5/03/09 pt. 2
(continued)We went to lunch at the Sunbird Hotel in Lilongewe. It was a buffet with an Asian cuisine kind-of-menu. It was good beef, and tasty soup. Just a great mix of Fanta, fellowship, and fun. I love hearing Chris and Rick’s tales of extreme surfing and shenanigans... ooh, Newt getting rocked on a ramp, and Chris getting pummeled by pipelines crashing. It’s like hearing Jake and Jim talk about skiing -- no personal experience, but I can imagine it pretty well.
From there, we headed to a wandering walk through the back alley shops of the city. We parked at the post office, and were immediately beset by sellers, trying to get us to check out their shops. A rasta-looking guy introduced himself to me as Jack Sparrow. I checked his arm -- no bird tattoo. Nice try, though. Thanks for playing.
We walked down through town, past a place that’ll be opening next year that Anita’s psyched about -- it’s a SA version of Target... wow; getting big capital city -- a chain department store :- )
So, we passed through a ton of lean-to shops and booths -- I mean booths; it’s divided like a convention hall. All merchants are surrounded with food, raw and open; an organic cornucopia, complete with flies and flaws. Little tables or blankets with dozens of sunglasses, bottles of skin care cream, shampoo, trial size soaps... everything. Brian described it like the stores in Aladdin -- a good mental picture, but imagine a wetter climate, and far more South African trade goods. All the dirt is compressed with bottle caps from Carlsburg beer and Coca-Cola. It’s almost paved in places. We gingerly avoid water here, running or still. Chris is in sandals, and I wonder how close to pee-water we’re getting.
The clothes they have for sale are shipped there from the US, SA, or even the Middle East. Thrift store escapees, special buys from Marshalls and Ross, and last-chance bargains end up here; packed on pallets, cargo bins, and delivered to a less discriminatin’ country.
All the booths seem specialized -- a shop with only blue jeans, another with many jackets (including a spiffy army coat from a possibly defunct country -- what else do you do with the loser’s uniforms?). There’s one with only Hawaiian shirts (no, I didn’t get one), and a booth packed with nothing but bras. Brian bought some kind of grilled lemon slices from a guy who was cooking ‘em up. It was a market; something that America’s distilled into department stores.
We crossed the river on a cool, rickety toll bridge. Real rickety, not some manufactured creaky thing, but rope with boards slung across it. An Indiana Jones bridge at least 3 stories over the river.
We keep walking up to the more Indian part of town -- we walk through a different market that’s almost all auto parts and fish market. Again, I think of that Mad Max / native American mentality; if you have something, use it, don’t throw it away. Rick’s naming every kind of part and piece he sees, and there’s piles of brake, axel, and engine pieces. Some of them are so huge, I can’t imagine how a buyer would get it out -- pieces that weigh a ton (easily) are nestled in this secret metal boneyard.
After making the circuit, we cross the river again, this time by the regular road -- it’s a good stone arch, with cars driving over, and people doing laundry in the river underneath.
We check out the golf course (Brian says it’s good, and he’s got a couple sets of clubs) and a couple guys split off to see the police station which was nearby. If you don’t already know, the Malawi police are numerous, yet they don’t have cars, or really any vehicles at all. So weird!
So, walking back to the cars, we pass the merchants again. I tell the guys that I’m looking for something small, and that I don’t know what I want, but I’ll know it when I see it. That gets a lot of competitive aggro going, and the guys are really trying to get my business. I continue to wear my backpack in front, and I keep both hands in my pockets. No sense gettin’ jacked if I can avoid it. Finally, I found a beaded elephant. It’s shiny, with some orange (beads + copper) and kinda cute -- I hope I get to see some elephants, ‘cause that’ll make it a better gift. Same with the rhino bookends.
We headed back, and stopped at the only fast food place I saw in Malawi. It’s a SA place called “Steers” -- it looked like a Burger King, maybe... very purple, though. We got soft serve, which was a little sharp in taste, but hit the spot. I got to buy a round (i.e. a carton) or Cokes for the guys from the store.
If you don’t know this about me, then let me share... I love giving stuff to people, and not giving the same stuff to myself. It’s totally born from of Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption getting the beers for the inmates who’re tarring the roof -- it makes a man feel like he’s done a good day’s work. Then when Andy’s offered one of the bottles by a fellow worker, he waves it off, telling the guy that he stopped drinking years ago. The guy gets confused, smiles, and goes back. Then Andy smiles. That feeling -- that smile -- is so unique. I dare you to try it... it might be an acquired taste, but I love it, and now I can’t go long without it.
