Tourism

Dear beloved readers,

hope you've spent a nice weekend! Mine was not that extatic, considering I still don't know many people around here, so my amusement options are relatively limited (read: the highlight of my weekend was when I went to the store to buy vinegar). No need to pity me, I'm getting there, slowly but surely... Damn language barrier! Though I have less and less problems with Portuguese (which means the line on my resume stating I speak fluently will no longer be a massive lie) – and living with Cape Verdean people surely helps me get more and more of the Cape Verdean Creole.

Actually, the linguists among you should not get too excited, as this post is not about the lame differences between Creole and Portuguese (BORING!), but about what I'm doing here – before I post anything racist and derogatory, I feel I should set the frame here, and especially tell you why the hell I've moved from an industrialised nation to a third world country.

I'm doing an internship at a small and local sustainable tourism agency. Don't really know if I should mention its name, as this blog is certainly not a good marketing option... (Besides, I doubt they'll keep me in the team if they somehow find out about this blog) So let's keep it private. What should I say about this job? Any questions in the audience? Yes, you in the back.

What do you do?

You mean, besides serving coffee and making photocopies of my genitals when everybody's home? Let me think... Right now I'm translating stuff and getting to learn how to manage bookings – this is what I'll be doing „for real“. I also offered to write some articles to add content to their website (you know me, some Wikipedia infos, some patronising clichés about how we white help the poor black, and there you go), an offer that my bosses gladly accepted (but then again, they don't know about this blog).

You're an intern, are you exploited?

No, actually I left Germany because I didn't want to be doing an internship where I'd be exploited - I'm receiving a salary here, which is more than enough for daily life and a few bottles of grogue here and there. I work 40 hours per week (19 of which are spent on FB), for which I get more than 3 times minimum wage, not bad for a beginner, ey? Of course, it's better if I forget to mention the local minimum monthly salary is 100€. But ey, more than enough, as my monthly rent is less than 60€... No it's not a typo. Anywho, I could have done such an internship in Berlin for... 150€ per month. Nice vision of sustainable tourism, bro! If everything goes fine (read: if my bosses don't find out about this blog), they will hire me – the „might“ turned into a „will“. So no, I'm not exploited.

You work in tourism, do you exploit people?

No, I'm not Chinese. I see tourism as a way to develop a country and its society, while preserving local ressources. Sustainable, eco, green, responsible, call it as you wish! Unfortunately, tourism often overuses natural ressources, and does not necessarily mean that the profits will equally be distributed among all the actors. This sad situation is not as bas in Cape Verde as it is in Tanzania (by the way, if you're looking for a GREAT local tourism agency in Tanzania, check out www.fairtravel.com – them I dare mention, I don't work for them anymore (they already fired me) – I couldn't say why, possibly because the Cape Verdean government quickly gave tourism a legal framework in order to prevent exploitation. Anyway, bottom line: I want the locals to benefit from tourism – as long as I can keep my bank account in Lichtenstein.

Why did you have to leave, couldn't you have worked in tourism in Europe?

Well, I wanted to leave for a while, to check out other places, other cultures – in order to make fun of them on this blog – and also, because I was sick of the cold weather in Europe. I thought about Brasil, but it didn't work out that great (not that easy to get a long-term visa), I thought about New Zealand (NOT as a tribute to the Hobbit), on a working holiday visa, but I was too scared to undertake such a long journey alone. I don't mean the plane ride – I mean, the whole thing. Yep, I'm a sissy. Cape Verde always sounded nice, and I needed to brush up my non-existing Portuguese knowledge... So that's what!

Wait, you said you could have a long-term job if you wanted – so you're not coming back?

Wait, are your tears of despair or of relief? Anyway, ask me this one a little bit later. Too soon to know if I can make it that far away from loved ones...

Claire

Departures

Hi all! I know you've missed me, don't try to hide it. When you had a taste of Heaven, it's hard not to long for it. Today's topic is: interpretating the signs the Universe is sending you.

Do you believe in destiny? In fate? In signs? (this post is NOT sponsored by the Church of Scientology) – if not, I hope it will make you change your mind.

If you remember correctly, I left from Berlin to the South of France, making a small stop in Zürich to visit one of my loverboys, and then from the South of France to Paris – from which I took a plane to Casablanca, then Cape Verde. 

In other terms:

1: Berlin → Zürich (train)

2: Zürich → South of France (train)

3: South of France → Paris (train)

4: Paris → Casablanca (plane)

5: Casablanca → Praia (plane)

I can safely say that every part of this journey from Berlin to Cape Verde (ok, to Casablanca – the 5: Casablanca-Praia plane was ok) went wrong. It went crescendo from bad to really weird. Let's get started:

1: Berlin → Zürich

Nothing reaaally bad, actually, just 2 hours late. Don't call me a drama queen - remember it goes crescendo.

2: Zürich → South of France

I was supposed to take a first train Zürich → Geneva, with a regular ticket that I bought in Zürich and then Geneva → South of France – with a discount ticket that I bought on the French railway website, 10 days in advance. I wanted to send those tickets to my loverboy's address in Zürich, as to avoid a 10€ fee if you use a vending machine in another country to withdraw your ticket. Sending the ticket was free and would last 5 days - I was supposed to receive the tickets on the Thursday (me leaving on the following Monday). Ahah. The Universe had something else in mind – I never received the tickets. So I had to rush out to the French railway agency in Geneva, carrying my what felt like 50 kilo backpacks, and PAY a second time for the ticket they failed to send me (they will eventually reimburse me...). What a joke! Even more if you know how much I hate spending money. However, I didn't even notice (yet!) that the Universe didn't want me to leave.

