Mombasa!!!!

Print this one! Way too long.

I finally went! Mombasa! LOL, I can’t believe I actually did it. I had to go for work and left early on a Saturday – well, early enough for Kenyan timing and came back on Tuesday after an amazing rejuvenating holiday that was critically needed. I know for a sure that I am truly a water and beach baby because it’s all I think about right now, how much I loved the experience, the place.

There were hiccups right from the start. I was taking the first flight out at 7.45 and dutifully got to the airport an hour early, very groggy from the night before and dressed for the beach in super cold weather. Ok, not below freezing cold but enough for me to question why I wore sandals and my bush capris. I checked in with the super tight security and subjected myself to a frisk because the damn hoop earrings I wore set off the detector. Btw, Kenyan airport security has always been remarkably thorough even pre- 9/11 days. You even need a ticket to get into the check in area so all good-byes and hellos are conducted on the curb. Anyway, damn earring set me off and I was groped by this woman for what seemed like ages. When she was finally done I wanted to cry out, "Call me in the morning?" It’s usually not a good sign when you’re being frisked and the agent casually mentions, "Your flight is delayed." I looked around and saw no visible board that would confirm her message so I shrugged my shoulders and moved forward. I checked in with Kenya Airways – an airline with great potential but squandered opportunity. At check in, the attendant informed me that yes, the flight was indeed delayed but apparently so were all the incoming and outgoing flights. Upon further query of information, she smiled gently and shook her and waved me on. Now, the domestic departure area can be generously described as sparse and no frills have been spared to make it a warm and inviting place. So I went through YET another security check (I told you, very thorough), and arrived at the departure lounge. This flight had a bit of celebrity to it, as it was the inaugural flight for the airline, the first 777 to do this very busy leg of Nairobi to Mombasa.

Needless to say, my brothers were more excited about it than I was. All I was dreaming of was sandy beaches, the sea and a deliciously fruity cocktail…and work ofcourse. So I asked the gate attendant what the problem was and she said, "We’ll let you know. We’re not sure right now." The one thing the departure area boasted was one, count it one, snack/café/ bar stall that was quite versatile in its offerings. You could get your coffee, Lavazza’s which I’m so into right now. (Yeah, I’m living in Nairobi, loving Italian espressos and yet we have phenomenal coffee…I’m a sellout).

So I got my cappuccino and croissant and a newspaper and settled down into what was arguably the most uncomfortable plastic, fluorescent green bucket chair and waited for some news. I quickly got engrossed in some interesting articles, one in particular about the Vittel Amazones raid taking place in Kenya, and didn’t look up for about ½ an hour and realized that the lounge had filled up and was spilling out into the other waiting areas for other flights. I picked up my stuff (growing by the minute – Now I had gone from the original book and light shoulder bag to breakfast debris and unruly newspapers.) I walked around looking for anyone in that red suit that KQ (Kenya Airways) attendants wear and found a group of people standing around one. She was still dishing out the same story she gave me so I checked out the runway, saw no plane and decided to go find out what was going on. I walked through the two security check points, making a mental note of the time it would probably take to come through on the way back. Outside, the crowd had thinned so I patted one of the security guys on the shoulder and asked him "Wassup?"

The story went like this. A cargo plane had taken off for Amsterdam in the wee hours, but the pilot claims he developed a problem with the hydraulics and had been forced to circle and jettison all his fuel before making a crash landing back at the airport. In the process, he snapped the front wheel of the aircraft because he’d made a hard landing and had effectively blocked the runway for all outgoing and incoming flights. My narrator excitedly informed me that all the planes, "even the ones from ‘Ingrand’ and ‘Flance’ are going to Mombasa now instead of coming here and that is where your plane is right now. So you don’t leave until it gets here and now it can’t land." I asked, "Do you think they’ll be able to move the plane off the runway in time today?" He shrugged, "Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, Monday for sure so we’ll see." I gulped thinking about the deadline I had to beat, which I was well on the way to doing had there not been this series of unfortunate events. By this time, my office was calling and cheerfully saying, "Hey, you still in town, huh?" because the news had now spread. Gone were the images of the beach, all I could imagine was I should start thinking about taking the overnight bus to Mombasa but that would mean my luggage would have to be sought, I’d have to make it back to town, try and book a ticket on a leg that is almost always sold out on the weekends. Gulp.

