And that was that. From the plains of Kenya, over the Mountains of the Moon, through the jungles of the Congo and down the Zaire River, across the Desert of Thirst, the atlas, the Med, Spain and back to Olde England. The four months seem to have rushed past and now we were back down to Earth with a thump. We were faced with the grim reality of being in London in winter with no money and no jobs.
We checked out of the hotel but left our gear there and I rang Joyce¹ to tell her we would be out to stay later on that day. We went to a local Bengy’s² for breakfast which was included in the price of the hotel, and just as we were finishing, Mike and Scotty walked in so we sat back down and drank tea while they had their breakfast.
After we left them, we went to New Zealand House³ and started job-hunting, without much success.
Later in the day, we collected our gear from The Hunter’s Lodge and caught a train from Liverpool Street out to Broxbourne. as we passed through the grey, dreary jumble of London, and the boring sameness of the commuter suburbs, I thought of the peaceful silence of the jungle…
TO BE CONTINUED
¹Our acquaintance in Hertfordshire at whose place we had left most of our stuff when we set off for Africa.
²A restaurant chain specializing in breakfasts
³The New Zealand Embassy in London where there was an office where New Zealanders could look through job advertisments.
CurseOfTheTraveller 