Kilimanjaro on a Whim

I am going to start with this picture of us on Uhuru peak so that you realize this is a happy story. In this story the heroes do reach their goal, and maybe if they get lucky, live happily ever after. However, don't let an ending-first story detract from its content by deterring you from reading to the last, because there is a lot to tell!



Kilimanjaro is a lot of things: a giant mountain, an incredible sight, and something that my sister and I decided over a month ago that we were not going to do. It wasn't that we didn't want to climb it, but we had managed to find a number of excuses that we were fairly happy with; are we really prepared? Do we want to spend the money? The original proposal and pressure to climb was all from me anyways, and I didn't think it fair to push. The point is, we were so firmly decided that the climb was a no go that when we hit Nairobi we took the time to mail some stuff home, including the bulk of our warm clothes and my waterproof pants.

If you're wondering, then, what pushed us to climb it - despite our blaring deficiencies in gear - the answer is of course the mountain itself. There is no greater salesman than that giant chunk of rock. April in East Africa is the start of the rainy season, and according to a precipitation chart we saw, the month of heaviest rainfall for the whole year in Tanzania. Understandably then, when we reached Moshi from Arusha, the whole mountain was clouded over and impossible to discern in the gray.

As we started to explore Moshi, I found the city rather to my liking. Unlike the dirt sides streets and overall brownness of Arusha, Moshi features a rather green backdrop. Despite how content we were with the city though, we were always looking skyward and trying to catch that one glimpse of the summit. When it finally happened we were not prepared. Late in the afternoon of our first full day of Moshi, the sun was out in full force. We were on our way to the YMCA to have a swim in one of the best pools I've ever seen. As we noticed the clouds were parting, we stopped and started looking around, bickering about where it could be.

The truth was that we just weren't looking high enough. It was Brandon who first looked up, and then directed us to do the same. Thus we had our first glimpse of the stunning vista that is the white capped peak of Kilimanjaro as seen from Moshi town. It literally loomed out of the hill backdrop of the country side, towering frosty and impenetrable. Jess instantly turned to me:

"Still want to climb it?"
"Yeah." I answered flatly, staring in awe.
To Brandon: "You?"
"Yeah." Equally stunned.

I don't know if that was the exact moment we decided that it was inevitable, but it certainly put the wheels in motion. Within a day we were at the tourist agency at the YMCA trying to negotiate a possible trip, and within two days and a good quote there was never a doubt that we were going to climb. The only real question, with Easter weekend approaching, was that of when we would leave - as in our North American holiday-oriented brains, making people work on good Friday or Easter Monday is next to blasphemy - but were assured that the guides and porters would rather make money than be with their families. This turned out to be true, the mountain was not as empty as predicted, and all the lodgings were rather full as we went up.

We left Moshi at around nine on Good Friday, and after an hour drive, arrived at the Marangu gate and signed into the guest book. The first day of Kili was two things: the easiest and worst day. The hike itself on day one is rather straight forward, a mere 8 kilometer hike through some beautiful alpine rain forest that bared a striking resemblance to Mgahinga where I stayed in Uganda (except no bamboo). The reason I thought it was the worst though was strictly due to the build to the climb. As we reached the park gate I was shaking from a mixture of nerves and excitement. The drive out to the park had seemed so unbearably long, and with so much mountain to go, I was feeling overwhelmed.

Luckily the cure for my tension and unease was movement, and starting out from the gate and falling into a rhythm proved enough to give me focus and calm me down. Day one is very short, a mere three hour hike, and we reached the Mandara camp site early in the afternoon. The camp ground was located in a clearing among the trees, and spotted with huts that were divided in two, and slept four a side. The beds were simple, furnished with bare mattresses and caseless pillows that could have contained who knows how much drool.



Our time in Mandara was used to acclimate to the altitude (2700m) and to help facilitate this, our guide Zongolo (sweet name) took us to a nearby crater to let us have a walk around. The crater was really rather anticlimactic, and we were positive that it was just an excuse to get the hikers moving around since they have so much time at the end of day one. However, we made the best of it, and decided to act out the word rim, as shown on the sign, so that you can understand. Here is me dunking an imaginary basketball very professionally:



Day two was much more rewarding, and featured a 12 km hike through a zone known as the moor lands. Basically the moor land is just scrub vegetation, including long grasses and undersized gnarly and prickly bushes. Fortunately, the walk provided me many opportunities to say in my most annoying voice "need moor land", to what I assume was everyone's enjoyment.

