I sit here now, with work far behind me, a nice coffee steaming on my desk, and I realize that all that remains between me and Africa now are three days at home.
The last 10 days or so have felt like the travel gods have been conspiring against me, once again. A minor health scare, a pretty serious head cold looking a lot like a flu and now the snow storm of the century have all made an appearance while I count down my last days. Believe me, at one point last Monday night, as I wrapped up in blankets and shivered my way into a feverish semi-coma, Africa felt like it was never going to get here.
Now as my last load of pre-trip laundry tumbles around in the dryer (gotta take advantage of electricity before we lose it) and I wait for Logan to reopen two days from now, I wonder what sort of imprint Africa is going to leave on me. I know, I do this with every big trip. This trip, more than any, is way outside my comfort zone. Hell, I don't even think I've ever even SEEN a tent, let alone slept in one in the middle of the Serengeti!
On the one hand, I suppose I'm about to see a third world country and everything that comes along with that. On the other hand I am sure I will see wide open space, nothing but air nature and animals as far as I can see. You mean no CVS, Starbucks, or gym on every corner? And for the last half of our trip, no internet, electricity or running water? Yikes. But does it sound odd if I say that that is extremely anxiety provoking for me?
Now I have to remind myself, this is why I travel. I want what I can't see, have, touch, feel, smell at home. I want the experience to be different. I want something that will stop my world, erase the hassles of every day life and make me stop and think. Gain perspective. Create distance from my every day life. I think, most definitely, chasing the migration in the Serengeti might just do that.
All that's left is the final packing, shoveling about 2 feet of snow, and getting myself to the airport. Nearly there...