It felt a bit wrong, the idea of spending another day lying in a bunk bed, sleeping and watching TV shows. I was in a new city, after all. I should do some exploring.
So I went out. Took a walk around the neighborhood. And these were my impressions:
Every taxi honked at me. Wanting my business, presumably, but I wonder if that ever works. If I actually was looking for a taxi, would I really be walking on the sidewalk with my attention anywhere but on the road? Wouldn’t I be standing on the curb, trying to wave a taxi down?
I bought a coconut, drank the water and ate the flesh. Oh, how I love coconuts.
There were plenty of old houses around. Colonial architecture, balconies and pillars – but run down, in desperate need of repair. I find them interesting, though. Probably more so in this condition, than if they had been well looked after. The mold and broken corners shows history. For the architecture buff, does that make me morbid?
There was also some really weird, new stuff. Big and square and loud. I really don’t get it.
I bought a Savanna Dry (oh, the Namibia memories!) at the Indian restaurant down the street from the hostel, and then I returned, checked into the room I had booked for mom’s convenience and spent the rest of the afternoon knitting.
At seven, I went out to the airport to pick up mom.
Katja Malmborg 