I walked around the airport for a while – well, like 5 minutes, it’s not very large and unless you’re going international, forget about shopping because all the stores are in the duty free section which is in restriction hell zone. I would get excited everyt ime I heard the whir of jet engines only to realize that the smaller planes that were already there were taking off on the shorter runways onward to their destinations. Why oh why did this have to happen on my first trip! Sob! Anyway, I finally settled down at a nearby restaurant and read some more while waiting for the announcer to say anything positive but nada came through that intercom, not even bad muzak. I headed back to the terminal at about 1.30 and still no news. I sat down in the uncomfortable chairs and people watched again. I was super pissed as I’d been doing the, "by this time" game i.e., by this time, I’d be on the beach, watching the tide come in and getting ready to put my book down to go swim, or by this time, I’d be chatting up some gorgeous lad etc. Sigh…......then!

The Vittel Amazones had arrived and by gum, this people are impossibly gorgeous. I’m not sure what minimum attractiveness requirements there were to get on this team but believe me, those French know how to look good even when they’re filthy. They were all wearing bush gear – every tourist to Kenya seems to arrive in full on bush gear, khaki hats, pants, shirts, fanny packs, serious hiking boots that say I’m going to wade through the urban jungle that is the potholed streets of Nairobi…well, actually, they’re kinda smart on that one. They were all dressed in this uniform of safari battle and were dusty and just absolutely gorgeous. The team streamed in, noisy and absolutely hot (drool-worthy) men followed and wow, all of a sudden, a long wait in the lounge didn’t seem so bad. So I mentally dated and broke up with these stunning delicious French men who’d come from Naivasha and were exhausted and sprawled all over the ugly olive linoleum tiles that were the floor of the departure lounge. I looked around and realized I was not the only woman feasting on the visual buffet so I sat back and enjoyed the view. Two hours later, still staring, not realizing time had flown, an announcement was finally made. "Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for your patience and once again, we’re sorry for the delay and inconvenience. (snort!) They were finally boarding our flight but this was no organized boarding. Kenya Airways policy? was to board First Class passengers first. They did this and pushed away the cattle class that tried to mingle with the royalty who were being kowtowed and practically carried out on to the runway. Oh yeah, no ramp for boarding, it’s straight on to the hot and windy runway amidst revving jet engines.

As soon as the first class folk had been shepherded onto the waiting plane and probably on their second mimosa, they announcer came on, "We shall now board the rest of the aircraft…" and the rest was drowned out in the rush to get to those pearly gates that were the glass doors to the runway. Wait a minute! What about boarding the elderly, parents with young kids or people with disabilities? I watched with shame as a couple of elderly folk were shoved unceremoniously out of the way by some of the Vittel crew as well as loads of other people. I’m not sure if that’s their policy that they’ll take care of the deeper pockets and be damned those with wheelchairs. Oh yeah, with no tunnel or ramp, I wondered how the heck someone who was disabled would be able to get up that long flight of stairs onto the plane. Anyway, I managed to hang back a little and joined the queue when most of the crazies had gone through and then realized with dismay that my flight and the subsequent flight were in the same line. Hmm, were they boarding both flights onto one plane or was there another one? But they didn’t make a distinction and sure enough, when I got to the front, the gate agent who looked confused as heck stopped me and said she had to count how many people had boarded. I realized then that there was only one flight! Bastards. Knowing the huge delays as there were now at least two other flights that needed to be boarded, I planted myself firmly at that doorway. No way Jose, I’m not missing this flight. Finally, with a lot of angry yelling from the people behind she let some people through. I will give KQ kudos though; half the things people were saying would have easily guaranteed them detention at the airport jail yet they managed to remain somewhat calm albeit slightly alarmed.

