As I type, there are marching youth down Ngong Avenue and Mbagathi Way has been closed. All are upset because of the murder of the Embakasi MP early this morning. Ofcourse, that's the excuse these marauding maniacs are using while looting, random violence and acts of lunacy are carried out.
I hope I leave early today but I doubt that will occur. There are some interesting arguments around the office though, most uneducated but some make sense. The reality is that this country is in deep shit and the powers that be, in their silence are fostering a volatile environment in which rumors are rampant and clarity is scarce.
Of what I know, the mushroom project were working on is abandoned in Timboroa as the incredibly diverse community that formed it have now abandoned their homes and sought refuge elsewhere. 2/3 of the main centre has been burnt down and people are sleeping on top of each other at the police station. This is just one section of the country. Others are far worse and more and more people are dying every day.
I'm saddened and disappointed. I came back to Kenya not sure what was in store but I was assured that it was quite progressive and peaceful and was a functioning democracy. All that has been built is being destroyed on a shocking level. Kenya had always been a success story in the midst of other chaotic African nations and had done well economically.
Yeah, forget about all that. It's become basic tribalism now. It wasn't before but the unresolved issue of the electoral process has certainly brought out the worst in people. I'm trying to say as impartial as possible but man it's hard! People are downright stupid......yes, they are. And they go on rumors and accusations but while everyone keeps fighting, I'mma stay under the radar and figure out how to protect my ass.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Saturday, January 12, 2008
This land is not my land....for now.
Urghh! One whole bloody year since I last posted! Soo much has happened but the biggest thing is the fact that this country has gone to shit. I don't want to talk about that thief and his cohorts who are in office as they are not worth my time. I voted for the first time in my life. Stood in line for three hours, chatting with my neighbors, reading a book. I got to that booth, decided there's no way I could stand to see that mad woman called Lucy Wambui stay at State House for five more years. I also voted against that thug called Gumo who stole 20K from me as well as the stupid woman who was slapped in public by him and didn't do a damn thing about it. As for the councillor, I honestly picked the guy who's poster was on the wall by school entrance where we voted.
On Thursday night, I was working late and as I left the office, I passed the Hilton Hotel. What struck me as the oddest thing was that out of the entire 16 storey building, only two rooms were lit at 9 that evening. Two!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The tourism industry is all but finished. Some hotels have lowered their rates and are advertising in the classified section!!!!!!!!! Well, I intend to take advantage of those bargains as much as I can. I have to support the industry because it's going to take a while for foreigners to come back.
Ok, back to work. It's Saturday and we're working because the protests start on Wednesday. More later, I promise!
On Thursday night, I was working late and as I left the office, I passed the Hilton Hotel. What struck me as the oddest thing was that out of the entire 16 storey building, only two rooms were lit at 9 that evening. Two!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The tourism industry is all but finished. Some hotels have lowered their rates and are advertising in the classified section!!!!!!!!! Well, I intend to take advantage of those bargains as much as I can. I have to support the industry because it's going to take a while for foreigners to come back.
Ok, back to work. It's Saturday and we're working because the protests start on Wednesday. More later, I promise!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Inexcusable!
Horrid blogger I've become. I've been so mad crazy busy lately and had a bit of drama in the past quarter that has stalled my blogging. What's happened so far?
Well, I have a new apartment. I had to move out of the previousl shithole because of a certain asswipe politician named Fred Gumo, an MP for Westlands. The link is a short article on his typical behavior but to address "Mr Gumo's low temperament and disdainful character" is a polite way of describing a buffoon. I moved into the shithole in May, paid one month's deposit and continued paying rent to a company called Real Ventures which is in turn owned by a brother to Kamlesh Pattni, an incredible mess of a human being. As I would find out rather brutally later, the property in question had been part of a legal tussle between the two gorillas and we, the tenants were caught up in it. Gumo showed up one Sunday morning (drunk from the night before) and said he was the new landlord and all payments should be made to him. This being the middle of the month, all the tenants were dumbfounded and tried to tell him that legal matters like this should be put in writing and that in fact Real should have notified us of the change of management. Apparently you don't argue with Ngumu kama Gumo (Hard Like Gumo) because he would not hear of it. So we called Real, they said the property was indeed being disputed and that we shouldn't make any payments. In one week, we witnessed a literal changing of the security guards four times. First, there were Armed Cops...nothing like saying hello to the guy at the gate who has a lazily dangled AK47 across his lap pointing at you. Then the following day, it's a security company with harmless guys who don't even remember you when you come home, ensuring a grilling about your identity....urgh!
Rather wisely, I gave notice with my October rent payment. The idea was that I would live out November on my one month's deposit. All well and dandy until it started raining from the 1st of November daily until the end of the month. Now, I had a whole other level above my block and YET it still leaked, and quite badly. I had buckets in my bedroom to follow a dripping line of leaking drops. Then the boiler closet began to shower such that hot showers were out of the question. If I was desperate, I would don rubber gloves, wear two pairs of rubber flipflops and take the broom handle to switch it on and off. The agent I dealt with at Real at the time was co-operative except for the Indian woman who's running things there. Lady, I hope you get to read this blog sometime (but I doubt your literacy levels) because your customer service skills are lacking. Anyway, I found out things were getting thick. Gumo would show up when most people were at work, leave no written declarations of change of management, contact address etc. and belligerently stake his claim on the property all the while threatening the tenants.
Well, I ended up finding a gorgeous tiny flat and spent an incredible amount of money in the span of two days to secure it. I was supposed to move out of my current flat on 1st December but a week prior, just when I got home from work, Gumo had his thugs (unemployed Kenyan men with big rungus) show up and kick out the Real Security team from the property. He then came later that evening, drunk as a skunk (I got high standing near the man...at 7 p.m.) and proceeded to berate, abuse and threaten the tenants for non-payment for the past 3 months. I broached, very politely (uncharacteristic of me) the fact that we had not received any written communication from him and no office or phone was stated as to where payments were to be made. "You know who I am! You can find me young lady!" he slurred on while lurching in the general direction of my voice. I stayed quiet the rest of the time as there were just five of us out of eleven tenants present and twenty plus idle armed youth surrounding him. The man was not to be disuaded. We argued that we had no legal notification and that we were in fact pawns in this whole debacle but he would hear none of it. "I don't care! I want my money!" he rallied, spurred by the gruntings of the ignorant thugs behind him.
Two days before I moved out, I got a knock on my door and there was Gumo's thug er P.A, a shifty looking character by the name of Obed stating that I was to move out the following day or pay rent for December. I did all sorts of pleading stating that I was moving out in two days, well before the deadline and my new place wasn't ready yet but nooooooooooo. No such thing and on top of that, they wanted the rent for November if I was indeed moving out. Remember that I was living out my month's deposit thru Real, Gumo wanted his cut and it was not a small chunk of change considering what I had already spent on the new place. I lawyered up and my wonderful Nairobi attorney spent two minutes with Grossbed and said, "Move out, these guys are thugs." So the next day, had B1 show up, packed up my stuff and paid the constituents of Westlands an obscene amount of money not to be a part of a corrupt and disugsting Neanderthal's side deals (which are done through his public office.) Seriously, the receipt I received states that his private office is run through his public office.
Now, for the good hearted tourist, donor, potential ex-pat to this country that wants to know whether corruption is an issue - it is. From top down. Apparently Gumo is so high up and belligerently combative that few put up a fight to his shennanigans. I tried and I paid, literally and emotionally. DO NOT DEAL with this man if you want to stay sane. As for Pattni, google Goldenberg before you go any further.
Yet another lesson in the unpleasantness that is a sad but increasingly majority of Kenya and its politics.
Bitter, no more. Have cute apartment, no politicians around and good clean landlord. Alas, no room for dog, but not to worry.
Well, I have a new apartment. I had to move out of the previousl shithole because of a certain asswipe politician named Fred Gumo, an MP for Westlands. The link is a short article on his typical behavior but to address "Mr Gumo's low temperament and disdainful character" is a polite way of describing a buffoon. I moved into the shithole in May, paid one month's deposit and continued paying rent to a company called Real Ventures which is in turn owned by a brother to Kamlesh Pattni, an incredible mess of a human being. As I would find out rather brutally later, the property in question had been part of a legal tussle between the two gorillas and we, the tenants were caught up in it. Gumo showed up one Sunday morning (drunk from the night before) and said he was the new landlord and all payments should be made to him. This being the middle of the month, all the tenants were dumbfounded and tried to tell him that legal matters like this should be put in writing and that in fact Real should have notified us of the change of management. Apparently you don't argue with Ngumu kama Gumo (Hard Like Gumo) because he would not hear of it. So we called Real, they said the property was indeed being disputed and that we shouldn't make any payments. In one week, we witnessed a literal changing of the security guards four times. First, there were Armed Cops...nothing like saying hello to the guy at the gate who has a lazily dangled AK47 across his lap pointing at you. Then the following day, it's a security company with harmless guys who don't even remember you when you come home, ensuring a grilling about your identity....urgh!
Rather wisely, I gave notice with my October rent payment. The idea was that I would live out November on my one month's deposit. All well and dandy until it started raining from the 1st of November daily until the end of the month. Now, I had a whole other level above my block and YET it still leaked, and quite badly. I had buckets in my bedroom to follow a dripping line of leaking drops. Then the boiler closet began to shower such that hot showers were out of the question. If I was desperate, I would don rubber gloves, wear two pairs of rubber flipflops and take the broom handle to switch it on and off. The agent I dealt with at Real at the time was co-operative except for the Indian woman who's running things there. Lady, I hope you get to read this blog sometime (but I doubt your literacy levels) because your customer service skills are lacking. Anyway, I found out things were getting thick. Gumo would show up when most people were at work, leave no written declarations of change of management, contact address etc. and belligerently stake his claim on the property all the while threatening the tenants.
Well, I ended up finding a gorgeous tiny flat and spent an incredible amount of money in the span of two days to secure it. I was supposed to move out of my current flat on 1st December but a week prior, just when I got home from work, Gumo had his thugs (unemployed Kenyan men with big rungus) show up and kick out the Real Security team from the property. He then came later that evening, drunk as a skunk (I got high standing near the man...at 7 p.m.) and proceeded to berate, abuse and threaten the tenants for non-payment for the past 3 months. I broached, very politely (uncharacteristic of me) the fact that we had not received any written communication from him and no office or phone was stated as to where payments were to be made. "You know who I am! You can find me young lady!" he slurred on while lurching in the general direction of my voice. I stayed quiet the rest of the time as there were just five of us out of eleven tenants present and twenty plus idle armed youth surrounding him. The man was not to be disuaded. We argued that we had no legal notification and that we were in fact pawns in this whole debacle but he would hear none of it. "I don't care! I want my money!" he rallied, spurred by the gruntings of the ignorant thugs behind him.
Two days before I moved out, I got a knock on my door and there was Gumo's thug er P.A, a shifty looking character by the name of Obed stating that I was to move out the following day or pay rent for December. I did all sorts of pleading stating that I was moving out in two days, well before the deadline and my new place wasn't ready yet but nooooooooooo. No such thing and on top of that, they wanted the rent for November if I was indeed moving out. Remember that I was living out my month's deposit thru Real, Gumo wanted his cut and it was not a small chunk of change considering what I had already spent on the new place. I lawyered up and my wonderful Nairobi attorney spent two minutes with Grossbed and said, "Move out, these guys are thugs." So the next day, had B1 show up, packed up my stuff and paid the constituents of Westlands an obscene amount of money not to be a part of a corrupt and disugsting Neanderthal's side deals (which are done through his public office.) Seriously, the receipt I received states that his private office is run through his public office.
Now, for the good hearted tourist, donor, potential ex-pat to this country that wants to know whether corruption is an issue - it is. From top down. Apparently Gumo is so high up and belligerently combative that few put up a fight to his shennanigans. I tried and I paid, literally and emotionally. DO NOT DEAL with this man if you want to stay sane. As for Pattni, google Goldenberg before you go any further.
Yet another lesson in the unpleasantness that is a sad but increasingly majority of Kenya and its politics.
Bitter, no more. Have cute apartment, no politicians around and good clean landlord. Alas, no room for dog, but not to worry.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Life so far
Soooo, I need a holiday...again and quite badly. The twin has REFUSED to send pictures of our time together so I fear I'm going to have to repeat the whole sandy beach thing on my own. Quick congratulations once again to Fleur and Denis and Tally and Ben - the former on their upcoming nuptials which I shall sadly miss and the latter on their wonderful wedding which I sadly reminsced about on photos only.
Why is everyone getting married? Ok, you guys were meant for each other but I've found the whole institution to be very interesting in Kenya. Most of my mates are guys, and they tend to be younger than me, already in relationships (most of them long distance) and always up for a pint after work. The women my age that I mostly interact with on a professional basis tend to be married, have kids and are the first ones out of the office when the clock strikes 5. If they do stay to mingle after work, it is usually over a coffee (a substance meant to be consumed before 10 a.m. ONLY and in it's finest caffienated form "espresso" after a four course dinner) and a very dry piece of Black Forrest cake (most places don't use kirsch syrup for the layers). I know many would laugh picturing me sitting down for a cuppa after work on Friday. I did have a lovely weekend with a close family female friend and we agreed that we needed to go out more frequently. She is married and has a child and we're very similar personality wise but time constraints due to familial obligations hampers frequent get togethers. The guys? They're lose. We could plan at a moment's notice a camping expedition or a fun night out.
And then there are the married men. Oh this lot is scandalous in their pursuit of the available woman and they are ruthless! Needless to say, that's why I prefer hanging out with the boys because if I couldn't see that game from far, they would have sniffed it before it even came through the door.
