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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DEUFRX0-eSp7ImA9WhRVEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690</id><updated>2012-01-10T20:30:14.351-08:00</updated><category term="legian beach" /><category term="panama canal" /><category term="malaysia" /><category term="New York" /><category term="kuta" /><category term="phillipines" /><category term="clean city" /><category term="mambo beach" /><category term="Vegas. San Francisco. Taipei. Bali." /><category term="half moon cay" /><category term="China" /><category term="indiginous" /><category term="south africa" /><category term="victoria peak" /><category term="regent voyager" /><category term="beach" /><category term="mall of asia" /><category term="Bali.world cruise" /><category term="panama" /><category term="hong kong" /><category term="willemstad" /><category term="paradise" /><category term="oranjestad" /><category term="indians" /><category term="cruise ship" /><category term="emera tribe" /><category term="Maglev train" /><category term="cape town" /><category term="aruba" /><category term="travel" /><category term="Bali. scuba diving" /><category term="curacao" /><category term="world cup" /><category term="tulamben" /><category term="singapore" /><category term="manila" /><category term="buddha" /><category term="sting rays" /><category term="Shanghai" /><title>Tales of a world traveler...</title><subtitle type="html">You think you know... but you have no idea</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>66</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler" /><feedburner:info uri="confessionsofaworldtraveler" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><feedburner:emailServiceId>ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UNRX45eSp7ImA9WhRTFkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-4664524563288937546</id><published>2011-11-06T21:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-06T21:54:54.021-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-06T21:54:54.021-08:00</app:edited><title>Building Botswana</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AwUjd3-c4dA/Trds0lJjqbI/AAAAAAAAAjc/Oig6hSmt79g/s1600/IMG_4600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AwUjd3-c4dA/Trds0lJjqbI/AAAAAAAAAjc/Oig6hSmt79g/s200/IMG_4600.jpg" width="149" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;For those of you who know me, you know my passion is helping others. I started a non profit called Building Botswana last year and am currently in Botswana to prepare for our first project. We've gotten a lot accomplished so far. I really wasn’t expecting everything to go exactly according to planned but so far we’ve been incredibly lucky.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VQRgME6MSmw/Trdt-3nAzfI/AAAAAAAAAj0/Pv_TF_oGWxw/s1600/IMG_4626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VQRgME6MSmw/Trdt-3nAzfI/AAAAAAAAAj0/Pv_TF_oGWxw/s320/IMG_4626.jpg" width="236" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Lowani (our main contact in Botswana) and I are staying with an American girl from the Peace Corps in Pandamatenga for a few days. Her name is Christina, and she now plays a critical role in the development of our project. Her expertise on this village and it’s people have proved to be invaluable, and it’s really helpful to have an American involved on the ground level.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;The three of us have been working hard to get as much as possible done while I am here, but it feels good to know that we now have two people volunteering their time to help Building Botswana when I’m not around.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kpd2KMwBSvA/Trdtt1wkSNI/AAAAAAAAAjs/HrxVUAyV5rA/s1600/IMG_4605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="149" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kpd2KMwBSvA/Trdtt1wkSNI/AAAAAAAAAjs/HrxVUAyV5rA/s200/IMG_4605.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We will be building the school in Pandamatenga; a rural village about 100 kilometers from the nearest town. Most people don't have cars so they hitch hike to and from town, in fact we pulled into town with two women that we picked up along the way in the back of our truck. It’s mostly all farm&amp;nbsp;lands here and many of the children here grow up to work on the farms. The village is divided into two wards with an area of&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;about 6 kilometers of bush in between.&amp;nbsp;Unfortunately, there is only one school here, and it is in the ward where the least amount of students live. Out of 348 students, 200 of them have to walk&amp;nbsp;up to 6.7 kilometers every morning and afternoon to get to and from school.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Needless to say this is a huge problem; attendance rates are very low, and they’ve already had 10 dropouts this year.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o3PRHHh5hGo/Trdthx7_EkI/AAAAAAAAAjk/sgGNIoxCBC4/s1600/IMG_4554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o3PRHHh5hGo/Trdthx7_EkI/AAAAAAAAAjk/sgGNIoxCBC4/s320/IMG_4554.jpg" width="239" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The community is asking us to build a school that will house grades 1, 2, and 3 on the other side of the village so that the younger children will not have to walk so far. Not only is 6ks a long distance for a small child to travel, especially in the unbearable African heat, it is also a very unsafe route. Lions and elephants have been seen crossing the very road where the children walk to school. (Actually, lions have been a major problem lately; Christinas neighbor just found a large clump of lions mane in her fence where it tried to get in.) Luckily there have not been any reports of Lions snatching children, but we are here to help prevent what could potentially be a life-threatening problem.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"&gt;I've had a lot of meetings this week. First I met with the headmaster of the existing school.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;He was very supportive and happy to hear about our initiative. He agreed to come with us to our next few meetings as well. After leaving the school&amp;nbsp;we went to speak with the Kosi (chief) of Pandamatenga. She was very nice, but not 100% supportive in the beginning. She would rather that we fund a bus to bring the children to the existing school, but the community members disagree.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;There were about six community members in the meeting and it was quite impressive to watch as they stuck up for themselves and backed up Building Botswanas mission fully. There is a need for a school on that side of the village, and in the future if this village expands the school could potentially add more classrooms for the higher grades as well. In the end the Kosi really had no choice but to go along with it.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ILr-b_sHxAo/TrduAz4vhAI/AAAAAAAAAj8/GW2Lylw_cIY/s1600/IMG_4634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ILr-b_sHxAo/TrduAz4vhAI/AAAAAAAAAj8/GW2Lylw_cIY/s320/IMG_4634.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"&gt;We also met with the Village Development Committee (VDC), who showed us the land where we will build. Next we moved on to the Botswana Agricultural Marketing Board (BAMB). BAMB is the corporation that is building a preschool on the same land where our school will be built. After much discussion we’ve decided that it may make sense to go into partnership with BAMB, and construct both schools together. I will have to fly to Gaborone, (the capital) later this week to meet with the Project Manager and discuss our options.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"&gt;Our last meeting was at Deeter and Lucys house. Deeter is a South African farmer/builder who now lives here with his wife and their 6 month old baby.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;It was a much more relaxed meeting. Lucy picked us fresh vegetables and served us juice as we sat outside in the shade (me holding baby Isabella) discussing the project. Deeter has agreed to do a free one day training with our volunteers on how to use a machine called the finnbuilder, this machine works in a way where you don’t need bricks, so it greatly cuts down the cost of building supplies. It also works a bit faster than laying bricks so the project should be completed within a relatively short amount of time. I've already found a few people in the community who want to help with the building, but we will also be looking for volunteers from abroad who want to come help. All we need to do now is raise the money, so please tell your friends and family about our mission and pass along our website www.buildingbotswana.org.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ItYICXillq4/TrduC6DCpqI/AAAAAAAAAkE/asDMUfuNjg4/s1600/IMG_4645.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ItYICXillq4/TrduC6DCpqI/AAAAAAAAAkE/asDMUfuNjg4/s320/IMG_4645.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Christina said that she has never seen the community come together like this before. "I feel like tomorrow I am going to wake up and be dreaming" she told me. "It normally takes so long to get anything accomplished here, but this project really looks like something the community wants." Christina has had many set backs in projects she's been working on so I am not going to be naive and think that our project will continue to go smoothly, but for now I'm very encouraged by all that we've achieved in just one week.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zlkwc4UFt3KFTMrEqd0NHcncf0U/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zlkwc4UFt3KFTMrEqd0NHcncf0U/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/148d2oiiBNQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/4664524563288937546/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=4664524563288937546" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/4664524563288937546?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/4664524563288937546?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/148d2oiiBNQ/building-botswana.html" title="Building Botswana" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AwUjd3-c4dA/Trds0lJjqbI/AAAAAAAAAjc/Oig6hSmt79g/s72-c/IMG_4600.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/11/building-botswana.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0MFQ34-fyp7ImA9WhRTFkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-4628277175380665845</id><published>2011-10-02T17:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-11-06T21:56:52.057-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-06T21:56:52.057-08:00</app:edited><title>My first African Safari</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eFDqwMuHdXs/TqKCat8NPqI/AAAAAAAAAio/APE7S2IwLIw/s1600/IMG_1136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eFDqwMuHdXs/TqKCat8NPqI/AAAAAAAAAio/APE7S2IwLIw/s320/IMG_1136.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;“I’m going to fucking kill that kid.” Ashley moaned as were rudely awaked by the all too familiar sound of a vuvuzuela. It was about 10am but we weren’t done sleeping yet. We needed to hit the road anyway so we began packing our things for our next destination: Kasane, in northern Botswana. We spent the day out with our new friends and then took the overnight bus to Kasane. We were lucky to get seats; it was a tight squeeze and some people even sat in the aisles. Before leaving the bus station the driver stood up and presented us with a pretty intense prayer that Ashley and I were not prepared for. We looked at each other nervously, wondering what we had to pray about. We didn't understand what he was saying but nodded our heads in silence anyway. Luckily, we made it to Kasane in one piece. As we pulled up to the border of Botswana and Zambia where the bus dropped us off the guy sitting next to us told us “Be careful getting of the bus, I hope your ride gets here soon. It’s 5am, and there are lots of animals lurking around here. A few weeks ago there was a leopard up in that tree over there.” The adrenaline started pumping and Ashley and I exchanged excited glances as we walked off the bus. Luckily, our ride was there. Itumeleng is another friend of a friend who offered to pick us up and help us find a hotel.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;After a few stops we decided on “The Old House”, a small family run bed and breakfast. Since our room wasn’t ready yet, (and we had slept on the bus) we decided to go directly on a safari, which we booked through the manager. We left our backpacks in his office and went out back for a cup of coffee while we waited for our caravan to arrive. It was the beginning of a perfect day until, we went to get our bags from the office and found it locked.&amp;nbsp; I looked for the manager, he was gone (cuz this is Africa.) I freaked out for about 2 minutes “There is no way I am going on a safari without my camera” I told Ashley, “I will bust out that window if I have too!” Luckily, I had the managers phone number so I called him and he sent someone to come back and unlock the door. Whew! OK, we’re ready for the safari!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;We walked toward the safari caravan, which was already filled with people. I made a few quick observations about the people we would be spending our day with. There was an Asian lady with her rebellious teenage daughter, a white man with long brown hair under his tie dyed bandana, and two good looking guys our age (jackpot!). One of the guys our age was sitting towards the back, and the other was sprawled out over the entire back row, half asleep. It was the only seat left so I slid in the row next to the sleepy obviously hungover guy. He sat up, opened his bright, sky blue eyes and introduced himself as John. His friend was Jon too, and by their playful bickering back and forth I could tell it was going to be a hilarious time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gmdvsO86bi8/TqKBda7cYLI/AAAAAAAAAiY/kH9AOuKMgAk/s1600/DSC_1762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gmdvsO86bi8/TqKBda7cYLI/AAAAAAAAAiY/kH9AOuKMgAk/s400/DSC_1762.JPG" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;“Now if you have any questions, feel free to ask” our guide explained . “Umm.. yea I have a question” John piped up, “How many tits does an elephant have?” “Excuse me?” the guide said turning around to see who had asked such a question. John simply smiled, “How many tits do elephants have? You know, how many tits? Like, to suckle?” “Two.” The guide answered…. And so the safari begins…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
After our drive we were transered to a small boat for a water safari. It was a small group so we all got to know eachother. John is a first officer on a ship, so we had some things in common. Him and Jon met while backpacking in Australia and so now they take trips together every other year. The asian lady was a doctor in LA. Her daughter was a typical teen, she had pimples and greasy hair cut short in the back, extra long in the front. I bet she had some hidden tattoos and piercings too. The bandana man, was with the Asians; he was real cool and had great energy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-46dVy16njdA/TqKCS0VqQmI/AAAAAAAAAig/HZBXeAgTRJE/s1600/DSC_1772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="256" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-46dVy16njdA/TqKCS0VqQmI/AAAAAAAAAig/HZBXeAgTRJE/s320/DSC_1772.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;As we sailed along the river we were a bit disappointed because there weren’t too many animals. We did see a huge crocodile, (“I could take him!” Jon blurted out.) but that was it for quite a while. Then out of nowhere we began seeing all types of animals. Giraffes reaching for the best leaves at the top of the trees. Hippos sunbathing in pods of 50+ with a few wondering off for a nice dip in the water every so often. Warthogs&amp;nbsp; with their butts in the air, bending down on their forearms to eat the vegetation.&amp;nbsp; Baboons playing energetically, jumping on each others backs, and swinging through the trees. And then, a lone elephant. “I want to see an elephant” was practically the first thing Ashley said when she got off the plane in Africa, and now the moment was here. We both took about a hundred pictures, not knowing that in just a few minutes we would be seeing literally hundreds more.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k4B7kHyIcPk/TqK09l8wVlI/AAAAAAAAAi4/Zojq8JDVM8Q/s1600/DSC_1876.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="211" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k4B7kHyIcPk/TqK09l8wVlI/AAAAAAAAAi4/Zojq8JDVM8Q/s320/DSC_1876.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;There were more elephants in Chobe National Park than I would have ever imagined. They were everywhere, playing in the water, taking a mud bath, crossing the river, spraying water on themselves, and rubbing against the trees. “How can you tell that one is a male?” John asked me. “I dunno.” I replied. The whole caravan began laughing so a took another look at the elephant in question… he had a huge hard on. “Holy crap” I said, as I snapped a picture. Now where there are elephants, there is also… elephant shit. Some fresh shit, some old shit, but lots of shit. The baboons loved it, they would sit next to piles of it, sticking in their greedy hands and pulling out berrys and remnants of food. So gross. “You know, I hear the locals smoke it.” Jon said, “yep...there isn’t much of a high, they all just sit around and talk shit.” Laughter all around.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;We had brought a cooler of beers with us on the safari (cuz this is Africa) and I had to pee so bad by the end of it that I literally jumped out of the moving vehicle and ran to outhouse first chance I got, since the driver wouldn’t stop for me. It’s funny now, but I wasn’t laughing at the time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J73e35wTa1k/TqKCsobw0jI/AAAAAAAAAiw/33EVwTX6OnM/s1600/DSC_1924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="211" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J73e35wTa1k/TqKCsobw0jI/AAAAAAAAAiw/33EVwTX6OnM/s320/DSC_1924.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;After the safari the driver took us back to “The Old House” , as we pulled up we noticed a group of animals in front of our door… warthogs. I handed Ashley the "Cuz this is Africa" sign we had made, and she ran ahead for a photo. Then we carefully walked toward the doors, and they moved away (thank god) so we were able to get to our room, where we excitedly began looking through our photographs from the day.