{"id":555,"date":"2002-11-27T23:00:00","date_gmt":"2002-11-27T23:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/globetrotters.co.uk\/newsletter\/2002\/11\/27\/guten-morgenby-michael-from-the-us-currently-travelling-with-his-wife-sali-in-africa\/"},"modified":"2020-01-07T06:55:05","modified_gmt":"2020-01-07T06:55:05","slug":"guten-morgenby-michael-from-the-us-currently-travelling-with-his-wife-sali-in-africa","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/globetrotters.co.uk\/newsletter\/guten-morgenby-michael-from-the-us-currently-travelling-with-his-wife-sali-in-africa.html","title":{"rendered":"Guten Morgen\nby Michael from the US, currently travelling with his wife Sali, in Africa"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Its been, I believe, more than two months since I last sent an email of<br \/>\nsubstance about our trip. My eyes have been filled with so many sights and my<br \/>\nhead filled with so many thoughts that my pen hand has been frozen, like a boy<br \/>\nwho has taken too big a bite of an apple, whose jaw is stuck clenched around<br \/>\nit.<\/p>\n<p>Whereas the first few months of our trip can be described as nomadic and<br \/>\narduous, the last several weeks have been marked by the slowness of time and<br \/>\nseeming randomness of events. However undirected our travels initially<br \/>\nappeared, they were, in fact, pretty direct. We travelled northwards through<br \/>\nSouth Africa, straight into and through Zimbabwe, meandered around Zambia and<br \/>\nthen entered Malawi. Look on a map and you&#039;ll see that it&#039;s pretty<br \/>\nstraightforward. But everything changed once we hit Malawi. We were tired. No,<br \/>\nlet me rephrase that. We were haggard. Months of spartan, itinerant living had<br \/>\ntaken its toll. We reached beyond the breaking point days before when we got<br \/>\nstuck driving across a river purportedly infested by crocs and hippos. Forced<br \/>\nto set up camp, we spent that night alone in the bush among the animals of the<br \/>\nwild.<\/p>\n<p>Fortunately, we were towed out the next day. We are not, and never will be,<br \/>\nthe same. Thus, we looked upon passive little Malawi, known alternately as the<br \/>\n&#8220;Warm Heart of Africa&#8221; and &#8220;Africa Light&#8221;, as the cure to<br \/>\nour ills. We welcomed with pleasure the conveniences of Blantyre, Malawi&#039;s<br \/>\nlargest commercial city, and the soothing atmosphere of Doogles, Southern<br \/>\nAfrica&#039;s hippest backpacker lodge and Blantyre&#039;s coolest pub. Like<br \/>\nCheers, everyone knows your name and they&#039;re always glad you came. With<br \/>\ntracks of David Gray (our new favourite crooner) playing in the background and<br \/>\ngood food served all day, our frayed nerves slowly eased.<\/p>\n<p>The list of characters flowing in and out of Doogles runs long: there was a<br \/>\nmerry band of travellers calling themselves &#8220;Hot Rocks&#8221; in the midst<br \/>\nof a 3-year expedition circumambulating the globe in a enhanced Mad Max-style<br \/>\ntruck from England (check out their site at ;<br \/>\nthere was a British couple riding their BMW motorcycle (the ride was so smooth,<br \/>\nclaimed the husband, that his wife could read when sitting behind him) around<br \/>\nthe world, financed by rental payments received for the use of their home;<br \/>\nthere was the lycra-clad professional journeyman on a continuing mission to<br \/>\ncircle the earth by motorbike who likened himself to James Bond, carried little<br \/>\nother than albums containing clippings from travel magazines depicting his<br \/>\nlife&#039;s work, and never tired of describing his latest blaze through the<br \/>\npre-truce Congo (days after I last saw him, I caught the tail end of a Travel<br \/>\nChannel episode telling his tales); there was the lanky used car salesman born<br \/>\nand raised in Blantyre who showed up every night for beers and conversation;<br \/>\nthere was the British med student who came alone but quickly found company;<br \/>\nthere was the reunion with Maria and Oliver, a German couple with whom we<br \/>\nformed a quick and comfortable friendship days earlier in Zambia &#8211; they beat us<br \/>\nin Pictionary \ud83d\ude41 &#8211; there was a British jack-of-all-trades who rolled in to<br \/>\nDoogles with three 18-wheelers and stacks of used tires, all shipped over from<br \/>\nEngland and ready for sale to any interested buyer; there were Swiss<br \/>\ntravellers, Dutch, Irish and Israeli, French travellers, Aussie, American and<br \/>\nKiwi, just to name a few, checking in and out, dining by the pool and quaffing<br \/>\nbeers in the moonlight; and, of course, there were Souli and Servanne, two of<br \/>\nmy favourite travellers and half of our meandering quartet.