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I was in a good mood as walked up to the American ticket counter at our very own SDF.

The agent was busy but very friendly nonetheless. He informed me that my flight from Louisville to D.C. would be delayed about an hour. This would give me hardly any time to get to the other terminal and make the connection. I could stay in town another day or get on the flight anyway. If I missed the connection, (which I most assuredly would) then the airline would pay for a hotel in D.C. Naturally, my mind said, Free vacay in D.C.! Everyone on my flight to D.C. had to rush for a connection. The steward asked that we let those with connections go first. Of course I let the others go ahead and was very leisurely in my deplaning . Once in the terminal, I wanted caffeine and got a very interesting Cubano. My stomach rumbled, and I got a burger at 5 Guys. Multiple announcements came over the PA for some passenger to report to thus and so. I paid no attention because the name was nowhere close to mine, and I didnt hear anything about Johannesburg. Maybe it was because the lady had an Asian accent? The Guest Services desk gave me a voucher for the Hilton and $15 worth of food. Score! Unfortunately I didnt have time to see all the monuments, but decided it would be best to get to the airport with plenty of time. Thank God I did! I walked up to the South African ticket counter, and they wanted $250 in rebooking fees! They said the plane waited 30 minutes for me and they kept paging. Why would they wait 30 minutes? After an hour of inter-airline beaurocracy, a very nice American Airline lady rebooked me. Serves me right! Moral of the story dont try to get freebies, and be very, very nice to those in customer service. #2 I hate planes! The thrill of takeoff and landing never gets stale, but sleep does not happen for those over six foot. I walked off of the steps and followed the train of people along the tarmac. Zambian customs was pretty painless. Expecting to be assaulted by people wanting to carry my bags, I completely ignored Danny. He is the courier for Beit CURE hospital and was there to pick me up. He kept saying something and I kept saying, No, no thats OK. His words finally registered and I apologized profusely. I got my bags, and we heaved them into the back of the hospitals Toyota/emergency squad. We both walked to the right side of the vehicle, and then I remembered that Zambia is a former British colony. Danny mentioned that a lot of people do that, as he hopped into the drivers seat. I mimed shifting with my left hand and asked, Is the clutch on the left or right? #3 I went to bed at about 11pm local time, and slept well. I was only mildly tired the next morning. Everyone expected me to have jet lag, but I felt fine. Dr. Lastoni let me scrub on some club foot cases. Its been a while since I reviewed the anatomy of the foot, and I felt a bit lost- such and such angle of equinus and et cetera. The surgeries wrapped up about noon and I went on rounds with Mubazi. Again, I felt lost because most of the patients spoke in Nenja. I still wasnt extremely tired, but decided to take a nap as all the work was done. This nap turned from an hour to four. I was up a few hours, then went to

sleep again- a total of 16 hours. The next day, Friday, I slept about as much. Maybe Im just catching up on a sleep deficit from before this trip? Or maybe I just didnt feel guilty about being so lazy?

#4 Unpacking my suitcase was interesting. Of course I knew that liquids expand at 40,000 feet. Did I THINK about that when packing? No. Thank God I packed the liquids in grocery bags. I had a lotion bomb in one bag, covering my deodorant and contact solution in Slime de Aveeno. It could have been much worse. I wonder if squeezing the excess air out of the bottle would have changed anything (i.e. allowing it to expand the semi-collapsed bottle)? Also, they must heat the cargo bay (otherwise there would be signs of freezing). Why not pressurize it too? Thoughts? #5 I decided to run today. Where should I go? I decided to turn right out of the compound and follow the road. It was busy a lot of cars and a lot of people walking. I had to dodge guys barreling down the hill on bikes with no brakes. The car fumes werent too bad at first. Even the rare diesel truck with a billowing black tail didnt bother me. I thought it was kind of amusing and even pinched my nose playfully at one driver. It got old after two miles. It began to feel like I had smoked a pack of cigarettes for every half a mile I ran. The health benefits were canceling each other out. Finally, I moved to the dirt path ten or twenty meters off of the road. Wow! The path wasnt as easy to run, but that little bit made quite a difference. I understood why most of the people were walking over there. Several people asked me if I was a footballer. Apparently they are the only ones who train. I saw a six year old boy ahead. He was juggling small red ball. As I ran up, I playfully juked and stole the ball. I shot a grin over my shoulder as I kicked the ball back. A few older girls with the boy smiled back. I could see them thinking, What a crazy mizungo!? #6 The traditional handshake in Zambia is very interesting. It begins normally with two pumps. Next, the grip swivels, and hands are clasped so both sets of knuckles are facing up. Last, it switches back to normal for one last pump. It was very odd to me because it resembles a ghetto hand-shake. This nuance came up with one of the Zambians, and figuring out how to explain ghetto became an awkward conversation. The younger guys bump fists. This started as a greeting when ones hands were dirty, but then gained popularity. The most respectful way is to bow and clasp your hands in front of you, sometimes including a soft clap. This way is used in church to show reverence to God. Everyone claps three times after the minister says, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

