So Close and Yet Safari

Our overnight bus got us back in Nairobi at 5:00am and we were allowed to chill on the bus until about 6:00, at which point we were kicked off and sent on our way. We found a hotel, and similar to our day in Mombasa checked in early and crashed until around lunch. During our roam of the city after lunch we had one last mission. Before we left Kenya we needed to find a Tusker t-shirt for Matt. We, rather Matt, had so many Tuskers over the course of the trip that it only made sense to commemorate this with a Tusker t-shirt. I felt like I had seen hundreds of them over the course of our trip, so I assumed this would not a difficult task. Boy, was I wrong! We stopped in every store and kiosk. Nothing. However, we did find shops full of kangas (a cotton wrap usually worn by women) with Obama's face on them.

We eventually gave up after more than an hour of searching, and dejectedly made our way back to the hotel. On the way back, we passed a large building labeled, City Market. I suggested we should give it a shot, and Matt agreed though we didn't hold out much hope. We walked in and it was a large two-story, open-concept market with hundreds of kiosks filled with Kenyan crafts and goodies. Immediately, we were attacked by the vendors.

"Take a look"

"I make nice things."

"Looking is free"

"Come! Come!"

"Look at my stuff." And every other variation of those.

Being far too tired to deal with this, we all but ducked our heads and ran from one end to the other. We were almost through to the other side, when one of the shouts caught our attention and caused us to turn on our heels like cartoon characters.

"Tusker T-Shirts!"

Bingo! Matt finally had the complete Kenyan outfit-- sandals from Watamu, coconut bracelet and kikoi from Lamu, and Tusker T-shirt from Nairobi.

We spent the rest of the day napping and we did finally get pepperoni pizza, that for some reason we had been craving for most of the trip. Chapati, rice and beef stew is good, but it leaves you day-dreaming of even the blandest of foods after three weeks.

Before long, I found myself packing my bags and preparing for the long flight through Heathrow to Boston. After I was packed, I laid down on the bed relaxing before heading to the airport and listened to a mosque's call to prayer accompanied by the buzzing of the room's florescent light—a fitting end to a Kenyan adventure.

Day Twenty: A Long way home

2009-07-31T10:20:00.000-07:00

Sadly, this day marked the beginning of our long trip back home. We caught a morning ferry back to the mainland and while loading onto the ferry, I witnessed something I had noticed on our ferry ride to Lamu as well. If a woman carrying a baby needed help getting onto the ferry, she seemed to have no qualms about handing the child to a stranger who had wordlessly offered help until she got herself settled. It was heartwarming to watch the strong sense of community that this simple act demonstrated. I cannot picture any American mother handing off her baby to a stranger on a ferry or bus while she got situated and conversely, I cannot imagine an American stranger to be as willing to take the responsibility of baby watching if even for a few moments.

The ferry was followed by the four and a half hour stuffy bus ride from Mokowe to Malindi. We ate lunch in Malindi and yet again found ourselves shopping. I was in desperate need of a basket or bag to help get all my souvenirs home. Next, we had to find a bus to bring us back to Nairobi. We were determined to find a bus that would be a step up from the bus that brought us out. An overnight ride demands a more comfortable bus. Our best choice turned out to be the Mash bus. That evening found us boarding the overnight to Nairobi.

I might add that a few seats in front of me, there was a man wearing a Pacers hat. What are the odds? A man in Kenya wearing a hat for one of two basketball teams I would actually watch? (This is a terrible picture, but you get the idea.)

Day Twenty One: The End.

Day Nineteen: Thanksgiving Day!

2009-07-30T10:02:00.000-07:00

It was Thanksgiving Day, so I was going to allow myself to sleep in. The mosque, whose loud speaker was right outside our hotel window, had other plans. Butt-crack of dawn and the morning call to prayer, which was loud enough to make your ears bleed, caused me to jump a good three feet off the bed. Stubbornly, I laid in bed refusing to wake up and successfullydidn't get out of bed until much later than normal.

On our way to breakfast, we stopped by the hotel office to mention our room's attempted suicide and we were promised it would be fixed. We then went to enjoy another relaxing breakfast at Happa Happa. While waiting for food, the owner David came over and taught us how to play Bao. Bao is the Kenyan and Tanzanian version of mancala. David would come over and play a move or two between helping other customers and in the end we won the first game! He probably allowed us to win. David made the Bao boards himself and Matt and I both ordered a board to take home with us. He would stain them and we could pick them up right before we leave the next day. We did not leave Happa Happa until shortly after noon.

Back at our hotel, we discovered that our room had been fixed and that what we later deemed the "Kenyan ladder" was left below the fan. Someone had used an ornately carved bench and a plastic lawn chair as a ladder to reinstall the ceiling fan. Brilliant.

Next on the agenda was Shela beach. Shela is on the south side of the island and is known for being a bit of a European enclave and for its beautiful beach. We walked along the beach from Lamu to Shela, which happened to be a longer venture than I originally thought. Once we arrived at Shela, we walked around the town before heading to the beach and the feel of the town is almost indescribable. The houses were beautiful mansions, obviously owned by foreigners, but still somehow looked "Kenyan." The houses were seemingly at funny angles to each other, none of them in a row, and small alleyways ducked behind and around them. It almost felt as if you were invading the property, but it also gave you a glimpse into a glamorous life as a rich foreigner.

After wandering around the alleyways, we forged on towards the beach. In stark contrast to inner-Shela, Shela beach was wide open and empty. A few people were on the beach, but from the particular spot we chose to relax, we could only see one other couple. Once again, I had the nasty habit of leaving Matt on the beach and playing in the water. Dhows consistently floated past us on their way to and from the sea and the speed of some of these traditional boats were amazing. At one point, one dhow traveling very close to the shore, dropped anchor directly in front of us and began gutting and cleaning a fish for lunch. I again looked up and down the beach and still there were only two other people on the beach and yet, this dhow had decided to stop directly in front of us and releasing fish guts into the water. Thankfully, they were off before much longer and the tide had swept away the fish guts so we could continue enjoying our peaceful Thanksgiving afternoon.

It wasn't too much longer before our stomachs began growling and we packed up to have a late, light lunch. We had determined not to eat too much as we planned on stuffing ourselves to the max at dinner as only appropriate for Thanksgiving dinner. Overeating at dinner was the only way we could make it feel like Thanksgiving seeing as there would be no turkey, no mashed potatoes, no cranberries and no Macy's Day Parade. The horror! The horror!

Rather than journey the long walk back to Lamu, we grabbed a boat taxi. On the ride, we were informed about the "Bush Men of Lamu" who hide in the bushes between Lamu and Shela and attack mzungus. Interesting. I wonder if this information would have been good to know before we walked all the way to Shela?

Once we made it safely back to Lamu, we had just enough time to shower the sweat and sunscreen off before our sunset dhow ride. Matt, the sailor, spent most of the time admiring and inspecting the boat.

I on the other hand, relaxed and enjoyed one of the most peaceful experiences of my life. I think the pictures can speak for themselves.

Before docking back in Lamu, the captain and his assistant taught us the Jambo song and the last five minutes of our ride found us signing along.

Jambo, Jambo bwana

Habari Gani, Nzuri sana

Everybody signing, hakuna matata

Everybody dancing, hakuna matata

Yeah, I know. Hakuna matata is a real Swahili phrase that means "no worries." They seriously say hakuna matata. Disney actually taught you something!

Shortly after returning from our dhow ride, it was time for Thanksgiving dinner. Being as uncreative as we apparently are, we went to Bush Gardens...again. Our dinner was top quality--garlic bread, soup, lobster, crab, rice and fries. I requested fries because I needed at least some kind of potato on Thanksgiving. Overall, it was a delicious meal, and we both ate so much food that we pretty much had to roll back to the hotel. Literally, we were so full we had to walk bent over in order to make the short distance back to the hotel. Once we finally dragged our sorry stuffed selves back to our hotel room, we passed out.

Day Twenty: A Long Way Home

Day Eighteen: Impromtu Parade = Awesome

2009-07-28T10:11:00.000-07:00

For breakfast, we discovered Happa Happa, another open concept restaurant on the front line of the harbor. Then it was off to meet Ziwa, our guide for an early morning walking tour of Lamu Town. Lamu Town is located on the northeast side of Lamu Island, part of the Lamu Archipelago. There are no cars (or rather, almost none) on Lamu island and walking into Lamu Town is like walking back in time. The buildings, most dating back to the 18th century, are tall and close together, even the main street of Lamu Town is skinny and a claustrophobic's nightmare.

The door frames for almost every single door were elaborately carved. Some of the carved doors were hundreds of years old, and others were brand new, yet all were breathtakingly gorgeous.

During our tour we saw an old fort, the wood carving workshops, the "foreign corner", the covered market, and mosque after mosque after mosque. I cannot remember how many mosques are on Lamu Island, but it was outrageous number for such a small island.

Before parting ways with Ziwa, he set us up for a sunset dhow ride for the next day, which happened to be Thanksgiving. Mind you, a dhow ride was the one must for our time in Lamu. Matt being a sailor and all.

After our tour, we spent the day exploring Lamu Town on our own and shopping. We bought several kikois, the traditional striped wrap mainly worn by men. We also found some beautifully made feminine kikois which were flashier than the male version and perfect for belly dance costumes as I later found out! We also made sure that we stopped by the wood carving workshops and bought some stunning carved wood plates for gifts.

We enjoyed ourselves so much the night before, that we couldn't help but eat at Bush Gardens once again. The boisterous Mr. Bush remembered us and chatted once more. This time we heard more about the culture festival coming up. Diplomats and ambassadors were all showing up on the island and this was very special for his restaurant. In fact, the French ambassador was eating at Bush Gardens while he spoke. He gestured grandly while he explained how honored he was that the French ambassador would come to his restaurant. This of course meant that Mr. Bush could not waste too much time chatting to us and shortly went off to entertain his esteemed guest.

With full stomachs, we waddled back to the hotel and were relaxing on our rooftop hang-out when we heard some drumming and singing coming from the main street in town. As we leaned over the edge of the roof in hopes to glimpse the source of the music, we noticed the sound seemed to be moving further down the street. Matt and I caught each other's eye and wordlessly bolted out the door to chase after whatever was going on. It was after dark, and thankfully this was the one place we felt safe venturing out of the hotel at night because I would have hated to miss this! When we caught up to the music, we discovered it was an impromptu parade to celebrate a recent winning on the part of the boys’ soccer team. All the young boys were following the musicians and singing through town while the trophy was taken to each store ceremoniously to celebrate and ask for donations of good will.

We followed the parade for awhile and before heading straight back to the hotel, we were advised to stop by Petly's bar. There was to be more pre-Culture Fest music, dance and celebration at Petly's. Eager to immerse myself in music, we headed over and disappointingly found the place fairly empty. We grabbed some Tuskers and disappointedly headed back for the hotel roof, where we enjoyed our beer and played some card games. I kicked Matt's ass at card games and he just wouldn't let it go. Determined to win, he continued to make me play. It saddened me to be so amazing at a card game, and yet at the same time I couldn’t mercy lose a game on principle.

We had finally made it downstairs to our room and were tucking in for bed when, low and behold, music started emanating from Petly's bar. Fuck it. I was in bed. Just before I fell asleep, there was a loud bang and I sat up to notice that our room had attempted suicide. The ceiling fan had fallen out of the ceiling and in the process knocked down the curtain rods and curtains and narrowly missed killing one of us as it bounced off the edge of the bed and landed on the floor.

Once I finally stopped laughing, I pushed everything off to the side and went to sleep.

Day Nineteen: Thanksgiving Day!

Map!

2009-07-28T07:59:00.000-07:00

So...It never occurred to me that maybe it would be nice to display a map of our travels. I've added our route in the below map. The blue line indicates our safari route. It may not look like it, but we really did see ALOT! For some sense of scale the bus ride from Nairobi to Mombasa was 10 hours.

If you have not been following my whole blog (shame on you), here is the order of places we visited:

Nairobi--> Naivasha--> Masai Mara--> Lake Bagoria--> Lake Nakuru--> Samburu--> Nairobi--> Mombasa--> Watamu--> Lamu--> Nairobi--> Home :(

Day Seventeen: Lamu

2009-07-24T10:43:00.000-07:00

For our last day in Watamu, we had arranged for an early morning swim with the dolphins. Being a huge dolphin nerd, I excitedly awoke and readied myself for what was going to be the coolest experience of my life! We met with our guide, the same guide as our snorkeling trip the day before, and we head out past the reef and out into the Indian Ocean. It took us a little while, but we finally came across a small pod of dolphins. Quickly, I put on my mask and dove in. Just as quickly as I dove in, the dolphins dove too...completely out of sight. Back into the boat.

