Schiphol dee doo dah

Allllllllmost home! Just waiting in snow dusted Amsterdam (thanking my lucky stars I flew KLM and not British Air.) Long layover broken up by free internet and whimsical Dutch Christmas rapping (no, not wrapping.) This trip started 23 hours ago now when I left the lodge for Fort Portal, where I met a woman who wound up on the same flight with me to share the 7 hour ride to the airport. She was at the lodge because she works for a Major US Corporation that buys our vanilla and is making a few short webfilms about it; pretty neat, and very neat that we got to split the car cost.
Uganda just does not feel like the holidays, but we started to get a taste of it as we drove past all the shack shops that sprouted Charlie Brown style fake trees in the last few days and stringy tinsel. Landing in snowy Amsterdam (at dawn...which was at nearly nine. oy, winter) threw me right into it. Honestly, long live commercialization; this airport is super cheery and I am contentedly sipping tea and plugging into my embarrassingly large holiday music collection. Of course, I recognize that my glee at feeling the chilly air blow in the jetways is a luxury one can have when one has a sunburn from floating in the pool too much yesterday, but let's not dwell.

Morning stars

It is not yet six here, but for some reason I am completely up and alert, so here I am blogging by the end of the oil in the lamps I neglected to blow out last night. I don't conciously feel particularly dramatic about leaving, (I'll be back in two weeks after all), but I can't deny I tend to dramatically wake up before dawn my last night in a place. I can't walk to the Eiffel Tower or to the beach here, in fact since the moon has set and it is pitch dark I am pretty sure the only thing dramatic I could achieve by walking anywhere off our hundred meters of path would be to fall in the lake.S'alright, like I say, this isn't really a moment of drama anyway (unless you count the 40 hour epic of Getting Home From Ndali: a Saga in At Least Six Acts) and at any rate watching the stars from the porch is about as melo as you could ask for. If I had to pick a nerdy tourism goal (some people travel l to birdwatch, some for architecture, some for music, someone came here who photographs flowers apparently; in reality, let's be honest, I travel to eat) it would be stargazing. I'm told the stars are nothing here compared to Botswanan desert and I know I've seen open ocean stars, but they are still literally breathtaking, as in I catch my breath when I walk out on a clear night unprepared. Or morning in this case. Just dazzling; I wish I could photograph it somehow but that wouldn't recreate the feeling of being under the starry dome. I think I've said this here before, but it feels ancient-these are the stars as Greek writers saw them, as everyone did - suppose until the Industrial Revolution. Since I know I can't convey what it feels like, just let me say, be sure to get yourself somewhere remote on a clear night with no moon. It is especiallt striking now because I'm not used to seeing the stars at this time; the sky is all spun around so Orion's passed overhead to theWest, Jupiter has traveled from high overhead to staring in my window, I'm seeing the Big Dipper for the first time here (apparently the Brits call it The Plough which is rather more poetic) and I think the Milky Way has come into view, though I'm not positive you can see it this time of year.

Ha! In the time it took to thumb out the above (I'm blackberry blogging, so apologies for formatting) the stars have gone and the rim of the ridge above the lake has gone red. Only Jupiter is left, now. [EDIT: Apparently that can't be Jupiter, and must be Saturn or Venus. Who knew.] We'll have our usual understated dawn in a few minutes, the same time, give or take about half an hour, that it is every single day of the year. How strange that in two days my days will be shortened, not to mention altogether different in most ways you can think of.

I'm going to consider reading myself back to sleep; good night and if you are on the east coast, till soon!

The most beautiful afternoon

The sun is out and the view is clear for the first time in at least a week, and it is the nicest afternoon here I can remember, but the staff and I are alone to enjoy it. My hosts are in Kampala, and the only guests tonight haven't yet arrived, so the staff is relaxing and playing cards and I am doing a cryptic crossword by the pool while crowds of swallows swoop and dragonflies waver against the backdrop of mountains. They are almost clear enough to see the snow today; I'm glad I got to see them again before I go home. They are so large and encircling that when you can see them it is hard to imagine how it is they disappear, and when it isn't clear enough to see them it is hard to believe anything that imposing is there, and what lines are visible blend with the clouds.

