He’d not done so well at university. His fellow students considered him “unserious” in spite of the fact that they all flocked enthusiastically to the pub each evening to hear his witty statements about everything from love to war. In fact, his concealed periods of depression were probably exactly because he failed in both. The former undoubtedly because of his poor looks and the latter because there just weren’t any wars going on in which one could succeed.
A year ago 18 of us were packing that last bag for EWT’s trip to Israel, Jordan and Egypt. The response to the trip had been one of the strongest that EWT had had in decades. I’d forewarned everyone before they reserved that I’d hired a Palestinian guide recommended by Rick Steves. I wanted to be clear that I felt the Israeli perspective was much better understood by Americans than the Palestinian one.
A few days before the end of the Israeli program, several Jewish members of the trip politely told me that they were leaving early. They were too kind to explain further. I understand better now why they did. And I’m so sorry that it took a 9-11 event for me to grasp this.
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A tale of woe.
Is that Cyril Ramaphosa selling South Africa out to the Russians then tripping over his own feet when he couldn’t let Putin meet him because he’d have to arrest him? Or is it Brice Nguemo body-guarding Ali Bongo Ondimba by arresting him so Albert Ondo Ossa couldn’t come to power and installing himself, instead? Or… might it be Emmerson Mnangagwa’s continuing sapping of Zimbabwe? Or, hey, maybe you didn’t yet know that there were only 1280 of us left on earth 900,000 years ago and that our species hung by the thread for 117,000 years because there wasn’t a Trump to kill us off?
But I couldn’t write about anything of that. Because of my own tale of woe. Which I’m now going to relate to all the many of you who love to read tales of woe, because well, we’ve all just seen Oppenheimer and want to believe there’s something worse.
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If you’ve planned a trip the first half of next year, should you buy your airline tickets now?
The answer’s easy if you’re traveling economy class: buy now. It’s a more difficult decision if you’re traveling in upper class.
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As beautiful as the unwild can be.
Breakfast on the Ewaso Nyiro. About 10:30a. We left camp four hours ago and almost immediately saw two very young hyaena suckling.
I was anxious to find one of my all-time favorite birds, the golden-breasted starling, but dozens of regular and Grevy’s zebra, many giraffe, elephant, lots of impala and warthog along with a roster of exotic, colorful birds were sufficient substitutions.
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His face says it all. His eyes glance at me through the picture of spite and revenge that laid waste so many. But his head can’t turn: he’s too old. Flabs of neck skin reveal the greasy gutter food on which he ravenously fed whenever he lost a battle, which were many. But he always avoided his Waterloo. He always won the big ones, and the rivulets of the sweat of those battles seemed this morning to have congealed his pugnacious face as prep for Madame Tussaud’s ultimate judgment:
He’s lost. There will be no granite or even concrete statues. His legacy is wax.
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I never thought that I’d allow “politics” to govern my travel. But times have changed. I’m now wary of traveling to South Africa.
Just look at the ads. Do you have travel plans? Or a budget? It’s happened and it’s big news.
Travel is a leading indicator of the economy. Maybe the most predictive of any. And the data is in, folks. By the end of this year we will either be entering a deep recession or the Fed will have rescued the world for the first time in economic history. This data isn’t just the CPI, but specifically what I know best: my industry is imploding.
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We weren’t going to tip over, at least I didn’t think so. But when our “guide” clonked out and bounced onto the rubber floor our raft of four plus him started twirling in the fizzy white water like an alka seltzer dissolving in a glass.
This was my first time on Nepal’s Rapti river and my rafting experience was very limited, although fortunately on a few rivers in Alaska that seemed as cold and wild as this one. But I was no paddle captain. Thank goodness that the other two rafts – both behind us – seemed OK. Until we saw in the distance what we had been looking for, but what was now suddenly a mortal threat:
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Yesterday a good friend reminded me how much of my skills I’ve lost. As I approach my 50th year as a professional safari guide the horrors of sentimentality led to outright embarrassment: it’s not really my age, it’s Alexa.
Feel the epiphanous relationship of the disaster in The Sudan with Kaylin Gillis and Ralph Yarl.
It’s called destruction. It emerges from hate, love or some other intense emotion. Amplified by modern technology it grows exponentially, quickly fuses into cultural movements and governments like a Covid virus strangling our pulmonary cells. And then – always – it explodes into war.
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Now few believe in the power of language that I do, and Manvar Singh’s excellent time line of the word “indigenous” developing from the 16th Century into various versions including Maasai anagrams is almost fascinating. But what does it really have to do with the Maasai being kicked out of Loliondo?
Singh’s New Yorker epistemology of “indigenous peoples” and the resulting evisceration of same peoples’ aspirations is terribly incomplete and as useless as he tries to portray those aspirations.
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One of the most successful of my over 100 migration safaris in the last half century!
Why? Well, first of all, because of the people. From Cleveland, New York City, Reno and Chapel Hill – though they had not known each other beforehand, we’re all now the best of friends! Self-selected for my migration safari, I always know it’s the perfect group!
But also:
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I’m currently in Nairobi where yesterday there was a major protest against the Chinese. It seems to have brought together almost all the bickering factions trying to assess blame for inflation.
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