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tuLhoCWwpIWZqqsRVtjDGljPaEs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tuLhoCWwpIWZqqsRVtjDGljPaEs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/O1ZcACTEqNU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/4628277175380665845/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=4628277175380665845" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/4628277175380665845?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/4628277175380665845?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/O1ZcACTEqNU/goodbye-gaborone-hello-kasane.html" title="My first African Safari" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eFDqwMuHdXs/TqKCat8NPqI/AAAAAAAAAio/APE7S2IwLIw/s72-c/IMG_1136.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/10/goodbye-gaborone-hello-kasane.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUYFSXcyeyp7ImA9WhdaEkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-6914524248039003968</id><published>2011-10-02T17:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-22T05:38:38.993-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-22T05:38:38.993-07:00</app:edited><title>Gaborone, Botswana</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cJnNKQDbrLk/TokGwAb1jsI/AAAAAAAAAiM/h7tqmyzN-Mg/s1600/DSC_1681.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="211" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cJnNKQDbrLk/TokGwAb1jsI/AAAAAAAAAiM/h7tqmyzN-Mg/s320/DSC_1681.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Ashley and I had spent all day traveling from South Africa to Botswana and arrived at a small gas station in Gaborone just after dusk. “Hey ladies!” Tshepiso said as she pulled up to the curb. Tshepiso is a beautiful girl with petite features and a perfect complexion. She went to elementary school with Thato (a friend of mine from college) before he moved to America. We immediately bonded with “Tshepi” on the way back to her apartment and by the time we arrived it was like we’d known each other forever. We entered the apartment to find a group of her friends in the living room watching the Ghana vs. Netherlands world cup game.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NtTmgLst1kA/TokGxMgPYUI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/RTFll3xqfcg/s1600/DSC_1683.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="211" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NtTmgLst1kA/TokGxMgPYUI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/RTFll3xqfcg/s320/DSC_1683.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;“We made some tradition African food for you girls” Tshepi said as she brought three large bowls into the living room. “Oh, what is it?!” Ashley asked, hungry from the long trip. Tshepi placed one bowl on the table, “Well, this bowl is sausage… and I’ll let them explain the rest” she finished, as she stepped back into the kitchen. “It’s chicken feet and chicken necks!” her friend Titi exclaimed.&amp;nbsp; Gulp. Well, thank god I’m a vegetarian, I thought, because now I’ve got a good excuse for not eating this! Ashley had to politely decline as well (I think she may have fibbed and said she is a vegetarian too.) We watched in horror as everyone dug in, and started munching on chicken necks, feet, toenails and all! (Cuz this is Africa!) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PhuJpZgJnS8/TokGyOlwo4I/AAAAAAAAAiU/98qJfIWmIiM/s1600/DSC_1684.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PhuJpZgJnS8/TokGyOlwo4I/AAAAAAAAAiU/98qJfIWmIiM/s200/DSC_1684.jpg" width="132" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;We finished watching the game, and even though it was a disappointing outcome (Ghana, the last African team in the running had lost) we were still in good spirits and decided to go out for some dancing and drinks! I borrowed a pair of Tshepi’s shoes (they were two sizes too small, but damn they were cute) and we were off. Techno music was pumping as we walked into the “Fashion Lounge” so Ashley was in her glory as she danced to the beat. Me, being the reggae girl that I am, had a bit of a harder time getting into the groove, but the vodka and cranberry that was flowing soon had me dancing with the best of em. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FpEfIcU3h-U/TokGbDRumsI/AAAAAAAAAiI/UNYeLho6qYE/s1600/DSC01926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FpEfIcU3h-U/TokGbDRumsI/AAAAAAAAAiI/UNYeLho6qYE/s320/DSC01926.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We left the club as it was closing, stepping over one or two drunk people passed out on the floor. I whispered something funny to Ashley and she spit the last gulp of her drink all over me. We both laughed the whole way to the car.&amp;nbsp; Once in the car we decided that this would be the ideal time for a photo shoot, so we took out our camera and continued with our shoot all the way home and up the stairwell of Tshepis apartment. Once we got in the door however we each fell into bed (or couches) and fell asleep, fully clothed, with the TV blaring. I love Botswana.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-6914524248039003968?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mZ2UwyTRYR0fZD2AHQ0O5jt-3EI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mZ2UwyTRYR0fZD2AHQ0O5jt-3EI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/IUbRhdYHzc8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/6914524248039003968/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=6914524248039003968" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/6914524248039003968?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/6914524248039003968?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/IUbRhdYHzc8/gaborone-botswana.html" title="Gaborone, Botswana" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cJnNKQDbrLk/TokGwAb1jsI/AAAAAAAAAiM/h7tqmyzN-Mg/s72-c/DSC_1681.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/10/gaborone-botswana.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D08BR3w-fCp7ImA9WhZWFkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-5288806852314898592</id><published>2011-05-17T19:30:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-17T19:30:56.254-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-17T19:30:56.254-07:00</app:edited><title>Belize</title><content type="html">&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"&gt;The worst part of working on ships is getting on and off of them. Today I signed off the Carnival Dream in Belize. After a semi stressful morning getting my paperwork in, packing and saying goodbyes I boarded the tender boat and headed into town. I got off the boat and went quickly through customs before heading out the door to look for a taxi. Wouldn’t you know it, right as I approached the door a midget with two missing front teeth appeared out nowhere and opened it for me! He even helped me get my luggage through, nice little midget he was. I thanked him and went on a taxi search, which wasn’t hard considering they all cluster around the exit of the port to try and get customers. One guy in an orange shirt gestured for me to come with him and I walked toward him. As I got closer another man came up behind him and tried to push him away telling me “dat guy get all the customers today, you come with me now”, the guy in the Orange took my bag and began pulling it toward his car, but the second man wouldn’t leave. He even dug his dirty long fingernails into my drivers hand as he tried to pull the bag out of his hand. I told him&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;“You’re mean! I definitely wouldn’t go with you now” and he eventually left. My driver introduced himself as Steve as he put my bags into his dirty old green car. It’s back window on the passenger side had been broken out and was taped with silver duct tape. Dents dotted the doors, dust flew around inside and here was no sign that said taxi. I contemplated not getting in but there were no legit taxis in sight and I had to catch my flight so I timidly got in the front seat and started to make small talk. He turned on some music which just so happened to be my favorite; Bob Marley. “I bin smokin since I wuz eleven and I’m fordy tree.. it aint done nothin to me yet, sheeiitt” he told me. We listened to Bob for awhile before I asked him what Belize is known for “sheeiiitt, we got the second biggest coral reef here. An we used to have da best callord rum in da world. We gots a bunch a beautiful islands too. And you know what else? We Belizeans live off the land. You know, in America they gots Viagra… well we got dat natural herb here, and it better than Viagra. My kids neva even bin to da docta. I got five kids; 26, 24, 13, 2 an a five month old, I’m tryin to shoot blanks now. Sheeeeiitt.” He told me that the whole island was smokey because of a bushfire “We got alotta flintstone here an when it gets hot… maaannnn, you get a fire in a minute. Sheeiit.” I told him I knew that the fire had been going on because two weeks ago when I was in port we could smell it really bad in the ship. I woke up at 5am that day to the smell of fire and thought the ship was on fire. The smell was coming from outside through the ventilation system in my room. It was really frightening how potent it was and I couldn’t sleep because of it so I got outta bed at 6am and went to breakfast. It was the first and only time I had breakfast since getting on the ship. I still don’t know why they close breakfast at 8:30am; I mean come on, who gets up that early?! Anyway, the rest of the drive wasn’t too bad and I made it to the airport on time. Now I’ll be in Miami for two weeks before going to my next ship.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-5288806852314898592?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iTp3y2vKqDI/TdMzKeL4bOI/AAAAAAAAAg4/K9gC2yqq5Gk/s1600/IMG_3399.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iTp3y2vKqDI/TdMzKeL4bOI/AAAAAAAAAg4/K9gC2yqq5Gk/s320/IMG_3399.jpg" width="239" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I hadn’t seen my friend Erica since High School but I knew she lived in Hollywood so I gave her a call to see if she would like to come too. What a coincidence that she lived only two blocks from Alicia! Alicia and I walked to her place and then we walked to a local bar. A few celebs were there; Gunther from Friends, and Erica swears she saw Nick Lachey but I am not too sure. It was a lot of fun being with Erica after so many years, I don’t think I had seen her since 2002! She hasn’t changed a bit and it was like we were teenagers again back in Upper Dublin. Alicia ended up leaving after a bit and since Erica offered for me to spend the night at her place I stayed at the bar with her til it closed. We had a few (too many) drinks and then stumbled home. I slept on her couch (a couch that used to belong to Ellen Degeneres’s mom- oh Hollywood). In the am I was awakened by a fresh everything bagel (my fav) and a bottle of water, what a great way to start the day! We decided to work off some of those drinks from last night by taking a hike so we put on some sneaks and hiked up to the Hollywood sign. All I kept thinking was “I can’t wait to live here!”&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;I spent a few more days in town; visited Damian who is helping me get my CA Real Estate License and went to Agape. Agape is an incredible place and one of the main reasons I love “living” in LA. Michael Beckwith (from “The Secret”) is the minister of this amazing spiritual center and his energy and wisdom rejuvenates my soul every time I attend a service. Of course being that I have no car or real home in LA, sometimes getting places can prove difficult. This was one of those times. After a friend who was supposed to pick me up called last minute to say he couldn’t make it I was left to find my own way. Now, I am not good with directions or public transportation but I do know that I always figure it out… and it was with that mindset that I left and went to look for a bus. I found one, but I am still not sure if it was the right one because I ended up in some nice neighborhood and since I thought I was on the wrong bus I got off before I ended up somewhere shady.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gLRLEgv9L8A/TdMzj1g9_7I/AAAAAAAAAhA/JfEzA9KEm-A/s1600/IMG_3407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="149" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gLRLEgv9L8A/TdMzj1g9_7I/AAAAAAAAAhA/JfEzA9KEm-A/s200/IMG_3407.JPG" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I began walking through the neighborhood hoping to find a cross street of some type, but no luck. After about 10 minutes of walking I started hoping even just for a taxi but still no luck. Here I am, stuck in a nice neighborhood, lost and hoping that somehow I would make it to Agape in time for meditation, which starts in 30 minutes. Crap. Hitchhiking looked like my only option. I noticed a car parked on the street with his lights on and went over to knock on the window. The driver was on the phone but got off when he saw me, and offered to take me all the way to Agape! He was a nice guy who owned a car dealership down the street, and if I hadn’t told him I worked on ships he would have tried to sell me one, instead I told him I am good at sales and perhaps when I move to LA for good I can work for him. He gave me his card as he dropped me off in front of Agape and I thanked him profusely. I had gotten there just in time. You see, one way or another everything works out. (If you haven’t read the Secret, you should.)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RzqOWge7vC4/TdMzXWEwytI/AAAAAAAAAg8/7ozVZDqScY4/s1600/IMG_3405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RzqOWge7vC4/TdMzXWEwytI/AAAAAAAAAg8/7ozVZDqScY4/s320/IMG_3405.jpg" width="239" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I also stayed a few days with some of my friends from High School who live in Santa Monica. I love staying with these guys because just listening to them banter back and forth cracks me up. They should have a reality show because they are simply hilarious. They live not too far from the beach so I took one day to go sit on the beach and read which was awesome. I ate popcorn and read the Alchemist while sitting in the sand and imagining that in the future I would live in one of the houses lining the beach by the Santa Monica Pier.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-2563472498746866987?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AM1U3wLusnpsL-VpORTcL_tKpB8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AM1U3wLusnpsL-VpORTcL_tKpB8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/HhV-7SbGvj4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/2563472498746866987/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=2563472498746866987" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/2563472498746866987?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/2563472498746866987?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/HhV-7SbGvj4/los-angeles-ca.html" title="Los Angeles, CA" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IJ1YD6BttPk/TdMzCgE82jI/AAAAAAAAAg0/OfFoy7JAU30/s72-c/IMG_3396.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/05/los-angeles-ca.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQAQX47eSp7ImA9WhZWFkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-2259875023430779325</id><published>2011-05-17T19:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-17T19:39:00.001-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-17T19:39:00.001-07:00</app:edited><title>San Dimas, CA</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qVcsXWxfrOo/TdMwrzvLblI/AAAAAAAAAgw/pDdmD-8a0h0/s1600/IMG_3384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qVcsXWxfrOo/TdMwrzvLblI/AAAAAAAAAgw/pDdmD-8a0h0/s200/IMG_3384.jpg" width="149" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I flew out to Cali to go to my friend Brookes baby shower. Brooke was my roommate in college, and all of our roommates from college flew in from PA for the shower as well. It was the first time we were all together since college so we had a blast catching up. We all arrived around the same time and were greeted by our beloved Brookie at the airport. After a quick stop and In N Out Burger we went back to her house and hung out together like old times.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-msuAW3BRnqI/TdMwgSplr4I/AAAAAAAAAgs/dJCIGprybXo/s1600/IMG_3388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-msuAW3BRnqI/TdMwgSplr4I/AAAAAAAAAgs/dJCIGprybXo/s320/IMG_3388.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"&gt;After a couple hours her husband Dan, (also my college roomie) came home with their son Meade. It was Dan’s dad’s 50&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"&gt;&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"&gt; birthday so we all went over to his house to celebrate. His cake was a woman in a bikini with huge boobs popping off the cake. It’s always fun for me to participate in the little things like family parties that I often miss when I am working on the ships so I had a good time. Brooke babyshower was the best part of the weekend though. The decorations were great and the food was amazing. Brooke’s friends Tiffany and Nick did all the work and they pulled it off perfectly. Nick does professional catering and I enjoyed munching on his creations throughout the day. I also spent time taking photographs of the day with my Nikon, and they came out really nice. I love photography and it was nice that Brooke really appreciated getting the photos. It’s too bad the weekend was so short but it was very relaxing and refreshing to see everyone together again after five years. It seems like just yesterday we were sitting around the house on Richard Ave. watching 40 year old virgin, doing beer bongs at frat houses or swimming in the baby pool we kept in the front yard. But now we are all grown and professional now. Ang has a great job with Wawa Corporation, Flo is engaged and Brooke and Dan are married with their second kid on the way. I love how we have all gone in different directions but still keep in touch; I am thankful for my friends.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-2259875023430779325?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/txwFlP_0lxwFGDEqFRX0py2XO8s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/txwFlP_0lxwFGDEqFRX0py2XO8s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/jHXm2YuLJFM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/2259875023430779325/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=2259875023430779325" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/2259875023430779325?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/2259875023430779325?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/jHXm2YuLJFM/san-dimas-ca.html" title="San Dimas, CA" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qVcsXWxfrOo/TdMwrzvLblI/AAAAAAAAAgw/pDdmD-8a0h0/s72-c/IMG_3384.