Urghh, sorry this is short, have to fight with my late chinese delivery order.
Why is everyone getting married? Ok, you guys were meant for each other but I've found the whole institution to be very interesting in Kenya. Most of my mates are guys, and they tend to be younger than me, already in relationships (most of them long distance) and always up for a pint after work. The women my age that I mostly interact with on a professional basis tend to be married, have kids and are the first ones out of the office when the clock strikes 5. If they do stay to mingle after work, it is usually over a coffee (a substance meant to be consumed before 10 a.m. ONLY and in it's finest caffienated form "espresso" after a four course dinner) and a very dry piece of Black Forrest cake (most places don't use kirsch syrup for the layers). I know many would laugh picturing me sitting down for a cuppa after work on Friday. I did have a lovely weekend with a close family female friend and we agreed that we needed to go out more frequently. She is married and has a child and we're very similar personality wise but time constraints due to familial obligations hampers frequent get togethers. The guys? They're lose. We could plan at a moment's notice a camping expedition or a fun night out.
And then there are the married men. Oh this lot is scandalous in their pursuit of the available woman and they are ruthless! Needless to say, that's why I prefer hanging out with the boys because if I couldn't see that game from far, they would have sniffed it before it even came through the door.
Urghh, sorry this is short, have to fight with my late chinese delivery order.
Friday, June 30, 2006
My Apartment
…is a shit hole. When I first moved in, I was completely stoked at the independence but then the cleaning part without all the millions of household bleaches, detergents etc. that were mysteriously there in my previous apartment, has been difficult. First of all, the bastards painted the wall with primer only. So I’ve argued constantly and they’ve promised to send someone to come repaint it with at least two coats. This week, I’ve had to endure a typical Nairobi phenomenon. I have no water. Had none since Sunday actually and my caretaker has been a complete useless git. So I had to go over to my dad’s this week to wash clothes and take a serious shower and then when I got home, had to get the askaris to fetch two buckets of water so that I can have water in the house. I’ve been having cold showers and wow, those do actually warm you up better than hot ones. Urghh, Diani! You are sooo needed. At least there’s an ocean and cold water showers are welcome because of the heat.
So a lizard died in front of my bedroom door about three weeks ago and I’ve just come to terms with its traumatic death – traumatic for me! Screw the bugger. Eek! Thing is, I work late most nights and it took me about a month to buy a fridge and a stove ( I still haven’t bought the gas can yet!) so essentially, there was no food in my house. Now roaches are a Kenyan staple in most kitchens but I had (still don’t) none because there was absolutely no food. So this poor lizard must have starved to death because there was nothing crawling about. I remember seeing it when I first moved in and I was not squeamish and the thing moved very quickly to hide from me. But not anymore.
WARNING: DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH! I’m still gagging retelling this story.
So this pale lizard died at some time during the night…why? Because I found the bugger at about 2 in the morning after I’d come home from a fun night and it freaked me out so much because it’s body is really pale and you could see all it’s innards heaving in quite a dramatic death rattle. EEEWWW! So I threw a bag over it, ran into my room, locked the door, stuffed towels under the bathroom and main bedroom door gaps and crawled into bed shuddering. I prayed that it would somehow recover its strength, walk out of my apartment and say, “Dude, get some food in here.” But oh no, the thing was there when I woke up late Saturday and deader than a door nail. So I went to my kitchen, got my cleaning gloves out – put on two pairs and grabbed a trash can, a plastic bag and a newspaper. I decided to pick the thing up by the tail and I did quite gently and then snap! Its tail cut off! EEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! I squealed-shrieked-cried as I hurriedly dumped that bit in and then looked down at it. I was gagging (actually, currently as well) as I looked for the newspaper. I managed to scoop it on the paper and then put in the trash can. I threw away the first set of gloves – even though I never really touched the thing, and then ran out of my apartment with that bag. I came back and scrubbed every inch of my floors with some serious bleach and hot water but I will still not walk barefoot in my own apartment. Sigh. I’m such a girl. And yet, I’m the one who goes camping, doesn’t freak out at snakes, holds millipedes, walks among the hippos, yawns with the lions, coos at the warthogs but a lizard scares me to paralysis.
Oh wait, there is something else. They don’t necessarily terrify me but they are unpredictable squawkers. Chickens. I like them very much. Dead, preferably roasted with some olive oil, fresh fennel, rosemary, garlic and on a bed of potatoes witha side of mash potatoes and mama's homemade gravy. One of my neighbors downstairs got one, very much alive and tied it to the rail of the main stairwell leading up to my floor. I didn’t notice the bird until I got home one night and was confronted by this shitting pissed off bird. I stared at it and it stared at me and angrily clucked its way to the side after I made violent arm gestures, mimicking flight. I dashed up the stairs, cursing for all to hear because I pay way too much rent for that neighborhood to be dealing with someone’s chicken. So I ended up playing chicken with a chicken for about a week. I would come downstairs, making as much noise as possible to warn her of my pending arrival and thus hasten her departure as much as her tether would allow and I would usually find her waiting at the bottom of the stairs. That last step was always covered in shit and I didn’t want to risk jumping over her because I was convinced she would somehow fly up and not to the side and thereby give rise for a very interesting injury. So I would stop halfway and we would size each other up. Her, quiet, beady eyes staring at me intensely, clucking occasionally. Me, sweaty but with a fierce gaze, reciting the ingredients that would best go with her. Then she would turn around lazily and move to the side. Urghh! Well finally one day, I got back to my place and there was nothing but clean stairs and no loose feathers floating around. I then got a waft of fried chicken coming from the neighbor’s window and I smiled and walked leisurely up my stairs. Inhuman you say? Was more inhuman for those people to tie a chicken up in a residential neighborhood and stress the poor thing out for a week before she was stewed.
Needless to say, I’m apartment hunting, but I think I’ll look for a small house now with my own yard so that I can get a dog. While I’m at work, he/she can chase all the lizards out of my apartment and will not engage me in a cock fight every time I come home. Also, the rent is just too much for such a small space…and I don’t have a bathtub! Ok, I’m being petulant now so let me get back to reality and just accept that I can afford a roof over my head (barely) and loads of cleaning supplies.
So a lizard died in front of my bedroom door about three weeks ago and I’ve just come to terms with its traumatic death – traumatic for me! Screw the bugger. Eek! Thing is, I work late most nights and it took me about a month to buy a fridge and a stove ( I still haven’t bought the gas can yet!) so essentially, there was no food in my house. Now roaches are a Kenyan staple in most kitchens but I had (still don’t) none because there was absolutely no food. So this poor lizard must have starved to death because there was nothing crawling about. I remember seeing it when I first moved in and I was not squeamish and the thing moved very quickly to hide from me. But not anymore.
WARNING: DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH! I’m still gagging retelling this story.
So this pale lizard died at some time during the night…why? Because I found the bugger at about 2 in the morning after I’d come home from a fun night and it freaked me out so much because it’s body is really pale and you could see all it’s innards heaving in quite a dramatic death rattle. EEEWWW! So I threw a bag over it, ran into my room, locked the door, stuffed towels under the bathroom and main bedroom door gaps and crawled into bed shuddering. I prayed that it would somehow recover its strength, walk out of my apartment and say, “Dude, get some food in here.” But oh no, the thing was there when I woke up late Saturday and deader than a door nail. So I went to my kitchen, got my cleaning gloves out – put on two pairs and grabbed a trash can, a plastic bag and a newspaper. I decided to pick the thing up by the tail and I did quite gently and then snap! Its tail cut off! EEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! I squealed-shrieked-cried as I hurriedly dumped that bit in and then looked down at it. I was gagging (actually, currently as well) as I looked for the newspaper. I managed to scoop it on the paper and then put in the trash can. I threw away the first set of gloves – even though I never really touched the thing, and then ran out of my apartment with that bag. I came back and scrubbed every inch of my floors with some serious bleach and hot water but I will still not walk barefoot in my own apartment. Sigh. I’m such a girl. And yet, I’m the one who goes camping, doesn’t freak out at snakes, holds millipedes, walks among the hippos, yawns with the lions, coos at the warthogs but a lizard scares me to paralysis.
Oh wait, there is something else. They don’t necessarily terrify me but they are unpredictable squawkers. Chickens. I like them very much. Dead, preferably roasted with some olive oil, fresh fennel, rosemary, garlic and on a bed of potatoes witha side of mash potatoes and mama's homemade gravy. One of my neighbors downstairs got one, very much alive and tied it to the rail of the main stairwell leading up to my floor. I didn’t notice the bird until I got home one night and was confronted by this shitting pissed off bird. I stared at it and it stared at me and angrily clucked its way to the side after I made violent arm gestures, mimicking flight. I dashed up the stairs, cursing for all to hear because I pay way too much rent for that neighborhood to be dealing with someone’s chicken. So I ended up playing chicken with a chicken for about a week. I would come downstairs, making as much noise as possible to warn her of my pending arrival and thus hasten her departure as much as her tether would allow and I would usually find her waiting at the bottom of the stairs. That last step was always covered in shit and I didn’t want to risk jumping over her because I was convinced she would somehow fly up and not to the side and thereby give rise for a very interesting injury. So I would stop halfway and we would size each other up. Her, quiet, beady eyes staring at me intensely, clucking occasionally. Me, sweaty but with a fierce gaze, reciting the ingredients that would best go with her. Then she would turn around lazily and move to the side. Urghh! Well finally one day, I got back to my place and there was nothing but clean stairs and no loose feathers floating around. I then got a waft of fried chicken coming from the neighbor’s window and I smiled and walked leisurely up my stairs. Inhuman you say? Was more inhuman for those people to tie a chicken up in a residential neighborhood and stress the poor thing out for a week before she was stewed.
Needless to say, I’m apartment hunting, but I think I’ll look for a small house now with my own yard so that I can get a dog. While I’m at work, he/she can chase all the lizards out of my apartment and will not engage me in a cock fight every time I come home. Also, the rent is just too much for such a small space…and I don’t have a bathtub! Ok, I’m being petulant now so let me get back to reality and just accept that I can afford a roof over my head (barely) and loads of cleaning supplies.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Holidays, expensive twin and other stuff
So the parents and the twin came visiting end of May! WOW! It was incredible, amazing and wonderful and I’m truly grateful to their brood whom I know were skeptical about a visit to Africa but I assure you, they had an amazing time and got to do non-tourist things. We did the obligatory visit to the home on the hills and coming back, we came through the Eldama Ravine so they got to see this amazing vista that is part of the Great Rift Valley. There’s a bridge you cross on the way to Kabernet and we stopped right on it to look down. The river, the Kerio, runs from the equator through the valley and at the moment, the water levels were way down and from where we were, it was about 10 storeys through an enormous rock formation. I would truly love to raft that river one day so I’m currently looking for excursions in that part of town. The parents truly loved the experience and I took them to the Masai market where after a little practice, became more efficient bargainers than I ever could. I hate bargaining, especially with cab drivers and bartenders but the discount is worth it. My advice, go with someone who can differentiate the tribes. You can always tell who the Masai women are. They sit patiently on their mats, are terrible when it comes to bargaining (they’ll lower the price by 10 shillings at most on the smaller items) and if you’re not interested, they don’t chase you down and go back to humming or beading whatever work they have near them. The Kikuyu (sorry my friends) will practically leech themselves on you to make a sale and will lower the price by almost 50% after an hour of following you all over the market place so their product is rendered completely useless to begin with. The Kisii, are great soap stone carvers but be careful. They will tell you that it is an original so walk around first, look at other pieces and if they’re replicated then they’re lying. But if you’re fortunate enough to have the carver there and watch him/her work, then buy from them. Unfortunately, if you’re white, you will be very much the center of attention and the prices will be given a 300% markup. But the parents handled themselves very well. I still get stopped at the Hilton and in various gift shops they breezed in and get asked "Wapi mama yako?" (where's your mama?)
I’m back from holiday and I’m completely tired and still grinning from a much needed break away from life in the city. All I’m thinking right now was that exactly four hours ago, I was walking across the softest and whitest sand, staring at an amazing blue sky that met the shimmering green waters of the Indian Ocean under a very hot sun. Know I’m looking at the filthy towers of one of our media houses and a very ugly dirty grey sky with an even dirtier city underneath it and a long day of work. Oh, yeah, and I’m missing breakfast. For the past two weeks I’ve been eating well, amazingly well. I realized that I don’t eat breakfast at all and now that my tummy has gotten used to being fed a healthy diet of eggs, beef bacon, sausages, rich coffee, amazingly delicious fruits and juices.
