this was the crowd last week.
and this is the crowd this week.
i don’t think i’ve ever felt such a ridiculously huge chasm between worlds in such a short time, in all my travels.
last week, i was arguing with this dude to give us a shitty room for five bucks each on the slopes of kilimanjaro, northern tanzania.
i had physically and culturally bottomed out.
i don’t remember the name of the village. what i do remember is how the tap for the sink would run full blast when i turned the nozzle for the shower, and how the shower would run full blast when i turned the tap for the sink.
hot water didn’t exist.
tim and i quietly watched the endless death announcements play on a flickering tv channel on the dimly lit porch, which i guess is normal, in africa.
this week, tim and i are staying in the most prestigious hotels in london, perched on park lane.
they come with personal butlers and living rooms and expensive champagne. doormen in white gloves open all our doors. a woman brings us fresh flowers and makes sure my slippers are put just right.
the windows overlook hyde park and the parking lot is literally full of lamborghinis and bentleys. and every manager shakes my hand as though i’m someone important.
angelina jolie, before heading to her premiere, gets ready in an adjacent room and we come home at night watching prince andrew’s girlfriend get bombarded by paparazzi outside the hotel doors.
it’s literally one extreme to the other.
extreme poverty. extreme wealth.
i don’t know how to describe how such random and unreal experiences get handed my way, but it’s absolutely surreal.
the last month, surreal.
i spend most of my time shaking my head in bewilderment.
we fly to ireland in the morning.