Barbarians at the Gate

One of the funny things about travelling with Champlain College students is that they're such harmless little nerds that at the end of a day of adventure they are are safely tucked away in their rooms playing cards or video games or updating their friends on their particular branch of social media.  It's usually the professors who, after making sure the students are safely ensconced in the hotel, are grabbing a nightcap and a depressurization break (see Brandenburg/Scudder in India/Sri Lanka; Scudder/Kelly/Thomas in Spain/Portugal; Scudder/Wehmeyer in Zanzibar - there's a common theme to these adventures, although I'm not certain exactly what it is).  When I think of this phenomenon I mainly think of Wehmeyer and I in Zanzibar, mainly because the Flamingo Guesthouse shuts down early, and the nice man at the front desk, normally in his pajamas, is roused to unlock the front door).  On our recent trip to Zanzibar we didn't even have the students to blame because Steve and I were on our own.  And, truthfully, I guess I can blame the Flamingo either because we ran into the same problem when we ventured down to the southern tip of the island at Jambiani.  We were out having dinner with a contact one night and when we made it back to the resort we were locked out, and there was no one to rally.  Here's a picture of Steve, waiting, patiently, and unsuccessfully, for someone to show up.  There's a metaphor here somewhere.

Eventually we gave up and when around to the back fate that faced the ocean, which was also locked, but low enough that we could, gracelessly. climb over.