Goodbye Blue Sky

British Airways Flight #254 from Lusaka to London. Seat 33B. Clothes reek of campfire. Bandana wrapped around my head. Glass of apple juice. A great setting for my final blog post. I decided to change my flight to leave 1 day early in order to spend a couple nights in London visiting old friends. I was teary eyed yesterday when I said goodbye to everyone. When I left the GSB a month ago I didn’t feel like I was quite done. I knew that I had a month of traveling with great friends. It all came crashing down when Ben and I finally said goodbye and he gave me a one of those winks that said, “we’ll be causing trouble again soon, boy.” Not soon enough.

I’m going to fast forward from Botswana all the way to our final night in Zimbabwe. I’ve previously written about the stuff in between. The afternoon started with us taking a stroll to see the great Victoria Falls. Along the way we met a security guard with a slingshot in his back pocket. I asked him if I could borrow the slingshot and he readily agreed. The next steps were preordained. In one fluid motion a small rock found its way into the pocket of the slingshot and danced all the way to Alejandro’s leg. Whack! Alejandro did a little dance as well, though he could’ve used a bit more hip. He’s got to Latinize his post-injury dance moves. Alejandro then returned the favor. Naturally, he had to one-up me so he picked a significantly larger rock and fired it off at my chest. No problem. The dirt on my safari vest not only gives me style points but also acts as faux-kevlar. The security guard told us that he uses the slingshot to protect the baboons from the people. Apparently the people like to steal the food and trinkets that the baboons carry. Zimbabwe is nuts. The night proceeded in top form. Mariano and I played guitar and sang love songs during sunset while sipping on scotch. We then had dinner at a ridiculous tourist trap restaurant. There was a guy walking around painting faces and I asked to borrow his paint. Alejandro was a wimp and refused to let me paint his face.

Pretty much every post that I’ve written thus far has been textured with irony and laughs. This post is no different, but I’m going to throw another layer into the mix. The tragedy that is happening in Zimbabwe is simply unbelievable. There is literally no food or petrol in the country. All the gas stations we saw were closed. The streets were empty except for a few vagrant street hawkers begging for anything we could give them. I’ve been to some pretty fucked up places along the way but nothing compared to this. There was this incredible feeling of solitude and hopelessness and shame. Another great reminder of just how lucky I am.
Alright, so let’s close this blog off in style. Here are the key highlights, in random order:

· Riding quadbikes in the sand dunes of Swakopmund alongside incredible ocean views
· Salsa dancing at a nightclub in Windhoek called El Cubano
· Whitewater rafting on the Zambezi river with a guide that was so drunk from the night before that his breath still reeked of booze at 3pm
· Eating incredible food cooked by various secret gourmet chef classmates
· Bathing with hippos from a bridge along the Okavango River
· Walking up to a pack of 15 elephants as they drank water and rolled around in mud
· Having rocks thrown at us by a group of Angolan kids as we tried to canoe over from Namibia to Angola
· Burning out the clutch of one of the cars and having to tow it back 20 kms to town with a nylon rope
· Chasing hyenas around the campsite with flaming sticks of wood
· Shaving our heads in order to increase our luck playing bridge
· Drunk dialing our friends from the middle of Etosha national park and asking them to call a taxi for us
· Bird watching (I’m serious, it’s actually really cool)
· Getting the car stuck in sand and having to push it out with the threat of wild animals lurking in the background
· Alejandro throwing a spear at me that he made out of reeds
· Listening to Karina speak English without ever using an article or preposition
· Eating warthog, kudu, and a mipani worm
· Driving into Zambia after dark without having reserved a place to sleep and watching Alessandro freak out as we parked on the side of the highway calling up various lodges
· Playing guitar with Mariano

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Don’t Worry There Are No Animals Here

On the third night of our stay in the delta we did laundry, ate a delicious lamb stew and drank fantastic wine. Great food and wine have emerged as a trip theme. We’ve got some great chefs and aspiring wine abusers. The night was fairly quiet and everyone slept well. The fourth night of our stay in the delta brought the pendulum back in the direction of madness. The astute reader will have realized long ago that this is the direction I prefer. We camped in a remote part of Chobe National Park. This park is famous for having the largest population of elephants in the world. This fame is well deserved. Right around sunset we spotted a group of about 15 elephants munching on some trees about 100 yards from our camp. The entrance sign to the park says in big block letters, “Elephants are very dangerous. Do not approach them. We are not writing this just because we are bored and like making up rules. We mean it.” Of course, the first thing we did after spotting the elephants was gather everyone up and approach them. We came within about 50 yards of the heard – close enough to be completely awestruck and far enough away to give us the false sense of security that we needed to do something so ridiculous. Shortly before the spotting, Dafina took off for a 30 minute jog around the park and then Alessandro went off to do the same.