Finally, the lady said five people could go through, so I jumped out, followed closely by a gentleman who I’d struck up a conversation with in the craziness of the line. We walked toward the plane – not the 777 they were glamorously advertising because that was still stuck in Mombasa but rather, the 737. We were led to the backstairs of the plane and on the runway next to it, sat our luggage which we had to identify so it could be loaded on the plane. (In hindsight, yet another stupid move by Kenya Airways. Knowing that I was one of the last few passengers who was boarding this flight, I could have easily hang back for a while, waited until no one else was coming out and identified whatever baggage I wanted as my own because the owner would not be on my flight. They would be back in the terminal bitching to the airline, not knowing they were being liberated of their luggage as to the best of their knowledge, it should be safely stowed away either in the underbelly of an aircraft or in those trolley crates. Meanwhile, I fly to Mombasa, pick up my stuff at arrivals, including my "new" bag and no one would be the wiser. Meanwhile the poor passenger whose stuff had been looted would spend a good chunk of their time trying to locate a bag…it goes on.)

We picked out our luggage, which was promptly put on the plane, and then we climbed the hot stairs all the way to the top. When we came in, the flight attendant said much to our dismay, "It’s free seating, find a place anywhere." When you look straight ahead, every single damn seat was taken and half of them by Kenya Airways flight attendants who were being sent to Mombasa to relieve the crews of diverted flights as they are only allowed to work a certain number of hours. This I could understand as I walked through anxiously looking for a seat. I was determined not to get off this plane. I went all the way through and found myself at the front of the plane, facing some empty seats in First Class. I told the flight attendant that was solidly blocking that stairway to heaven and said, "There are no seats back there." She looked behind and realized that I was followed by five people. They then asked us to disembark and wow, we all lost it. All of us were yelling that we had confirmed seats on the earlier flight but they had boarded two flights on a much smaller plane and this was their fault and I’ll be damned if I get off this plane….wow, we should have been arrested. But we were absolutely livid. I wish I’d gotten the names of the crew who stood at us and actually smiled and did nothing. There was one chap who was running around and reassuring us that all would be okay and he asked us to step off the plane. So we all got out and quelle horreur, they asked us if we could take the next flight, which was due to arrive in half an hour!

Needless to say, there was a lot of shouting after that and I almost screamed when they said, "Just let your luggage go with this flight since you’ll be on the next one." My whole reason for being had been foolishly checked in as it was really heavy and it was only a 45-minute flight. My reasoning at the time was nothing could go wrong. Well, there I was standing on the runway, sweating like a hog, carrying more bags than I had first arrived with, eyeing with panic the closing doors of the luggage bay and seeing the bemused look of the people all ready on board looking down at those poor suckers on the runway. Finally, the one person (ONE!!!) helpful KQ crewmember came running toward us and told us to get back on the plane and he’d sort everything out. So we re-boarded and sure enough, they kicked off the required number of crewmembers so that we could get our seats. I still don’t understand why Kenya Airways couldn’t have flown out all the crew on the smaller flights that had been able to get in and out throughout the day because they weren’t flying anywhere else after that. They were just going to relieve the Euro flight crews. More importantly, the Kenya Airports Authority MUST reexamine the huge design flaw that is an international airport with one functioning runway for large aircraft. C’mon Kenya, this is the new age, get with the program…oh, but to actually have effective reform when it comes to anything government in related, you have to rid the whole system of corruption and inefficiency…something that probably will never be achieved with all the current players in the system.

I digress once again (and will do so every single time I have to deal with anything government related because they are incompetent idjuts.)

I finally settled down in my seat, my equally irritated companion from the runway next to me. We got to chatting and eventually calmed down and had a delightful conversation. Kenya Airways wisely didn’t serve any booze on that short flight as people would have probably ordered double everything and gotten drunk and angry at the crew about the extremely long wait and horrible ground service. My companion, great guy, had just come from tourism award ceremony and his hotel had just won an award for an innovative energy saving program. He was absolutely glowing about his staff who’d done so well and was looking forward to going "home". I was quite jealous because his home in on the beach! Nice plane ride, interesting conversation about the incompetence of the Kenyan government – I won’t go into details as I don’t want to jeopardize his current struggle with them. Such a shame though what corruption and inefficiency occurs and yet his job and passion are to promote tourism in Kenya. Sniff.

