Finding Shagri La

Yup, he's got it figured out.  Lounging poolside at the Old Boma in Mikindani, while we humans fret over choices.  Choices are not always welcome.  Sometimes it's better to just make due with the hand you're dealt.  I've gone from thinking I've found the secret to happiness, that I've figured out an ideal life of perfection that escapes the masses, playing in the sun in an exotic locale, living a life of adventure and fun, to really wishing I was just at home, with its grey skies and drizzle and cold and wind, but home.  Choices put me here.  Choices could get me out of here.  I'm torn.

One gets tired of dealing with stupidity, or people in power imposing their morals, their idea of how things should be, making rules and restrictions for what end I'm not sure.  Live and let live.  Silly concerns of security while other lapses abound, when just beyond our gates people are living their lives unencumbered with corporate responsibility or appearance.  It's silliness and I shake my head.  Much harder to swallow when I had run the show myself for so long.  But what are my choices?  Put up or move on?  The world is changing and Africa provided a breath of fresh air, but now even that's being taken away.  I'd like to stay.  I like the mountain biking and snorkelling and monkeys and friendly people and Search and Rescue hoisting and the freedom, but I'd shoot myself in the foot to spite someone.  Trying to be smart.  Weighing options.  Battle not lost quite yet.  I know I'd miss Africa sorely.

 

Yet another spill on a mountain bike, adding to a pattern work of scars from years of pushing too hard.  Blasting down a steep rough and rutted mud trail far too fast, taking a blind loose corner slightly out of control and not overly surprised when the front wheel washes out, with so many crashes under my belt, I've been here many times before and it all unravels in slow-mo, wondering as I'm still earth-bound how badly this will hurt, but after the prerequisite post-crash lay-quietly-and take-stock-to-see-if-anything-is-broken, I'm happy to find I've only reopened up the leg wound from last week, perhaps adding a few more scrapes, but I have quite seriously messed up my shoulder.  A very unpleasant ride back to the hotel after repairing various items knocked askew on my steed.  Lots of Advil and four days later it still wakes me up when I roll onto it at night, my sleeping self not as careful as I would like.  I do like the 27.5" wheels though.  While your center of gravity feels much higher, the frame has me sitting far more upright and it's easier on my lower back, and it's a solid bike to blitz over the hard packed mud trails and roads of Mtwara.  I've been out every day, even with the painful shoulder.....

My few days in Dar es Salaam were a pleasure, and I now understand why traffic is so horrendous during the rains. In rain the police aren't out, so there are no fines for breaking rules, no enforced guidance, and the roads become a free for all and are soon in deadlock...we sat at one point for over forty-five minutes without moving.  I've been around and I've never seen traffic like Dar, where a drive from the airport to the coast can vary from twenty minutes to over three hours.  Mtwara's mud roads are far preferred!

We were back to the Old Boma on Sunday, reopened after months of renovations.  Blue monkeys high in the trees pee in our general direction, thankfully short of their mark, and I wonder if they are just answering the call or is there malicious intent?  We laugh regardless.   I do like Africa.  What to do?  What to do?