Another few minutes and they resurfaced a short distance away and we tailed them. I jumped back into the water and this time I got a quick view of about four or five dolphins diving into the depths before I lost sight. Ok, back into the boat. This pattern repeated another three or so times, and the last time I apparently got stung with something on the back of my leg as it was red and hurt like a bitch. After that, I was ready to give up. These dolphins apparently wanted nothing to do with us. Coolest experience of my life? Hardly, but fun none-the-less.

Once we returned from the unsuccessful dolphin trip, we packed our stuff and began walking into town to catch a matatu. While walking with our bags, obviously looking to leave, we were joined by a young man who asked if we needed a matatu. Matt informed him that we were all set, knowing that he was just looking for an unnecessary. The young man persisted and Matt was losing his patience. We eventually told the guy to bugger off and caught a matatu before he could say otherwise. Well, it turns out the guy hopped the same matatu. I was pretty sure we were going to get stabbed from the looks this guy was shooting us.

In the end, we made it to Malindi with no more trouble and scheduled a bus to take us four hours north to Lamu. Sybilla, who we met in Naivasha used to live in Lamu and highly recommended that we venture there. This was to be our last stop. Three days in Lamu, and then we had just enough time to travel back to Nairobi before hopping a plane back home.

The bus was stuffy, crowded, and uncomfortable-- everything I expected it to be. Waiting for the bus to fill, hawkers made their rounds selling goods through the windows of the bus to passengers. One vendor selling sambusas, spiced meat in fried dough triangles, caught our attention and we decided to try one. They are delicious! After devouring the first two, we requested two more!

Before too long, our bus took off, and for four hours we listened to blaring Bollywood music. The mother in the seat behind us sang along with the recording to her son so cheerfully that it was hard not to enjoy listening. At one point along the trip, the young son stuck his head through the seats between Matt and me. I smiled at him and he immediately burst into tears. The mother began laughing and repeating "Aw, he's scared of the mzungu [white person]." Great! I'm glad the mother at least found it amusing, but I seem to be gifted with the talent to make all small children cry.

Roughly halfway through our bus ride, the bus pulled over and the driver purchased a live chicken from a few women on the side of the road. This chicken rode with us all the way to Lamu. During the course of our trip, I happened to notice the couple across the aisle to our right, an older white woman and black man. Several times during the trip, the woman requested of the man her tea, and the man would politely pull out a Thermos of tea and porcelain cup, pour the tea, and pass the cup to the woman. May I remind you what the Kenyan road system is like? Needless to say, the poor man was covered in half the cup of tea before he was able to pass it to the woman. I couldn't help but take amusement in the futility.

An hour after the chicken joined us, we blew a tire. Every single man on the bus, including Matt, took this opportunity to leave the bus and in a display of manliness attempt to help fix the flat tire. Not caring to ruin their perceived manliness, I stayed on the bus and probably made a few more of the children on board cry. Before too long, the woman across the aisle, who was having trouble with her tea earlier, introduced herself and began a heavily one-sided conversation. Her name was Sylvia and I learned that she was a third generation English Kenyan, an accomplished singer who had performed with famous artists, and a painter. She was currently on her way to Lamu for an exhibit of her art. I was handed several CD covers, art fliers, and other various information. At first, I found this exciting. I met a musician and artist in Kenya, maybe this will bring me connections further down the line. After listening to her for about half an hour, the amusement was quickly wearing off. Thankfully, the men had started to make their way back onto the bus and I was saved by Matt's return. Well, almost. For the last hour of the ride, Sylvia continued to have conversations while leaning over her companion and adding more tea to the poor man's outfit. Matt, conveniently, was busy staring out the window and was no use in my attempts to pull myself out of trapping of Sylvia's conversation.

We finally arrived at a port, where we had to board a ferry that would take us to Lamu Island. "Ferry" is a generous term for the boat we rode to Lamu. It was a simple boat, on which roughly 50 or so people (including all luggage) were crammed. The ride was thankfully a short one and we pulled into Lamu's port.

Immediately upon stepping foot on land, we were swarmed by touts. Overwhelmed and exhausted from a long, uncomfortable day, we were lucky that the first touts to find us happened to be from the hotel we had booked. They took us directly to the Casuarina hotel. We had called a few days back to book this hotel after reading a good write-up in our guide book and it was cheap. The room was nothing spectacular, but over-all the hotel was fabulous. We were on the second floor and there was a balcony that over looked the harbor, but if you went upstairs there was a great roof hangout, which is where we spent every night.

We checked-in and unloaded ourselves. Next on the agenda was dinner. We were advised to go to Bush Gardens, a sea-food restaurant overlooking the harbor. Sybilla said the food was great and Mr. Bush was good for a chat. Bush Gardens, like the other restaurants on the first line of the harbor, were fabulous open-concept seating. It was not long after sitting at Bush Gardens before we spotted Mr. Bush who was a short, round, and boisterous man. He was busy mingling with customers and is probably the jolliest looking person I have ever met. He emanated an aura of jolliness that was contagious. He made his way over to us to inquire about the food, and we started in a conversation with him mentioning that we were sent here by Sybilla. Mr. Bush suddenly smiled even wider than before (something I would have thought impossible until I saw it) and said, "Ah yes, Sybilla, the tall beauty" while standing on his toes in an attempt to create the illusion of a tall women, completely lost on his short and round stature. He then launched into a long conversation about the large Lamu Culture Festival coming up for the weekend. Unfortunately, we only found out upon arriving on the island that a three day culture festival was starting the day we were scheduled to leave. WTF?! There was going to be dhow (traditional sail boat) racing, donkey racing, and more dancing and music than you could shake a stick at. Maybe next year.

We finished our dinner, made our way back after twilight to the hotel and enjoyed a Tusker beer on the roof top. I'm not sure I ever mentioned why Tusker beer was so awesome. First, it's just a good beer, tasty. I, however, may not be the best judge of beer, I'll probably drink anything. Second reason why Tusker beer is the best beer on the planet: it's label. The back label reads:

"Tusker lager has been brewed in East Africa since 1922. Named after the elephant that killed one of the brewery's founders, Tusker claims that special heritage of being one of the first beers in East Africa. Over the years, this unique lager has become a part of East Africa's rich tradition.

Tusker is brewed with high quality malt, made from the finest equatorial barley, choicest hops and water that springs from the renowned Aberdare mountain ranges. Tusker's famous crisp, refreshing taste and finest quality has continuously earned gold medals in the prestigious International Monde Selection Awards."

Wait a tick. Back up. "Named after the elephant that killed one of the brewery's founders?" Seriously? Tusker doesn't screw around, it means business. It's named after a KILLER ELEPHANT! That is awesome incarnate.

Day Eighteen: Impromptu Parade = Awesome

Day Sixteen: Gede Ruins

2009-07-17T08:18:00.000-07:00

We started our morning in style by taking a snorkeling trip to Watamu Marine National Park about 2km off the coast.

When we arrived within the park, we were the only ones out and about. Our guide tossed bread overboard which caused the mass of zebra fish to swarm right next to our boat. We quickly hopped into the water and enjoyed exploring the coral reef full of colorful fish.

Not surprisingly, we were interrupted by two or three new boats full of Italian tourists before we got too much time to ourselves. Reminiscent of Samburu, Matt and I were enjoying ourselves in silence, which isn't hard to do considering you are swimming and attempting to breathe through a tube. However, regardless of the snorkeling tubes stuffed in their mouths, twenty or so Italians still made quite the raucous. One Italian man wearing blue and white striped shorts made himself particularly obnoxious by running directly into me at least 6 times. Obnoxious bastards.

On our way back to shore, our guide mentioned that they sometimes take tourists out to swim with the dolphins. Being a huge dolphin fan, I begged to set up a trip and soon enough we had an appointment to swim with dolphins the next morning before striking off north once more.

Next on the agenda for the day was to visit the Gede Ruins. The Gede Ruins are located just outside of Watamu and are the site of a Swahili trading city established around the 13th century. By the 17th or 18th century, the inhabitants mysteriously abandoned the city. The forest then took over and hid the city until the 1920s. Since then excavations have discovered Ming Chinese porcelain, Persian earthenware, as well as Swahili goods. The buildings were made with coral rag, or mud and earth infused with coral lime giving them an interesting texture.

On our walk from the main road to the site of the ruins, we passed a Giryama village from which intense drumming pulsated. We agreed that we would check out the commotion on our way back. As seemed to be a growing trend for this trip, Matt and I appeared to be the only people and we got the whole site to ourselves. The site is completely open, there are no ropes or strictly adhered to paths. You are left to literally walk into what remains of the structures and be transported back in time.

The ruins were amazing to see, yet even in the shadow of the trees, the temperature was overwhelming. It did not take us long before we exhausted ourselves and we set back down the road towards the Giryama village. The music was still playing within the walls. We approached the edge of the village hoping to just spy in on the performance, but we were greeted by village officials who happily asked us to join them within the village (for money, mind you). We resisted and eventually agreed on a fair price, after which we were asked to sit down while the men and women prepared for a performance. Different than our experience in the Masai village whose musical performance was strictly vocal performance, a row of musicians sat in the background and began playing drums and percussion including a sheet of metal. Soon enough women lined up and began to dance with the music. The music was overwhelming and full of joy, even though the dancers did not appear to be enjoying themselves quite as much.

After a few minutes, we were asked to join them and while Matt and I danced with the women, a bystander took photos. Thank god, I was almost spared these embarrassing photos...

Once the performance came to a close, we got a chance to chat with the locals, who of course spent most of the time trying to sell us instruments. Granted, being interested in music and African music in particular, I did in fact leave with two wood flutes and one drum. I asked what the drum's head was made of, and was told that traditionally dik-dik skin was used, but for the sake of tourists who would find it hard to get through customs with dik-dik skin, goat's skin was what covered my drum.

A successful day exploring what Watamu had to offer could only end in cocktails on the beach once more. Watamu had proved to be a great leg of our journey that both of us had enjoyed very much and we considered hanging around for one more day than planned. In the end, we decided we would rather give ourselves time to see what Lamu in the north had to offer and that is not a decision I have come to regret.

Day Seventeen: Lamu

Day Fifteen: KalifiMalindiKalifiMalindiKalifiMalindi

2009-07-17T05:52:00.000-07:00

We enjoyed breakfast once again on the roof of the Glory Hotel before heading out and up the coast. Our plan was to take a matatu up to Watamu and stay with a friend of Julie's. The matatus generally gather in sections of the town based on their destination. We made our way to the matatu cluster that was northbound and were bombarded by shouts from the conductors."KalifiMalindiKalifiMalindiKalifiMalindiKalifiMalindi!" The conductors would hang out the side window of the matatu pumping their arms up and down or banging loudly on the side of the matatu while announcing their destinations.

We chose a matatu and it took us as far as Kalifi, where we were promptly kicked off and had to find another matatu to the outskirts of Watamu and a final matatu to get downtown. The matatus are not extremely pleasant, but were at least an experience while in and around Nairobi. We quickly learned that on the coast they were quite miserable indeed. For starters the temperature on the coast jumped significantly. Instead of the rather cool 70s we experienced in Naivasha, the sun beat down and oppressively rose the temperature to the 90s. Secondly, the entire trip from Mombasa to Watamu was over two hours. Finally, being a longer trip, we made several stops along the way to pick up passengers and more so than ever, the matatus began to feel like clown car. I believe only one ass cheek at a time was ever able to squeeze onto a seat during our ride. All in all, two hours is FAR too long to spend sweating your ass off while stuffed between equally sweaty passengers.

We finally made it to Watamu and had made plans to stay with Julie's friend, Kushunia who has a nice place on the outskirts. We asked several boda-boda (bicycle taxi) drivers and nobody seemed to know where this place was and how to get there. During our scramble to find where we needed to go, we were approached several times by the owner of the Krabella Inn. We tried to explain that we had arrangements and didn't need a place, but per usual that did not stop him from trying. We walked up and down town at least three times with no luck finding our way to the arranged accommodations, and by the last we had had enough. We found the Krabella Inn and booked it for two nights.

As it turns out, I think the Krabella Inn was a better set up than if we had found Kushunia's place. The room had an open concept living/kitchen area and a bedroom framed by a beautiful carved door.

The best part? We were only around the corner from Watamu's Blue Lagoon. Anxious for some beach time, we suited up and took a walk.