Lovely plane ride, tuna sandwiches (yes, there’s tuna sandwiches in Kenya), views of Mt. Kilimanjaro to the right, the great Tsavo park below….this country is effin gorgeous. We landed soon and I was already grinning because I was so close to the beach. Stepping off the plane, you get hit by a wall of humidity and salt air and if my hair wasn’t braided, I’d have an instant ‘fro that would rival Buckwheat’s hands down (or hair up). We walked to the terminal, picked up our bags and off I went looking for a taxi or at least to see if pickup service had been arranged through my hotel. Sure enough, there was a van there. Now, keep in mind, we were the first flight into Mombasa as the final destination since the previous evening, so there were loads of hungry taxi drivers just waiting for us to step out and if it wasn’t for the barrier, I bet they would have picked us up, bags and all and deposited us in their cabs. They were desperate and had been their the whole day. I was shown to my van and they loaded us up pretty quick. There were only five people going to that particular hotel, myself included. I jumped in and was practically giggling and clapping my hands. I opened my window and leaned out as far as I could, feeling the warm – almost hot hair brushing over my skin, my face turned to receive the heat of the 4 o’clock sun and wham! The stench of the nearby oil refineries and various trash heaps that are mark this area called Chanagamwe, invaded my senses brought me back to the realities of pending ecological disasters. Oh well, once we were through the busy streets, we headed north toward Nyali. When I was a kid, we always used to vacation on the south beach in a place called Diani – easily the best place on earth. Beautiful snow-white sand beaches, very few people and the hotels are well hidden behind palm trees so it doesn’t look like Miami. Amazing place, so I was naturally biased against the North all my life.

Along the way to the hotel, we drove past this sickeningly huge homes. A lot of coastal families live the extended family style which while I admire, I cringe to think about the fight for personal space. It was good to note the roads in Mombasa are the same as Nairobi’s except the former’s drivers are insane for lack of a better word. You know for a region known for it’s laid back lifestyle and attitude, they sure drive like it’s "War of the Worlds" where they came from. They are speedy nuts. But I was too excited and was chuckling by the time we pulled up to the long driveway of the hotel. It was absolutely gorgeous. The lobby is quite open and the view opens up to the stunning blue waters that are the Indian Ocean. The tide was just about peaking so I rushed to the check-in counter. The staff were absolutely lovely and an amazing change from the brusque, confused and irregular service of KQ. I wish I got the name of the guy I dealt with but I will tell you that during my entire stay, I have nothing bad to stay about the staff or service and for that, Whitesands deserves its reputation of excellence. While they’re checking you in, you’re served an amazingly welcome cold passion drink and they bring you what you think at first are hot towels, but it’s really very cold towels that are soaked in something minty that is so refreshing. There was this lady/b***h who’d been on the same flight fiasco as I was in front of me who was understandably miffed at the day’s events but to immediately take it out on the staff upon arrival was reproachable. I’m not sure who she worked for but she was there for a Labor workshop or something of that nature to do with workers and unions hence the irony in her attitude. But the good thing was that her bad ass attitude before my turn to check in got me a first rate room. I was smiling like I’d just won a million dollars and was super pleasant and cheerful with the just-insulted staff who were quick to reward good attitude with great service.

