My colleague Thabo was nice enough to take me for a little photo safari in downtown Johannesburg this afternoon after our Open XML master class workshop at the University of the Witwatersrand (the first photo in this set is the building where it took place), and I also took a few photos this evening around the hotel. Megan saw Soweto today, but I won’t see it until tomorrow, so we’ll probably have a bunch more photos then.
I haven’t checked work email or personal email this evening, my first evening without email in ages. And I’m not going to check now. It was a choice between yet another long evening on email or posting these photos, and the photos won. Tomorrow’s another day.
We’re in Johannesburg now, and back to internet connections that work as expected. I’ve never seen anything like that bizarre behavior on the internet connection at the Norfolk Hotel in Nairobi. It was as if they had cached a copy of my blog (and only my blog!) as it stood the moment we arrived, and I could never see anything added or posted after that.
Anyway, no time right now (and I just noticed I still need to reset the sidebar), but here are the photos from Nairobi:
Narobi National Park (animals)
a drive around Nairobi (people)
Lots to say about all of these, but no time to say it, I have somebody picking me up in a few minutes for today’s workshop. Later …
Well, we made it to Kenya. We’re at the Norfolk, ready to crash after a long day.
No photo safaris today, but here are a few pictures anyway:
leaving Europe (Italy)
entering Africa (Libya or Egypt, I’m not sure which)
Megan at the hotel in Nairobi (”nyerumby” as the locals seem to say)
enjoying a drink on the front porch (security guard in the background)
Crossing the Sahara was interesting. Well, actually it was boring: just mile after mile of sand, like crossing an ocean in terms of the monotony of it. And an occasional set of a few vehicle tracks running across the sand, probably on the straight path between two points where people can live. It was clear most of the way, and I saw no signs of permanent habitation any time I looked out. Then it got cloudy and stayed cloudy the rest of the flight, so the next time I saw the ground we were landing in Nairobi.
It’s been raining off and on since we arrived, but I’m hoping that will make for even better photos tomorrow. We’re going to check out the game park then. Everyone here is very friendly and speaks perfect English, so far. Easy place for an American to drop in. And getting a visa at the airport is quick and easy: never get one in advance! Unlike a couple of places I’ve been, the Kenyans seem to understand the importance of making it easy to bring tourist dollars into the country.
Oh, Tom:
- yes, Photoshop for Dummies
- Megan worries you’ve been exposed to to many IDG books, based on that question
Oh, and Thomas … you asked how much time I spend on the personal blog, and I just realized I’ve been so busy (and so far behind on work email) that I never answered. If I had to guess, I’d say about 4-5 hours a week. Some weeks more, some weeks less. And that doesn’t include taking pictures, of course, but that’s a separate hobby, right? 
I’ve traveled quite a few places this year, but tomorrow begins a new adventure I’m very excited about: a trip to Africa. It’s going to be mostly business, although Megan’s coming along and we should have a free day or two in between long work sessions.
It’s funny how so many people have said things to me lately like “do you know how lucky you are to get to travel so much?” Yes, it’s sort of cool sometimes, but if you’ve ever spent more time out of your home country than in it over a period of a few weeks or months, you know that it’s not all fun photo ops, cultural adventures, and fancy restaurants.
It is simply unbelievable to me how far behind I am on so many things at home and work, and how many things are piling up and not getting done. And just trying to handle the most important stuff before leaving on another trip is a 12-hour-a-day job. Megan and I were both at work until after midnight tonight, and now we’re home and have much to do before our flight in a few hours. The last weekend we had together here in Seattle was April 21-22, and the next one will be July 7-8. (And I’ll probably be working a bunch that weekend to prepare for an event I’m traveling to a few days later.) Before you say “I wish I had your job,” think about what you’re asking for.
Anyway, no time to ramble on but I wanted to let everyone know where we’re headed. I’ll post photos and stories as things progress … don’t want to give away anything yet. Well, we’re starting here: the Norfolk is the next place we’ll get a good night’s sleep. Can’t wait for that!
I had a wonderfully bureaucratic morning …
7:30AM: I stopped at an ATM to get some cash, and the receipt said “Card retained. Contact your financial institution.” After a few phone calls and a couple of escalations, I discovered that my recent purchasing habits have been suspicious (hey, who doesn’t do the Kiev-Beijing-Seattle-Chile-Colombia restaurant/bar tour occasionally?), and it set off my bank’s automated fraud detector. A new debit card will arrive in 48 hours, just in time for the next trip, and I get to pay $50 for the privilege.
7:40AM: I turned right (north) on 3rd Avenue downtown, meaning to go around the block to park on 2nd. Hmm, “no right turn 6-9AM.” So I went another block; same sign. And block after block had these silly signs. Finally, as I approached Virginia, it looked like I’d be able to turn left soon … but a traffic cop stepped out in the street and motioned me to the curb. And he then started writing me a ticket for driving more than one block on 3rd during rush hour, a privilege restricted to buses during that time.
