TIA: The Castle Lite Influence.
How Castle Lite can change your life
A chance meeting
Moving into writing for a living is a challenge. Just getting people to take your work seriously is your first hurdle. My professional writing journey started with a chance, fleeting meeting in Zimbabwe. I was living in Tanzania at the time and in 2011, I travelled from East to West coast across Africa. Writing about how much fun I had, and can, recommend, was a great way to enjoy Castle Lite lager. Incidentally, Castle Lite is a great catalyst for getting your literary juices going. It also distracts you from the fact a buffalo is staring at you menacingly from twenty feet away. TIA (This Is Africa - a long-standing joke for varying situations you find yourself in only on this continent).
It was after a near heart-attack bungee jumping over Victoria Falls that I fell into my easiest writing project to date. I was soothing my nerves with a Castle Lite in a dilapidated wooden café when a complete stranger asked me what I was doing. For pure shits and giggles, I was writing on my laptop about my visit to Hwange National Park where, to my dismay, I had failed to spot wild dog. I had also said goodbye to the man I was convinced I should marry despite only having had two short conversations with him and was at loggerheads with my travel buddy, Jen. To be honest, I was pretty pissed off and not up for talking.
I didn’t pay much attention to the stranger at first but he was persistent and reminded me in a gently entertaining way of the Muppet, Statler, which somewhat cheered me up. I explained to him that I was writing so as not to forget about my experiences, the people, places and things I had seen.
He piqued my interest when told me he knew the editor of a nearby magazine that distributed magazines on East African flights and said they would love to hear of my experiences since leaving Tanzania. I was a little shocked. At no time in England had I ever had any such encounter and here I was in a sleepy town on the Zambia/Zimbabwe border talking about my becoming a travel journalist. It all seemed far too easy.
Travel experiences
When I’d told him we were en route to Namibia, through Botswana, he was even more enthused and suggested I write about my travels across all the national parks.
Immediately, I loved the idea as I imagined stout business men guffawing over my tales at 20,000 feet. I was a seasoned traveller though I was just getting used to travel in Africa. I had already experienced the famous free ‘African Massage’. Don’t be fooled by its exotically tempting description: this involves a corrugated iron back to your chair which I had endured for close to 18 hours from Lilongwe to Lusaka, as well as my seat moving from side to side. Needless to say, it was the most undignified and ghastly massage I’ve ever had!
Jen and I had also experienced some unusual sights. Smart business men often carried their portfolios under one arm and a live chicken in the other; we’d haggled for victuals through bus windows as the bus trundled along, vendors clumsily running to avoid being caught under the wheels; we’d both peed in full view of the road, complete with faces peering at our little white bottoms. We had drunk very hot water, purchased cold in blistering temperatures and put up with smells worse than an abandoned fish hatchery during a Caribbean summer. We had eaten some odd delights and odd, unidentifiable concoctions. However, it was our plans to visit Chobe, The Okavango Delta, Etosha and the Skeleton Coast of Namibia that the magazine would want to hear about.
Our chance meeting lasted about an hour as he told me fascinating stories of his life in Zimbabwe over more Castle Lite. Regrettably, I don’t really remember them now, and his name eludes me. It is a shame as African tales often elicit a mix of disbelief and awe. For me, writing about our trip was a dream come true. It is bizarre how fate intervenes to steer our lives onto new courses in the most beautiful of directions and with beautiful experiences.
With my brain awhirl with ideas about our experiences that were ‘normal’ to us and fascinating to anyone who had never visited the Africa, I got to work. Within an hour or so, I’d completed my first piece. I contacted the magazine and received a speedy reply – not bad for the ubiquitous and frustrating pole pole (slow) way that Africa operates! They had agreed to publish the piece in their next edition and asked me for any other reports of my travels minus Namibia – it wasn’t classed as part of East Africa. Botswana was allowed as it had two great parks. I wasn’t sure what the logic was here but in Africa, you never question politics or illogical decisions – someone always has an explanation even if it doesn’t make sense it you.
TIA travel moments
I shared many humorous moments over the next couple of weeks about travel guides with a proclivity for sexual harassment. I had a stand-off with a buffalo in the middle of the night when I sleepily went to the toilet and came face to face with it on leaving the cubicle. If you ever want an effective wake up call, get a buffalo. It took what seemed an age to negotiate my way out of the toilet block as we engaged in an eyeballing stand off. We’d taken mokoros (local, home-made canoes) rides to the camp ground in the Okavango Delta, our faces inches from the water. The trip ended with a light aircraft ride over the delta as two pilots tried their hardest to make their passengers vomit first as they twirled like kites tails in the sky. It is all well-documented though the tour guide story, unsurprisingly, never made it into the magazine.