The only annoyance of the walk on day two, similarly to day one, was the implementation of the much overused Swahili phrase "pole pole". I realize it looks stupid written, as you are pronouncing it with a English-speaking accent.
Here is you: "Pole pole? What the fuck does pole pole mean?"
It is however pronounced "pole-eh pole-eh" and is the single most overused, annoying phrase in Africa. It means, simply, slowly slowly, and if you ever go to Zanzibar all the totes will yell it at you as you breakaway from them and whatever kind of crap they are trying to sell.

It also means that if your guide is saying it, you will be taking really small, short steps, and a relatively easy walk will take a lot longer. I was feeling really well though, and because of some logic I had concocted about the life span of red blood cells and my time spent in Uganda at altitude, I was rather convinced that I was perfectly acclimated, and we could go faster. It really was a rather easy walk.

Despite the rather slow pace, we still managed to get into the second camp rather early in the afternoon. This is a place we have affectionately named cloud city, partly because I forget the name of the hut, and partly because as we arrived the clouds were starting to creep in amongst the buildings. The camp for night two is located at 3800m, and if it is clear when you wake up, you get this:




You also get a view of the peak you get to climb, Kibo, located 9 km away and standing a looming 5895 meters above sea level:



And lastly you got a view of the other peak of Mount Kilimanjaro, which is much closer than Kibo, but stands 500m shorter at a mere 5400. I can't remember the exact name of it, but we were told that the rock was lose, and to climb it you had to have special permits.



This is also when it started to get cold.



Day three showed a very stark change in environment. The moorlands that we had spent all of the previous day slowly faded away until we found ourselves walking through an alpine desert, complete with lots of dirt and sand and very sparse vegetation.

When we finally stopped for lunch we realized that this was probably going to be the closest that any of us would ever get to being on the moon. Furthermore, we realized that Jessica's rented snow suit was probably really just a cheap space suit. The moon bouncing commenced:




The fun couldn't last forever though, and eventually the space police showed up, and put a stop to the fun.



That night we stayed at the last camp before the top, Kibo hut, located at the very base of Kibo peak, a whopping 4700m above sea level. This is where the problems with altitude tend to occur for most of the climbers. Headaches at Kibo hut are pretty much constant, and many people found themselves unable to stop throwing up. A few people were already having problems at the previous camp, and I am unable to imagine how they managed there, if they even made it at all.

The lodgings at Kibo are also drastically different. Unlike the four person seperate billeting featured at the previous stops, at Kibo they squish everyone into 10 person dorm rooms that are all located in one large building. The reasoning for this is that the rooms don't need to be great because you don't spend much time sleeping before you head up the peak. The problem though is that the dorm rooms actually facilitate the lack of sleep during the time you actually have to try and get some.

Everyone reacts to the altitude so drastically different, that to put ten of them together and expect them all to get some rest is impossible. Since day four, summit day, actually starts on the night of day three, dinner was served at five and we were expected to try and fall asleep directly after. The man above me snored. Yet, it wasn't just snoring, it was done in such a way that he sound like he was gutting a bear with a rusty spoon, relishing every last throw of death. People who snore in dorms are the worst, because you know that they're keeping you awake while simultaneously sleeping. Even worse was the man in the middle set of bunks beneath Brandon. His altitude sickness was one of the most severe cases I saw, and he would throw up whatever little food he managed to get down in consistent intervals.

Wake up call was at 11:30, and before that time I had managed a whole hour and a half sleep. Hot tea and some stale cookies were given, before shortly after midnight we set out into the darkness, and up the longest hill of my life. Our guide must have had some confidence in us, as we set out a half hour later than the last group before us, and before long we were already beginning to pass the straggling members of the large Chinese contingent.

The final ascent is a head game. It may seem surprising, but it is much easier to force foot after foot up a grueling hill than it is to actually understand why you're doing it. If you over think it you're done. In the darkness, under the light of the moon, the closest ridge above you is always visible. Yet every ridge seemed to breed a new ridge, until the number of rises after a rise seems infinite. I remember our guide saying proudly, not a short duration in, that we were 5000m up. Not an unimpressive feat, but disheartening when we were positive we were 500m higher.

