Writing Esoterica
I was guest lecturing at Emerson College in Boston last night when a student asked me how I take notes when I’m out there in the wild, backpacking, canoeing, mountain biking, etc..? It’s actually a very good question. I used to carry a microcassette recorder until I went on a backpacking trip through the Mojave Desert for Men’s Journal magazine. On day three of that trek, I reached down for my recorder and saw that the tape had melted in the sweltering heat. I never liked transcribing notes upon my return, so I switched to writing in a CVS-bought notepad that fits easily into the one of the four pockets on my canvas shorts. That also has its problems. It sometimes gets wet from rain, water, or sweat and I can’t read my notes. Other times I simply lose the notebook. When I returned from a biking trip to Prince Edward Island for Canadian Geographic, I couldn’t find my notebook anywhere. After freaking out, I wrote the story from memory and called the people I interviewed to confirm their quotes were correct. The magazine loved the piece. It just goes to show you that your memory works far better than you can possibly imagine. In fact, I still remember the waves of nausea I felt the first night of that Mojave Desert trek after hiking 15 miles in the heat and carrying a 50-pound pack. Freeze-dried noodles was not exactly my idea of comfort food, but my body craved carbs so I ate every last morsel.
Travel and Leisure just came out with their 
Everyone seems to go to Africa on safari. And yes, after spending the past week finding lions poking their manes out of the bush, watching a leopard gnawing on a goat high up a tree, and seeing family after family of giraffes, elephants, and warthogs, I can attest to that exhilarating feeling of wild abandonment. But as cute as those animals are, you have very little connection. It’s the people who make Africa a special place, especially in Kenya. From the high-end safari owner who feels it’s her civic duty to provide a water well, schooling, library, and HIV prevention education to a large slum in Nairobi even though she already employs many Kenyans on her payroll. Or the Maasai villager on the Tanzanian border, who after performing a tribal dance in headgear and dress, asks me if I’m on Facebook. He’ll happily send me pictures of the lions, he notes. Or the insightful safari guide, who received his college education in the States after a California professor visited Kenya and was quickly enamored with his brilliance. I turned him on to the African dance tunes of Deep Forest. Or the General Manager of a resort in the shadows of Mount Kenya, who being from India, taught me a secret of dealing with travel dysentery. Always eat yoghurt the first day of visiting a country, especially in places like India or Mexico, known for their laundry list of stomach ailments. Most of all, there are those smiling faces of young children in Nairobi schools and the Maasai villages. The ones I love to pass out “heart” stickers to. These people are the reason I return to Africa. Sure, I love Simba and Pumba like the rest of us, but it’s to the Kenyan people that I say asante sana for a wonderful trip. Hope to see you again soon!
This week I’m celebrating the upcoming 
Last summer, I made the wise choice to sail on the