Later that evening everyone was getting a little worried about the animal activity that we were sure to face while we slept. In one of Ben’s finer moments he tells us, “don’t worry, there are no animals here.” Some animal somewhere must’ve heard Ben’s heresy and spread it around because we were treated to the most incredible symphony of animal sounds that we could imagine. Ben’s credibility as an animal expert took a hit that evening. When we drove around the park the next morning the animal activity exploded. We ran into a heard of about 70 elephants drinking water and rolling around in mud. We even had an elephant bull chase one of the cars. The car was blocked from reversing by a heard of stampeding impalas. Those that were in the car said they were paralyzed with fear. Those that were in the other cars said they were secretly hoping that the elephant would give the car a little nudge.

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Great Friends Are Great When It’s Convenient

On the second night of our stay in the delta things finally started getting a little dirty. Up to now, every campsite that we stayed in had great showers and facilities. I suspect that some of the people on the trip showered more on the camping trip than they did back home. There’s something inauthentic about being so clean while camping and when we discovered that this campsite didn’t have running water I secretly cheered. When we discovered that this campsite was infested with monkeys, I secretly cheered. Monkeys are incredible at making people do silly things and these monkeys were no exception. They were clearly trained by some monkey mastermind. They had the nerve and speed to swoop in while Daniela was chopping veggies and swipe a banana off the table. The best way to get rid of monkeys is to capture one, paint it completely white, and release it back into the pack. The other monkeys in the area will go nuts and run away from the white monkey. We tried to capture a monkey by luring it onto the table with food and then lassoing it but they were too quick. The next best way to get rid of monkeys is to acknowledge that you are powerless in their presence and to roll over and let them steal all your food and your socks. Monkeys love socks. This is the approach that we took. They rewarded our tolerance by peeing all over Karina’s tent.

Back to the showering issue. I actually hadn’t showered in a couple of days and I knew I couldn’t go one more day without tidying up. The only solution was to walk down to the river with a bucket and improvise. Alejandro and Mariano were in the same boat so we all walked down together. For whatever reason I thought it would be funny to video them while they bathed. It actually ended up being really funny, especially when I panned across the river and saw a hippo peeking its head out of the water about 30 yards away. This video will be forthcoming on facebook. They showed great strength in front of the hippo and simply pretended it wasn’t there. When it was my turn to bathe they did what any good friends would do and they ran off back to the campsite and left me to clean and fight off the hippo by myself.

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Shark Sighting

I’ve tried as much as possible to make my blog posts chronological but I’m giving up. The trip has been chaos and the blog should reflect that as much as possible. This post is about our 4 nights of camping in the Moremi and Chobe National Parks in Botswana. The parks are located in the Okavango River Delta in northern Botswana and they’re about as far away from civilization as I’ve been. Once you enter the park there’s no food, water, gas, or supplies until you leave 300 miles later. The roads are a mixture of gravel, sand and huge boulders – no paved roads. Driving in the park hurts. Sometimes a tree branch hits you in the face through an open window, sometimes the car bounces so hard from hitting a bump that your neck snaps back against the headrest, sometimes an animal runs across the front of the car and you have to slam on the brakes or swerve into the deep sand and get stuck. Every moment of madness is makes the last one seem tame. I love it. Do-it-yourself-safaris are for maniacs that love fun.

