How do You Like Your Zebra Cooked, Sir?

It has been a long, long day. I showed up at the U.S. Embassy in London at 8:00 on Monday morning. They didn't open until 8:30, so I had some time to get a cup of coffee and another fantastic English Breakfast(TM).

Unfortunately, they couldn't add pages to my existing passport because it had water damage and the cover was separating from the spine. So, they issued me a brand NEW passport! It only has 5 pages, and is only valid for 12 months (temporary passports are usually only good for 3 months, but South Africa requires 6-12 months on a passport for entry). Anyway, I had a brand-new passport in less than 2 hours. Way to go, U.S. Embassy!

After gathering my luggage from the hotel, I headed to Heathrow Airport and checked in. I found out that the plane was 1/2 empty and got my choice for seating. Then it was off to the ServiceAir business lounge for a bit of Web surfing and a couple of glasses of wine before my flight to Johannesburg.

The flight to J-burg was 10.5 hours. A damn long flight, but I've been on even longer flights. The good news is that I had a window seat, and there was nobody sitting next to me. The bad news is that we were two hours late taking off. The guy who fueled the plane didn't complete the appropriate paperwork, and we were grounded until he submitted the correct form.

When we arrived in J-burg, I had 20 minutes to get from my gate to the next flight to Windhoek, Namibia. It wouldn't have been so bad, except South Africa decided to put an immigration booth between me and my next flight! Usually, when transferring to another international flight, one just goes to his gate and gets on the plane. Not so in South Africa. They wanted to see my flashy new passport and put in a stamp. There was a long line to get that stamp...and the clock was ticking.

One thing that surprised me at first, and then started to really piss me off, was that some people thought that they could walk to the front of the queue and butt in line! After I watch this happen a couple of times, someone piped up and said to one of these jokers, "Excuse me! The line starts back there!" The guy looked at him and said, "My plane is boarding."

At this point, I had to jump in. "ALL of our planes are boarding!" to which several people started saying, "Go back to the end of the line!" There would be no more queue-jumping this morning!

I literally ran to catch my next flight. Some Chinese guy was sitting in my assigned seat. He was none too happy when I told him to move. Considering that the plane was mostly empty, and I could have sat anywhere, I can understand his frustration. But rules are rules. Just because we're in Africa doesn't mean that the rules of civilized society go out the window! "Bad China Man! No lo mein for you!" I said. That caught him off-guard!

When we landed in Windhoek, I was sweating a bit. Not only because it was hot, but because I was about to lie to immigration officials; an act that could very well trigger a process where I wind up working on a chain gang under the hot Namibia sun. You see, technically, I am here on business and that would require a business visa stamp in my passport. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to send off my passport to get this special stamp...so I had to enter the country under the guise of being a mere tourist...not the globe-trotting, high-powered, wealthy business executive that I am.

I chose my immigration queue very carefully; it needed it to be staffed by someone who appeared sympathetic and perhaps easily manipulated. When my turn came, I was standing in front of Immigration Officer Sari, a middle-aged African lady sporting a few extra pounds around her mid-section. I had memorized a few details that every tourist to Namibia should know, and asked her if the wildlife was active this time of year. I found out that it's baboon mating season. Huh. I also learned that Officer Sari has a daughter who studied in the U.S. and that she's expecting her first grandchild. She stamped my passport and handed it back to me with well-wishes for my holidays. Sometimes, it helps to be able to pour on the charm!

When I went to the baggage claim area, I was accosted by some crazy man with a horrible Spanish accent. "You American, no? You come with me!" He grabs me by the arm and starts leading me towards the door. "Come, come!" he yells as he leads me along. I'm totally confused and decide to break his grip on my arm. He's only about five and a half feet tall and looks like he weighs about 140 lbs. I can squash him like a Nigerian dung beetle if I must.

As I'm weighing my options for a quick escape, he starts to laugh and says, "Robert...it's me...Mario! hahahah! You should see the expression on your face! Hahaha!"

Mario is our distributor in South Africa who is also responsible for the accounts in Namibia. Though I had talked to him on the phone many times, we'd never met in person. My boss and Kirsty, Mario's right-hand lady, had put him up to this. They all thought it was a great deal of fun watching me being accosted in this manner after 20-some hours of straight travel.

I will have my revenge. Until then, on with the story...

My bags didn't make it from J-burg. No surprise there, as I had such little time for my connecting flight. We headed straight to our hotel where everybody was able to shower and change clothes. I was able to shower, but had to put back on the same clothes I'd been wearing for two days. Ewwww.

Then it was off to meet with our largest client in Namibia, the Ministry of Education. We spent several hours with them as they proudly showed off how they use our forms and scanning equipment. They've got quite an interesting operation and it seems to be very well-run. They have a lot of the same problems as our customers in other parts of the world (e.g., cheating, occasional power outages, etc.), but they've got their operations down to a science.

With business done, it was time for dinner. We were taken to a wonderful place called "Joe's," which is very much like something you'd expect to see in an Indiana Jones film. The restaurant is mostly open to the sky. There are dozens of tables, most covered with a thatched-roof. Narrow corridors wind between the tables to connect one area of the restaurant to the other. Thousands of empty bottles of Jaegermeister line the walls. Lights are strung about on chords that hang from the bare wooden braces that support the thatched roofs. Most tables had candles burning, which didn't seem particularly safe around all the free-flowing booze and highly flammable building materials.

Over the years, I've eaten some pretty exotic foods. Duck foot soup in China, teriyaki duck tongue (also in China), raw fish intestines (China, again), and broiled duck brains (once again, China). Tonight's menu featured a host of exotic meats including zebra, crocodile, ostrich, and kudu (a type of antelope). I decided to order a skewer that includes a chunk of each animal.

I was asked how I prefer my meat to be cooked. "Medium rare," was my response. Red in the center, and pink around the edges.

My meat was served on a skewer that was nearly 2 feet long. It had enough meat on it to make three meals. I decided that I was going to try at least a bite of each type of animal. Below is a summary of how these exotic meats taste:

Crocodile - Tastes like chicken.
Zebra - Tastes like really, really old t-bone. Dry and not juicy.
Kudu - Tastes like roast beef.
Ostrich - Tastes like chicken with a slight hint of duck brains.

The meal was excellent, our hosts were very entertaining, and I was one very, very tired "tourist" by the time I got to my room. Much to my surprise, my luggage was waiting for me in my room.