#7 The reason I am here is to learn ministry in healthcare. In some respects it should be easier than in the US because it is a explicitly Christian hospital. I have been listening to sermons by Andy Stanley and Timothy Keller at night when I have trouble sleeping (yeah, now I have trouble sleeping!). The conviction I have is to really get involved and pray with the patients. Stanley had this prayer in his last sermon: Enable me to speak your word with great boldness. Stretch out your hand to perform signs and wonders in the name of Jesus. Honestly, I feel weird praying with patients. Prayer is a very private, personal thing for me. I dont like the look at me! feeling I get when praying in public. After all, wasnt Daniel encouraged to pray in his room? Didnt Jesus admonish the Pharisees for praying on the street corner? I also realize that my view is still focused on ME and what I think about others perceptions. Werent the disciples encouraged to heal and cast out demons in Jesus name? Did they do that in a closet? My next step is to get to know the patients. It is much easier to pray for someone you know.

# I remember getting on the bus that was taking us to the plane to Zambia. There was this white Zambian lady talking some serious smack about football (soccer). It seemed similar to European football banter and I tuned it out. The flight was uneventful until the pilot announced the score of some game. When we landed, he announced, Zambia won! There was a bit of excitement, to put it mildly. I first heard the voovoozela in person when Danny was taking me back from the airport. My first night in Zambia was filled with those initially amusing buzzing blasts. I learned a lot over the next four days. Against all odds, Zambia was in the final match for the Africa Cup of Nations. They were playing Cote de Ivoire on Sunday night. Sunday came and I went to church. It seemed odd that the pastor prayed that no one would die that night. Later, Danny picked me up from the hospital. We drove the workers home and then went to his pub. Everyone in the country was a fanatic that night. The cars and trucks sported Zambia team flags on their hoods. Men wore getup that included hardhats, dresses, and body paint all in green, red, and asdfas. Oddly, some of the boys powdered their faces white. It looked like a normal NFL Sunday to me! The pub we were in was high-end. Each person had to pay about $4 upfront to get in, and then they would give you $4 of drink/food. Apparently that weeded out a lot of people. Two sides of the bar were open, with rows of plastic chairs lined under the canopy. The game started at 09:30. It is sooo much more fun to watch football with people! Although, the blasts of three voovoozelas and multiple whistles quickly overwhelmed the small space. It kept going after countless close calls. The game proceeded to penalty kicks after about seven overtime periods. At this point, I was wondering why not just have a game of penalty kicks. It would be much simpler.

The second player up for the Ivory Coast missed and the place went wild. Somehow he got to rekick it and made it. .And then five more rounds of kicks. Finally, another Ivory Coast man missed! And the Zambian followed. Here we go again. Wow! The star Ivory Coast player was blocked by Mweene. The next Zambian scored! Finally, were done!

Not quite. Everyone was whipped into a frenzy by an almost invisible hand. The happiness was contagious, but yet running toward absolute silliness. Beer and drink went everywhere, including down my back. Danny drug me by the hand toward the door. He wanted to leave before it got too crazy. Danny was very happy too. He drove a bit faster over the many potholes and barley let off the horn. We waved to everyone we passed. Up ahead there was a car with the hazards lights blinking. A raucous mass surrounded it, filling the street. Danny slowed and tried to pass using what little room we had. The driver opened his door into us just at the wrong time. The man didnt seem to mind too much. Danny yelled at him to get out of the way, and the passenger in the backseat started yelling back. The driver suddenly remembered that he should probably start being mad about this too, and he started yelling. It seemed that a crowds happiness and euphoria could have bipolar swings. Danny and I sensed we should take off at about the same time. He sped ahead and took a pock-marked road much faster than usual. Its best to leave them behind, he said. Again, we came upon a crowd filling the road. Close the car, he stated. We rolled up the windows just as people started banging on the car, chanting, Zambia! I remembered the pastors words. He told us that a young boy died after the last match after jumping onto a moving truck. Apparently most of the deaths are from crazy driving. I said a short prayer, and a wry thought came. The only difference between Zambian and Ohio State football fans is the crazy African driving! # I shouldnt have worn flip-flops. Its a natural habit when back home, but the dirt streets reminded me that this wasnt home. I was walking to the pub for the game and was thankful. At least it hadnt rained recently. My mind jumped to hookworm and other things I might have forgotten from 2nd year. Flash forward to today. Right now Im staring at multiple small, itchy welts on my feet. Great. Now I have malaria.