During our first day in the park our car got stuck in the sand around 4 times. Each time we had to get out of the car and push as hard as possible to get out. It was all fun and games until an 8 foot puff adder, one of the most poisonous snakes in the world, slithered right by Karina’s feet. Once we got to the campsite life got spicy. The first campsite we chose is known as a hotbed of hyena terrorist activity. Not even half an hour after the sun went down we heard an awful scream from the camp next door. When we walked over to investigate we found out that a hyena had bitten a young boy and tried to drag him off into the bush. We quickly perked up and every few minutes we’d see several pairs of glowing yellow eyes circling the campsite. Hyenas are very timid animals and they run off quickly when approached by humans so we spent about an hour running around the camp with sticks chasing hyenas. We even played a local game called “bonk a hyena on the head with a rock.” Great workout. Everyone was pretty nervous about animals wandering around our campsite so someone came up with the brilliant idea of encircling the tents with our chairs. If there’s one thing animals hate, its chairs. The next morning everyone woke up and shared their stories of how many animals they heard walking around the campsite. It was getting ridiculous. Someone said they heard an elephant walking around, another person said they heard lions roaring next to the tent. At this point Mariano got all serious and told us to be quiet because he wanted to share something important from the evening. He then told us, “guys, I was so scared last night, I think I heard a shark in the campsite.”

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Whitewater Rafting on the Zambezi River

I can barely move my fingers enough to write this post. Yesterday we went whitewater rafting on the Zambezi River and had a blast. The fierce whirlpools were no match for our finely tuned rowing. The other boat wasn't as lucky and they tipped the boat, sending oars, bodies, and quite a bit of dignity downstream. We delayed our trip into Zimbabwe until today because we were having a hard time finding a hotel but we'll be on our way shortly.

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Civil Unrest is Uncivil

When I went to Kenya back in December I landed in Nairobi on the exact day of the national elections that resulted in Kenya almost plummeting into civil war. Why break with tradition? We've made a late breaking decision to go into Zimbabwe for the night. Apparently they've got great promotions on hotel rooms right now. I learned that the key to navigating around a country that is falling apart is to wear a great hat. I picked up an incredible hat in Namibia so I'll be safe. I can't say the same for my travelmates.

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Jungle Canoe Ride

My image of Africa was formed early in childhood thanks to Disneyland’s jungle ride. Up to now, the Africa we’ve been traveling through has been mostly desert and savannah. The time’s they are a changin’. We camped yesterday at the Delta Dawn lodge on the edge of the Okavango river delta in Botswana. The campsite was set on the edge of the water among lush green vegetation, palm trees, and insects so large that we mistook them for small dogs. We took a canoe trip among the delta for several hours. The delta is not a traditional lake. Thick water bamboo grows over 10ft high and families of water lilies hug the bamboo. Narrow waterways spread out like a spiderweb across the bamboo and are used by hippos and other delta animals to get around. Each time we went around a corner the guide peeked his head up and grimaced. Hippos kill more people every year than all other animals combined. We arrived at a small island and for some exploring. The grimace on the guides face got a little more grim. The island is a local hippo joint. Apparently hippos like to mark their territory by pooping all over and this island was covered. Our instructions were to be very quiet and be ready to run to safety at any moment. “Run to safety” was a euphemism for finding the nearest climbable tree and scrambling up it. When one of the guys pointed out that he was in sandals and that he wouldn’t be able to climb a tree, the guide replied that he’s seen old women in dressed climb up trees while being chased by hippos.

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Water Sanitation Techniques

Driving through Namibia at night is invigorating. It’s not the smartest thing that we’ve done but we had no choice. After hanging out in the grocery store parking lot in Rundu for 7 hours waiting for the car to get fixed, we had to leave. The natives were getting restless. The drive was peppered by livestock hanging out on the highway, families on bicycles, and cars with no headlights. Our original plan was to drive all the way into Botswana but since the border closed at 5pm, we stayed at the Ngepi Backpacker Camp about 40km from the border. The bar at the camp was decorated in the nouveau backpacker style. A sign on the wall said “Vodka is great for sanitizing water so drink up.” Hats, flags, and bumper stickers from various countries dotted the walls. The most unusual part of the camp was the family of hippos that foraged across the various campsites for food. No one told us about the family. Alejandro discovered the hippos in the middle of the night as Karina and Dafina flew into his tent screaming, scared out of their minds. They tried to convince Alejandro to go outside and investigate, figuring that if the hippos snack on him, they’ll walk away satisfied. The analysis was good, but it failed to account for Alejandro’s tiny body size; he’s probably two hippo nibbles worth of food.

