People, like great novels, have themes.
Blog and Vlog
I hoped it was Arusha when we slipped in. It was hard to know in the dark. The tinting film stuck to the “taxi” windows, bubbled and peeling, made it even more disorienting. There were few working streetlights; those that did work revealed a shantytown in eerie hue. The driver, grimfaced under a stocking cap, looked straight ahead and never spoke a word. Vicki was unnerved.
When the baggage carousel stopped, I thought: Welcome back to “Exploring Bible Lands.”
The reason the carousel had stopped, of course, is because there were no more bags to spit out. All the bleary-eyed travelers had yanked and been yanked by that cruel machine empowered to deliver the final punctuation to the experience of air travel. One middle-aged woman (with a bag twice her size) was determined to pound her experience into an exclamation point. She was dragged no less than three times around the loop before she finally arrested the oversized beast. The crowd went from a collective gasp to a cheer as she rose unsteadily to her feet, one fist on the handle, the other, in the sky. She was the unseated rodeo rider who survived a runaway.
