Where's me culture??

"Where's me culchur?", as we'd say in Cork.

Well, I’m back again from Mua! The cultural training course was fab altogether.

Mua is a really rural, isolated parish near Salima, along the shore of Lake Malawi. Apparently you can see the very edge of the lake in the distance from Mua, but my eyesight must not be the best because I didn’t notice it the entire time I was there. Having said that, I’m not the most observant of persons so that could be it also...! It was really very beautiful, all the diverse plant and animal life of Malawi seems to accumulate there, and the colour and beauty is amazing! I know I keep saying this about various places in Malawi, but it really was stunningly picturesque there.

The four days of cultural training fairly flew. I set out at 7/7.30 am (!) on Monday morning, as it was a 2-hour drive to Mua from Kanengo, and the course was starting at 9.30 am. The drive was pretty uneventful, apart from spotting a random guy walking butt-naked along the side of the road... I think that was the highlight of the trip there, for me anyway. I’m not sure what the driver thought. I thought at first that perhaps he was simply wearing an ensemble close in colour to his skin, but no... it WAS his skin. Apparently, the smoking of a crude form of marijuana called chamba or ham (LOL) is common in the region around Mua, so random people simply high as a kite on this stuff, walking around naked as a jay bird is not entirely uncommon. Makes for an interesting drive though...! There’s something you don’t see on Patrick St.

The course started late, as we were delayed by some German people – uncharacteristically not arriving on time! LOL – any Germans I know are as punctual as clockwork, but not these apparently... We were about an hour late starting due to this, but I suppose it didn’t make any difference in the long run. We had so many coffee breaks during the course of the day that I simply couldn’t be unhappy! There was no Barry’s, but I was content nonetheless!

The course itself was incredibly informative. It was taught by a Canadian priest who has now been living and working in Malawi for 42 years, so before you get cynical about a foreigner teaching a course on Malawian culture, remember that probably means he’s been living here longer than most Malawians, LOL!!

He was very in-depth, I learned an awful lot about tribal tradition in Malawi, the origins of the various ethnic groups present, and their different customs and even languages. We were introduced to Malawian song and dance, and I have to say that the sight of a dozen German and American guys trying to mimic tribal dance certainly brightened my day! My German buddy from the Centre, T, was there too. We got to laugh at each other in turn, it was great! I don’t quite have the natural rythm of Malawian women, I sort of “dad-dance”, so I don’t even want to know what I looked like shaking it like an Ngoni woman.

The only pain in the bum was having to walk about a kilometre or so for dinner in the evenings. The rest of the people taking part in the course stayed in a sort of hostel-type accommodation at one end of the parish. There wasn’t enough room for me, however, so I stayed in the priests’ building, with some more of the White Fathers.

I had my own room, though, so that was nice! The rest of them had to share – ho ho ho... This walk was no problem in the morning for breakfast or about noon for lunch, but dinner was at about 6.30 pm. It gets dark here at about 5.30 or 6, and by 6.30 it’s absolutely pitch black, and of course there are no streetlights, needless to say. And of course, do I have a torch? Would I think of bringing one? No no, that would be far too sensible for my style. So I had to borrow one off the priests and make my way in the darkness.

What is wrong with this, you say? Sure you had a torch, I hear you say? Yes, but a torch is not much good against a pack of dogs or hyenas, both of which reside in Mua... I was jumping out of my skin at every howl, every foot/pawfall! As is always the case, my imagination was in overdrive – I’m a city girl at heart, I think...

Of course, what happened one night but I got locked out of the building. I came back from my friends and dinner at about half 9, only to find the building locked. I knocked and I banged and I banged and I roared, but to no avail. I went around the front... locked. I went around the back where the guard should have been to let me in, again. There was a pack of dogs yowling at each other somewhere nearby, or at least what sounded like dogs, and I was bloody well livid. I’m sure I roared enough to wake the dead. I’d been at this for about 20 minutes when one of the priests came out to rescue me. Says I, “I thought there was a guard?”, and says he, “there is, but he must be asleep”.

Where is he, so I can bloody well swing for him!

Was he sorry? Ah no, no need for that. I heard him say something in Chichewa that sounded like the equivalent of “oh right, yeah. Whoops”. Grrr! Honestly, I thought I shouted enough to wake the dead, never mind the guard... I could have been eaten by hyenas outside the gate and I’d say this guy would have slept through it. Maybe he would have found my chewed leftovers outside the gate in the morning and said “whoops”... Bah humbug.

