Here I am in Windhoek. At a shopping mall. In an internet cafe. Surrounded by tweens playing networked first person shooter games with each other. Speaking English. It could almost be Jersey, though it doesn't feel quite American in some hard to identify way. . . OK, maybe not impossible to identify -- I'm pretty sure that Jersey doesn't have an early twentieth century church at the corner of Fidel Castro and Robert Mugabe streets.
I had intended to explore "downtown" Windhoek for a couple of hours, but a torrential downpour began just after I stepped inside Hosea Kutako International. From the plane window, I'd seen two roads stretch razor-straight across the desert for as far as the eye can see from thirty thousand feet. The rain shower lasted just long enough for me to get through immigration and claim my baggage, making for a gorgeous rainbow over the hills on the ride into town.
Met a few members of the tour group so far, and they seem cool. They're all Canadian, and have promised to make fun of me a lot for being American, though they acknowledge that being from SF gives me a few brownie points. And they're already talking about going out tonight after our intro meeting. All in all, it feels like a good start to this phase.
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