The last day can be broken into two parts, the climb to Gilman's point, which is steep and long, and the hike from Gilman's to Uhuru peak, which is another 200m but much gradual. To get to Gilman's point is really to climb the mountain itself. At roughly 5500m is when I first started feeling the pressures of altitude. A uneasiness that had been brooding in my stomach had finally grown into full blown nausea, and every step was an attempt not to throw up.

I'm not sure what kept me going on. It could have been pride, or just sheer stubbornness, as I was forced at times to climb up rocks on all fours. When I crawled it was using arms that had long since been deemed unworthy of oxygen by my brain, causing the nerves to sent sharp jolts of pain up the numb appendages. At one point Brandon offered me some biscuits. All I remember is them tasting as dry as the desert from the previous day, and spitting them flaccidly out of my mouth and choking down some water.

The final approach to Gilman's was a trade off of lead group between us and a group of Americans from Colorado. I'm not sure if they were from boring flat Colorado, or crazy mountain part, but I assumed the latter and took great pride in finally passing them and reaching Gilman's first.



Reaching that point was one of the best moments of my life. Not simply because it was a feat in itself, but that from there we had a clear view of Uhuru under the light of a three quarters moon. The path to Uhuru was much less steep, and looked very attainable. Just past Gilman's is where the altitude final got the best of me, and I puked several times until nothing else could come up. Two good things came from this however: the first being being that I felt much better afterward, and found that I had the strength to finish, the second that I think I set off a peristaltic reaction, and the Americans who were creeping close on us again took their time in coming after us.

It was in this way that we were the first to the top on the morning of Easter Monday. We had set out last from Kibo by a half hour, and reached Uhuru first by another half hour, getting there at shortly after 4 in the morning. We were not long for the place though, and only stayed long enough to snap some pictures and leave. The air was well below freezing, as our ice filled water bottles proved, and the longer we stayed the more everyone felt the creeping of altitude induced nausea come over them.



We had defeated Kilimanjaro, and we felt like heroes!


Thanks for reading.

Much Love,

Sean





So cold...

Zanzibar and Safari Time

I apologize for being so hasty and vague in my last post, as I realize the famed Zanzibar deserves to garner a little more time and explanation than I gave it. However, I also would like to tell you about the four day safari I just took across the Tanzanian wilderness while simultaneously keeping this post short enough so that you will actually read it. Therefore I will now embark to fulfill all these criteria as well as I possibly can.



The night before we went to Zanzibar was spent trying to find an English pub in Dar Es Salaam. We had heard rumour through some means or another that this pub had the best fish and chips going; Arsenal also happened to be playing that night and we wanted to watch Premier football in an establishment that payed proper tribute to the leagues nationality. The only problem we faced was that we didn't know the name of the place. Small problem, right?

Somehow through vague hearsay from locals we got the notion in our head that the place was called the slip away Pub. Now the slip away itself in Dar is some fancy hotel on the harbour front, surrounded by a gaggle of choice stores; essentialy a strip mall on the waterfront. Knowing this, we were fairly confident that a pub could be hiding within the confines of the shopping area. That was the beginning of a very long and fruitless search, with everyone we asked pointing us in a different direction fifteen minutes walk away. With much frustration then, we finally ended up in a local place called the Q-bar, with the game thirty minutes old, and my want for a beer peaking.

The beer flowed. After the game (a disappointing draw from Arsenal) the sports bar miraculously shifted into a dance floor that had a live DJ and every song you've ever attempted at karaoke available for requests. No surprise then, we arrived back at our hostel late and rather intoxicated, and again no surprise that we walked to the port and boarded a two hour ferry journey in rather rough shape. It was the 'fast ferry' that we got on, but I still don't think it was quick enough for any of our likings. The Ferry, like every thing in Africa, would not be efficient if the management didn't take the opportunity to cram it full, well past the number of seats. Therefore, we spent the next two hour journey on the back deck by the engines, inhaling the fumes, feeling the pitch of the waves and keeping our eyes closed and breathing slow.