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I Can't Really Speak Right Now

I’ve spent the last several days snacking vigorously on a local treat called biltong. This treat is similar to beef jerky, only it’s made from various types of game such as Oryx, Kudu, and Springbok. It comes in 1 foot strips about 2 inches in diameter and it’s juicy, well spiced, and incredibly chewy. The problem with biltong – or rather, the problem with me – is that I’m an amateur eater. Every 5 minutes of chewing biltong is equivalent to about 1 hard bite of my tongue, or 2 soft bites. During our drive into Rundu last night I was feeling a little tired and I let my mind wander a bit as I chewed. Huge mistake. I almost bit off the side of my tongue. Every time I speak, awesome bursts of pain course through the side of my mouth, so I’m now communicating to my travelmates via a pocket notebook. Every time I want to say something, I take out the notebook and scribble down a few thoughts. Every time I want to eat biltong, I take out the notebook and ask my friends to cut me a fresh piece.

Today was a day that brought us all closer together. We spent the night in a small lodge in the town of Rundu on the Kavango river. Across the river is Angola. Mariano and I took a short canoe trip across the river to Angola where we were greeted by a group of screaming Angola children, as well as a few babies. The babies smiled and wobbled their heads, whereas the kids threw rocks at us. Luckily, I’m a great canoe captain and I yelled at Mariano to row as fast as he could while I took a video of the incoming volley. Our invasion of Angola was unplanned. In fact, the only reason these kids were able to playt target practice with us is because we blew out the clutch of the truck on the highway as we left town this morning. A couple of the guys had to head back into town to find a sturdy rope that we could use to tow the car to a mechanic. The towing experience was pretty fun. We parked on the side of the highway, took out our camping chairs, and started brewing some tea. A few local children walked up to us and we shook their hands. A few local cows did the same and we gave them some tea.

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The Crew

As a quick note, my blog posts will come in spurts since I'm writing them from the road and then uploading them whenever I get to an internet cafe.
We made had a blast in Swakopmund riding around on ATV’s in the sand dunes. No major scratches, though a few of us ate quite a bit of sand from following the person in front too closely.
This is probably a good time to introduce the group. We’ve got 13 people from 9 different countries. There are 6 consultants, 2 venture capitalists, 2 private equity investors, 1 future Russian oil oligarch, 1 entering MBA, and 1 job hunter.
• Ben Maritz, USA: leader of the trip.
• Mariano Werner, Argentina: guitar player and meat griller.
• Alejandro Mayer, Argentina: meat griller. Nicknamed “the wounded lion.”
• Dafina Toncheva, Bulgaria: bodyguard.
• Karina Enikeeva, Krgyzstan: bodyguard.
• Nishant Mittal, India: wild driver.
• Vivian Song, USA: minister of napping.
• Daniela Bouissou, Brazil: doctor, gourmet chef.
• Poyan Rajamand, Sweden: CFO.
• Suzanne Rajamand, Denmark: real CFO.
• Alessandro Fiascaris, Italy: cartographer.
• Teresa Fiascaris, Denmark: fashion icon.
• Dan Murillo, USA: guitar player, blogger.

So far, a few themes have emerged: burning our fingers in the campfire, losing things, eating biltong (an African version of beef jerky), getting out of the car while on safari, coming up with hypothetical fight scenes between animals (how many hyenas does it take to kill a 3-legged lion?), and incredibly good food.

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Arrival in Swakopmund

I’m writing this entry from the passenger seat of a Nissan 4X4 truck about 200 miles from Etosha National Park. Most of my future posts will be written from the passenger seat of this truck because it’s the only place where I can get reliable power to juice up the laptop.

I would like to write that I made it safely from Windhoek to Swakopmund but I don’t want to embellish. The journey was anything but safe. Since I’m a friendly guy and I like getting to know the locals, I tried to chat up the Swakopmund van driver. He was a young guy, no more than 25 years old, with spiky black hair and a huge belly. His name was Johannes and he spoke English with a thick Afrikaans accent. He wasn’t much of a talker. He wasn’t much of a driver either. I asked him a few simple questions but all I could muster out of him were grunts and a few one word responses. It felt like one of those awkward conversations in a bar where you know the person isn’t interested in talking to you but you feel obligated to ask just a few more questions because it would be rude to excuse yourself so quickly. I asked one final question, “so, do you like your job?” His face lit up. “Ohhhh yeah”, he replied as he tossed his still lit cigarette into the trash bin. He took a deep breath and words started rushing out of his mouth. He began to describe how he loved the feeling of the open road and the rush of adrenaline from barreling down the highway. He told me about one of his favorite games on the road. He called this game “passing a car at high speed around a blind curve on the narrow 2-lane highway.” A bit of a long name for a game but the man is a bus driver, not a marketing expert. When he stopped talking, I asked the obvious question, “but what happens when a car comes in the other direction around the blind curve.” This one really got him going. Since there are barely any guard rails and the land on the edge of the road is flat, he likes to swerve hard off the road and kick up some dust. I asked another obvious question, “but what happens when the oncoming car does the same thing?” Perhaps there was something about my tone that made the question sound stupid and he answered it curtly, “I just swerve harder. Nobody swerves harder than me.” This response took my heartbeat down a few notches. What a relief to know that nobody in Namibia swerves harder than Johan.

