Doctor Livingstone I presume?

I've been reading about Henry Morton Stanley's expedition to find Doctor Livingstone.  The famous explorer, missing and presumed dead in deepest darkest Africa, was on the very last of his many expeditions, which actually launched from our favourite Sunday afternoon hangout in Tanzania.  I attempt to fathom Stanley's trek into the unknown, losing the majority of his porters and supplies and contracting numerous illnesses that took him to the brink of death repeatedly. Stanley writes about the experience as though it were a trip through hell itself, lasting over a year, including the sea voyage from Europe.  I just covered the same distance in nine hours with Swiss Air.  I was sandwiched between two very overweight people for the duration, so the voyage wasn't without hardship, but I honestly think I'd rather have had Stanley's adventures.

 

Shopping for watches in Zurich (no, I didn't buy one) during the four hour layover, I'm happy to be well on my way once again.  I love Africa, and yes it grows on you, but it also wears on you, if the extremely high turnover at our Mtwara base is any indication.  The heat and sand and dirt and garbage, the ripe smells and constant bombardment of sounds, goats baying and the claws of crows scratching on sheet metal, Muslim call to prayer blasted over loudhailers, and everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, rap music played far too loud, speakers clipping and undecipherable.  Nova Scotia in the woods, quiet and peaceful and calling to me with tranquility.  I'll admit to being a tad homesick.  I know too, a few days at home and I'll be recharged and missing the flying, and the adventure....

My new pocketknife for touring (and hunting and fishing and everything else);  a CRKT M21-02.  Too cool!

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