Landfall was sweet relief, and opting for the closest place, we made for the Bandari guest house - only three minutes walk from the harbour. Fun fact, Zanzibar has it's own immigration and you get another stamp in your passport for landing on the island; thankfully they didn't take the opportunity to charge you for another visa or something - although I'm surprised they don't. Bandari is a quaint little hostel, that much like all Zanzibar is a touch on the pricey side, with large rooms and complimentary breakfast. Luckily for us, they were willing to haggle the price down, but unluckily for us, across the road from our windows sat the local garbage container, full of trash and rotting fish, which always wafted in a nice smell when the breeze came from the ocean.



The shining gem of Bandari however was the TV for the guests to use, which was located just outside our room in the common area. Now I realize TV isn't much to get excited about, but aside from football in bars, I hadn't watched a thing since the first week of January. The three of us proceeded to sit in front of it well into the night, while watching such trash as top chef and wipe out. Brilliant programming!

The island itself is beautiful, and was a pleasure to explore. Zanzibar town is interesting, as it contains the widely known attraction of stone town which is then surrounded by a more sprawling and modern city. Stone town was a flashback to Lamu, with its close streets and maze like layout. It is missing the donkeys though, and instead has people on scooters and motorcycles zipping around the tight quarters.



Where Lamu has the advantage though, is with the street hawkers. The people trying to sell things near the ocean side in Zanzibar are so persistent and annoying that even if they had something you wanted you'd be inclined not to buy, just because they're too pushy. There is a fine line, and they all cross it. I had the same problem last night when I returned from safari and a guy I had never met was trying to get me to come to his hostel. If you spend six minutes pestering me after I just got out of a vehicle, gross from four days of tenting and dusty roads, I'm not going to cooperate with you, not a chance. And no, Zanzibar salesman, I don't need a scarf in forty degree weather, no it doesn't make it better if you give me three for ten, that just makes me warmer, no chasing me won't help. Know your target market!

Night time by the ocean is also very cool. In my last post I showed you pictures of the locals coming to jump into the waters at sunset. While this is going on, the local fisherman from the island congregate just down the coast and set up the nightly fish market. Every night all the fishermen set up grills and tables to cook up fresh all their catch from the day which they then sell to me, the tourist, at a marked up price. It is delicious. They have all sorts of skewers and chunks of who knows what sea creature, which they let you select and then take to the grill and cook in front of you. This was the first time I tried octopus, and it was actually pretty good.



From Zanzibar town we decided to head up the coast to the north of the island: Kendwa Beach. We decided to get there using public transportation, and with all our bags, climbed into the back of a dalladalla along with eighteen other people. The dalladallas are basically flatbed trucks with two rows of seats, open sides and a roof over top. Unfortunately for us it started to rain just minutes into our ride, and the powers that be lowered tarps down the sides, making the inside very dark and stuffy. I don't usually get motion sickness, but something about being in a closed space with the smell of eighteen locals and no air flow set my stomach off. Thankfully I didn't puke, and we managed to go about an hour and a half for 2000 shillings (roughly a $1.30). We later heard that people had taxied to Kendwa for as much as $40 American, suckers.

The main place to stay on the beach is a resort called Kendwa rocks, which fortunately also contains backpacker priced lodgings. This resort provided the building block for all the other resorts and the small town to crop up around. It was again fortunate for us that this happened, as food and drink was mind boggling pricey at our lodgings and we were able to wander just up the road for a more wallet friendly alternative. Aside from that, the resort contain a beautiful white sand beach, and the ocean was also a much nicer temperature than the soup near Zanzibar town.

After two nights we returned to ZT and decided to head back to Dar and move inland. The coast of Africa is beautiful, but it is over the top hot and the air is always about 100,000% humidity. Even if you're showering you're sweating, and life out from under the room fans is no fun. From Dar we decided to head to Arusha, the safari capital, and left early to the bus station to head out.

The ride from Dar to Arusha is a long one, and took us about ten hours all in. We arrived in the mid-evening and got off the bus tired and gross only to be assaulted by a horde of taxi drivers and safari totes. Much to their surprise, they couldn't understand why I was less than friendly while they were hounding me and pulling on me as I tried to get my bag out from under the coach. Jess, thankfully, had taken the time to map out where we would stay and it was a short walked from the station - we still managed to get no less than five cards from five people for the same safari company along the way though.