I am a water person. I love being in the water and could probably spend most of my time just splashing around and amusing myself. So, the second we picked a sandy spot, I ditched Matt and ran off to play in the water...which it turns out is roughly the same temperature as the air. Ugh. So, while the water wasn't as refreshing as I might have hoped, I still enjoyed myself and left Matt to watch our stuff. Shortly, I noticed a man approach Matt and sit down chatting. I assumed this was one of the beach boys we were warned about. Apparently the Kenyan coast is a hot spot for Italian tourists and these beach boys roam the beaches practicing their Italian and pestering beach goers. I decided to go join Matt back on the beach and evidently I am rather intimidating, because before I could even sit down, the beach boy had run off. This happened several times-- I would go out in the water, the beach boy would approach Matt and take off as soon as I came back.

Come dinner time, we went back to the hotel to clean up and for the first time, the lack of a hot shower did not bother me in the slightest. Once refreshed, we made our way back to the Blue Lagoon and the BiBi Bar, which had a deck with gorgeous views of the lagoon.

There's not much in this world that is more satisfying then cocktails on the beach during sunset. During our visit to the BiBi Bar, we met Peter our waiter. He was very nice and enjoyable company. We learned that he had grown up in the area, hoped to find a nice girl and be married by the age of 28, and move away from the coast because there is no future for kids on the coast other than to become beach boys.

We finished our cocktails and headed back to the hotel after dark and later than we intended, but we made it back safely to enjoy a warm, yet good night’s sleep.

Day Sixteen: Gede Ruins

Day Fourteen: Where in the World is Carmen SanDiego? Mombosa!

2009-07-16T11:07:00.000-07:00

At 9:00pm the night before, we were loaded onto the overnight bus to Mombasa and at 6:30am we arrived in Mombasa. Ugh!

The ride was not pleasant, but it could have been worse. In between the light naps I was able to take on the bus, we were pulled over at a police checkpoint and an armed officer walked down the bus. We either escaped shortly or I fell back asleep, but next thing I know we were back on the bumpy roads. However much I may want to complain about the trip, I had it better than Matt. What we could only conclude as the work of his juice from breakfast, his stomach decided it would not cooperate. I'm not sure he slept any of the way to Mombasa.

Arriving in Mombasa at 6:30am may not be the most convenient, though I'm sure it was more so than 5:00am, the scheduled time we were supposed to arrive. Most everything was still closed and all we wanted to do was find a hotel and crash. We stopped first at a hotel a few blocks from the bus stop, but there were no vacancies. We then trekked half way across town carrying all our luggage to the Glory Hotel (not as glorious as the name might suggest) which thankfully had vacancies. At this point, we were so tired that the prospect of even this, our most modest accommodation yet, was in fact glorious.

We unloaded our stuff and made our way to breakfast which was available on the roof of the hotel. The view from our perch on top of the hotel would be my entire experience of Mombasa. After breakfast we went back to the room, sleeping until we had to get up for lunch. Lunch was at the Blue Room a few blocks down. Then, back to the hotel room until dinner time, which consisted of a short trip to the grocery store for a yogurt for Matt and a Coke for me which we enjoyed on the roof of the hotel.

It was while on the roof enjoying our "meal" that I experienced one of my favorite moments. As the sun set and Mombasa was bathed in twilight, at least 4 or 5 mosques turned on their speakers and began their call to prayer. Each call had its own quality--some had scratchy loudspeakers, some whispered rather than called, some rang clearly and loudly. And all of this played above everyday city sounds--honks, shouts, chatting, and beeps. It is in this eerily beautiful moment that I truly experienced music as life and culture rather than simply organized noise for the sake of entertainment.

Day Fifteen: KalifiMalindiKalifiMalindiKalifiMalindi

Day Thirteen: Karen

2009-06-23T08:17:00.000-07:00

Bright and early in the morning, the Qur'an melodiously shouted from the mosque's loud speaker and startled me out of my sleep. Unable to get back to sleep after such a rude awakening, we forced ourselves up and out for breakfast and then spent the morning perusing Nairobi. We first stopped at Doyen Safaris to fill out an evaluation of our trip. We were once again greeted by boisterous Kennedy and his incoherent, happy rambling and hand-shaking. We completed the positive evaluation, listened to the requests ("When you come back, you come back to Doyen. We treat you right." " Tell all your friends back home!"), and headed back out on the town. Our next mission was to buy our overnight bus tickets to get us to Mombasa on the coast. The bus wouldn't leave until 9:00pm, which left us the rest of the day to explore the Nairobi area.

We caught a Citi Hoppa, the public bus system, out to Karen on the outskirts of Nairobi. Karen Blixen (more specifically Baroness Karen von Blixen-Finecke), who the town and local museum are named after, was the author of the book Out of Africa, the basis for the oh-so-cheesy movie with Meryl Streep and Robert Redford. While we were staying at the Erskine's place, Julie invited us to the festival Bizarre Bazzar. BizBaz was set up outside the Karen Blixen museum, full of expensive vendors and sweaty ex-pats. We spent an hour or so roasting in the sun and browsing tents full of exotic sculptures that you can easily imagine sitting in some Men's Club lobby during the Good Ol’ Colonial days.

Having as much of the post-colonialism as we could take, we caught a ride back into Nairobi and went to the restaurant Carnivore, once ranked 47th of the World's 50 Best restaurants. Carnivore is famous for its specialty meats. Waiters visit the tables carrying skewers of delicious meat ranging from pork to zebra and chicken to ostrich. As long as your tiny paper flag was raised on top of the large selection of sauces, these skewers would continue to unload themselves on your plate.

We apparently happened to arrive with poor timing (while they were switching from lunch to dinner) and had a limited selection of meats. We did however still get to try ostrich meatballs and crocodile. For the record ostrich meat balls are absolutely delicious, but crocodile just tastes like fishy chicken.

Our stomachs full of food we made our way downtown and enjoyed a couple drinks before our overnight bus.

Day Fourteen: Where in the World is Carmen SanDiego? Mombasa!

Day Twelve: "Mount Up!"

2009-06-19T10:26:00.000-07:00

Surprisingly, considering we slept in a tent in the middle of the park and were perfect bait for any lion, I slept like a baby. We were out shortly after waking up for an early morning game drive. Again, we didn't see much more than elephants and dik-diks. We did end up on a beautiful overlook of the park. Samburu, like all the other parks we had seen, was beautiful in its uniqueness. It was dry, dusty red soil, covered with scrub brush and palm-like trees. It also was spotted with hills and mountainous rock. The view we had from the top of this hill was spectacular and we enjoyed a quiet moment of awe.

And a moment was all we had before two safari vans crested the hill from opposite sides and roughly 7 obnoxious American tourists jumped out. Stereotypes just don't get any better than these folks in their full get-up-- pith helmets, khaki shorts and shirt with more pockets than anyone could ever possibly use, and huge-ass cameras hanging around their necks. The next 15 minutes consisted of the 60-something year olds walking around and throwing out every superlative they had within their vocabulary

"Wow!"

"Spectacular!"

"Fantastic!"

"Amazing!"

"Phenomenal!" etc, etc, etc.

Whereas Matt and I had a moment of silent awe, these guys couldn't keep their mouths shut! Soon enough, one woman began walking around shouting "Cosmo? Cosmo!? Where are you Cosmo?" I half expected some dog to come running out of a van, but sure enough, Cosmo was their Kenyan guide. Cosmo answered whatever stupid question I'm sure this woman asked and then started rounding all the tourists back into the vans. One group of men, who seemed to have ignored Cosmo's efforts at reloading them in the vans, stood chatting and laughing to themselves. Another man, who decided to take it upon himself to help Cosmo, shouted "MOUNT UP!" and shooed them back into the van. Just about as fast as they had come, they were gone again.

I believe Matt and I stood there for another minute staring at each other in stunned silence before almost falling over from laughing so hard.

Before leaving, our driver Richard waved us in front of the scenery and stole my camera from me, insisting we get a picture together in front of the large rock upon which the last scene of the movie "The Gods Must Be Crazy" (a great movie if you have not seen it) was filmed.

We then made our way back to camp for breakfast before the journey back to Nairobi.

Patricia, a tourist from Holland, ended up riding with us back to Nairobi. Something had happened and she didn't have a ride back and Richard agreed to bring her along. Patricia was extremely needy and extremely unpleasant. She even used a bandana to cover her nose because she could not stand the smell of Kenya. During lunch she told us that this was her third visit to Kenya. Not sure why she kept coming back.

Once we made it back to Nairobi, we said goodbye to Richard, James and Jonas, found a hotel, and spent the evening in a restaurant across the street enjoying some evening drinks before hitting the sack.

Day Thirteen: Karen

Day Eleven: Ring-Around the Acacia

2009-06-03T10:42:00.000-07:00

The day started abruptly with a sharp banging on the door. Our driver did not seem pleased that we had taken the luxury to sleep in and at 6:10am we were loading the safari van. Once on the road, I'm not sure if it was a combination of the sudden, early wake-up or taking the malaria mediation without any food, but I was miserable. For a good 45 minutes I rode in the back concentrating on holding down last night’s dinner. Along the way our van pulled over to buy coal from a woman on the side of the road and I gladly took the opportunity to remove myself from the back of the van and walk around. Before my stomach revolted entirely, I remembered I had ginger pills and voila! Crisis averted!

We arrived at the Samburu National Park before 8:30 in the morning. Shortly after arriving in the park we came across two lionesses and six cubs.

Beyond that, there were millions of elephants and dik-diks. That may sound like an exaggeration, but Samburu is apparently elephant heaven. They were everywhere!

And it seems that whatever made Samburu a paradise for elephants also made it a paradise for the dik-diks. Every corner we turned, there stood another two dik-diks. (Dik-diks are always found in pairs of a male and female. It's sweet, really.)

After seeing more elephants and dik-diks than we could handle, we made it back to camp for lunch. This time our camp was set up in the park and gave us no barrier between the wild animals and us. Awesome. Samburu gets extremely hot mid-day and most of the game take refuge until heat begins to wear off before venturing out of the shade. For this reason, we spent the afternoon at camp, waiting until the late afternoon before heading back out for another game drive. I attempted to nap to make up for a rough morning, but thanks to the heat, I did no more than lie in a tent sweating. Giving up on that, Matt and I decided to head out to the fancy lodge up the path for some afternoon drinks. I'm going to admit that walking through a park in which you recently saw a family of lions, is quite nerve racking. However, we made it safely to the lodge only coming across some monkeys and hornbills. We then spent the afternoon sipping fruity drinks (yes, Matt too) and watching a crocodile sun bathe on the shore of the river just beyond the balcony.

We began chatting with some other safari goers who were setting up in tents within the same camp site and quickly discovered that is was a great move on the part of our driver to stop in Isiolo the night before. One van had attempted to make it even after getting to Isiolo as late as us. Their van broke down and they didn't arrive at Samburu until 10:45pm. It was dark, and they had no food for dinner. This morning their van was still broken and they had not yet been out on a drive, so they joined us for the late afternoon drive.

The second game drive was much like the first-- elephants, dik-diks, more elephants, and more dik-diks. The sun was starting to set and we began the trip back to the camp..

Next thing we know, we come across a mother and baby cheetah that had recently killed what looked like an impala. While the cheetah were snacking on the fresh kill, a jackal approached and decided he wanted some of what they had. The young cheetah would have none of it, and actually seemed to enjoy chasing the jackal who led the cheetah in a ring around an acacia tree.

We left the feud to head back to camp before it got too dark and ate dinner. During dinner, we had our own scavenger problems. A ganat had wondered into our camp and was poking around the tents. It ran off shortly afterwards, not caring for the cameras.

Day Twelve: "Mount Up!"

Day Ten: "It's ok, looking is free"

2009-05-28T07:09:00.000-07:00

While loading the van in the morning before heading on our way to Samburu National Park, we noticed that two tiny kittens made the tires and engine of our van their home overnight. Being the incurable cat person I am, I insisted that we chase them away before leaving so that we wouldn't end up with cooked cat for an after-breakfast treat. I spent a good fifteen minutes or so crawling in the dirt around and underneath the van trying to pull the kittens out. Finally, I successfully chased them down an alley and we were off on the next leg of the trip.

The whole day would be spent traveling to Samburu and was the perfect time for general sight-seeing. First, we stopped along the side of the road which had an amazing view of the Great Rift Valley. No, Great Rift Valley is not a place from the movie The Land Before Time, but a geographical rift that runs from Lebanon to Mozambique caused by three tectonic plates moving away from each other at the same time. The Great Rift Valley is famous for its great fossil record and appears (at the moment) to be the origin of the human species.