<\/p>\n<p>Travelling is as much a skill as it is an art and Servanne ranks among the<br \/>\nbest travellers I&#039;ve encountered. Always upbeat, forever a team player, she<br \/>\nhas an unquenchable thirst for the sights and sounds penetrating the world. A<br \/>\nFrenchwoman, she also speaks English, a smattering of German, Spanish, and<br \/>\nnumerous esoteric languages that she has picked up from travelling in, out,<br \/>\nthrough and around the world&#039;s most unique places. At about 5&#039;1&#8243;<br \/>\nand 103 pounds (just a guess), she may be, pound for pound, the world&#039;s<br \/>\nstrongest traveller, and, I can assure you, the most energetic.<\/p>\n<p>Souli, short for Souliman, is a Lebanese-born German dentist who is the<br \/>\noldest of ten children. When we met him, he was stuck in Blantyre waiting for a<br \/>\nparcel containing a headlamp to make it through Malawi&#039;s lethargic postal<br \/>\nsystem. This guy was finishing up a nearly 14-month bicycle journey from<br \/>\nGermany to South Africa (check out his website at <a href=\"http:\/\/www.radflimmern.de\">www.radflimmern.de<\/a>). Why, with less than two<br \/>\nmonths left on his trip, did he suddenly need the headlamp? I never could<br \/>\nunderstand it&#8211;something about needing it while he rode through the bush in<br \/>\nBotswana&#8211;but it kept him hanging around, so that was good enough for me.<\/p>\n<p>For me, Souli was a breath of fresh air. As a German, he proudly rooted for<br \/>\nthe plucky U.S. soccer team when the two countries faced each other in the<br \/>\nWorld Cup. Germany advanced, so he cheered wildly for the heavily outmatched<br \/>\nSouth Koreans in the semi-finals. Why root against his countrymen? Those soccer<br \/>\nstars were too cocky, he told me. Souli&#039;s soft-spoken affability combined<br \/>\nwith a limited attention span for all things outside the domain of his interest<br \/>\nleft me continuously in stitches. To dismiss someone as a nuisance while making<br \/>\nhim feel good about it is a skill the guy has mastered. I don&#039;t mean to<br \/>\nsound callous, but in Africa locals approach foreigners for various reasons.<br \/>\nThese encounters are precious to all travellers, but they also tend to be<br \/>\ndraining. Souli had a knack for pleasantly nipping those unpleasurable<br \/>\nencounters in the bud. Perhaps most of all, I was fascinated by his physically<br \/>\nchallenging and mentally gruelling trip that brought him, ever so slowly, out<br \/>\nof Europe, through the Middle East and across Africa. Along the way, he<br \/>\nre-established family ties in the country of his birthplace, found spiritual<br \/>\nrejuvenation in the kindness of strangers and dealt with uncommon frustrations<br \/>\nlike flat tires in the Sudanese desert and rocks thrown by children in certain<br \/>\nlocales.<\/p>\n<p>The four of us&#8211;Servanne, Sali, Souli and I&#8211;made a good team. Sali and<br \/>\nServanne enjoyed conversing in French, pondering things European and talking of<br \/>\nliterature. Souli and I shared an interest in poorly played Chess and laughter<br \/>\nat life&#039;s trifling events. After a few days together at Doogles, we set out<br \/>\non a camping trip in Malawi&#039;s Shire Valley. Uninterested at the time in<br \/>\nanything touristy, we pitched our tents in a dry riverbed on the outskirts of a<br \/>\nsimple village. We spent three days cooking, sunning, laughing and interacting<br \/>\nwith locals in what were very ordinary conditions&#8211;lots of sun, no electricity,<br \/>\na borehole providing freshwater one kilometre away, villagers with small plots<br \/>\nof land that produced a variety of vegetables, a population rapidly diminishing<br \/>\nin numbers due to the onset of AIDS.<\/p>\n<p>After the camping trip, we headed back to Doogles. Eventually, Servanne<br \/>\nhopped on a bus to Mozambique, Souli cycled off to Zimbabwe and Sali and I set<br \/>\nout for a hike through Malawi&#039;s Mulanje Mountains. We anticipated a 4-5 day<br \/>\ntrip where we would move from lodge to lodge each day, but the daily hikes were<br \/>\nlong and tiring and we were poorly prepared, not bringing enough food and<br \/>\nfailing to hire a porter to assist in the portage of food and supplies. After<br \/>\ntwo days, we found ourselves in a gorgeous spot and too tired to enjoy it.