Africa

Tomorrow I fly to Africa. Tonight, I sleep in Lisbon. I've been here a week after 6 weeks (or more?) in Ireland. Everything feels very strange right now. I promised many people I would keep this blog updated and I haven't done that. It's been strange, too strange to blog about. A journey, yes, but very personal and...well...boring for everyone who isn't me. In Ireland I hitchhiked through the ancient part, where old rural traditions are still alive and found that they aren't alive in the way I expected. Mostly learned a valuable lesson about expectations. But I wrote a piece of journalism, 14 pages long about what strikes me as one of the most interesting stories that seems to sum up the relationship between the rural man and the multinational corporation and all the economics involved perfectly. The piece needs editing but my plan is to try and whip it into something crisp and do what I can to get it published. I flew to the south coast of Portugal and stayed in a beach house with two gents named Filipe. Class guys. Went partying and kayaking much, swam in reckless waves, spent two nights with Joao and Co, more partying, me drunk and lost, allegies catching up, reading Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses, two nights in Lisbon, not nearly enough, thinking what a wonderful city this would be to settle down in for a stretch and now...in the morning I fly to Africa, Senegal, Dakar. I aim to go with eyes wide open and cup fully empty. Let that new world tell me what is what, because I feel I have so few claims to truth or ideas at all. Running and looking and rejecting time and again, every spot has some excuse for not being up to snuff. No more. It is what it is. Good night.