Supersize Me

The last week has been a pretty uneventful one in comparison to our previous week, hence the lack of updates. We saw no monkeys, nobody glued any body parts to each other and we have actually hardly left Koforidua. Last week we had a very dedicated work week, including working through African Unity Day on Tuesday over my protests. I mean, when in Rome right? On the plus side, we have finished much of the accounting cleanup and have a long weekend coming up in which we plan to visit Mole National Park, another (better) monkey sanctuary, Tamale and Kumasi, the capital of the Ashanti region. Hopefully there is much to be seen in the form of wildlife and culture. Or if you ask Debi, elephants, monkeys and textiles.

The few notable events of the past week included: our first (and second) truly torrential rainstorms (see picture above of the runoff collection), which ironically cut the power for about five minutes (as opposed to the completely uncaused outages, which can last over an hour); another trip to the Thursday bead market, and correspondingly the ATM; Debi spending two days relaxing by the pool and beginning her first pleasure novel since roughly her teenage years (not surprisingly it prominently features eastern Washington and WSU); and my bout with a mystery illness that I'd rather not go into -- I'm just hoping it's not some tropical loveliness like malaria while of course stubbornly refusing treatment or a visit to the "doctor."

Since there is nothing really substantive to catch everyone up on, I figured I'd end this abbreviated post with a public service announcement for those considering travel to Ghana: do NOT come for the food. I have probably lost 10 much needed pounds, which I had planned on using for pushing around the huge eastern Washington boys at a three-on-three basketball tournament in late June. As tempting as it was to include this warning much earlier in the blog postings, I have held off in order to ensure that we had tried it all. Well, aside from the dried, grilled freshwater fish sold on the side of the road sans refrigeration in 85 degree, fly-infested heat, we have basically tried it all. Don't get me wrong, I'm somewhat adventurous with my meals and certainly no food connoisseur or stickler. But the only meals I would call decent are those covered in so much pepper sauce you can't taste the other ingredients. Oh, and the white rice is good. So there's that. That jackass who did Supersize Me (about eating McDonald's every day for a month) has no idea how good he had it.

I promise the next post will be more exciting and picture-laden after our trip to Mole, Kumasi, etc. And most importantly, I want to wish a happy birthday to my wonderful stepmom Mary Anne from 7 time zones away. I don't even know exactly how old you turn today but I know you act ten years younger. And I would have sent a card but I think it will be faster to just carry it home.

Why Isn't Kyle Here?

They say that time flies when you're having fun, but this weekend, our first full one in Ghana, seemed to last forever because of the multitude of places we visited and things we did. I hate to demean the rest of the weekend by picking a favorite, but two days ago monkeys fed out of our hands. Wild monkeys ate bananas out of our hands. Two days ago. We have pictures. We have video. It happened.

Let me start from the beginning. Friday afternoon we left work early and struck out for Logba Alekpeti, a small village strategically located 20 minutes from Tafi Atome, the monkey sanctuary. We wanted to be close because we heard that the earlier visitors arrive, the hungrier the monkeys are and the more willing they are to be friendly. Debi took the wheel first and stubbornly disobeyed the drivers-first-peds-second driving conventions of Ghana, which made our trip out of Koforidua slow and honk-laden. Eventually, she acquiesced and we began the long drive. I sat shotgun navigating and taking (mostly awful) pictures out the window. I couldn't help but try to capture some essence of the lush, hilly rain forest and enormous termite mounds, often constructed around the trunk of a tree. The road goes through many small towns, and all highway junctions lie within major villages and represent the main intersection for that village. However, in the smaller towns the power lines never descend to give the villagers power; driving at night made this more evident because some villages were completely dark as we drove through.

We arrived in Logba Alekpeti and waffled a bit at our sleeping arrangements because we could not find a decent place to stay and Rose does not speak Ewe, the local language. Tired and concerned more for the morning excursion, we settled on a horrifyingly disgusting hotel. They were powerless and we refused to use their sheets or facilities whatsoever; a party raged on outside pretty much until we awoke; I'd describe further but you can imagine what must be true in order to run a profitable hotel while charging less than $7 per room. Glass half full: we were all more than happy to get up and out of there at 6:00, and by 6:30 we had reached Tafi Atome.

