On Changing your Life

[adsman]

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I just sat here at work and read that whole thing, its awesome obv. I believe everything that you wrote but one detail seems kinda cheesy to me. When you go to find the kid who stole the stereo, does a cobra really come out from under his bed? Once again I'm not calling you a liar, but doesnt that seem like some sort of allegory in a fictional story?

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Yeah, it really happened. There were cobras everywhere, plus black and green mambas. Boy, those things were freaky nasty, and I'm used to snakes. We actually had a rafting customer bitten by a baby cobra that swum up through the drainage holes into the raft. We completely immobilized the limb. She kept saying that she was fine. We got her back to Kampala, they took off our splint, the blood started to flow and she got hit like someone punched her in the stomach. Then they shot her full of anti-venom.


Thanks Teddy and the rest of you for the kind words. It is nice to hear the occasional encouragement, so I know that I'm not boring you guys.



I got the midnight flight to London. The plane was jam-packed full of screaming kids, angry parents, and people panicking because they’d never flown before. But I was sweet. I felt a moment of nostalgia as the wheels left the ground. This was it. I was gone. Outta there. I nodded off to sleep as the kid next to me drooled over my arm. We flew into London in the early morning. I got my bags and took the underground into the city. A real train. Nobody was hassling me. Nobody was trying to be my friend. I was being completely ignored on a packed commuter train. I had a huge grin on my face.

But damn it was cold. It was raining. There was mist. I’d forgotten what mist looked like. I didn’t have any warm clothes for this weather. I was getting a bit of attention, which I put down to the fact that I had a tan that was as deep as any white dude can ever hope to get. Surrounded by pasty faced poms. I had relatives in London whom I’d never met. The sister of my dads second wife and her family. I had their address and phone number. I had to get the tube all the way out to New Cross Gate, which I did. I found a public phone and called her. She said to stand out the front and wait for her. A few minutes later a lady who looked just like my dad’s second wife pulled up.

“I’m Lindy. You must be Adam. Jump in.”

We took off through the traffic and she said that she had to do some shopping, was that all right? I said sure, no problem. It was amazing driving down a street with no holes in it. We pulled into a huge supermarket, Tesco’s or Safeways or something. I followed her into the store. I spent the next 20 minutes wandering around in a kind of daze. Food. Real food. Australian beer. Meat. Pork chops. Chocolate. Mustard. I picked items off the shelves and just stared at them in my hands. It was then that it really hit me that I was out of Africa.

Lindy found me and had a laugh. “My husband Steve is from South Africa,” she said. “He’ll understand what you’re going through.”

We were driving to her house when I saw a sign for a McDonalds. “Stop,” I said. “I hate their food, but I have to have a burger. Just a Big Mac.”

We pulled into the drive-through and I ordered. I held the package in my hands and opened it with care. There it was. A Big Mac. Lindy was watching me with an amused grin. I took a bite. It seemed to be the best thing that I’d ever tasted. I ate it all without a word. Now I was really back in the First World again.

They were very well off, had a lovely terrace house. She showed me to my room. I sat on the bed and stared out the window. I was in London. I had about $100 and no ticket to Italy. But I knew that if I could get out of Uganda, I sure as hell could get out of London. The rest of the family came home later. Steve was a lovely chap, a bio-chemist. He wanted to know all about my adventures in Uganda. We talked into the night, drinking from his excellent collection of wine. They had three young children that were constantly fighting and carrying on, but I didn’t care. I felt at peace. At one point Steve asked his eldest son Matthew if he wanted to go out for a drive the next day, which was Saturday. Matthew made a face and ran off.

Steve sighed. “I’ve just bought a new car and I wanted somebody to come for a spin with me.”

“I’ll come,” I said.

His face brightened up. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“No, no. I’ve never been to England. I’d love to have a zip around.”

The next morning he opened his garage to show me his brand new Porsche 911 Turbo S. Oh yeah. Lets go baby. We high-tailed it out of London and sped off through the countryside. It was a beautiful Spring day. He took all the back-roads he could find. Narrow lanes that drifted beneath oak canopies. The car was amazing – like driving a train on a road. It just glued itself to the tarmac. We stopped at a little pub and had a gourmet lunch. He insisted on paying, and I was grateful for it. We got back to London at a reasonably late hour. Lindy had dinner on the table, and we spent another night hitting up his reds. Since I was going to Italy we had to drink Italian wine. I can’t remember what it was, but it was sensational.

