Here's another one.
Now, I love Durban. I went there on my honeymoon. If anyone out there has ever visited (or has plans to visit) South Africa, it's by far my #1 recommended tourist destination. The clubs there are amazing. The Indian Ocean is warm. The surfing is spectacular. The weather is perfect, hardly ever falling below 18° C /64° F. They have the 5th biggest aquarium in the world with a pool where the only thing separating you from their shark tank is a big ole piece of glass. The people there are fucking awesome. There are game reserves. They have mountains. They have cheaper prices on practically everything compared to Jo'burg or Cape Town. But what I remember the best is that the food is just... yes. We went out to eat every night - sea food on a boat in the harbor, Korean food (hard to find in SA), sushi, and Indian food.
Oh yes, the Indian food.
Durban is known for it's Indian population and its amazing Indian food. For a great reason. It's the most amazing stuff ever.
Now, being born and raised in North Carolina and Virginia USA, this was such a different experience. You can't get proper curry where I'm from - not that I had ever even had the bad curry. But, for noobs to curry like myself, I really recommend the samoosa. It's a little triangle piece of crispy pastry stuffed with savory filling. My favorite being the beef mince curry or mutton curry (there aren't a ton of vegetarian Hindu Indians here, they are mostly Muslim). They're cheap too, at about R5-10 each, they are less than a dollar.
I might have had upwards of about 40 of them during the last few days of my visit there.
Anyway, it was a long drive home. About 8 to 10 hours, depending on traffic.
I didn't even see it coming. I mean, in retrospect, maybe I should have.
Hour three of our drive, I sneezed.
"Oh shit, I shat."
Not only that, it had the distinct qualities of a samoosa. Oily and burny and with a distinct curry smell - expelled from my anus at the speed of sound. I think I might have discovered the real brown note, if you know what I mean.
Cue about 4 or 5 hours of my husband giggling, with our car windows down and him hanging out of the window as he drove.
We couldn't stop. We were out in the middle of the fucking African bush. Ain't no gas stations in the middle of the African bush. You know what's in the middle of the African bush? Hijackers, murderers, and fucking lions. And I surely didn't want to fucking die with shit in my pants.
And I didn't want my husband to die because I had shat my pants.
I couldn't reach my bag to do anything about it, either. I managed to get a towel to sit on to spare our car seat, but... it was the most disgusting ~4 hours of my LIFE and it was even more awks when we got home and had to greet family. He had to distract them while cackling like a hyena as I slipped in and made a direct path to the bathroom.
And that is definitely the reason why we are still together. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.