My wonderful twin and I took the train down which many people were skeptical about but it turned out to be just fine. Always book first class. The food is suspect so we bought sandwiches and beers for dinner instead of paying for dinner and breakfast. Saved us a bunch of money and stomach worries considering how awful the train dining area is. The compartments are standard and fairly clean and for about $30, the price wasn't bad at all. They give you beddings and there’s a waiter who comes around and takes drink orders. The train leaves the station at exactly 7 p.m. and is supposed to arrive at about 8.30. In its hey days, Kenya Railways ran two trains to Mombasa, one at 5.30 which would be an all stops kinda train and the latter one would be the express, making only two stops at Mtito Andei (remember the Ghost and the Darkness?) and in Voi. The twin and I were giggling like idiots when the train jerked off to a start. We have always loved taking the train and for us, to repeat the experience as adults was amazing. We were pretty much stupid for the next five hours, giggling and having Gin and Tonics, an homage to our mother’s fave train drink. We had brought our own sammiches but there was a waiter running around taking orders. Drinks are incredibly cheap on the train, $1 for beers and slightly more for the gin. There are two dinner times, in order to accommodate all the passengers. A waiter comes by playing a xylophone announcing each dinner time, the first at 7.30, the next at 9. At about 8 pm, an attendant came by to make our beds. It’s basically a bed in a bag, with sheets, blankets and pillows. Very clean and there were NO roaches. LOL, we’d been hassled by the brothers and told to look for roaches and rats and to carry a can of insecticide. We had the latter so we sprayed our compartment because of all the moths flying in near the lights. We were pretty knackered because we had both done some serious running around prior to our trip so by about 10pm, we were yawning heavily and slightly buzzed. The compartments come with sinks and running water, but use bottled even to brush your teeth. There are loos on each end of the car, fairly clean but one thing’s for sure. Most men cannot aim straight even when they are not moving so you can imagine what a moving train loo looks like. Take lots of antibacterial wipes and for ladies, the flushable loo wipes are necessary. I opted to sleep on the top cabin, and so I hoisted myself up there and promptly fell asleep. That gentle rocking motion is oh so therapeutic. I didn’t wake up again until about 3, when we’d stopped in Mtito. I sat up to make sure our windows were closed....yes I know that lions don’t come through open train windows at night but I wanted to make sure! Looked over and down to make sure the twin was ok and fell right back asleep again. Woke up about an hour later because the train was moving seriously fast. We were going downhill and it almost felt like we were flying off the tracks. I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer and passed out in the middle of it. Woke up at about 5.30. We’d stopped at a place called Samburu. Beautiful savannah vegetation, and open field everywhere. You could feel the slight humidity but even better, the sun rising in the east, the direction of the ocean and the colors cast over the land...no painting will ever capture that. Cough, cough, oh yeah, we were parallel to the main highway and the trucks were booking it past us belching out fumes.
We woke up later and after a quick brush, climbed back into bed. We took turns looking out the window, trying to recognize scenes from our past. One game our mother used to always play with us was she’d give ten shillings (a lot of money then!) to whomever spotted the first baobab tree. She always knew where the first one grew but we were always off by like 50 miles. Another vivid memory was trying to catch the first scent of salty air but we were both a little stuffed up from hanging our heads outside the window for ages from the previous night. This country is so beautiful that I began to ache just thinking of heading back on Sunday. Sob. As we approached Mombasa, we discovered yet another good reason to have taken the train. There is a section of road in an area called Mariakani, that does disservice to the name road in itself. It’s more of a dirt road with bits of pave all over. It’s even worse than the Naivasha stretch. We were chugging along comfortably at 30mph passing limping cars carrying bruised spines and bums. This useless government has yet to address that road though I think there are no less than 10 fully paid tax free committees that are seeing to it. Lazy fat bastards. Let me not go off on our useless regime at the moment, there has been a lot to rant about, including our connection to Armenia.
We pulled into Mombasa two hours after we were supposed to arrive. Welcome to the coast, where everything slooooooowwwwwssss down, just a tad. Don’t come here with your city haste and rush. Even leaving the station was done in a lazy affair as we strolled out. Our travel agent had arranged for a taxi to pick us up and sure enough, Martin was out there waiting for us. We got into his car (unmarked cab) and we told him we had to stop in town and get a few things first. So he took us around which was nice because we got to see how big the city has become. But it still has a much more laid back feel than Nairobi. We stopped at a street hawkers stall to bargain the heck out of some Gucci and Ray Ban sunglasses (at $3 for two pairs each). We then decided to shop in Diani which is on the southside of the coast, instead of the Mombasa side as the Nakumatt at Likoni is always busy, so we proceeded to the ferry, which you have to take to over the harbor to the other side. When we started to go down toward the ferry ramp, we were pulled over to the side by the police officers standing guard. They leaned in through our open windows and greeted us warmly. They then asked Martin, "Wapi PSV ?" (Public Service Vehicle license). Martin said he didn’t have one. "Wapi license? " Martin again shook his head much to our dismay. We found out later that the drivers on the coast are hassled so much by cops about their licenses that even if they have them, they are reluctant to show them. Hence the unmarked cabs and it is also recommended that you say they are a friend who’s driving you around on errands. We did realize later on that there is a very clear bias as a station wagon loaded with 6! tourists sitting practically on each other was casually waved through. Anyway, Martin got arrested and was marched to a cargo container that was acting as a jail. We were so relaxed and seemingly unfazed such that we just sat there for a bit, called the cab company and told the owner what the problem was. So he sent another driver after about 10 minutes and we switched cabs. Our new cabbie wasn’t as exciting so we said quick hellos and then got on the ferry. (Oh, Martin got out of jail later that evening and all was well.) Depending on traffic and time of day, there are three ferries going to and fro the island to the other side. We had to wait about 15 minutes for the next one. That ferry fills up quickly. There are quite a lot of pedestrians who’ll cross and catch the matatus on either side so the foot traffic is large but very well organized. In previous years vehicles and people alike rushed to get a spot, but now they load the cars up first and then the pedestrians and bikes get on afterwards. Once inside, the twin and I decided to go up to the top level to check out the view. Very, very nice and I recommend it to anyone taking the ferry. The harbor is obviously quite deep and we were told that dolphins and sometimes sharks will follow the huge tankers that keep the Mombasa harbor in business. All we saw were squid though, loads of them. Is it called a school? Not sure. Anyway, gorgeous view and for the first time, I could smell the salt. It was amazing. The trip itself took about 15 minutes to cross and we passed the other two ferries going to the other side.
I won’t bore you with the details of the 30 minute drive toward Diani but I will tell you times have changed. All our family holidays were spent in this part of the world for about 10 years and I remember lush vegetation, palm tree plantations, a few mud huts here and there, the occasional kiosk or vegetable stand but nothing like what has happened now. There has been so much expansion and construction on this once, very sleepy stretch that it has become impossible to recognize and is quite distressing. I only hoped that the beaches had not seen this Miami-esque scale of development as that would have ruined the whole trip for us. When we got to Ukunda (the largest town in that area - quite small actually but a central post of sorts) we took a left turn on a 2 mile road to Diani. When you get to the end, you either go left or right and judging by the billboards ads, one is completely spoiled for choice. There’s a new Shaanti Holistic place that advertises yoga and a whole plethora of meditative therapy...but no champagne? No alcohol of sorts. Yeah, like I’m going to spend a bunch load of money on a weekend at the beach and not have a margarita to show for it.
LOL, sorry, as I write this, my neighbors downstairs are screaming at their six year old son who has locked himself in the car and is trying to start it. The kid has some issues because he cries ALL the time. The past two Saturdays - the only two I’ve spent at my place, the kid has woken me up consistently at 7 a.m. wailing for one reason or another. I’m watching them try to coax "Dan" out but he’s having none of it. They’ve tried to bribe him with a belt, a solid beating and now they’ve resorted to promises of buying him with a phone, milk and ice-cream. LOL. Oh damn, he’s started the car, I just hope he doesn’t find the brakes. Oh, the door is open, there is silence and he’s out...and there’s that screaming. Wow, he’s getting thumped properly. Poor kid. Still getting smacked, still screaming. Sigh.
Anyway, we were staying at the Leisure Lodge Resort which is about 2 km to the left of the turn-off. It is an amazingly large resort hotel which boasts the only 18 hole golf course in all of the south coast. We took a brief trip there (to see if they were showing the England game) and I got a glimpse of the 18th and it really is quite an impressive and impeccably kept course. The resort itself is quite massive but cleverly hidden from the main road and the beach front view shows the resort has tried as much as possible to blend in with the surrounding vegetation and looks like it has always been there. When we arrived, I was disappointed not to receive the ice-cold mint towels that the Whitesands in the North Coast offers. (It’s the little things people, the little things!) Instead, we got a super sweet fruity beverage and an extremely slow check in service. I won’t blame them seeing as it was low season and they staff that way, but to have one person receiving guests and answering phone calls is just bad. The twin and I weren’t too perturbed about that, her especially as she was getting her first glimpse and scent of the true essence that is the South Coast of Mombasa. When you come through this massive reception, you immediately see the reef in the distance with waves crashing upon it and then right in front of that is the deliciously salty Indian Ocean lapping gently in the low tide. We were given an upgrade, after I gave the poor lass this long drawn out story about our history with the region and how our true childhood was spent here, blah, blah, blah. A porter came over and led us to our room. Now, most if not all beach hotels section off their rooms so you’ll find something like mini apartment complexes sharing a pool and most have a sea view. They always leave the doors open for available rooms on check-in days so when you come in, a gentle sea breeze overwhelms you and your room just looks delectable. Give it a couple of hours and then you start to see the minor flaws you overlooked while you tipped the guy your country’s GDP out of the sheer joy that swept over you when he brought you in to this oasis. I shudder to think what our upgrade was from because the room was fairly standard. Large king size bed, a twin beside it if you’re bringing kids. Telly, except they were having a dispute with DSTV (South African Cable monopoly bastards) so there was no satellite at the time. We had to settle for Deutsche TV, an Indian channel and blessedly some CNN and BBC.
We immediately changed into beach gear and practically fled down to the beach giggling like idiots. Oh that soft, white sand that is so much better than the grainy cement of northern Atlantic beaches or the brown dirt of some of the Pacific. We dropped our stuff off on a couple of the hotel deck chairs and ran into the still outgoing surf. BRRRR! At first but then we got comfortable and it was amazing. We were deliriously happy and didn’t care that the sky was grey and the water was not particularly welcoming. Bless the twin for buying the $4 Target swim shoes because I did not want to feel any grainy beach at all. The water was lovely though and just perfect. You get this heady intoxicated feeling when you’re in the Indian Ocean and it’s exciting, calming and incredibly therapeutic. We didn’t stay long as we were starving so we went up to the main open dining area by one of the pools to go get a bite to eat. Service was super slow but seeing as it was the low season, there were fewer staff so you just had to forget your city habits and just settle down and relax. Yummy burgers with ice cold diet cokes followed and the sun finally came out. We swam briefly after lunch then went back to the rooms to start unpacking. At around 5, we went back to the beach just as the high tide was coming in. Swam for a bit and then a brisk work out in the hotel pool (Treviche, but the sis and I called it Ceviche) and then off to the rooms to get ready for dinner.
Prior to dinner, we had a much needed GNT and discovered that they have a very welcome happy hour. We sat there reminiscing about our previous visits and discussed our plans for the next day. Dinner time was announced by the dining staff who gathered around with various local instruments and they went dancing around the large reception area, the bar and other places the tourists were gathered. We wanted to wait though for that initial rush to die down so we waited for about an hour until 8.30. I have to give the hotel kudos for its dining menu. It has the standard buffet on offer but they also offer a five course dining option with access to the extremely delicious and probably the best salad bar I’ve experienced in Kenya. We chose the five course and went for the fish. DELICIOUS. Best hotel food I’ve tasted in a long, long time. Was amazing. We stuffed ourselves silly and had a nice half carafe of house white to go with it. By 9.30, we were exhausted and quite portly at the point. I insisted we take a walk to the beach to digest before crashing for the evening so we staggered down the many walkways toward the sound of pounding surf. The tide was peaking then and the rush of wind and salt air just added to our already intoxicated senses and I turned to the twin and said, "I love you very much, but right now, I wish you were a completely different gender, unrelated and of Italian descent." She mumbled something about the feeling being mutual and we sighed, hating each other for a bit before heading back up. The hotel has 24hr security so it was comforting to see this guard walking around with what looked like a bull but was really this massive rottweiler whose paw prints made a deeper impression in the sand than his handler.
Off to bed we went and I barely managed to make it in before I was out like a light and slept for a solid 8 hours in one position. I woke up at about 6.30 and had that wonderful feeling, trying to figure out exactly where I am. I turned over hoping my sister had turned into Totti but alas, I was stuck with her. I tried to get her to come and swim with me but she declined respectfully. I didn’t know you could use the "f" word in so many forms as a verb, noun, adjective etc. all in one breath and turn over and continue muttering until sleep clouded the senses. I went down to the beach and that sun was already hot and burning. The tide was quite high and I worked over to the nearby Leopard Beach Hotel as they have a very interesting reef/rock formations around the water-sport area and also a cool break wall. I walked around, the surf rushing to meet me, swirling around my feet, eww, seaweed, cool, amethyst shell....was absolutely awesome. I walked around for a bit then headed back toward the rooms. I had a fantastic morning swim and did some serious laps before heading back to the room. The twin was still asleep so I flung my wet swim suit at her to wake her up.