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/05/san-dimas-ca.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkcCSXo-cSp7ImA9WhZQEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-4490503854578200789</id><published>2011-04-15T12:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-17T20:41:08.459-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-17T20:41:08.459-07:00</app:edited><title>Chicago</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G5c1mlRwYNI/Tauv16VlKjI/AAAAAAAAAgk/xdnUHhfxqWs/s1600/IMG_2950.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="149" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G5c1mlRwYNI/Tauv16VlKjI/AAAAAAAAAgk/xdnUHhfxqWs/s200/IMG_2950.JPG" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; When I am not traveling the world I enjoy spending time with my cousin, Alexandra. We’ve been close our whole lives. She is the sister I never had. When she lived in Orange County, I would spend months living with her. Now, she has a boyfriend and a one bedroom apt so I can’t quite get away with that anymore but I still take up residency on their couch in Chicago for a few days each year. This time my Dad came along for the day. We went to Spiagga for lunch; the Italian restaurant (frequented by Oprah and Obama) where my cousin is senor manager. John Mariani, author of “The Dictionary of Italian Food and Drink” said “There is no better Italian restaurant in America than Spiaggia” and I’d have to agree. Everything simply melts in your mouth. (I am wiping drool off my chin at the moment just thinking about it…) So next time your in Chicago and have a spare couple hundred bucks, you’ve got to check this place out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;After lunch my Dad and I did some shopping along Michigan Ave and then he left for Philadelphia and I went back to Alex’s for some R&amp;amp;R. She lives above a tanning salon that said “free tanning for one week” so I headed down to sign up. I did a spray tan for the first time which was pretty cool. You go in a machine and it sprays you from head to toe with sunless tanner. But before you go in you have to put a “barrier lotion” on your hands and feet to prevent them from turning orange. My tan looked great, but a few days later my hands and feet broke out into large itchy rashes, then began to blister to a point where I could barely walk for a week! Turns out I’m allergic to lanolin, one of the ingredients in the lotion. I had to go to the Doctor, take antibiotics, steroids and foot soaks. It took almost a month to heal completely! At least the break out didn’t start til after I left Chicago because I had things to do! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;This year my sorority ball was in Chicago. I was part of a group of 6 women at Shippensburg University who founded Zeta Sigma Chi Multicultural Sorority Inc. Iota Chapter. It began when my friend Keyshia and I found that the sororities on campus seemed to cater only to “whites” or “blacks”. There was no in between. Keyshia and I researched national organizations until we found the one that was right for us, and right for our campus. That organization was Zeta Sigma Chi. We held meetings on campus and recruited other girls that had the same dream as us; to unite our cultures and form a sisterhood. On April 24&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt;, 2005 our dream became a reality as we were officially named Zeta Sigma Chi, Iota Chapter.&amp;nbsp;I feel so lucky to be a part of this organization. At our events you’ll see women of all races, sizes, shapes, colors, sexual orientations and ethnicities. And we all have one common goal: success in education. It’s truly a beautiful thing, this sorority.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N1rmCudmnvA/Tauyi2p4oiI/AAAAAAAAAgo/P2bqra_VjvI/s1600/IMG_2976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N1rmCudmnvA/Tauyi2p4oiI/AAAAAAAAAgo/P2bqra_VjvI/s320/IMG_2976.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Dinner in Chicago with my sorority sisters :)&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;Unfortunately, as with many things there will be haters, and after posting an album on facebook I got a message saying “&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Your sorority ball?&amp;nbsp; Scary - these are obviously women who are underdogs&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;Heart breaking!&amp;nbsp; Underdogs are great to protect - but I wouldn't want to surround myself with them — because it only looks like you are an underdog too!” This person seems to be referring to the fact that these women are cultured, perhaps even using “underdogs” as a synonym for “the n word”. The message obviously did not warrant a response from me, and you can believe that this person is no longer my facebook friend, but I will say this… to make an offensive comment about people whom you have never met is utterly unacceptable and it shows true ignorance. &lt;/span&gt;This person used the word “underdogs” to describe women who have college degrees and are in a sorority whose core belief is success in education. This person used the word “underdogs” to describe women who spend their free time volunteering at soup kitchens, orphanages, and the Ronald McDonald House while also raising money for relief efforts in Japan through our “ZSCforJapan” campaign (donate here:&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: 'Segoe UI'; font-size: 9pt;"&gt; &lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;https://donate.mercycorps.org/campaigns/donate.htm?PledgeID=91233&amp;amp;Custom16=widget&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; ) . Let this be a lesson to think before you speak, because you can never take back your words. What’s “heartbreaking” to me is that there are people in our world who honestly can’t comprehend the importance of cultures coming together. Z-Chi til the day I die! &lt;span style="font-family: Wingdings;"&gt;J&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-4490503854578200789?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vY8-byfJQbGtFeUznkuYZLQdAeY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vY8-byfJQbGtFeUznkuYZLQdAeY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/qyXSSGjjlkk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/4490503854578200789/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=4490503854578200789" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/4490503854578200789?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/4490503854578200789?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/qyXSSGjjlkk/chicago.html" title="Chicago" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G5c1mlRwYNI/Tauv16VlKjI/AAAAAAAAAgk/xdnUHhfxqWs/s72-c/IMG_2950.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/04/chicago.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUGQXY9eyp7ImA9WhdaEkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-6175396390100689089</id><published>2011-03-07T14:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-10-22T05:40:20.863-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-22T05:40:20.863-07:00</app:edited><title>South America</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"&gt;Servas is a hospitality exchange program that promotes world peace. I joined this organization in hopes of meeting new people and experiencing the locals lifestyle while traveling alone. So far I have only stayed with two hosts from Servas, one in Argentina and one in Uruguay.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-YCjKxjDjpYA/TXVboPm7esI/AAAAAAAAAfw/kGi2g88_pW0/s1600/DSC_0875.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-YCjKxjDjpYA/TXVboPm7esI/AAAAAAAAAfw/kGi2g88_pW0/s320/DSC_0875.jpg" width="212" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I arrived in Buenos Aires by ship. I had been working on the Regent Mariner cruise ship for a few months and now it was time for vacation. I got a hotel for a couple nights first and then went to stay with a Servas member, Rosa. I took a cab from my hotel to Rosa's apartment in the morning and she was there to welcome me. She can understand english and speak a little too but we spoke in Spanish.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"&gt;She showed me around her very small, 2 bedroom apartment, each bedroom is set aside for guests and Rosa sleeps on a bed that pulls out from the wall in the living room. "Even when both rooms are filled with guests I still accept Servas members, they just have to sleep on the floor." she told me. Rosa is a great person who enjoys helping others, and our world. She showed me this youtube video&amp;nbsp;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_6iTCo5Ci8 which she is very passionate about, and I posted it on facebook myself because I agree with it wholeheartedly.&amp;nbsp;She is also passionate about the organization she works for (http://awakeningthedreamer.org/) and even got a bit emotional just talking about it, and showing me the website. She certainly lives up to the whole "world peace, do gooder" aspect of Servas. It was a pleasure staying with her, and her home cooked meals were fabulous. I enjoyed our conversations over dinner and talking in Spanish. I had gone to the zoo that day and I told her how it was a bit sad to see the animals living there with dirty water and no room to move around. She agreed and said she refuses to go there because of the living conditions. I wondered aloud if the money I had spent to get in would perhaps go towards better facilities, but I doubt it. All in all, staying with Rosa with a great first experience with Servas, and now I was off to Montevideo where I would meet Gabriela, another host with Servas.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-asUNVJ_2Nyw/TXVc5411KwI/AAAAAAAAAf0/121M5qhzE_Y/s1600/DSC_0890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="132" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-asUNVJ_2Nyw/TXVc5411KwI/AAAAAAAAAf0/121M5qhzE_Y/s200/DSC_0890.JPG" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"&gt;I took a ferry from Buenos Aires to Colonia, Uruguay. The ferry was great, very big with shops, a bar and cafeteria type food set up, almost reminded me of a cruise ship! I sat behind some english speakers which was nice since it's rare to find people speaking english in Argentina. Once I got to the ferry terminal Colonia I postponed my bus to Montevideo, checked my luggage at a nearby (but not near enough when walking) bus station then spent and hour or so walking around this historic town. I found a nice little spot for lunch where I enjoyed some tomatoes stuffed with veggie goodness and a few glasses of wine while overlooking the ocean.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-RiO0hrFw0Zs/TXVdKov_S3I/AAAAAAAAAf4/hqvPc8EGZQc/s1600/DSC_0892.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-RiO0hrFw0Zs/TXVdKov_S3I/AAAAAAAAAf4/hqvPc8EGZQc/s320/DSC_0892.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;After lunch, I called a cab and made it back to the terminal just in time for my bus to Montevideo. Once I arrived in Montevideo I was greeted by Gabriela, who was standing with a handmade sign saying "Naomi Servas". We made our way back to her house in downtown Montevideo by bus, and walking. "Will you be ok walking with your luggage?" she asked me when we got off the bus. "Oh sure I'm ok", I told her, thinking her house must be close. Seven or eight blocks later.... we arrived at her house. I tried to remind myself that I hadnt worked out for awhile so lugging a big suitcase down 7 blocks with a 30 pound backpack and 15 pound purse was needed. It wasn't easy. Her house was awesome. You walk into something like what we would call a mudroom in the US; there are steps to the left that lead to her sisters house, which is all part of the same house I think, but it is big and separated perfectly.&amp;nbsp;Then there is a small flight of steps to the back part of the house, but you walk through a courtyard first. The courtyard was adorable, with a peach tree in the middle and a table with chairs. My room was right off the courtyard complete with a, Andy Warhol style Marilyn Monroe light above the bed. Gabriela took me out that night and we walked around town, stopping for dinner where she ordered me typical food of Uruguay, which was a kind of bread, and also pizza. It wasn't so bad, but it certainly does not compare to New York or Italian pizza. Gabriela was also a good cook herself, and I sampled of her yummy concoctions, including my favorite, homemade peach ice cream. She told me she uses the peaches because they fall out of the tree all the time. This is true, one of them fell that night right before I went to sleep and scared the crap outta me!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-6175396390100689089?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZOfS_2FqpxjIRcEx3CEOYtXDWvs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZOfS_2FqpxjIRcEx3CEOYtXDWvs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/obJpu18LOAE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/6175396390100689089/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=6175396390100689089" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/6175396390100689089?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/6175396390100689089?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/obJpu18LOAE/servas.html" title="South America" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-YCjKxjDjpYA/TXVboPm7esI/AAAAAAAAAfw/kGi2g88_pW0/s72-c/DSC_0875.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/03/servas.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEEHQ3Yyfyp7ImA9Wx9aFU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-8237262270814705303</id><published>2011-03-07T14:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-07T14:23:52.897-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-07T14:23:52.897-08:00</app:edited><title>My longest trip home EVER- The worst part of traveling...</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-X7ON4yUZ96Y/TXVa2MfBmeI/AAAAAAAAAfs/jfVozQZyouY/s1600/DSC_0985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-X7ON4yUZ96Y/TXVa2MfBmeI/AAAAAAAAAfs/jfVozQZyouY/s320/DSC_0985.jpg" width="212" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I had been traveling alone through South America for a few weeks before getting to my friends Gabi and John's place in Sao Paulo, where I stayed for 5 days. It was hard to leave because these new friends (who I met while working on the cruise ship) showed me an amazing time in Brazil, and I genuinely just enjoyed hanging out with them. But I knew I had to go home at some point so I went online, found the cheapest flight and typed in my credit card number. The flight left at 12:25pm on March 1st, and went to Miami, I would then get a flight from Ft Lauderdale to Vegas on a buddy pass from my Mom (who is a flight attendant). John offered to take me to the airport. We left at 8am because we were afraid of traffic. We hit none, which was great but now I had 3 and half hours to sit in the airport. I read for awhile, then eventually made my way to the gate and onto the plane. I was lucky enough to get a window seat with no one next to me for the 6 hour flight to Columbia, which was the first leg of my trip. Once in Columbia I had to go through customs, pick up my luggage with dogs sniffing around it(which freaks me out) then re check my luggage and find my way to the next plane where I boarded the 2 hour flight to Panama. I briefly considered calling some friends in Panama to stay the night there because I was so tired at this point and I had just realized that I got into Miami after midnight and still needed to go one more leg home. I figured I would stick it out though, since I had already paid for the through flight to Miami. Once in Panama I was relived that I didn't need to collect and recheck my bags this time. I just went right to the gate to Miami, where I got on the 3 hour flight to Miami. Once in Miami I decided to get a hotel. I needed to sleep. I took a shuttle to Ft Lauderdale with some other sleepy travelers. One was a young guy who asked to use my cell phone, of course I obliged, and was quite happy too because just a few days before I had asked a woman on the bus to use her phone to call Gabi and she said no! I decided right then that I will always let anyone use my phone, in hopes that when I need to use one again someone will let me! (To the womans credit I wasn't speaking Portuguese so perhaps she didn't understand, but pointing the phone and looking at her with pleading eyes should have gotten the point across). I got a hotel in Ft Lauderdale since I would take a flight to Vegas from Ft Lauderdale in the morning. Once at the hotel I couldn't find the elevator so I dragged my luggage up the stairs to my room and nearly collapsed onto the bed once I got in. I decided to take a flight at 2pm the next day so I would have time to sleep, and sleep I did! I got to the airport the next day, checked my luggage, went through security and took a seat by the gate where I checked emails for awhile before realizing I am supposed to give them my buddy pass an hour ahead of time to make sure I can get on the flight (flying standby). I handed in my boarding pass and then realized I had checked my buddy pass in my luggage! Ahh! I ran out through security and went back to the guy who had checked my luggage, luckily he was nice (and must have had a crush on me because when I finally got home I had a friend request from him on facebook- weird!). He went down to find my luggage and brought back my buddy pass just in time! I gave me a $5 tip and skipped off back through security and to the gate where I was just in time to make my 6 hour flight to Phoenix. Whew! I had to sit in the middle of two men this time, damnit! But the guy on my right was nice and we chatted for awhile, then I showed him my "genius game" that I bought in Uruguay, which he figured out after a bit. Finally we arrived in Phoenix and as I got off the plane I saw that the gate next to us was leaving for Vegas. "This is perfect!" I thought, as I ran to the line. I was able to get on that flight rather than waiting 2 hours for the one I was booked for. Sweet! I sat down in the last row, for the last leg of my super long trip home and felt so relieved. I even had the whole row to myself (of course I get the row to myself on my shortest flight-only 1 hour). I couldn't wait to get home and go to bed, after two full days of travel. Then, I realized, my luggage was not on this plane. My luggage wouldn't get in until 3 hours later when it arrived on the plane I was supposed to take.. ughh! So again more waiting, awaited my arrival in Vegas. Luckily my parents had a good idea, they would pick me up and we would go to Lemongrass, a great Vietnamese restaurant near the airport and then come back for my luggage. I did finally make it home with my luggage. But the moral to this story is... cheaper flights are not always better! Make sure you know what time your flights get in and plan ahead (which I, obviously, am not very good at)!