Ok, now I sound like an ad. I was handed a key as well as a laminated card that said I was entitled to a complimentary pool towel, but I had to return the towel upon check out or be charged about $20 if I didn’t. Interesting policy but that towel sure came in handy later.
Anyway, the porter led me toward my room, which was detached from the main building but connected by small bridges and long open corridors. I was on the second floor and they do this really neat thing to make you fall instantly in love. The door to the room is wedged wide open and the balcony door is also open so when you come to the entrance, you’re met with this incredible view of the ocean, mosquito nets swaying gently over your bed and sea air swirling your senses. Those porters must love their job because I bet I tipped heavily because I was in heaven. I shooed him out quickly, changed into my swimsuit, grabbed a wrap and ran to the reception. I handed in my key (oh yeah, no key cards here, it’s good old fashioned keys that turn), then jogged down to the beach, through the sandy beach bar area and onto the cream colored soft sand of the beach. The tide was high and gorgeous. I waded in and it was deliciously warm and when I plunged in, it was quite a heady sensation. (I’m smiling remembering this.) It brought back so many warm memories from my childhood and there was no one I would have rather experienced all that at that moment than with my sister….ok, some of the Amazon Vittel guys would have been welcome companions as well….ok, all of them, damn it!

I was grateful for the loud noise of crashing waves because I was giggling like an idiot and splashing around. I’d swim out as far as I wanted and then promptly panic when an undertow of super cold water would interrupt my revere and remind me I’d gone too far and the tide was very strong. I’d swim back to shore, body surf a wave, land spluttering on the beach then promptly run back in to repeat the whole "idiot’s guide to ocean swimming". I swam for a while and watched the action on the shore. I realized that there were a lot of "vendors" of curios and artifacts on the beach – something I can’t ever remember experiencing when I was on the South coast. Normally, you’d find one or two guys coming up to tourists carrying a couple of bracelets or kikoys and they wouldn’t approach the local tourists because let’s face it, we’re cheap bastards. But the downturn in the economy especially after the Paradise Hotel bombing, the locals became attractive and the "beach boys" and vendors alike started hitting up everyone and not just the "wazungus".

Sure enough, when I’d decided I’d had enough, I got out of the water, walked up to get my wrap and was accosted by two "beach boys" offering to sell me key-chains with my name engraved on them if I wanted. I didn’t realize what a problem this was soon to be. I politely turned them down and made my way back to the hotel. The hotel boasts three pools. It’s really two but the large main one features a circular part that’s about 6ft deep and has water polo nets on each side and a swim up bar, then you can go a little inland around a section of rooms and there’s a larger, much shallower pool for the kiddies, equipped with slides etc. And then there’s another circular pool that is wonderfully deep, about 10 ft deep and was blessedly empty when I dove in. I swam lazily, floated around for awhile and then went back to my room. Oh, they have satellite telly in all the rooms (no point really because you’re not there to watch Oprah – ok, I did…but I was getting ready for dinner!) I headed out to the Sports bar they were promoting as it was the Chelsea v. Liverpool game. Yes, yes I know but hey, sports knows no boundaries. The sports bar is called Tamanisha, is on the second floor of the main building, a really nice large circular area with a couple of pool tables, a darts board and big screens. They had huge lovely leather-overstuffed chairs around the tellys and right next to enormous windows that were flung open and the cool breeze wafted in from the ocean and you could see the waves crashing way out on the distant reef. GORGEOUS!

The game was good but I was so distracted by the sight and scents. I had dinner in the main restaurant, which is quite open. There’s a moat surrounding it and they have gorgeous fish swimming around the dining area and they have an absolutely huge and ugly eel swimming in those waters that makes for a grotesque companion at meal time but a creature that you just can’t stop looking at. I will say this for the food; it was okay, nothing to write home about but I don’t understand why there was only one selection of fish for entrees. Didn’t make sense since we’re on the beach. The hotel has three other restaurants, one of them is open for 24hrs but I didn’t check it out until much later. Later on, I took a walk on the beach, gorgeous night, bright stars, the moon unusually bright and it was so surreal because the tide had gone out so where there had been water four hours ago, it was just miles of exposed beach with crabs skittering across the wet sand and seaweed beds. Was really cool. I was absolutely knackered from the day so I crashed early.