Breakfast was standard fare, omelette bar, great fruit selections, and yummy sausages. Keeping in mind this is an Islamic part of Kenya, the pig products were tucked very far away from everything else so it was quite a hunt for the bacon and sausages I desperately craved. Once found, they were absolutely delicious. We needed to run some errands that morning (Friday) so we got ready for a dash to the Diani Shopping Center. We could have taken a taxi but their prices are EXORBITANT and seeing as we were only going a short distance, we opted for a matatu. There are many running between the hotels on that long Diani stretch so we didn’t have to wait for long. We took one down first to the Barclays shopping center. A small sort of strip mall with cyber cafes, a tiny supermarket and a billion curio places to trap tourists. I needed to use the ATM but other than that, they didn’t have what we wanted so we continued on to the Diani center. We had to get a matatu from the junction and about five minutes later we were there. The Diani shopping center has evolved from the one shop place we remember it to be, to a large strip mall that has just about anything the heart desires. There’s a neat little supermarket with quite a good selection of most things. Because there is a very large German and Italian population here, the food selection is wonderful. The cheeses looked particularly delightful but we didn’t want to bother with buying bread and such. We bought our liquor supply (much cheaper than even happy hour) and we picked up a very much needed deep conditioner. My hair dresser was already pissed off that I was going to the coast without braiding my hair. We did get annoyed with the Muthaiga Mini Market though because they charge extra for shopping bags! Bastards. We putted around for a bit and then decided to head back. We got a matatu to the junction again, jumped out and waited for one coming from the Ukunda direction. It came quickly and we got in. LOL, interesting thing. Kenyans truly discriminate against each other and I think it might explain why there are very few locals visiting the South Coast because one cannot believe a Kenyan could be a tourist in that region. The matatu driver asked us where we were going and we told him. As we approached the hotel, he said, "Staff entrance, yes?" We said, "Umm, no, main gate." He looked back at us in shock and then said, "Nyinyi ni wageni?" (You are tourists?) We nodded and he turned back in silence. What is so hard to believe about two Kenyan girls going on holiday by themselves that makes everyone think they’re either staff or hookers. (A lot of pent up rage on this one actually.) Like if my boys, Miguel, Jamie or Tristan came to visit, knowing how close we were, people would automatically assume that I’m a pro looking for a green card.
Urghh. Anyway, back to hotel. It was only 11 but it was 12 somewhere so out came the wonderfully refreshing beers. We sat down on our balcony and read for about an hour. We were still stuffed from breakfast so we went down to the beach chairs. We lay back in a tiny cove which had about 8 chairs. We smiled at our fellow guests and settled down to some serious reading. Occasionally you’d look up, look around, smile and go back to reading. By the way, I found the best therapy in the world. It was right then and there. You just lay back, let the sun warm you, sometimes jump up and go take a quick dip, come back and lie down, sip your beer, rub in more sun block and then read some more. True tale: I had been seriously stressed and I tend to break out around my flush points, i.e., neck, wrists etc. Well I’d gone to the coast with a really bad case but not even 24 hours after being in that water and that environment, it had dramatically reduced in irritation and appearance. By the time I’d left, you couldn’t even tell I’d had an outbreak. I took off my watch and placed at the bottom of my beach bag to be ignored for the duration of my stay. I sent nasty text messages to just about everyone I knew saying, "On the beach, sipping a Tusker. You?" The replies ranged from heartfelt sobbing to angry and detailed instructions as to what I could do with my holiday. I smiled and put my phone together with my watch.
I could go on and on but that was pretty much how the whole stay went. That afternoon however, we did something incredible. Since the tide was going out, we decided to walk toward the south (Diani direction except on the beach) and see how far we could go. I was convinced we could walk as far as where we used to live during our holidays. I was so glad for my beach shoes because there was a lot of exposed coral and grainy sand we had to walk over and there were dead urchins and such all over the place. The worst beach ever...right outside Alfajiri. It's a very private place to get to and they don't advertise so I definitely see the appeal for Brad and Angelina and family but it's not a swimmer's resort. It was closed for the low season but it looked wonderful from the outside. Like I said, if the hotel has no beach shots, they're hiding something from you. We walked on for a while and then realized we'd found the beach entrance to our home! We ran up the secret jungle path (counting all the steps - an old family tradition), looking out for giant monitor lizards and snakes, and found ourselves years back in our lives. Long story short, we came home. We met the new owner of our old place, a lovely lady who bought it for her grandkids. I already asked her to adopt us. She's made some incredible changes and it actually looks like it should be an exclusive beach nightclub. Amazing place. Wow. She let us jump in the kidney shaped pool in which we'd learned to swim at the age of 5 and we took an amazing swim. We hugged her goodbye and then skipped down the path again. We took more pictures and then ran into the ocean. I know now why the beach spoiled me. That particular section of the beach front has always been smooth, seaweed free and there are always fishermens boats anchored nearby just begging to be clambered into. We would have happily stayed there except it was five and the tide was coming in and we had to walk back the four miles very quickly because there was a coral section that jutted out that would soon be inaccessible. We barely made it, exhausted but jubillant at having done something incredible with the only person in the world who would know exactly what you were feeling at that moment.
The following day, we hired a boat at around 3 in the afternoon from one of the nagging beach boys. "I'll give you a good price because you're my sista, you're not a mzungu."That is the one thing that ruins the coast, the beach boys and they can do and get anything for you, including being your companion for the duration of your stay. Yech! Anyway, there's a sand bar that is always exposed during the low tide and we wanted to get as close to it as possible. so we hired the boat with two guys who paddled us over to the bar. The sand on the bar is so soft and refined that you will sink to your knees immeadiately on the outer banks so you have to practically crawl. It was awesome! They pointed out the urchins hugging the surrounding coral reef and they mentioned Moray eels but those I didn't bother to look for. In between the marine biology lesson, they would mention their shop in Ukunda, their starving family, the club where they could get you in and then back to the difference between the older and younger urchins. LOL. Welcome to Kenya. It was something else to be all the way out there and the sister who'd battled the expense (only $6 r/trip for two) was greatful in the end that we had undertaken that adventure.
Leaving the lodge was tragic, tragic, tragic. The twin had announced very early in the morning that she had no intention of going back to Nairobi and that I was on my own and she wasn't sure how she'd survive seeing as her bank account and mine were threatening to show negative balances. We had decided to fly back from Diani to Wilson Airport in Nairobi and we took Aero Kenya, a turbo prop plane (very expensive but the convenience is well worth it). There were 18 passengers total on our small plane and although there was not inflight service or entertainment...or safety instructions for that matter, it was still a more pleasant flight than the cattle flight that is Kenya Airways. The flight was awesome. We flew over the Mara and the views were spectacular. You could follow the Athi and Tana Rivers massive path through the parched land, unfortunately dried up in some parts but capable of sustaining life on its banks. I wanted to cry as we flew closer to Nairobi because I DID not want to go to work the following day. We had to fly in over the larger airport, Jomo Kenyatta because there are no landing lights at Wilson (I shit you not) so the tower had to identify us. Was really neat flying over all these parked jumbos and then back up into the air, around the Nairobi National Park and then onto to Wilson Airport.
It was an amazing holiday and I got to do it with my sister and more so, it was expolaratory research for my career path. I found the hotel I'm going to buy and it's wonderful. Right now it's a burnt shell but it has promise.
I've written for ages but I had to make up for my silence. I'm sad I'm going to miss Ben and Talley's wedding coming up sooon, sniff, sniff, sniff but I'll have a bottle of champagne on you two. I love you both very much and come to Kenya for your honeymoon! More later and much sooner, I promise.
I’m back from holiday and I’m completely tired and still grinning from a much needed break away from life in the city. All I’m thinking right now was that exactly four hours ago, I was walking across the softest and whitest sand, staring at an amazing blue sky that met the shimmering green waters of the Indian Ocean under a very hot sun. Know I’m looking at the filthy towers of one of our media houses and a very ugly dirty grey sky with an even dirtier city underneath it and a long day of work. Oh, yeah, and I’m missing breakfast. For the past two weeks I’ve been eating well, amazingly well. I realized that I don’t eat breakfast at all and now that my tummy has gotten used to being fed a healthy diet of eggs, beef bacon, sausages, rich coffee, amazingly delicious fruits and juices.
My wonderful twin and I took the train down which many people were skeptical about but it turned out to be just fine. Always book first class. The food is suspect so we bought sandwiches and beers for dinner instead of paying for dinner and breakfast. Saved us a bunch of money and stomach worries considering how awful the train dining area is. The compartments are standard and fairly clean and for about $30, the price wasn't bad at all. They give you beddings and there’s a waiter who comes around and takes drink orders. The train leaves the station at exactly 7 p.m. and is supposed to arrive at about 8.30. In its hey days, Kenya Railways ran two trains to Mombasa, one at 5.30 which would be an all stops kinda train and the latter one would be the express, making only two stops at Mtito Andei (remember the Ghost and the Darkness?) and in Voi. The twin and I were giggling like idiots when the train jerked off to a start. We have always loved taking the train and for us, to repeat the experience as adults was amazing. We were pretty much stupid for the next five hours, giggling and having Gin and Tonics, an homage to our mother’s fave train drink. We had brought our own sammiches but there was a waiter running around taking orders. Drinks are incredibly cheap on the train, $1 for beers and slightly more for the gin. There are two dinner times, in order to accommodate all the passengers. A waiter comes by playing a xylophone announcing each dinner time, the first at 7.30, the next at 9. At about 8 pm, an attendant came by to make our beds. It’s basically a bed in a bag, with sheets, blankets and pillows. Very clean and there were NO roaches. LOL, we’d been hassled by the brothers and told to look for roaches and rats and to carry a can of insecticide. We had the latter so we sprayed our compartment because of all the moths flying in near the lights. We were pretty knackered because we had both done some serious running around prior to our trip so by about 10pm, we were yawning heavily and slightly buzzed. The compartments come with sinks and running water, but use bottled even to brush your teeth. There are loos on each end of the car, fairly clean but one thing’s for sure. Most men cannot aim straight even when they are not moving so you can imagine what a moving train loo looks like. Take lots of antibacterial wipes and for ladies, the flushable loo wipes are necessary. I opted to sleep on the top cabin, and so I hoisted myself up there and promptly fell asleep. That gentle rocking motion is oh so therapeutic. I didn’t wake up again until about 3, when we’d stopped in Mtito. I sat up to make sure our windows were closed....yes I know that lions don’t come through open train windows at night but I wanted to make sure! Looked over and down to make sure the twin was ok and fell right back asleep again. Woke up about an hour later because the train was moving seriously fast. We were going downhill and it almost felt like we were flying off the tracks. I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer and passed out in the middle of it. Woke up at about 5.30. We’d stopped at a place called Samburu. Beautiful savannah vegetation, and open field everywhere. You could feel the slight humidity but even better, the sun rising in the east, the direction of the ocean and the colors cast over the land...no painting will ever capture that. Cough, cough, oh yeah, we were parallel to the main highway and the trucks were booking it past us belching out fumes.
We woke up later and after a quick brush, climbed back into bed. We took turns looking out the window, trying to recognize scenes from our past. One game our mother used to always play with us was she’d give ten shillings (a lot of money then!) to whomever spotted the first baobab tree. She always knew where the first one grew but we were always off by like 50 miles. Another vivid memory was trying to catch the first scent of salty air but we were both a little stuffed up from hanging our heads outside the window for ages from the previous night. This country is so beautiful that I began to ache just thinking of heading back on Sunday. Sob. As we approached Mombasa, we discovered yet another good reason to have taken the train. There is a section of road in an area called Mariakani, that does disservice to the name road in itself. It’s more of a dirt road with bits of pave all over. It’s even worse than the Naivasha stretch. We were chugging along comfortably at 30mph passing limping cars carrying bruised spines and bums. This useless government has yet to address that road though I think there are no less than 10 fully paid tax free committees that are seeing to it. Lazy fat bastards. Let me not go off on our useless regime at the moment, there has been a lot to rant about, including our connection to Armenia.
We pulled into Mombasa two hours after we were supposed to arrive. Welcome to the coast, where everything slooooooowwwwwssss down, just a tad. Don’t come here with your city haste and rush. Even leaving the station was done in a lazy affair as we strolled out. Our travel agent had arranged for a taxi to pick us up and sure enough, Martin was out there waiting for us. We got into his car (unmarked cab) and we told him we had to stop in town and get a few things first. So he took us around which was nice because we got to see how big the city has become. But it still has a much more laid back feel than Nairobi. We stopped at a street hawkers stall to bargain the heck out of some Gucci and Ray Ban sunglasses (at $3 for two pairs each). We then decided to shop in Diani which is on the southside of the coast, instead of the Mombasa side as the Nakumatt at Likoni is always busy, so we proceeded to the ferry, which you have to take to over the harbor to the other side. When we started to go down toward the ferry ramp, we were pulled over to the side by the police officers standing guard. They leaned in through our open windows and greeted us warmly. They then asked Martin, "Wapi PSV ?" (Public Service Vehicle license). Martin said he didn’t have one. "Wapi license? " Martin again shook his head much to our dismay. We found out later that the drivers on the coast are hassled so much by cops about their licenses that even if they have them, they are reluctant to show them. Hence the unmarked cabs and it is also recommended that you say they are a friend who’s driving you around on errands. We did realize later on that there is a very clear bias as a station wagon loaded with 6! tourists sitting practically on each other was casually waved through. Anyway, Martin got arrested and was marched to a cargo container that was acting as a jail. We were so relaxed and seemingly unfazed such that we just sat there for a bit, called the cab company and told the owner what the problem was. So he sent another driver after about 10 minutes and we switched cabs. Our new cabbie wasn’t as exciting so we said quick hellos and then got on the ferry. (Oh, Martin got out of jail later that evening and all was well.) Depending on traffic and time of day, there are three ferries going to and fro the island to the other side. We had to wait about 15 minutes for the next one. That ferry fills up quickly. There are quite a lot of pedestrians who’ll cross and catch the matatus on either side so the foot traffic is large but very well organized. In previous years vehicles and people alike rushed to get a spot, but now they load the cars up first and then the pedestrians and bikes get on afterwards. Once inside, the twin and I decided to go up to the top level to check out the view. Very, very nice and I recommend it to anyone taking the ferry. The harbor is obviously quite deep and we were told that dolphins and sometimes sharks will follow the huge tankers that keep the Mombasa harbor in business. All we saw were squid though, loads of them. Is it called a school? Not sure. Anyway, gorgeous view and for the first time, I could smell the salt. It was amazing. The trip itself took about 15 minutes to cross and we passed the other two ferries going to the other side.