Next on the Tour-de-Kenya, we visited Thompson Falls, which is the largest water fall in Kenya and is part of the Aberdare Mountain range (another side effect of the tectonic plate activity).

While admiring the beauty of Thompson Falls, we were approached by a man with two chameleons who then placed them on Matt's arm. Without thinking, I laughed and snapped a photo.

Damn! The man then proceeded to demand 200Ksh for the photo-op. We begrudgingly got him to accept 100Ksh and then left, dodging another three or four touts along the way. Closer to the road, there was a group of shops. I still did not have much in the way of souvenirs and thought I'd go take a look.

I did manage some decent bartering and bought a mask to bring home to my brother. Satisfied, I started back towards the van and while waiting for Matt to finish looking, I got ushered into another shop by a woman.

"Come, I have nice things"
"I'm sorry, but I do not have any more money"
"It's ok, you just look. Looking is free"
I agreed to just look and was, of course, handed item after item. At every offer, I declined and at very "no thank you" I was met with a new price or item. Eventually I turned out my empty pockets and said "I do not have any more money" at which point I was bid good day.

Finally, no trip across Kenya would be complete without the obligatory stop at the Equator. Yes, you'll see in the photos I was wearing a hoodie. I was not cold, but I was certainly not hot. Um, wasn't I at the EQUATOR!? Shouldn't I be sweltering? Oh well...

We were supposed to arrive at Samburu that evening and set up camp, but we were apparently running late and the road from the town of Isiolo to Samburu National Park was closed off after 6:00pm due to rebels and highwaymen. Therefore, we retired for the night at the Isiolo Transit Hotel to be off bright and early in the morning for Samburu.

Of course, we didn't head off to bed too early. Don't be silly. After dropping our stuff off in our room, we made our way downstairs to the hotel restaurant for dinner. I spent most of dinner staring at the woman sitting at the table to my left. She was wearing the full Muslim dress, head scarf, and face veil. Her eyes were all the world could see, and they were stunningly beautiful. It is amazing how the dress code, meant for the sake of modesty, actually made her appear even sexier. The mystery of what body those dark eyes belonged to left everything up to the imagination. I longed to possess that mysterious allure as I moved my gaze from her to my own get-up. The raggy pants, stinky tank top, dusty hoodie, and messy un-brushed hair left nothing up to the imagination--I was an extremely dusty, obnoxious American tourist, end of story.

In an attempt to un-dustify myself, I took a satisfying shower after dinner. Mind you, showers only removed most of the dirt and dust, but it was enough to leave me content. It was then off to the bar to socialize with our drivers and cook. It was while mingling in the hotel bar that we happened to catch a news story about Somali pirates who had captured an oil tanker in the Gulf of Arden carrying over $100 million worth of Saudi oil. The British Navy had recently handed over 8 captured pirates to the Kenyan government to help negotiations over the hijacked tanker. The current new story showed clips of a Kenyan official and photos of the captured pirates. Over the noise of the bar, I missed most of the details, and was probably happier for it seeing as we were headed to coast in just a few days.

Day Eleven: Ring Around the Acacia

Day Nine: Holy Crap, Lion!

2009-05-27T10:24:00.000-07:00

The morning started on the right foot after Matt and I spent a good 10 minutes attempting to escape our hotel room. For some reason, the lock was not cooperating. It would be our experience throughout the trip that I am inept at locking/unlocking rooms in Kenya. Not sure why, but I swear the Kenyan lock system was out to get me. Matt had better luck with the lock on this particular morning; however, it took some fancy maneuvering on his part before we were free. We spent breakfast with Jonas, who launched into a conversation about how hard it is to travel to the US.
"They ask questions. Oh my god. First they ask why you are going. Then they ask for a letter from who you are staying with. Then, once you have the letter they still ask you so many questions. Oh my god. Things have to change." On the flip-side, reflecting on my experience, I realized how easy it for me to gain access to Kenya (disregarding the postal incident). No questions, just a happy man on the other end of a phone trying to send my visa'd passport back to me.

Soon, we were back on the road headed to Lake Bagoria. During these couple hours in the van, I realized how accustomed I had become to the roads. The potholes larger than a horse no longer bothered me-- not that they ever really aggravated me. If you closed your eyes, it was like riding in a bumper car... sometimes. But by this point in the trip, I almost didn’t even notice the bumping and tossing.

Lake Borgoria is famous for its hot springs and flamingos. That said, the park smelled exactly like you would expect hot springs stuffed full with thousands of flamingos would smell like-- bird poop and sulfur. Yummy! However, the park made up for the attack on your nose by being pleasing to the eyes. It was beautiful. The mountains across the way perfectly framed the pink spotted lake.

We only spent half a day at Lake Borgoria, which was fine as far as my nose was concerned. Lake Nakuru was our next stop. Lake Nakuru is also famous for its flamingos, but it was not nearly as flamingo-overrun as Lake Borogria. There was also more park surrounding the lake that included many of our other sightings for the day--hyenas, rhinos and the usual suspects (zebras, impala, etc).

Lake Nakuru is also known for one other fun sighting--the tree climbing lion. Lions just don't climb trees, it ain’t right! From the moment we entered the park, we were on high alert hoping to spot a tree-climbing lion or leopard (which we still had not seen).

After several hours and following a family of rhinos around, we headed on our way out of the park. On the last stretch of road before the gate, we came across a troop of baboons chilling in the middle of the road. While we stood there watching them, one let out a whoop and all twenty or so baboons bolted into the trees.

Our laughter at the comedy act stopped abruptly when a giant lion walked out right in front of our van. He sauntered casually across the road and just as we lost sight of him and were about to continue on our way out of the park, he hopped up and climbed a tree! Awesome.

Tree-climbing lion? Check.

Day Ten: It's OK, Looking is free

Day Eight: On the Road Again

2009-03-05T12:16:00.001-08:00

We had another game drive in the morning and didn’t see much of anything new. This was fine as far as I was concerned as I still had no working camera. Matt’s camera was still thankfully working, so we were able to get some pictures from the day. Before too long, we came across an injured elephant, who was bleeding from his shoulder and having obvious difficulty walking. This prompted several “Oh my god”s from Jonas while we watched the poor elephant. Leaving the elephant, we eventually came across a pride of lions lounging out in the open. We observed them soaking up the sun until Jonas decided it would be a great idea to hang out of the safari van window and bang on the side, shouting at the lions. As you might expect, they didn’t not like this very much, and one lioness stood up and hissed at us. Matt got a photo immediately before she hissed and it was soon after that we left the lions alone.

We left the park and had lunch back in Narok before heading off to Maahi Maihu. It was in Maahi Maihu that our group parted ways. Nancy the German headed off to Nairobi for her conference, and Vincent the Frenchman and Alberto the Spaniard set off for their separate journeys to Mount Kilimanjaro. There was a car that met us in Maahi Maihu, and all three foreigners had to climb in the backseat for what I can imagine was a very uncomfortable trip to Nairobi. I am sure that Nancy the German complained the whole way there.

After seeing them off, Matt, Richard, Jonas, James and I headed for Nakuru. I was surprised to find that we were staying in a hotel for the evening, but at the same time relieved as my camera still had not been charged. Immediately after opening the safari van doors to head into the hotel, we were accosted by one of the bell boys, named Wilson, who was overly eager to help us carry bags or wait on us in hopes of a generous foreigner’s tip. I attempted to save a few shillings and insisted that I carry my own bags. In the end Wilson triumphantly carted my bags to my room and bid us goodnight whilst tucking my money in his pocket.

Day Nine: Holy Crap, Lion!

Day Seven: Masai Overload

2009-03-05T09:47:00.000-08:00

The morning air was crisp and we were up early for breakfast at the camp with Alberto the Spaniard, Richard, Jonas and James. Richard took pleasure in watching us squirm after informing us that the yipping sounds we heard occasionally during the night were hyenas scoping the area not too far from our camp. Awesome. After breakfast, Nancy the German and Vincent the Frenchman joined us and we all piled back in the van for a full day in the Mara. Of course, our morning conversation revolved around how Nancy the German’s complaining. She felt so put out about having to spend the night in an identical, yet separate, camp. In fact, she seemed to stress the fact that the camp was exactly the same, as if that made it worse.

Most of the day was spent driving around a vast expanse of land. For large chunks of the day, we admired the landscape. Rather, I admired the landscape. I got the feeling that our safari mates began to get quite exasperated at lack of consistent wildlife sightings..

Overall, we saw just about everything, lions, gazelle, topis, buffalo, elephants, zebras, giraffes, black-bellied bastards (yes…that’s really their name), crested cranes, and impala. During our lunch, we drove to the Mara River where we saw crocodiles and hippos too. The Mara River is the famous river you’ve most likely seen on any nature show through which the great wildebeest migration must pass twice each year. We had missed the migration from the Mara to the Serengeti by a month. Bummer, I was really hoping to sit by and watch some crocs take down wildebeest. We did see the leftovers of the migration, or rather, the wildebeest graveyard along the banks of the Mara.

Just as we were leaving the park, retiring for the day, our driver caught word that some cheetahs had been sighted close by. He took, us off the path and into some brush hunting for the cheetahs. One or two other safari vans joined our search. All of a sudden, I spotted (no pun intended…ok, yes it was) a cheetah duck into some bushes. In my excitement, I squeaked and pointed. Miraculously, everyone knew what I had meant to say and we took off in the direction of the cheetah. It’s amazing how the excitement of seeing something new after spending 10 hours looking at the same stuff over and over can make you revert to a five year mentality. Excitedly, we followed the cheetah and realized there were in fact two of them. By this point, our small search party of three vans had turned into a safari van mob of ten to twelve vans. I can’t imagine this being a pleasant occurrence for the cheetahs, and as I suspected, the cheetahs took off and tried their best to hide from the vans.

We followed behind the cheetahs for a short time, but finally left them to enjoy their evening in peace. Unfortunately, the other ten or so vans did not decide to be so generous and continued to trail behind the cheetahs, even after they ran from the bushes and took off across the open field. May I remind you cheetahs are fast? At any rate, we left the park and caravan of racing safari vans to head out to the Masai village.

We visited a small traditional Masai village not too far from our campsite. Of course, we had to pay 1000Ksh to go inside the village, but the women and men performed for us and we were shown the inside of one hut.

However, our entrance fee apparently wasn’t enough as we also got dragged into the village “market,” if it could be called that, and weren’t allowed to turn one way or the other without being forced to buy something. I had actually wanted to purchase some souvenirs from the village, but ended up leaving with far more than I intended. I was just about to get out of the crossfire of women selling a million items, with three bracelets and a small elephant carving, when I got blindsided by man who offered me a Masai club. I had no intention of buying it and yet, somehow, I still ended up leaving the village with it.

While in the village, Alberto the Spaniard quickly became the children’s favorite attraction with his fancy camera. My camera had unfortunately died at this point and I stole Matt’s camera to take pictures during our time in the village. When we returned to camp, our generator was still not working and therefore I would spend our morning game drive the next day cameraless.

Day Eight: On the Road Again

Day Six: Off to the Mara

2009-02-26T11:20:00.000-08:00

Eating my last breakfast on Sanctuary Farm was bitter sweet. I was extremely excited about going out on safari and living for a week among the wildlife, but I had really grown to love the farm. None-the-less we ate breakfast, packed our stuff, and head off on the road towards Maai Maihu, with Wilson, a farm hand, driving us. We spent the short time in the car with Wilson talking about the conflict we had recently learned about.

We were dropped off at the Transit Hotel in Maai Maihu and bid a farewell to Wilson. It was at this hotel we were supposed to be picked up by the safari van at 10:00am. Half an hour rolls by and no safari van. Matt and I entertain ourselves with a Coke and conversation with the hotel owner who graciously asked us to sit outside while we waited. This no-strings-attached hospitality struck me. This was the second time we had encountered this while in Kenya. When we were dropped off in Naivasha by the matatu, we waited at a local hotel as well. Back home, you are expected to buy something for any show of hospitality. If you sit in a coffee shop and don’t even buy a coffee, you’re likely to get ushered out or forced into purchasing something. If you walk into an empty store just to pass time, you feel pressured by the store clerk who unwelcomingly stares at you as you browse. It felt so good to be shown hospitality and not have to buy anything. In these cases, conversation was the only price you paid for a welcoming atmosphere. The hotel owner chatted about Obama (big surprise there) and how tourism is finally picking back up.

“Everybody wants to see where Obama is from. They all come to Kenya because it’s safe now.”

