“Je vais te tuer!“ I couldn’t hear much of what was being said in the street four stories below us, but I heard that loud and clear. The woman hustled up the street–hurriedly making a call on her cell phone–away from the man who’d uttered those words, and away from the Mercedes S-class she’d just smashed up. She hadn’t been able to shatter the windshield, as much as she’d tried. All in all, the guy seemed to handle it pretty…
For the first time on the trip, we were going somewhere I’d already been before. And I couldn’t be more excited, because it was one of my favorite places I’d ever gone. Munich! I’d been looking forward to getting back for years. I had a little trepidation about it, though. What if I didn’t like it as much now? What if, after seeing so much more of the world, I now realize Munich is just ehh? I prepared myself to…
Crunched into the back of a rusty old Toyota van with nine of our closest Zambian friends, we handed over our kwacha when the operator started collecting fares. Some paid in Zambian kwacha, some paid in US dollars. We paid in kwacha because, naturally, the exchange rate was in their favor if you used dollars. Exchange rate… I’m talking as though it would have been a large difference, the rate in kwacha was under a dollar. Welcome to the combi…
