The Twenty Seventh Story

While we were in Mali, my mom and I wanted to get to Timbukto. There were two main reasons for this- the first was the libraries, and the second was the simple fact that it is Timbukto. I mean, you just can't get that close to Timbukto and not go. "That close" though, gives the wrong idea. It is still hard to get to timbukto. There is no road. There's the River Niger, and there's 4x4s. We got it into our heads that we wanted to take a boat. Boats are expensive. We had met up with a pair of British folks, and we were going to try and get together to find passage. They found some other folks (another british woman and a couple, one Danish, and one Bulgarian). The bunch of us ended up splitting a boat with another group from Spain, and a French lady traveling with her Senegalese husband. The last two actually knew what they were doing, the rest of us were dumbasses. Because we had negotiated separately, the english speaking group was to be sleeping on the boat, while the spanish speaking group was to be camping on shore. The first night, there was a storm. It was amazing- the wind was shearing horizontally, driving rain in front of it like a blade. The spanish tents ripped themselves to bits in their attempt to blow away. The boat was leaky, but designed for these storms and thus mostly fine. Clearly, the spanish people needed to come in. But the english speaking crowd had spread out blankets and mosquito nets and what not covering every inch of the boat, so for a long time, we ended up with all the Spanish people sitting in a row on three sleeping bags. Eventually, through diplomatic means, we were able to gain some more land, but there just wasn't enough room for everyone to lay down, so we all played cards and accused each other of cheating in languages we didn't understand.

the ninth story

Today's story:
Back when I was at Oberlin, I went camping on a tiny island in Lake Erie with my friend David. It was post season, so most things were closed, but we made reservations at a little campground. We took a ferry out there, went for a hike, and set up our tent right near the shore- everything was lovely. There was a terrible storm overnight, and I do remember it, but I don't remember being terribly upset by it. When we woke up in the morning, the wind was still blowing fiercely, and the shore was not where we left it. I grew up on the beach in Florida and was very used to tides- somewhere in the back of my mind, something filed "low tide, 9am" without thinking "wait, this is a lake". We made some breakfast, and drove over to the ferry terminal to get home. The ferry wasn't running, because the storm had blown all the water to the other side of the lake. This was not something I was expecting. The storm had also blown out all the communication, and I was supposed to be at work at 10am the next day. We found the only convience store on the island still open, and asked them about the ferry. They said there was another at the other end of the island, at catamaran, that could run in less water, but didn't expect it to be running. Someone had a two way radio, and phoned them up- sure enough, closed for the day. We did not want to set camp back up in that weather- in fact, we were already covered in a thick layer of mud, were freezing, and both really wanted hot showers more than anything. The guys in the shop thought that the proprietors for one bed and breakfast might still be on the island, so they gave us their address and we set off on our quest. We arrived, and sure enough- they were there. They were packed up and ready to go, but had been foiled by the same ferry that had messed up our plans. They took one look at our bedraggled selves, and said that sure, they were still open. Further, when I asked how much it was (it was a nice place, and I doubted I could afford their rate) they said they'd give us the stranded traveler rate, and let us stay for whatever the campground cost, which was so generous it almost made me cry. Then, they made us dinner, and claimed it was included in the room.
We caught the catamaran ferry the next day. At that point, there was no time to go by Oberlin before my shift, so I arrived in my still muddy clothes, hiking boots, and generally not looking my best. When I walked in the door, the district manager, whom I'd never gotten along with, was standing there. He gave me one look, and said that whatever my excuse was, he believed it, and that I could miss this shift with no repercussions.
It really was a good trip. We made friends, we had fun, and we got a good story out of it. Also, I didn't lose my job.