Although I’m not ministering to others, and my whole experience wasn’t really religious-related, I have to say that’s how I came to feel about this trip. The idea had begun nearly seven years prior, and there was a constant voice always telling me to do this. And despite a job, a relationship, or a fabulous apartment two blocks from the ocean, I couldn’t escape the feelings that I should be unemployed, single, and somewhat homeless for a year. I felt that I couldn’t NOT do it. And as the idea swelled in my head, signs (and friends) kept urging me to just do it. I began to doubt that I could ever feel fully happy in life if I didn’t take that year to see the world.

So I did it. And because of that constant voice, after I’d made the commitment, I never once doubted my decision. The voice stopped. There was no nagging feeling that I was supposed to be doing something else. I felt sure of my life for the first time in years.

Now that it’s over, though, I wonder what was the point of it all? I’m pretty scared that all I’ve got to show for it are a few new friends and some envy-inspiring photos.

I have to admit, though, that despite the fact that I’m still somewhat unemployed, single, and homeless, I feel pretty good about having taken this little vacation. I really think there was a reason for it. What? Well, now, that’s just not clear yet. But, really, is life ever?

Me…a year ago

Fabulous way to end my journey, Egypt was. Perhaps I enjoyed it a bit more than some of the other ancient sites I’ve seen this year because I had to learn a lot more about it way back in elementary school gifted class. (Yes, I was “gifted”…scary…I know) Seriously, though…when something fascinates you when you’re in the single digits and you finally get to see it decades later, it’s pretty fab. And then I even got to snorkel in the Red Sea. GORGEOUS!

But enjoy these last few pics because this is the end of the line, folks…more from stateside soon.

Here’s the Egyptian version of it…and you can get a little bit of a taste of what our next-table neighbors were like the whole dinner cruise. Yeah…when my sister and I picked up our bags to go on the deck and watch the city lights they frantically tried to stop us from leaving the boat telling us we couldn’t get off the boat yet and that the doors were locked. Really…I had no idea that I couldn’t get jump off the boat at any time…

And while reading a story in The Best American Travel Writing 2007 I came across this line by Edward Hoagland, written in 1966: “The Canadians are a muted version of Americans, lacking our worst and also our best qualities.” Hmmm…agree? I’m pretty sure I do.

But no passing up Mackers in Egypt. I got this double-cheeseburger meal for about $2.98. Yum. And they even had hot mustard sauce. Double yum.

Zambian side of Victoria Falls…

Zimbabwean side of the Falls…

What is it with California? Is the fruit really better out there?

Seriously. First there were the California Raisins. Now “Californian Frooty” drinks in Zambia? (OK a bit of a leap, I admit) Really, now. I have to say after living in California for four years, I don’t see how the fruit merits that much attention.

Apparently the monkey agreed with me. As soon as I took this picture, he hopped down from the tree and snatched my fake “polony” sandwich and left me with just my fruit drink. Blasted monkey.

Yeah…it kind of tasted like Busch. Or what I remember Busch tasting like the one time I had it five years ago.

Can you tell what animals are with me in the following pics?

Before I even met him, I had an inkling of what I might be in store for. The night before he boarded the bus the guide and I had played “guess their nationality” for the three new clients joining the tour. As soon as I saw the name “Larry” I claimed him for my country. Seriously…have you met any Larrys from China? I think not. But Larry from the US? Yep. (but no, the other two clients weren’t his brother Darryl and his other brother Darryl)

Sure enough, the next day, two super-sized middle-aged Americans — Larry and his wife — huffed and puffed their way onto the bus. Barely seated, they began excitedly talking about their hunting safari they’d been on the last few days. When our guide asked where they were from, Larry happily answered “California” and then with a newly placed disgusted look quickly began adding, “but they might as well call it Mexi-fornia the way all the…”

“What part of California?” I cut in, trying to avoid 1) my getting into an angry argument with him and 2) his embarrassment when he realizes that two seats behind him is an American named Ricardo.

Later someone on the tour said they made them think of the people in Michael Moore’s Bowling for Columbine.