# There is nothing like jumping on a plane, expecting to operate, and then being downgraded to third year medical student status. I guess doctors around the world are all the same. One doctor will rip out the fibula for facial reconstruction, and then let a third year put the muscles back together, harvest a

skin graft, and sew it in place. Another doc will think you would be delighted to hold retractors and cut suture. Dr. L is the latter. You learn how to adapt to these guys throughout medical school. First you behave hold retractors, cut suture, and pay close attention to new procedures. Then you gradually do more without being asked pick up the Bovie cautery, suction, and irrigate when appropriate. When you are off, you read text books about the next days procedures, and maybe bring in an applicable journal article. Last, you either ask to suture, drill, or something similar. Sometimes you politely ask/gesture to the scrub tech for the next tool to be used. The process is intended to gain your upper levels respect gradually, and takes various amounts of time depending on the doc and how many residents are there. If it takes too long, you scrub with someone else, if possible. Unfortunately, I was under the impression that most missionary docs were in the first group. The current question is how fast it will take to gain Dr. Ls trust. So far Ive bombed on some fairly easy PIMPing questions on orthopedics (PIMPing stands for Put me In My Place and is a traditional teaching method). I read the textbook chapter on club feet in order to compensate. I saw a bad sign today. We were taking a steel plate off of the ankle bone because it was infected. The screws in the plate were facing me; therefore, they were in a better ergonomic position for me to remove. I held my hand there ready to take the screwdriver. Instead, Dr. L reached over the patient and backhanded the screws out himself. The only way it would have been worse is if he asked me to switch sides of the table with him. It will be very frustrating if this is how the whole month will go. Please pray that I maintain a good attitude, be patient, and know when to be assertive. Pray that I learn how to fit well in the team and compliment the ministry here.

1dsafga In Zambia, there are many languages other than English - Tonga, Nenja, Bemba, and Lozi. Basically Im lost. I knew that there would be several tribal languages, but I thought most of my patients would know English. How can I learn a language if I dont even know which one is being spoken?! I have learned some Nenja and Bemba, which are the most prevalent. I tried to figure out how they conjugated verbs and got frustrated. Katey F, How you do it!? It seems that some Portuguese has leaked through. Bueno means good and I assume there are other cognates I have missed. In any case, it amuses me that I catch myself speaking English with an African accent. Musale bueno! asdfgasgf I received further validation for the title of this blog. I went running again at the Olympic Youth Development Center, and the poor kids from the compound* joined me. I was fairly surprised when one of them called me Drago and held up his dukes. I kept running at the same speed for a while. Then I

sprinted at him and said, You are Rocky! He laughed as curled his hands over his head in mock protection. The kids do know some martial arts as they take Tae Kwon Do classes at the center. We play fought a bit and then I started doing one of the Tae Kwon Do forms. I think they were a big surprised. They had never heard of Jujitsu, so I showed them a bit of that. One or two of them ask me for money for transport** each time I go. Its easy to say no because I dont take any money with me, although I still feel bad. I have this premonition that I will be mobbed even more if I give one of them money. Pretty soon I would have to start my own bus service! I went again a few days later. This time a gaggle of 12 year-old girls ran with me. They were 12 year old girls so the word to stride ratio was about 200. Halfway around the track one of them exclaimed in English, I want to have your babies! I ignored it as they giggled and went back to Neeyanja. Steps later their collective heads figured out some more English. I want to hook. Really? Does that mean what I think? I thought for a second and just kept running -really stimulating conversation. One had the cojones to say, I want your beeg hard right now. They were getting me going all right. It was funny in one since, but also made me angry. It was very sad on many levels. First of all, they had just hit puberty. Second, they had just hit puberty! In retrospect, I knew pretty much all there was when I was their age. Im indebted to our public schools for that. The problem wasnt the knowledge, but that it was OK to prod a man in this manner even as a joke. I ignored it, but it didnt stop. At one point I had had enough. One made another comment and I poked her. You! Shutup! They werent as surprised as I hoped, but they simmered down for a few laps. I learned later that I could have shamed them. Afterward, I remembered that they always managed to do a Kegel exercise with their cheeks when we passed one of the coaches. All I had to do was scold them within earshot of a coach. Why are you saying such evil, dirty things to your olda brotha!? You have NO respect! Go home! All of you! In Zambian culture, there is a very strong sense of respecting anyone older than you. They bet that I wouldnt shame them. Even though it was a joke, I think some part of their pituitary ruled brains wanted me to be complicit. After all, I am white and wealthy. Im still not sure what good shaming would have done. They need prayer and strong parenting. They would get bored if I starved the situation of any stimulation. Prod Shutup I poked at one of them * The compound is the poor peoples neighborhood and a yard is a rich persons house/compound. ** The transport is the public bus.