It proved to be no myth that the monkeys are more active early in the morning. Responding to our guide's calls and the black bag in his hand, which they have learned contains bananas, the periodic crashes through the upper reaches of the trees began before we had even entered the woods that border the village. No more than three minutes later, two dozen monkeys surrounded us in the trees -- it was eerily similar to the compy scenes in Jurassic Park -- waiting for a chance to leap from the bushes to our outstretched arms for a banana breakfast. As we held the banana, the monkeys peeled it with their amazingly dexterous hands and used their lower teeth to scrape bites off. I am having trouble putting into words how amazing it was to have human's (almost) closest cousin feeding from our hands. Roughly 200 sacred mono monkeys live in Tafi Atome, and we must have seen 100 of them and fed 30 of them. Debi and I agreed that our entire trip to Ghana was worth this experience alone. I only regret that my baby brother Kyle didn't make the trip with us.

Doing the monkey sanctuary first unfortunately made the rest of our trip a bit of an exhalation, but we still had a great time. From Tafi Atome, we drove north through Hohoe to Wli, where we saw and stood in (arguably) the tallest waterfall in West Africa. On the hike to the falls, we saw a long water snake, making its way between somehow unperturbed ladies doing their laundry in the stream. There were also some amazing views through the overgrowth and some serious ant trails crossing our path. At the falls, the rocks were very slick from the constant mist, but we eventually made our way into the pool (ignoring the "never go in fresh water in Africa" rule) and underneath the falls. After a refreshing dip and a small side hike to the viewpoint to see the thousands of fruit bats that perch on the falls in daytime, we were on the path back to the car.

Our next leg took us back south to Ho for the Vegus Batik market, a disappointingly small house of ladies selling some nonetheless impressive Batik (a sort of tie-dye on steroids and with artistic merit). Even I enjoyed some of the patterns (and may even get Debi to make a bedspread for me out of the loads of fabric we purchased if I quit making fun of her in the blog). While the ladies shopped I learned about the Ghanaian attitude from a man who sat on the side of the road. He explained that in Africa, we are all friends, and he could walk from Ho to Accra without anyone telling him he can't. I considered the value of correcting a few of his misconceptions about the United States, such as the legality of walking, but it was more fun to hear him wax poetic about the African spirit. In a certain sense, although this is meeting him more than halfway, he has a point. At any rate, the Kente weaving market in Ho was unfortunately closed for the weekend, so we called it quits in Ho and began the hellish journey to Ada Foah -- the beach.

Let me first state the takeaway message: if anyone visits Ghana (or any part of Africa), do not use maps that are more than one or two years dated. You will regret it. We spent an hour trying to find the correct road going south, and eventually settled on one that, according to our map, actually left from a city 20 km west of where we were. Aside from that, the road was under construction, which looked more like demolition; long story short it took us two and a half hours to drive fifty kilometers. When we finally hit tar again, the going was much easier but the moods were not, especially since in my estimation much of the sidetracking was due to an unjustified lack of trust in the navigator. I had lost us no more than ten minutes total during the trip through sometimes-mapped Ghanaian roads when all of a sudden the rest of the car turned on me and began trumping my map- and GPS-guided directions with their gut instincts. It was like closing with Joba Chamberlain when Mo Rivera sat in the pen warmed up and ready to go. Okay, last year's Mo Rivera.

We reached the beach and hit the sack, waking up this morning to dip our feet in the other side of the Atlantic. Ada Foah is located between the estuary of the Volta River and the Atlantic Ocean, so there were a great many choices of what to do. As we waited for our breakfast that took an hour and a half from order to delivery (not unusual), we were entertained by a crew of three Koreans who took at least 30 minutes of photos on the deck. We finally received and ate our breakfast, added a few beers to our tab, threw them in a borrowed ice chest, and set out on our semi-guided estuary boat tour. It was neat to see all the mangroves growing out of the water, and the many kids swimming were excited to see us as well. We could hear the frogs and crickets in the mangrove swamps over the roar of the ancient engine on our boat. The neatest part of the tour was our stop at an island rum distillery, where the islanders (all 30 or so of them) used a diesel-powered machine to crush sugar cane and distill it into a very potent rum. They then sold it to distributors who came to the island to place orders. Of course, we couldn't leave without purchasing some of the African moonshine, and it sits waiting at home in the reused water bottle we bought it in.

