There was one trip I made to Congo in 1997 to cover the civil war there. The UN had agreed to fly in a bunch of reporters. They didn’t want to use one of their own planes, because it was a war zone, but they found a private plane and a Texan pilot, a wild and crazy Texan who had been flying drugs in from Colombia into the U.S. at a hundred feet above sea level. And finally that got too hot for him, so he relocated to Africa to fly into war zones for anybody who would pay him. And we ended up crashing. We ended up being in a plane crash flying into the Congo and that was scary, because we knew, we had about 20 minutes when we were losing control of the plane, lost hydraulics. You couldn’t dump fuel, because you dump fuel with the hydraulics. Finally we crash landed. I was okay. But then I thought, well, maybe when I leave the Congo, I’m not sure I want to fly with some crazy pilot again. I looked at the map and there was a road going out that had recently been repaired by one of the rebel armies to go in. So I went, I know, I’ll drive out. So I hired a vehicle. We tried to drive out that way. This road was just in the middle of nowhere. No nothing. Three wars going on. Three different rebel armies fighting their way along this at various times.