Botswana is not Barcelona

"I'd like to put a travel notice on my account, so I won't have problems using my ATM card this summer. I'm going to Southern Africa--Botswana."
"Barcelona?" asked the banking assistant.

Not even close. If I had been going to Barcelona, the trip would have been, for one thing, much shorter. And I had to admit that, even for me with my affinity for Moroccan souq buses, this trip was going to be long. I was using up a return ticket to London to get across the pond, and trying to visit a friend in Germany on the way home in September. To get a cheap flight out of Europe, and given that Gaborone is only reachable by air via Johannesburg, South Africa, my itinerary turned out as follows: Portland-Newark-London-Zurich-Dubai-Jo'burg-Gabs. Seven airports, six flights, four continents, a 10-hour layover in Zurich, and lots of in-flight movies and napping to total 55+ hours of traveling.

It might have been crazy, and it certainly left me feeling guilty about my carbon footprint (the offsets I purchased can't have made up for the airline fuel I burned), but I am certain I enjoyed it much more than I would have appreciated a few direct flights. Why? Because the journey is half the fun of travel. Without the long trip, I would have missed out on so much. I could have done without being squeezed between a fidgeter and a boozer on the trip from PDX, but that part of the trip would have had to happen anyway. Newark and London were fairly uneventful. But Zurich was absolutely delightful.

The airport train to baggage claim confirmed every stereotype you could ever have about Switzerland. It is, of course, surprisingly punctual. One train is called "Heidi," the other, "Mountains". They feature moving slide shows (think flip-book effect) on the tunnel walls of their namesakes, while you listen to the sounds of yodeling, cows mooing, and cow bells on the train speakers--who couldn't do without more cowbell?

As I attempted to learn the exchange rate from the information desk, I was pointed in the direction of McDonalds by a befuddled employee who either misunderstood my question, or just assumed all Americans would be looking for Mickey D's. After sorting out the confusion, and obtaining some colorful Swiss francs, I stowed my luggage, caught the train into the center of town, and began my walking tour of the city and quest for as much good chocolate as I could afford. My split-second concern about not having any timepiece--how would I ever get back to the airport on time?--was quickly calmed by the realization that I was in Switzerland--clocks would be abundant! I also realized my camera had a clock. Or I could have asked anyone on the street. The jet lag delirium was already setting in. Maybe I should have forgone Continental's variety of in-flight entertainment for more sleep--but "Marley and Me" was just too cute and sentimental to turn off, and now I can count to ten in Vietnamese.

I enjoyed a walk through the park by the Swiss Museum, and was impressed by the diversity I noticed there and throughout the city. Zurich certainly featured plenty of what you would expect demographically from Switzerland: rosy-cheeked blonde women, and men with strong, square jawlines that looked cut from Swatch or Ralph Lauren ads. However, in addition to the German and English, I heard a multitude of languages--Spanish, Russian, Turkish, Urdu. A Buddhist monk in his bright orange robes was walking through the park. Asian restaurants were sprinkled throughout the city. I was tempted by the Turkish kebab shop (but not hungry enough to give in). Who knew Zurich was so cosmopolitan?

The issue of tiredness was remedied somewhat by my napping tour of Zurich's churches. I dozed off in the pews of Grossmunster, as well as across the river in a chair below the Marc Chagall stained glass windows in Fraumunster. In St. Peter's, I leaned my head against a column and slept a cool 20 minutes with the sounds of the church organ sounding in the background. The napping probably totaled under an hour, but I credit this (ok, this and sleeping the entire flight to Dubai) with helping me experience almost zero jet lag once I arrived in Botswana. After a walk down Bahnhoffstrasse back to the train station and purchasing the requisite chocolates, I returned to the airport for my flight to Dubai.



If the airport is any indication of what my day stopover in September will be like, then Dubai is, in a word, overwhelming. So many people and such exorbitant excessiveness in the middle of the desert seems so wrong from every sustainability standpoint. There are giant fountains and fir tree plots in the middle of the airport. Since when did that kind of thing exist where the temperature reaches 30 degrees Celsius at 6:45 am? I will concede the lounge chairs at the gate areas were exceedingly comfortable. And Emirates Air--amazing. More snacks and in-flight movies than I could ever hope for--including Vicky Christina Barcelona, which again reminded me definitively of where I was not heading.

Back in Africa, and you know it at once. The South African Airways flight to Gaborone is the only international flight where you have to check in at the domestic terminal. Defying conventional logic, you have to cross the airport yet again after checking in, as the flight actually departs from the international terminal. Of course I discovered this after I already went through security on the domestic side, as the person checking boarding passes failed to notice. The plane's an hour late leaving. I was too thrilled to be south of the equator to care. Do the toilets really cycle in the opposite direction? How different is the night sky going to look? So many things to discover.

I managed to swing a ride into town from the taxi-less Gaborone airport with the shuttle for a local luxury hotel. Because no customers were actually going to the hotel, the driver took me all the way to my couch surfing destination--Tlokweng, where I was met by a lovely retired American couple that had agreed to put me up for a few days. They offered me dinner, tea, and set me up on the fold-out couch. I took my first shower in two days, and went to bed. My host woke me up in the morning to go for a morning walk with her and two other girls that were visiting through couch surfing (Germans visiting from Namibia). Portland to Gabs was long and eventful journey, but now the exploration begins! I am thrilled to once again be somewhere utterly and completely different from anywhere I've been before, and learn as much as I can in the short time I'm here. Botswana is not Barcelona, and that is just fine with me.