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-8237262270814705303?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PSi-13P9rivrvIX_q61C6GHOI6U/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PSi-13P9rivrvIX_q61C6GHOI6U/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/S_MXKMYIoc4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/8237262270814705303/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=8237262270814705303" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/8237262270814705303?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/8237262270814705303?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/S_MXKMYIoc4/my-longest-trip-home-ever-worst-part-of.html" title="My longest trip home EVER- The worst part of traveling..." /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-X7ON4yUZ96Y/TXVa2MfBmeI/AAAAAAAAAfs/jfVozQZyouY/s72-c/DSC_0985.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/03/my-longest-trip-home-ever-worst-part-of.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUQGQnw7eip7ImA9Wx9UE0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-1797747498267986464</id><published>2011-02-10T11:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-10T11:48:43.202-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-10T11:48:43.202-08:00</app:edited><title>A Picture Says A Thousand Words: Ashley in Imizamo Yethu</title><content type="html">A Picture Says A Thousand Words: Have you ever come across an old photograph that just flooded you with memories? A picture that expressed a time in your life, a special celebration or a life changing moment? I’ve got a collection of photos like this and as I begin sifting through them you’ll find many more blogs like this one. A blog entry sparked by a photo, and attached to a special memory that will never be forgotten…&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qjyGfyKWVzw/TVQ6TIOAAzI/AAAAAAAAAfk/Mk2JuQRDcTE/s1600/DSC_0830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qjyGfyKWVzw/TVQ6TIOAAzI/AAAAAAAAAfk/Mk2JuQRDcTE/s400/DSC_0830.JPG" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;It was one of our last days in South Africa when this picture was taken, and the moment I snapped it I knew my life was about to change…&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dQF3WJQ0B_Q/TVQ4li6296I/AAAAAAAAAfg/WZDpoy0lwsE/s1600/DSCN0989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dQF3WJQ0B_Q/TVQ4li6296I/AAAAAAAAAfg/WZDpoy0lwsE/s200/DSCN0989.JPG" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Since our time in South Africa was coming to a close Ashley and I decided to take a tour around the city on the familiar big red double decker bus that can be found in most major cities around the world. We took a seat up top to get the best view of Table Mountain and chatted about how sad we were to leave the city without having climbed it. We visited the World of Birds, the Aquarium and the downtown area of Cape Town before deciding to do an optional excursion through a township called Imizamo Yethu. Apparently we were the only ones brave enough to do this tour, which wasn’t a surprise since townships are known for violence and can also be quite depressing. Actually even Ashley wasn’t so sure about doing it, but she really didn’t have a choice since it was something I was going to do either way. I just love getting an inside look into the way different cultures live, and always find a way to get personal with the people of any country I go to. We stepped off the bus and met our guide who led us up a steep hill and through the township as we bombarded him with questions. “Do you live here too?”, “Can we take pictures?”, “Ewww what is that animal hanging over there?!”, “OMG, who owns that adorable puppy!?” and… “Do people volunteer here?” Ashley and&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;had both wanted to volunteer while we were in Africa and were a bit sad that we didn’t get the opportunity (aside from building the house for the old lady in Botswana, which I wrote about in a previous blog).  Our guide told us that there were groups that came here to volunteer but also mentioned that a man named Kenny would be happy to assist us in checking if any more volunteer opportunities were available. Ashley and I looked at each other with smiles on our faces and asked our guide to lead the way to Kennys office. After about 5 minutes with Kenny; a kind man with a big smile, we knew about all the volunteer opportunities that we could be a part of, and we were excited.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1MGBwvF3EMg/TVQ7kHMmpkI/AAAAAAAAAfo/DH2mVfkVGwU/s1600/IMG_1586.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1MGBwvF3EMg/TVQ7kHMmpkI/AAAAAAAAAfo/DH2mVfkVGwU/s200/IMG_1586.jpg" width="150" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;After two months in Africa, and a flight home that was about to leave in a mere 3 days we couldn’t help but to realize that this was the opportunity we had been waiting for. There was only one problem; we didn’t have anywhere to stay. We asked Kenny if he knew of a cheap place we could rent and after a few phone calls he decided that he would let us stay in his home… free of charge! A miracle! Not only did we have an opportunity to volunteer in Africa, but we had also scored a free place to live. Now all we had to do was cancel our flight home. Ashleys big green eyes got bigger, and an unbreakable smile emerged as I grabbed my camera and took this shot in front of Kennys office. We both knew in this moment that in a few days time our plane would take off with two empty seats, because we would be beginning a project working with underprivileged children that would be sure to change our outlook on life.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KjsT-IbaCjg/TVQ30gZhwpI/AAAAAAAAAfU/DXALFe514yc/s1600/DSC02113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KjsT-IbaCjg/TVQ30gZhwpI/AAAAAAAAAfU/DXALFe514yc/s200/DSC02113.JPG" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"&gt;We immediately went back to our friends house where we had been camping out on the floor and told her the good news. “That’s great that you are going to volunteer, but you’re not staying in Imizamo Yethu; you must be insane.” She told us. Ashley and I took a minute to think about it and realized she was right. It just wasn’t safe for two young, white girls to live in a township. But we were definitely going to stay.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gt49ejbLGjA/TVQ4Le28BFI/AAAAAAAAAfc/4ZY-Pdup3mE/s1600/DSC02117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gt49ejbLGjA/TVQ4Le28BFI/AAAAAAAAAfc/4ZY-Pdup3mE/s200/DSC02117.JPG" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"&gt;So off the three of us went to an Internet café where we ordered three glasses of wine and cancelled our flights home. At least one thing was for sure. We were going to stay in Africa, and we would begin our search for an apartment in the morning. The rest of the night was spent at the Tiki Bar in Tamboerskloof. It was a blur but I know it consisted of a lot of excitement, a few blurry photographs and dancing on tables.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-1797747498267986464?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nEG25CWTX5ZFE9fdEoccfDSXjVI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nEG25CWTX5ZFE9fdEoccfDSXjVI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/xZqd63DsE2E" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/1797747498267986464/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=1797747498267986464" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/1797747498267986464?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/1797747498267986464?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/xZqd63DsE2E/picture-says-thousand-words-ashley.html" title="A Picture Says A Thousand Words: Ashley in Imizamo Yethu" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qjyGfyKWVzw/TVQ6TIOAAzI/AAAAAAAAAfk/Mk2JuQRDcTE/s72-c/DSC_0830.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/02/picture-says-thousand-words-ashley.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUAGQH44fSp7ImA9Wx9UEUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-6040733628323413842</id><published>2011-01-31T20:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-07T22:48:41.035-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-07T22:48:41.035-08:00</app:edited><title>Jamaica</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I normally use this blog to write about my day while it’s fresh in my mind, but there are many places I’ve been that I haven’t written about.&amp;nbsp; Yesterday someone asked me to write about Jamaica. All requests are welcome, and it gives me an excuse to daydream about my past adventures so please request more! I’ve got many more stories to share!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;It’s any reggae lovers dream to visit Jamaica. Being a reggae lover myself, I was no exception. I was of course ecstatic to be in the home of Bob Marley; he is like God to me. And it’s not only Bob, but also some of my favorite artists like Tanya Stevens, Gyptian and Beres Hammond that call this place home. The commercials and pictures I had seen on TV for many previous years mentally prepared me for the most beautiful place on earth. But I was sadly mistaken. As I walked off the ship for the first time I was greeted by men swimming toward the ship in nothing but underwear, once close enough they began pleading with guests for money. They were literally begging from the water near the ship. Can you believe it? Aside from a couple touristy bars and Kentucky Fried Chicken there were only handicapped beggars and drug dealers along the trash filled streets. This was certainly not the Jamaica I had pictured. Nonetheless, being the adventurous girl I am I ventured out many times into this port of call during the 6 months I lived and worked on the Mariner of The Seas. Our ship came into Ocho Rios every other week so I soon got the lay of the land. I found a great Indian restaurant where I often ate lunch, a few shops I would frequent for Bob Marley clothing and a small beach that only locals know about. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDghrG7yAI/AAAAAAAAAek/pqUGUpcNIQo/s1600/IMGP0069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDghrG7yAI/AAAAAAAAAek/pqUGUpcNIQo/s320/IMGP0069.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Another crewmember I worked with knew about this “secret beach”, and so a few of us would go almost every week, careful not to mention it to anyone outside of our friends so it could be our own secret getaway. &amp;nbsp;(I’m sure other crewmembers know about it by now, but I still won’t mention the name because I don’t want it to get popular.) Getting there could prove difficult since most taxi drivers don’t even know about it, we would just tell them to drive towards the waterfalls and as soon as we spotted the barely visible path along the side of the road that led down a steep hill to the beach, we’d ask to get out. Holding hands to steady ourselves on the way down and watching out not to trip on tree roots we would carefully make our way to a beautiful “secret spot”.&amp;nbsp; The beach was perfectly white, the water perfectly blue. Many people ask me where is the most beautiful water I’ve ever seen, and I must say Jamaica is where it’s at! Sometimes we would bring snorkels and go free diving along the reef. I usually found some little Jamaican kids to befriend, and as beers flowed and the smell of marijuana wafted in the air we would sit back and pretend, if only for a couple hours, that we were far away from the ship and able to relax, like we were on vacation. We’d listen to the reggae music blasting from the small radio outside the one tiny wooden stand that sold refreshments and talk about how perfect this place was. I can remember one day trying to find a new way back to the street that was hidden from our site and finding a set of waterfalls. They were so beautiful, cascading down the side of a mountain and over rocks that we were able to climb carefully to the top. We would sit for hours up there, taking pictures and being so content in this little piece of heaven.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDgo0g_qtI/AAAAAAAAAeo/kpQ7tFaxy4Q/s1600/P7260109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDgTO2sacI/AAAAAAAAAec/yk_7X5typwI/s1600/P3150091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDgTO2sacI/AAAAAAAAAec/yk_7X5typwI/s320/P3150091.JPG" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Another place I loved to go in Jamaica was “The Blue Hole”. I can still remember my first time there. It’s pretty far from the port, maybe an hour or so at least, but certainly worth the bumpy and sometimes scary drive. “Oh God, where is he taking us?” I can remember my friend whisper about and hour into the drive through the woods in the middle of nowhere. If the ride there was scary, then when the driver finally stopped it was even more unnerving. Literally on a dirt road at the edge of the woods we were expected to get out of the taxi. As you know I am very a daring girl but if I hadn’t been with a group of friends that day I’m not really sure what I would have done when that taxi stopped. I was scared! One person in the group had been here before so that made me feel better but we still had no idea where we were in reference to “The Blue Hole”. We arranged for the driver to come back for us and then, as if on cue, once the last taxi door had shut a young Jamaican appeared out of nowhere and motioned for us to follow him into the woods. Sounds like a scene from a scary movie, I know. But once we walked about a quarter mile into these woods we came across the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Like a mirage, this immaculate “blue hole” appeared in front of us. A perfectly serene place in the middle of the woods, it could have been a dream. This natural pool was filled with fresh spring water the color of turquoise and surrounded by waterfalls. Caves wove in and out along the sides of the waterfalls and rocks that could be climbed upon and used as diving boards stuck out along the edges. A tree grew near the water and a rope swing was hung on a branch. I could have stayed here all day, but our young Jamaican tour guide wanted to show us more. After a refreshing swim, and a swing onthe rope we ventured further into the woods. There were more pools, more waterfalls, more caves. One of the waterfalls rushed out along a large flat rock and the most daring from the group followed suit after our Jamaican guide running down to the slippery edge of the rock and jumping into the water, I did it too, but only while holding the hand of our guide.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDgo0g_qtI/AAAAAAAAAeo/kpQ7tFaxy4Q/s1600/P7260109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDgo0g_qtI/AAAAAAAAAeo/kpQ7tFaxy4Q/s320/P7260109.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The rock is covered in moss and any slip could mean a serious injury. Since that time, I’ve seen a few of my friends make a mistake on that rock and come up from the water bloody and in pain! There is another dangerous waterfall at the blue hole too. It’s at least 30 feet high and the area below is deep and safe in most parts, but there is still a chance for slip ups if you’re not careful when you jump. Actually the hardest part of the jump is getting to the top of the fall, and once you’ve made it to the top there is not other way down aside from jumping. I did it. It was fun. I lost my bikini top in the water from the pressure but was able to find it before anyone noticed, whew!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDgwAhzPxI/AAAAAAAAAes/maQrPq6xcW4/s1600/P8010182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDgwAhzPxI/AAAAAAAAAes/maQrPq6xcW4/s320/P8010182.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;There are so many more memories from Jamaica that I would love to share but I’ll just take the time to write about one more. Bob Marley’s house. I went with a friend of mine who wears his hair in dreads half way down his back and loves Bob almost as much as me. I was so excited I could hardly stand it. This was a dream of mine. I’ve been in love with Bob’s music ever since I first heard it. My Dad used to play it loud and I can remember playing outside in the summertime as a kid with Bob Marley as my soundtrack in the background. We were really going to Bob Marleys house today. Wow. We didn’t need a taxi to get there because I had met someone in Ochi whose cousin gives tours of Bob’s house; he drove us there. It was another long drive. (Side note: I do not recommend Ocho Rios for anyone going to Jamaica, it is too far from most things and really has nothing aside from the cruise terminal to offer. It can also be dangerous, and most “normal” people would not feel comfortable walking the streets there.) Once we arrived at Bob’s house we got out of the car and walked past marijuana plants growing almost as tall as we were. In the distance we heard a man singing,&amp;nbsp;Buffalo soldier…” and soon met the man with the voice, our drivers cousin. My newfound friend was able to get me in for free, and we began our tour through the small house that Bob Marley grew up in. The guide sang his way through the house, told stories of Bob’s childhood and puffed on a freshly rolled joint. “We’ll share the shelter of my single bed…” our guide sang as he showed us the room, and single bed Bob slept in as a child. My friend and I took a picture (and then got in trouble for) sitting on the bed. I was in heaven. Eventually&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDg3ESxBTI/AAAAAAAAAew/bD817A8Wx9Q/s1600/P8010184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDg3ESxBTI/AAAAAAAAAew/bD817A8Wx9Q/s320/P8010184.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDg3ESxBTI/AAAAAAAAAew/bD817A8Wx9Q/s1600/P8010184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/a&gt;we made our way to Bob’s tomb, which is located a bit further behind the house. My eyes teared up a bit, I’m not gonna lie. Gosh, how I wished he was still alive. I pictured myself at a Bob Marley concert; would have been amazing. As we walked through the tomb I looked around at all the things people had left for him; photos, joints, and trinkets of all kinds. I instantly regretted not bringing something I could leave as well. I decided I would go home and come back next time with the picture I had taken on Hollywood Blvd at his star. I haven’t been back since, but I still keep that picture with me when I travel in the Caribbean just in case.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-6040733628323413842?