I’m glad I stayed with the priests though. There was even an Irish priest there as parish priest. I think I might have mentioned him before. He’s from Kerry, but sure we’ll let him off... (bwahahaha) I had a grand old time in the evenings, hanging out in the parochial house eating peanuts and drinking Carlsberg. I tried whiskey as well, but it tasted like horse urine to me to be honest, so I didn’t finish it. Seriously, I thought it tasted like something to disinfect your toilet. Will steer clear in future, I think I prefer my lager...

And, AND – the best bit of all was the last day! We got a real treat, in the form of an entire troupe of Malawian traditional dancers who performed for over 2 hours, in the dances of the various tribal traditions. Wedding dances, war dances, even funeral dances... The clothes were amazing! The men especially were like peacocks with all the coloured feathers... For one of the dances especially, they wore a sort of crown of brightly coloured feathers, with animal skins at their waists and ankles, along with little bells at their ankles to make a jingling noise as they danced. Then they also did a traditional dance called Gule Wamkulu which is very popular and widespread in Malawi. One person wears an elaborate costume meant to represent varying persons or things, and the dances usually have some sort of moral to them. I found it highly amusing, especially when I noted that the one meant to symbolise “white man” was the spit of my dad... he had the glasses and everything... I didn’t know he’d been in the colonial government of Malawi... Daddy, you should have told me about that!

I even bought a beautifully carved statue in the form of one of these warrior-dancers. It’s spectacular! I love the art here, I’ve bought some pieces already and I don’t know how I’ll fit them in the suitcase, but I feel that allowance from Trocaire for excess baggage might have to be used on the way back... LOL! One of the priests back in Kanengo at the Centre has said we could even varnish it with linseed oil to bring out the design more, so that will be great!

Myself and Matt will have to have an “African room” in the house when I get home... This will be the first he’s heard of it no doubt – LOL – but I’m sure I’ll bring him round. Won’t I, darling? :-P

Blomba Part 3

My hands are getting fatigued from the typing. I hope you people appreciate this, now, because you’ll no doubt be overwhelming me with floods of sympathy after this. Or not...

Like I said before, myself and 2 colleagues were heading to a gig later on the Friday night in Blantyre. It was a reggae gig, with Rita Dominic there. It was very heavily advertised in Blantyre while we were there, and since we weren’t heading back to Lilongwe until the Saturday morning anyway, we said we might as well go! So I went with the driver, and my colleague who was hoping to be a doctor, “N”. I hate using these bloody code names, N sounds like a character from an older Bond film, but sure I never get to ask people if I can use their real names on the internet so code is only fair.

Anyway.

Well, what a bloody fiasco. The doors were meant to open at 8pm. Clearly what they should have written on the tickets, though, was “8pm, African time”. The two are very different things altogether. I thought the Irish were bad for punctuality, and then I came to Malawi, LOL! :-) I’m getting used to that though, so it wasn’t too bad. We arrived on time for 8pm anyway, and took our place in the queue to wait.

No-one else seemed keen on the idea of queuing though, unfortunately. The amount of people skipping the queue was a joke – they just sort of accumulated around the door then, so it was less of a line and more of a blob... Again, though, I could have managed that in itself. But they seemed to be in no rush to open to the single tiny door they were allowing people through, into the venue. I’m sure we didn’t get in until about 9.30, and we were by no means the last in the door, as I will relate to you. We weren’t the last in, but I would have far preferred to be the last in, than to have gotten in the way we did.

Basically, when they eventually did open the tiny door, it was like the crack that broke the dam. It was absolute bedlam – people were shoving their way in, trying to get past the police and security without tickets, trying to barge in, etc etc. And there was me the whole time thinking to myself, “why can’t they all just bloody well queue?” We would have gotten in about 20 times faster if there had been some semblance of order, I’m quite sure of it. They kept opening and closing the doors, alternately letting a few in and then trying to keep them out. So it took bloody forever.

As I approached the top, though, some fookin genius thought it would be a good idea to try and force our way in as a group. Pardon the French, but I don’t know whose inspired thinking this was. I was smack plonk in the middle of the blob around the doors I described to you, so of course; when the group decided to move forward I didn’t have a whole lot of choice. No more choice, I would say, than a leaf has, in what direction the river it lands on decides to go in.