The next day we set out to find a well priced safari, and eventually made our way to no other than the place mentioned on the millions of cards we had been given the night before: meru treks. After surprisingly little debate, we had agreed to head out the very next day on a four day safari, which included Lake Manyara, Ngorongoro crater and Serengeti national parks.

We left early morning the next day and arrived out our campsite on a ridge overlooking lake Manyara just after noon. After dropping off the cook and the gear, we headed down towards the lake's national park, with cameras in hand and spirits high. The park by the lake was beautiful, and we managed to see all sorts of crazy African beasts, including many giraffes (possibly one of the strangest things going).



There was a spot by the lake where you could get out of the vehicle (at your own risk) and walk around near the hippo pond. It was a surreal field being on foot in an African park, as even though it seemed quiet enough, you couldn't help but wonder what was lurking around the next bush.



The next morning it was time to head into Ngorogoro crater, which in my opinion is one of the most beautiful places on this planet. The crater is a conservation area and not a park, and as a result the local Masai people are allowed to enter and graze cattle on the one side of the crater. As you can imagine, it was quite the site as you descended to see zebras, wildebeest and a man herding cattle all in the same field of view.



At the center of the crater was a giant lake, and as you descended, the mountains rolled up on all sides in breathtaking fashion, until all you could see was rolling plains spotted with large herds of animals and back dropped by green peaks.





We spent close to five hours in the crater, and in that time I managed to see the last one of the animals needed to complete the big five. The big five in Africa includes the leopard, lions, elephants, buffalo and the rarest of all rhinos. I was able to see all of those except the last during my safari in Uganda. Much to my pleasure then, at a fair distance, we had the luck to see two rhinos grazing!



Later in the day, as we were about to ascend from the crater and head to the nearby campsite, we made a quick stop at the only bathroom in the whole area. The bathroom is located in the only wooded area of the park, and featured black faced vervet monkeys jumping and playing as you walked into the facilities. As we were heading back to the land cruiser, our driver was looking very anxious and waved at us to "get in the car, quickly!". As we got in, he pointed down the road towards a lone bull elephant that was making its way up the lane towards us.

Turning on the vehicle, our driver took us over to the side of the clearing away from the elephant. The elephant instantly turned and again started walking towards us. Coming close, again our driver started the vehicle and tried to maneuver around the far side of the giant beast. That is when it charged! Hitting the gas and shifting like a madman, the vehicle just lurched out of the way as the giant animal came withing feet of charging the back end of the vehicle. We rocketed down the road in disbelief as the elephant gave a few meters of intense chase and with a trumpet of defeat, turned back. It was one of the most scary and awesome things I've ever seen.




That night we camped on a flat area located on the rim of the crater. The conservation area sprawled out underneath us as we had dinner and went to our tents to retire for the night. In the early morning was when I first could hear the hyenas. From what sounded like the edge of the campground, you could hear them communicating with each other in brief yelps. We're told they come for the leftover food, but I'm just glad they didn't decided to test the durability of the nylon tents.

The following day we headed to the Serengeti for the last two days of our safari. The Serengeti is also gorgeous, but in a much different way then the crater. The endless plains of grass seem to sweep off endlessly in all directions like a green ocean that you can't see the end of. Spotting the terrain is rocky outcroppings and lone Acacia trees that provide a change from the overwhelming vastness of the gigantic grasslands.

On our way towards our campsite we got very lucky. Seeing two land cruiser parked a ways away, our driver turned on his radio to find out what they were looking at. As we got closer, we got a very good look. Sitting in a tree, munching on something very much dead, was a leopard. Circling fifteen feet below him, waiting for the scraps, was a single hyena! Although the cars started rolling in after us, we had about ten minutes of really good viewing before the area was packed with cars and the leopard decided he was done. It is rare to just see them, let alone have them sit there eating in front of you! So cool.