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;“Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky tacky…” the theme song from Weeds echoed in my head as I woke up this morning to a view of small houses lining the hillside of Coquimbo, Chile. I like to sleep with the curtains of my balcony open so on port days I wake up each morning to a new view. Sometimes it’s the ocean, other times it’s a city, could be a building, or another ship. I just never know until the sun shines on my face and wakes me up to a new scene. With the curtains of the world’s stage already drawn and the first act in motion I get up to begin my day. Typically I watch as tour guides and bus drivers line up outside anticipating the guests that will either pay this months rent with generous tips or make their day miserable with irritating complaints.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDjuh9pgNI/AAAAAAAAAe0/lXMzZokmNgU/s1600/DSC_0527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDjuh9pgNI/AAAAAAAAAe0/lXMzZokmNgU/s320/DSC_0527.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Sometimes an opening act wakes me up before the sun get’s a chance; the typical local band playing on the dock to welcome our ship into port. This is probably my least favorite way of waking up, but nonetheless I can’t help but to stumble out on the balcony in my sleepy stupor to watch as they play cheerfully in their costumes. I sit and imagine everyone on their own little stage as they go about their day, playing their part, and hoping to please the audience around them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Most port days, like today, I go on a tour through the ship. The only downfall to going on free tours is getting a million questions about a city that I may have never been to. In order to avoid this I make sure everyone knows who I am when I get on the bus. “Hello everyone!” I say cheerfully, “My name is Naomi, I am the Art Director on the ship (gotta throw that in there in case my big potential Picasso buyer is on the bus) and I will be your escort today. What that means, is that you can be sure to tell me how much you enjoy the tour, but because I’ve never been here I probably wont be much help with any questions about the port… I do however have a first aid kit so if you need a Band-Aid or ibuprofen, I’m your girl!” today the guests actually applauded after I gave my little speech; that was a first. It made me feel so good that I decided I will always do the same for the tour guides, no matter how crappy they are. And today’s guide was pretty crappy. His grasp on the English language was iffy and his short commentary, punctuated with loud, sharp feedback from the sound system was more of a nuisance than informative. I didn’t mind though, I was reading “Breaking Night” on my kindle and the silence (with an occasional snore from guests) was great for reading. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;We walked around a town square where I people watched. A little girl looked dreamingly into a store window at a Latin style dress, pointing it out to her mother. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;A man rode his bike along the road carrying groceries in the front basket. A boy sat content on his mothers lap eating ice cream. Women unpacked handmade goods onto long tables setting up shop for the day and hoping that some of the obviously American tourists who had just piled out of a bus would buy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;After the square we headed out to a Picso distillery where we took a (way too long) tour and got to try a few types of Pisco. Enter guest complaints here. “Too long”, “I’m hungry”, “Bathroom’s dirty”... I swear I might as well be working with children sometimes. Eventually we moved on to a restaurant where I sat down with a couple from Spain to practice my Spanish. We were served empanadas, strictly one cheese and one meat. And definitely not an option to switch out a meat one for cheese. No catering to vegetarians here, but still really good little treats and with food in their stomachs the guests were a bit more relaxed… for about 10 minutes.&amp;nbsp; “The cake was too sweet”, “Are we going back to the ship yet?” blah blah blah… I looked at my watch and prayed that we going back to the ship because I had to be at work in an hour. The tour had already gone longer than it was supposed to and my heart dropped when we stopped 30 minutes before I had to meet my art movers and everyone piled out of the bus into a busy market. We were still 20 minutes from the port so unless I got a taxi right away I was never going to make it. I talked to a shady taxi driver who offered to take me to the port even after I explained that I only had $1 and a credit card (which they don’t accept). Luckily the tour guide was nearby and told me that he wasn’t a real taxi so I gave up and eventually found another bus that was leaving before ours to go back to the port. Although I was still late getting back I was luckily able to find the art movers (after about 20 minutes of searching, phone calls and freaking out) and the gallery was set up just in time for tonight’s Peter Max exhibition. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Now I am here in my suite getting ready for a few hours rest before getting up again at 4am to pack my offload box (gotta do it according to when I can find help and due to my late arrival from the tour, 4am was my only option). After that, I’ll close my curtains shutting out the world, and spend tomorrow morning sleeping in before opening them again to a new city, a new day and a new scene to watch and be a part of.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-3744939895027430169?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;I got off the ship today and walked around the town of Chaco, about 15 minutes from Pisco. I met Lisa (assistant cruise director) on the bus and we spent the day together walking around and taking pictures of children, buildings and scenery. I got some great shots, and had a chance to practice my Spanish with some locals. After our walk we decided to grab lunch and found a nice spot on the beach to have some local food (rice and veggies with an avocado salad) and Pisco Sours, which could easily be my new favorite drink.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDlwIMQoEI/AAAAAAAAAe4/KuW82I9rrco/s1600/DSC_0668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="211" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDlwIMQoEI/AAAAAAAAAe4/KuW82I9rrco/s320/DSC_0668.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDmB_Up8xI/AAAAAAAAAe8/7XQB3k6Ptuo/s1600/DSC_0679.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="211" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDmB_Up8xI/AAAAAAAAAe8/7XQB3k6Ptuo/s320/DSC_0679.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;They taste so good, and when served cold are quite refreshing. After two each Lisa and I could feel the effect! We began making friends with the servers Gloria and Doris and gave them our e-mails.&amp;nbsp; While we were talking I noticed two little girls scurry underneath a table nearby where their parents were selling bracelets and cultural trinkets. I got a picture of them peaking out from beneath the curtains covering the “door” to their casita and one of them motioned for me to come over. A few minutes later I was under the table with them sitting on a mound of colorful table cloths and pretending to be a kid again. I keep stickers with me when I go out in case I see kids so I picked out a heart shaped one and put it on the jewelry box that was decorating their little hideaway. We spoke in Spanish for a few minutes before I went back to join Lisa at the table. Lisa is just like me in that she can befriend anyone; she had been chatting with the couple sitting next to us who were from Australia. “Happy Australia Day!” she told them, and they thanked her and told us they were out celebrating. They are one month in to a seven-month backpacking trip. I asked if they are going to be in Rio for Carnival and (surprise, surprise) they will be! Since I plan to head that way after I get off the ship I took their e-mails and plan to meet up with them. How perfect! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDmMUh7W_I/AAAAAAAAAfA/I82Vr2CL8-U/s1600/DSC_0713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDmMUh7W_I/AAAAAAAAAfA/I82Vr2CL8-U/s320/DSC_0713.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;After lunch Lisa and I bought a couple things from the girls I had been playing with and then walked along the beach passing restaurants and children selling jewelry or ice cream.&amp;nbsp; We tried to walk ON the beach, but after a few steps the hot sand burned my feet so badly I had to run back to the cement. Soon, we found Sansom, a sweet man who makes woodcarvings, masks and jewelry. We each picked out a mask and chatted with the kids who were sitting at a table in the shop. “De donde eres?” little Juan Carlos asked me, “Los Estados Unidos, Las Vegas!” I told him. “Vivvvaaaa Las Vegas!” he broke out into song. Soon the other three boys sitting with him were singing too; singing, and smiling as I took photos of them. We had spent so much time picking out masks that it was already time to head back to the ship so we bid our new amigos farewell and walked back to the bus, which dropped us back off at our home away from home, the Seven Seas Mariner. It was a simple day, but probably one of my favorites so far on this trip. If you ask me, no tour or day at the beach can top communicating and interacting with the locals of the countries we visit.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-7555969876481646560?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/p__gwy-nMi_TZMIGNEKM8sRMomY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/p__gwy-nMi_TZMIGNEKM8sRMomY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/Thj0WgwlG3A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/7555969876481646560/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=7555969876481646560" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/7555969876481646560?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/7555969876481646560?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/Thj0WgwlG3A/peru.html" title="Peru" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDlwIMQoEI/AAAAAAAAAe4/KuW82I9rrco/s72-c/DSC_0668.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/01/peru.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0QERH07cSp7ImA9Wx9WGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-6858474307033760831</id><published>2011-01-25T11:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T11:55:05.309-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-01-25T11:55:05.309-08:00</app:edited><title>Universe Hear Me</title><content type="html">I am sitting here at a place called Sofa Cafe, in Peru. It's a cute little spot with great customer service; the staff is so sincere and friendly it honestly just made my day. And I needed it, badly. After a sale from last night fell through, leaving me with half the commission I should have had for this cruise I had a rough start this morning. How amazing that a friendly face and a 2 minute conversation can turn around someones day?! The past week I have been sending everyone I meet lots of happiness, just through my mind, silent wishes of happiness. The universe is continually working its magic and the more happy thoughts you put out, the more will come your way. Turns out the lady who seated me used to work on a cruise ship, small world! She suggested some vegetarian options for me and even let me try a local juice (cheicha) and food (yuca with queso) for free! So here I am sipping on a Pisco Sour (the Peruvian alcoholic drink of choice) and enjoying a local dessert (Lucuma-the kind you don't want to eat because it looks so pretty) while surfing the net, checking emails and reading my friend Ashley's blog. Ashley is a writer in NYC and her blog "Universe Hear Me" is sure to enlighten many on spirituality, which we are both so much into. You can read her blog at&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://universehearme.blogspot.com/"&gt;http://universehearme.blogspot.com/&lt;/a&gt; and please do because her thoughts and words are &amp;nbsp;contagious.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-6858474307033760831?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wchWb5OZcCVBHVT3e1ULSMoMqwU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wchWb5OZcCVBHVT3e1ULSMoMqwU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/7zhyfi99wRI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/6858474307033760831/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=6858474307033760831" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/6858474307033760831?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/6858474307033760831?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/7zhyfi99wRI/universe-hear-me.html" title="Universe Hear Me" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/01/universe-hear-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUAFQXY7fSp7ImA9Wx9WFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-2469457429370321512</id><published>2011-01-20T21:28:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-20T21:28:30.805-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-01-20T21:28:30.805-08:00</app:edited><title>Barbados</title><content type="html">&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Its funny how both guests and crew on Regent ships have never been to many Caribbean islands, yet they have been to almost every other region of the world. Most cruise ships frequent these islands consistently, rarely leaving for new itineraries. I myself have never been to Barbados; a surprising fact for a girl who has spent the majority of the last four years cruising the Caribbean. &lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;But I spent my day here like I would in any other Caribbean port…at the local crew hangout. In Cozumel it’s called the “No Name Bar”, in St. Thomas it’s “The Crew Center”. In Barbados it’s “The Boatyard.” I went with Alejandro, a cute guy from Ecuador with curly brown hair and dimples to die for.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;We met up with people from the ship and everyone spent the day tanning, swimming and jumping from the diving boards and rope swings. I left early to get back to work but it was a much needed, much too short, refreshing day in the Caribbean.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-2469457429370321512?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PTGqCWwSB6LjD0USTZykT2vwCt8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PTGqCWwSB6LjD0USTZykT2vwCt8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/SvTVsIgppLE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/2469457429370321512/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=2469457429370321512" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/2469457429370321512?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/2469457429370321512?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/SvTVsIgppLE/barbados.html" title="Barbados" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/01/barbados.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUMARHw5eSp7ImA9Wx9WGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-1400386752383902572</id><published>2011-01-20T16:11:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T12:30:45.221-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-01-25T12:30:45.221-08:00</app:edited><title>Brazil</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TT8uT4Iui6I/AAAAAAAAAeE/6pZKq0-Bgqw/s1600/DSC_0042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TT8uT4Iui6I/AAAAAAAAAeE/6pZKq0-Bgqw/s320/DSC_0042.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I wanted to spend a week in Rio de Janeiro before joining the ship but due to unforeseen circumstances I had to cancel my flight and received a new one from my company. Of all flights, they chose to send me on the red eye from Miami leaving the night before I was due to join the ship. In all honestly, I can’t complain. My hotel in Miami was beautiful and I was able to go a Miami Heat game thanks to the generosity of one of the players. BUT, a week in Brazil would have been amazing. Instead I settled for two days, and I was determined to make the best of them.&amp;nbsp; After settling in to the ship I decided to venture out for the night. If I had thought it through a little better I probably would have realized that there wasn’t anywhere to go nearby and I probably wouldn’t have been standing out on the street looking like a hooker for 40 minutes until some people I knew from the ship came out and invited me to go with them.&amp;nbsp; We took a cab, the one with the driver who I had been chatting with for the past 20 mins and ventured out for the night. The driver pulled up to a large square filled with people and the 6 of us piled out of the cab and walked into the crowd. We walked past bars and little booths with men selling caipirinhas. Of course I ordered one right away, but as I walked away happy with my purchase I realized that the guy had not given me the right change. I didn’t want to bother my newfound friends with my mistake and I wasn’t too sure of my math skills with the Brazilian real exchange rate so I just forgot about it and kept enjoying my time. Eventually we found a reggae spot on the street with a man playing loud music and selling CD’s. I guess it was an illegal operation because after about 10 minutes of dancing and trying to talk to the DJ in Spanish (it’s the closest I can get to Portuguese) the cops came and make them turn off the music and leave. We nonchalantly made our way back towards the square where I had bought the drink, and since I was ready for another I decided to ask the man for the right change. Luckily he remembered me, and with the help of a English/Portuguese speaking Canadian who was nearby he gave me my change, which I used to buy another drink. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TT8x-OKRUoI/AAAAAAAAAeI/gATu0Xw--vo/s1600/DSC_0121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TT8x-OKRUoI/AAAAAAAAAeI/gATu0Xw--vo/s320/DSC_0121.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The next day Luciana (my aunts student in State College, who lives in Rio) picked me up at the port and showed me around the city. She was a sweet girl and it was fun riding around with her and checking out the city. I had spent the morning visiting favelas (slums) which gave me a completely different view of this area so seeing how “normal” people live made me feel more at home. The beaches were beautiful and aside from the intense heat and having the song Copacabana stuck in my head all day I really enjoyed it. &amp;nbsp;The world famous sidewalks in Capacabana were so beautiful, and there were surfers out and about enjoying the waves... and coconut juice sold at the stand along the beach! Luciana also showed me where the huge bleachers are for the Carnaval Parade, which I am hoping to return for in March. After touring around Luciana and I got lunch at the mall, I know, not very “Brazilian” of us, but we really didn’t have much time since I had to get back to the ship for work. All in all it really was a perfect day to end my short stay in Rio, leaving me with a taste of the city and a yearning to return.