Sunday, June 16, 2013

"500 Hostels in the USA (& Canada & Mexico)" is Now Available on Kindle, just another week in the life...




 "500 Hostels in the USA (& Canada & Mexico)" is Now Available on Kindle at amazon.com.

Here's a week-in-the-life article I wrote for another blog, The Professional Hobo, until I realized I had no  pictures to go along with it, since my camera had just been stolen (along with cash, passport, cell-phone, dignity, etc), which is more-or-less the subject of the week's activities, that and getting over it.  Nevertheless, without pictures it wouldn't work, so I had to re-do it.  Here's the original, from August, 2009.  Visualize it.  I figured this would be a good way to re-launch this other blog, the one intended for actual travel.  I'm trying to build up a head of steam.


DAY 1

I get up and start packing.  Today is the day I leave South Africa, southern Africa in fact, after several weeks of travel, hard travel until this past week in Jo’burg, Randburg actually, north of the city.  I take one last look around the hostel and say goodbye to the few people I’ve befriended in the course of a week, but they’re mostly partiers, and I’m mostly not.  There are beer cans everywhere, and cigarette butts, too.  Yuk.  The two English girls and I hug, and promise to stay in touch, though I know we never will.  My driver to the airport comes right on schedule, so that’s nice.  He’s got Fela on the CD player; that’s even nicer.  I get to the airport long before my flight leaves.  That’s okay. 

I have no stamps in my passport, so I don’t know how this plays out.  My emergency passport was only issued a few days ago.  Immigration asks me what day I entered the country.  I ask which time; I’ve entered South Africa several times in the last few weeks, from Europe, from Botswana, from Lesotho, and from Mozambique.  Fortunately the first time was right here in the Jo’burg airport.  Otherwise it might be problematic.  He stamps me out; we’re good.  I don’t fare so well at the Air France gate.  They look at my passport and almost laugh.  They think it’s fake.  I tell him the story, but that’s not enough.  They call it in.  Fortunately everybody’s cell phones are working, and they finally let me pass.  It’s a long flight to CDG in Paris.  I try to get some sleep.  Their food is pretty good.