I won’t bore you with the details of the 30 minute drive toward Diani but I will tell you times have changed. All our family holidays were spent in this part of the world for about 10 years and I remember lush vegetation, palm tree plantations, a few mud huts here and there, the occasional kiosk or vegetable stand but nothing like what has happened now. There has been so much expansion and construction on this once, very sleepy stretch that it has become impossible to recognize and is quite distressing. I only hoped that the beaches had not seen this Miami-esque scale of development as that would have ruined the whole trip for us. When we got to Ukunda (the largest town in that area - quite small actually but a central post of sorts) we took a left turn on a 2 mile road to Diani. When you get to the end, you either go left or right and judging by the billboards ads, one is completely spoiled for choice. There’s a new Shaanti Holistic place that advertises yoga and a whole plethora of meditative therapy...but no champagne? No alcohol of sorts. Yeah, like I’m going to spend a bunch load of money on a weekend at the beach and not have a margarita to show for it.
LOL, sorry, as I write this, my neighbors downstairs are screaming at their six year old son who has locked himself in the car and is trying to start it. The kid has some issues because he cries ALL the time. The past two Saturdays - the only two I’ve spent at my place, the kid has woken me up consistently at 7 a.m. wailing for one reason or another. I’m watching them try to coax "Dan" out but he’s having none of it. They’ve tried to bribe him with a belt, a solid beating and now they’ve resorted to promises of buying him with a phone, milk and ice-cream. LOL. Oh damn, he’s started the car, I just hope he doesn’t find the brakes. Oh, the door is open, there is silence and he’s out...and there’s that screaming. Wow, he’s getting thumped properly. Poor kid. Still getting smacked, still screaming. Sigh.
Anyway, we were staying at the Leisure Lodge Resort which is about 2 km to the left of the turn-off. It is an amazingly large resort hotel which boasts the only 18 hole golf course in all of the south coast. We took a brief trip there (to see if they were showing the England game) and I got a glimpse of the 18th and it really is quite an impressive and impeccably kept course. The resort itself is quite massive but cleverly hidden from the main road and the beach front view shows the resort has tried as much as possible to blend in with the surrounding vegetation and looks like it has always been there. When we arrived, I was disappointed not to receive the ice-cold mint towels that the Whitesands in the North Coast offers. (It’s the little things people, the little things!) Instead, we got a super sweet fruity beverage and an extremely slow check in service. I won’t blame them seeing as it was low season and they staff that way, but to have one person receiving guests and answering phone calls is just bad. The twin and I weren’t too perturbed about that, her especially as she was getting her first glimpse and scent of the true essence that is the South Coast of Mombasa. When you come through this massive reception, you immediately see the reef in the distance with waves crashing upon it and then right in front of that is the deliciously salty Indian Ocean lapping gently in the low tide. We were given an upgrade, after I gave the poor lass this long drawn out story about our history with the region and how our true childhood was spent here, blah, blah, blah. A porter came over and led us to our room. Now, most if not all beach hotels section off their rooms so you’ll find something like mini apartment complexes sharing a pool and most have a sea view. They always leave the doors open for available rooms on check-in days so when you come in, a gentle sea breeze overwhelms you and your room just looks delectable. Give it a couple of hours and then you start to see the minor flaws you overlooked while you tipped the guy your country’s GDP out of the sheer joy that swept over you when he brought you in to this oasis. I shudder to think what our upgrade was from because the room was fairly standard. Large king size bed, a twin beside it if you’re bringing kids. Telly, except they were having a dispute with DSTV (South African Cable monopoly bastards) so there was no satellite at the time. We had to settle for Deutsche TV, an Indian channel and blessedly some CNN and BBC.
We immediately changed into beach gear and practically fled down to the beach giggling like idiots. Oh that soft, white sand that is so much better than the grainy cement of northern Atlantic beaches or the brown dirt of some of the Pacific. We dropped our stuff off on a couple of the hotel deck chairs and ran into the still outgoing surf. BRRRR! At first but then we got comfortable and it was amazing. We were deliriously happy and didn’t care that the sky was grey and the water was not particularly welcoming. Bless the twin for buying the $4 Target swim shoes because I did not want to feel any grainy beach at all. The water was lovely though and just perfect. You get this heady intoxicated feeling when you’re in the Indian Ocean and it’s exciting, calming and incredibly therapeutic. We didn’t stay long as we were starving so we went up to the main open dining area by one of the pools to go get a bite to eat. Service was super slow but seeing as it was the low season, there were fewer staff so you just had to forget your city habits and just settle down and relax. Yummy burgers with ice cold diet cokes followed and the sun finally came out. We swam briefly after lunch then went back to the rooms to start unpacking. At around 5, we went back to the beach just as the high tide was coming in. Swam for a bit and then a brisk work out in the hotel pool (Treviche, but the sis and I called it Ceviche) and then off to the rooms to get ready for dinner.
Prior to dinner, we had a much needed GNT and discovered that they have a very welcome happy hour. We sat there reminiscing about our previous visits and discussed our plans for the next day. Dinner time was announced by the dining staff who gathered around with various local instruments and they went dancing around the large reception area, the bar and other places the tourists were gathered. We wanted to wait though for that initial rush to die down so we waited for about an hour until 8.30. I have to give the hotel kudos for its dining menu. It has the standard buffet on offer but they also offer a five course dining option with access to the extremely delicious and probably the best salad bar I’ve experienced in Kenya. We chose the five course and went for the fish. DELICIOUS. Best hotel food I’ve tasted in a long, long time. Was amazing. We stuffed ourselves silly and had a nice half carafe of house white to go with it. By 9.30, we were exhausted and quite portly at the point. I insisted we take a walk to the beach to digest before crashing for the evening so we staggered down the many walkways toward the sound of pounding surf. The tide was peaking then and the rush of wind and salt air just added to our already intoxicated senses and I turned to the twin and said, "I love you very much, but right now, I wish you were a completely different gender, unrelated and of Italian descent." She mumbled something about the feeling being mutual and we sighed, hating each other for a bit before heading back up. The hotel has 24hr security so it was comforting to see this guard walking around with what looked like a bull but was really this massive rottweiler whose paw prints made a deeper impression in the sand than his handler.
Off to bed we went and I barely managed to make it in before I was out like a light and slept for a solid 8 hours in one position. I woke up at about 6.30 and had that wonderful feeling, trying to figure out exactly where I am. I turned over hoping my sister had turned into Totti but alas, I was stuck with her. I tried to get her to come and swim with me but she declined respectfully. I didn’t know you could use the "f" word in so many forms as a verb, noun, adjective etc. all in one breath and turn over and continue muttering until sleep clouded the senses. I went down to the beach and that sun was already hot and burning. The tide was quite high and I worked over to the nearby Leopard Beach Hotel as they have a very interesting reef/rock formations around the water-sport area and also a cool break wall. I walked around, the surf rushing to meet me, swirling around my feet, eww, seaweed, cool, amethyst shell....was absolutely awesome. I walked around for a bit then headed back toward the rooms. I had a fantastic morning swim and did some serious laps before heading back to the room. The twin was still asleep so I flung my wet swim suit at her to wake her up.
Breakfast was standard fare, omelette bar, great fruit selections, and yummy sausages. Keeping in mind this is an Islamic part of Kenya, the pig products were tucked very far away from everything else so it was quite a hunt for the bacon and sausages I desperately craved. Once found, they were absolutely delicious. We needed to run some errands that morning (Friday) so we got ready for a dash to the Diani Shopping Center. We could have taken a taxi but their prices are EXORBITANT and seeing as we were only going a short distance, we opted for a matatu. There are many running between the hotels on that long Diani stretch so we didn’t have to wait for long. We took one down first to the Barclays shopping center. A small sort of strip mall with cyber cafes, a tiny supermarket and a billion curio places to trap tourists. I needed to use the ATM but other than that, they didn’t have what we wanted so we continued on to the Diani center. We had to get a matatu from the junction and about five minutes later we were there. The Diani shopping center has evolved from the one shop place we remember it to be, to a large strip mall that has just about anything the heart desires. There’s a neat little supermarket with quite a good selection of most things. Because there is a very large German and Italian population here, the food selection is wonderful. The cheeses looked particularly delightful but we didn’t want to bother with buying bread and such. We bought our liquor supply (much cheaper than even happy hour) and we picked up a very much needed deep conditioner. My hair dresser was already pissed off that I was going to the coast without braiding my hair. We did get annoyed with the Muthaiga Mini Market though because they charge extra for shopping bags! Bastards. We putted around for a bit and then decided to head back. We got a matatu to the junction again, jumped out and waited for one coming from the Ukunda direction. It came quickly and we got in. LOL, interesting thing. Kenyans truly discriminate against each other and I think it might explain why there are very few locals visiting the South Coast because one cannot believe a Kenyan could be a tourist in that region. The matatu driver asked us where we were going and we told him. As we approached the hotel, he said, "Staff entrance, yes?" We said, "Umm, no, main gate." He looked back at us in shock and then said, "Nyinyi ni wageni?" (You are tourists?) We nodded and he turned back in silence. What is so hard to believe about two Kenyan girls going on holiday by themselves that makes everyone think they’re either staff or hookers. (A lot of pent up rage on this one actually.) Like if my boys, Miguel, Jamie or Tristan came to visit, knowing how close we were, people would automatically assume that I’m a pro looking for a green card.
Urghh. Anyway, back to hotel. It was only 11 but it was 12 somewhere so out came the wonderfully refreshing beers. We sat down on our balcony and read for about an hour. We were still stuffed from breakfast so we went down to the beach chairs. We lay back in a tiny cove which had about 8 chairs. We smiled at our fellow guests and settled down to some serious reading. Occasionally you’d look up, look around, smile and go back to reading. By the way, I found the best therapy in the world. It was right then and there. You just lay back, let the sun warm you, sometimes jump up and go take a quick dip, come back and lie down, sip your beer, rub in more sun block and then read some more. True tale: I had been seriously stressed and I tend to break out around my flush points, i.e., neck, wrists etc. Well I’d gone to the coast with a really bad case but not even 24 hours after being in that water and that environment, it had dramatically reduced in irritation and appearance. By the time I’d left, you couldn’t even tell I’d had an outbreak. I took off my watch and placed at the bottom of my beach bag to be ignored for the duration of my stay. I sent nasty text messages to just about everyone I knew saying, "On the beach, sipping a Tusker. You?" The replies ranged from heartfelt sobbing to angry and detailed instructions as to what I could do with my holiday. I smiled and put my phone together with my watch.
I could go on and on but that was pretty much how the whole stay went. That afternoon however, we did something incredible. Since the tide was going out, we decided to walk toward the south (Diani direction except on the beach) and see how far we could go. I was convinced we could walk as far as where we used to live during our holidays. I was so glad for my beach shoes because there was a lot of exposed coral and grainy sand we had to walk over and there were dead urchins and such all over the place. The worst beach ever...right outside Alfajiri. It's a very private place to get to and they don't advertise so I definitely see the appeal for Brad and Angelina and family but it's not a swimmer's resort. It was closed for the low season but it looked wonderful from the outside. Like I said, if the hotel has no beach shots, they're hiding something from you. We walked on for a while and then realized we'd found the beach entrance to our home! We ran up the secret jungle path (counting all the steps - an old family tradition), looking out for giant monitor lizards and snakes, and found ourselves years back in our lives. Long story short, we came home. We met the new owner of our old place, a lovely lady who bought it for her grandkids. I already asked her to adopt us. She's made some incredible changes and it actually looks like it should be an exclusive beach nightclub. Amazing place. Wow. She let us jump in the kidney shaped pool in which we'd learned to swim at the age of 5 and we took an amazing swim. We hugged her goodbye and then skipped down the path again. We took more pictures and then ran into the ocean. I know now why the beach spoiled me. That particular section of the beach front has always been smooth, seaweed free and there are always fishermens boats anchored nearby just begging to be clambered into. We would have happily stayed there except it was five and the tide was coming in and we had to walk back the four miles very quickly because there was a coral section that jutted out that would soon be inaccessible. We barely made it, exhausted but jubillant at having done something incredible with the only person in the world who would know exactly what you were feeling at that moment.
The following day, we hired a boat at around 3 in the afternoon from one of the nagging beach boys. "I'll give you a good price because you're my sista, you're not a mzungu."That is the one thing that ruins the coast, the beach boys and they can do and get anything for you, including being your companion for the duration of your stay. Yech! Anyway, there's a sand bar that is always exposed during the low tide and we wanted to get as close to it as possible. so we hired the boat with two guys who paddled us over to the bar. The sand on the bar is so soft and refined that you will sink to your knees immeadiately on the outer banks so you have to practically crawl. It was awesome! They pointed out the urchins hugging the surrounding coral reef and they mentioned Moray eels but those I didn't bother to look for. In between the marine biology lesson, they would mention their shop in Ukunda, their starving family, the club where they could get you in and then back to the difference between the older and younger urchins. LOL. Welcome to Kenya. It was something else to be all the way out there and the sister who'd battled the expense (only $6 r/trip for two) was greatful in the end that we had undertaken that adventure.
