In the blink of an eye a month has already passed by since I first step foot in Zambia. Time certainly waits for no one. It's been an adventure since day one, and I have no doubt the next month and a half will be equally exciting.

Last Thursday our team camped out at Zamchick, a Zambian based chicken fast food chain. With music blasting from a borrowed speaker, we set out to attract sellers to us. Up until then, our sales captains had primarily gone from seller to seller to give their pitches; but we wanted to do something on a larger scale. We even had our own (unsolicited) dancer in front of the store, swaying his hips every which way. Slowly, the sellers trickled into the restaurant. By the end of our seven-hour camp out, the team managed to acquire a number of sellers equal to how many we had acquired in the first two weeks of June!

Less than 12 hours later, I was on a flight to Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania, with a connecting flight to Zanzibar. I've never gone through a visa process as chaotic as that at the Dar airport. Rather than relive the experience in words, I'll just say if you go, be prepared to wait around for forty minutes. My flight wasn't scheduled to land early enough for me to catch the ferry to Zanzibar, so I booked a connecting flight over the 23 miles of ocean that separate Zanzibar from the eastern coast of Tanzania (little did I know, we would end up landing 40 minutes early).

Once touched down in Zanzibar, I found my pre-arranged taxi driver (as the public daladalas had stopped running by that time). It was an adrenaline-filled hour ride to the east coast of Zanzibar. The driver put the pedal to the metal as we swerved around the dark roads. With no streetlights, the roads were only visible as far as the headlights shone. Wondering how fast we were going, I glanced over at the speedometer and saw the needle frozen at zero.

With a dramatic history of spices and slaves, Zanzibar has become a destination for anyone looking for white sand beaches lapped by a turquoise ocean. My trip to Zanzibar was primarily for a little R&R at one of Pweza's bungalows, with lunch at the The Rock, a viewing at the Zanzibar International Film Festival (ZIFF), and an excursion to one of the government-owned spice plantations on the outskirts of Stone Town.

The Rock, formerly a fisherman post, sits in the middle of the Indian Ocean about 50 meters from the Michanvi Pingwe beach. With a simple and unassuming interior, The Rock is a nice place to stop by for an afternoon coffee. But that's as much as I would recommend. The Rock's three menus are encased in what felt like five pound picture frames - perhaps this was an attempt to exude sophistication, but it came out more as obnoxious. The food was overpriced, came in small portions, and probably didn't taste any better than what I could have concocted myself. Hence, just go for the coffee - just remember to go during high tide. The high tide does what freshly precipitated snow does for the northeast US, it makes it look a lot prettier than it would otherwise appear.

After a two-hour ride in the daladala on Sunday morning, I ended up in the winding alleyways of Stone Town, one of UNESCO's World Heritage Sites. There, I managed to catch a documentary on the late Burundi prime minister, Prince Louis Rwagasore, at the ZIFF. With not much time to spare before my ferry back to Dar, I found a guide to take me to one of the spice plantations a few minutes' drive from the edges of Stone Town. As the guide took me through the spice farm, he plucked at the many plants, giving me a smell and taste of cloves, ginger, nutmeg, chilies, cinnamon, pepper, cumin, and a mixture of other spices. Afterwards, the only thing that stood between me and the ferry was a quick cup of coffee from Msumbi Coffee, a quaint little cafe with a knack for brewing single-origin Arabica coffee.

Then, it was back to hustling in Lusaka to meet with the national postal service, move to a new office, and get a long overdue haircut. We are also partnering with a local fashion blog tomorrow on organizing a Swap Shop, an event where folks can bring 5-10 items and, umm..., swap them for those of others.

What's in store for next week? Who knows - all I know is that the country manager is on vacation for two weeks, leaving me "in charge." That means Kaymu Zambia may not exist in two weeks' time!

Cross-posted: LinkedIn

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Until next time!

Quetzaltrekkers is a non-profit and an all volunteer-run group that seeks to build a sustainable way to improve the lives of Guatemalan street children and those at risk of becoming one. Working together with volunteers and highland communities, Quetzaltrekkers offers visitors half a dozen treks to explore Guatemala.

While all the treks offered by Quetzaltrekkers would make any avid trekker start packing, I had limited time and chose to do the three day, two night journey from Quetzaltenango (a.k.a. Xela) to the gorgeous Lago Atitlán.

On day 1 in Xecam, a 15-20 minute bus ride from Xela, we hit the ground running with a charge up to 3050m, the trek's zenith. As we climbed up the "hill," the fruits of our strenuous hike revealed themselves in the form of amazing views of the Xela valley we were leaving behind. Then, we found Alaska, the alpine grass plain that greeted us at the top. The area is so called "Alaska," because...continue reading.