N had to hang on to me around the waist to stop me from getting trampled, because I was probably the smallest person there. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, and some gobdaw in stilettos was standing on my foot. Great. Fantastic start to any evening.

Then, they decided to move to try and shove their way in. I cannot adequately describe to you the discomfort there was associated with this – sort of like being stuck in the midst of a herd of buffalo, I’d imagine, and the buffalo are being chased by something. I actually thought I was going to fall and get trampled. A mosquito couldn’t have fit between people here.

I lost one of my shoes in the fray, and of course I couldn’t retrieve it because I could no more move than fly. Then – surprise, surprise – one of the policemen ended up going mental with the baton to beat people away from the door and restore some semblance of organisation and order. I mean, I don’t know what people expected. I really don’t.

Grrrr.

Long story short, I ended up getting a clatter across the back with the baton myself, and hobbling around the venue with one shoe, trying to avoid the broken glass scattered around the floor. I was insistent on retrieving the lost shoe at any cost, but when I told the venue staff I’d lost it, they asked me to wait until later to get it back. Ha. Fat bloody chance, mate.

I am standing, due to your own lack of organisation and other peoples’ stupidity, in your venue wearing one shoe surrounded by broken glass and a fresh pool of someone else’s blood. Wait for the shoe? Eh, no. I don’t fancy HIV much myself, so waiting is not an option. Get me my bloody shoe. I made quite the pitiable sight, I assure you – standing there barefoot, muddy and sobbing. I wasn’t hurt really, more shocked.

The whole thing was just so farcical – and it was a shame, because I think I would really have enjoyed the music itself if the evening hadn’t got off on such a hairy foot (pardon the pun). I was distracted and downcast for the rest of the night, and to tell the honest truth I was just dying to go home the whole time. I’m able to laugh about it a bit more now though – like I said, I wasn’t actually hurt, and now that I’m over the shock it’s a good story for the grandchildren, as they say at home... :-) I’m still vaguely annoyed, as you may have guessed, about the series of stupid events that precipitated it, but I’ll get over that too.

I’m heading to a place called Mua early tomorrow morning to undergo a cultural training course with another group of the White Fathers – the priests’ order I’m currently staying with – for the next few days. It’s meant to be very good, and I’ve already met a lot of the priests in question from there, so I’m really looking forward to it. Onwards and upwards! I’ll have a good few days, and I certainly won’t let Friday’s fiasco hold me back. There’s even an Irish priest in Mua! I met him a few days ago and surprised myself at how excited I was to hear another Irish accent, LOL!!! They’re all lovely so I’ll be well taken care of, and with any luck come back more able to deal with situation like the one I outlined above! :-D

Blomba Part 2

Well, we arrived in Blantyre anyway without further incident, thank God.

I think it’s a real mark of how accustomed I am becoming to less-than-luxurious conditions, that when I arrived at our lodge and saw that my room had both electricity and an ensuite, I nearly cried tears of joy! It was dirty and not exactly the Hilton, but heavens above, it had electricity! The joys!!

We settled in, anyway, and the following day we set off in the morning to have a look around Blantyre. Apparently the people who conduct most of the project research in Blantyre are volunteers who only get a lunch allowance, so they work at their normal jobs in the morning and then do the interviews, etc., in the afternoon. So while we waited for them, we got to look around Blantyre. It’s really a very nice city, and in many ways it’s much more developed than Lilongwe. It’s more or less the business and commercial heart of Malawi, more so than the capital. It certainly has much more of a “Western” feel to it in some aspects, what with the big shopping centres and car dealerships and restaurants. I kind of liked that at the time – it was nice in a way to go somewhere where my surroundings were a tad more familiar, in appearance at least.

And I found some makeup! Huzzah!! I can never find makeup in Malawi, it’s all in varying shades of mahogany – for obvious reasons... so, not wanting to look like I’ve fallen face first into a vat of melted chocolate – greedy pig that I am – I wanted something just a touch closer to my natural shade.

People, there was a Revlon shop. A REVLON SHOP!! The tears of joy nearly returned, I practically jumped on the poor bewildered shop assistant! I don’t care what it costs, GIVE ME THE MAKEUP.