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-1400386752383902572?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dgcL1FcCTvDSTo3q8mv585hRsws/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dgcL1FcCTvDSTo3q8mv585hRsws/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/no23aQl72GU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/1400386752383902572/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=1400386752383902572" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/1400386752383902572?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/1400386752383902572?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/no23aQl72GU/brazil.html" title="Brazil" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TT8uT4Iui6I/AAAAAAAAAeE/6pZKq0-Bgqw/s72-c/DSC_0042.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/01/brazil.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUcGQnk-fip7ImA9Wx9WGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-4459807109325687630</id><published>2011-01-19T17:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T12:23:43.756-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-01-25T12:23:43.756-08:00</app:edited><title>Building Botswana</title><content type="html">The website is up and running!! Thanks so much to all who have already put in their donations! If you haven't yet, please do!!! &lt;a href="http://www.buildingbotswana.org/"&gt;www.buildingbotswana.org&amp;nbsp;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FZ27i0iFXrkWIwqrN8ZcEqacDp0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FZ27i0iFXrkWIwqrN8ZcEqacDp0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/BKcLMJTo91g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/4459807109325687630/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=4459807109325687630" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/4459807109325687630?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/4459807109325687630?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/BKcLMJTo91g/building-botswana.html" title="Building Botswana" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/01/building-botswana.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkcNRn49eip7ImA9Wx9UEUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-8373517289116965456</id><published>2011-01-19T17:37:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-07T22:54:57.062-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-07T22:54:57.062-08:00</app:edited><title>Columbia</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDntr93i8I/AAAAAAAAAfI/wVNQcHuoDsg/s1600/DSC_0477.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDntr93i8I/AAAAAAAAAfI/wVNQcHuoDsg/s200/DSC_0477.jpg" width="132" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"&gt;It was my first time in Cartagena, Columbia and rather than going out on my own I took a tour with the ship. It was a shopping tour, but the shops we were taken to were nothing special. I enjoyed the bus ride most. We past an old fortress, which seemed to be the meeting spot for lovers of all ages. Each little window along the long and tall stone wall was filled with couples. Some young, some old, but all looking at each other lovingly and enjoying a few hours of conversation while overlooking the ocean and perched high above the locals walking along the sidewalks.&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"&gt;We also took a walk through a village in “Old City” with quaint cobblestone streets and colorful homes aligned on each side. Tourists rode by in horse drawn carriages, allowing me to slip into a scene from the olden days when this was the only means of transportation. Vendors had small stands on the street where they sold food. I decided to taste the local cuisine and asked a vendor “cuanto cuesto?” before taking out $2 for the cheese tortilla.&lt;/span&gt;It was a nice day out, although the only shopping I did on the “shopping tour” was at a pharmacy where I bought toothpaste and deodorant (a few unusually difficult things to find in some ports).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-8373517289116965456?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XhcURB3LrBGAjW2c4HvVCveVRKk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XhcURB3LrBGAjW2c4HvVCveVRKk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/T8MWy3iDsV8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/8373517289116965456/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=8373517289116965456" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/8373517289116965456?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/8373517289116965456?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/T8MWy3iDsV8/columbia.html" title="Columbia" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TVDntr93i8I/AAAAAAAAAfI/wVNQcHuoDsg/s72-c/DSC_0477.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2011/01/columbia.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkEHSH04fSp7ImA9Wx5aF0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-299986600408594526</id><published>2010-11-14T13:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-14T13:37:19.335-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-11-14T13:37:19.335-08:00</app:edited><title>Building Botswana</title><content type="html">The Building Botswana website is under construction and should be ready by the end of the month! It is currently linked to my Building Botswana blog... check it out! www.buildingbotswana.org&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-299986600408594526?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UGzLQPjAmwn-0qkyZMblOyxDlU8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UGzLQPjAmwn-0qkyZMblOyxDlU8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/idYOcbe0Iws" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/299986600408594526/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=299986600408594526" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/299986600408594526?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/299986600408594526?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/idYOcbe0Iws/building-botswana.html" title="Building Botswana" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2010/11/building-botswana.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkIGSHkyeSp7ImA9Wx5aF0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-7429319620293357788</id><published>2010-10-13T22:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-14T13:35:29.791-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-11-14T13:35:29.791-08:00</app:edited><title>PLEASE READ: HELP "BUILD BOTSWANA"</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaVi-kvLjI/AAAAAAAAAX8/WR72lzw0srQ/s1600/DSC_1887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="132" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaVi-kvLjI/AAAAAAAAAX8/WR72lzw0srQ/s200/DSC_1887.JPG" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;It was almost dusk when I decided to venture across the street from my hotel into a small village in Kasane, Botswana. This is a village where most people live in dirt floor shacks.&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;A village where the elephant population far exceeds humans, and a village in need of help.&amp;nbsp;My plan was to make friends, take pictures and see how these people lived.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaVlwN4PsI/AAAAAAAAAYA/HlseOvUXw40/s1600/DSC_1977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="132" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaVlwN4PsI/AAAAAAAAAYA/HlseOvUXw40/s200/DSC_1977.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Two minutes into my walk I met Lowani, a kind hearted man with no job, but great energy. It wasn't long before I had explored the whole village and was having dinner (eating my hands) with him and his friends over a small fire.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;The people of Botswana have a kindness I have never seen before. I traveled to Kasane to go on a safari, but ended up sleeping in a tent in Lowanis "front yard". It was incredible to see how these impoverished people live (no running water or electricity) and after spending a week with them I decided that I need to do something to help them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaVu8Xee7I/AAAAAAAAAYM/GEvnWIVc5FA/s1600/DSC_2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaVu8Xee7I/AAAAAAAAAYM/GEvnWIVc5FA/s200/DSC_2016.jpg" width="128" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaVlwN4PsI/AAAAAAAAAYA/HlseOvUXw40/s1600/DSC_1977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaVu8Xee7I/AAAAAAAAAYM/GEvnWIVc5FA/s1600/DSC_2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaWDc9aSxI/AAAAAAAAAYg/rDHajAGC3J0/s1600/DSC_0087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Lowani told me it was grandmothers dream to start a school so I am taking it upon myself to help make her dream (and mine) come true. It will be a small two room pre school for the many children currently out on the streets because they can not afford to go to school, this will provide an education for them free of charge.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Aside from the fact that I have seen first hand the extreme living conditions here and the adorable children that will benefit from this project, another big reason why I am doing this is for Becky Tigue. Becky has been one of my best friends since second grade. Currently, she is in the hospital sick (but getting better!) with Cancer. In her last blog she asked that everyone "take time to smell the roses", that brought tears to my eyes. Here I am sitting in an Internet cafe in Zimbabwe, soaking wet from walking around Victoria Falls, while millions of people are living on the streets, or sick, or just plain unfortunate. It made me realize how lucky I am.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaZ-MG6PKI/AAAAAAAAAYk/TX98w9Ko3J4/s1600/DSC_2084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaZ-MG6PKI/AAAAAAAAAYk/TX98w9Ko3J4/s200/DSC_2084.jpg" width="132" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;And now, it's time to give back. I know that many of you are like me and are also looking for ways to give back so I hope that you will take this opportunity to do just that. I have opened a bank account for donations, and an address in Kasane where you can send school supplies (see below).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I already have volunteers to build the school so the expenses should be minimal. I am looking to raise $12,000 to cover costs of building materials and teacher training.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;But of course this is just the beginning, I am also looking into starting a non profit organization that may help with government funding, meals for children, and a way to make this sustainable. In the future we may need to look into volunteer teachers etc. but I will keep you all updated on that as it comes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Thank you so much for any support you can give! Every penny (and pencil) helps!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaVoaUUb6I/AAAAAAAAAYE/hM7a9iWvqo4/s1600/DSC_1978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="color: black; float: right; font-family: Times; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 1em; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaV3hbuKGI/AAAAAAAAAYU/tLazLDT7m4E/s320/DSC_2073.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 11px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;This kids could go to preschool with your help!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: Times; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaV3hbuKGI/AAAAAAAAAYU/tLazLDT7m4E/s1600/DSC_2073.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Build Botswana (for school supplies)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;P.O. Box 663&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Kasane, Botswana&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Southern Africa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Bank of America (for monetary donations)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Account number:0050430159&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Routing numbers:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;122000661 (paper)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;121000358 (electronic)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;026009593 (wires)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;"Whatever the mind can conceive... it can achieve..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="photo photo_none" style="clear: both; color: #333333; line-height: 16px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaVoaUUb6I/AAAAAAAAAYE/hM7a9iWvqo4/s1600/DSC_1978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaVoaUUb6I/AAAAAAAAAYE/hM7a9iWvqo4/s400/DSC_1978.JPG" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-7429319620293357788?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YZKE-2DWuvNJm0knLonP4szg70M/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YZKE-2DWuvNJm0knLonP4szg70M/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YZKE-2DWuvNJm0knLonP4szg70M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YZKE-2DWuvNJm0knLonP4szg70M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/CRdWk8aGm04" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/7429319620293357788/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=7429319620293357788" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/7429319620293357788?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/7429319620293357788?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/CRdWk8aGm04/please-read-help-build-botswana.html" title="PLEASE READ: HELP &quot;BUILD BOTSWANA&quot;" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaVi-kvLjI/AAAAAAAAAX8/WR72lzw0srQ/s72-c/DSC_1887.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2010/10/please-read-help-build-botswana.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0EHSH8yeip7ImA9Wx5UEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-2203454810633189274</id><published>2010-10-13T21:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-14T15:33:59.192-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-14T15:33:59.192-07:00</app:edited><title>An update for my friends</title><content type="html">&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1135351043"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaJZ2MYsMI/AAAAAAAAAXY/PgdRCr9ONbQ/s320/DSC01926.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1135351043"&gt;In Botswana with friends Gofha, Ashley, Tshepiso and Thato.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;Many of you have been asking me for an update so here it is!&lt;br /&gt;
I've been in Africa since June. I came to visit some friends and experience the World Cup. Wow. It was AMAZING! So amazing in fact that I have already decided I will be attending the World Cup 2014 in Brazil (anyone else want to come along?!).&lt;br /&gt;
After the World Cup was over I decided to spend a few weeks traveling through Mozambique, Botswana and Zimbabwe. Nothing can top Botswana! I stayed in the capital of Gaborone for a few days with some amazing girls and we had a blast! Then I went to Kasane, a town where the elephant population far exceeds people. My friend there told me "elephants are our cows" and it's so true! You see them (or their poop) EVERYWHERE! Lions, baboons, warthogs etc. just roam free here. Ahhh Africaaa! I met some pretty amazing people in this little town, and it is now my goal to build a pre-school there (as you may have seen in my previous note) so that will be a major undertaking but I WILL do it!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaRhQKHX6I/AAAAAAAAAX0/YSVRnWyry-k/s1600/IMG_1765.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaRhQKHX6I/AAAAAAAAAX0/YSVRnWyry-k/s320/IMG_1765.jpg" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1135351043"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;After traveling I ended up back in Cape Town, where I started and was all packed and ready to go home July 18th, when I decided to take a last minute bus tour of the city. I made a quick stop in a "township" (a slum/ghetto) and fell in love with the kids there playing in the dirty streets and then running up to me for hugs and high fives. I stopped by the community center found they were looking for volunteers.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaRe3H7eHI/AAAAAAAAAXw/gm8FrrrsE-8/s1600/DSC_1013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaRe3H7eHI/AAAAAAAAAXw/gm8FrrrsE-8/s200/DSC_1013.jpg" width="132" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;I went to a internet cafe, canceled my flight, and decided to volunteer at "Little Lambs" pre school/day care and "iKhaya Le Themba", an after school care for kids with HIV affected parents or other difficult situations. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1135351043"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;I take an hour long bus ride in the morning from Cape Town to the township. The road hugs the mountainside and goes along the coast for most of the ride, it's BEAUTIFUL. Then I walk about a mile (uphill I might add) to the township where I get to see my little lambs and after school kids!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1135351043" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaKiEGVWuI/AAAAAAAAAXc/OnAJpHTkCVo/s200/DSC_2027.jpg" width="132" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Frankie&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;Of course I have my favorites; FRANKIE: A one year old who adores me almost as much as I do him, every day I can expect to see him running towards me, falling at least twice on the way and then smiling, dimples popping out right as he reaches my arms.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaSjQVMglI/AAAAAAAAAX4/vVK7TBo0LGQ/s1600/DSC_0934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaSjQVMglI/AAAAAAAAAX4/vVK7TBo0LGQ/s200/DSC_0934.jpg" width="132" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Ovayo&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;OVAYO: A five year old with her four front teeth rotted out and an outtie belly button that sticks out at least two inches. Her favorite past time is wearing and modeling my sunglasses everyday at recess. She is trying so hard to learn English but "I'll see you tomorrow" seems to be the only thing she remembers.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1135351043" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaL_D0-54I/AAAAAAAAAXk/d2KETK7cmKY/s200/DSC_2148.jpg" width="132" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Zanathemba&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