One of the more inconspicuous animals on the Serengeti in terms of looks is the Cokes Hartebeest. However, with a name like that, I refused to believe that they were not being sponsored from the world power Coca-Cola. Therefore I decided to take the time to make this advertisement, and perhaps Coke will decide to reimburse me at a later date:



That night we stayed at a campsite located among a copse of trees. Much like the restroom station in Ngorongoro, the area was spotted with monkeys, and baboons coming in an out of the grounds was not uncommon. We even had the chance to see one of them turn on the facet and start drinking! However, I guess it had never heard of conserving water, because I was the one who had to walk over and turn off the water when he had finished. Just after night fall is when the lions first started calling out in the distance, and we went to bed with the sounds of the wild thick in the air.

Our last game drive was the following morning, and was no less amazing than any of the others. In the cool morning air, the sun was rising as we made our way around the park before breakfast. We managed to see another glimpse of a leopard, thousands of buffalo, packs of hyena and even a group of a hundred or so wildebeest running past - which we were informed was part of the great migration that is just beginning.

After breakfast we packed up and prepared to head back to Arusha. However, before we were free and clear of the park, we saw the one animal that I had wanted to see the most: cheetahs! As we were approaching the main gate out of the park, two male cheetahs were lazily strolling along the road, and did not seem at all concerned when we pulled up next to them. You can never take a bad cheetah photo, and I think I took too many. Such beautiful creatures, and definitely my favourite as a kid.



The rest of the trip was uneventful, and upon returning we were given free lodgings in maybe the nicest rooms I've stayed in in Africa. Unfortunately, apart from the free night, they were too pricey for our blood and we moved out this morning. Looks like Moshi is tomorrow, and with it a view of mount Kilimanjaro.

Sorry for the length,

Thanks for reading,

Sean

Zanzibar

I don't, unfortunately, have the time right now to write another full post right this second. But, as my last post was so long and lacking any visual stimulis, I figure I owe you some pictures.

Zanzibar town (stone town) has a sea wall running around the coast. When tide is high in the evenings, all the local kids flock to the Ocean to jump off the sides!

Traditional dhow that the locals use to move about. This one is similar to the one we went on in Lamu. Note the outboard engine on the back - pretty standard fair in this day and age.

Maybe my favourite picture of one of the locals jumping in. We had the luxury of joining them one evening - very, very cool experience.

This is a group shot of Jess and I with the two German ladies we met in Kenya, as well as a street child we somehow adopted that day. From left to right: Lena, Judie, Me, Jess and friend. Hope these pictures tide you over until I have the time to be a little more thorough. I really do apologize for the pure size of the last one, and if I can I will try and be more frequent and less wordy. Pictures are a bonus if the computer can handle it. Thanks for reading... er, looking? Much Love,

Sean

The Mysterious Disappearing Hostel

The remainder of our time in Nairobi was rather anticlimactic and dull. As the reputation of Nairobi told us *beware! danger!* much time was spent waiting inside a walled hostel compound for Brandon to arrive. Therefore, shortly after his landing in Kenya, Jess and I were eager to depart East towards the coast. Coinciding with our growing impatience, I had befriended two lovely German ladies (sisters, Lena and Judie) at the Nairobi hostel that were also headed in the same direction, and they provided added incentive to get a move on.

The night we grabbed the bus to Mombasa was cold and dreary. I'm generally opposed to night buses, especially after I got my fill of them in South America and double especially since the pace for this trip is fairly relaxed, and I'm not always saving my daylight for seeing things. Unfortunately for us, the cheapest tickets to Mombasa came with a night bus that left at 9 pm sharp (Ha! As if.) from the city center. Solemnly we rolled out of the city lights into the lightning splashed twilight of the rainy Kenyan countryside.

Now for most, I assume, night buses are probably a winning venture. Assuming you can sleep on a bus, you can get a night's rest, save a night's rent while traveling all at the same time. For me, however, I only manage to reap the last two of the benefits. Night buses bring me no sleep; time spent thinking instead, is how I fill the hours. Something about the pitch of a completely barren Kenyan wilderness can provoke deep thought in a person; compounded easily by a dreamlike waking state that results from the sleepless early morning hours.

Sitting there, watching dark shapes roll by the windows, wondering if it was a bush or elephant, I was lost in my head. Between futile attempts to sleep, I caught myself wondering on the purpose of travel. The back of a guide book I read in a hostel said: "We search, therefore we travel", but I'm left questioning the accuracy. What do travelers search for? It certainly can't be the short useless encounters with other travelers, or for photos of random landmarks, which are fleeting and meaningless - merely bragging rights against those left at home. Even worse, do we search for the longer friendships that travel can bring, which in the grand scheme hurt that much worse but last little longer? One theory is that we travel to see the difference. Traveling allows appreciation and understanding. One doesn't know what they have until they explore the alternatives. I'm still not sure, I'll keep looking into this one.