So, delighted with myself after this small triumph, I set about my work with the others that afternoon, interviewing households as per normal about rent and basic need costs. It was interesting, and we managed to collect a fair volume of information, so that was fantastic! It didn’t take very long, and soon enough we were off to Zomba, about an hour and a half’s drive from Blantyre. It’s supposed to be a city, but to be truthful it’s more like a town, I don’t know that its size really merits being called a city... it’s is absolutely stunning though. It’s kind of nestled among the feet of the mountains, surrounded by forest and lush terrain.

The vistas we got en route were incredible. I thought it wouldn’t get any better or more picturesque, when we arrived at the lodge we were staying in. It was quite a few hundred feet up the mountain, and as we arrived we drove past papaya trees and cornflowers and palms (I think!). I took so many photos there – we woke up in the morning and the hills and mountains were covered with mist, it was like something out of a film. So beautiful – my only regret is that I really don’t think my photos do it justice, my having only a humble, amateur camera!

I have to say I found Zomba even more interesting than Blantyre, despite its having limited shopping prospects, LOL! We spent the morning interviewing households again, and I got on very well with one of the guys who was doing the research also, a local guy who was hoping to study to be a doctor. He was really nice, we’ll call him N. We went about Zomba interviewing and doing our thang (LOL!!), then we took a spin up – I think – the highest mountain in the area, you could drive right up to the summit almost, where there was a very nice hotel! We had a walk around the hotels’ gardens, and what did we see there only a group of small baboons having a gander? Seriously, I kid you not, there were baboons! I was beside myself! They were hysterical to watch, they’re so cheeky though! Thankfully, however, they were placid and not at all dangerous like the larger baboons can be.

I thought things couldn’t possibly improve on monkeys! They did though – we were just about to get back in the car when who arrives at the hotel only Rita Dominic! Who is Rita Dominic, I hear you ask? Well, she’s only the most famous Nollywood star in Africa! That’s right people, Africa has its own Hollywood, and Nollywood is to Africa what Bollywood is to India. She was very pale, I thought that was a bit funny... but she was very nice, she waved at us and exchanged a few pleasantries. It was gas that we met her when we did, because myself and the other 2 who had come with me had bought tickets to go to an event in Blantyre – a reggae gig featuring the Black Missionaries and Lucius Banda, where she was to be guest of honour. We ended up unable to see her at the event in question because of the crowds, so it was hilarious we met her when we did, and nearly 2 hours away from Blantyre. I mean, what are the chances, in all fairness? Which brings me neatly onto my next post...

:-)

Blomba Part 1

I’ve decided to call this series of posts (yes, a series) “Blomba”, because I’ve just returned to Lilongwe after spending 5 days between Blantyre and Zomba!

I was on another field trip with my colleagues from the Centre to interview households, and to be honest I was excited about seeing Blantyre especially as I’d heard a lot about it from others, and was anxious to see it. It’s a bit more of a “party town” than Lilongwe, and the architecture was supposed to be more cohesive with a sort of colonial style. I’m a real nerd for architecture – in fact, I’m a real nerd in general, I think it’s fair to say – so I was pretty excited about seeing the place, not to mention seeing more of Malawi than just Lilongwe... it was a 4-5 hour drive, though, so I stocked up on water and provisions and off we set.

There were 3 of us going – myself, the driver, and another lady from the office. We were going to meet the people who are generally responsible for the BNB project in Blantyre, because the project I'm working on is a national thing, when we got there. We would spend 3 days there, then head to Zomba – another major city in Malawi – for 2 days to do further work.

As I said, it was a long drive to Blantyre so about halfway there we decided to stop in a small town for petrol and snacks, and whatnot. (The whatnot especially was delicious, LOL! I love that phrase) I promptly hopped out of the back, but I was stopped by someone. I’m kind of used to this at this stage in time, though, so it didn’t bother me terribly. Especially in rural areas, you really stick out like a sore thumb as probably the only white person they’ve seen in a while. You get a lot of people trying to talk to you and shake your hand and stuff, and usually this is no problem. I got the sense, though, that this guy wasn’t exactly 100%. I’m not sure how best to put that, but he seemed definitely off-centre. I shook his hand, though, and gave him the usual niceties that I give to people I don’t know from Adam, LOL! Only problem was, he wouldn’t let go of my bloody hand...

