Once we got back into Nairobi, I left Elissa to jet back to the Bush camp to switch my things while she got us bus tickets to Mombassa. I hung out for a bit, then we caught the overnight bus at ten p.m. The seats were comfy enough, but we got the last to spaces, so we were in the back and the roads are terribly bumpy, like, so bumpy you literally fly out of your seat. Needless to say, it was difficult to get a proper amout of shut-eye. We took a matatu to a ferry and then another matatu and then a Tuk Tuk to get to The Glory Palace Hotel, which is off of Diani Beach. It was $15 total for a double room, including breakfast and our own bathroom. There was even a pool! I spent four days unwinding by lying by the pool, heading down to the beach to sit at the 40 Thieves Restaurant and bar along the crashing waves, reading some books, and eating Mangos. It was perfect.
I headed back to Nairobi to pick up some last minute gifts and have one last night why my loves at the Bush Hostel and Camp before flying out on July 23rd, a solid ten months from my departure date. Wow. I flew into London and had a 19-hour layover where I stayed with Tania, who I had met in Goa, India, and her beautiful family. It was phenomenal to catch up with her and meet her daughters and husband. She sent me off to my flight the next day back to Boston. AHHHH. Bry Riggs was waiting for me at the airport with an “I Love Kelly” button on her shirt. lol. We were chatting non-stop on the way back to the Park Plaza Hotel where my parents and uncle were waiting for me. My mom started crying the minute she saw me across the lobby. We all embraced for the first time in over a year—I cannot describe how amazing it is to see your friends and family after such a long time along. My mom and dad were wearing shirts that had screen printed pictures of my face on them. The front had a picture of me running from the Khon Kaen race and it said “5 continents, 5 marathons” and on the back there was a picture of me at Kala Pattar with Everest in the background saying “and hiked to the base camp of Mt. Everest. Kelly, you rock!!” hahahaha I love my family. It’s good to be home.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Where is Mt. Kenya? Oh, it’s in Kenya.
I got back to Nairobi and ran errands/relaxed for the next two days. I met some cool people around the hostel; namely, a bunch of Dutch guys who were there for school/work and Erin Clark, a girl from San Diego who had actually been in the Peace Corps for the past two years with a good friend of mine from MN, Bryce Gloppen. Small world! I hung out with her and her brother before they left for the beach and I left for my four day hike up Mt. Kenya.
I met at the office at eight a.m. and found out that I was hiking with another girl who was actually from North Carolina but lives in Western Massachusetts. Her name is Elissa; a 26 year old who was working as a deaf interpreter when she was in Kenya with the Peace Corps two years ago; she had to be pulled out early due to the post-election violence and has been in MA since. We spent most of the day in matatus. After having lunch in a restaurant, we met up with two Dutch kids and a German girl who were hiking with us, as well. The first day was an easy, 9km uphill walk along a road to the Old Moses camp at 3300 meters. We went through the bush and an open, charred area that had been burned in an accidental fire back in January. It was so sad to see how much of the area was destroyed due to someone’s carelessness. We stayed in a big dorm room which was freeeezing. Upon arrival, we had teatime and dinner (which consisted of massive amounts of food that neither of us could consume even half of) before heading to bed early.
We were up at six and out the door by seven the next day. The view here was better since we were in areas not destroyed by flames. We went up over and down a massive valley, then along cliff sides and rocky paths through dense clouds up to the second hut. We got in after about eight hours. We had dinner while playing cards (though the deck was a couple short) until maybe eight p.m. when we tucked ourselves in our sleeping bags with hot water bottles to get a few hours of sleep before our three a.m. wake up call. We started hiking a little before four in the morning to try and summit by sunrise. I made sure to highly caffeinate for the long, steep hike. We trekked slowly under the stars (I saw TWO shooting stars!) because the terrain consisted of crumbling rocks and the altitude was making breathing a struggle. Elissa was having difficulty with the altitude, so we had to make a lot of stops. I kept trying to give her tips to move easier because I knew exactly how she was feeling from when I hiked to Mt. Everest Base Camp. However, I didn’t want to sound like a know-it-all, either; I know I easy get pissy when I’m struggling physically and knew that that would not have helped. The sun was lifting when we were overlooking a beautiful lake. Sammy, our guide, took her pack and we made it to the top at almost eight a.m. The view was stunning! Brown/orange rocks jutting into the sky with lakes and plateaus in the distance and a glacier hanging out behind us.