I was very lazy the next day. I did have to hop on a matatu to go to the nearby Wal-mart (a.k.a. Nakumatt) to go get some sundries including, most importantly sunglasses. When I’m talking about white sandy beaches, I’m not kidding. It’s bleach white out there and imagine the sun hitting that surface – I learned early in my childhood that even black people can burn under that sun. I had sat on my fave pair of shades 2 weeks back and forgotten to replace them hence the necessity of the trip. The super store was about 2 miles down the road and I could either take a taxi for $4 or a matatu for a quarter. Hmmm, yup, I soon found myself hurtling down a seriously potholed main road (not as bad as Naivasha but a distant second) in a seriously stuffed matatu. The heat drives people mad down there I think because this thing was packed and the van hurtled down the road, I think more so to get some cool air moving throughout the incredibly hot vehicle. It dropped me off in front of the mega store and I went in, picked up some conditioner, booze (actually a good idea to bring your some of your own if you’re planning a laid back evening, because the prices at the beach bar are exorbitant yet you can go sit on the beach in the with your own mix around a specially built fire for hotel guests), and sunglasses. It’s a good thing they were cheap as hell because they died a tragic death a week later once again thanks to my bum.

I got back to the hotel and went for a long walk on the beach. The tide was out again and I wanted to explore the exposed marine life on the seabed. While I would recommend a tour guide to explain everything, I say once again, stay away from the beach boys. The minute I stepped onto the sand from the wooden path that led to my hotel, I was immediately approached by three, wanting to be my guide, show me special hideout spots for various shellfish etc. A polite and firm no would usually deter them but the minute you started walking toward the reef, you would be approached by another one. Like I said, the tide (the water recedes all the way to the reef which is about a mile away so the sea bed is exposed. When the tide comes in, it gets covered again but you can still see the reef way out and the waves crashing on the beach) goes out during the morning and comes back later in the afternoon so it’s a pretty neat walk all the way out to the reef. Check out the Kenyan reef , it’s pretty neat. It’s an absolutely amazing sight. It was weird to be standing in one spot and realize the distance from the hotel and knowing that later that afternoon, when the tide was back, you would not be able to touch the bottom because the water level would be too high and current way to strong. I must have been concentrating too hard on watching where I was stepping because next thing I knew, there was a man next to me holding out an ugly long black thing (for lack of a better description, it looked like a turd) in his hand saying, "Look, a sea slug." EWWWWWWW!!!! He was one of the beach boys and was offering to be my guide. These guides are impossible to get rid off. If you’re not interested in a guide, then they’ll whip out these cool wooden key chains that they can carve your name into in less than five minutes while you wait, or they’ll try sell some other business they have. So I walked around some more with Paul who would not let up. There were not many people on the beach at the time because it was a weekday and also not tourist season so the guides were tenacious about hooking anyone who looked remotely lost. At some point I was grateful for his presence because he’d point out clear sections that I could wade through that were not covered in sea weed and whatever else was underneath on my way toward the reef. As you get closer, there’s a section that always remains underwater so you’ll have to hire one of the fishing boats that are always floating around to take you across the short "lake" toward the actual reef. It takes about 2 minutes tops to get across, but I didn’t carry any cash with me so I had to be content with just gazing across and marveling the huge waves crashing on to the reef just beyond. I stood there for a while and then realized that Paul had left me…finally. I started walking around and then with a start noticed that the tide had started to come in. It’s really weird. One minute, you are standing on sand and then the next, the clear water is up to your knees. I started to walk back toward the shoreline and at one point found my path blocked by seaweed. I panicked and looked around for Paul who had been great about guiding me through that jungle but he was long gone, talking to a seriously blistered red tourist wearing a super tight Speedo – and not the good kind either. (shudder) "Paul!" I rasped, my throat parched. The water was rising, not rapidly but with enough current to stir the seaweed up and get some crabs, lobsters and snails moving around my toes. Now, I love all of the latter but preferably very much steamed, on a tray with a lot of melted butter or herbed olive oil nearby. I finally spotted a very narrow path and waded through the ankle deep water to a clearer section. Wuss, yes I am!