The bus arrived to Mombasa early the following morning. In total, I managed roughly thirty minutes of sleep during the whole ten hour ride, and even that near the end of the trip. In complete frustration I finally decided to lay myself down on the floor of the bus, which actually sort of worked, until shortly after the bus stopped to pick up a bunch of people looking to get a lift into the city. There went my extra seat and clean air. They were a particularly smelly group of individuals.

Once in Mombasa we immediately got hounded by a bunch of taxi drivers; after a little half-hearted and half-asleep haggling we agreed to pay way too much to be taken to a hostel called Mombasa backpackers. This place wasn't in the guide books, and we only knew of it because of the German girls we met were already there. The reason, we found out, was apparently because they had just switched to a location. Yet, this place didn't look or feel like a backpackers. The taxi after several minutes rolled out of town proper and out into the land of giant mansions with large fenced-in compounds.

At the gate, a masaii warrior in traditional garb let us in and we rolled up to the least hostel like hostel ever imagined. It honestly look like a million dollar mansion somewhere in the Hollywood hills. Also out of place were the proprietors of the place, a pair of (I think) gay lovers, one Peruvian and the other South African, who were nonchalantly smoking weed as we walked into reception (the living room?). For all intents and purposes it looked like two guys waited until the family of this house had left and then jumped the walls and started a hostel. Yet, rent was fair, the beds clean and the grounds had a pool - so we stayed.

Mombasa as a city is in my opinion, nothing special. We walked around the market district and found it to be much the same as all Africa - people will try and be your friend for your money. Along the coast, however, Mombasa is a pretty city. We walked by the old colonial fort (very expensive to enter) and through the old stone buildings of the coast. At one spot by the shoreline there was a rather picturesque scene of middle-eastern decent children jumping from a ten foot rock ledge into turquoise waters, while nearby the older men spent a lazy Sunday fishing the coast with a piece of line tied to their fingers. The breeze blew strong and fragrant off the Indian Ocean there, and for a long time I was content to just sit and exist.



From Mombasa, the five of us, as we had met with Judie and Lena, caught an early morning bus north along the coast to the island of Lamu. The bus ride was another seven hours, and the ferry out to the island thirty minutes on top of that - but the trip was definitely worth it. I'm not sure how widely known Lamu is outside of Kenya, but the word on the streets is that it is like Zanzibar, yet better as it doesn't get the traffic. I'm not sure how true this is, as there was a lot of tourists and have never been to Zanzibar (yet), but I deeply enjoyed my time there.



First of all, I'll start explaining Lamu by saying it is an island where many things are the same. Every man is the captain of a dhow boat, and for a 'fair' price, willing to take you snorkeling or diving or dolphin watching, or simply run you over to the next beach - it's the least they could do. Furthermore, everyone has a sister that does amazing works with henna tattoos, or a wife, but we were fairly certain that everyone's wife is another man's sister. Lastly, every man that doesn't own a dhow boat (which is very few), is instead a struggling artist that just wants to get by. They will have a backpack of their work on them and explain how they toil endlessly in their small houses to make their art, and again for a 'fair' price, are more than willing to offer me their services in creativity and shirt design.

In a less cynical tone, Lamu is indeed breathtaking. The old Islamic settlement hugs the coast closely, and features tall stone buildings and narrow street corridors. Indeed, the streets are so narrow that no motorized vehicles are allowed on the island (not exactly true) and instead the brunt of all transportation and labour falls to donkeys. In fact there are over four thousand of the beasts on the island, and one can hardly turn a corner without seeing two or three of them just standing and being.



The joke of Lamu is that you come for a day and stay for a month. Like most travelers, we laughed this off, and then fell right into the trap. I honestly think that part of the reason is that it is a pain in the ass to get there, and no one wants to hurry back to the dusty bus ride south. Moreover though, I think it is really just the intoxicating feeling of waking every morning with a view of the coast, and the taste of the salty air on your tongue. It truly is a beautiful island, and the real beauty in it is that it is small enough to be known to the hawkers after a short period - and they will leave you alone almost completely in a few days time.

