Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts

Friday, April 17, 2009

Did someone spit in my sandwich?

I'm still in Zambia. 

The whine, whine & moan section:

I am in a hotel (or possibly in a country) with a very fickle internet connection. Sometimes, like right now at 8AM, the connection is perfect, and other times getting beyond the Facebook sign in page seems to be too big of a task. Combine this with a hotel room television set the size of my fist and you'll have an inkling of the pain this brings. Argh! Am I supposed to, like, not have any, like, distractions, or what? Like. 

My South African cell phone sim-card doesn't work here. I recently found out that this is because I don't have 'international roaming' in my contract. Hmph - this is just another way for the South African government/MTN to not see me as an adult, not have trust in me, and to supposedly make sure that I am unable to rack up a bill too big to pay. There is a limitation of R600 or something of sort in my contract already, so I fail to see the problem, but whatever. 

I seem to have caught the flu the hubby had. I'm pretty sure I would have kicked it already if I wasn't drinking the house red wine all the time. Sporting a sore throat and a runny nose that miraculously go away at night leaving me free to enjoy the wine, but return with a vengeance in the morning. Well, I guess this one I'll have to pin on my own stupid, borderline alcoholic self. Also, I am aware of the bad decision that having four cups of coffee in the morning instead of herbal tea is, if one is out to beat the flu. Again, all me.

The room service has gotten our order wrong four nights in a row, and we have complained thus possibly angering some of the poor staff (it's not all their fault, the hubby can't pronounce 'vegetable'). Every night then we wait for something while the rest of the food gets cold on the table. And it is not that great to begin with, even when it's hot. 

Yesterday, as I was hanging out at the hotel bar, where the internet seems a little better, and really felt the urgent need for some rooibos-tea, I did not get service for a whole whopping 35 minutes. I ill-advisedly complained, prompting the entire staff to now harangue me with constant good service. However, I'm also plagued by suspicions of them either spitting or possibly wanking off in my sandwich, or my latte. But that stuff only happens in the States, hey?

Everyone keeps calling me ma'am, which is depressing, since I'm only thirty.

I'm too sick and it might be just a tiny bit too cold to hang out by the pool.

There is a through and through Texan at the hotel who considers me one of his compatriots. Ya'll.
 
End of whine, whine & moan. Beginning of the section titled: 

This is a Flippin Awesome Country

Zambia is safe and sunny (I'm told SA has gotten cold since I've been gone). 

The internet at the hotel is included in the room price, and so is breakfast. 

I love, and I mean LOVE, bacon and banana on whole wheat, which they serve at this cool cafe in one of the malls. 

Lattes in this country rock.

I have been able to go everywhere without my cell phone, which for me, coming from the land of Nokia and not really being able to remember a time before cell phones (when I was a kid my dad had a phone the battery of which took up the whole trunk of the car), is a very liberating experience.  

Being sick here with the hubby now taking care of me beats being sick by myself at home. One might argue that had I not come I would not have gotten sick in the first place, but I refuse to go there.

People here call me ma'am instead of sir, which often happens in South Africa. I know I have a haircut, that even my hairdresser calls a 'boy cut' (boycott, ha ha. Too sick to make a proper joke), but I'm still fairly feminine, especially since I got my eyebrows and eyelashes dyed. 

There is a through and through Texan at the hotel who considers me one of his compatriots. His jeans are far too tight and his shirt far too Dallas. Love it! He also has very interesting facial hair.

Sometime last month I found a blog called Zambia Express, written by two Brits living in Lusaka. I wrote to them asking what they thought I should see and do in Lusaka, since Lonely Planet wasn't too big of a help, and the cool expats that they are Jo and Kieron actually went above and beyond and came up with a whole itinerary for a week in Lusaka. How cool! As soon as I feel up to it, I'll be off sightseeing, eating, drinking and partying per instructions. I can be such a charter tourist sometimes. Snicker!

Also, I have actually been writing something besides e-mails (which I don't really do unless we are talking a letter of complaint) and this blog. It's a bit off the wall, and I'm missing an ending, but it's also pretty good. I think. Hurrah!

Thursday, January 08, 2009

Complete and utter rut

For the past four months that we have been in South Africa I have literally done nothing worth noting with my life. I read, surf the net and occasionally drink too much wine, or coffee, or both. While we were waiting for my husband's work permit to come through (first E & Y, the good for nothing company, took over two months to translate 3 measly one-page documents into English - two from Spanish and one from Danish, followed by a prolonged Home Affairs deliberation time of 40 working days. Yes 8 weeks) I was comfortably in limbo. We couldn't buy a car, I wasn't allowed to drive the company car my husband had been allocated, so I really could get no regular activities going, let alone something I would be doing every single day, such as volunteering. I had a valid reason to curl up on the couch with my cup of coffee and go through a book a day.

Now, some days after getting the car, I still seem to be stuck in that rut. I still get up in the morning only to hang out all day long. I have started going to the gym on the estate, but that is not saying much. Again, I'm faced with the question 'what will I ever do with my life'. I'm plagued by nightmares of returning to Europe some time in the distant future and having to work in McDonalds, because no one else will hire a person, who has pretty much never worked a day in her life, not really that is. Not that there is anything wrong with working in Mickey Dee's, but I have actually, eons ago, tried it out for a while and would hate to have to repeat the experience. Burgers and me don't mix, unless the burger is going down my throat.

In Denmark I was studying and finally ended up with a Masters in a very non-practical field. In Mexico I was volunteering, and eventually got far too involved for my own good. But what to do in South Africa? Every time we move I decide this will be the time I'll finish my bestseller that will also garner critical acclaim, i.e. I'll become the next Toni Morrison, Arundhati Roy, or Philip Roth. At this point I'll also settle for becoming the next Stepehenie Meyer or Marian Keyes and just go for the bestseller. I'm easy to please.

The only slight glitches in my brilliant plan of becoming a world renowned author, are that I never seem to feel inspired enough to actually sit down and write, not to mention the fact that when it really comes to it, I'm just not that great a writer. This was a very harsh realization I recently came to as I hit a major milestone in my life. I can still feel the ripples of my existential crisis, even if the only tangible remnant of it is the question. 

I think I'm going to try my hand at poetry now. Feel my desperation.