I do not remember when the van finally showed up, but I had long finished my Coke when a white van pulled in front of the hotel and three young tourists and four Kenyans hop out and head into the hotel. The four Kenyans included our driver Richard, his assistant Jonas, our cook James, and the Doyen Safari’s book keeper. We loaded our packs into the van and still no one, meaning the Kenyans, seemed to be in a rush to leave. The tourists, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly annoyed that they already were held up by having to stop at the hotel, but even after loading us up that we had not left.

The tourists, as we came to find out on the drive, included Vincent a Frenchman, Nancy a German, and Alberto a Spaniard. Nancy was along for the ride before she headed back to Nairobi for a conference. Alberto and Vincent had not met before this safari but were both off to Mount Kilimanjaro and beyond. All three of our safari partners would be leaving after three days and had only planned on seeing the Masai Mara. The trip to Lake Nakuru, Lake Bogoria, and Samburu would be just Matt and me.

We eventually were loaded into the van and our first stop was Narok, the last real town before getting to the Mara. We were scheduled to eat lunch in Narok and then head straight to our campsite to drop off our packs before heading out on our first game drive. Our three new companions were dropped off at the Narok Transit Hotel for lunch and Matt and I went for a quick trip to the bank to pay for the safari. By the time we returned to eat our lunch, the three Europeans had finished their lunch and were impatiently waiting on the steps of the hotel. I forced my lunch down quickly and joined the others outside, attempting to keep them from waiting much longer. Apparently, our guides were not in such a rush to leave. I sat on the steps enjoying myself, looking out over the town, and watching the street peddlers try to sell their goods and was completely content. I had been warned about “African time” and in fact, it was half the reason I wanted to visit Africa. For too long have I been stuck in a society that has a consistent go-go-go attitude. After reading Dark Star Safari by Paul Theroux, whose intent was to fall off the map, I knew I had to go to Africa and get away from the constant stress and to be lost to the world for a couple weeks. Sitting on the steps waiting to head out into the wild for seven days did not bother me at all. We only had to listen to Nancy the German complain for another half an hour before loading back on to the van.

I am not sure how long we were driving after leaving Narok, but I remember consistently thinking, “Oooh, it looks like we’ve left civilization. We must be just outside the park.” Half an hour later, and I would think the same again. It’s funny how easy it is to forget that there is still real wilderness outside of National Parks in the world. Eventually we made it to a campsite, and Nancy the German and Vincent the Frenchman were unloaded and left behind. They apparently booked their safari through another company and had to stay at a separate camp. Matt, Alberto the Spaniard and I all headed to the neighboring camp and were shown to our tents. I have a hard time calling our accommodations “camping.” We were set up in a tent with two beds on frames, a table, electricity and lights, and separate bathroom all under a tin metal roof.

We were given some time to unload while Nancy the German and Vincent the Frenchman were picked up and then headed out for our first game drive. The landscape of the Masai Mara National Reserve surprised me. There were hills, trees and brush. I always pictured the African plains to be completely flat and bare, which some of the Mara was, but certainly not all of it. It was really beautiful landscape and it provided something at which to gawk while the wildlife was in hiding.

Driving around we saw everything you’d expect to see—giraffes, wildebeest, zebras, impala, gazelle, and thousands of birds. Just as the sun was starting to set, we spotted a congregation of safari vans in the distance. It did not take long for us to learn that this was a sign that something very interesting was in the middle of the van circle. This time it happened to be a pride of lions hiding in the brush.

We sat there with seven or so other vans for about ten minutes, craning our necks to see the faces sticking out of the bushes when they finally decided to come out of hiding.

They walked right out and up to the vans, completely unconcerned by our presence. Being dusk, the lion cubs were feisty and began to run around chasing each other, and sometimes even their mothers. Just before the sun disappeared behind the horizon, we headed back out of the park to end our first successful game drive.

Back at the camp, we enjoyed dinner before retiring to our tent. I was just about to plug in my camera battery to charge for the night when the camp’s generator blew up. Ok, I’m probably being dramatic, but something happened and the generator just stopped working. I was out of luck for charging my camera and things weren’t looking good for the generator, which in fact, never did work again before we left the Mara. Before crawling into bed for the night, I learned to count to 10 in Swahili. Moja, mbili, tatu, nne, tano, sita, saba, nane, tisa, kumi.

Day Seven: Masai Overload

Day Five: Lake Naivasha

2009-02-11T06:59:00.001-08:00

Forcing ourselves to wake up early, we rolled out of bed and dressed for an early morning horseback ride around the farm. John, the stable hand, had Bonnie Lad and Sarab already saddled-up as we walked out to the stables.

John went on the ride with us and took us out through the farm to the lake where we had run into the poachers while on our first ride. There is really not much of anything more thrilling for a wildlife lover than getting within yards of wild life you’ve only ever seen in a zoo or picture book while on the back of a horse. We saw giraffes, zebras, waterbucks, gazelle, impala, and wildebeest—all of which were, at this point in time, still exciting and new. After seven days of safari, you quickly become jaded to these usual suspects, but I hadn’t yet been on safari and loved every minute of our ride.

After the morning ride, we spent another relaxing day enjoying our time on the farm. We did take a quick trip into Naivasha to pick up last minute supplies for the safari, but the rest of the day was mostly spent playing with the dogs. Julie did request that we help her figure out a computer game that stumped her and her daughter. It was a computer version of Where in the World is Carmen SanDiego? We started the game which took us to Japan, Brazil and finally, where Julie and her daughter had gotten stuck, in Mombasa, Kenya. Crazy! Being the brilliant team we are, Matt and I solved the mystery and got ourselves to the next level. Win.

Before dinner, Julie and Guy took us out to the lake for sunset drinks. Julie, Matt and I set out on foot towards the lake. We had almost reached the lake when the path became completely overgrown. Being who I am, I was ready to go running through the bushes, but Julie suggested we should back track and go around. She said anything could be in those bushes and the best way to be safe would be for us to walk completely around. I was so taken aback by the thought that this was a place you actually have to worry about wildlife attacking you. I mean, in Maine, you may have to worry about a rabid squirrel—but really, how much damage can they do? But here I was, in a land of gigantic animals that want to have you for lunch, or at the very least, rip your face off!

We eventually got to the lake and Guy, who drove, was there waiting for us. Then we sat amongst the papyrus overlooking one of the many stunning sunsets we would see throughout the trip. If you have never been to Kenya, it really is hard to imagine, but I assure you, I have never seen brighter colors. The grass, the sky, the sunsets, everything in Kenya is just ten-times more vibrant than anything I’ve ever seen before.

Our evening conversation was joined irregularly by the grunting of the hippos still out in the water. The noise, which resembles a very fat British man laughing, appropriately accompanied our conversation, as if the hippos found our jokes mildly amusing. Even though the hippos were far enough out in the water to look like nothing more than small chunks of floating debris, their grunting caused the ground to shake.

As the sun sank behind the mountains, the hippos began to slowly move towards the shore and became more distinct shapes. We eventually gave in, and started back towards the farm so that they might come ashore for the night.

Day Six: Off to the Mara

Day Four: What really happened

2009-02-10T11:30:00.000-08:00

After our exhausting adventure the previous day, this was our day to chill. We still had a safari to plan and decided to spend the day relaxing on the farm and planning our safari. After doing more research online and calling back the companies we met with while in Nairobi, we decided to go with Doyen Safaris. We did, however, talk them down from a fourteen-day safari to seven days, seeing only the Masai Mara, Lake Nakuru, Lake Bogoria, and Samburu. Normally, the safaris leave from Nairobi, but we negotiated to meet the driver in two days in Maai Maihu, only ten minutes away from the farm.

With that resolved, we went inside and ate lunch with Guy. He started talking about the riots sparked by the elections in the winter of 2007. Riots started right after Mwai Kibaki was declared the president of Kenya after the December 27, 2007 elections. The Orange Democratic Party, the supporter of Kibaki’s opponent, was outraged and stated there was electoral fraud and manipulation. A series of both non-violent and violent protests quickly followed in the slums of Nairobi and in the Lake Victoria area. This was the kind of news I had heard while still in the states.

What I hadn’t heard was that the election-spawned riots and violence became an excuse for ethnic related violence that spread from the original riot areas. Some of the areas hit the hardest with ethnic violence were the Nakuru and Naivasha areas. The main fighting was between the Kikuyu, Luo and Kalenjin. President Kibaki was from the Kikuyu tribe and the Luo and Kalenjin were supporters of Odinga, Kibaki’s opponent. Both sides were responsible for violence and things escalated in January and February of 2008. Sanctuary Farm has hundreds of workers from many different tribes and so being in the center of all the trouble, the farm was hit hard.

Tire fires blocked the only road into the town of Naivasha and trouble amongst the workers escalated on the farm. Workers from the Luo and Kalenjin tribes were at such a risk, Guy had no choice but to ship all those workers off in army protected convoys to prisons because they were the safest place for them. One worker, Rossalin, the soft-spoken, sweet house hand, was from the Luo tribe and had to spend six months in prison. During those six months, the farm was left with only workers from the Kikuyu and Masai tribes.

While in the middle of our conversation, it started raining again, this time harder than what we got stuck in at Hell’s Gate.

Thank god we decided to go the day before, because about a minute later and it started hailing good sized chunks of hail. Another ten or fifteen minutes pass, the hail stops and the sun comes out. What an odd place.

Later that afternoon, we were invited to go on the daily drive around the farm with Guy and his father, the original owner of Sanctuary Farm. The father was about as stereotypically British colonial as possible. During the drive, he spent most of his time grumbling softly about the farm hands, or chatting away with us about the farm. He also enjoyed rambling about his prized race horses, and how two of them had just “won the derby” the day before.

Along the drive we marveled at old acacia trees, observed giraffes exhibiting the odd eating habit of tearing the bark off the trees in turn slowly killing the trees, and saw the tracks and other signs of the hippos who had ventured deep into the farm away from the lake. Recently, one such bull hippo wandered too close for comfort to the house and incidentally found his skull adorning the entrance to the farm house.

We finished driving around the farm before the sun set and we headed inside for dinner and drinks with Julie, Guy, and Sibylla. During the course of the conversation, we discussed our plans for the rest of the trip and how we intended to spend the last week on the coast. Sibylla had recently moved from the island town of Lamu and told us all about the markets, the architecture, and the people. We got the name of a restaurant, Bush Gardens, owned my Mr. Bush and the name of a woman who rents out a place in Watamu, which was to be a stop on our way up to Lamu.

Day Five: Lake Naivasha

Day Three: Hell's Gate

2009-02-07T10:37:00.001-08:00

The next morning we awoke to a symphony of birds outside our hut— each birdcall as unique as the one before it. There were melodies sung on top of a loud percussion of squawks. Julie and Guy were both gone all day to Nairobi and we had decided it would be a great day to visit Hell’s Gate National Park. Hell’s Gate is a gorgeous park that is exciting in that it is the only park you can explore without being in a vehicle. Julie had offered us the use of their bikes and we had planned on biking there and around the park. We ate a breakfast and found the bikes. Embarrassingly enough, we got lost on the farm and had to back track a couple times before making it down the long driveway. The Erskine’s dogs, three yellow labs, Brutus, Cobweb and Woody and a dachshund named Hiccup, followed us the whole way excited about getting a chance to explore. Once we reached the gate to leave the farm we stopped and tried to get the dogs to head home. It wasn’t until the gatekeeper shooed them away were we able to break free and head out towards Hell’s gate.

Matt led us left out of the farm and we headed down the road. About ten minutes later, Matt got the suspicion that we were headed in the opposite direction of Hell’s Gate, a suspicion I had since we first turned left. We turned around and started back towards the park, but not for long as Matt suddenly got a flat tire. We hopped off the bikes and started to walk back towards the farm. The new plan: take the bikes back to the farm, catch a matatu to Hell’s Gate, and walk around Hell’s Gate rather than bike. While walking our bikes, we past a hut set a bit back off the road and three children came running out yelling, “Howareyou howareyou howareyou howareyou howareyou!” Once they reached the road, they had stopped their shouting and stared at us expectantly.

“We’re good, thanks. How are you?”

“Good” replied the older two suddenly becoming sheepish.

We continued on our way, without being trailed by the children, but we could still hear “howareyou” until they were out of sight. Before much longer, we found ourselves trailed not by children, but by a man on a bike. The man had rode up until he was just behind us and then began walking his bike trailing us by only about three steps. He did not say anything, nor did he pretend he really noticed us. Of course, I only assumed he must be after something, but after about two minutes of walking, the man jumped back on his bike and rode off.