Leaving the lodge was tragic, tragic, tragic. The twin had announced very early in the morning that she had no intention of going back to Nairobi and that I was on my own and she wasn't sure how she'd survive seeing as her bank account and mine were threatening to show negative balances. We had decided to fly back from Diani to Wilson Airport in Nairobi and we took Aero Kenya, a turbo prop plane (very expensive but the convenience is well worth it). There were 18 passengers total on our small plane and although there was not inflight service or entertainment...or safety instructions for that matter, it was still a more pleasant flight than the cattle flight that is Kenya Airways. The flight was awesome. We flew over the Mara and the views were spectacular. You could follow the Athi and Tana Rivers massive path through the parched land, unfortunately dried up in some parts but capable of sustaining life on its banks. I wanted to cry as we flew closer to Nairobi because I DID not want to go to work the following day. We had to fly in over the larger airport, Jomo Kenyatta because there are no landing lights at Wilson (I shit you not) so the tower had to identify us. Was really neat flying over all these parked jumbos and then back up into the air, around the Nairobi National Park and then onto to Wilson Airport.
It was an amazing holiday and I got to do it with my sister and more so, it was expolaratory research for my career path. I found the hotel I'm going to buy and it's wonderful. Right now it's a burnt shell but it has promise.
I've written for ages but I had to make up for my silence. I'm sad I'm going to miss Ben and Talley's wedding coming up sooon, sniff, sniff, sniff but I'll have a bottle of champagne on you two. I love you both very much and come to Kenya for your honeymoon! More later and much sooner, I promise.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Cravings
I'm aching to go to Mombasa right this minute. The only thing stopping me is money and the requirement of moving this weekend. I really do want to be walking on the beach right now, exploring exposed marine life, squealing at sea slugs and bargaining with a boatman to take me across to the reef. Me sister is coming in a few weeks and we're planning on heading to Malindi or Diani for a bit and I can't wait! I'm stoked she's coming because I need her badly. Oh, things are over with he who shall not be named. Let me just say to be passionate is a very bad thing.
Urgh, I think I'll just put my feet in a bucket of cold salty water and bask in the sun - whenever it peeks out. The weather has been super erratic of late. It rains all night, unbearably hot and bright during the day and then an afternoon storm comes through and then it's humid at night. Not making any sense at all. Which is why I'm craving the smell of salt and the constant caress of warm winds on my skin. Wow, maybe I should just go. Jump on a bus, (about $20 rtrip), find a hostel for $5 a night and stay the whole weekend. But the food bill will get me. With all the swimming and walking (and generally healthy behavior) that I indulge myself in when I'm there, my appetite is simply ginormous. Well, I suppose I could find a nice swahili roadside cafe and play cat and mouse with dysentry, stomach flu and various intestinal ailments to save a buck.
Hurry up sista! So we can go! Oh, I'll be able to host friends in about two months time so start saving!
Urgh, I think I'll just put my feet in a bucket of cold salty water and bask in the sun - whenever it peeks out. The weather has been super erratic of late. It rains all night, unbearably hot and bright during the day and then an afternoon storm comes through and then it's humid at night. Not making any sense at all. Which is why I'm craving the smell of salt and the constant caress of warm winds on my skin. Wow, maybe I should just go. Jump on a bus, (about $20 rtrip), find a hostel for $5 a night and stay the whole weekend. But the food bill will get me. With all the swimming and walking (and generally healthy behavior) that I indulge myself in when I'm there, my appetite is simply ginormous. Well, I suppose I could find a nice swahili roadside cafe and play cat and mouse with dysentry, stomach flu and various intestinal ailments to save a buck.
Hurry up sista! So we can go! Oh, I'll be able to host friends in about two months time so start saving!
Friday, March 31, 2006
Hotels and Dogs etc.
Ah, Coldplay should be banned when you have one of the following symptoms: PMS, a man, a couple of beers in your system, at the beginning, middle and most definitely the end of a relationship, before and after "relations" (you tend not to hear during) and many other situations, i.e., Life. What is it about the lyrics in each and every damn song that touches everything you live, breathe and sleep? Urghh. I’m listening to A Message from the Album X&Y right now and have finished sobbing to Fix You.
I’m fine, totally stoked that me sister (the one with a Mercedes and room for a pony) is coming to visit me in the Third World in a couple of months and she’s bringing the Parents! Whom I miss like it hurts… or they could simply fulfill my wishes and send the pride and joy of my heart that is Chloe. (If you have a Boston Terrier or have had the pleasure of being near one, you’ll understand my sentiments.) That’s another thing Kenyan I have to get used to. You’ll rarely find a fellow dog lover around here and when you do, stick to them as they are a kindred and knowledgeable spirit as to the power of that canine connection. People in my office all have pictures of their children, significant others (real and those they long to be real) on their Desktops and screensavers. Moi? I have my babies: the dogs. Oh, and Kenyans really don’t like it if you say you love dogs more than people (which I do most days) and take offense especially when I call state very clearly that they are the only children I intend to have. There’s a lady in my office who threatened to beat me up because I changed her desktop pic of her baby to that of my baby. LOL, she thinks I’m mad for that actually. How can you not love dogs!!! Silliness I tell you.
I just realized I’ve been in my office for 13 hours now. I’m a workaholic that’s for sure but my paycheck sure don’t recognize it. Still apartment hunting and it’s quite the trip. A lot of the apartments that are being advertised for singletons are converted servants quarters – yes, that name still exists. And the one apartment I did see featured what a close friend of the family (seven years old) a Long Drop Choo. (choo means toilet). In this case, it’s a pit latrine hence the "long drop" I fired that realtor promptly. I may get lucky tomorrow but I’ve stopped holding my breath.
Ok, it’s Friday night, time for a little party and then off to bed early tonight. Long day tomorrow – the tourism fair is on and I’m going to check out some packages for when the family is here. I’m stuck between http://www.leopardbeachhotel.com and Serena Beach Hotel www.serenahotels.com.
Oh, my lovely sister spoiled me rotten with a three-day weekend stay at the Hilton in Nairobi. Hilton is the reason why I want to be in this business. I had an absolutely amazing time and got the rest and relaxation I so desperately craved. I will continuously berate them for dragging their feet and not owning a Mombasa property. Wake UP HILTON! You need a hotel at the Coast! Ok, I’m off now.
I’m fine, totally stoked that me sister (the one with a Mercedes and room for a pony) is coming to visit me in the Third World in a couple of months and she’s bringing the Parents! Whom I miss like it hurts… or they could simply fulfill my wishes and send the pride and joy of my heart that is Chloe. (If you have a Boston Terrier or have had the pleasure of being near one, you’ll understand my sentiments.) That’s another thing Kenyan I have to get used to. You’ll rarely find a fellow dog lover around here and when you do, stick to them as they are a kindred and knowledgeable spirit as to the power of that canine connection. People in my office all have pictures of their children, significant others (real and those they long to be real) on their Desktops and screensavers. Moi? I have my babies: the dogs. Oh, and Kenyans really don’t like it if you say you love dogs more than people (which I do most days) and take offense especially when I call state very clearly that they are the only children I intend to have. There’s a lady in my office who threatened to beat me up because I changed her desktop pic of her baby to that of my baby. LOL, she thinks I’m mad for that actually. How can you not love dogs!!! Silliness I tell you.
I just realized I’ve been in my office for 13 hours now. I’m a workaholic that’s for sure but my paycheck sure don’t recognize it. Still apartment hunting and it’s quite the trip. A lot of the apartments that are being advertised for singletons are converted servants quarters – yes, that name still exists. And the one apartment I did see featured what a close friend of the family (seven years old) a Long Drop Choo. (choo means toilet). In this case, it’s a pit latrine hence the "long drop" I fired that realtor promptly. I may get lucky tomorrow but I’ve stopped holding my breath.
Ok, it’s Friday night, time for a little party and then off to bed early tonight. Long day tomorrow – the tourism fair is on and I’m going to check out some packages for when the family is here. I’m stuck between http://www.leopardbeachhotel.com and Serena Beach Hotel www.serenahotels.com.
Oh, my lovely sister spoiled me rotten with a three-day weekend stay at the Hilton in Nairobi. Hilton is the reason why I want to be in this business. I had an absolutely amazing time and got the rest and relaxation I so desperately craved. I will continuously berate them for dragging their feet and not owning a Mombasa property. Wake UP HILTON! You need a hotel at the Coast! Ok, I’m off now.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Life
I've been eating pure crap lately. Take for example my meals today. For breakfast I had a sausage roll, then at about 11 I had a samosa, for lunch I had a chicken pie and I've just finished scoffing a plate of fries for dinner. Urghh, all the starch, the flour - my skirt is beginning to protest at the incredibly pressure it's under from the increasingly widening wasitline that is the testament of my recent gorgings. I've been stressed, that's for sure and I think it's being reflected in my diet which is sad. There is a solution to all of this but as is with resources, I'm going to have to get a whole lot more creative.
Sort of sorted out what put me in the dumps two weeks ago but it's taking a weird turn. I hate that point in any relationship when you come to a fork in the road and you have to choose and that choice will change the landscape of what you believe and what you actually feel about yourself. Could I get any more cryptic? Certainly! But I'm knackered and there's a lovely GNT calling my name.
Laters.
Oh, it's HOT HOT HOT in Nairobi. It rains in the morning and sometimes all through the night but around noon, you're peeling your shirt off your back and fanning yourself with anything and that heat lasts until about bedtime. The skeeters have been having a feast on my body so I had to use a mosquito net for the first time in ages. It's a pity I'm not in Mombasa though. Soon though.
Have I mentioned that I have the world's best sister who deserves nothing but love and worship for what she did for me. I'm sooooo lucky! I love you Little Fluff!
Sort of sorted out what put me in the dumps two weeks ago but it's taking a weird turn. I hate that point in any relationship when you come to a fork in the road and you have to choose and that choice will change the landscape of what you believe and what you actually feel about yourself. Could I get any more cryptic? Certainly! But I'm knackered and there's a lovely GNT calling my name.
Laters.
Oh, it's HOT HOT HOT in Nairobi. It rains in the morning and sometimes all through the night but around noon, you're peeling your shirt off your back and fanning yourself with anything and that heat lasts until about bedtime. The skeeters have been having a feast on my body so I had to use a mosquito net for the first time in ages. It's a pity I'm not in Mombasa though. Soon though.
Have I mentioned that I have the world's best sister who deserves nothing but love and worship for what she did for me. I'm sooooo lucky! I love you Little Fluff!
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Blues
In a much better place today. I got a thank you e-mail from someone whom I did something for which I'd totally forgotten about and it made me feel that I'm not a completely selfless idiot some of the time. So it's squared shoulders and chin up, try not to screw up anymore.
It's been an incredibly horrendous week but I've kept busier than usual and that's helping. I'm planning something huge for next week but as is with things that I would love to do, I'd better fulfill it or have concrete plans before I gush about it.
It's been an incredibly horrendous week but I've kept busier than usual and that's helping. I'm planning something huge for next week but as is with things that I would love to do, I'd better fulfill it or have concrete plans before I gush about it.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Movie Madness: Constant Gardener & Syriana
The rainy season is upon us quite suddenly and very off the mark. They normally start in late March but it has been raining insanely for about a week now. I've been incredibly busy at work and apartment hunting and while the former has been productive, the latter is lacking in success. I'm getting desperate now and my budget is going up (my salary certainly ain't) but not at that stage where I'm looking for a flat share. To be a single lass in Nairobi looking for a one bedroom is harsh!
Anyway, this weekend started out with a torrential downpour on Friday. I was in town with some mates and we couldn't leave until about 11 that night because traffic was going nowhere. While I wouldn't recommend it, a friend told us that he pulled into a gas station at some point and bought some booze and got right back into traffic because it was moving that slowly and he wanted to pass the time. Too much fun this weekend and the best part was going to the movies. I went to Junction to watch Syriana. Absolutely brilliant movie. I loved Traffic so I knew that I was going to like this movie and it was amazing. Poignant, rich and just plain smart. Alexander Siddig was amazing, amazing, amazing. He's English - Pakistani and was born in Sudan! Actually, there wasn't a cast member that didn't fit their roles, it was played out beautifully. Leaving the theatre, I heard some interesting comments from two young Kenyan girls. "You know, it's true about the Americans and how unfair they are to the Arabs. They don't care about whom they hurt as long as they get their oil." I would have loved to sit down with them and pick their brains about their train of thought but I had to rush all the way across the city to Village Market to go watch Constant Gardener with a mate. That was an interesting ride. I had to get a bus back to town and then go and get a matatu to go to Village Market. That ride was harrowing as their are long open fast stretches and the driver just about killed us a couple of times. I got their much faster than anticipated but with a pounding heart.
Now Village Market is unreal. It's not Kenya. I actually waited for my mate at a restaurant called The Camelot which tried to be medieval. I should be grateful that the staff weren't wearing paper crowns. If you want to escape the reality of poverty, corruption and Kenya, that's the place to go. You can go bowling for an incredibly exorbitant rate, even the movies are more expensive: Ksh. 400($5.75) while at Junction they were Ksh. 280 ($4). But, the kids love it so, let it be.
Constant Gardener has a bit of history in Kenya. John Le Carre wrote the book in 2001 (I think) and it was promptly banned by then President Moi. He believed that it potrayed Kenyans in a bad light because it was about pharmaceutical companies being given allowance to use Kenyans as guineapigs implying they are disposable. I think the main problem with the book was that it showed Kenyan officials as being incredibly corrupt (THEY ARE!!!!) and hence the book was banned. The movie shows the exact opposite. In fact, it actually made the Kenyan people look good in their indefatigable spirit in the face of adversity while making the British Foreign Office look callous, selfish and supercilious, and the Kenyan politicians were potrayed exactly as they are....corrupt a*holes.
