Even a bad day in the bush is still twice as good as a good one somewhere else.
That I am here now in Africa, in the morning awakened by the roar of a lion and in the evening gaze at the scratches and abrasions on my legs, that should happen. Somehow.
I become things, people! Missing when I leave soon. And somewhere in this sentence is immense luck.
Over a cup of tea we look over to the lush hills that supposedly inspired Tolkien to write The Lord of the Rings. Behind the mighty cliff face lies the small country Lesotho - Mordor, where the thunder grumbles ...
"... my gut feeling somehow tells me that I have lost nothing here. God, I'm really crazy, right? "
No master has fallen from the sky so far. So if you want to write well about traveling, you have to travel first. Sounds trivial, but is incredibly important.
I'm wanderlust, but I'm really homesick.
Anyone who has once been in touch with a wild elephant will be changed forever.
"Are you from here?"
I look up, flattered. The lady behind the counter thinks I'm from here. All of the English vocabulary training at my parents' kitchen table has actually paid off.
And for a second I'm tempted to say yes.