We hiked three hours to our breakfast spot where we passed out for a bit, then had to continue down four hours past the lakes and some crazy plants/flowers (see flickr account for all of this photos, they provide a better picture than my words do when describing nature) to our lunch spot in a small clearing along a babbling brook. We then had to walk another 7km down a road to our camping spot. We had a proper two person tent to share where I immediately huddled in a ball, only to escape for a quick dinner and a hot water bottle to shove down my shirt in order to be warm enough to sleep.
The next day, we had to walk 32 km down a road to town for a matatu. I was miserable because my knee was killing me (too many marathons too close together, I can only assume). at 22km, a man with a car offered to drive us for 400ksh—yes!!! We had a lunch of Kinyedji (sp?) which is mashed potatoes with peas, maize, and beans and then spent about four hours on an extremely crowded matatu to get back to Nairobi.
I met at the office at eight a.m. and found out that I was hiking with another girl who was actually from North Carolina but lives in Western Massachusetts. Her name is Elissa; a 26 year old who was working as a deaf interpreter when she was in Kenya with the Peace Corps two years ago; she had to be pulled out early due to the post-election violence and has been in MA since. We spent most of the day in matatus. After having lunch in a restaurant, we met up with two Dutch kids and a German girl who were hiking with us, as well. The first day was an easy, 9km uphill walk along a road to the Old Moses camp at 3300 meters. We went through the bush and an open, charred area that had been burned in an accidental fire back in January. It was so sad to see how much of the area was destroyed due to someone’s carelessness. We stayed in a big dorm room which was freeeezing. Upon arrival, we had teatime and dinner (which consisted of massive amounts of food that neither of us could consume even half of) before heading to bed early.
We were up at six and out the door by seven the next day. The view here was better since we were in areas not destroyed by flames. We went up over and down a massive valley, then along cliff sides and rocky paths through dense clouds up to the second hut. We got in after about eight hours. We had dinner while playing cards (though the deck was a couple short) until maybe eight p.m. when we tucked ourselves in our sleeping bags with hot water bottles to get a few hours of sleep before our three a.m. wake up call. We started hiking a little before four in the morning to try and summit by sunrise. I made sure to highly caffeinate for the long, steep hike. We trekked slowly under the stars (I saw TWO shooting stars!) because the terrain consisted of crumbling rocks and the altitude was making breathing a struggle. Elissa was having difficulty with the altitude, so we had to make a lot of stops. I kept trying to give her tips to move easier because I knew exactly how she was feeling from when I hiked to Mt. Everest Base Camp. However, I didn’t want to sound like a know-it-all, either; I know I easy get pissy when I’m struggling physically and knew that that would not have helped. The sun was lifting when we were overlooking a beautiful lake. Sammy, our guide, took her pack and we made it to the top at almost eight a.m. The view was stunning! Brown/orange rocks jutting into the sky with lakes and plateaus in the distance and a glacier hanging out behind us.
We hiked three hours to our breakfast spot where we passed out for a bit, then had to continue down four hours past the lakes and some crazy plants/flowers (see flickr account for all of this photos, they provide a better picture than my words do when describing nature) to our lunch spot in a small clearing along a babbling brook. We then had to walk another 7km down a road to our camping spot. We had a proper two person tent to share where I immediately huddled in a ball, only to escape for a quick dinner and a hot water bottle to shove down my shirt in order to be warm enough to sleep.
The next day, we had to walk 32 km down a road to town for a matatu. I was miserable because my knee was killing me (too many marathons too close together, I can only assume). at 22km, a man with a car offered to drive us for 400ksh—yes!!! We had a lunch of Kinyedji (sp?) which is mashed potatoes with peas, maize, and beans and then spent about four hours on an extremely crowded matatu to get back to Nairobi.