*sigh*

I looked at the driver, as if to say “erm, help please” and he more or less had to pry my hand out of this guys'. Awkward wouldn’t quite cover it – I got my stuff in the shop though, and came out hoping to make a swift departure. I might have known this would not be the case. My friend was there again! This time, while the driver was very considerately engaging in an extended conversation with one of the petrol attendants, he decided to come over to stroke my face and tell me I was very beautiful. Cheers for the compliment, like, but hands off the face if you please... I was absolutely mortified. This went on for a few seconds, with me performing some sort of limbo, bending-backwards manoeuvre to avoid his hand.

I was just starting to wonder when the driver or someone else was going to intervene, when I got a response to this internal question, only not quite the one I was hoping for.

You see, this guy was quite clearly not right in the head. My colleague said he was probably drunk, but I didn’t get any smell of substances off him, and to be honest he seemed perfectly lucid and able to express himself. He just didn’t seem to have any notion of appropriate behaviour towards a woman you met 2 minutes ago. I know that this stuff is inherently different in Malawi anyway due to cultural issues, but not this much. His behaviour was odd and I suspected that maybe he had mild special needs or was disturbed or something. You know what I mean anyway – so I just kind of hoped for a diplomatic few words about keeping your hands off peoples’ faces. I was sure he didn’t mean any harm, I was just very uncomfortable.

What I got, on the other hand, was a local young fella physically dragging him away, and belting him across the face. Needless to say, I was more upset by this by far than I had been by the face-touching, etc. I was totally shocked, but the poor guy didn’t give up, he kept trying to approach me even after this, and he kept being dragged off. It was all very upsetting really. :-( We made a pretty swift exit after this, though – I for one felt that my presence wasn’t going to do much to help him, since he wouldn’t leave me alone while I was there, and the more he tried to approach me, the more annoyed the others got.

We drove off, at which point they had carried him off by the arms and legs and dropped him into some sort of gutter beside the shop. :-( I nearly cried. I just felt so awful for him – it was difficult to know what to do, but in retrospect things probably calmed down a lot more by my leaving, and I doubt my intervention would have helped much. It just upset me a lot, this guy obviously wasn’t the full shebang and hurting him really wasn’t necessary. I couldn’t stop wondering if he was ok for the rest of the journey, and feeling quite guilty that I’d gotten him into trouble. I wasn’t quite sure how I should have responded, I’m still not, but hopefully he’s ok now...

Soooo... I nearly ate a maggot today.

Just when I think I’m getting used to this place, something else happens to take me by surprise. I was nearing the end of an absolutely stressful day, after having a lovely meal as per usual with the priests. I thought I felt like a small treat, so I cut a muffin to eat half of it, and I’m offered some orange juice to soak the muffin with, because it’s quite bland. I gratefully accept! I pour the orange juice all over the muffin, go to take a spoonful, and... I notice that the muffin appears to be squirming. The others got a great kick out of my squealing about it, which I suppose is one good thing. But I’m sorry, I’m just not used to finding bioculture in my food!

*gags*

Apparently, apparently there were obviously worms/maggots/squirmy things in the orange when the cook went to press it, and he just didn’t notice. Either way, it certainly helped my diet along because I didn’t feel like eating much after that – it’s times like these I start to pine for the processed comforts of home a little bit :-D

Speaking of processed comforts, how about customer service? I went into town today, with my German guy friend and one of the priests, to have a look around, do a bit of shopping, etc., etc. We ended up going to the Crossroads complex in Lilongwe for a bit of shopping, and my German friend told me that here was a very safe place to take out money, because there were security guards everywhere and so there was very little opportunity for pickpocketing, etc.

So... went to get money out. It is worth bearing in mind that BOTH my ATM card and my Mastercard are supposed to be able to be used anywhere in the world. Apparently, this is not so – I tried to use my ATM first. Nope, no service here. I put my credit card in, and just as I was about to enter my PIN... the machine bloody well swallowed it, didn’t it? My credit card that I keep for emergencies? Yum yum.

I really wanted to get this sorted quickly. I’m paranoid about inconveniencing people, so I was acutely aware of both my friends waiting for me in the car. When I called the security guard to help me, he pointed out a list of numbers of staff contacts for when there are problems. This wasn’t an actual branch, you see, just a kind of room with 2 ATMs in it. I called all 4/5 number on the list. Not one answered. I tried again. 1 answered, then hung up on me. I ended up having to go home for my passport to prove who I was when the card was eventually retrieved, and come back at 5 when I waited another hour for the guy to come and open the safe/vault/whatever and get my card back. Everything just moved so slowly!!