While I watched him scribble away, I looked around to see the sign I had missed. Nothing. So I hopped out to walk over and politely ask him to show me the sign. RED ALERT! There were a bunch of other cops nearby that I hadn’t seen, and they all started screaming as if I was going to kill this guy. Soon I was discussing with three cops the question of whether this silly little law is well-marked on the signs. Let’s just say we disagreed. Then, as a sign of appreciation for my thoughtful questions, they wanted to see my registration, my insurance card, my last emmissions inspection, the usual BS. I noticed that the insurance card was expired, so when I handed them all the paperwork I said “take your time, guys, I’ve got all day” … and then they rushed through it and didn’t notice it was expired, he he he. Showed them! (Tip for dealing with traffic cops: they’re like kids, you should always insist they do the opposite of what you really want, and their natural uncooperativeness will usually make them comply with your wishes.)
8:00AM: after all that bureacracy, it was nice to finally arrive at the federal building (915 2nd Ave), where I went through the metal detectors and on up to the 9th floor passport office, with its huge photos of Dick, George, and Condi on the wall. After filling out the wrong form and then the right form (it’s “additional visa pages,” not an “extension,” idiot!), I finally had a nice bureaucratic experience. Charles Drake was a sweetheart: polite, efficient, respectful, cooperative … how he got a job in the State Department I’ll never know. Seriously, if you ever go to that office, wait for the big white guy with the beard.
Anyway, courtesy of Charles, here’s my tip for those of you who fill up your passports and need more visa pages: have them do a “double.” Seriously … it costs no more, takes the same amount of time, and you can get twice as many additional visa pages just for asking. Just say “Supersize Me, America!”
I’m due to pick up my new much-fatter passport tomorrow. What could go wrong now?
I wish we had more of this in our country: Presidental cat fights.
I’ve always liked that thing the British do, where the Prime Minister stands face-to-face with outspoken skeptics in the House of Lords and tries to make his point.
Actually, the last time I saw that on television, a few years ago, I think they were debating this very same issue!
We were the only two people in the entire first-class cabin (12 seats) on Alaska 231 from Mexico City to Los Angeles this week.
Here are a few photos.
OK, this hotel we’re staying at. I guess it’s nice. I mean, it looks nice. But the definition of “good service” here is bizarre.
At the front counter at checkin, they wouldn’t honor our rate, for the reservations we had already made, even though we had the confirmation numbers they had assigned. Needed a hard copy of the confirmation number. So they “let us” use the business center to print out a hard copy before agreeing to the previously agreed-upon rate. Very classy.
Camino Real. This hotel. Classy place.
So tonight we come back to the room at midnight. We’re sitting around in our underwear, after a long day. And suddenly the patio door, a sliding glass door, is yanked open with great force. Not a little tug. This was a jolt that literally shook the wall. It was as if a car had hit the building.
And there’s this hotel security guy standing in the doorway, in his dorky little blue blazer, while another one is standing in the shadows behind him with a flashlight.
Since my Mom reads the blog, I won’t repeat the exact words I said, after storming out the door in nothing but striped bikini briefs. But suffice to say, I shared my view that this was not professional behavior. And since they didn’t seem to speak English, I felt a need to do so extra-loudly, with lots of foul and threatening language. As most American tourists know, that’s the best way to make sure non-English speakers understand what you’re saying — their lack of comprehension is usually due to a lack of intensity and/or a lack of foul language. I made sure that wasn’t a problem with these guys.
They kept muttering that I needed to make sure the sliding door was locked. Yeah, they’re right, the latch is a bit funky. A hard yank can pop it open, as they discovered. (Or rather, already knew.) But that’s hardly surprising: the toilet seat is broken, the door stop in the bathroom is broken, the internet connection is flaky, and … I could go on and on. Maintenance isn’t exactly the strong suit here at Camino Real. Classy place.
Anyway, they left, not having scored a laptop computer or anything else because there was some big gringo in the room. Better luck next time, guys.
Camino Real. Classy place. Pass it on.
When a taxi playing loud dance music screeches to a halt in front of your hotel at 11:00PM on a Saturday night in Mexico City and Guillermo hops out … well, you know the rest. The name of the place was Butterflies, or El Butter, and it’s in the old central part of town. We were there early (i.e., before midnight), so we got a table. We started with a bottle of rum, the last drop of which disappeared some time between the midnight and 3:00 shows. (They have shows at 12, 3 and 5, and close at 7AM.)
I didn’t know what to expect, and I was a bit worried we might not fit in. Ha! Everyone was so cool, and we felt very welcome. I wish this place was in Seattle, we’d go all the time.
WARNING: these photos are bit different from the usual Doug’s World fare, in that they include partial nudity, sexual ambiguity, and hundreds of Mexicans having a good time. If any of that offends you, please don’t click here.