ZENETHEMBA: The smart one, who has a list a page long of all the professions she wants to be when she grows up including presenter and actress. One afternoon she told the class "we must listen to our teachers because education is the key to our success!" Well said sista!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaL8yO5ClI/AAAAAAAAAXg/vsl7HVo7_Xs/s1600/DSC_1456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaL8yO5ClI/AAAAAAAAAXg/vsl7HVo7_Xs/s200/DSC_1456.jpg" width="132" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Ziyanda&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaL8yO5ClI/AAAAAAAAAXg/vsl7HVo7_Xs/s1600/DSC_1456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/a&gt;And ZIYANDA: She just always pops outta nowhere and calls out "Naaaooommi!" when I'm walking down the street. A beautiful child inside and out, who is one of my favorite models in my pictures.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So it will be bittersweet when I leave this Friday and have to say goodbye to Africa, my very first apartment and all the friends and children who have made the past four months an unforgettable experience.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-2203454810633189274?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UtGY9KD24aLXKmxwbURjCfRQIoo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UtGY9KD24aLXKmxwbURjCfRQIoo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UtGY9KD24aLXKmxwbURjCfRQIoo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UtGY9KD24aLXKmxwbURjCfRQIoo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/xcC30e9kxwc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/2203454810633189274/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=2203454810633189274" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/2203454810633189274?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/2203454810633189274?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/xcC30e9kxwc/update-for-my-friends.html" title="An update for my friends" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaJZ2MYsMI/AAAAAAAAAXY/PgdRCr9ONbQ/s72-c/DSC01926.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2010/10/update-for-my-friends.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUcCRXk7fSp7ImA9Wx5WGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-1884758638292556545</id><published>2010-10-01T00:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-01T01:51:04.705-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-01T01:51:04.705-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="south africa" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="cape town" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="world cup" /><title>Bay Magazine Article</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWekn2lQOI/AAAAAAAAAWg/trmd95881VA/s1600/DSC_0045.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWekn2lQOI/AAAAAAAAAWg/trmd95881VA/s320/DSC_0045.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522994870050177250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few days ago my friend Alexis suggested that I get a blog... it was then that I remembered I had one. The past year has been filled with many journeys to countries across the globe, and it is a shame that I wasn't as stringent about writing as I should have been. Luckily, my recent trip to Africa with Ashley (a writer) revived my creative juices and I kept a detailed journal of our trip, which I will be blogging about soon. For now though, I am posting an article I wrote for Bay Magazine while living in Cape Town. (Look out for more blogs on Mozambique, Botswana and South Africa coming soon!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was my last day in South Africa when I decided to hop on the big red bus I had seen driving around Cape Town. Little did I know at the time, this last minute idea for a quick tour around town would result in me cancelling my flight home and give me a whole new outlook on life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWUkG5wfmI/AAAAAAAAAWA/jHPVaszbqkM/s1600/DSC02028.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWUkG5wfmI/AAAAAAAAAWA/jHPVaszbqkM/s320/DSC02028.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522983866088848994" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I came to South Africa for the World Cup. I wanted to be a part of it, wanted to see, hear and FEEL it. And I did. The city was full of color as flags waved proudly along every sidewalk, “Waka Waka” inevitably echoing in the distance and the energy, almost visible swirled through the air. &lt;br /&gt;Now, with the World Cup vibe long gone, the sound of vuvuzelas just a distant memory and the tourists safely home in their respective countries, local South Africans have gone back to the daily grind. All that the World Cup had to offer is seemingly over. Or is it? What many South Africans fail to realize is that the impact this country made through the World Cup is in fact not over at all. It may be just the beginning… &lt;br /&gt;I sat on the bus with a feeling of emptiness, knowing that it was my last day in this enchanting country. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWf2LlRIjI/AAAAAAAAAWo/_zB20OI0oBA/s1600/DSC_0575.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWf2LlRIjI/AAAAAAAAAWo/_zB20OI0oBA/s320/DSC_0575.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522996271210635826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Tomorrow I would be on a plane back to Las Vegas where my family was already anxiously awaiting my arrival. I pushed the thought of leaving out of my head and looked over at the stunning views. The bay was glistening blue and the curving roads naturally hugged the mountain side. In my heart I knew that it wasn’t my time to go home yet. There was something that I still needed to do here, I just wasn’t sure what.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWWHkB8LMI/AAAAAAAAAWI/PmXxB7cY8Hk/s1600/DSC_0834.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWWHkB8LMI/AAAAAAAAAWI/PmXxB7cY8Hk/s320/DSC_0834.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522985574714846402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided to take the optional excursion through Imizamo Yethu, and the rest is history. Somewhere between a little boy coming out of nowhere to give me a hug and watching the women with babies on their backs, I felt my heartstrings reach out and become attached to this township. It was as if I had manifested a reason to stay in Africa.  &lt;br /&gt; So, here I am, three months later volunteering at the Little Lambs Preschool and iKhayalethemba after school program. I spend most of my days reading books, helping children learn English, wiping runny noses and inevitably struggling to pronounce the children’s names. My proudest moment was when a young girl taught me how to say "my little ball" in Xhosa. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWbX6QQ__I/AAAAAAAAAWY/q7mVPk3a7bI/s1600/DSCN1418.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWbX6QQ__I/AAAAAAAAAWY/q7mVPk3a7bI/s200/DSCN1418.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522991353116557298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Every day I am mesmerized by the happiness on the faces of these children, who come from nothing. It seems as if most of us, who think we have it all aren’t really grasping what’s truly important in life. It’s not the material possessions that make us who we are but something deep inside each one of us, impossible to label with a hefty price tag. The people of the township have a genuine kindness. Everyone shares what little they have, friendships are strong and there is a true sense of community. Back home in America, you’re lucky to know your neighbors, and it’s a rarity for someone to give without expecting something in return. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWZz1LnXVI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/QlDRTIDaNXQ/s1600/DSC_2066.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWZz1LnXVI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/QlDRTIDaNXQ/s320/DSC_2066.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522989633767955794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am grateful to be working with the children of Imizamo Yethu, and can only hope that they are learning as much from me as I am from them. So, next time you feel like South Africa has just gone back to its old ways, think of me;  a twenty-something-American-girl who was looking to see what the World Cup hype was all about and ended up with an apartment and an experience that will last a lifetime.&lt;br /&gt;By Naomi Kateri Baldwin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-1884758638292556545?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XzqJWG8Xt_yAbycDkGgCVNiCI1Q/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XzqJWG8Xt_yAbycDkGgCVNiCI1Q/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/9rNlzWwxeVE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/1884758638292556545/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=1884758638292556545" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/1884758638292556545?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/1884758638292556545?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/9rNlzWwxeVE/bay-magazine-article.html" title="Bay Magazine Article" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TKWekn2lQOI/AAAAAAAAAWg/trmd95881VA/s72-c/DSC_0045.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2010/10/bay-magazine-article.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE8GQ3gzcSp7ImA9Wx5UEE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-1603331525880802966</id><published>2009-06-07T09:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-13T23:13:42.689-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-13T23:13:42.689-07:00</app:edited><title>Muscat, Oman</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; clear: left; color: black; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaeLRqimbI/AAAAAAAAAYs/NForjdvzZzs/s1600/P5220977.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaeLRqimbI/AAAAAAAAAYs/NForjdvzZzs/s200/P5220977.JPG" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I woke up to a knock on my door around 11am... Dezi (my assistant) had made it onboard after a short flight from Dubai to Oman. Her medical records had been recieved and she was able to sign on the ship.&amp;nbsp;We decided to go for a quick walk outside to a nearby Souk (market) that I remembered from the last time I was here.&amp;nbsp;As we left the ship we decided to take the shuttle to the exit of the port, there were two guys in the front of the shuttle and one of them was just finishing work so he asked us if he could show us around the town. Ali is currently in school to become a tour guide and he wanted to "practice" with us.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Of course we never say no to adventure so we followed Ali to his car and began a trip around the town. We were so happy to be in an air conditioned car and out of the 114 degree heat!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaeI9bzYYI/AAAAAAAAAYo/yh8l0CeCQzM/s1600/P5220975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaeI9bzYYI/AAAAAAAAAYo/yh8l0CeCQzM/s320/P5220975.JPG" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I asked if he could put on some music, so he popped his cassette in the tape player and explained that this song is a single (in arabic) about a man whose girlfriend had left him, he likes to listin (and sing along) to this song because the same situation recently happened to him. I still dont really understand how these arabic guys meet girls, and how they know what they look like under all thier black mask like clothing, but I decided not to ask questions today.&lt;br /&gt;
We continued on our journey and visited the Sultans Palace, a beautiful 5 star hotel, the beach and a few look out points where we took awesome photos.  After our sightseeing tour we went to the market which we had originally ventured out to see. There we picked up some local food and decided to go for a picinic at a nearby park. We found a perfect spot at a picnic table in the shade, and spent some time just hanging out and enjoying the food before Ali took us back to the ship. Nice day.&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaeNc6yrrI/AAAAAAAAAYw/djsoxjxh6sg/s1600/P5220991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaeNc6yrrI/AAAAAAAAAYw/djsoxjxh6sg/s320/P5220991.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-1603331525880802966?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4ZTcY6KwkvZIVatYNehoaB-0OiI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4ZTcY6KwkvZIVatYNehoaB-0OiI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/KJyZMxRSIo4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/1603331525880802966/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=1603331525880802966" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/1603331525880802966?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/1603331525880802966?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/KJyZMxRSIo4/muscat-oman.html" title="Muscat, Oman" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLaeLRqimbI/AAAAAAAAAYs/NForjdvzZzs/s72-c/P5220977.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2009/06/muscat-oman.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0IMRXY-eSp7ImA9WxJXE0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-1287933263784913914</id><published>2009-05-21T10:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T11:33:04.851-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-07T11:33:04.851-07:00</app:edited><title>Dubai, UAE</title><content type="html">This morning I got off the ship early and went to fed ex to send in my reports from last cruise. I went to Emirates Mall, had lunch and watched the skiers and snowboarders as they went down the indoor slope. I took a drive to Palm Island, which is a man made island that jets out of Dubai in the form of a palm tree and visted Atlantis, where I spent time walking around the large aquariums filled with various sea creatures. The traffic was pretty bad on the way back to the ship but I kept myself occupied by looking at all the scenery, the tallest building in the world towered above all the other buildings as locals waited inside air conditioned bus stops in this amazing city. This is a new city and it will stop at nothing to be the very best at everything it sets out to do. Nothing is impossible here. When I got back to the port I shopped around a bit and found a few white gold/diamond rings that I couldn't resist. I have been wanting diamond rings for awhile so I figured why not treat myself? I bought two rings and a pair of earrings, leaving my bank account at about half of what it had been the day before, but still very happy. Later that night I went on a night city tour with one of the guys who works for me. He had been asking me to go out in port for a few days now, and since I thought the tour would be fun I decided to go. It was nice, but he kept talking when the tour guide was talking so I didn't get to hear everything about the city, as I would have liked. When I returned to the ship I decided to sit outside and wait for Dezi (my friend/associate) to get here, she arrived around 12pm and we decided to leave her things at the port and wait to sign her on in the morning because if she got on board that night she would not be allowed out until the next day, of course we had big plans for a night out in Dubai so that would have been unacceptable. Soon we made it to a nightclub not too far away. We did a quick walk around and then took a seat near the bar. A few minutes later we had a "new friend" Adrian at our table who kept us content by buying rounds and providing good conversation, Adrian is from Singapore, here in Dubai on business. It wasn't long after we met Adrian that we noticed two other guys passing our table "nonchalantly" and making faces to each other. Finally, when Adrian went to the bathroom, they asked us to join them at their table in the VIP section. (Some how I ALWAYS end up in VIP) We chatted with them for the rest of the night (Adrian came along too) and when the club closed we decided to look for another spot to go, but everything was closed (which figures considering it was a Wednesday night).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShbKSoUcBhI/AAAAAAAAAT0/KBotX4TY_Do/s1600-h/P5210955.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShbKSoUcBhI/AAAAAAAAAT0/KBotX4TY_Do/s320/P5210955.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338676829703898642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;At this point it was getting very late and the guys we were with needed to get a hotel because although they already had a room at the $4,000/night Burj Al Arab 7 star hotel, they are big sports stars in Australia (whom I would later google and find on wikipedia) and the media at the hotel would have a hay day if they knew what time they came in at night. Dez and I also needed to find a hotel since she couldn't sign on the ship until 8am so the four of us ventured all over Dubai with no luck in the end because in order to stay at a hotel you must have your passport, which I didn't because the ship keeps it on board and the guys didn't because theirs were at the Burj. I was not too happy about this especially when the guys offered to get us a room at Atlantis (at $510/night) which would have gotten us into their world renowned water park and beach the next day, but after about 30 minutes of pleading with guest services we were denied. By the time we had gone through the whole city trying to find a place to stay it was getting light out. We sat in an air conditioned bus stop (it is HOT in Dubai) for a while trying to figure out what to do or where to go when we realized that people were already awake and going about their morning routines, it was almost 8am! &lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShbLCQ4pmqI/AAAAAAAAAT8/G0t4_ABmG74/s1600-h/P5210963.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShbLCQ4pmqI/AAAAAAAAAT8/G0t4_ABmG74/s320/P5210963.