The movie theatre was packed because believe it or not, this was the only place this movie was being shown in Kenya and it was opening this weekend for the first time. Forget that it was actually shot in Kibera. I don't know why the theatres were afraid to release it before this weekend. It's was absolutely moving. I was choked up most of the time, feeling incredibly guilty. I know it's fiction but more than that was seeing those faces, seeing their lives, seeing it everyday and yet I walk around, my mp3 plugged in, my face staring ahead and not looking around me and seeing. At the end of that movie, there was an audible sigh like everyone in there had a gut check moment. I know I did. Mine was the little Sudanese girl Abouka. Fundamentally changed something.
I'm glad Rachel Weisz won best supporting actress and George Clooney did so deserve his Oscar as well. Crash was brilliant so I'm stoked about that. I haven't seen Brokeback Mountain yet, though I do have a confession. I promised myself that I would never by those bootleg copies you can get for Ksh. 400 that have five movies in one but I (shame) bought a dvd with six movies because it had Brokeback Mountain and Tristan & Isolde. Bootleg images and I'm sorry!
Ok, back to apartment hunting. I'm just glad I started the week with an excited mind. Laters.
Anyway, this weekend started out with a torrential downpour on Friday. I was in town with some mates and we couldn't leave until about 11 that night because traffic was going nowhere. While I wouldn't recommend it, a friend told us that he pulled into a gas station at some point and bought some booze and got right back into traffic because it was moving that slowly and he wanted to pass the time. Too much fun this weekend and the best part was going to the movies. I went to Junction to watch Syriana. Absolutely brilliant movie. I loved Traffic so I knew that I was going to like this movie and it was amazing. Poignant, rich and just plain smart. Alexander Siddig was amazing, amazing, amazing. He's English - Pakistani and was born in Sudan! Actually, there wasn't a cast member that didn't fit their roles, it was played out beautifully. Leaving the theatre, I heard some interesting comments from two young Kenyan girls. "You know, it's true about the Americans and how unfair they are to the Arabs. They don't care about whom they hurt as long as they get their oil." I would have loved to sit down with them and pick their brains about their train of thought but I had to rush all the way across the city to Village Market to go watch Constant Gardener with a mate. That was an interesting ride. I had to get a bus back to town and then go and get a matatu to go to Village Market. That ride was harrowing as their are long open fast stretches and the driver just about killed us a couple of times. I got their much faster than anticipated but with a pounding heart.
Now Village Market is unreal. It's not Kenya. I actually waited for my mate at a restaurant called The Camelot which tried to be medieval. I should be grateful that the staff weren't wearing paper crowns. If you want to escape the reality of poverty, corruption and Kenya, that's the place to go. You can go bowling for an incredibly exorbitant rate, even the movies are more expensive: Ksh. 400($5.75) while at Junction they were Ksh. 280 ($4). But, the kids love it so, let it be.
Constant Gardener has a bit of history in Kenya. John Le Carre wrote the book in 2001 (I think) and it was promptly banned by then President Moi. He believed that it potrayed Kenyans in a bad light because it was about pharmaceutical companies being given allowance to use Kenyans as guineapigs implying they are disposable. I think the main problem with the book was that it showed Kenyan officials as being incredibly corrupt (THEY ARE!!!!) and hence the book was banned. The movie shows the exact opposite. In fact, it actually made the Kenyan people look good in their indefatigable spirit in the face of adversity while making the British Foreign Office look callous, selfish and supercilious, and the Kenyan politicians were potrayed exactly as they are....corrupt a*holes.
The movie theatre was packed because believe it or not, this was the only place this movie was being shown in Kenya and it was opening this weekend for the first time. Forget that it was actually shot in Kibera. I don't know why the theatres were afraid to release it before this weekend. It's was absolutely moving. I was choked up most of the time, feeling incredibly guilty. I know it's fiction but more than that was seeing those faces, seeing their lives, seeing it everyday and yet I walk around, my mp3 plugged in, my face staring ahead and not looking around me and seeing. At the end of that movie, there was an audible sigh like everyone in there had a gut check moment. I know I did. Mine was the little Sudanese girl Abouka. Fundamentally changed something.
I'm glad Rachel Weisz won best supporting actress and George Clooney did so deserve his Oscar as well. Crash was brilliant so I'm stoked about that. I haven't seen Brokeback Mountain yet, though I do have a confession. I promised myself that I would never by those bootleg copies you can get for Ksh. 400 that have five movies in one but I (shame) bought a dvd with six movies because it had Brokeback Mountain and Tristan & Isolde. Bootleg images and I'm sorry!
Ok, back to apartment hunting. I'm just glad I started the week with an excited mind. Laters.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Danish Cartoons in Kenya
I have yet to see these cartoons but an Arab friend of mine has promised she will stone me if I look at them.
Wow, this whole thing is amazing. There is a planned protest march from the Danish Embassy to the city centre after prayers this afternoon. I bet nobody ever imagined the impact of a couple of sketches of free speech would have on the world. Oh wait, the march is on. It's very peaceful right now, wait until that sun gets to them then whew. It really is quite hot right now but I'm not complaining.
Very busy at work, but planning on an Easter holiday to Malindi, yay! Found an incredible package deal that covers accomodation and transport for 4 day for less than $100 for the whole trip! No lying! Talk to me nice and I'll tell you where.
Wow, this whole thing is amazing. There is a planned protest march from the Danish Embassy to the city centre after prayers this afternoon. I bet nobody ever imagined the impact of a couple of sketches of free speech would have on the world. Oh wait, the march is on. It's very peaceful right now, wait until that sun gets to them then whew. It really is quite hot right now but I'm not complaining.
Very busy at work, but planning on an Easter holiday to Malindi, yay! Found an incredible package deal that covers accomodation and transport for 4 day for less than $100 for the whole trip! No lying! Talk to me nice and I'll tell you where.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
This country is nuts
There's a lady in my office who gets hired to attend funerals and go wail with the loudest of them. She told me that it is mostly to build up the emotion surrounding the burial of someone and the louder the cries, the more important the person must have been. Yeppers, she gets paid to do that.
Also, quite interestingly is the story of the American woman who's being accused of molesting five boys at a children's home.
Also, the Finance Minister resigned because he's being investigated for corruption. 'nuff said. I've been bitching since day one about how corrupt this country is and how the cabbages in office have been ripping people off like it's going out of style. A story in one of the papers this week reported that World Bank withheld a huge chunk of change at the urging of of former Brit High Commissioner Edward Clay and on the same page, sandwiched in between all the idiots in crying shame, was an article about how these same assholes had spent over $10 million government money on luxury vehicles.
I'm livid about this because, the country has been struck by a tragic drought that has virtually paralyzed the entire Northern part of the country. So sad to watch the news every night and you see pastoralists taking their livestock to empty water troughs and cows practically licking at dry taps in hopes of getting a single drop. This, interlaced with pictures of skinny kids, with bloated bellies, animal carcasses littering the desert, and greedy shop keepers selling food that is clearly labled, "NOT FOR SALE", it's sad. And you know things are bad when you see Masai grazing their cows on the city outskirts because the fields have dried up where they normally feed. I kid you not, last week I was on a bus and actually apartment hunting on the way to a movie and my bus jerked to an abrupt stop in a middle class neighborhood so that the Masai Moran could herd his 50 or so cattle across the busy main Ngong Road.
A crazy if not goodhearted Kiwi woman has offered her part in helping fight the drought by sending Fido's food over to help feed the starving Kenyan kids. Ok, I've tasted dog food before, and cat food as well and as a serious pet lover, I have no problems nibbling on Chloe's biscuits. But to want to send dog food to Africa to help fight the hunger and food shortages is a bit much. But who knows? People are so hungry they'll eat anything right now and Kibbles and Bits probably has more nutrients than plain maize flour.
New Year, didn't make resolutions but I had a great time ringing it in. Was up until 8 in the morning at Lake Naivasha. I saw the most amazing thing. At about a quarter to six, I was still up with about forty other people dancing to Mugithi (Kikuyu dance music) but I wanted to down to the Lake to see whether the Hippos would still be out of the water or getting ready to go in. I had on my mp3, was listening to Dario G's, "Sunchimes" and I walked down toward the Lake. Foolish I know especially because I didn't tell anyone I was going there and I had on ear buds. But the hippos were already in, you could see the square wet heads slapping loudly and vigorously in the water as they enjoyed that inital dip. The sky was amazing - that blue between night and day, the few clouds that were up looked like they were literally on fire. With the sun coming up, they were a violent crimson with pink slashes. I walked all the way to the edge of the pier, closer to the hippos but safe enough to know that there was a nearby shack I could run to....forget that it was on stilts and looked super fragile. I breathed in that cool sharp air and was loving life so much and just then, a huge flock of egrets came out of the sky from nowhere to my left and they swooped down right infront of me, in perfect formation and barely skimmed the surface and then rose right up in the air and took a wide arc back around. It was breathtakingly beautiful in how simple and natural and wonderful things can be and it honestly felt like I was in a movie. My (insert giggle) boy says a camera was probably rolling. Oh, he's still away, I'm still not dating but then again, there's nobody worth seeing.
Nairobi still sucks, it's dusty, it's crowded and I'm looking for an apartment. I've actually found one but it won't be ready until March but I have to move out of where I'm staying right now or I'll shoot myself. So still hunting, going looking around again this weekend, hopefully I'll have something by Sunday. And then! I can actually invite people to come visit. Yes my dear Corinne, I've been a very bad friend.
Ok, back to work - my job is so/so right now. Looking forward to grad school. Laters!
Also, quite interestingly is the story of the American woman who's being accused of molesting five boys at a children's home.
Also, the Finance Minister resigned because he's being investigated for corruption. 'nuff said. I've been bitching since day one about how corrupt this country is and how the cabbages in office have been ripping people off like it's going out of style. A story in one of the papers this week reported that World Bank withheld a huge chunk of change at the urging of of former Brit High Commissioner Edward Clay and on the same page, sandwiched in between all the idiots in crying shame, was an article about how these same assholes had spent over $10 million government money on luxury vehicles.
I'm livid about this because, the country has been struck by a tragic drought that has virtually paralyzed the entire Northern part of the country. So sad to watch the news every night and you see pastoralists taking their livestock to empty water troughs and cows practically licking at dry taps in hopes of getting a single drop. This, interlaced with pictures of skinny kids, with bloated bellies, animal carcasses littering the desert, and greedy shop keepers selling food that is clearly labled, "NOT FOR SALE", it's sad. And you know things are bad when you see Masai grazing their cows on the city outskirts because the fields have dried up where they normally feed. I kid you not, last week I was on a bus and actually apartment hunting on the way to a movie and my bus jerked to an abrupt stop in a middle class neighborhood so that the Masai Moran could herd his 50 or so cattle across the busy main Ngong Road.
A crazy if not goodhearted Kiwi woman has offered her part in helping fight the drought by sending Fido's food over to help feed the starving Kenyan kids. Ok, I've tasted dog food before, and cat food as well and as a serious pet lover, I have no problems nibbling on Chloe's biscuits. But to want to send dog food to Africa to help fight the hunger and food shortages is a bit much. But who knows? People are so hungry they'll eat anything right now and Kibbles and Bits probably has more nutrients than plain maize flour.
New Year, didn't make resolutions but I had a great time ringing it in. Was up until 8 in the morning at Lake Naivasha. I saw the most amazing thing. At about a quarter to six, I was still up with about forty other people dancing to Mugithi (Kikuyu dance music) but I wanted to down to the Lake to see whether the Hippos would still be out of the water or getting ready to go in. I had on my mp3, was listening to Dario G's, "Sunchimes" and I walked down toward the Lake. Foolish I know especially because I didn't tell anyone I was going there and I had on ear buds. But the hippos were already in, you could see the square wet heads slapping loudly and vigorously in the water as they enjoyed that inital dip. The sky was amazing - that blue between night and day, the few clouds that were up looked like they were literally on fire. With the sun coming up, they were a violent crimson with pink slashes. I walked all the way to the edge of the pier, closer to the hippos but safe enough to know that there was a nearby shack I could run to....forget that it was on stilts and looked super fragile. I breathed in that cool sharp air and was loving life so much and just then, a huge flock of egrets came out of the sky from nowhere to my left and they swooped down right infront of me, in perfect formation and barely skimmed the surface and then rose right up in the air and took a wide arc back around. It was breathtakingly beautiful in how simple and natural and wonderful things can be and it honestly felt like I was in a movie. My (insert giggle) boy says a camera was probably rolling. Oh, he's still away, I'm still not dating but then again, there's nobody worth seeing.
Nairobi still sucks, it's dusty, it's crowded and I'm looking for an apartment. I've actually found one but it won't be ready until March but I have to move out of where I'm staying right now or I'll shoot myself. So still hunting, going looking around again this weekend, hopefully I'll have something by Sunday. And then! I can actually invite people to come visit. Yes my dear Corinne, I've been a very bad friend.
Ok, back to work - my job is so/so right now. Looking forward to grad school. Laters!
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Life so far....
Ahh, haven’t blogged in ages because I’ve been so busy. Wow, almost a year now! Christmas is coming, my first ever without my twin – first time I’m celebrating our birthday without her – BIG SNIFF! This trip has been so weird and it gets more interesting as time goes by. I’ve discovered a couple of things about myself that’s for sure.
1. I’m a workaholic. I love working; I enjoy my job, (not particularly love) but certainly wake up with little or no trepidation about heading off to work. I like coming in early before everyone shows up, getting my act together and up and running by the time everyone rolls in at about 8. The only downside to this is that if I’ve had a particularly fun evening the night before, it shows on my face like glow in the dark bracelets the following morning so I’ve had to cut down drastically on "fun" evenings.