Spiritual I have always heard that Africa is a very spiritual place. Honestly I havent seen or felt any evil while here. Maybe Im not sensitive to it, which is scary. There are witch doctors here, and Ive seen some possible evidence of it. Marie, one of the German girls, said that they make small cuts in the forehead for some reason inadvertently spreading HIV. One lady with a bad hip had a first degree burn from incorrectly applied electrical stimulation. Dr. I was talking in the theatre* about some evil Congolese dancer with ties to witch doctors. He went on about her suggestive dance and attire. I made some comment about how it was probably worse in the US, and I was somewhat desensitized to that sort of thing on TV and elsewhere. That sent him into a tirade about looking away and how hes had victory over it. He was right in general, but he was implying that I had some huge problem lusting after women on TV and those right in front of me - which wasnt my point at all. Of course, pretty much all of us males have struggled with it in some form. The odd thing is the view of breastfeeding in public. Most women in the US are very careful to cover when breastfeeding. Here, breasts are for the babies. Women flopem out any old time the kid is hungry. It would have been a problem before med school, but med school sets up some mental barrier. Im sure it would still be a problem for some guys, but its just anatomy to me. My desensitization comment led him to ask how close I felt to the Lord (which apparently isnt as intimate of a question as in the US). I was too honest. I explained that it wasnt what it was a few years ago when I had an amazing spiritual experience, and that emotion waxes and wanes. Of course that wasnt the right thing to say. Im sure he didnt mean it this way, but the following lecture felt very judgmental. Of course, there are many areas that I need to work on, but its really not a conversation I want to have in front of half a dozen strangers. We went on rounds later that afternoon. That day Dr. I was that doctor. He admonished one of the new nurses for not introducing herself, even though she wished to be polite and not interrupt. He asked for something to be done, and then scolded the nurse for not being present when she went to do it. One of the nurses wore a very simple pendant on a chain, and he chided her for not knowing what it symbolized. Apparently it could be some demonic talisman. He himself wore a slightly oversized, funky cross suspended over his tie. It seemed to say, This is the proper way to do things. I know a lot of this is cultural, and I know my previous experience that day significantly colored my perceptions. I will say that subsequent interactions with him have been much better.

Public shaming is more accepted here. We were in church last week and all the Sunday school teachers renewed their vows to teach the children in the proper way. They all marched in in uniform and sat in honorary seats up front. Later in the service, the pastor called them up front. One gentleman apparently

