Apologies for the intermission

For the few that actually follow this blog religiously and for the many that occasionally browse through this if news.bbc.co.uk or theonion.com are having a slow day, I apologise for the delay. A lot has happened in this brief intermission, not all of which is worth writing about.

Firstly, the Africa leg of this adventure. After starting to feel better from my truck-stopping stomach bug, I attended the final night party at a hostel up the road from the campsite...only to find myself projectile vomiting into the bushes what little food I thought I had made progress with.

Though I had cancelled white water for a different coloured water rafting, I still attended the walking with elephants and walking with lions activities. The lions were hypnotic; I was mentally subdued by their marble eyes, massive paws and sheer force. We walked with them, petted them, had our photos taken with them; it was surreal to say the least.

The elephants were a different matter. They're incredibly charming animals because those colossal, they have strong family bonds and a slow playful manner. I sat on young male called Malasha, who was found either in or around a coal mine (Malasha meaning coal, but the story getting lost in translation between me and my guide who rode with me). We walked around a small safari park, while our guides told us about the elephants' lifestyles and stories. Everyone had a great time, except for me. My guide was whacking Malasha over the head with this metal pole, ending in a hook, every time he went slightly off track or wanted to stop to eat a stick. Eventually I said something and, fearing he was going to lose his tip, my guide refrained from beating the 9 year old elephant.

Finally my last day arrived, I packed up my tent for the last time, crossed the border to Zambia and flew home - watching every film available on the plane...including an hour and a half documentary by Chris Rock on African-American women's hair. What are their secrets you ask? In short, sodium hydroxide which straightens hair, but if breathed in can cause irreparable damage to the lungs, and weaves made of Indian hair sown into a net. Sorry Oprah, your secret is out.

If Africa was the worst of times, then home was the best of times. It was a short story in lethargic indulgence and unnecessary extravagance. However, I was not there for a long. Within a week I was back to the UK for a short stop before jumping on a Jet Airways flight to Mumbai, India (but not before seeing The Social Network, the latest film by Aaron Sorkin, award winning writer of West Wing, David Fincher, director of Flight Club and Seven, and produced by Kevin Spacey, about the rise of Facebook co-founder Mark Zuckerburg, already tipped to do well at the next oscars i.e. it's an awesome film, worthy of two hours of your time).