Home in a week!

Webale-giving

Thanksgiving is a time for loved ones, good times, gratitude, and embarassing amounts of food. Although mine was a little light on the first (in person anyway, and new friends excepted), items two through four were in abundance. While I generally try to go as local as possible (which is not actually very local when you live at an English Country Home-styled lodge aimed at upscale foreign travellers with a pantry stocked in equal amounts of peanut butter, Marmite, and Courvoisier), it is fun to try to bring some authentic Americana in once and a while, especially since even out of the many foreigners around most are English or from other parts of the Commonwealth or Eurozone.

I had come prepared with a can of 100% authentic and artificial Ocean Spray cranberry jelly, and recipes for Mark Bittman's pumpkin pie (pumpkin is a common veg here) and Mom's famous Apple Tart (original source: Boston Globe Magazine circa 1990.) I was wholly outdone by a group of (extremely spaced out, twenty year foreign service vet) ladies from the American Embassy who through slightly shady backchannels involving a military plane had procured a twelve pound Butterball turkey, origin stamped as North Carolina, I kid you not. Kinda makes you proud, doesn't it? To think of that turkey gobbling around a thousand others who all saw nothing but some Carolina dirt and the rear end of the next turkey over but finding its glorious final rest overlooking the green foothills of the Rwenzoris and Lake Mwamba 6,000 miles away. Proud or slightly nauseous at the expended carbon smell, especially given that their are plenty of perfectly fine turkeys within 3K...but hey, one out of a few hundred meals isn't bad considering the average.

Anyway, I spent a pretty idyllic Thanksgiving (actually the day after to give Betsy Butterball time to brine). Morning was usual reading and notes making over tea followed by Terry Pratchett and Savannah Dry (see earlier entry) by the pool, and Scrabble with Kay the gravelly voiced possibly burnt out Texan to whom stuffing is akin to a military campaign, a campaign complicated by the head chef's difficulty with her accent (sh

e ducked out of the kitchen at one point and hushedly asked "Please, what is 'buddah?'")

Afternoon was pie making (a big deal in the kitchen! They are excellent cooks, but don't often have an advisee baker, so this was a teaching session. I felt properly puffed up.) Mom's apple tart came out perfectly in the end.

Baking was enhanced by the gift of a proper Manhattan courtesy a former Brookly

n speakeasy bartender stopping in on his way to Congo to research his book on Dandyism. (Not kidding, and yes, he was. A feat when you are travelling over these red dusty roads.)
Dinner was a solid success, though the Brits in attendance were a little nonplussed not to mention the staff's feelings who had never heard of the holiday, the starter was an incongruous green papay

a salad, and the pumpkin pie was an utter flop (I think the pumpkins here are maybe just a bit too different; some a

djustments must be made), but the tart was a big hit (if possibly the most expensive with most well traveled ingredients tart of all time), I advised them in the nick of time that thanksgiving potatoes are to be mashed, Kay got sloshed enough to forgive the unavailability of celery for her stuffing, and generally too much delicious food was enjoyed merrily by all.
Dinner was followed by Wizard of Oz and, happily, Blues Brothers on the projector, at least until the solar ran out, and even for the last of us an early bedtime. I still don't think staff grokked at all the Thanksgiving thing ("So it is like Christmas we have here?" "Yes. But...we also have Christmas.") but they were definitely in support of how early the work day ends when the last dinner serving is at five instead of eight or nine, so really good times for all.

Hope your holiday was at least as good! Any good stories?

In all seriousness, it felt a very timely holiday, since I feel just made out of thankfulness for my time here. I feel the gift of it every single day. Being away also makes me realize how many amazing people are in my life, and I can't wait to see or at least exchange emails with many of you soon. Sending love, gratitude, and the very best wishes across the continents and oceans until then!