And does the name Mildred Hideaway mean anything to you?
From there, we headed to a wandering walk through the back alley shops of the city. We parked at the post office, and were immediately beset by sellers, trying to get us to check out their shops. A rasta-looking guy introduced himself to me as Jack Sparrow. I checked his arm -- no bird tattoo. Nice try, though. Thanks for playing.
We walked down through town, past a place that’ll be opening next year that Anita’s psyched about -- it’s a SA version of Target... wow; getting big capital city -- a chain department store :- )
So, we passed through a ton of lean-to shops and booths -- I mean booths; it’s divided like a convention hall. All merchants are surrounded with food, raw and open; an organic cornucopia, complete with flies and flaws. Little tables or blankets with dozens of sunglasses, bottles of skin care cream, shampoo, trial size soaps... everything. Brian described it like the stores in Aladdin -- a good mental picture, but imagine a wetter climate, and far more South African trade goods. All the dirt is compressed with bottle caps from Carlsburg beer and Coca-Cola. It’s almost paved in places. We gingerly avoid water here, running or still. Chris is in sandals, and I wonder how close to pee-water we’re getting.
The clothes they have for sale are shipped there from the US, SA, or even the Middle East. Thrift store escapees, special buys from Marshalls and Ross, and last-chance bargains end up here; packed on pallets, cargo bins, and delivered to a less discriminatin’ country.
All the booths seem specialized -- a shop with only blue jeans, another with many jackets (including a spiffy army coat from a possibly defunct country -- what else do you do with the loser’s uniforms?). There’s one with only Hawaiian shirts (no, I didn’t get one), and a booth packed with nothing but bras. Brian bought some kind of grilled lemon slices from a guy who was cooking ‘em up. It was a market; something that America’s distilled into department stores.
We crossed the river on a cool, rickety toll bridge. Real rickety, not some manufactured creaky thing, but rope with boards slung across it. An Indiana Jones bridge at least 3 stories over the river.
We keep walking up to the more Indian part of town -- we walk through a different market that’s almost all auto parts and fish market. Again, I think of that Mad Max / native American mentality; if you have something, use it, don’t throw it away. Rick’s naming every kind of part and piece he sees, and there’s piles of brake, axel, and engine pieces. Some of them are so huge, I can’t imagine how a buyer would get it out -- pieces that weigh a ton (easily) are nestled in this secret metal boneyard.
After making the circuit, we cross the river again, this time by the regular road -- it’s a good stone arch, with cars driving over, and people doing laundry in the river underneath.
We check out the golf course (Brian says it’s good, and he’s got a couple sets of clubs) and a couple guys split off to see the police station which was nearby. If you don’t already know, the Malawi police are numerous, yet they don’t have cars, or really any vehicles at all. So weird!
So, walking back to the cars, we pass the merchants again. I tell the guys that I’m looking for something small, and that I don’t know what I want, but I’ll know it when I see it. That gets a lot of competitive aggro going, and the guys are really trying to get my business. I continue to wear my backpack in front, and I keep both hands in my pockets. No sense gettin’ jacked if I can avoid it. Finally, I found a beaded elephant. It’s shiny, with some orange (beads + copper) and kinda cute -- I hope I get to see some elephants, ‘cause that’ll make it a better gift. Same with the rhino bookends.
We headed back, and stopped at the only fast food place I saw in Malawi. It’s a SA place called “Steers” -- it looked like a Burger King, maybe... very purple, though. We got soft serve, which was a little sharp in taste, but hit the spot. I got to buy a round (i.e. a carton) or Cokes for the guys from the store.If you don’t know this about me, then let me share... I love giving stuff to people, and not giving the same stuff to myself. It’s totally born from of Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption getting the beers for the inmates who’re tarring the roof -- it makes a man feel like he’s done a good day’s work. Then when Andy’s offered one of the bottles by a fellow worker, he waves it off, telling the guy that he stopped drinking years ago. The guy gets confused, smiles, and goes back. Then Andy smiles. That feeling -- that smile -- is so unique. I dare you to try it... it might be an acquired taste, but I love it, and now I can’t go long without it.
And does the name Mildred Hideaway mean anything to you?
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