As we showered and prepared to head back home, Debi dropped a bat, ball and tee off with the local children and explained how to play baseball (as best she understands it). Judging by the mass of kids chasing the ball and the very short distance that "rounding the bases" entailed, she may need to venture back to Ada for the next few weeks to really teach the game. But fun was had, which is what really matters (well, that and winning). We then got on the highway headed west, where we faced the traditional obrohni traffic stop (read: extortion attempt); unfortunately for the Ghanaian police, the situation had been described to us too many times. We managed to escape without fine for Debi's open-toed shoes after she demanded that the obstinate cop lecturing her "take us to court." Apparently, this stubbornness deterred the young man, who according to Debi "wasn't even alive when she started driving," and we were let off with a warning. We reached Accra, made a quick pit stop at the mall for groceries, and then it was on to Koforidua for a good night's sleep dreaming of monkeys eating out of our hands, island rum distilleries and towering waterfalls. Wait that was real?

If You Don't Hear from Us Again, Search Volta Region

In the last few days we have spent a great deal of time exploring the many different, rich parts of Koforidua. We are beginning to find the best places to shop and eat, and have had a great deal of fun in our expeditions over the last week. While boss Debi is off getting braids put in (she looks like a nine year old white girl getting back from Mexico for the first time crossed with Medusa) I figured I'd take 20 minutes to fill in our comings and goings and alert everyone where to find us if we don't return.

Wednesday was a normal day of work; the sometimes tedious and frustrating (and always indoors) accounting contrasts starkly with the excitement of being in Africa (Africa!) for the first time, and often it is almost too much to handle. After work we visited our first liquor store and discovered the absurd prices and previously unseen goodies. Captain Morgan Black Label costs 30 cedis (roughly $20) for a liter, which already had my heart racing. So imagine my reaction when I discovered not airplane bottles, but airplane baggies of whiskey and vodka (the price, you ask? 3 cedis for a bag of 15 or so). The best way to get clean water here is in ziploc-sized bags sold nearly everywhere for very cheap; in fact, I suspect bottling standards in the U.S. are all that keeps the practice from crossing the Atlantic. At any rate, I had never considered the incredible advantage this would have when applied to alcohol, but let's just say the Kenan Stadium security will have no idea what hit it when I arrive on 9/18 for the home opener. This discovery defined the otherwise uneventful Wednesday.

Thursday I finally succumbed to Debi's pleading to go running with her, since she is running in the half-marathon upon arriving at home. If anyone ever wondered whether youth, athleticism and gender overshadow dedication, fitness and training, you can put those concerns to bed. Even excluding the periodic stoppages to display her inabilities as a photographer (quite dedicated to her "training," you can see), Debi completed the 5 mile "run" with no less than 20 instances of slowing to walk. It was like watching interval training, but in frame-by-frame slow motion. Perhaps the most telling moment was when we ran by a group of children preparing to walk to school and -- unsurprising to those who know her -- Debi egged the kids on to run with us. It looked like bizarro Rocky, except if a woefully out-of-shape Sly Stallone had been overtaken by his fans (and they happened to be 8-year-olds in uniforms and backpacks). That, and the setting was a bit more rural, shall we say. She collapsed on her bed afterwards, exhausted from the 45 minutes of light to moderate physical activity.

