Camp

I'm on holiday in Africa and it's all going very well.


I've seen lions shagging on safari, nearly had my lunch pulled out of my hand by a vulture, handled a over-friendly boa constrictor and haggled eager shopkeepers into selling me their tat at a financial loss.

I've seen some of my friends develop comical sunburn patterns and I myself have got mosquito braille all over my ankles and my face has gone dark enough for me to be mistaken for a local ethnic.

The last two weeks have been spent mainly in campsites in Kenya & Tanganika (think up to 14 hours on a truck along dusty pot-holed roads, long-drop pit toilets, eating stew in the dark from metal plates and sleeping campsites with hyenas running through them).
In a few days time I'm starting another two week camping tour round South Africa (whose main claims to fame, everyone so kindly informs me, are gun crime, racial intolerance, and nice wine).


However, due to slight oversight on the parts of both my travel agent & myself, I'm spending this middle week in a luxury resort on the paradise island of Zanzibar. All food is included (you may recall that I see "All You Can Eat" as a personal challenge - Octopus is surprisingly filling); the experience is slightly spoiled by the waiters CONTINUOUSLY asking if I'm OK (I'm eating, of course I'm OK).

More importantly ALL drink is included (I am trying everything on the cocktail menu - have got to G so far and might not last the week)

To compensate for this Bacchin... Bachanae... pigging out, I've tried to participate in lots of sporting activities. However I usually need a short period of snake-like digestive sleep after each meal, so all I've really managed is AcquaGym & Water Polo - and I'm put to shame by the saggy old retired women (at least 2 of whom are called Beryl).

The rooms are amazing; the maids even sneak in while you're at dinner, and spray the room with mosquito repellent & fragrance & leave a creepy note saying "Sweet Dreams" on the pillow of the huge four-poster beds.

Everyone here is in couples. It would be an ideal place to bring your girlfriend/wife/husband/boyfriend (or combination of the above if so inclined).

But for that reason, I can't really properly hang out with anyone.
I do have the OHCM for company on the beach when it's quiet, but it's not the same as a real person...


And so, bizarrely, I find myself missing the students, travel agents & random foreigners that I was hanging out with on the truck... and look forward to meeting a new bunch in a few days.


I think I'll go drown my sorrows in the bar/pool.

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Yes, the irony is not lost on me - I'm whinging about being on holiday at a fab sunny beach resort; feel free to remind me when I'm doing 6 months of Chronic Pain clinics or spending Xmas Day on call!