The sunsets in Chobe had been some of the best I had ever seen as we got up close and personal with hippos, elephants, crocodiles, warthogs and ungulates feeding by the water.
In Namibia, we had used cardboard to unsuccessfully sand board. Our afternoon spent on quad bikes in the dunes had been an experience never to be forgotten. We had navigated the dunes carefully and freely, at speed -be careful doing this or you could end up with a quad on top of you as I did. I can only describe it as being a trip to Mars in a dune buggy.
By now, I was hooked. I had become like a woman possessed tapping out our travel tales and putting comical slants to them. Some were lost on the African audience, I’m sure. They say write about what you know and it’s very true. Sharing your stories is easy. All you need to do is consider the audience.
A rude ending
I had some great ideas up my clichéd sleeve about our travels back from Namibia and visiting some of the more back water places, getting really deep, down and dirty, literally. Then, my trip came to very rude end. I was mugged, violently, by two men. It was a haunting experience but it wasn’t long after that I felt sorry for the men. Rather than being angry, I hoped they found a way to utilise my ipod, passport, favourite ear-rings and expensive eye liner. I made a bad judgement call: I took my stuff out rather than risk leaving it in a dorm. My misfortune that night was some family’s prosperity. Sod it! It makes a great story now and I’ll always be grateful to the gun-toting man who rescued me from the middle of the road and chased the men, firing off shots as he went. It did, however, end of writing for ZamTrav.
Castle Lite and sliding doors
I can’t forget that this experience is like my own personal version of sliding doors. If I’d not done a bungee jump that morning, if I’d never drunk Castle Lite in the dilapidated cafe, I might never have met the stranger who persuaded me to write, hence, I might not be writing today.
The Castle Lite influence is strong. Use it!
A chance meeting
Moving into writing for a living is a challenge. Just getting people to take your work seriously is your first hurdle. My professional writing journey started with a chance, fleeting meeting in Zimbabwe. I was living in Tanzania at the time and in 2011, I travelled from East to West coast across Africa. Writing about how much fun I had, and can, recommend, was a great way to enjoy Castle Lite lager. Incidentally, Castle Lite is a great catalyst for getting your literary juices going. It also distracts you from the fact a buffalo is staring at you menacingly from twenty feet away. TIA (This Is Africa - a long-standing joke for varying situations you find yourself in only on this continent).
It was after a near heart-attack bungee jumping over Victoria Falls that I fell into my easiest writing project to date. I was soothing my nerves with a Castle Lite in a dilapidated wooden café when a complete stranger asked me what I was doing. For pure shits and giggles, I was writing on my laptop about my visit to Hwange National Park where, to my dismay, I had failed to spot wild dog. I had also said goodbye to the man I was convinced I should marry despite only having had two short conversations with him and was at loggerheads with my travel buddy, Jen. To be honest, I was pretty pissed off and not up for talking.
I didn’t pay much attention to the stranger at first but he was persistent and reminded me in a gently entertaining way of the Muppet, Statler, which somewhat cheered me up. I explained to him that I was writing so as not to forget about my experiences, the people, places and things I had seen.
He piqued my interest when told me he knew the editor of a nearby magazine that distributed magazines on East African flights and said they would love to hear of my experiences since leaving Tanzania. I was a little shocked. At no time in England had I ever had any such encounter and here I was in a sleepy town on the Zambia/Zimbabwe border talking about my becoming a travel journalist. It all seemed far too easy.
Travel experiences
 |
| Giraffes in Hwange National Park |
My mind immediately invoked memories of the dusty and dangerous bus rides to Malawi and Zambia. There were our days in Malawi: the colourful water-side market by the Lake; our treks as raggedy children led us through the terrain back to civilisation; the environmentally-friendly hostel whose pathways were lit by fairy lights at night, making you feel you were in Never Never Land; the saw dust toilet and open shower whose views over Lake Malawi were stunning; the Castle Lite-alcohol-fuelled ballet dancing to the Rolling Stones round the pool table with gaping on-lookers; the baboon pleasuring itself in one hand and eating a banana with the other – good job he didn’t get confused. There was our free-wheeling ‘backies’ on push bikes from illegal travel exchange agents racing to the border from Malawi into Zambia; and then finally, our experiences in Zimbabwe: bungee jumping, white water rafting in the croc-infested Zambezi and Hwange NP, with grumpy honey badgers invading the camp during 5am starts.
When I’d told him we were en route to Namibia, through Botswana, he was even more enthused and suggested I write about my travels across all the national parks.