We finally made it back to farm and Matt head off to fix his tire. However, two of Sanctuary Farm’s employees refused to allow Matt to fix the tire on his own. They insisted that we allow them to handle the flat. It took some convincing, but we finally decided to head off to the end of the driveway to wait for a matatu to Hell’s Gate all the while still uncomfortable about being waited on by the farm’s staff. We were again accompanied by the farm’s dogs, including three new dogs we didn’t recognize, until we got to the gate. However, this time the dogs were distracted by some impala right as we reached the gate, and we gratefully slipped out the gate before they noticed we were gone.

It did not take long before a matatu stopped at the entrance to the farm and we we were off to Hell’s Gate. This matatu was not as comfortable as the one we took from Nairobi to Naivasha, but more like every other matatu we rode for the rest of the trip. It was packed full of people, and made regular stops along to road to pick up pedestrians. We were stuffed in the far back, a much harder feat when all other seats are packed full of people. The drive took us past the flower farms we heard about the night before. After several miles of greenhouses, we drove past the employee houses, hundreds of small, plain white houses that all look the same. However, they did not look as much like the slums as I imagined after the last night’s discussion.

The matatu dropped us off not far from the employee barracks at a dirt road. At the edge of the dirt road was an unofficial sign for Hell’s Gate National Park. We head off down the road, only to realize that this was not the entrance to the park, but a road that led to the entrance. We walked over a kilometer before reaching the gate to the park. Immediately within the park we were greeted by magnificent cliffs, green vegetation and a klipspringer chilling on a cliff to our right.

Hell’s Gate was my favorite park for the landscape. The brilliant blue of the sky and vibrant green of the grass framed the assorted shades of brown on the cliffs wonderfully. The fact that we did not come across any other explorers and felt like the only ones in the park made it easy to believe I had walked right into a photo, with colors so vivid, they had to be photoshopped.

After turning the first bend of the road we came across Fischer’s Tower, a tower of volcanic rock about 25 meters high. The road runs to the right of the tower with more cliffs to the right of the road and to the left of Fischer’s Tower. As Fischer’s Tower came into view, so did the menacing cloud behind it. As we passed Fischer’s Tower, it began to rain. The rain was light enough that we continued on our way. After all it was rainy season, we would have been surprised it if had not rained.

Five minutes after it started, the light rain stopped and the sun came out from behind the clouds only adding to the brilliance of the park’s colors. Zebras and Thompson’s gazelle were abundant yet hesitant of us. I was surprised to already feel jaded from our horseback ride we took the evening before. On horseback we were able to get so close to the animals it was almost hard to believe you weren’t in a zoo and these animals were in fact wild. Hell’s Gate was a different story. The animals kept their distance so that we had trouble identifying some of the gazelle without the use of the camera’s zoom.

We eventually came to a fork in the road and a new site—small brown creatures we couldn’t recognize at first. Once we got close enough to tell what they were, we frozen in our tracks. Warthogs. It might seem silly that these pigs only about half the size of a domestic pig can stop you in your tracks, but once you make eye contact with them and see their legs stiffen and turn in your direction, you stop cold. For a good two minutes Matt and I had a staring contest with the warthogs and then they ran off with the tails sticking straight up. As nasty as warthogs can look when staring at you only about a hundred yards away, they look downright hysterical running with their tails straight up behind them.

The park continued to amaze me as we kept on the path. The brilliant colors of the landscape were only accented by the wildlife. We had walked into the park for about two hours before arriving at a sign pointing to the different paths that converged. We had planned on seeing Ol Njorowa gorge, which is supposed to be a spectacular sight, but as the sign said it was almost just as far as we had already walked, we decided against it and planned on only walking a little further before turning around. We then walked for another 20 minutes or so, and then all of a sudden the sky broke. It did not rain lightly like the beginning of our walk, but poured. The rain came down so hard you could not see the cliffs of the park. According to our map, there was a central station just up the way, and we thought we would stop there until the rain stopped. After another 10 or so minutes of walking in the pouring rain, we still did not see this station and decided to head out of the park, seeing as we were about two and a half hours from the gate. We tried to duck under a small bush for cover which did us no good. So we marched back out into the rain and reserved ourselves to the fact that we may never dry off again.

It was about another half an hour before the rain stopped and another 20 minutes before the sun decided to show itself. We were still soaked by the time we reached the last bend in the road before the entrance gate. Just then, we noticed a troop of baboons coming down the cliff and for a moment while we watched them play we forgot our waterlogged woes.

We were so wrapped up, we didn’t really think about the fact that baboons are known to be pretty nasty creatures. It was about ten minutes of staring and watching that I realized, with them only a hundred yards away, that we should probably take off. Before we left reached the park gates, a giraffe came towards us around a bend and showed off his magnificence.

The park rangers had a good laugh as we stumbled through the park gates doing that bowlegged walk one dons when they’re carrying a couple extra pounds of water (especially in the shoes). Once we got to the road, we started off down the road on foot until a matatu stopped to pick us up. We got passed by several matatus, and I’m not sure if it was because we were soaking wet or not, but finally a third matatu pulled over and let us on board. The matatu was so packed that I ended up half sitting on someone’s lap who, I’m sure, couldn’t have been pleased that some soggy white girl decided to share her excess water.

Oddly enough, once we made it back to the farm, I craved a hot bath. Granted, I was chilled to the bone from the rain, but thinking back on it, I can’t imagine why sitting in water sounded like such a good idea. Matt graciously allowed me to take a bath first, leaving him to air dry until I was done. Even still, it took a great amount of will power in order to lug myself out. We once again enjoyed dinner with Julie and Guy and while walking back to our room for the evening, the moon put on a brilliant display through the trees, just in case we thought Kenya couldn't be more beautiful.

Day Four: What Really Happened

Day Two: Off to Naivasha

2009-02-07T09:27:00.001-08:00

Our second day began earlier than the previous, but with just as much rain. Our things packed, we checked out of Nairobi’s Meridian Court Hotel and headed out into the damp streets of the city. The colors of the city flashed by almost unnoticed by me as I marched towards the matatus. The matatus were 14 passenger vans, in which no less than 18 passengers rode. Each matatu had a driver and a conductor. The conductors would spend the trip with his torso draping out of the sliding side door’s window shouting at the pedestrians, encouraging them to jump onboard.

The matatus quickly became our main source of transportation because they were cheap, and you could get anywhere from anywhere. You would not have to fear being stuck on any road, no matter how remote, for the frequency in which matatus would drive by offering to pick you up. The matatu conductors took special interest in the mzungus, or white people. Granted, the prices for a trip would be greatly inflated by your white skin, but while bargaining did not reduce them to the local rate, it still got a cheap ride.

Our plan was to find a matatu to take us to Naivasha, west of Nairobi, where we had arranged to visit a family of a friend. We came across the first congregation of matatus after trekking past storefronts, which gave way to smaller three-sided kiosks made of scrap wood and metal selling fruits of every variety. Once arriving amongst the matatus, three or four conductors surrounded us shouting destinations. When they heard we were headed to Naivasha, they pointed us down the street. We followed the direction and end up with three more conductors shouting directions. We again said Naivasha, and were pointed in another direction.

“Ah, my friend, you come with me.” A young man and his lackey took it upon themselves to show us directly to the Naivasha-bound matatus, expectant, of course, of a generous tip for a job well done.

“Where are you from?” he asked of us

“We’re from the states.”

“Ah! Obama! We are brothers, you and I,” he exclaimed as he pointed between Matt and himself, “and you are my sister. Obama was born in Kenya. Will you visit Kogelo? You see where your president come from! Obama will bring peace. Who did you vote?”

“Obama. We are very happy that he got elected as well.”

“Ah, yes! Obama will do great things. He will help Africa and bring us peace.

This one-sided, repetitive conversation continued for the ten minutes it took to bring us to the Naivasha-bound matatus. We heard the first of the Kenyan expectations for Obama, which would become the theme of our trip. The exaggerated claims that Obama was born in Kenya, that Kenya was now the fifty-first state, that Obama would not only bring peace to Kenya and Africa but also the world, and that he would bring respect back to Kenya followed us every step of our journey through Kenya.

We eventually arrived at the third pack of matatus and were handed off to an unpleasant conductor by our Obama-crazed guide. He stayed there while we haggled with the conductor for our transport to Naivasha and argued for him when we were charged a baggage fee. Incidentally, we were never asked again to pay a baggage fee on any other matatu. We begrudgingly paid the conductor his price for passage and baggage as well as the tip to the man who led us to the matatu and climbed aboard. If you are not sitting in the first or second row of four seats, getting to a seat is anything but comfortable. We took our place in the last row of seats after squeezing my rear end by the much too small space past the first three rows.

The matatu slowly filled with passengers as we waited to depart. A matatu will never leave until full. While waiting, touts hissed our direction and shoved goods in our face either through the windows of the matatu or the open side door. The small children have a less forward tactic of selling where they stand close holding whatever fruits or goodies they have to offer and lift it pleadingly closer when they catch your eyes. We got lucky in that this conductor was less aggressive and was content to only fill the matatu with about thirteen people. We were on our way out of Nairobi within an hour.

The ride out to Naivasha felt like something straight out of a movie. Loud, upbeat African music played on the radio while we drove through the scenery. Farms, fields, people, forests, and children all passed by my window orchestrated to the sounds on the radio. I soaked this up as it was everything I pictured Africa to be. Even the passenger, a man in a full business suit, who had fallen asleep on my shoulder halfway through the trip, became part of the whole experience.

The matatu dropped us off on the far side of Naivasha and we walked into the center of town stopping in local shops along the way to pick up fruit for lunch. The first shop we entered had shelves and shelves of fresh fruit— piles of bananas and mountains of mangos— delicious fresh fruit hoarded in this small, dimly lit shop. Bananas from this shop and fruit juice from another were our lunch as we waited for our ride to the place we were to stay while in Naivasha. Julie and Guy Erskine lived on Sanctuary Farm on Lake Naivasha and are the remnants of British colonialism. They graciously invited us to stay with while we were traveling through. Julie picked us up in a beat-up white Land Rover and took us ten minutes out of town to Sanctuary Farm. It turns out Sanctuary Farm was a thoroughbred horse and dairy farm and our room, a small banda-like, circular one-room building, overlooked horse fields occasionally occupied by wild impala, waterbuck or zebras.

After dropping our bags off and having afternoon tea, we geared up and Julie led us on a horseback ride around the farm. Matt hopped on the back of Bonnie Lad while I got the feisty, gray dappled Arabian, Sarab. Our ride took us past the horse fields, the polo field, practice tracks for the racehorses, and out towards Lake Navaisha. While impala, waterbuck and zebras scattered themselves throughout the farm and fields, just beyond the polo field wildlife was abundant. Giraffe, zebras, and wildebeest gathered in small herds and barely took note as our horses rode past.

Just before we came upon the shores of Lake Naivasha, a motorcyclist rushed past us towards the lake. It wasn’t until we crested the small rise before reaching the lake that we realized the motorcyclist was meeting a small boat filled with three men on the bank. Julie questioned in Swahili why they were there and relayed that they were being “cheeky” in reply, saying “because we’re here.” The tension was thick while we allowed our horses to drink from the lake and kept an eye on the mysterious men.

We headed back towards the house, all the while keeping an eye on them. At one point they came onto shore and headed into the bushes to retrieve something they had stored, or so it seemed to us. Julie assumed they were poachers and called Guy to come out and investigate. Moments later, Guy came zooming back on a motorcycle and headed out to the lake. Apparently, Sanctuary Farm has a problem with poachers either poaching from the farm or the lake. It turned out this time they had poached fish from the lake.

Once back at the house, we ate dinner and exchanged card games. While I excitedly won every game in which speed was required, I depressingly failed at any game where strategy or intelligence were key elements of the game. After an equal amount of winning and losing, we headed out to Sibylla’s house. Sibylla is a friend of Julie and Guy who lives down a lane of the farm. She is another British expat, horse enthusiast and a self-proclaimed artist. She had moved to the farm six months earlier from the island town of Lamu. We spent the evening enjoying drinks and the company of Sibylla and her two guests, a large man with a Persian complexion and a permanent black snuff stain below his nose and his wife.

During the course of the conversation, we learned a great deal of the history of Naivasha. We spent a great deal of time learning about Joan Root, the well-known environmentalist who lived in Naivasha and was murdered in 2006. Joan was the daughter of Edmund Thorpe, the British colonial era coffee farmer and photo safari guide. The incident started with an attempted robbery by two natives and ended in her murder. This was the most recent of the violence against the European inhabitants started back in 2004. A movie, Ashes to Ashes, about the tragedy is currently in the works, with Julia Roberts playing Joan Root. We were told that the movie romanticizes the issue, unsurprisingly, and blames the murder indirectly on the flower farmers. It seemed to be the opinion of the room that while the flower farmers had wreaked havoc on the area, they were not so mob-like as to play a hand in Root’s death.