sat in the wrong chair not in one of the honorary ones. The minister very loudly chastised him and asked if he took the dedication seriously. He was not joking. Sometimes people in authority take their power too far, as in this small case (this was validated by another African pastor). Even so, church discipline as a whole might be more effective than back home. They do kick people out, but then let them back in if they repent in front of the whole congregation. One lady said that these people arent stigmatized. Nonetheless, I dont think a church in the US would have any members if shaming was a regular practice. Transport 2
The bus to livingston is 40 versus 300 to fly . six hours more, but seemingly worth it. The bus stops in Africa are filthy. Trash is all over and the rubbish bins are unused. The bus looked nice -a normal charter bus. Although, it smelled like a few cans of air freshener were used to mask the regular ambiance of BO. It got worse as the bus filled up - and it must have been bad because I have a notoriously bad nose. apparently deodorant is too expensive here. I was thinking of donating my personal supply, at the very least. Thank God my nose acclamated after ventilAtion and desensitization. One old lady stood as we were leaving. It was a street style preaching in Bemba or Neeyanja. I was annoyed at myself because I was annoyed. I think it was my mood. She went on for about 20min. I was impressed. Then she collected money. I'm sure things like this are cultural, but cynical me conjured up the image of my childhood friend doing an impression of some old radio announcer. "Don't make me holler, don't make me shout. Turn those pockets inside out!" Dr. S told me to pick the bus line as it was the only one with food leg room. I picked my seat the day before - doing so based on the anticipated leg room and proximity of the tv screen. About an hour in, I was wondering why they didn't start a movie. Why did I jinx myself? They started a movie...what looked like a very cheesy local thing with subtitles too far away to read. The worse part is the volume. Soft...soft...then Blaring! I wish charter buses had volume controls at each speaker. I haven't seen this on any of them anywhere. I was getting a headache in my my left ear when my right started. The group of men behind became very animated - constantly. Oh, I wish I had earplugs!! Desperate times call for desperate measures, and my measures were probably strange even by African standards. I had gum in my mouth. Four pieces gave me a wad about the size of a ear plug. I rolled it on my jeans to dry it and take out some of the tackiness. In the end, I had something similar to those waxy underwater earplugs for kids. Nice. They at least took the edge off...so I didnt cringe everytime some actress screamed for no reason or everytime the men told some raccous story, like the whole bus was their audience.

Transport 2
African transport is frustrating to a westerner. When one gets an estimated time from an African, one has to double or triple it. I heard before Ieft that African time is more relaxed. Yeah, that was an understatement. The buses go an aggravating 42mph on average - with no leg room. The big buses are better if one can get a seat in the back or front. Your legs dont lose feeling when they arent constrained by the seat in front. The minibuses dont have that luxery, especially when they are crammed with 22 people, 3 chickens, and a goat (I am not exagerating at all. And for perspective, a minibus is a bit bigger

than a minivan). The one from Mozambik to the Zimbabwe border wasnt too bad. It was full only pat of the time. Somehow the goat stayed on the roof without being tied and while going 45 mph. The other frustration is waiting for the bus to leave. You always look for a full bus so it will leave in a timely fashion. The minibuses drive around and turn around depeatedly until they fill, which can take 45 minutes. The big buses sit for about as long. They rev the engine and honk to let people know they are about to leave - at least sometime next week. I think they waste just as much gas as they get for waiting for extra fares. The nice thing is that tickets are very affordable - only 4 cents per mile. I was in mutare and decided to hotch a ride with a bunch of soldiers. We climbed into a freitliners cab. It was very comfortable, but we were averaging 25 mph. I got out at rusape, and waited for a faster coach bus. One didnt come after waiting a half hour. Dejected, I decided to take a minibus. We circle Rusape for 37minutes. Finally we took off. Thank God we flew! I was surprised that we were blistering alond at 75. I started praying when we passed a wreck. You are done at that speed, especially when the ambulance takes an hour. In hindsight, I wish I had stopped. Selfishly, I didnt want to screw up my travel plans, but maybe I could have helped in a big way. I stayed the night with friends in Harare. It was very pleasant. The bus was scheduled to leave at 745, so we arrived at 720 in order to get a spot. It didnt leave until 830. "thank God!" i thought when I found a good seat. It was in the very back. Mu feet stretched down the middle aisle and I had two seats on either side. Then my luck changed. The two biggest african women on the bus decided to sit to my left. Their asses were like tractor tires in shape and size. They were Kentucky fat. I was displaced out of my seat and had to sit sideways so that my feet would be in the aisle. My back was positioned between seats. The ergonomics of the seat was destroyed so that my spine sat on the raised portion between the seats. The only saving grace was that the seat to my left was empty. I dont know how any one could fit there anyway. Or so I thought. It was actually better with someone else. It provided an excuse to compress the tires so I could be in the seat proper. Although i forgot how bad the back of the bus is. The back axel acts as a fulcrum. Every bounce gets magnified in the back. Your brain sloshes around, giving you 1000 baby concussions - not to mention the whiplash. Part of it was that i was absolutely sick of traveling and my tolerance was minimal. I tried to buy someones seat in the front. Five dollars was a no go. Selling It's amazing the things people sell. I think you could find a left handed spork if you looked a bit. People sell to the cars in the street. It is normal to see anything from the normal watches and sun glasses to dog leashes, wigs, and baby shoes - all dangling from somebody's arm. I'm white. That means I have money and want to buy things. That also means that I am dumb as your choice excrement. I can't walk, carry my things, or find anything without assistance. When asking for directions, I always get asked if I need an escort. Mostly its guys my age, but once it was an old woman. "Assistance" or "escorting" me means me handing out money. It feels like someone will be nice to you only if you reward them monetarily.This, of course, is mostly prevalent downtown and especially near the bus stations. You find ways around this. One is to always look intimidating by standing tall with a somewhat puffed out chest. This, with a stern look, repells some. If they approach, keep the look and shake your head. If this

