: Ken Brandon
: Continental Drifting The truth at last - what really happened on those trips
: Vivid Publishing
: 9781922565679
: 1
: CHF 7.30
:
: Ratgeber
: English
: 248
: kein Kopierschutz
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
I suppose if someone asked me to choose the best decade of my life, I would probably select that time from the mid-70s to the mid-80s. Apart from a moment when I briefly and unsuccessfully dipped my toes into the sea of matrimony, it was a good life. I was unencumbered by career, emotional commitment or geography. It was a time when I gave my heart freely and frequently. I had almost finished my university degree which I had begun after a few years wandering through my own wilderness and had taken every second year off to see the world. This decade, for me, was my belle époque. Whilst in Sydney I became an ambulance officer, drove taxis, worked as a trolley boy in a major hospital, and various other jobs in order to earn the wherewithal to continue my travels. It was a time of adventure, of romance, of exploration of my inner workings, many of which were reflective and quite painful, and a time of observing and understanding relationships. While most people leave school and set their course on a career, I took almost twenty years to find my calling. Meanwhile, life called me and I was there to answer that call. So, this book covers many facets of that decade, written often in a humorous vein considering some of the predicaments in which I found myself and often with a good dose of introspection and an exploration of relationships between people and between people and existence. Even though the chapters, each one very different, are set against the backdrop of exotic destinations in the Third World, one would not necessarily glean a traveller's insight into these places. One would simply be taken along with the reminiscences of a life well-lived. It's, in part, through optimising circumstances, a chronicle of a life that very few people get to experience.

TWO

INNOCENTS ABROAD

I - NIGHT IN SHINING AMOUR

I finished my meal, bid my companions a perfunctory “good evening” and walked towards the centre of Nairobi without purpose other than seeking the cathartic experience of anonymity in a crowd. Ray and Steve continued on their way.

We’d just arrived in Nairobi, having caught the midnight flight from Khartoum. As exhausted as we were through the day, it was too early to turn in for the night and decided a quick meal was in order. As I meandered past TheHotel Ambassadeur two women appeared and unhesitatingly approached me. They were both very dark and it wasn’t until the taller of the two was standing almost on top of me that I could see her features with any definition. Her friend preferred to remain some distance away.

My initial response was one of bemusement. My mind was absorbed by another time, engulfed by the loneliness that dominated my stay here almost three years ago. Back then I was travelling overland to London from South Africa, but by the time I reached Kenya the thought of being away from my wife of three months became too much and I decided to fly to England to meet up with her and continue our travels together.

Now, three years later I was by myself, a single man again, in search of whatever came my way. I imagine the reader might suspect what was afoot. I, at this stage, was clueless.

“Hello” she smiled, revealing a set of ivory that would have made a Steinway envious. From behind her smile emanated a hint of alcohol that subtly brushed my face.

We quickly and light-footedly danced our way through the usual repartee when boy meets girl (at this stage I still hadn’t suspected her meretricious predilection). She placed her hand on my wrist and moved still closer. I felt her naked arm, cool like marble on a summer night. Maybe she likes me, I thought presumptuously. Naivety has no bounds.

“Maybe you would like to spend the night with me?” she asked.

“Well, er, yes, maybe I would” - this was one cool dude she was dealing with. By now the penny was dropping - slowly, but dropping nevertheless. Is this what I wanted? Could I afford it? How would I feel tomorrow morning? What is the capital of Iceland? In what year did the Titanic sink? These and other questions raced through my mind as I stood there. Unfortunately, the only answer forthcoming was Reykjavik and this, I surmised, would be of little significance to anyone at this juncture.

I had to weigh the pros and cons carefully. This was not a decision I could treat lightly. Well, I stood there equivocating (something I rarely do in public) for what seemed like microseconds. “Okay,” I said with diplomatic hesitation. “But how much?” (Always the tactician). I must al