Animal

Around 00.15am on a Monday night at Liverpool tube station, a miracle happened.

The gates of the underground were opened by a large, middle-aged station worker, laughing away, and he let me pass through the gates for free.
Now, I've travelled enough to know that you can talk yourself out of paying a fee almost anywhere in the world- smile, look cute, and if need be, cry. But never in London. They are too used to the tricks, the excuses; they don't care if your purse was just stolen or you misplaced your ticket. And the certainly never open the gates for free. But I had a previously-unseen trick up my sleeve. I had an alcoholic gay albino inflatable giraffe in tow.

Fred on the underground

Fred, the giraffe, has been a much-expected guest to London. I've had emails from friends who've seen him on Facebook or my blog ask if Fred is up for a drink, and let me tell you now that Fred is always up for a drink. Especially since he is, indeed, plastic, and his escort (me) ends up drinking them most of the time. Fred has visited quite a few pubs in the past few weeks, one birthday party, and had many glasses of wine. The odd thing is, though, that he is getting random requests from people whom neither Rich or I know. He recently had a friend request on Facebook from a fish. Honestly, I'm not sure if the fish was inflatable or not.

Fred at an offlicence on Brick Lane, much to the amusement of the owner

Special thanks would go to Kate and her birthday. I got re-introduced to the wonderful world of champagne cocktails, Fred got a tequila, and everyone got to pose with him and take funny photos. Last week, a little kid tried to steal him before I managed to shove him out of the way (the kid of course. I wouldn't be so cruel to an animal)

At Kate's birthday party

I've enjoyed taking Fred out as much as he's enjoyed being taken out. And although I know that carrying him around might lessen my chances of finding a job in November (I'm very much aware, after years of working as a recruiter, how potential candidates get googled and poked at), it's been fun. Anything that brings a smile on someone's face in this (sometimes) a grim city, is worth it, I reckon.

, I know I'll sound like a snobby world-weary backpacker on this blog entry, but I really have seen a lot of good game parks and animals. Lots of them. In biiiiiig quantities; prides of up to 30 lions, schools of hippos totaling up to about 100 each, dozens of elephants grazing; I've been attacked by a frustrated rhino, I've seen a pack of nearly-extinct African wild dogs hunt, and i've been face-to-face with giraffes on a walking safari. So, as far as everything goes, I've been pretty lucky; or even more than lucky- I've seen South Luangwa, Chobe, Kruger, and Etosha, all amongst the best game parks in Africa, and many of the smaller ones in various countries. Still, I really wanted to go to Masai Mara. Mainly because after a long scrutiny, it seemed to have all the possible African animals in it. So I haggled a while, booked a 4-day trip to the Lake Nakuru and the Mara, and left Rich in Nairobi to work on his friendship with the staff at Nairobi hospital.

Now, the one thing everyone wants to see whist in Africa is the so-called Big Five. So-called, because although (some) of these five animals are actually big, not all of them are rare or even interesting; they are simply called so as they all were prized hunting trophies to the rich Europeans in the early days of African safaris. However, a huge business centers around the “Big Five”- t-shirts, keyrings, carvings and other odds and sods that people lug back to Europe or States to show everyone that they belong to that special caste who've been to Africa and seen the Big Five.
Admittedly, I've never really been sure what belongs in the Big Five. A lion, yes, and elephant and rhino, all big and impressive, but I was a little unclear on the other two. Hippo? Certainly big. Cheetah? Fastest land mammal, so surely it as well?

A British man on the tour found it impossible to understand that I did not know these essentials. “But how do you know otherwise what you are meant to see?”, he wanted to know. Err, I thought you just look out of the little car, and see animals. The park was full of giraffes, zebra, various antelopes, wildebeest and buffaloes. At one stage, we were surrounded by a heard of 300 buffaloes. But it is wonderful. People seem to carry a little check-list of “animals seen”, which instantly earns them cool backpacker points amongst other travellers. Now, I've never really seen a leopard, the holy grail of any animal spotter, except hiding in some distant tree, with only a tail showing, so I never really considered that I'd actually seen one. Fortunately, and quite unexpectedly, I'd seen one walk right past the car in Lake Nakuru, with two young ones hovering in the background. A set of stunning, magnificent animals (although very small in real life) and I was incredibly happy to have seen them. Unfortunately, though, I was suddenly the object of hostile-ish envy in Masai Mara; some people actually went as far as suggesting I might have been, if not lying, then certainly exaggerating this rare sighting. Animal spotting is fierce some business.

Anyhow, I had a great time in Masai Mara, except that I did finally get some sort of a stomach bug and spent most of the time outside the game drives sleeping and feeling feverish. We saw a tiny jackal pup chasing a large heard of very disinterested -looking impala, getting breathless- if impalas could laugh, they certainly would have done. We saw a large pride of lions eat a wildebeest, with the smallest cub getting tangled up in the tail it was carrying around. We saw a huge male lion stalking a heard of nervous-looking buffaloes, a female cheetah with two young cubs, and a lake full of pink flamingos. It was, all in all, money well spent. And my total amount of cool backpacker points is on the rise since leopards and cheetahs. Now, if I could only get hold of a Lonely Planet somewhere I could find out all the other stuff I need to see in Eastern Africa. It's an awfully long tick-list.