doesn't work, then you joke with them. "Taxi, you, taxi," as he taps on my shoulder. "Yeah, can I have a ride there," as I point to a bus a hundred feet away." Another one backfired. I watched three guys horsing around, acting like they were fighting. "Where are you going?" "I'm watching them fight." "Oh, they are joking." "I know but I was about to put money down." "You can do that...50,000 kwacha?" "No, but maybe if you fight." "I can do that...200,000." I got off of the bus from Livingston at 800 one night. The usual litany of shouts came my way as I stepped off. You want taxi? Taxi? I ignored them. I needed to see if I could get a ticket to Harare. One helped me find the booth, so I felt a bit indebted to him. Why not use him as a taxi? I asked him what his rate was. K 30,000. Fantastic. The normal rate was K 50,000. I walked with him to a parking lot full of taxis. Of. Ourse the others tried to steal me, but I had made a deal. The guy didn't have a car though. I was about to jump with someone else when his car pulled up. It was all banged up and the brakes were in bad shape. Oh well. Another guy jumped in the back. Was he giving his friend a ride? Whatever. We got going. K30,000 was too good to be true for the first offer to rich mizungo. I figured this out when he started going the wrong way. We cleared up the misunderstood destination and the price was now K 100,000. I didn't agree and argued a bit. He started acting like he was going to drop me at the side of the dark road. At one point he pulled over to the side and asked for gas money. I tried the door and window. Bothe were broken. No, just get me there. We got to the front gate of the hospital. The guards let us through because they saw me. "Let me out here. I want to talk with the guards." He kept driving. "I am a taxi. I need to drop you where you are going." He wouldn't listen. Finally I started tapping on the window until I got a second guard's attention. The taxi stopped and the guard let me out. The taxi said that I had agreed to 70,000. The guards were on my side, but i became tired after 20 minutes of arguing. He knew this, which is why he wouldn't leave. I made him apologize to get his $4. He then preceded to denigrate our guards. "what is there to guard here at a hospital for kids who can't walk? There's nothing to take!" I scolded him for this statement. I would rather not see him again. I hoped the $4 would decrease the probability. The Falls

It was sublime. I can't say much more (but of course I will anyway). The first path led around the rim of a ridge. The muted roar of the falls was always in the background. Wow! It was humid. The humidity solidified into a mist as I kept walking. The path had mini sight seeing points Every 100m or so. The path seemingly was built to build anticipation. Each station had less foliage and more view. On the last, The falls opened up, filling the distant horizon with mist and white water. It was lovely, even from over a mile away. The falls were at my elevation. They vanished behind a medium sized ridge in the distance. I could see a walkway on top of that ridge with little pin sized people. That's coming up! Sweet! There was a deep valley in front of the ridge that swung up to meet me. The valley turned the left, where the river continued. The boiling pot was next. I descended some 600 meters to reach them. People passed me huffing and puffing. "almost there!" The reply was ancombination of a snort and a laugh. Black boulders were at the bottom. Past the boulders, The water swirled in a large pool. Hence, the boiling pot. I wanted to jog back up the whole way. Yeah. That didn't happen. I started huffing and puffing. It was amazing how much the air temp increased during the ascent! I was soaked when I reached the top.

On to the bridge! The mist turned into more of a rain as I got closer. I went down the return path by accident, and a "guide" informed me. Once again I was eing suckered into paying for something I didnt wantThis time, the falls were several hundred meters away. There was a rainbow at the edge! What perfect timing! I think I took a whole roll of pics right there. After thinking a while, I realized that the rainbow was probably always there. But wondrous nonetheless! It followed me as I walked toward the bridge. It became 360 degrees at one point. The bridge was parallel to the falls. I took off my shoes and set them in a relatively dry spot. I set my bag a bit further down, so that I could keep an eye on it. The bridge was slimy underfoot from all the algae. I didn't even lift my feet and slid along. I felt sorry for the people that rented umbrellas!