2. Nairobi sucks. I mean this city just plain sucks. It’s dusty, crowded and exceptionally filthy in some parts. But then again what city doesn’t have its bad points. I’m up bright and early every day and off to work when there’s no traffic. Oh yeah, forget about trying to leave town for lunch because getting back in will take at least an hour – and that’s just sitting in traffic. The roads are exceptionally bad. Lights do work but mainly during rush hour when there’s a traffic cop to reinforce that. Most of the time it’s a death race with matatus. My matatu stage thank goodness is nearby but there are people who have to take two to get to work! So, every morning, my trip to work takes exactly 15 minutes, but the trip in the evening takes a minimum of an hour. Same distance and in fact utilizing a shortcut but the traffic is just horrible. Usually, I’ll stay late if I see how bad the roads are and go for happy hour with whichever trapped soul is in the city and then I cab it home. I think Nairobi would be more bearable if there was more to do within the city as well.
3. And from number 2 I can definitely tell you that there’s nothing to do except booze. And Kenyans can certainly hold their liquor. It’s actually crazy to see what serious boozers there are. I know coming from me this is rich. But when people are drinking, quite openly in a bar at 10a.m. on a Tuesday morning and they are nowhere near an airport, that’s just crazy. Weekends are crazy and it was only just recently – as in last week, breathalyzers were actually introduced and people were dismayed at the limitation put on their boozing. There are quite a number of drunk drivers on the roads; actually every night you’ll see at least one so cabs were finally making money last week and were overcharging quite a bit because they could get away with it.
4. I love Mombasa and am actively seeking employment there. I’ve even contemplated becoming a fisherman…woman? Person? The whole place just spells R&R. I’m dying to go to Lamu or Malindi soon, which I hear are even more peaceful. But none can beat Diani beach. It’s not overrun by developers yet and still retains a very laid back Swahili charm.
5. The meat is too good. Sorry DT, but tofu will not just cut it for me. There are many nyama choma (roast meat) joints all over the place. A friend (American actually!) introduced me to this really interesting place that served incredible meat. You pick the cuts and they’ll roast them right there for you. Very nice. I’m drooling actually. The dishes are accompanied by huge slabs of ugali (boiled hardened maize/corn flour) that is tasteless but accompanied by that juicy meat and stewed sukuma (kale). Mandatory on the table is a kilo size Kimbo tin full of some seriously dodgy and watery Kachumbari (salsa) mix.
6. Politics is going to ruin this country and very quickly at that. You may have noted that there recent Orange V. Bananas constitutional referendum blah blah blah vote was concluded and the Orange (not the pres’s team) won by a clear margin. Well, he went ahead and dismissed the Cabinet and then two weeks later put it back together without a single vocal Orange in the group. Two of his own Bananas split from the bunch because they claim the cabinet postings were unfair as far as inclusion of other party members (sounds fair). But in reality, they wanted more prestigious ministries like Foreign Affairs to embezzle from rather than the lackluster and boring ones of Health which have already been thoroughly pilfered, hence rendering them useless as pocket money fillers. The only smart thing that cabbage in office did initially, was to get rid of the one guy who seemed determined to get himself banned from most countries (I think Cape Verde was the latest to revoke his visa).
Another sad and scary thing that none of these idiots seem to realize is that they are completely scaring away foreign investors by increased levels of corruption and some serious ass foot dragging when it comes to rebuilding the crumbling infrastructure. E.g., Kenya Railways (can you believe trains still run! And the last time maintenance was done was like 17th century…ok, 18th. ) There’s a concession to rebuild the railway and to modernize and connect the lines of Uganda & Tanzania to make them more efficient but the lovely and most efficient government of Kenya has managed to sleep through the process such that the construction is going to go ahead without the country’s own rail section.
7. Dating in Nairobi…. (Whistling, yawn, scratching head, examining fingernails – I need a manicure, ooh, new stuff in my In – Tray!) ’nuff said.
8. This country is truly, truly gorgeous. Getting out of the city is a welcome diversion and actually you get to appreciate and enjoy what is out there. Rolling hills? Check. Wild animals? Check Pristine Beaches? Check. Kind locals? Check. Good beer? Check. Overpriced beer? Check. Cheeky monkeys that steal the grapes off your breakfast table? Check. Beach boys mobbing you the minute you step off your hotel property? Check. Likelihood of watching a stampede of minivans in the Mara rather than Wildebeests? Check. Ok, you catch my drift but they totally add to the ambience and rich natural treasure that is the Kenyan experience. I totally love all that and look forward to trips out of the city. I truly wish I could have people visit me but I have to get a better apartment and most definitely a car before I can do that. Which leads me to…
9. Housing. The suburb where I live is growing way too fast. More and more apartment blocks are coming up with very little zoning and planning as far as structure to the existing facilities such as water, sewer and electricity supply. Just a month ago, a girl was electrocuted just by turning on the shower because KPLC (Kenya Paraffin, Lanterns and Candles) had done a horribly messy job of trying to connect a new housing development and inadvertently left a live wire touching the too closely exposed water pipe leading to the girl’s house. There are dozens of incomplete construction projects as well because halfway through choosing the tiles for the bathroom and paint for the walls, the investor ran out of chumz (slang for money – pronounced chooms) and so their drab apartment buildings sit there, relics of what freshly dried and un-sculpted cement looks like. Also in other places, construction goes ahead without approval and you get these urban monstrosities of 6 storey buildings that are erected on foundations built to withstand one storey, let alone ½ the latter level. Eastleigh suburb/slum (affectionately known as Mogadishu because of the majority population – ok all the residents are Somali) is a classic example of this kind of construction. At least Addis (Hurlingham) has more of a fairly modern 80s structure going to it.
10. Kenyans actually like Americans. They certainly imitate them as much as possible but there is none of that visible anti-US sentiment. Well, the Italians (who own Malindi) and the Germans (who criticize the government in the Press) have managed to distract foreign attention away from good old US. The only time people bring up any political rumination as far as G.W. country is to show appreciation for the continued denial of gay rights. Ok, that’s being a little harsh but honestly, Kenyans have a lot on their plate as far domestic issues such that the domestics of other nations does little to concern them except when it infringes on their rights – which actually are yet to be revealed seeing as the whole Oranges Banana salad was about the constitution and what rights we do / don't have.
Christmas is next week but to be honest, this 80-degree weather, cloudless skies and light humidity has failed to put me in the mood. I need bitter harsh winds from Lake Michigan to swoop in with a million feet of snow before I get into the spirit. I do miss all dearly and wish you the best.
Yay, F.C. is getting married! Soon to be F.S.C.O'S! Sounds like an exam n’est ce pas? This marriage will have a continuous passing grade anyway! Hugs, kisses to you both, congratulations!
1. I’m a workaholic. I love working; I enjoy my job, (not particularly love) but certainly wake up with little or no trepidation about heading off to work. I like coming in early before everyone shows up, getting my act together and up and running by the time everyone rolls in at about 8. The only downside to this is that if I’ve had a particularly fun evening the night before, it shows on my face like glow in the dark bracelets the following morning so I’ve had to cut down drastically on "fun" evenings.
2. Nairobi sucks. I mean this city just plain sucks. It’s dusty, crowded and exceptionally filthy in some parts. But then again what city doesn’t have its bad points. I’m up bright and early every day and off to work when there’s no traffic. Oh yeah, forget about trying to leave town for lunch because getting back in will take at least an hour – and that’s just sitting in traffic. The roads are exceptionally bad. Lights do work but mainly during rush hour when there’s a traffic cop to reinforce that. Most of the time it’s a death race with matatus. My matatu stage thank goodness is nearby but there are people who have to take two to get to work! So, every morning, my trip to work takes exactly 15 minutes, but the trip in the evening takes a minimum of an hour. Same distance and in fact utilizing a shortcut but the traffic is just horrible. Usually, I’ll stay late if I see how bad the roads are and go for happy hour with whichever trapped soul is in the city and then I cab it home. I think Nairobi would be more bearable if there was more to do within the city as well.
3. And from number 2 I can definitely tell you that there’s nothing to do except booze. And Kenyans can certainly hold their liquor. It’s actually crazy to see what serious boozers there are. I know coming from me this is rich. But when people are drinking, quite openly in a bar at 10a.m. on a Tuesday morning and they are nowhere near an airport, that’s just crazy. Weekends are crazy and it was only just recently – as in last week, breathalyzers were actually introduced and people were dismayed at the limitation put on their boozing. There are quite a number of drunk drivers on the roads; actually every night you’ll see at least one so cabs were finally making money last week and were overcharging quite a bit because they could get away with it.
4. I love Mombasa and am actively seeking employment there. I’ve even contemplated becoming a fisherman…woman? Person? The whole place just spells R&R. I’m dying to go to Lamu or Malindi soon, which I hear are even more peaceful. But none can beat Diani beach. It’s not overrun by developers yet and still retains a very laid back Swahili charm.
5. The meat is too good. Sorry DT, but tofu will not just cut it for me. There are many nyama choma (roast meat) joints all over the place. A friend (American actually!) introduced me to this really interesting place that served incredible meat. You pick the cuts and they’ll roast them right there for you. Very nice. I’m drooling actually. The dishes are accompanied by huge slabs of ugali (boiled hardened maize/corn flour) that is tasteless but accompanied by that juicy meat and stewed sukuma (kale). Mandatory on the table is a kilo size Kimbo tin full of some seriously dodgy and watery Kachumbari (salsa) mix.
6. Politics is going to ruin this country and very quickly at that. You may have noted that there recent Orange V. Bananas constitutional referendum blah blah blah vote was concluded and the Orange (not the pres’s team) won by a clear margin. Well, he went ahead and dismissed the Cabinet and then two weeks later put it back together without a single vocal Orange in the group. Two of his own Bananas split from the bunch because they claim the cabinet postings were unfair as far as inclusion of other party members (sounds fair). But in reality, they wanted more prestigious ministries like Foreign Affairs to embezzle from rather than the lackluster and boring ones of Health which have already been thoroughly pilfered, hence rendering them useless as pocket money fillers. The only smart thing that cabbage in office did initially, was to get rid of the one guy who seemed determined to get himself banned from most countries (I think Cape Verde was the latest to revoke his visa).
Another sad and scary thing that none of these idiots seem to realize is that they are completely scaring away foreign investors by increased levels of corruption and some serious ass foot dragging when it comes to rebuilding the crumbling infrastructure. E.g., Kenya Railways (can you believe trains still run! And the last time maintenance was done was like 17th century…ok, 18th. ) There’s a concession to rebuild the railway and to modernize and connect the lines of Uganda & Tanzania to make them more efficient but the lovely and most efficient government of Kenya has managed to sleep through the process such that the construction is going to go ahead without the country’s own rail section.
7. Dating in Nairobi…. (Whistling, yawn, scratching head, examining fingernails – I need a manicure, ooh, new stuff in my In – Tray!) ’nuff said.
8. This country is truly, truly gorgeous. Getting out of the city is a welcome diversion and actually you get to appreciate and enjoy what is out there. Rolling hills? Check. Wild animals? Check Pristine Beaches? Check. Kind locals? Check. Good beer? Check. Overpriced beer? Check. Cheeky monkeys that steal the grapes off your breakfast table? Check. Beach boys mobbing you the minute you step off your hotel property? Check. Likelihood of watching a stampede of minivans in the Mara rather than Wildebeests? Check. Ok, you catch my drift but they totally add to the ambience and rich natural treasure that is the Kenyan experience. I totally love all that and look forward to trips out of the city. I truly wish I could have people visit me but I have to get a better apartment and most definitely a car before I can do that. Which leads me to…
9. Housing. The suburb where I live is growing way too fast. More and more apartment blocks are coming up with very little zoning and planning as far as structure to the existing facilities such as water, sewer and electricity supply. Just a month ago, a girl was electrocuted just by turning on the shower because KPLC (Kenya Paraffin, Lanterns and Candles) had done a horribly messy job of trying to connect a new housing development and inadvertently left a live wire touching the too closely exposed water pipe leading to the girl’s house. There are dozens of incomplete construction projects as well because halfway through choosing the tiles for the bathroom and paint for the walls, the investor ran out of chumz (slang for money – pronounced chooms) and so their drab apartment buildings sit there, relics of what freshly dried and un-sculpted cement looks like. Also in other places, construction goes ahead without approval and you get these urban monstrosities of 6 storey buildings that are erected on foundations built to withstand one storey, let alone ½ the latter level. Eastleigh suburb/slum (affectionately known as Mogadishu because of the majority population – ok all the residents are Somali) is a classic example of this kind of construction. At least Addis (Hurlingham) has more of a fairly modern 80s structure going to it.
10. Kenyans actually like Americans. They certainly imitate them as much as possible but there is none of that visible anti-US sentiment. Well, the Italians (who own Malindi) and the Germans (who criticize the government in the Press) have managed to distract foreign attention away from good old US. The only time people bring up any political rumination as far as G.W. country is to show appreciation for the continued denial of gay rights. Ok, that’s being a little harsh but honestly, Kenyans have a lot on their plate as far domestic issues such that the domestics of other nations does little to concern them except when it infringes on their rights – which actually are yet to be revealed seeing as the whole Oranges Banana salad was about the constitution and what rights we do / don't have.
Christmas is next week but to be honest, this 80-degree weather, cloudless skies and light humidity has failed to put me in the mood. I need bitter harsh winds from Lake Michigan to swoop in with a million feet of snow before I get into the spirit. I do miss all dearly and wish you the best.
Yay, F.C. is getting married! Soon to be F.S.C.O'S! Sounds like an exam n’est ce pas? This marriage will have a continuous passing grade anyway! Hugs, kisses to you both, congratulations!
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
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.
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.
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