Putting A Square Peg in a Round Hole

No, the title does not refer to me trying to fit in in any non-white country. In actual fact I have experience in backward countries where the inhabitants lack civilisation, having visited America when I was eleven.

What I am really referring to is the slight problem I am faced with in having chosen the bag for my travels before actually working out how much stuff I need. So now I have quite a lot more luggage than will actually fit in my bag.

See?

I have already had to sack off important things like nail clippers and underwear, and am now coming to terms with the fact that I will probably only be able to take a slimmed down version of my sewing kit. Which means if I get anything more than a ripped off button, it is likely to be the end of the embattled garment.

One item which is definitely not too big to fit in my bag, however, is my wallet. It is now in 'prepare to be stolen' mode, which means the likes of my Tesco Clubcard and expired Blockbuster membership card have been taken to a safe haven elsewhere, and even my off peak open return to Stratford has unfortunately found its way into the dustbin.

In fact, the only things left in my fake Lacoste wallet - which I bought of a street urchin in New Delhi for 100 Rupees (about £1.20) back in the day - are my credit cards, all of which have a diminishing credit limit left, and all the cash I have managed to acquire over the weekend. So after wasting a couple of hours in the nearest beer garden this afternoon, it'll just be my cards left. Which obviously isn't much use, because they'll all be blocked as soon as I get to country anyway.

But that is by the by. More important is the fact that I actually have everything - perhaps more than - I need for a jolly to the world's poorest continent for as long as my good friends at NatWest will allow. And I'm quite glad to be going now to be honest, because it's a damn sight cooler in South Africa than on the arid plains of Central Essex at the moment.

So I go on Wednesday, which means my next post will be from somewhere a fair distance from Albion - so expect missing letters, @ signs everywhere and pleas for money very shortly afterwards. 

A Tingling of Nerves

Nine days to go, ninety-nine things left to do. And seemingly there are a fair few things that I won't be able to sort out before I go. Like finances:

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Yes, can I give you notice of my future locations so my card won't be blocked?"
"I'm afraid not, we haven't done that for about two years now."
"So what's the procedure then?"
"I can give you a number to call if your card is blocked whilst abroad."
"Right. And how likely is that?"
"It varies from country to country."
"Ok, but the chance is going to be higher in Sub-Saharan Africa isn't it?"
"As I say, it varies, just ring that number in the case of complications."
"Helpful."

So basically, rather than being able to tell the bank where you are going to be so they won't block your card, you have to wait for them to block it and then call them to unblock it. In every country.

Mr Bank Man assured me that just because I was going to Africa, it does not mean I am more likely to get my card blocked. Because obviously NatWest are entirely oblivious to the high levels of corruption, fraud and extortion in the likes of Zimbabwe and South Africa.

So I probably won't use my card. Instead I will withdraw $3,000 in cash before going and carry that around in my back pocket all the time. Remember I have no plans to get mugged, so this is a flawless plan.

It is fair to say that I do have a few nerves starting to creep in, alongside the obvious burgeoning excitement. I am lapping up the experiences of anyone else who has been to the region, and all seem to have encountered mugging, assault or near death at some point.

Unfortunately, none of my contingency plans have received much acclaim - especially those involving assuming the role of Leo di Caprio in Blood Diamond, or pretending I have been sent by the British government to be the new Governor of Rhodesia. It seems I shall actually just have to keep my head down and get taxis everywhere. Better than a kick in the face, I suppose.

So between being bored by salesmen in Blacks whose only experience of travelling is ambling up the pig track on Snowdon to repeatedly having days where I cannot move either of my arms due to a syringe-happy nurse, things are starting to take shape. Not long to go now - not long at all.