Swing!!!!!!!!! I'm not sure I can top today. This is not mere hyperbole, as it is coming from an unrepentant adrenaline junky. I am drained, but I am resisting sleep in hopes of stalling the inevitable. Maybe today won't end?! We went to a canyon, which was downstream from the falls. It was very expensive-so much so that5/3 put a hold on my cc - but worth every bit of copper in every penny. Absaling (repelling) was first. I had done it before, but not for 50 m. The last time was at Camp Cotubic, our church camp. That wall was straight and predictable. This was a bit more difficult. I figured out that you have to release a bunch of rope when you push off of the wall. You get vertical momentum by dropping, and translate this to horizontal momentum by stopping the rope again. The horizontal momentum swings you back to the wall. If you do it too slow, then you get stuck hanging in mid air making to difficult to make it back to the wall. This is especially true when the rock face is undercut a bit. I repeated this a while later, only mission impossible style. In other words my front was facing the ground. We had a long walk after each event. It included trekking up out of the gorge - about a 75 meter ascent. The Flying Fox was next. It was a big zipline suspended over the gorge. Rick, my backpacker friend, took video while zipping across. It was very pleasing in an ascetic sense, but there was no thrill there. Rick mostly liked it because you didn't have to walk back up the gorge. The swing was fan-freakin-tastic. I had been going first on everything, so I suggested that Rick go first. He jokingly put up a fight. The funny part was that the two african guys that had been with us chickened out. They strap hip into three different harnesses and hook him up. He walked to the edge of the platform. The swing rop was completely slack at his feet. He had the rope grasped in his hands, which were pulled close to his chest. 3...2....1...and one big step into the abyss. A twinge of hesitation crept in after his big "swing". Only a twinge. I did not expect so much free fall! I was dangling at the end of the rope, swinging gently back and forth. It was almost 2 seconds before the rope caught you. The feeling is exactly like jumping out of a plane....so..... I did it two more times. Normal people take 20-30 minutes to climb out of the gorge. I did it in 8. "Am I there yet, am I there yet" was on replay in my head. Stepping backwards was interesting because you don't know what's coming. The rock face flies past as you wonder when the rope will engage. Forward is better. You have the anticipation of looking over the edge and thinking....well you don't exactly think. You keep your eyes open as you step, capturing every second in your hippocampus. Gravity pulls at you until you float. The trees at the bottom are greeting you with arms waving. The rope catches you several meters above the leaves, turning a dive into a swoop. Call me Sparrow Man.

The microlite was at 330. It is a go cart lookin thing with a law mower engine on the back and a hang glider wing overhead. At first I thought my size was a problem. My knees were right under the pilots arms, making it somewhat difficult to move the bar that controlled the wing. I guess he was used to it, cause he didn't seem to mind. The law mower engine had a decent amount of acceleration. We took off at 50mph and quickly rose to 1500 feet. I felt naked. I've been in small planes, but nothing where I can look between my feet, where I feel like the smallest turbulence will put us in a flat spin. We started flying over Victorian falls. Where exactly will we land if we have a problem? Then we circled the falls, at a lower altitude. Even though these thoughts played in the background, this was the second best flight experience I've had. The only one better was an acrobatic plane ride. The falls were Devine. You could see the whole mile plus of water falling into a narrow chasm, with the mist coming up to meet us. The water was funneled into one outlet, then the Zambeze twisted through a snake like canyon. The pilot pointed out wildlife below. There were pods of hippos - one was sniffing the air with his mouth wide open. A giraffe was trotting down a dirt road. One of the other micro lights skimmed over the river almost within reach of the crocs. The mechanics of the landing was the same as with any aircraft - a controlled stall. Although, this felt like a controlled dive. The trees were no more that 5 ft under us Swing Firefoxr b Frog bat mosq Blog Vic falls Tipping culture Blog 2 You can't ask for directions without someone wanting a tip. Ask for directions from the best dressed person in sight. Grocery cart Tipping people Here! Come! Im your best friend! Means your white and I want a tip Where is x? Body Lang says Oh, I don't know but I can carry your bags and show you!

Rose

Merriam passing out and total hip Banke moon

Bus ride The small crowd Kids at Olympic facility Spiritual Language Church The clap Standing up