Yellow House

Many Months Ago:

“Vacation time and the relative lack of it available to Americans compared to others around the world, was an oft discussed topic of conversation in my life. A soap box I climbed up onto frequently, sometimes in conjunction with the happiness of people in general, sometimes when berating corporations for the way they have convinced us that a 40 hour work week is a minimum requirement and holidays only for the very slovenly. Something I hadn’t pondered however was that while I take an excess of days compared to most of my peers, the quantity of my travel sometimes overtook the general quality.

On the way to an airport recently I realized much to my shock that my passport was exactly two years old to the day and completely full. This, in turn made me reflect on the excessive amounts of travel I had pursued, my compulsion to constantly keep moving, and the further realization that I hadn’t enjoyed all that much of it. Actually.. though I have always known this.. I have barely recognized that my perfect holiday is one where I lay on the beach and occasionally surface from my novel to submerge my body in the ocean. I also rise from the towel at the thought of fresh seafood and a crisp glass of wine at a table by the water. Yet, in my relationship where we flew as often as some might buy groceries we rarely traveled like that.

Going beyond the passport back to days of dating and cohabiting.. though the trips were numerous, there were but perhaps five that contained these idyllic properties. In St. Lucia we complained of boredom but cherished the creativity that arises from such a lack of schedule. In New Zealand we were enchanted by scallops and candles on a picnic table in a three boat harbor. Puerto Rico, while only a weekend away was momentous in the conversation, drinks and utter bliss it provided. So why didn’t we do more of what we loved?

I write because I am struck by this. I formulate the sentences because I hope to put this into consideration as I arrange future travel. Maybe seeing all the things I think I should see isn’t the way forward. When really all I want is a little beach time with people I adore.

VSO has certain travel restrictions. You aren’t forbidden to travel to these areas or on these routes, they are mainly a firm recommendation. The punch line being the story of a volunteer who took that bus from Rwanda to Burundi, and was duely shot along with the rest of the passengers enroute. And this gets me to the question dad has been asking all along. What am I doing here? Why am I so far from everyone I love? And though I don’t feel compelled to have an answer to justify my choices, I do wonder.. maybe in the future, maybe when this adventure is over, will I still feel the need to globe trot, or will I be content to enjoy holidays just as I like them, where I might not see as much, but I know I will return refreshed and rejuvenated.

I have 6 weeks up my sleeve for 2007. And I am rethinking the way I want to spend the time. Initially I had a list of countries to conquer and sights to see, but the vacation I am looking forward to the most is Zanzibar Island. Maybe I am a need to exercise the inner beach bunny.”

May 1, 2007

I am in Lamu. Lamu* is an old Swahili island on the Kenyan coast just south of Sudan I think. There are no cars but one arse-load (I will allow ass-load) of donkeys. There are also perhaps two arse-loads of flies (per establishment). People come for the beach, the pace. The glorious thing about Lamu is there is absolutely nothing to do here. Nothing. Because we are off-off season, many more popular establishments are closed. Lamu is entirely Muslim, or so I believe and beers are not so easy to come by leaving our choices for entertainment as 1. read in bed, 2. read on beach. Hooray. I can’t actually remember the last time when I checked into one same hotel for five consecutive nights.

We are staying at Wildebeest guest house I think, and our apartment is more like a warren of up and down rooms which the breeze whispers through. Flowers and foliage wrap themselves around things to serve as screens. Privacy is dubious at best. Soetinah and I share a room on the roof, and Sarah and Tanya are in what might be best described as the attic. There really are no doors, but then there really are few walls. From my netted bed (and you know how I feel about this sacred place on the whole) I can see the ocean and the sky and three satellite dishes. Ha. We have been joined by the moon in its full glory, so that at night, it never gets quite dark. Delightfully, it is safe to walk around at any hour. Or so we’re told.

I am so glad to be back in Kenya. By last Saturday morning I was beginning to feel like I never left the States. I am however trying to recuperate from non-digestive related issues acquired in Chicago (that I should have taken care of properly in London) and the inability to sleep between the hours of 1 and 5 am. I am also covered in bites. From bed companions, mostly small and winged.. but strangely quiet (why do mosquitos not buzz here?).

So.. what am I reading? I finished David Mitchell’s “Black Swan Green” which I enjoyed more than his “Ghost Written.” It’s an interesting story, and I especially like his writing. I am now reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Eat, Pray, Love” (thank you Jamie) and enjoying it immensely. One of my best few hours in Chicago was spent in a book store with Bev, perusing the shelves for nothing in particular armed only with a friend’s wish list.. which took me in some new directions. I found Anna Gavalda’s latest novel… well most recently translated book and am so excited to get into Lionel Shriver’s new one too. Paulo Coehlo has another out and then there was some books I just had to buy for the picture on the cover (e.g. Julia’s Chocolates with the wedding dress hanging in the tree).

So. There has been more discussion about this whole blogging malarkey. But it can wait.. in fact this week everything can wait. B xx

*It occurs to me that rather than spout nonsense I could look at a guide book and find out something about where I am staying before writing my entries. I’m not going to do that.