At any rate, after the memorable "run," we headed to work for an eventful day in the office. We had just remarked about the dullness of the morning of work -- no power outages, no technological misfires -- when Max burst into our office with a few choice words, the PG version of which would be "oh shucks, I've somehow placed some darned superglue in my eye." Fortunately, he did not have to be "medevac-ed to f-ing Germany" as he feared, as numerous Google searches confirmed that superglue in the eye cannot do long-term damage. However, when we determined the specific clinic he needed to get to, the car had a flat tire and a flat spare despite being fixed days before; the truck simply refused to start due to a bad battery (NOT a Burro battery, for the record). Welcome to Africa.

Max was healed at the local eye clinic (it just so happens that the best, and perhaps only appropriate one in Ghana, is in Koforidua) and gamely followed through on his offer to serve as our guide at the famous Koforiduan bead market. Essentially, the market is a series of wooden stands covered in cloth in the corner of a park(ing lot). Some of the beads are centuries old, and even as a non-beader and non-bead-wearer, I must admit there were some neat beads and necklaces. Debi, as I'm sure you guessed, about bankrupt us buying beads; I made my first discretionary purchase of the trip when I found a few coins from the early 1900s. I have no idea if they're of value, but I couldn't resist once I found a 1925 British West African pound. Also, as one of the most popular attractions of Koforidua, the Thursday bead market was well-attended by the obrohni crowd. We saw about as many white people there as we had seen since we arrived in Koforidua.

After our 2+ hours of adventures in the bead market, we walked back to the the office. On the way, there was (as we later found out) a famous comedian in the median of the street, performing standup in Twi. Unable to understand him, we ignored the loud speakers -- until I realized that everyone was laughing and all eyes were fixed on us. I then caught a distinct "obrohni" from the speaker (one of the few words I do know) and it dawned on me that we had become the butts of his jokes. We graciously raised our hands and waved, causing one last uproar from the crowd; it wasn't the first time I was laughed at for language inabilities and certainly won't be the last.

In an hour or so we are scheduled to leave in the torrential downpour for the Volta Region, named after Lake Volta. The region is in eastern Ghana on its border with Togo. On our long list of waypoints is: another large bead market; Wli waterfall; Ada estuary beach; Kpetoe village, famous for its kente (some type of cloth that I can't tell from any other but is like heroin to Debi and my other female maternal relatives); and Tafi Atome monkey sanctuary. Perhaps at Tafi Atome Debi will finally, after almost 51 years, feel like she belongs. There is a great deal of driving over Ghanaian roads and at least one crossing of a Ghanaian bridge, so wish us luck. If all goes well Saturday will end at a hotel with a pool (after staying in huts on the beach tonight). Worst case scenario, as always, it will be an adventure. But if a post doesn't come early next week, most likely Debi decided to remain at the monkey sanctuary. And who would that really surprise?

Gong Gongs and Power Outages

The last two days have been somewhat eventful despite being mostly filled with the often dull labor of an accountant. Let me tell you, Africa has enough in store to spruce up even those days. Before we began work on Monday, we got to go to a gong gong on Sunday afternoon (afternoon officially ends at 4:59, at which point the appropriate greeting becomes "good evening"). We rode about 15 minutes on main roads before picking up one of our agents -- an employee who receives a commission for exchanging batteries -- and following his directions down a typical village road. 10 minutes of dust, potholes and false stops later we arrived in the center of Aukoani, with Max blaring in English on the Burro truck's loudspeaker what could only have meant "loud white people have arrived" to the villagers.

The people were unaware of the gong gong, but still came out in decent numbers (perhaps simply to investigate the strange bright green truck parked in the middle of their village). Most of the attendees were very young children -- not good for Burro's expansion campaign but great fun for me, I must admit. While Rose spoke to the members of Aukoani in Twi about the benefits of using Burro batteries as opposed the entrenched Tiger Head brand, Debi and I explored the powerless village and saw where the palm oil is made and the many fowl, goats and dogs that wandered freely. Next, the townspeople bombarded us with questions (although they quickly gave up on asking me) and sought to try out Burro batteries. It was fascinating to see the doubt they originally had in the Burro brand (Tiger Head batteries have a near 100% market share.) begin to dissolve as Burro batteries charged their phones and the customer-friendly pay strategy was explained. Brand loyalty is perhaps more important here than anywhere else I have experienced, which is why many customers choose to stick to Tiger Head despite its pricing and reliability shortcomings. After witnessing some of the practical challenges facing Burro in the days to come, we retired somewhat early in order to prepare for our first day of work.