Last month, when I first met the Polish Mafia, we had a great idea. We decided to do a road trip to South Luangwa National Park in the Eastern Province. Naturally, I took charge of the plan, picked a weekend (just before the election day) organised days off, borrowed tents, haggled with the bus companies, going back and forth between each little stall at the bus station, getting lower and lower offers until they told me, quite curtly, that I could get lost. Hmph. But even still, the day before departure, Beata and I were sitting on my door step, drinking beer and getting excited about our trip. Oh, how I love that comfortable pre-travel talk, the way people get excited about trips they might never even go on. Well, we were going, we were determined. I had three crumpled tickets, a reservation at a backpacker-friendly campsite, and a rucksack full of pasta, tinned beans and canned cheap beer. It was going to be a great weekend.

(at the Intercity bus station, you get a fine for everything in the ladies'. even washing your face.)

We got to the bus early, around 5.30am for our 6am departure. Usually, the first bus in Zambia is a timed bus, which means it leaves on time, or at least around the right time. Other buses leave when they are full, or when the drunk driver finally sobers up enough to take the bus on the road. We waited. We waited until 8am. Until 8.30am. I was getting angry enough to smash the bus window. Beata threatened the driver with the police "Ha", he said "yes, little lady, you go get the police". They all burst out laughing. No one involves the police in anything in Zambia. Beata looked indignant. "I will", she retorted, and strutted off. The men laughed again, evil, evil laugh. Asia and I glared at them from the bus window.

And then a miracle happened. The police came, they were nice and polite and put us in a bus that left immediately, and forced the evil, evil driver of our bus to pay for it. After three hours of travelling but not-travelling, we were on our way.

The road to Chipata, the closest city, is paved and therefore comfortable. Beata and I ate two packets of biscuits and nine bananas and felt great. In Chipata, we realised we'd missed the last minibus to Mfuwe, the town at the entrance of South Luangwa. Hostel owners and taxi drivers cornered us, and we shook them off, trying to get our bearings and trying to decide on the next move. I wasn't going to pay for a taxi, and neither was I spending a night in this dusty city. So I dragged two very tired polish girls, a tent, a grocery bag and half the sand of Zambia in my shoes to the largest crossing in town. Beata put down her bag and sat down. "What's the plan then? Why are we sitting at the intersection?" She dusted off her trousers and looked at me pleadingly. "We're going to Mfuwe", I said, and started hailing down every passing vehicle, including a few bicycles.

Just before it got dark, we got lucky. We met a guy who was driving up to Mfuwe to take supplies to the local shops. I eyed him suspiciously. He seemed to only have a few crates of Castle lager waiting with him. I figured, OK, at least we'll have entertainment on board. We jumped at the back of the truck.

Unfortunately, we only went around the corner. The guy had neglected to tell me they had a whole lot of more stuff to take with them. We got off; they loaded on maize, bread, toilet roll, crisps. We got on; we drove around the block and the driver decided the stack of beers was too high to be safe, so we drove to his house, where he unloaded some of it for safekeeping (yeah, right). We jumped on; the driver decided that now that the beer was off, there was indeed a bit of room for something else, but what? We drove to his friend's house; we jumped off; we watched sacks of rice being loaded up. We got back on; we stopped, the cover wasn't strapped on properly and it needed to be tightened. We'd hailed the ride at 6.15pm; it was now 8.30, and I was showing so much patience I nearly burst. Just before nine o'clock the stuff was loaded, we were at the back, the driver was still sober and we left Chipata behind. Asia, Beata and I nearly cheered.
Twenty minutes outside the city, the truck broke down.

We got to the campsite around 2am, tired and with achy bums, and didn't bother with the cooking or showering. We were allocated a platform up on the tree, which cheered us up momentarily. I pitched up the tent on the platform, only to realise that it was, actually, way too small for three people. I looked at the two very tired girls, and took my sleeping bag outside and twisted and turned forever in my sleeping bag on the wooden floor, thinking, what the fuck, this is by far the worst 24-hours of my life. Then I heard a deep, grunting sound somewhere below. I peaked out carefully. I was the biggest hippo I'd ever seen, calmly munching away right underneath my sleeping bag. At that moment, the whole trip was suddenly worth something.

I spent two days going on game drives, drinking beer and cooking soggy pasta. The Poles only stayed two nights, but luckily I picked up a lovely Swede, Niku, who kept me company. I saw a heard of 16 lions, sleeping in a tight pile, oblivious to the three carloads of people staring at them. Elephants came right up to us, a family as big as thirty, walking past so close that if I'd held out my hand I could have touched them. There's something about seeing these animals; South Luangwa is the fourth such national park I've visited, and I never get tired of seeing these animals, the colourful birds and funny-looking giraffes in the wild. I even went on a walking safari, albeit with an armed guide, and came up close to warthogs, antilopes, hippoes and giraffes. I loved it. I could have easily stayed in South Luangwa for a week, sitting by the pool, reading and watching the day waste away in between game drives. But I had to come back. Luckily, I could bring Niku with me.

The road back was far less dramatic- we only ran out of petrol once, and only had one fight with a cheating bus conductor. Niku and I stuffed ourselves with unhealthy, deep-fried doughnuts and soft drinks, and slept most of the way to Lusaka. I couldn't bare to end a nice weekend just yet, so I arranged Niku to stay with my family in Chawama. They loved the idea; Handsen (the father of my family) took Niku around Lusaka, seeing all the sights (which doesn't take long, I tell you!), but most of the time we met up with my friends, went to see movies, ate pizza and did all sorts of silly western things, like shopping. It was fantastic having a friend stay, and I almost cried when we finally, over a week later, said good bye at the same bus station we'd arrived at.

(Jerryspringer-like afterthought) It is amazing how quickly friendships form whenever you are travelling. It always gets me; at home you spend months, years, getting to know someone, and here, in a place where you discuss your bowel movements before you find out each others' names, friendships are instant. Whole little dramas emerge and evolve almost without noticing.