The flower farmers were another hot topic that night. There were several flower farms that had within the past ten years established themselves in and around Naivasha. These huge farms not only caused problems for the environment with their need for irrigation and use of pesticides, but also on the employee slums they built. To encourage people to work for the companies, they built small communities of simple houses and supplied their employees and families a home in which to reside in these communities on the farm. The slums were wide reaching and destroyed the land all around the farms.

Before the night came to an end, the conversation moved to troubles encountered with the farm hands. While Julie and Guy use very little sugar during the course of a week and yet they go through half a kilo. It is assumed that the hired help take sugar for their families when no one is looking. Our evening company lamented that there was nothing they could do to stop the stealing. The situation was so bad that even oil for their horses was consistently stolen. Sibylla suggested brightly colored food coloring to mix in with the horse oil. That way if the oil was neon green or blue, she could convince the help that the oil was poisonous and that would cut down on the pilfering.

Day Three: Hell's Gate

Day One: Nairobi

2008-12-12T17:31:00.000-08:00

My first morning in Nairobi was as glorious as I hoped it would be. I stood outside on my hotel’s balcony and watched the rain come down on the city while hugging myself to keep warm against the chill. Ok, so it wasn’t everything I hoped it would be, but that didn’t diminish the satisfying feeling of watching the city of Nairobi start its day three below me as I stood on the balcony. It was a Sunday and only a few people walked up and down the streets carrying umbrellas to guard themselves from the rain. I relished standing there observing the city, listening to the sounds, and absorbing the experience of being half way around the world from home.

I was surprised to find that the other side of the world has its own smell. Maybe it is just the smell of Kenya, but something in the air confirmed my distance from familiarity. That smell and excitement was a new experience for me as this was my first adventure abroad. Yes, I had previously been to Canada, but that was before you even needed a passport to get there, so it hardly counts as far as I am concerned. Most people choose a backpack trip across Europe or even a Spring Break in Mexico as their introduction to the world and traveling. Always being one to be a bit rash, my first international experience would be a three week exploration of Kenya.

For me, the urge to travel was more than a desire see world, it was the need to experience the world. I had assumed that this experience was only possible by traveling to the ends of the earth and visiting places out of the ordinary. Africa called to me. She whispered my name in my thoughts and dreams, promising the experience I sought. A friend once lent me a book with the intention of scaring me away from any further thoughts about Africa. The book was Dark Star Safari by Paul Theroux, and the second I finished it, I knew I had to go. Theroux is a great writer and he had a real life experience while traveling from Cairo to Cape Town. He escaped being shot at, got sick, and met hundreds of interesting people. Everything that my friend was convinced would scare me only egged me on towards my own adventure. A year later, I finally had my chance to travel to Africa.

Granted, I did not take this trip alone. I may be rash but I am not completely stupid. I would be traveling with a friend, Matt. We had met a year before the trip while he was in town visiting his brother who was a friend of mine. Matt had the romantic job of a sailor on tall ships and was no stranger to traveling. The stories of his travels only added fuel to the flame already burning inside me urging me to get out and see the world. Turns out we shared a mutual desire to travel to Africa and before I knew it, we were planning a trip to Kenya.

Why Kenya in particular? A friend of Matt’s had family in Kenya and it was suggested we go and stay with them. Kenya is also one of the more stable African countries and it seemed like a good idea. It only happened to be serendipitous that I left for Kenya four days after the United States made history and elected a Kenyan descendant as president.

On that first day, Matt slept in while I stood on the balcony allowing the experience to sink in. We finally left the hotel late that morning, but were quickly accosted by John the taxi driver. Matt had arrived the day before me, and John had driven him around the city, eventually picking me up from the airport and dropping us off at the hotel. I had a pretty good suspicion that he had been waiting outside the hotel for hours just to be sure he would be able to grab us as we left. John then spent the afternoon dragging us around Nairobi, visiting safari company offices in hopes of a large tip by the end of the day.

The first stop was Big Time Safari Company, who tried to sell us a seven-day safari. The woman behind the desk explained in a fairly unexciting yet precise way where we would go and what we would see. She even included the exact times we could expect to be out on our game drives or dinner to be served. Once she had completed her spiel, we accepted the brochure complete with the recently written itinerary and made our way on to the next stop.

It took some persuading in order for John to allow us to pause a moment for lunch, as we had not eaten all day. After showing us to a small eatery, John left while we ate a simple lunch of fried fish and rice. Granted, John never ventured far and waited for us beneath a tree just outside the restaurant, just in case we tried to escape him.

Next on the list was Doyen Safaris. Getting to the office of Doyen Safaris felt like something out of a spy movie minus the laser retina detector. We first entered a parking garage, headed up a flight of stairs to get to an elevator, took the elevator to the fifth floor and walked down a hallway before arriving at a doorway barred by a heavy iron gate. John shouted something and there was a buzz before the iron-gate swung open. Inside, Kennedy, the owner of Doyen, greeted us. He was a very boisterous man who shook our hands very heartily while sputtering a string of unintelligible words. The only words I caught were “happy,” “welcome,” “safari,” “peace,” and I’m sure I heard something about Obama in there somewhere.

Still blabbering incoherently, Kennedy ushered us to two chairs in front of a large desk blanketed by a map of Kenya and scattered papers. The fellow behind the desk, wearing a baseball cap which he regularly removed in order wipe the sweat from his brow, whisked papers from the map while asking us what we hoped to see while in Kenya. We spilled our far too ambitious plans where we hoped to see the Masai Mara, Lake Nakuru, the Kakamega forest, Samburu, Amboseli and Tsavo East and West. The man only paused a moment before launching into an hour explanation of the fourteen-day safari he was trying to sell us. We would see everything, but honestly fourteen days of safari? Yikes.

We requested time to discuss and headed on our way out through the iron-gated door done with safari shopping for the day. With plenty of daytime left, we decided we would visit the Giraffe Center on the outskirts of Nairobi. The center specializes in the Rothschild Giraffe, which is native to western Kenya. While at the center, we had the chance to meet Kali and Arlene, two of center’s residents who actually seemed to enjoy the company of the tourists and didn’t hide in the distance.

Kali was called the beauty queen by the keepers and understandably so. She would stand as if posing right in front of the tourists, but never seemed interested in the “candies” or pellets we had to offer. She did, however, enjoy catching the pellets if thrown at her.

Arlene, on the other hand, was much more interested in what the tourists had to offer. She would help herself to all the candies thrown in her direction. Matt was even lucky enough to get a big wet kiss from Arlene by placing a pellet in his mouth.

Determined to learn and remember something interesting about giraffes, I spent some time talking to one of the keepers. Apparently, giraffes only live to be about ten years old in the wild due to their eating habits. In order to eat leaves from the trees, they have to lift their head a look up towards the sky. Overtime this causes sun damage which leads to cataracts and ultimately the blinded giraffe is an easy meal for a hungry predator.

John waited for us in the parking lot the entire time we wandered the Giraffe Center ready to take us back to the hotel. On our drive back, I was still taken aback when I spotted a man driving his cattle down a sidewalk of Nairobi. Once back at the hotel, we settled in for the evening and ordered some room service so that we did not have to leave the hotel after dark. All in all, it was certainly a satisfying first day in Nairobi.

Day Two: Off to Naivasha

...and the weather's looking good!

2008-10-29T08:04:00.000-07:00

http://www.meridianhotelkenya.com/default.asp

This is the hotel at which I will be staying for the first two days while in Nairobi. The best part about this website? The small box on the lower right hand corner with the current temperature. As I write this, it is currently 6:10pm and 79 degrees in Nairobi.

I'm loving it!

I'm also at the point where I can start checking what the weather will be like when I arrive...well almost. I checked the 10-day forecast and the 7th of November (the day I leave) it should be partly cloudy and 79 degrees. While I wont arrive until November 8th, this is still a source of great joy for me. I'm looking at spending my time in 80 degree weather-- in NOVEMBER!
What's the only thing that keeps me from exploding from so much happiness?

The knowledge that I will probably need to tunnel through 3 or more feet of snow to get home from the airport after three weeks of sun-bathing-goodness.

Damn.

Aviophobia

2008-10-20T10:21:00.000-07:00

As the day of departure gets closer and closer, I have begun getting more and more anxious about the plane ride.

Let's recap:
#1. I hate planes and flying. I've always been afraid of heights and there's no better way to frighten someone who has a phobia of heights than to place them thousands of feet up in the air.
#2. I have never flown out of the country and I've never been on a flight longer than 3 and a half hours.
#3. I have never flown by myself. Ever.
Therefore: 1+2+3=MASSIVE HEART ATTACK!

So, as a way to calm myself down before I leave, I've researched about the fear of flying and ways to overcome it. This is what I found:

Ways to overcome a fear of flying:

*Using the statistics from 2000-2005 fatal plane crashes; I could fly every day for 64,000 years before facing a fatal plane crash. So...statistically I could fly every day for 64,000 years without dying in a plane crash. I have a good feeling everyone who has died on a plane crash had not flown everyday for 63,999 years and 364 days.

*Fatalities per year: Auto: 40,000 -Pedestrian 8,000 -Airplane: 100- 100 people die a year from plane crashes!

*Statistically flying has the same risk factor as taking a bath. Taking a bath is extremely dangerous, which is why I refuse to do it!

*Turbulence does not mean the plane is going to just drop out of the sky. Planes are built to withstand more than the roughest turbulence possible. Turbulence is only avoided for the comfort of the passengers. Turbulence may not be dangerous so to speak...but I would prefer to not even feel like the plane is falling out of the sky.

Hmmm....for some reason, I don't feel much better about this.

Side Effects May Include an Empty Wallet

2008-09-29T09:25:00.000-07:00

As of today, I am invincible to every disease known to man!!

Well...I should be.
I went to the travel health clinic and received my travel vaccinations and prescriptions. I got only the highly recommended treatments (Hep A, yellow fever, typhoid, and malaria) out of a list that looks more like a fat woman's grocery list rather than a selection of recommended travel vaccinations. In this day and age, when doctors are force feeding the country every drug and vaccination possible, I was very pleased with the travel clinic doctor. He told me all of the options and even told me that some were a waste of my money. I was actually advised that my chances of contracting half the diseases on Kenya's grocery list of vaccinations were slim to none, unless I was doing refugee or aid work. That's refreshing- a doctor who doesn't want to dump every drug into my system.

Here's the fun part of my visit to the clinic: I have three options for malaria prophylaxes. One is a weekly pill, and cheap because you buy less pills. The downside; can cause depression and hallucinatory and fitful dreams. The next option is a daily pill, yet still fairly cheap. The downside; not as effective at protecting against malaria. The final option is a daily pill which is highly effective against malaria. The downside; very very very expensive.

So what did I chose? Nothing as of yet. I did get a trial prescription for the weekly pill to see if I suffer from the side effects.
Whee! Hey, the hallucinatory dreams could be fun!

It's Toasted

2008-09-06T14:08:00.000-07:00

While working at the Museum of African Culture today, I was talking to the founder, Oscar, about my trip. He is originally from Nigeria and continues to visit his hometown once a year. He started talking about security and how important it is to stay on your toes while in Africa to avoid highway thieves and corrupt police while traveling. He gave me an interesting suggestion, which gave me my first small bout of culture shock, and I'm not even in Kenya yet!

He suggested, that even though I was backpacking and needed to pack light, that I should try to bring some extra packs of American cigarettes, baseball caps, and tee-shirts. These, he said, would come in handy for the occasional police road block. At such a road block it is common to be asked who you are, where you're from, what you are doing there, and what's in your bag. A good why to avoid trouble is to offer the interrogating police some Malboro cigarettes or a New York Yankees baseball cap (good riddance).

While I knew that the governments and police of Africa were mostly corrupt, this really drilled it home. While our police have their share of problems, this is not something you can get away with here in the states. But oh, could you imagine what a place it would be if that were the case?

"Hello officer"

"Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"No, I don't"

"You ran that red light."

"Oops, my bad, but could I offer you a pack of Lucky Strikes?"

"Why of course! I'd love one."

"Do you need a light?"

"As long as it's a green light."

*cheesy laugh from both driver and policeman while they look at camera and policeman winks*

Ok, so I got a little carried away. But, nonetheless, I'm sure it's not a bad idea to plan a few items just in case I do need to get out of a bind.