<br \/>\nThat&#039;s when we met James and Hannah, lovebirds soon to be wed, who kindly<br \/>\nleft us some of their food as they headed down the mountain and invited us to<br \/>\nstay with them once we returned. We decided to spend the next three nights in<br \/>\nthe same mountain hut, enjoying its tranquillity and scenic beauty, and then<br \/>\ntook a more direct route back to James&#039; and Hannah&#039;s three days<br \/>\nlater.<\/p>\n<p>The next couple of weeks are a blur. All I can remember is breakfasts on<br \/>\ntheir veranda, long stretches of time spent reading, midday naps, fantastic<br \/>\nmeals, thoughtful conversations with our hosts, evening laughter and a<br \/>\nrekindled relationship with television. James and Hannah opened their home to<br \/>\nus and we just couldn&#039;t get enough. In fact, it soon dawned on us that the<br \/>\nexpatriate lifestyle (he&#039;s from the U.K., she&#039;s from British Columbia)<br \/>\nin Malawi was not half-bad. As fate would have it, the stunning home next to<br \/>\nthem had just become vacant. With four bedrooms, two solariums, a swimming<br \/>\npool, stables and beautifully landscaped grounds, this house was nestled in the<br \/>\nfoothills of mountains, bounded by a nature preserve on one side and James and<br \/>\nHannah on the other.<\/p>\n<p>What could we do in Malawi, we wondered. We floated our resumes around town,<br \/>\nmeeting several respected lawyers including the head of Malawi&#039;s bar<br \/>\nassociation, leaders of their nascent stock market, foreign consultants and<br \/>\nbankers, the police department&#039;s chief of criminal affairs (it&#039;s a long<br \/>\nstory) and the dean of one of the country&#039;s two law schools. After rubbing<br \/>\nshoulders with these bigwigs, we became stuck on the idea of teaching at the<br \/>\nlaw school. Encouraged by the dean to seek outside funding&#8211;he expressed<br \/>\ninterest in our services but lacked the funding to pay for them&mdash;we met<br \/>\nwith several development agencies funded by the British and U.S. governments in<br \/>\npursuit of a backer. We wrote letters, shook hands, issued pitches and<br \/>\nsubmitted proposals. Sadly, the well of funds was dry. The mighty New Yorkers<br \/>\nhad struck out.<\/p>\n<p>During our tireless fundraising campaign, we sought refuge in the crystal<br \/>\nclear waters of Lake Malawi on two occasions. Here, the beauty and challenges<br \/>\nof African life struck me more clearly than anywhere else on our trip. Warmed<br \/>\nby the majesty of the lake&#039;s undeveloped serenity and the unbridled decency<br \/>\nof its surrounding community, I nonetheless felt weighted down by the pressures<br \/>\nof village existence&#8211;unceasing poverty in the face of an outpouring of tourist<br \/>\nwealth; in the wake of the AIDS pandemic, too few elders caring for too many<br \/>\nchildren; the youthful desire for fun in the sun against the practical need to<br \/>\nearn and save; the inescapable fact that villagers rarely leave the at once<br \/>\ninviting and confining land on which their parents&#039;, their parents&#039;<br \/>\nparents and their parents before them were conceived and reared, on which they<br \/>\nfounded their families and on which they expired.<\/p>\n<p>Smarting from the burn of rejection, our hearts began to wander back home.<br \/>\nLiz, Sali&#039;s blue-blooded high school friend, was engaged to wed Niels, a<br \/>\nGerman gentleman living in D.C., at the end of August in Virginia. Jean, my<br \/>\nformer French neighbour in New York, was engaged to wed Caireen, a feisty<br \/>\nAustralian, in the middle of September in the French Riviera. We checked our<br \/>\nbudget, realized we couldn&#039;t afford trips to these far-off places, and then<br \/>\ndecided to go anyway. We bought round-trip tickets to the States with stopovers<br \/>\nin London and connecting puddle-jumper flights to Nice, and we were off.