I got back to my hotel and went to the quiet pool and jumped in for a nice long floating session to soothe my burned skin. I loved this section of the hotel because it was really quiet and the only people there were determined sun bathers who whiled the day way trying to char as much of their bodies as possible. There was this one Italian girl/woman/thing who had tanned so much that her skin was the color of…you know when you’ve boiled an egg to long such that the yolk takes on this ashy gray tone? Ya, that’s what this girl’s skin tone was. It was quite alarming actually. As I got out of the pool, I was approached by a guard who politely asked me for my room number. I was like why? And he wanted to know if I was a guest. Apparently, hotels have a lot of problems with prostitutes, especially at the beach. All this poor guy saw was little ol me, walking up from the beach and jumping into their waters, I must be a prostitute! There is a definite discrimination against young black females in Kenya and the assumption with a lot of establishments like clubs, hotels etc. is that every single black female who comes in must be a prostitute. Unfortunately, the Coast is rampant with prostitutes and all sorts of twilight ladies and if they invade your establishment, you run the risk of losing your legit clients so most places have a discreet policy of not allowing women who are unaccompanied by men into these joints. Sad but true and incredibly frustrating if you’re ever stopped. (Never happened to me and I pity the fool the day it does). The one thing that would guarantee I would never face this harassment during my stay was to carry that very expensive blue pool towel which was issued to me upon arrival. With that, I could easily be identified as a guest of the hotel and thereby assure a peaceful and pleasant stay that would assure I would be treated as a guest. I must stress that the staff of this hotel were incredibly warm, accommodating and would bend over backwards to meet your every need. Ofcourse that afternoon when the tide came in, I was frolicking once again the warm heavy waters of the Indian Ocean and completely in love with life. It's amazing what it can do for the soul. After my long swim, I finally sat down with the memory scrap book my amazing friends and family in Woo had made for me before I left for Kenya. I laughed, cried and laughed some more while reading it. Let me just say I miss you all. Although, it was probably not a good idea to have taken in to the Jaol the last night because there were a couple of entries in there that were illegible and incoherent. Lisando, thanks for the sheep and chicken memories...I think that's what you meant to say although I have no clue what that means.

The rest of my stay there was wonderfully pleasant and amazing. My last day there coincided with an amazing solar eclipse. I remember a lazy afternoon, lying on a hammock, reading a book, cold beer in hand and all of a sudden my phone starts ringing and it started getting very dark. Friends and family were calling because to find out whether the eclipse was clear from the coast and it was. It was only 3 in the afternoon but it looked like dusk. It was really neat and it freaked the hell out of the resident monkeys. Oh yeah, hotel has monkeys on the ground. They stay away from you but you’ll see them occasionally running to the pool and taking a sip.
Now, while I’d like to give Whitesands an absolutely clean score card, they did get one bad mark against them. The hotel is popular with seminars and exhibitions and they were hosting a labor organization for a week. (Incidentally, the angry lady from my flight there was the IT person for this seminar.) Their first night there, they had a cocktail reception to welcome the hundred or so participants and for some reason, the prostitutes were too. It was my last night so I didn’t pay too much attention to the couple of women, very skimpily dressed in somewhat cool weather tottering around in heels. I just thought they were part of the organization and were having a good time. However the next morning, while at breakfast before I checked out, there were the same group of women in the lobby area, laughing and shouting out loud, looking very unkempt. No doubt the administration were alarmed because as I waited for my taxi a half hour later, a hotel van was brought around to the front and these girls, some who looked like they’d been literally kicked out of bed were bundled in and driven off. Quite amusing actually but very embarrassing for the hotel, but I ask, they had to come through security (very tight at all Coast hotels) so why were they let in?

Anyway, I’m already planning my next trip and I may go during this whole referendum crap weekend. It’s on November 21st and if I can afford it, I’ll take the whole weekend off and carry my passport with me as well. If all hell breaks lose in Nairobi, I can flee with it…KIDDING! I have been ruined though by my family trips from way back when to Diani in the South Coast which has less beach boys, whiter and softer sand and wonderful cottages you can rent where the fishermen come up to your house with the day's catch. Sigh.