We drove in to work at 8 the next morning and began to get setup, facing the typical challenges a modern business faces. We had to get added as users, given permissions, set up on the network, software installed... Oh, right. And there are periodic power outages that shut down all network activity. At completely unpredictable times, the power simply shuts off for periods of up to an hour or so. This leaves us without internet, files, and most importantly, ceiling fans. Oftentimes I notice the lack of air flow before I notice that my internet is out.

That has kept work interesting, and we are still working on the way to be most efficient when we do have power (maybe 2/3 of the time) versus when we don't. We also were privileged enough to see our first major rainstorm yesterday, which lasted a few hours and limited almost everyone besides two very out-of-place looking Seattlites to cover. On the plus side, the rain severely cooled the air, making it the first day I could walk outside without feeling like a UNC underclassman in early August.

We also heard a presentation on marketing and HR from two BYU MBA students yesterday, and they left this morning to return home to Provo. It was a great overview and future vision for the company, and it included much discussion that taught us about Burro. They also left behind two peers who will remain until the end of the month. Although our job is mainly to get the books up and running and the projections as accurate as possible, it will certainly help to understand the vision, and yesterday's meeting was integral to that effort.

The most exciting part of the last two days for me has been the Twi language lessons we began last night. Debi's horrific Spanish, for which I stupidly agreed to facilitate her lessons, fizzled into an impromptu set of lessons in the local language from Rose and Priscilla, our other housemate. Debi made quick work of proving the psychological theory that one's capacity to acquire language skills expires at age 25, while I did my best to learn phrases in the "we" and the "I" form so that I can speak for the two of us. The best thing I learned is how to respond to the little kids who call me "obrohni" (white person) all day. My response -- obibini -- means "black person" (don't worry I made sure it's not insensitive or rude) and receives ceaseless laughter and joy without fail. To listeners and speaker.

At any rate, we've had another full day of work today (going on 22 hours of work in the last two days), but it's fun, relaxing and our coworkers are fantastic. They've helped us explore the local cuisine such as it is, which has produced successes and failures (all of them spicy, which limits how bad any meal could possibly be). We're trying to plan a trip this weekend to where Debi can see monkeys, which seems to be all she can think about thus far. So hopefully my next post will be a bit more eventful than this past one. Hope all is well at home and that everyone's rooting for the big Mariners turnaround.

To Africa

We awoke at 3:15 AM on Friday, 5/14 anticipating a short ride on the Heathrow Express train to the airport. Of course, the day before we were under impression that we were to take the tube, which led to an hour-long, two-transfer tube ride in London’s public transportation rush hour. This time, we knew of the train, but did not know until we were almost to the station that it did not get running until after 5:00 AM. Sixty pounds and a 40-minute cab ride later, we arrived at Heathrow slightly concerned about our timing and whether we’d make our flight. All turned out well and we boarded the sub-two hour flight to Amsterdam, weed and prostitution capital of the world.

We had roughly two hours in Amsterdam to wander and relive some of my memories from a year and a half prior when one of my good college buddies and I had stayed for three days in the city. We visited one of the old hostels, snagged a map, and took in the amazing architecture and city layout of the city of canals; well, that’s what I did. Debi was mostly too busy scouting the (unfortunately non-peak hour) hookers in the red light district and taking photos of condom shops. Of course, despite the early hour, we also couldn’t help but enjoy a Heineken from the city in which it was born.

After a solid few hours in Amsterdam, we took the train back to Schiphol Airport and boarded our flight to the final destination, Ghana. It was a seven hour flight, which surprised us in its length. Debi summed it up best: “I guess that makes sense; Africa’s a big country.” I can see it now immortalized next to one of Mandela’s slogans. At any rate, our flight over the western part of the enormous “country” of Africa featured almost exclusively sleeping and reading. Debi, of course, fraternized with her neighbor, a dentist in London headed to Ghana to visit relatives in the town in which he was born. After a rude greeting from the 85 degree and 110% humidity (for anyone who thinks that is a mathematically impossible number, come to Ghana in the summer), we collected our bags and had a much more pleasant greeting from Whit, the owner of Burro where we are working, and his brother Max, who is writing his next book on the company.

