Hi, I’m Gisella. This is my old travel diary.

The World. From a blonde's point of view

No more standing… on the limits between three quarters.

12 December 2010 - 10:21pm -- gisella
A "palm" skyline over my rooftop.

People living in a big city know that the location of one's home is a must-know after each "Nice to meet you!" It's because the location tells much more about us than words, clothes, job... and whatever.

Sometimes I still think about my ex-home in Wazunguland.* Located exactly on the limits between three different quarters, my ex-home has been for a long time a strategic element in my ex-public relations. It gave me an easy way to reply to questions such as: "Where do you live, sweety?".

Depending on the situation, I just used to choose the most suitable quarter  - residential, commercial or upper class.

It was a nice game, of course. And, of course, I had to leave it in Wazunguland. Anyway cities of the World are often similar one another, and the same are urban people. At the first sight, the place where you live qualifies much more than your appearance itself. That's why there is nobody who didn't ask me: "Where do you live, sweety?" After feedback, classification follows.

It is not my aim to kick up a gamble storm about the place where I live, here and now. If you're reading my blog from Tanzania, probably you're a friend, a friend of friends, or a friend of friends of friends; so you perfectly know the answer. If you're reading from abroad, you don't need to grab this detail... ''cause it would be the same as you don't have it.

For sure, it is much more funny to have a look on how I "live" my new place - which, to be precise, has been chosen 50% by me and 50% by destiny.

I currently live in a country house in the middle of a Dar Es Salaam city. I always wake up too early because of a stupid cockcrow, and I suspect that one of my neighbors raises a cow in his garden. But. I don't feel alone in the middle of the rural habitat. An infinite catwalk of cars is roaring 24/7 just behind the corner. And the Chinese owner of a Chinese restaurant (next to the back side of my bedroom) entertains his non-Chinese customers with the hottest bongo flava hits, pumping up the volume, almost every night. Until 3.00 am, when he's particularly... inspired!  

In a few minutes walking, it is possible to reach a lovely shopping mall. Here there are my favorite shops: a bakery, where you can find fabulous donuts at any time; and a nice store, belonging to an Indian man who sells high-tech stuff. But also, the most frightful workshop of the city: an ironmonger's whose owner is a certain Pakistani called Ahmed, who wants to get married with me. No words can explain this sensation. Indeed.

Also, in my neighborhood live a certain number of very interesting people. I remember their cars one by one. But I don't remember well their faces, to be honest. Excluding the first person I saw the first time I had a walk here around: the Desperate Housewife. A white women with messy hair and wearing a green pajamas, always followed by two terrible very white children. Every time I meet her I just say "Good morning". But over my head you can see a balloon with just one question: "Why?".

* Wazunguland is the other hemisphere of the Globe, the northern one. Opposite geographically, sometimes opposite culturally, and sometimes not that much. Talking about me, Wazunguland is Italy.

My room