There is nothing like home?

So I have been traveling again, hence the silence here. This time back to South Africa from Zambia. On returning to this country, where this morning the temperature was 3 degrees celsius (Thanks a lot drunk Ext [one of my personalities] for leaving the windows in the kitchen open), I was able to think up some random thoughts and questions. Also, my first 'my year of reading dangerously' book - Den Afrikanske Farm by Karen Blixen - is just a little bit tedious at times and and has so many archaic Danish words and expressions that I have given up on trying to understand every single one of them. Also, if the said archaisms are part of a nature description I find myself yawning. Always was a city girl, regardless of the small town (country) past.

While I was not reading on the plane these things came up:

1. If you have three fat people on the whole flight why do you make them squeeze into three adjacent seats? The Mma Ramotswe (or that is how I imagine her based on the books) next to me had to have one of those extensions for the seatbelt brought out.

2. Is there in fact a conspiracy against fat people flying? I think so. Someone out there is going "Now, on this plane lets give them enough leg room to stow an elephant under the seat, but lets make it impossible for them to lift up the arms so that there is no way in hell they can ever utilize the leg room for anything, but transporting that elephant. Fat people shouldn't be crossing their legs anyhow - too much prominent thigh. Oh, and Gary, make sure no one is actually allowed to take more than a tiny bag on the plane so that we'll have that elephant space free at all times. Thanks." (my imaginary minions are always called Gary, or Bill).

3. Where did Mma Ramotswe get her happenin' pedicure? And why is she taking her shoes off? Could she have visited the The Most Best Salon in Lusaka?

4. On an airplane when the stewardess asked me "Beef or vegetable?" why did my mouth say, before my brain had had time to process the question, "vegetable", when I very well know that airplane-speak for weird curried or pickled mush is vegetable? Also, why do I torture myself with airplane coffee? Probably because it is still coffee. Kind of.

5. Why did I in my inebriated state ignore the button that said 'next page' while booking my return from Zambia and trying to match hubby's return flight? This is what I learned though: Arrivals at four hours apart give you just enough time to make it back home from the airport (driven by a person who regales you with tales of gruesome traffic accidents, and what route he would take if he was driving a copper truck to South Africa from Zambia ['thru Zim, of course]), start a load of laundry and drink a liter of coffee, before driving to the airport in pitch black through Johannesburg, only to find out that the flight is delayed allowing you to have yet more coffee at 8PM plummeting you into a complete zombie state, and unable to sleep regardless of extreme exhaustion. And then, when you finally do fall asleep you have hectic dreams of drinking coffee.

While I was trying to unlock the front door in order to run to the bathroom these things came up:

1. What am I going to wear to the wedding this weekend? I bought a lovely embroidered traditional costume from Zambia, that has real freak-em-out potential, but I don't know if it is garden-party appropriate, or whether it'll fall apart if I sweat in it.

2. How come it is cold in South Africa when it wasn't cold in Zambia? I mean, we're still in Africa, and the distance between Lusaka and Johannesburg is only the same as from Finland to Germany, or from New York to Atlanta.

3. Why did I leave the freezer open? No sorry, it was just the windows.

4. If you could only take 5 kilos of stuff for a month in Europe, what would it be? The other 15 kilos, I am allowed is comprised of one well packed fertility idol, Zambian junk, Tanzanian junk and South African junk, by which I mean presents for our families and friends.

5. Is it possible to not drink wine or coffee for four days in order to avoid extremely swollen limbs and an inside of nose that feels like it is on fire when breathing through it? Nix on the coffee and wine pending. I hate long-haul flights. Or actually all flights. Why are there scientists still all consumed with trying to cure illnesses when teleportation still isn't a reality? Priorities, people.

Join me tomorrow for 'panicky packing mayhem' with the special edition of 'what is this moldy stuff in my suitcase and how long has it been in there'.