The dynamic duo, whose feisty relationship reminds me of me and my brother's, gave us a brief tour of the city of Accra (uh-kraw {I’m no linguistics expert, but I think that sufficiently conveys the pronunciation}), but it was pretty late in the evening. We got our first taste of the aggressive selling that occurs on the streets and in the markets of Ghana -- little did we know it would be nothing compared to the next day. A man named Alberto, at least according to the paintings he tried to sell me, bombarded us as we tried to get cash at an ATM, and soon his buddies were on to the plot too. The thing about being in Ghana -- it isn’t difficult for the vendors to spot us as the tourists. And their style is just slightly more aggressive than the fireworks dealers on the Indian reservation in Anacortes, or the flea market traders in Mexico. At any rate, we somehow avoided making any purchases knowing we were heading for the market the next day.

The market was the story of day two in Africa, but first we had some logistical business to take care of. We purchased phones, simcards and credits for less than 50 cedi each ($1 = 1.4 cedi). Next stop was the cultural center, a compact assembly of wooden structures with various types of roofs. Unfortunately, there are no pictures since “looking is free” but for some reason it costs to take photos. We came away with some great purchases at dirt-cheap prices, including a set of masks originally quoted at 50 cedi for two small ones and eventually (after a half an hour of haggling/chatting/walking away) whittled down to 11 cedi for two small ones and a larger one. Of course, Debi bought all order of cloth items and was the last one ready to leave. The whole hour-plus was an experience for the eyes, ears and nose -- mostly, but not all pleasant.

Next, we took a miniature driving tour of some major parts of Accra. We saw two soccer stadiums, which we planned a tentative return trip to, and the location where Obama was going to speak when visited before fear of adverse weather drove him elsewhere. We also saw the center where the Ashanti and English gold exporters are based in downtown Accra. Our next stop before heading to Koforidua was the grocery store and the Accra Mall. It wasn’t a whole lot different than our malls, although we were warned that it’s pretty much one-of-a-kind in Ghana. Koforidua apparently has far less in terms of selection. One other major difference was the crowd gathered for the soccer game -- I took a quick peek and watched Drogba’s free kick get deflected and then moved on to the grocery store. The grocery store wasn’t anything special, but it was fun to check out the ludicrous prices -- both on the expensive and on the cheap side. For instance, a can of Red Bull (for whatever reason) cost only $1.50, whereas toothbrushes ran around $8.00 each. Despite (or because of?) my recent degree in economics it is beyond me to explain that.

After collecting the necessities at the store we moved on to the open road, taking what Whit describes as the “longcut” to what Whit calls “Kof-town.” The longcut, as I understand it, is a longer road that is actually much faster due to the intense traffic on the highway. It was also neat to go through numerous suburbs of Accra, varying in size and affluence but not so much in design. Perhaps the most fun part was scouting the different strange religious names; the winner of the contest was probably “Jesus Christ is Alive Auto Electronics Shop.” Anyways, Debi freaked out every time anyone saw an animal other than a chicken, which meant mostly goats and dogs. Every time traffic stopped, villagers came to our windows to sell us goods from large boards balanced on top of their heads. Eventually, we escaped the suburbs, which had begun to wear on us for their traffic, and began the ascent of Ghana’s version of a mountain.

Really, the “mountain” was no such thing, except perhaps compared to those in North Carolina. We reached our midpoint respite quickly -- a hotel on the side of the ridge with a pool and a shaded outdoor restaurant. After enjoying our meals, a little lizard chasing, and the amazing view back down the mountain towards Accra, it was on to Koforidua, the town of 100,000 where we would be staying. We pulled in a little after four after racing what turned out to be an imaginary rainstorm. We met Rose, our host and Burro coworker, and unloaded our stuff. In terms of volume, I’d guess 40% of our luggage is dedicated to school supplies (my mom’s doing), sporting goods (my doing), and toothbrushes (our dentist’s doing) to give to the kids of Koforidua. All I did upon arriving was unload, change, and play wiffleball in the near-dark with a few of the children who live in Rose’s neighborhood. My goal before we leave is to teach them the art of running the bases... Aim high.