The next day I phoned a contact that I had. A pilot who worked for British Airways, Captain Paul. He’d been out to Uganda a few times and we’d struck up a friendship. He lived in Maidenhead, which was just outside London. He told me to come out. He had a few days free. I caught the train out to Maidenhead and he met me at the station.

We had a few beers and chatted about my situation. He had been trying to get my on a cargo flight out of Uganda but the contact hadn’t paid off. At one point he just came out with; “Do you want to go up for a spin?”

“In what?”

“In my plane.”

So it turns out he’s a stunt pilot in his spare time. His plane turns out to be the most powerful two seater prop plane there is; a Russian somethingorother. I get to sit in the front. Captain Paul sits in the back. We’re on this old airfield that looks like a relic from WWII. He fires it up and we catapult down the runway. We’re flying over little English villages when I suddenly realize what he’s up to. He’s getting me back for all those times I flipped, surfed and pounded him on the Nile. And that’s when we start doing tricks. Upside down, looping, diving at the ground, spinning around. It’s all I can do to clench my stomach and neck muscles and not throw up. And then I hear his voice over the two way go;

“Okay Adam, you’re now going to become one of the few people in the world who have gone backwards in an airplane.” What the feck? “What we’re going to do is to climb vertically into the sky until we reach a height of such and such. Then I’m going to turn off the engine…” WTF?? “…and we’re going to keep going up until we stall, then the plane is going to drop back down and flip forwards, where I will restart the engine and we will fly away.”

And God help me, that’s exactly what we did. The really freaky part was when the stick came alive in my hands. “Okay, Adam. You’re flying it. Do what you want.” I have to be honest, I didn’t do much. When we got back down he happily informed me that I’d pulled -2G to +8G, or something of the sort. The mechanic was impressed. “He really threw you around up there, eh?” I didn’t throw up though.

Captain Paul then did a very nice thing. He organized me a flight to Italy with BA. Told me not to worry about it, I could fix him up when I was able. I thanked him profusely and popped back to London. Another day to sort some stuff out, and then I was in Gatwick taking a flight to Italy. I was essentially arriving with no funds at all. Heading into Milan. I didn’t speak any Italian either. Jeno would be arriving a couple of weeks after me. I felt like I’d been doing this for far too long.

[JOEL_]

Life is to be lived,and you sir, are living it!
This account of you changing your life,is I am sure, an
inspiration to many would be adventurers.

[celiboy]

Thanks for the story - keep going!

[fm191124]

awesome thread adsman

- wondering if you have any pics (current or old) so i can associate a face with the story i check 10x a day

- also i see that you associate the x-girlfreind in the beggining as the chism that started your journey and that triggered your story, but after you broke up what made you stay in sydney? opposed to going back home and living with your folks?

- do you have any instances or in depth stories throughout your journey where one of your buddies got greedy/backstabbed you (or other freinds) over money/women other issues. i know you argued with GM but he wasnt a freind. (and you gotbecame freinds with mark after your radio music fight)

thanks,,,,
FM

[kb09pkt]

I actually got caught by my boss 3 times reading this at work today. When she finally threatened to write me up for being on the internet, I copied and pasted your story onto Word, printed it out and told her to read it. She ended up reading the whole thing and apologized to me. I never got written up, but still got a stern warning about being on the interent.

Your story and writing style kind of reminds me of Ernest Hemingway with all the adventures in Africa and traveling. Even though it takes place in Cuba, Islands in the Stream, is the Hemmingway book that comes to mind while reading your story.

One suggestion, if you want others to share their stories, you might want to start another thread. I for one was going to write mine, but after reading yours, I felt too intimidated knowing that anything else that follows you is going to be a disapointment.

BTW, awesome paragraph "Sometimes the Universe gives you a sign, sometimes it gives you a nudge as well if it thinks you need it. I have learnt to listen to these hints, as you ignore them at your own peril. What in the short term could be construed as a disaster often turned out to be a blessing in the greater picture. I have had this happen to me often in my life and travels. It is best to be calm in these situations. Sit and think things over without emotion. Work out what needs to be done. Change is often painful, as we do not like the unknown, even if the known is not a good place to be." I definitly wrote this down to refer to.

[adsman]

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awesome thread adsman

- wondering if you have any pics (current or old) so i can associate a face with the story i check 10x a day

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I'm a bit reluctant to do this. I'll have a think about it. It means a bit of effort too, as I don't have any photo's of myself on the computer.


