After waving goodbye to BiRT I returned to my Tanzanian ”banda” to lie and listen to the waves of the Indian Ocean, contemplating life. Then I wandered the streets of Dar Es Salaam alone for a couple of days and finally boarded a flight back to London. Stepping off the plane, grabbing my dusty bags, and joining the fast-walking crowd to the Tube was both a shock and oddly familiar. How can it be that both of those emotions can coexist?
I had three days in London before going home for the holidays. These were filled with friends and ice skating and emptying bags in order to fill them again with very different items. Out went the shorts and summer wear, in went the fleece tops and wool socks. Out went the climbing harness and shoes, in went the ski bottoms and boots. I shared my room with Caroline, a Swiss architecture student and intern who was subletting my room while I was out, and who I dare say was quite patient as I single-handedly made it look like a bomb had exploded in her/my/our room.
Roz and Caroline Skating at the Natural History Museum
Oxford Circus decked out for the Holidays (Check out all those shoppers!)
The Great Escape
On the day of my flight out, I had a chance to put my climbing skills to use. Having only one set of keys for both Caroline and I to share, she had taken them with her to work (as obviously I would not need them). I could leave and close the door, which automatically locks, and be gone. What no one had considered was the second lock… the bolt lock. In our house, one must unlock the bolt lock (if locked) with a key, from the inside. It’s the only way. God forbid there is a fire and you lost your keys. Or that your flatmates all leave before you and lock the bolt lock, thereby trapping you inside with all your luggage and no way out, when you are already late for a flight, all because you were too dim-witted to leave a note reminding people not to lock you in.
Must. Not. Panic.
OK… time to think of a creative solution. I had often wondered if I could exit the house via our front living room window. This is effectively a floor above ground, or about 10 metres high, as there is a deep pit in front of the house, between the sidewalk and the house itself. In earlier days, these pits were used for dumping coal to be used in the kitchen, which is also on the lower (basement) level of the house. Today it just lets light in the kitchen… aaand makes it tough to leave via the front window.
The other challenge is the fact that the front window sticks. Badly. I could only open it about 12-16 inches high. This was barely enough for me to shove my bags through and toss them on the roof of a small extension to the kitchen below, near the sidewalk. Then I had to pull a Houdini and squeeze myself out, which would have been difficult enough without the 10 metre drop on the other side.
Squeezing through the gap (this is a reenactment)
Kneeling on the ledge
Finally out on the ledge, standing with my back to the wall, arms out as though I was going suicidal or something, I heaved a sigh of relief and slowly turned around to close the window. It wouldn’t budge. There was nothing I could get a grip on to push it down. s@*t!
Stuck window (this is a reenactment)
After squeezing myself back in through the tiny gap, clock ticking, I opened and closed the window as far as I could several times hoping to loosen it up, and exited again. Window stuck again. Repeat. Three times.
Finally, at my wit’s end and standing outside on this tiny window ledge, I suddenly remembered that the top half of the window also moves. But surely it would also be stuck? Or locked? I was in luck, it moved! Quite easily! I managed to pull it down to the point where I could then get a good enough grip on the lower window and push down with all my might. All I needed now was to slam it down and have glass shatter all over me, but luckily that did not happen. It behaved. There was one point where if it had stuck, I would not have been able to go back inside, but eventually the gap completely closed. I turned around gingerly and did a gut-wrenching leap over my luggage to the far end of the little roof, next to the sidewalk. Success!
On the sill, pretty high up (this is a reenactment)
Jump path. ;) (this is a reenactment - there were a lot more bags in the way!)
I then bowed to my audience of workers and pedestrians across the street, dusted myself off, and walked away with large bags. Not suspicious AT ALL. Thank God no one called the police, or I would have had some interesting explaining to do, and definitely would have missed my flight.
I then called all flatmates and left urgent messages (no one had been answering the phone since I had first discovered my entrapment) that the front window was unlocked, and publicly so. Could someone could PLEASE go back to the house and lock everything up before an anorexic kelpto acrobat stole the flat screen TV, thank you very much and now to get on with my flight…
Holidays and back
I was lucky enough to spend a full month at home for the holidays. After roughing it for months, it was nice to have some of Mom’s cooking, plus a whole room not to mention bed (!!!), to myself for a couple of weeks. Needless to say, the holidays were wonderful, although it was a bit tough to get used to cold weather and the abundance of… everything. I nearly passed out on entering an Albertson’s (a supermarket) near my parents’ house. Couldn’t even see to the other end of the building! Avocados looked like footballs! People were walking around with carts that resembled small vehicles. What is going on here?
A cozy night of Bluegrass with Dad
When my parents took off for their own adventures in Argentina (it runs in the blood), I made my way to the city of Seattle to hang out with friends, drink wine, and do some couch surfing. I also got back to work. Sigh. Actually, it felt good to get back to it on some levels. I won’t lie, though, and say my mind didn’t wander frequently back to Africa.
Seattle
The Puget Sound
Now I’m in London and nearing the end of my contract, again. Déjà vu. Packing up and getting ready to meet BiRT for the second time, only this time I know exactly what to expect. Well, sort of. I’ll join the truck in Jordan just after Easter, and we’ll be going north for three months through Syria to Turkey. Looking forward to it.
Somehow, though, I’m admittedly a bittersweet this time around. Something is different… I am closing the “Angel Chapter” and that commands some time for reflection. I’ve got that nostalgic twinge making me hesitant to turn the page, looking back, thinking over the memories of the past year and a half. I’ve had a fantastic time, and just as I am feeling at home here in London, I find myself packing up and putting things in storage again. I will be back, but I don’t know when, and things are going to be different next time. That’s not a bad thing, just different. ;)
When everything is up in the air – it’s exciting and wonderful and… friggin’ scary as all hell! Here we go again – wheeeee! What’s next in this choose-your-own-adventure?