I knew I had to redeem myself. I didn’t want Johannes to think that I was just another dumb American tourist. I asked him a not so obvious question, “but what happens when the curve has guard rails and you can’t swerve off the road?” A huge grin spread across his face as he pointed to the front of the car and said, “that’s why I have the rammer.” Johannes, the bus-driver-turned-poet-laureate had a way with words. The rammer was a collection of empty plastic water bottles glued together in the shape of a happy face. The structure was attached to the front of the car with a dark paste of mud, dried grass, and gravel. On blind curves where it wasn’t safe to pass cars using the swerve technique, Johannes would give the car in front a little bump using the rammer. The bump had to be hard enough to let the car know he was serious, but not hard enough to crush the rammer. It was a delicate move. Even then, the rammer didn’t last more than 4 or 5 bumps so Johannes spent several hours a week collecting and gluing used water bottles. It was his hobby.
This is how Johannes set the tone for the journey.

The excitement of the drive was quickly tempered by the loneliness of the empty highway. Namibia has one of the lowest population densities in the world and it’s possible to drive for nearly 50 miles without seeing a building or a person. The other passengers in the van slept. Drives like these demand the comforts of home. I threw on my headphones and began to cycle through my old favorites. I put on some early 90’s rap that reminded me of my misspent youth playing videos games and tinkering with computers. I moved on to Pink Floyd. The aural desolation of their music was perfect; empty landscape, empty mindscape. I sang along quietly and my neck bobbed along every time fell asleep. I put on some salsa. The night before I had met some locals at the hotel bar that took me to the only salsa bar in town, “El Cubano.” They had a great Angolan band playing old salsa hits and the Cuban owner invited me over to his table for a beer. They played one of my absolute favorite songs in Spanish, “Burbujas de Amor.” Apparently he doesn’t get many Spanish speaking visitors. He told me that Cuba helped Namibia during their fight for independence and there are still about 200 Cuban doctors practicing across the country. Next, I put on some old Tango favorites. Of these songs, the last is the one that I recommend the least when driving alone in the desert. Tango has this way of taking all the love and heartbreak that I’ve felt and tangling it into a tight little ball and then making it explode in my chest. Empty landscape, empty heart.

As I began to approach Swakopmund, I received a text message from Ben, “we’ve got the beer on ice and we’re not starting until the fun minister arrives.” The fun minister arrived in style by convincing a local to give him a ride from the van stop to the campsite.

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Airplanes, Guitars, and Cutoms Officials

I’ve finally arrived in Namibia….sort of. I landed at Chief Hosea Kutako International Airport in Windhoek, Namibia at 3:30PM, a mere 31.5 hours after I left my friend Matt’s apartment in Budapest. Everyone got into Windhoek yesterday but I couldn’t get in until today because of the wedding. The plan was to have a guy pick me up from the airport and drive me to the Sossuvlei sand dunes where everyone was camping. Unfortunately, when I landed in Windhoek, I received a text message from Ben saying that he wasn’t able to secure transportation but that I should call him when I landed. Luckily, I was able to convince a woman working at one of the airport booths to give me the security code to the wireless network so I could shoot onto Skype and give Ben a call. Just as I logged on I got another message that said the following: “we may be leaving cell coverage. I send u email with instructions. good luck.” Great message: concise, clear, and the use of the phrase “good luck” gave me a boost of inspiration. I tried to call anyway but got an automated voice saying that the phone was off. The voice went into several different languages, including a language that involved lots of clicking. Ben’s email instructed me to head over to the Roof of Africa hostel near downtown, but like any good adventure traveler I ignored his advice and rifled through my guide book to make sure I found the liveliest hostel in town (one of the themes of this trip is “fun first, safety second”). The hostel I found was booked up anyway so here I am at the Rooftop of Africa sitting at the bar, sipping a crisp Windhoek Lager, which is apparently the only beer in Africa that is still brewed according to German purity laws, and listening to the sweet sounds of Elvis. They’ve got a great Elvis album full of love songs playing on the stereo. Who knew Namibians were so romantic?