Today we were able to sleep in and my young wiffleball-playing friends were not around because Sunday is church day. After a light breakfast and my first bucket shower in Africa, we headed in to the office, which is the only place we get internet access. I checked in on sports news (PSA: Kobe > Bron, as I've always said), checked email, etcetera for the first time since London. For lunch I had plantains, chicken and a spicy black eyed peas dip. It was good so long as the dip was spread across everything. Afterwards, we hit the market to pick up fruits, vegetables, and other produce for Debi's cooking ventures she hopes to undertake. The main spicy ingredient in food here is "gravy," a mix of red peppers, tomatoes, and tomato paste (and it is what was mixed with the beans in my lunch). We now have some chicken and all the ingredients to make gravy, as well as some locally grown fruits (all told: less than $10). I have a feeling I'll be losing some weight here coming off of my Bud Light Diet (TM).

Soon we are headed to our first gong gong, which is essentially a town meeting. We (Burro) is trying to branch out into different villages and this is one effort to do so -- running a town meeting to explain the principles of the company to them and allow for questions. We are going to head there now, but I would love email/facebook/twitter updates on everyone else's summers as well and I will do my best to answer personally whenever I have time.

En route to Ghana

It has been a hell of a 48 hours that leaves me writing to you from a ho(s)tel in London, England. On Tuesday night at 4:00 PM it became clear that I was not to be receiving my VISA in time for travel to Ghana (and that my passport was similarly lost). After some deliberation (and a sizable portion of fury) Debi, her mother and I packed up and left Ocean Isle, North Carolina at midnight. We drove to Chapel Hill, which we reached at approximately 3:45. At around 4:45, after gathering what we guessed might be enough materials to at least get another passport made in Washington, Debi and I departed Chapel Hill for DC, bound for Ghana’s embassy. We hoped that the lack of return emails and messages meant somehow that my visa was sitting waiting to be picked up with no more than a 15-minute delay.

To be honest, I don’t think either of us believed this to be true, but we arrived at the embassy at 9:15 and departed at 9:30 with my travel visa stapled into my passport. The lesson: don’t sweat it and it will work out. We left DC and fortunately did not have to fight rush hour traffic going the other direction, but we did have to circumnavigate a big wreck on I-85, which left us 30 minutes to prepare to leave upon arrival in Chapel Hill. Debi packed our bags on the way home in the back of my Toyota Corolla with the seats folded down, while I carefully metered my Red Bull intake and completed my 11^th consecutive hour of driving.

We departed RDU on schedule at 6:15 on Wednesday evening, having slept two hours combined, all in a car, since 10:00 on Tuesday morning. Debi slept the entire plane ride and I nearly did the same, with brief reading and movie intermissions. We had a relaxing day in London today since both of us have been here relatively recently. We made the mistake of taking the Tube in, in the middle of rush hour, to the center of the city. Our plane arrived at 7:00 and we got to our hotel at 9:15. Unable to check in until 2:00, we explored the areas immediately surrounding our hotel, and found a cool Italian cafe at which to eat ciabattas for breakfast. Then we explored the shopping district, which entailed me sitting on benches while Debi tried to find a sweatshirt to wear in the cold that she somehow failed to predict despite the modern wonders of the internet and weather.com.

After a much-needed (and much too short) nap, Morgan, a family friend, met us for dinner. We had great British food and enjoyed a few beers at The Pride of Paddington, a cool pub that apparently really gets going when Scotland and England square off in (what the rest of the world calls) football. Right now we’re winding down the night in anticipation of our 6:00 AM flight to Amsterdam, followed by our flight to Ghana later in the day. Hope all is well at home, and congratulations to the graduating class of 2010.