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338677648047053474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;"Taxi!" we yelled, and hopped in a cab back to the ship. I'd like to say that we got back to the ship, Dezi signed on and we slept the rest of the afternoon, but that would be too perfect. Instead, since Dezi's medical files were not in tact we spent the whole morning/afternoon trying to get them faxed to the ship with no luck, maybe because it was 1am in the US when we needed them. We were out of luck. Dezi could not sign on. She had to get a flight to Oman (our next port of call) and hope that in the mean time her files would be sent through. By the time we got her a flight and had everything figured out I had to set up for our cruise expo, which I was hosting. Still no sleep. I am not sure how I managed to stay awake and host the event with my usual fun and upbeat manner, but I did it. After expo I had two hours to sleep before my gallery hours, which I took full advantage of until I woken up by the nurse who had good news, Dezi's files are here (too bad she's not) so she will be able to sign on tomorrow in Oman. I am now here in the gallery, practically falling asleep but still glad that although my day was SUPER long and SUPER stressful at least I didn't have to go to a sports practice all morning like our Austrailian sport star friends!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-1287933263784913914?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BrIr-8g15TFw_CqJexCwVoAY7gg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BrIr-8g15TFw_CqJexCwVoAY7gg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~4/fJ76iAbuwEg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/feeds/1287933263784913914/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6632077932187135690&amp;postID=1287933263784913914" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/1287933263784913914?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6632077932187135690/posts/default/1287933263784913914?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ConfessionsOfAWorldTraveler/~3/fJ76iAbuwEg/dubai-uae.html" title="Dubai, UAE" /><author><name>Naomi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10576761551392152792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/TLAQx6aJwsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/QU9aexotfvU/S220/naomi.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShbKSoUcBhI/AAAAAAAAAT0/KBotX4TY_Do/s72-c/P5210955.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://naomi-kateri.blogspot.com/2009/05/dubai-uae.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkEMR30ycSp7ImA9WxJRFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632077932187135690.post-223137569315662386</id><published>2009-05-17T08:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-17T12:31:26.399-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-05-17T12:31:26.399-07:00</app:edited><title>Bombay (Mumbai), India</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBb0YheGII/AAAAAAAAARk/lmufdM4lhQQ/s1600-h/P5160706.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBb0YheGII/AAAAAAAAARk/lmufdM4lhQQ/s320/P5160706.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336866513928198274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't know where to start exploring Bombay so I asked my driver to take me to the Gateway of India, which is a commemorative statue, tourist spot and great place to take photos. I took a few photos and turned to head back to the taxi when a young Indian girl came up to me and asked me where I was from, "America" I told her and then her entire family came up and started making small talk with me until they finally got the courage to ask for a photo. &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBcjmm8rxI/AAAAAAAAARs/TLFM54619E0/s1600-h/P5160709.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBcjmm8rxI/AAAAAAAAARs/TLFM54619E0/s320/P5160709.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336867325163122450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Of course, I kindly obliged and before I knew it people were lined up to take pictures with me. Cameras flashed in every direction and I felt like a celebrity as I smiled and posed with each family. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried again to head back to the taxi but this time was stopped by a young girl in a yellow Saree, "I won't ask to take a picture with said, my name is Lisa, whats your name?", I told her my name and we talked for a few minutes as I walked toward the taxi, "Today the Police took all my flowers that I was selling here, the police are very mean, they beat anyone selling things here, no matter if it is child" she explained,&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBgDOQ8RbI/AAAAAAAAASU/7rcbj1R8u6M/s1600-h/P5160719.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBgDOQ8RbI/AAAAAAAAASU/7rcbj1R8u6M/s200/P5160719.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336871166919067058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;"I live here with my brother and sister and I take care of them, want to see where we live?" I figured the taxi driver could wait a few minutes so I walked with the girl to where she lived... a construction site on a street corner. She walked me over to a group of ladies who sat on the cement cooking food in a small pot over a fire. As I walked up from one side, a toddler in nothing more than a small shirt with one button walked up from the other side and stood behind the lady cooking, about one second after she stopped walking she peed, right there, next to the pot on the cement. I wanted to say "oh watch out she is peeing!" but then I realized, they probably all pee right there. There is no bathroom, no shower, no bed, just cement and dirt. &lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBdhF5gzlI/AAAAAAAAAR8/BrMwvPrRh4w/s1600-h/P5160716.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBdhF5gzlI/AAAAAAAAAR8/BrMwvPrRh4w/s320/P5160716.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336868381534506578" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was appalled. "Why don't we go get you some food to cook with?" I asked Lisa, and she showed me to a market down the street. I told my driver to come back in an hour, and in the mean time ended up spending $30 on rice and milk for her to cook with for the next few days. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the market there were only local people from the slums of Bombay. I watched people selling fruits and vegetables, chicken coups filled with live chickens and men working inside cutting them up into pieces. I watched as one man walked out of the coup and rubbed his bloody hands on a kid standing near the doorway. There were goats just wondering through the streets, stray cats and dogs taking cover in the shade of the store fronts and flies everywhere. I saw children running in the streets, carrying babies, playing games, and throwing dirt on each other. &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBeCmY4pRI/AAAAAAAAASE/l339XE7Z7zM/s1600-h/P5160728.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBeCmY4pRI/AAAAAAAAASE/l339XE7Z7zM/s320/P5160728.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336868957191709970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stopped to take a few photos and ended up staying for quite a while. I played ball with them and let them see the pictures I had taken. One boy was sitting along a fence away from the other kids and when I took his picture he smiled so big, it was like I had made his day. &lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBkSOpE-kI/AAAAAAAAATM/hrOzyIwDyaU/s1600-h/P5170847.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBkSOpE-kI/AAAAAAAAATM/hrOzyIwDyaU/s200/P5170847.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336875822764849730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I later asked him to be in a picture with me and some other kids, and I could tell that he was so happy to be a part of the group, he is not very outgoing and I think he spends most of his days watching the other kids play. There were a few kids who were the opposite, very outgoing and always jumping in front of the camera, they were all adorable. One boy asked how he could get the pictures and I told him I could mail them if he knew his address. Surprisingly he did know the address, so he wrote it down and I promised to send them when I got home. I left after that, and went back with Lisa to where she lived, on the way I picked up some more milk for an emaciated lady with a beautiful little girl and a baby who was also living in the streets. When I gave it to her she handed it to her daughter, Shelia who balanced it on her head as she held her baby sister Jaya. &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBfkFdh3JI/AAAAAAAAASM/tSo_XQR4laE/s1600-h/P5160771.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBfkFdh3JI/AAAAAAAAASM/tSo_XQR4laE/s320/P5160771.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336870631979998354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Of course I snatched that baby right up and held on to her for a while until I thought I felt her poop on me. Jaya was no more than 6 months old, skinny like her mother and dirtier than a rugby player after a rough game. I took pictures of them too, and decided that I would go back to the ship and print them out so I could bring them back the next day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; When I came back the next afternoon I found them right away in the same spot as before, only this time the Dad was there too, making some kind of toy out of string and colorful paper. They smiled when I gave them the pictures, and one lady gave me a bracelet she had just made from flowers.  Before I had left the ship I searched my room for anything I could give my little slumdog millionaire friends, but there wasn't too much... a dress, some cashews, an umbrella and some sanitizing wipes. I used the wipes to clean the babies feet and hands, but then I realized that was pointless because now they are wet, and she is just going to be in the dirt all day anyway, so it probably just made it worse. I gave Sheila the umbrella and she covered herself and her sister with it, so I played peek a boo with them for a minute. I saved the cashews and the dress for the market kids, and said goodbye to the street people before going on my way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got to the market and immediately found the kids, most of them in the same clothes from the day before. &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBgqRk5-aI/AAAAAAAAASc/Z0qMLE4Gd_Y/s1600-h/P5170803.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBgqRk5-aI/AAAAAAAAASc/Z0qMLE4Gd_Y/s320/P5170803.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336871837823007138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;They snatched the pictures out of my hands and ran around showing everyone they could. I spent the rest of the day there, playing ball again and talking with the kids. The little boy who gave me his address the day before kept asking for more and more pictures and was starting to get on my nerves until he invited me to his home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is always my goal to see inside an authentic home (the street corner didn't count)when I visit a new country, and so far I have succeeded in Egypt, Jordan, Oman, Thailand, and now India. I walked in and met his mother and two sisters. Right away his mom turned her attention from whatever she was cooking and handed me a glass of water, it was from the faucet and I was sure it would make me sick but I drank it anyway because I didn't want to make them feel bad. She took a seat on the floor and we all started talking. I asked who all lived there and they told me the mom, dad, 3 girls and one little brother. &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBhKWy1ncI/AAAAAAAAASk/zGFE4SWpkdc/s1600-h/P5170850.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBhKWy1ncI/AAAAAAAAASk/zGFE4SWpkdc/s200/P5170850.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336872388979432898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A few minutes later the little brother walked in and I realized that this little boy was not a boy at all... but a girl! Whoops! Her name was Pretti, which really just doesn't fit her tomboy attitude, but maybe she'll grow into it.(Actually, I didnt believe that her name was Pretti and I even pretended like I forgot her name in front of her mother so that I could hear her tell me.) Guatam, the neighbor came in and explained to me what Pretti's mom was cooking. He is about my age and I already knew him from when I was playing outside with the other kids. After a few minutes I was served a small lunch of bread and tea, "I'm a vegetarian" I told them when they tried to serve chicken. "Oh, I am sorry but my mom cooks chicken because it is Sunday" Pretti told me, "but next time when you come back she can cook some vegetables for you".&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBhufBQPKI/AAAAAAAAASs/wIr9NaUAUU4/s1600-h/P5170853.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBhufBQPKI/AAAAAAAAASs/wIr9NaUAUU4/s320/P5170853.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336873009662672034" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I told them I would be back one day, but now I had to get back to my taxi that was waiting for me back at the gateway (about a 20 minute walk from the market). Gautam offered to take me on his bike and ran out the back door to get it started. A few minutes later I was zipping through the back alley ways of the slums back to the gateway. I thanked Gautam and got in the taxi, but was annoyed when the driver tried to make me go shopping so he could get a commission and wouldn't take me for a drive around the city. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way back to the ship I started racking my brain of ways to help these poor people living in the slums when all the sudden I realized that I could hire Gautam to work for me. I told the driver I would pay him extra if he took me back to the market place so he turned around and I went to find Gautam. &lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBiSiwC06I/AAAAAAAAAS0/9zQuBuKhv-w/s1600-h/P5160752.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBiSiwC06I/AAAAAAAAAS0/9zQuBuKhv-w/s200/P5160752.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336873629139522466" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; When I found him he invited me into his home, which was a room smaller than some peoples showers. We sat down to talk and I made him my offer. I told him that I would pay him 49,000 rupees a month to work for me on the ship moving artwork, I explained that this is not an easy job and that he would work long hours and have to study very hard to know all the artists names and works. He told me he was up for the challenge. In fact he said "I will do anything you ask me to do", which I can already see myself reminding him of in a few months when it's a sunny day in St. Maartin and he wants to get off the ship but has to work. Until now he has never left India. He coached football at a couple schools and taught dance, but he is looking for a job now because the kids are out of school and he needs to make money to give his sister who is getting married. &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBjZe707gI/AAAAAAAAATE/VjOQyF8ZdiA/s1600-h/P5170849.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBjZe707gI/AAAAAAAAATE/VjOQyF8ZdiA/s320/P5170849.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336874847885913602" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;He didn't have an email address so we went to an internet cafe and I set him up with a gmail account. I made him close out internet explorer and re open it like 3 times just to be sure he would remember how to use it and told him to check it every two days while I figure out how to get him a visa and passport. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next we stopped at a cafe for a soda and I explained a little more about the job. "I think God sent you to me" he said, "because when I got back to my house I was thinking about how you work on a cruise ship and that I wish I could work on a ship, and then you came back!". "It's the power of positive thinking", I told him. He must have been thinking that at the same time I was trying to think of ways to help his neighborhood. After we left the cafe Gautam showed me around Bombay, much better than my stupid taxi driver would have. He showed me where the buildings had been bombed by terrorists last November, and told me how scary it was, we stopped at the beach for a few minutes so I could stick my feet in the water and he even stopped when we heard loud music coming from one of the slums, which turned out to be a wedding. We parked the bike and he led me through the alleys along with all the other people who were singing and dancing along with the drums. I danced along with about 5 Indian women all the way through the winding passageways until I realized it was getting late and I had to go back to the ship. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On our way out I heard gun fire, and was petrified until Gautam told me it was only fire crackers. Along the street was what looked like another celebration,lots of people, more dancing, music and fire crackers going off (scaring the shit out of me everytime, even after I knew what it was).&lt;br /&gt; &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBi3eHppCI/AAAAAAAAAS8/hb-1kvOAWbU/s1600-h/P5160726.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GPq4TFXxfmY/ShBi3eHppCI/AAAAAAAAAS8/hb-1kvOAWbU/s320/P5160726.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336874263551517730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; As we got closer I noticed that there were men holding a colorful basket over their heads as they danced along the road, and when we passed I saw inside the basket was a body. This was a funeral. Gautam explained that anytime a teenager dies there is a big celebration at the funeral, this is their last party. The processions are only silent for older people. It was very emotional going from a wedding celebration to a funeral procession in a matter of 5 minutes, but Gautam didn't seem affected, I figure it's something he sees everyday. The last thing we saw before he dropped me off was a movie being filmed, Gautam made me nervous as he took his eyes off the road and looked back to see who the stars of this Bollywood film were, he didn't recognize them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got back to the ship I thought about how lucky I am to lead the life that I do. It's really not worth being stressed about little things, when so many people don't even have a food or a bed to sleep in. I am thankful to have learned so much about Indian culture in just two short days and am hoping it all works out to bring Gautam on my next ship.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6632077932187135690-223137569315662386?l=naomi-kateri.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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