3: South of France → Paris

The TGV was supposed to take 4h – and to be direct. Ahah. Due to an undetermined problem, the train was 2h late. Wait, did I say train in singular? We had to change twice... TWICE. Have I mentionned my carrying two backpacks of 18 and 9 kilos? At that point, I started wondering if I had taken the right decision... After all, it wasn't too late to cancel everything and go back home...

4: Paris → Casablanca, part 1

The apotheosis. I was just closing my backpacks and was about to go to the airport, when I thought, hey, let's check my emails one last time. Ahah. I had received a message from the Universe, saying there was a problem of outmost importance with my reservation and that I had to contact INSERT NAME OF LOUSY TRAVEL COMPANY at the soonest. It was 16h50, the plane was leaving less than 4 hours later. I called the airline company, who pleasantly announced me that my plane was cancelled and that I had to leave the following day to Casablanca (I could still make it for the transit plane to Praia). How funny. À propos funny, the person at the other end of the line kind of laughed as I mentioned the words “reimbursement”. 

I take the plane relatively often (bad, I know...) and honestly, as far as I can remember, none of the planes I ever took have been cancelled. Some delayed, of course – but never cancelled. What kind of sign is that? How blind do you have to be not to notice that there's something rotten in the air? I started thinking, what kind of horrible things were to happen to me if I made it to Cape Verde – was I living my last moments? Was I to ever set foot in Europe again, was I to ever lay eyes on my family and friends? How would I die, of disease or of murder? Would the end of my life be the slow result of excrutiating pains or as sudden as unexpected?

That time, the Universe managed to make me question my choices. But not just enough. I still needed a last sign.

4: Paris → Casablanca, part 2

The following day, after a night spent at Hotel Cec, I left early enough to be sure that I'd be among the first people to check in, in case the plane was overbooked. Also, to avoid any last minute surprises. Ahah. Well, a last minute surprise it was not – the plane was simply delayed. It had landed late to Paris, therefore the flight to Casablanca was to be delayed – at first, they said only 20 minutes, then slightly more. We boarded as we were one hour off schedule. We boarded... And waited... 

And then, this voice annouced something, insignificant for most of the passengers, that punched me in the face and made me curl up my seat: “the gangway is stuck to the plane, we can't close the door, it might take a while”. The Universe was clearly giving me a last chance to escape my fate – I was granted the option to leave the plane. I could honestly picture myself doing just that: politely request the steward to assist me out of the plane with my belongings.

But I did not. In a silent prayer, I gratefully thanked the Universe for blessing me with a last chance, but declined. I chose to embrace my destiny, whatever it is meant to be; it surely implies pain, suffering, illness, and eventually death – but also surely joy, laughter, fun and eventually happiness.

I am currently in Mindelo, in Cape Verde - it's been 2 weeks since I arrived, and I don't look back.

But for the rest of my life, I will always wonder... What if?...

Exile

Heureux qui, loin des cours, dans un lieu solitaire,

se prescrit à soi-même un exil volontaire

E. Rostand

Comment faire un monde

où il n'y aurait plus d'exil?

Clopin, Notre Dame de Paris

++

I don't know where to start, actually. Where do you start when you bring something back from the dead? I mean, I haven't been doing any voodoo stuff since I'm here – I mean this blog. It's been dying since a year, since I got back from hell (feel free to imagine which country I mean by hell: Russia, Japan, North (oops - South) Korea, Hong Kong, Chile, Argentina?). I am not proud to say I even put it in stand-by and hid it from search machines, when I was applying for jobs (does point #5 ring a bell to anybody?). But the days of boredom are over, dear readers: I'm back! Let's start by saying that I'll try to be less bitchy and less “I'm cool, you suck”. It was funny for a while, but hey, I need to sound a bit more serious, somewhat more professional... Having said that, count on me to keep the racist jokes and condescending remarks coming!

I've left Berlin and France respectively a month and 2 weeks ago (which incidentally happen to be the last time I cleaned my ears), landed correctly in Cape Verde and, basically, everything is fine. I do not regret my decision of leaving Berlin & Europe – although tears still wet my eyes whenever I think about the people I left. I've been thinking – I can not see myself settling down. I mean, ever. The other day, I though about Cape Verde, how nice life can be here, and about the future in general. I was picturing myself living here for a while, for a few years... Then it hit me: just for a few years. After that I'll be off to some other place. Some force coming from above would strike me and force me into exile, just as it did for Berlin. There must be a word for that kind of people... Gypsy? Roma? I prefer the term dromonaniac, it's slightly more PC and doesn't imply begging and stealing (did I mention this blog runs for the Peace Nobel Price, category “fighting stereotypes”?).

So I left home for the 2^nd time in my life... As if I did something wrong in a previous life and the current me had to pay the price. Hey, I'm not complaining, ok? The exile I chose isn't in anyway comparable to the exile people living in devastated regions are forced into (caused by wars, droughts or natural catastrophes). I'm blessed with 2 European passports, the good to fluent knowledge of 4 languages (5 if you count yiddish) and the intention of working in tourism – making me able to work basically anywhere. So I count my blessings, thank you.

Nonetheless, I'll still have this feeling inside me, probably the same need, the same necessity that makes salmons swim upstream or lemmings jump off cliffs (google it, it's quite weird)... We just have to keep going. S'arrêter, c'est la mort.

Of course, life is what happens when you're busy making plans: perhaps I'll find the will to fight THE FORCE and stay forever.

Or come back home.

Or start a windsurf company in Dubai... By the way I hear the beaches in Croatia are amazing... 

Claire