Lesson learned

2008-08-28T05:20:00.000-07:00

*Phone rings*
"Hello?"
"Is Alexandra available?"
"Speaking."
"Hello Alexandra. This is Abdul from the Kenyan Embassy in D.C."
CRAP! I knew it! It was the ears!
"Oh yes. Hello!"
"Hello. I wanted to let you know that your visa is ready." Whew. "However, you did not send us a prepaid envelope so that we may send your passport back."
*Smacks forehead with hand*

Leave it to me to forget to send a return envelope for my passport. So, after this phone call, I decided it would be much easier to visit FedEx.com, pay for a label and email it to the embassy.
Saves me a trip to the post office. Brilliant.

I had to create an account and fill out the shipping information. It was all fairly easy. While filling out the shipping information I was asked for the weight of the package. Since I was only sending a passport book, I could not imagine it weighing more than a couple ounces. The only problem was that this online form would not allow me to put anything less than a whole pound. A passport certainly does not weigh a whole pound, but I figure they will probably weigh it when they pick the package up and adjust the shipping accordingly.
I clicked submit and got the shipping label which I saved and sent to Abdul in the Kenyan Embassy. After I sent the email, I happened across the receipt. According to the receipt the estimated cost was $36.71.

What?!

$36.71 to mail a passport?! I called up FexEx.com's Customer Service to see if the price was so high because they estimated my package to weigh a whole pound. I asked for an estimate if the package was far lighter. The new estimate-- $31.25. Ah! I asked why it was so expensive and she explained it was because I had chosen Priority Overnight shipping. I explained that I had two months before I needed that package and would prefer to pay less and get the package in a couple weeks. The lady on the phone explained to me that FedEx could send the package faster, but not any slower than overnight.

...wait. How can you send a package faster than overnight?

Hectically, I sent a second email to Abdul at the embassy pleading that he does not use the label I sent, but instead waits for my package I will be sending in the mail. Thankfully, I got an email back (even though it was at this point after 5:00pm) saying that he would be waiting for my package. Whew.

FedEx shipping of passport: $31.25
US Post Office shipping of passport: $8.79
Lesson learned to never forget the prepaid return envelope: priceless

2 Month Dash

2008-08-26T06:44:00.001-07:00

Ok, ok, ok. So, I haven't posted in a while. But can you blame me? I only have just over two months before I head out into the wilderness and yet I still have a "To Do" list a mile long.

The air is starting to chill, the leaves starting to turn, and the excitement is really starting to kick in. However, a whole month has gone by and I don't feel like I've gotten anything done! I'm too busy daydreaming about lions, elephants and the Maasai. It's time to wake up!

So...this is my wake up call.

To Do List #1 (Trip matters)

1. Clothes: I have no idea what I'm supposed to pack as far as clothes go. I've been told to pack "quick dry" material. Meaning jeans are out of the question. Do I even own anything quick dry? No. That would be too easy. But then, this means I need to go out and purchase new clothes. Oh darn. I have to go shopping. What a shame.

2. Travel Vaccinations: Yikes! I cannot wait until my September appointment at the Travel Health Clinic in Portland when I can pay a nurse $400 to stab me with needles. This should be fun.

3. Bank/money stuff: I guess I should probably let my bank know, eventually, that I'm headed to a random country. I wouldn't want them to think I was some thief who had taken off with Alex's card....or do I? Oh fraud protection, how I love thee.

4. Experiment with new camera: Ok, so I did get one thing done this weekend and marked off the list. I bought a camera. I was a good consumer and did all my research and decided that the Panasonic Lumix TZ5 point-and-shoot camera was my best bet for Africa. Small and compact, great 10X optical zoom, image stabilizer, and a million other goodies. So...now I have two months to figure out how the damn thing works.

5. ~~Kenyan Visa~~: Yay. Another thing I finally got marked off my list. I finally sent out my passport and visa application to the Kenyan embassy. Now, it's just the waiting game. There is the possibility that they refuse my application. The application stated that you need to submit two passport sized pictures that show the whole head including ears. My hair covers my ears in my pictures. I hope they don't discriminate against the earless.

6. There's something I'm forgetting: Like every other To Do list, I'm sure there are a million things I'm forgetting to do.... Eh, oh well.

To Do List #2 (grad school matters)

1. Finish reading: Good news...I've officially finished two books and only have one more to go. Bad news...in all actuality I really have two books to finish. I'm just trying to avoid the boring book as much as possible. More bad news...I still have about 200 pages worth of articles to complete. Damnit.

2. Personal Statements: Once I finish reading, I need to write the 2-3 page Personal Statements for each application stating who I am, what I want, and why I won't leave these schools alone until they accept me.

3. Sample Essay: So. I need to submit sample essay(s) with my applications. Crap. Thanks to a degree in music performance (what the hell was I thinking?), I do not have a collection of essays. In fact, I'm not even sure what this thing they call an essay really is. I have to do what?! Write?! Ef that!

4. Proof Reading: Last and most important thing to accomplish before I leave in November is to enlist the help of anyone and everyone willing to help me proof read these statements and essays. These need to be perfect examples of the wonderfully brilliant person I am and I need other people to make me sound brilliant. (No, you are not allowed to laugh at that.)

So, there you have it-- the ridiculous amount of crap that needs to be done in only two months.

Is it November yet?

The "How to Buy a Guidebook" Guidebook

2008-08-06T07:19:00.001-07:00

Due to impatience and a 40% off coupon, I decided last night that it was time to buy a Kenya guide book.
I went to Borders, grabbed all six of their guidebooks on Kenya and ordered a nice, fancy cup of ice water. Being the five year-old I am, I automatically picked up the guidebook with the most colored pictures first. I leafed through finding a section on how to get around, area sites, safari information, Kenyan history, health information, and conversion charts. This book was perfect!
No.
I was determined to find the perfect guidebook. One that would lead me on exactly the same trip that I have been fantasizing about. I was not about to simply buy the very first book I picked up.
I determinedly picked up Guide Book #2 and thumbed through. Again, I found this book was complete with a section on how to get around, area sites, safari information, Kenyan history, health information, and conversion charts. Hmmm. So Guide Book # 2 is pretty good too.
Onward to Guide Book #3!

I found that every single guide book of the stack came complete with the same information. Imagine that.
How was I to know which guide book would be my ticket to the perfect trip?!
Unfortunately, my poor roommate, who accompanied me on my trip to the bookstore, got roped into my dilema.

"Here, what do you think about this one?"
"It's good. It's got all the information you need."
"Ok, what about this one?"
"It looks good too."
"You're not helping!"

I eventually realized that you cannot find the perfect guidebook by just browsing at the bookstore. It will be impossible to tell whether a guidebook is helpful or not until I get to Kenya and discover the hotel listed in the book was nothing more than a cardboard box shared with the local one-eyed bum. It's like the cabinet of cans that have lost their labels over the years-- you can shake them all you want, but you won't know whether you made a good choice for dinner until you dump the contents in the pot.

Damn.

Fortunately enough, you aren't forced to eat your guidebook if you decided it was a poor choice.

Falling Slowly

2008-07-30T06:48:00.000-07:00

I cannot wait for summer to be over!

Wow. I really said that. For the first time in my life, I am ready for summer to go ahead and get itself out of my way.

Please do not get me wrong, I love summer. I love being outside, basking in the sun, eating on picnic benches, and swimming in the ocean. However, at the same time, I have always been partial to fall. Oddly enough, the season marked the flora's slow death has evolved over the years to mean new beginnings.

A crisping of the air meant that it was time for school to start again. A new school year brought new friendships. Forget summer lovin', fall always acccompanied itself with new lovers. Finally, the thing I look forward to most in fall, is the onslaught of new smells. The September and October air just smells like fall. It's a harvest smell, a crisp smell, a refreshing smell-- the smell of new beginnings.

This year, fall will not fail me. Fall will be bringing with it yet another new beginning. It will mean the beginning of my travel addiction-- the addiction I can already feel welling up inside of me. From this year forward, the smells of fall will no longer bring to mind chilly nights at the football game, the first day of school, or games played in the leaves.

It will remind me of my first of a million adventures.

The Five Stages of "Good Grief, You're going to Africa?!"

2008-07-22T16:52:00.000-07:00

Paul Theroux said that if you tell people you are going to Africa, they will undoubtedly offer their condolences. "Your friends call sympathetically, as though you've caught a serious illness that might prove fatal."

Since deciding to take a three week trip to Kenya, I've found this to be true in a way I was not quite expecting. The conversations I had with friends and acquaintances about my trip almost went through a systematic series of phases. Almost no dialog deviated from this strict formula. Ironically, it was other person who acted the part of a patient recently told of their terminal illness--moving through five obligatory stages to their eventual acceptance.

The first phase was jealousy. I was reminded frequently that I was lucky to be able to travel, and especially for three whole weeks! I heard every reason that we as westernized laborers and consumers create to keep us locked in the grind of the every day.

"I wish I could go, but I just re-signed the lease to my apartment."

"I just got this job, and they would fire me if I asked for any time off."

"I wouldn't know what to do with my dog."

"I can't go during the semester because of my classes and I can't go during the summer because I have to work to pay for my classes."

"I wouldn't know what to do with my fish."

Next, there was always a vain attempt at a personal connection.

"Oh, my brother's friend's aunt went on a safari. I'm sure I can find their pictures online somewhere."

"You'll see lots of zebras. I've seen zebras before at the zoo. They're like psychedelic donkeys."

"My dad went to Senegal. That's close to Kenya, right?"

After this mandatory seeking of a parallel came denial.

"What group are you going with?"

"None."

"You're not going with a school, or safari group?"

"Nope."

"Are you going alone?!"

"I'm meeting up with a friend."

"And both of you are then going with a safari group once in Kenya?"

"No."

"Then you're studying with a school program?"

"No. We are traveling where ever the wind may take us at any particular moment."

"...with a safari group..."

"No."

The penultimate phase took on the qualities of a concerned guardian. The other person would always give me tips they had picked up somewhere down the grapevine that if compiled would create the world's ultimate guide, "How Not to Die in Africa."

"Never walk alone."

"Always keep valuables hidden."

"Never look a gorilla in the eye."

"Do not walk alone, ever."

"Never look an Kenyan in the eye."

"Never walk by yourself."

"Do not harass the police."

"Don't get AIDs."

"Don't ever give money to a tout."

"Never walk alone."

And finally, we would arrive at acceptance.

"When are you leaving?"

"The 7th of November. I'm flying out of Boston to Nairobi."

"Well, good luck."

"Thank you?"

"It was nice knowing you."

Booking

2008-07-15T12:17:00.000-07:00

Enthusiastically a young female voice answers the phone. "Good afternoon and thank you for calling Hurley Travel."

"Hello, I am looking to book a flight for my trip in November."

"Oooh, and where are you going?"

"Kenya"

"Oh, that's wonderful. Hold on just a second and I'll see if there's an agent available to help you."

....pause....

"Do I have a treat for you! The agent I have on the line for you has been to Kenya several times herself and would love to help you."

...pause....click....

A female smoker of at least sixty croaks, "Hello? This is Belinda."

"Hello, I am looking to book a flight to Kenya for November."

"I can't help you. I only book safaris."

Click.

*Sigh*

Hello. My name is Alex, and I have an addiction.

2008-07-13T17:43:00.001-07:00

No, I do not have a drinking problem, though some would argue.

Unfortunately, this is not solved as easily. I cannot go to meetings, where others like me sympathize and share hugs and good cries. I cannot spend weeks locked in a blank room removed from society. My habit will follow me, however hard I might try to shake it.

I have an imagination problem.

My imagination is rebelling against years of normalcy. Wake up, shower, drive, work, drive, take out dog, eat dinner, feed pets, read a book/watch T.V., surf internet, pass out, repeat.

My imagination longs for adventure- to travel to far off places where life could not possibly be more different.

The addiction began with fantasy novels. My imagination greedily followed every journey, twist of plot, and turmoil suffered by the elf/dwarf/wizard/sorceress. Oh, to live a life where every day was uncertain! Maybe today I'll be eaten by the lake monster, or chased by giant trolls. How very exciting!

After devouring fantasy novel after fantasy novel, I longed for something as exotic, but closer to reality. It was in this way that fantasy novels were my gateway to travel narratives. These were stories about people who had truly visited these far-off places, and had actually encountered these turmoils. Finally, my own adventure was plausible. It no longer meant that I somehow had to figure out how to control the weather with a wave of my hands or find my way into some make believe world.

The possibilities!!

And thus begins the first chapter of my imagination's great escape. In four months, I will be knee-deep in my very own adventure- Kenya. To breathe the uncertainty, the exotic, the new, the exciting, the challenging.

Now my imagination just has to survive the plane ride.