Immediately, I loved the idea as I imagined stout business men guffawing over my tales at 20,000 feet. I was a seasoned traveller though I was just getting used to travel in Africa. I had already experienced the famous free ‘African Massage’. Don’t be fooled by its exotically tempting description: this involves a corrugated iron back to your chair which I had endured for close to 18 hours from Lilongwe to Lusaka, as well as my seat moving from side to side. Needless to say, it was the most undignified and ghastly massage I’ve ever had!
Jen and I had also experienced some unusual sights. Smart business men often carried their portfolios under one arm and a live chicken in the other; we’d haggled for victuals through bus windows as the bus trundled along, vendors clumsily running to avoid being caught under the wheels; we’d both peed in full view of the road, complete with faces peering at our little white bottoms. We had drunk very hot water, purchased cold in blistering temperatures and put up with smells worse than an abandoned fish hatchery during a Caribbean summer. We had eaten some odd delights and odd, unidentifiable concoctions. However, it was our plans to visit Chobe, The Okavango Delta, Etosha and the Skeleton Coast of Namibia that the magazine would want to hear about.
Our chance meeting lasted about an hour as he told me fascinating stories of his life in Zimbabwe over more Castle Lite. Regrettably, I don’t really remember them now, and his name eludes me. It is a shame as African tales often elicit a mix of disbelief and awe. For me, writing about our trip was a dream come true. It is bizarre how fate intervenes to steer our lives onto new courses in the most beautiful of directions and with beautiful experiences.
With my brain awhirl with ideas about our experiences that were ‘normal’ to us and fascinating to anyone who had never visited the Africa, I got to work. Within an hour or so, I’d completed my first piece. I contacted the magazine and received a speedy reply – not bad for the ubiquitous and frustrating pole pole (slow) way that Africa operates! They had agreed to publish the piece in their next edition and asked me for any other reports of my travels minus Namibia – it wasn’t classed as part of East Africa. Botswana was allowed as it had two great parks. I wasn’t sure what the logic was here but in Africa, you never question politics or illogical decisions – someone always has an explanation even if it doesn’t make sense it you.
TIA travel moments
I shared many humorous moments over the next couple of weeks about travel guides with a proclivity for sexual harassment. I had a stand-off with a buffalo in the middle of the night when I sleepily went to the toilet and came face to face with it on leaving the cubicle. If you ever want an effective wake up call, get a buffalo. It took what seemed an age to negotiate my way out of the toilet block as we engaged in an eyeballing stand off. We’d taken mokoros (local, home-made canoes) rides to the camp ground in the Okavango Delta, our faces inches from the water. The trip ended with a light aircraft ride over the delta as two pilots tried their hardest to make their passengers vomit first as they twirled like kites tails in the sky. It is all well-documented though the tour guide story, unsurprisingly, never made it into the magazine.
The sunsets in Chobe had been some of the best I had ever seen as we got up close and personal with hippos, elephants, crocodiles, warthogs and ungulates feeding by the water.
 |
| A typical Chobe sunset |
In Namibia, we had used cardboard to unsuccessfully sand board. Our afternoon spent on quad bikes in the dunes had been an experience never to be forgotten. We had navigated the dunes carefully and freely, at speed -be careful doing this or you could end up with a quad on top of you as I did. I can only describe it as being a trip to Mars in a dune buggy.
 |
| Me trying to sand board with carboard |
By now, I was hooked. I had become like a woman possessed tapping out our travel tales and putting comical slants to them. Some were lost on the African audience, I’m sure. They say write about what you know and it’s very true. Sharing your stories is easy. All you need to do is consider the audience.
A rude ending
I had some great ideas up my clichéd sleeve about our travels back from Namibia and visiting some of the more back water places, getting really deep, down and dirty, literally. Then, my trip came to very rude end. I was mugged, violently, by two men. It was a haunting experience but it wasn’t long after that I felt sorry for the men. Rather than being angry, I hoped they found a way to utilise my ipod, passport, favourite ear-rings and expensive eye liner. I made a bad judgement call: I took my stuff out rather than risk leaving it in a dorm. My misfortune that night was some family’s prosperity. Sod it! It makes a great story now and I’ll always be grateful to the gun-toting man who rescued me from the middle of the road and chased the men, firing off shots as he went. It did, however, end of writing for ZamTrav.
Castle Lite and sliding doors
I can’t forget that this experience is like my own personal version of sliding doors. If I’d not done a bungee jump that morning, if I’d never drunk Castle Lite in the dilapidated cafe, I might never have met the stranger who persuaded me to write, hence, I might not be writing today.
The Castle Lite influence is strong. Use it!
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