We were obliged to do some of the touristy stuff, and over the week we were there we went on a dhow trip, snorkeled among the corals of the Indian Ocean, ate fresh fish on a boat near a long sandy beach and even ventured to hop on a donkey and go for a ride. I will say this in parting, the Ocean to some holds a magic of the soul, but almost subconsciously I always find myself wishing for freshwater when I swim in one.

~~~Interlude~~~

Sorry for the length of this blog, I am almost done. Let us finish:

After a drawn out and heartfelt goodbye, we finally summoned the courage and strength of will to leave Lamu. If you look at my last blog, you can take that as an indication of how little time I was really willing to waste while on that beautiful chunk of rock. From Lamu we set out to Malindi and there caught a matatu thirty minutes further south to Watamu, and ran into something we never expected: Italians.



It feels weird even to write this, but that specific section of the Kenyan coast exists in the orange hue of bronzer that exudes from the skin of Italians. Excessive hand gesturing and copious man thongs were indeed included. It was mind boggling to say the least. Little African children used to yell hello at me, and now enthusiastically sang Ciao in chorus. Stop it! Indeed, the presence of the Italians didn't just make the Muzungus annoying, but in turn the locals as well. As it was explained to me, Italians expect a a little banter, and as a result the salesmen got that much more aggressive and annoying. No dhows in Watamu, instead everyone has a glass bottom boat.

One neat thing we did do in Watamu was visit the turtle watch. The turtle watch is an organization that rescues injured turtles from the coast of Kenya and rehabilitates them back to health. On top of that, they monitor the local beaches for nesting sites and deter tourist vandalism as well as relocate nests that are in prone positions. By some stroke of fate and Brandon's mumbling of "we want to do things...", we ended up being put to work; cleaning the turtle tanks and doing a beach survey. We did however get to see two of the sick turtles, a green sea turtle and a hawksbill, which were both amazing. It is funny to say that the beach survey involved transects and other fun scientific methods, such that it felt like in a day in Watamu, I did more actual science than months in Uganda.



As we said goodbye to Watamu we also had to say goodbye to our German co-travelers, who by this point had been with us almost two weeks. This was a really hard parting, as I had spent a lot of time with them and became pretty close. Much like when Chris and Richard left us, we had to part with good friends unknowing of when we'd see them next. Bye Judie and Lena, I hope to see you soon.

From Watamu we went back to Mombasa, and immediately booked tickets south to Dar Es Salaam and Tanzania. From the bus station we hopped into a tuk tuk and headed back to Mombasa backpackers, which had proved a worthy enough hostel the time before. The tuk tuk brought us back to the gate of the compound and we paid him and sent him along before pushing open the heavy gate.

Immediately we noticed that the ever present door guard in masaii dress was missing from the little hut next to the gate - along with his craft table. Odd. As we moved further in we noticed more absences - such as furniture. Where was the patio furniture, the outside bar fridge and bar stools? Lastly, where were the people? The ever presents: the owners and the slow to leave travelers? Then the people came, out walked a Kenyan family: husband, wife and baby, and proceeded to stare at us with surprise and disdain. Who were these three uncouth travelers with large backpacks and the nerve to simply walk into their gated haven.

Where the hell did the hostel go? We sat outside the gate for the next thirty minutes trying to decide whether we had dreamed the whole place up in the first place. Then we started going over every fishy thing that had ever occurred there, like how when I asked if they were going to build a sign for their hostel, the owners immediate response was "probably not". Were they even real?

After much running around we finally managed to get rooms at dive called the Tana guest house. Although the staff was a little strange and the digs a bit shabby, when I woke up at 6am I could see my bus parked across the street, and that is pretty awesome.

I now write to you from Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania, and I don't know how to feel about it. Kampala was ugly, but endearing thanks to its energy and people. Nairobi was ominous and threatening, yet beautiful and metropolitan. Dar seems to have neither of these, it lacks the hustle and bustle to compete with Kampala, and is void of the pretty green space that begrudgingly made me kind of like Nairobi. I will remain for the time being, undecided.

Thanks for reading,

Much Love,

Sean