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- also i see that you associate the x-girlfreind in the beggining as the chism that started your journey and that triggered your story, but after you broke up what made you stay in sydney? opposed to going back home and living with your folks?

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When I left I quite my job, sold everything and took off. What would I have gone back to? I was determined not to fail.

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- do you have any instances or in depth stories throughout your journey where one of your buddies got greedy/backstabbed you (or other freinds) over money/women other issues. i know you argued with GM but he wasnt a freind. (and you gotbecame freinds with mark after your radio music fight)

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Mark and I were always friends, that was just a little blip. In fact, he's flying in from Australia to stay with me for a few weeks today. Uncle Mick got in yesterday. I showed him this thread and he's threatening to register and write up his version of the facts.

The GM was the worst backstabbing situation. Perhaps I didn't make it clear that he was somebody that we hung out with before he became GM. Before that situation happened I just assumed that if you did the right thing, others would do the same back to you. It was a good life lesson that you always have to watch your back.


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I was standing at the baggage carousel in Milan when I noticed a young guy who had to be a riverguide. Apart from the fact that he was deeply tanned, he had a whitewater helmet clipped to the back of his backpack. I walked over, introduced myself. His name was Zane, he was a Kiwi, and could you believe it, he was walking for the same company that I was. He had also brought a guitar with him. We shouldered up our kit and were heading out through the airport when we heard some music being played. There were people singing as well.

“That’s Kiwi music, bro,” Zane said. “Lets check it out.”

Sure enough there was a group of about 15 New Zealand Maoris jamming together amidst a big pile of bags. Turns out that they were a famous traditional music group over in Italy for a tour. We sat down, and Zane pulled out his guitar and he began jamming with them. They were very welcoming. One of the girls asked me where we were going and I explained what we were in Italy for. After a while I asked if I could have a guitar and somebody passed me one. Then we really got jamming. A big crowd began to form and we played for about half an hour until finally I said that we had to be goiong if we wanted to get up to our base that night. We fare welled the group and headed out to the bus area. Both Zane and I agreed that it was a very cool way to start our Italian sojourn.

We got the bus into the main train station in Milan. It was quite imposing, in its neo-gothic-fascist style architecture. I found a phone and called the rafting base. It was five in the afternoon. The phone was answered by a nice lady called Carla who spoke English. After some hasty conferral we worked out that there was no way we would be able to reach the valley that evening by train. She told me to call back in five minutes. I called back and she told us to get the next train to Verona. One of the Italian guides who worked for them lived there and he would pick us up and look after us for the night.

We hopped the train to Verona and got there around 8pm. We were standing outside waiting when a young guy in a little Fiat 500 came to a screaming halt. He jumped out and introduced himself as Tobia. We piled into his tiny car and he rocketed off through the narrow cobble-stoned streets, weaving violently in and out amongst a horde of scooters and luxury cars. He pulled up outside a picturesque apartment building and we dragged our gear upstairs. He had dinner waiting for us on the table, and a big carafe of red wine. We dug in with gratitude. He rolled some joints. He was 21 and looked younger. He’d been rafting since he was 15 in the same valley where we’d be working. We asked him about the river, and the company we’d be working for.

He laughed. “Charlia is the big boss,” he told us. “Very strange man, crazy sometimes, he can be good, he can be bad. But lots of work, money is very good.”

Zane and I were both keen to learn Italian. We got Tobia to teach us some words. He got us both to memorize a phrase which he told us meant something fairly innocuous. Turned out that he was teaching us how to say, “I don’t speak Italian very well but I love blow jobs.”

The next day he had to work in the city, but he dropped us off in the center after we went to the station to get our tickets and stow our bags. We had about four hours to kill in Verona. We wandered into the historical center and just walked around with our mouths open. Finally we took a seat an outside bar that was one of many that ringed the huge piazza around the Verona Arena. The Arena is a small version of the coliseum, but still incredibly imposing. We sat there and drank our first Italian cappuccinos. It was a beautifully warm Spring day. The girls were incredible. Hottie after hottie walked by, all dressed like they had just stepped off a Milanese catwalk. Zane began to tell me about all the hot girls he had had to leave behind in New Zealand to come here. I was starting to get the impression that Zane was a nice guy but he had a tendency to exaggeration. Whatever, I didn’t care. I was just so happy to be there.

