In the Lusaka airport I got what might be described as a minor panic attack... or really a better description would be a well of emotions that I get at those special transition moment in life. This is normal, I'm told, and soon as the plane was airborn I experienced a sincere desire to leap from my; what a thrilling moment. This despite Zambia's last attempt to "bum" me out.
The day of the flight I had awoken with just enough money in my pocket to hire a taxi to the airport. (Zam PCVs will know then I had about 150,000 kwatcha) I had one other minor mission and that was to ship all of my souvir type things back to the states so as not to incumber my person as traipse the globe. Turns out it was going to be a lot cheaper then I had planned (advice to zam pcvs: go to the post office and say you want to ship it on the big boat)... 270,000 kwatcha ($54) for 7 kilos, as opposed to sending it normal, about $140. when the clerk quotes me the lower price I think: rockin'; I say: okay hold that thought while I run to the ATM and get some cash from my American account. Unfortunately when I give the machine a whirl it tells me the transaction cannot be made, insufficient blah, blah, blah (travel tip: get a visa card. Mastercard is, I assure you, not everywhere you want to be.) This is scary because my flight was taking off in 3 hours, and if this card is defective then how will I survive India? Sleep in the airport? Hitch a ride to the US. Embassy to make an international phone call?
Needless to say all's well. My account was fine, it was just Zambia's shitty uplink to the world, and I bought a new digital camera in Dubai, and all those 7 kgs I wanted to ship home was packed gingerly away in my check in luggage, and no worse for it. I am now in Bombay with super fast internet and 5 cent samosas (which besides being decidedly cheaper are bigger, and tastier then Zambia samosas), but more on that in another post. Air experience was, as per SOP, a total drag. It took six goddamn air ports (Lusaka, Addis, Kuwait, Bahrain, Dubai, Mumbai) and no flight long enough to let me sleep. I did sit next to someone who actually eats faster then me, which was a first, and those moving sidewalks are always fun, as if you were a 8 foot man in full stride. Oh, and the airline food was not too shabby. I'm beginning to learn that orientals just demand more from their food then we do, a whole world of foodies.
Other thoughts: Is there such a thing as a 'good' or 'bad' pilot? I mean, it's not like they're dog-fighting. Everything is completely automatic... if something reaches a certain parameter you flip a switch. It's all in the regulations.
An epitaph: RIP Ozark multitool, you were a good tool. Unlike my leatherman you never got stolen, probably because you were purchased from Walmart for $10, a most people thought you were a worthless piece of shit. But you made 5 years, and you did it all: Cut chicken wire, slaughter pigs, and pull nails, wrecking... And because you were cheap they made you extra bulky allowing your bodice to double up as a bludgeoning. I am so sorry that I absent mindly threw you in my carry on bag, and a little disturbed that Lusaka allowed me to board a jumbojet with you and it was only in Addis Abba that you were spotted and taken out of my life forever. You will be sorely missed.
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