I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go next. Ben emailed me telling me to head 4 hours west to the beach city of Swakopmund. For now my plan is to spend the night at the hostel and catch a bus to Swakopmund in the morning. The receptionist at the hostel told me the bus schedule is “whenever the bus is full.” Very innovative scheduling model. I hope the airplane schedule out of here doesn’t follow this policy. Talking about airplanes, I got switched around to another airline flying from Cape Town to Johannesburg. The British Airways flight was incredibly delayed so they put me on a local carrier called Kululu. This airline is known for their bright green aircraft painted with Zebras. The woman who transferred my ticket had a real pained look on her face while she was pecking away at the computer. I thought she was going to strap me to the wing of the plane with duct tape. I would’ve needed a helmet to protect me from the bugs since it would’ve be painful to have huge African bugs smash into me at 300 mph. Since I didn’t pack a helmet, no wing, no duct tape.

Continuing on the airplane topic, I’ve noticed a trend among customs officials in Africa. I feel somewhat comfortable referring to this as a trend since I was in Tanzania, Kenya, and Ethiopia in December and this happened to me as well. Whenever I clear customs, I always get hassled over the contents of my guitar case. I’m always asked to open the case and show the inspector the guitar. One inspector in Ethiopia put the guitar around his neck and started playing it. Earlier today, the inspector in Johannesburg asked me to take the guitar out and sing for him. I thought to myself “good luck.” I delivered a very inspired, seductive version of “Love Me Tender.” He waved me on through but I kept on singing. You can’t separate a man and his guitar, just like you can’t separate a customs official and his ability to be annoying.

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The Pre-Trip

The beginning of any good travel blog usually begins with a crazy story about planning for the trip and getting on the wrong airplane or packing a Halloween mask instead of a hat or some such nonsense. I will abide by this tradition. My story begins in Paris. Don’t be fooled. Many great love stories begin in Paris; this is not one of them. This is more of a drama. Actually, the real story begins in LA when my cousin crashed my dad’s car that I was borrowing for the week and I almost had to delay my trip. Luckily the car ended up in perfect shape and my dad said he still loved me even after the debacle. Great dad.

The next installment of the trip puts me in a tiny airport outside of Paris called Beauvais. The thing that makes this airport so interesting is that everyone that works at the airport hates their job. It’s the airport that people get sent to after screwing up at Orly (which is the airport that people get sent to after screwing up at Charles De Gaulle). I think it was built as a sort of prison airport for these employees since it’s basically impossible to fire anyone in France (I believe everything I read about Europe, especially clichés like this one). I was supposed to fly from Beauvais to Budapest on Friday at 8:45AM. Instead, the airplane got delayed 14 hours and I didn’t end up leaving until 9:30PM. When the airline people announced this change, you could see this look on their faces that said, “who knew New Years Ever could come twice in one year”. They were ecstatic. Finally someone else was going to have a crappier day than they were. I was unfazed. I’ve been through many worse situations and I’m sure I’ll go through many more (wait for future posts once I arrive in Africa). I went outside and found a nice patch of grass and wrapped my jacket around this laptop and used it as a pillow. I had a fantastic nap, although I was rudely awakened by a couple of Hungarian gypsy babies that were running around screaming and throwing grass in the air. Once again, I remained unfazed. I’m sure that in a few years I’ll have screaming babies that throw grass in the air.

Budapest has been great. I’m here for the wedding of a college roommate. Even though I didn’t know anyone in his family, I had a great time. The city is beautiful and the guys that work on the metros checking tickets are very slow. We took advantage of this today and hopped on a metro without buying a ticket. The machine was broken so we had no choice. Unfortunately, we picked the one metro where the ticket checker is still enthusiastic about checking tickets. He was a young guy, nice smile, no pinky. As soon as we hopped on board he began to make his way towards us. Luckily, I saw him just as he was about to check us and I pulled my friend off the metro and saved the day. Great leadership.

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