We took the train up to Trento. We left the Lombardian Plains and entered the foothills of The Alps. This was the valley that led to Austria, the route Napoleon had taken when he had invaded Italy centuries before. The mountains got higher and higher as the train sped North. We arrived in Trento an hour later. Our directions were to walk a few hundred meters up from the main train station to a smaller branch line called the Trento-Malè. This train went directly to our valley. Our destination was a little village called Caldes, in the Val di Sole – The Valley of the Sun.

The little electric train finally left and we headed into the mountains. It was a real cattle-train. It stopped every five minutes on the way. It took us almost an hour and a half to get the Caldes. We got off the train and looked around. We were high in the mountains. There was a good deal of snow on the immediate peaks, and it was much colder than Verona had been. We shouldered our gear and walked into the little village. There was nobody to be seen. Dogs barked at our passing. The village looked like it hadn’t changed for a thousand years. We headed down out of the village towards the river. We figured that the rafting base had to be down there somewhere. We came to a bridge and got our first look at The Noce River. It was a narrow, rocky river, only about 100 meters wide. The water thundered under the bridge. It was quite a high level. We stared at the river for a few minutes looking at the obvious lines through the rapids and then we continued over the bridge where we found the rafting base.

There was a little office with a smiling, chubby lady behind the desk. She came running out with a big smile on her face. This was Carla and she apologized profusely that nobody had been at the station to meet us. We told her not to worry about it. Charlia wasn’t there, but she got someone else to mind the office and she took us back into the village to the guides apartment. It faced onto the main piazza. It looked to be about 500 years old. We walked up the lobby stairs and she knocked on the door of the apartment. The door was opened by a young, smiling Aussie guide named Josh. There was also a young couple, Nick and Emma. Nick was the guide, Emma was his girlfriend. They were very young and had bagged the main room. The house was cool, there was a mural on the ceiling of the living room. We dumped our stuff on our beds. I’d sort out the accommodation later. All I knew was that I was buggered if a bunch of young kids on their first trip overseas were going to grab the best rooms.

There was another guide as well, but he was up in the village bar getting wasted. They told me his name and I couldn’t believe it. I wandered up to the bar and sure enough it was Maz. I’d worked with him in Cairns years before.

He saw me and let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank Christ you’re here. I’m going insane hanging around with fresh-faced youngsters. They’re doing my head in.”

He bought me a beer, and we caught up. He’d spent the last six months rafting in Peru, and had come straight from there. “I’m going into coke withdrawal,” he told me. “I spent six months with a couple of grams up my nose every day. At least they’ve got pot here.”

Maz was in his late thirties. He had dreadlocks and a scraggy face. He had a joint hanging out of his face. He was disreputable. He was not to be trusted. He filled me in oh how the base worked, the different personalities and possible problems. There was a South African guide called Ralph who was here with his wife. They had gone away for a few days. Maz was skeptical of his abilities on the river.

The next day we met the boss, Charlia. We took a raft and went down the entire 25km section of river, taking turns on the stick so as to show him we could actually guide. The river was non-stop rapids for its entire length. It was fun guiding a technically challenging river again, having to actually zip through large rocky sections, as opposed to just punching through enormous waves and holes on the Nile. The boss seemed to be a head case. He was weird, moody, and his English wasn’t any good so we had problems communicating. The South African got back and we did another trip down the river. It was obvious that he was doing what I’d done all those years ago – he was faking it.

[El Diablo]

ads,

It's pretty awesome (and I'm pretty jealous) that your latest installment seems almost boring and ordinary compared to some of your exploits so far.

[adsman]

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ads,

It's pretty awesome (and I'm pretty jealous) that your latest installment seems almost boring and ordinary compared to some of your exploits so far.

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Ha, that's what I'm afraid of. I think I should have changed the order to Italy - Africa.

[El Diablo]

ads,

Just include many tales of hot Italian and Spanish chicks and all will be good.

['Chair]

Poster: El Diablo
Subject: Re: On Changing your Life
02/14/07 09:13 PM
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mazungu,

Awesome stuff.


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Poster: El Diablo
Subject: Re: On Changing your Life
02/15/07 05:09 PM
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Guys,

Speaking for everyone, this is awesome stuff and we all want TONS more, but I think that's been said enough times now and is starting to clutter up the thread a bit, so please don't respond just to write "awesome stuff, want more!" - I think by now we can all agree on that. Of course, feel free to make comments/questions and whatever else about the posts.

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Poster: El Diablo
Subject: Re: On Changing your Life
02/23/07 02:13 AM
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ads,

It's pretty awesome (and I'm pretty jealous) that your latest installment seems almost boring and ordinary compared to some of your exploits so far.

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