I was so stressed out, I knew that really I’d eventually get it back but it just took so darn long and since there was nobody answering their phone despite being on an on-call list, I couldn’t talk to anyone except the security guard who had little or no English, and didn’t seem to understand half of what I was saying.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Anyway, I got it back!! I just felt really bad that the priests were more or less ferrying me around all evening... Still though, I got to make an accidental complaint about it... I say accidental, because there was another man waiting at 5 who’d had his card swallowed too. He was asking me how I got on when I lost my card, and when I told him no-one had answered their phone it turns out he actually worked for the bank, in another branch! :-D So, I guess at least they know my feelings about their on-call system now!

And I suppose, it could have been worse! German guy – actually from now on, we’ll call him T, because calling him “German guy” is weird – said to me at the time “well, look at it this way... it’s better than somebody taking your card, who is not an ATM”. LOL!! True. A nice way of putting it – he also suggested we might be able to organise a trip to lake Malawi in a few weeks, because he wants to see it as much as I do, which would be absolutely super!! I’m dying to see the lake, but I don’t want to go on my own, so this idea suits me down to the ground. Monkey Bay, here I come!!

Oh, and Mr Baby Gecko’s missus has still not moved in.

My new roommate!!!

Yes, you read correctly. I have a new roommate.

He is a kind of medium brown colour, eats mosquitos, is scaly, one inch long, and his name is Mr. Gecko, or Mr. Baby Gecko. He's adorable!! I would never have thought I'd grow fond of a lizard of any kind, but this little fella tickles my fancy because he's harmless, and best of all he eats the bloody mosquitos that have tormented me since my arrival. Oh, how I loathe mosquitos, as Shakespeare once said, let me count the ways...

So, yes. I spotted him yesterday, on the wall across from me, looking down as if to say "What are you doing in my room, hairy pink creature?" I had no answer to this question, I could only apologise. But we quickly struck some common ground in our shared war against mosquitos, and after sharing our stories and tales of home, we became friends. Mr. Baby Gecko is a tad young to have children of his own, but he says his parents have set him up with this great lady Gecko who's fabulous looking and really knows how to prepare a hearty mosquito-based meal. She hasn't moved in with us yet, but he says she really won't mind my presence, as for their romantic times they can commandeer the space between the wall and the futon. To spare my discomfort, you know. Geckos have manners too.

Anyways.

Apart form gecko-based adventures, I've also had a few minibus-related ones... Minibuses here are quite entertaining. You're stuffed into a banged-up, 20-year-old Toyota Hiace van with what look suspicously like benches stuck into them, like some sort of human sardine tin. Then you bounce, not drive, the 20km or so into Lilongwe, clinging on to the seats in front, the people in front, the seat you're on, the roof, the window, anything for dear life. It's not for the faint-hearted, I assure you. There's no such thing as seatbelts, and if the last few days have been anything to go by, there's no such things as rules of the road either. The driving here is mental! People overtake at speed around bends, over the crest of hills, where there's poor visibility, etc... you kinda feel like you're taking your life in your hands every time you get into a vehicle here...

But, nonetheless, they're the easiest and most convenient way of getting around here, and Area 25 where I'm currently staying is so far out form the centre (about 20 - 25km) that I would never get to do anything, see anything, without them. I went into Lilongwe city today, with a German guy also staying in the accomodation I'm in. He's training (I think) for either the priesthood or the monastery, but he's absolutely great fun. I got to have a look around town, suss out where all the shops were, where to get off the minibus on the way there and back, and was instructed on where to avoid if i don't want to get robbed/pickpocketed/mugged. This guy had a rather unfortunate experience in Nairobi so I guess he knows what he's talking about first-hand! I however, have absolutely no desire to know about mugging first-hand, and nor am I the most streetwise of all folk, so I accepted this instruction gratefully!!

I'm heading back in to town tomorrow to jog my memory and make sure I remember my bearing for when I won't have help from aforementioned German guy :-D Also, I need to get some more clothes because I didn't bring enough. That's the excuse I'm using, anyway...