Running away to Africa wasn’t meant to be this much fun
A week after breaking up with the GND (my travelling companion through Central America) I headed off to Africa to lose myself for a while. In the grand tradition of 19th-century scoundrels, explorers and romantics, Africa strikes me as the ideal place to find solitude and anonymity in the face of a personal crisis.
It didn’t quite work out that way, of course. As I travelled from the southernmost city in Africa to the Pyramids of Egypt, I fell in with a motley cast of characters and had a myriad misadventures: including narrowly escaping a riot by hiding in a coffin shop in Addis Ababa, ‘starring’ as an extra in a WW2 epic in Nairobi and dodging 20,000 single woman trying to catch the eye of the king of Swaziland during the annual Reed Dance.
Oh, and then there was the time when I was kicked out of Robert Mugabe’s birthday bash at gunpoint…
So much for the recuperative powers of a Masai Mara sunset.
“Moore captures the spirit of contemporary Africa. Brilliant.” – Good Book Guide
“An entertaining armchair read.” – The Times
“Moore has a parched dry wit, the solid brass cojones of a true traveller and a rare eye for the madness of the wider world” – John Birmingham
“Relayed with his dryer-than-the-Sahara wit.” – OK Magazine
“A first-class guide for armchair travellers everywhere.” – Mail on Sunday *