sunrise. So after I slept in I woke up in my hammock style tent read a few chapters in my book and then thought, I wonder what I can find in Blankyre. Death march number two away! I took off with a very basic map, of what I found to be a very large city, and the adventure possibilities seemed endless. I saw a few churches and some very beautiful gardens along the way to a very cool resturaunt called TJ’s pub and grill. The pure bliss of just walking around was a feeling I hope and pray to have even one more time. I was so happy sitting in the garden at TJ’s reading and writing in my journal that I had to take pictures just to remind me of how happy that time was. They also served me the most enjoyable chicken burger I think I’ve ever had. Travel is full of such drastic highs and lows it is overwhelming. After the happiest meal I’ve ever had alone I picked out a school area for my next stop. It was a good choice because I got the opportunity to read Cat in the Hat books to a group of twenty plus orphans. I think I was having more fun than them because I got really into reading those books. After we got to play football and their energy and the purity of their smiles will be in the top of my list for best moments in Africa. Hey and if you ever stop in Blankyre you have to see their market! It is beautiful and central so it is an easy walk from anywhere. No way in hell being hung over will ever stop me from the great experiences of the death march. Later that night I had my very first experience with Skype. How freaking cool is that thing. Talk to friends and family from around the world for dirt cheap, I’m in for sure. I was so excited about it that I forgot to pack my things and ended up thinking I’ll do it in the morning.

                So 5:00 am roles around and yep the packing didn’t happen. There is a blessing as well as a curse of traveling alone. The blessing is there is no where you have to be at any certain time. The curse is at times it is very hard to motivate yourself. A mantra for this is an old saying. The grass is always greener on the other side. All in all there is absolutely nothing wrong with having a day where you do nothing but read a good book, surf the net, and catch up on journaling.  So no regrets eh?

                So I started the day planning to head to Liwonde National Park with maybe a short stop in Komba for some hiking. The problem is I ran into an Ausie named Dan. Dan was the man and he was headed to Cape Maclear on Lake Malawai. So a last minute jumble and all my plans change. I don’t know what I missed, but I am pretty sure I’ll find plenty to do in Cape Maclear. The bus ride was flawless all except for the fact that I spent more money on snacks than I did on the ticket. We arrived in Cape Maclear just as the sun was setting and whoa what a welcoming comitee that was. There had just been a large storm so the sun cast a brilliant display in color and depth of yet another paradise. It is now very slow season for tourism ravel. Quite different from the start of the trip going into Christmas and New Years.  I was pretty much all alone except for three wonderful Swedish ladies who were getting there open water certification. Life is good relaxed and slow. I could get used to this.