<\/p>\n<p>We spent practically every moment of our time back home soaking up the love<br \/>\nand attention of our respective families, catching up on everyone&#039;s life,<br \/>\ntelling stories of our own, and fattening up on tasty home cookin&#039;. In a<br \/>\ncertain twist of fate, Liz and Niels were married in a country French chateau<br \/>\nnestled in a small Virginia town among their closest friends and family, while<br \/>\nJean and Caireen paired themselves amidst the glitz and glamour suitable to<br \/>\nHollywood&#039;s elite. While guests at the Brinton-Kusserow merger engaged in<br \/>\nthoughtful, intimate conversations with the bride and groom and dined among a<br \/>\nchoice group of guests, attendees at the Bourlot-Shanahan extravaganza rocked<br \/>\nthe night away under the stars of Beaulieu Sur Mer.<\/p>\n<p>And that, my dear friends and family, is nearly all there is to tell. There<br \/>\nwas our 3-night escapade through Mozambique and our continuing education on<br \/>\nDavid Livingstone, the Scottish missionary who introduced much of Southern<br \/>\nAfrica to the European world while campaigning against slavery with every step<br \/>\n(see www.nationalgeographic.com\/features\/97\/lantern\/),<br \/>\nthere is the sociologist\/filmmaker who is tending to our car while putting the<br \/>\nfinishing touches on his documentary of Malawian street children, there was a<br \/>\nweek secluded in the Italian Alps following the French wedding (and the<br \/>\n4-train, 10-hour trip it took to get there), our inability to meet up with our<br \/>\nSlovenian friends in Venice, the long journey by rail to meet Liz and Niels in<br \/>\nKoblenz (Niels whisked his beautiful bride back to his motherland after the<br \/>\nwedding), our recent lesson on German beer and sausages and our grand<br \/>\nopportunity to sample Niels&#039; famed plum cake (deeeelicous), but there<br \/>\nisn&#039;t time for all that. In a few days we will have a reunion with Maria<br \/>\nand Oliver and in a few weeks we&#039;ll be back in Africa steadily collecting<br \/>\nstories for the next briefing. Until then, be well.<\/p>\n<p>Wed in September 2001, Sali and Michael left their jobs as New York lawyers<br \/>\nsix months later and flew to Cape Town to begin a one-year travelling<br \/>\nexpedition. Without much of an itinerary, they bought a car in Cape Town and<br \/>\nhave been slowly working their way north through Africa, spending time in South<br \/>\nAfrica, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Malawi, Mozambique and, currently, Tanzania. Always<br \/>\neager to swap travel tips, Sali and Michael would be pleased to hear from any<br \/>\ntravel enthusiasts and can be reached via email at <a href=\"m&#97;&#105;&#x6c;&#x74;&#x6f;&#x3a;m&#114;&#97;&#107;&#x6f;&#x77;&#x65;r&#64;&#104;&#111;&#x74;&#x6d;&#x61;il&#46;&#99;&#x6f;&#x6d;\">&#x6d;&#x72;&#97;k&#x6f;&#x77;&#x65;&#114;&#64;&#x68;&#x6f;&#x74;&#109;a&#x69;&#x6c;&#x2e;&#99;o&#x6d;<\/a>.<\/p>\n<div style=\"text-align: center\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/globetrotters.co.uk\/newsletter\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2010\/12\/santa_line2.gif\" alt=\"\" width=\"60%\" height=\"36\" border=\"0\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/globetrotters.co.uk\/newsletter\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2010\/12\/santa_line.gif\" alt=\"\" width=\"221\" height=\"36\" border=\"0\"><\/div>\n<hr \/>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Its been, I believe, more than two months since I last sent an email of substance about our trip. My eyes have been filled with so many sights and my&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"css_class_manager_body_classes":"","css_class_manager_use_in_post_loop":false},"categories":[2,3],"tags":[59],"class_list":["post-555","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-archive","category-main-article","tag-november-2002"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Guten Morgen by Michael from the US, currently travelling with his wife Sali, in Africa - eNewsletter<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/globetrotters.co.uk\/newsletter\/guten-morgenby-michael-from-the-us-currently-travelling-with-his-wife-sali-in-africa.html\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Guten Morgen by Michael from the US, currently travelling with his wife Sali, in Africa - eNewsletter\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Its been, I believe, more than two months since I last sent an email of substance about our trip. 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