After nine hours, the bus pulled into the Cruz Del Sur Trujillo station at 8:30AM. I was staying the night in Huanchaco, a beach town with a mellow vibe located 15-20 minutes away from Trujillo by taxi, but wanted to explore a little of Trujillo - the culture capital of Peru - before heading out.

At Plaza de Armas, I found myself one of the few people who were up and about. Lined by colonial and republican styled buildings, the square's centerpiece is the Freedom Monument. This sculpture symbolizes Trujillo's process of independence from Spain in the early 19th century. It was in the square where the initial declaration was declared.

Two of the most popular districts in Lima are Miraflores and Barranco. Miraflores is one the wealthiest districts, with perfectly manicured parks, shopping centers, cafes, and hotels within reach. Barranco, on the other hand, is a more subdued (at least during daytime) and bohemian district. The most popular attraction in Barranco is likely the Bridge of Sighs, a wooden bridge that hovers over Bajada de Baños (a stone walkway that cuts through Barranco, ending at the Pacific Ocean).

About a hundred meters away, I could see little figures running about. The dim light of the 4:30AM morning prevented me from seeing much else. As I got closer, I saw a couple people carrying the instantly recognizable red Llama Path duffel bags. Once I got to Regocijo Plaza, I handed my Llama Path duffel bag to one of the porters. In return, I was handed a hot cup of water to warm up my freezing body. 

One by one, the fifteen of us tourists slowly piled onto the bus, at the back of which already sat the 21 porters and 1 chef who would be with us. The bus was cold, but most of us sought to catch some additional sleep during the 2 hours' drive to Ollayataytambo. There, we had breakfast (the coffee is highly not recommended as it looked more like sludge than anything; go for the coca tea). Afterwards, it was another hour to kilometer 82 (2720 meters above sea level), where we each got our sleeping bags to pack into our duffel bags.

Cuzco, the former capital of the Inca Empire and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, sits approximately 3,400 meters above sea level. As a result, most visitors often experience altitude sickness as their bodies adapt to the higher elevation. Taking preventative medicine (e.g., Diamox) and drinking coca tea had fortunately warded off most of the symptoms of altitude sickness for me.

When tourists first arrive in Cuzco, it's easy to mistake the city as a super liberal haven due to the multiple rainbow colored flags draped and hung around everywhere. However, the colors depict the flag of Cuzco and not a statement on gay rights. The flags do add a dash of color to the orange-red hue that seems to tint everything in and around the Cuzco area due to the rusty color of the surrounding mountain ranges.

(Back to the jungle, next post in a few days!)

I took off my backpack and threw it into the back of the taxi. Telling the driver I wanted to go to the bus station, I was propelled backwards as the taxi lurched forward. Fifteen minutes and 5,000 pesos later, I was directed by a man to the Brasilia bus ticket office. Using cash saved me 5,000 pesos, paying 25K pesos for my ticket back to Cartagena rather than the 30K I had paid for the trip to Santa Marta. 

I've learned that the bus exterior gives no indication as to which company it belongs to. On each ticket receipt, the cashier at the ticket office hand writes the bus number for the corresponding trip. Though I traveled with Brasilia both ways, both buses had the markings of another bus company on its external facade. The bus numbers, however, were dead accurate.

Santa Marta is a commercial port city bustling with traffic - both cars and pedestrians. Unlike Cartagena's walled city, Santa Marta lacks the sophistication and elegance that give Cartagena its characteristic charm. The city, at least in the area I was in, was heavily policed, with officers occasionally stopping the locals to conduct a body search. The streets were dirty and at times exuded a smell unpleasant to the nose. The people seemed to prefer to keep their distance, whether it was from everyone or just the tourists I don't know.

However, Santa Marta's temperatures are considerably cooler than Cartagena's; and the city's beach faces west, giving an open view of magnificent sunsets that light up the Caribbean Sea like an underwater fire and bring life to the whispers of clouds overhead.

After a quick stop at an ATM, I hopped into a cab near the harbor. The driver initially dropped me off at the wrong hostel, but he was only a block off so it wasn't long before he dropped me off at the right one. There, at Makako hostel, I was happily greeted by Vicenta and offered a refreshing cold cup of lemonade. The heat covering Cartagena was unbearable. Though it was ~91 degrees F, the combination of humidity (75%) and sun (UV index of "12 Extreme") made it felt like 111 degrees F. See below for proof.

Enough about EC. I'm back. 

Flying over Panama City's skyline reminded me of Miami's. At first glance, it was certainly more developed than the countries I had just come from.