In Which There's No Failure To Plan, But The Plan Still Fails
on Zoe Page (Sierra Leone), 23/Oct/2010 21:08, 34 days ago
I have a plan. I am going to go to Capitol and stalk any and all ex-pats there in a nonchalant way. They will be bowled over by my stylish (Mexican Walmart) dress, frilly (Tesco) bikini, fabulous (Bremen railway station) sunglasses and intriguing choice of reading material (The Family WayandWoman and Home). They will be dying to talk to me.Problem # 1: kinda cloudy when I awake. No problem, it is still early (as in really early...5.45am). I shall be domesticated this morning and see what happens later, after the laundry and kitchen cleaning and sweeping up of dead spiders (where’s Mr Gecko Man when you need him?)By 10.30am it is getting better. I sit, ok, lie, on my balcony, hoping the metal trellis doesn’t leave too weird a tan line, and contemplate whether it’s worth a trip out. It is. I pack my bag: towel, t-shirt for covering up back, lotion, camera, fan, hat, water, wallet...Problem #2:Not quite sure how to go about whole swimming thing. I’ve been told by Maria that it’s possible, but no signs to confirm this, nor mention in my guide book. Solution? Will mosey on down to Capitol for lunch and scope out the situation over a snack.The pool is empty when I get there– clearly the lunch idea was a good one. I peruse the menu and decide to try the Falafel, but they’re out (a common Capitol complaint, but it’s the first time it’s got me). I opt for the Hummus instead, but have no idea what it will look like / come with, as although this is a dine-by-numbers sort of place, with colour photos on the menu, this isn’t one of their highlighted choices. It arrives within 20 minutes – fast for Capitol but then it didn’t require cooking. I get one plate, then a second, then a third. They serve a mound of Hummus (literally, more than a full tub back home would be), with a well in the middle into which they’ve poured oil. It comes with flatbread and ‘salad’, i.e. tomatoes, long chunks of cucumber (they cut it the opposite way to us) and spring onions.There is a probably-Lebanese man making a huge fuss about brands of ketchup, loudly and rudely, so I let my eyes drift off my magazine and over to the crowd that has gathered. I don’t quite understand the problem, but he is very pissed off. I return to the food, but it’s not that nice. It could do with some salt, but there isn’t any, so I have to follow Lebanese man’s lead and ask for some, though in a much nicer tone of course. I wonder for a moment if I’ve committed the ultimate faux-pas, and my mind flits back to that little place in Mexico where, when Laura and I asked for salt, the waitress came back with the overly elongated answer that she couldcertainlybring us salt,of courseshe could, but first wemusttell her truthfully if the food wasn’t salted enough because that is the sort of thing she was sure the cook wouldsurelywant to know. That food was fine. We just like salt. There are no salt shakers or pepper mills in this place, but my request is met with a shallow dish of crystals, brought out from a murky cupboard. I have no idea how long it has been there, what has been crawling all over it in the meantime, and how many people it has previously served, but I’m beyond caring, and stick my fingers in to scoop out a sprinkle (vaguely more hygienic than directly dipping in a Hummus laden flatbread).As I’m paying, I ask about swimming and am directed downstairs to the (still empty) poolside. A group of people are hanging around, smoking and drinking coffee. I flounder a little, unsure if they work here, are hotel guests or what, but when they look at me expectantly I nod at the pool and raise myeyebrows questioningly. Yes, they say, I can swim, but only once the man who takes the money comes back. The man who takes the money, it turns out, is also the manager (of the pool? The hotel? The whole Capitol complex of bar/nightclub/restaurant/coffee plantation?) Luckily he comes back within 30 seconds.Problem #3:The pool has just had a vat of chemicals dumped in it. It is unsuitable for swimming in. I should return at maybe 5pm. It is now 1pm, perfect swimming time. 5pm, I want to tell him, is when I lock up for the night, have tea, jump in a cold shower and then stick on a film. I wonder whether I can return tomorrow, or will they be cleaning it again? Obviously the middle of the day is the most sensible time to clean a hotel pool.I give up and head round the corner (still within Capitol) to my new friend, the ice cream machine man. A large or small cup of soft serve today, that is the question. Except it’s not, because...Problem #4:They’re out of vanilla. It is clearly not my day. I turn round and head to see Fidel and his freezers, but where there should be ludicrously priced ice creams on sticks, there are only imported oven chips. Why?Sigh. I buy a mini pack of Frosties instead– one of those tiny ones from the multipacks. It costs 4000 Le, but is still far cheaper than the 35000 Le (yep, almost £6) they charge for a medium sized box of Kelloggs.I wander home, stopping to buy bread for later. Fun fact: normally here I have been given my bread in plastic bags, but this is clearly a Pumwi bonus as everyone else wanders around with it wrapped within a torn off piece of newspaper (to keep it clean...???) Yesterday, some careless person failed to notice Who I Was (I’m tanned, but notthattanned) and gave me my loaf in a paper sleeve too. He was admonished immediately by his brother/cousin/son/father (kinda hard to tell ages here) and offered me a bag, but I declined seeing as I have a whole kitchen full of them. Funny how they think posh, wealthy ex-pats need plastic in abundance and won’t feel at home without it. I feel like I should tell them about German bags, trolley bags, Bags for Life and Green Clubcard points and how I can count on one hand the number of plastic bags I’ve willingly accepted at home so far this year.