Sodium Chloride like never seen before
I took a bus back to Naivasha, which didn’t drop me off in the same place it did a few weeks, prior. They let me off on the highway where a few Boda Bodas were hanging out (apparently they knew I was coming). I told the guy where I was going and he was trying to charge me ridiculous amounts; I told him I’d pay him 100ksh to bring me just into town so I could get a matatu. He argued with me for a while and we finally agreed that he could either get paid 100 to bring me to a matatu or 200 to bring me to the camp. He decided on the latter; we stopped to get some gas and when we were turning onto the road that would bring us to the camp (in the dark, mind you) the back tire skid out and we almost toppled over. Turned out his back tire went flat and we had to sit on the side of the road, again, IN THE DARK, to wait for a matatu. He kept insisting that I give him more money for his tire; it’s not my fault your tire blew out! I got in the matatu which was decked out in black lights and neon décor, and stayed at Crayfish camp the first night.
I was thoroughly unimpressed and left early in the morning to go back to Fisherman’s where I had stayed a few weeks prior. I then rented a bike and decided to go to Crater Lake. The park was 19 km away, which was fine for about 14km, the last five were extremely sandy and bumpy. I finally arrived, soaked in sweat. The man at the entrance gate gave me a few wondering options; I decided to go for a loop around the park and end up at the lake. I got lost right away; he said to go straight and at the fork go left. There were two paths that veered left so I chose the one that was well traveled. After walking for about ten minutes, I came across two men and asked them if I was on the right path to the Salt Licks (I didn’t actually know what this meant at the time) and, of course, I had chosen the wrong path. They pointed me to a short cut, basically I was to follow some overhead wires to arrive at the right spot (but don’t disturb the Buffalo….ahhhh!). I arrived in an open space filled with Zebras, Impala, Monkeys, and Giraffes. you can get so close to them! At the time, I didn’t realize that this was, indeed, the Salt Lick (no sight, wtf, how should I know!), so I kept walking until I came to a big field with another path. I followed it past cows being herded by the Masai and forests of Acacia trees until I came to an electric fence. YES! The man said to turn right at the fence and follow it to the lake. But, wait…how am I on the outside of the fence? And there’s a huge lake in front of me; is that Lake Naivasha??? How the hell did I end up outside of the park? I walked all the way back to the Giraffes and found a Kenya Wildlife Service car; I asked which direction to the lake and he pointed me in the right direction.
Oh, good, I finally found the right fence (and was on the inside this time) which brought me back to the spot where the paths originally forked….huh???? How am I back at the beginning? I took the path that said “lookout point” and ended up on the top of a hill overlooking the lake. Horray! It only took me two and a half hours to find it. I ran into a California family who told me where the path was to get down to the restaurant. I moseyed on down to find a dock leading out to a floating seating area. When I stepped out, about twenty small birds that looked like sparrows (called Plain Martins) all started flying around me in circles for a solid minute. I really didn’t know what to think about it; but it felt really amazing to be in the center of a little birdie tornado.
The water in the crater is extremely acidic with a pH of 11, causing a lot of algae to grow, coloring the water lime green and drawing in flocks of bright pink flamingos. Also, a ring of Sodium Chloride circles the lake; it’s remarkable to see all of these colors together! I sat at the restaurant and relaxed with a soda and French fries before the 19km bike ride back—exhausted! I read a bit of Obama’s “Dreams From My Father” while hovering down some beef stew and Ugali before passing out in my tent so I could head back to Nairobi in the AM.
I was thoroughly unimpressed and left early in the morning to go back to Fisherman’s where I had stayed a few weeks prior. I then rented a bike and decided to go to Crater Lake. The park was 19 km away, which was fine for about 14km, the last five were extremely sandy and bumpy. I finally arrived, soaked in sweat. The man at the entrance gate gave me a few wondering options; I decided to go for a loop around the park and end up at the lake. I got lost right away; he said to go straight and at the fork go left. There were two paths that veered left so I chose the one that was well traveled. After walking for about ten minutes, I came across two men and asked them if I was on the right path to the Salt Licks (I didn’t actually know what this meant at the time) and, of course, I had chosen the wrong path. They pointed me to a short cut, basically I was to follow some overhead wires to arrive at the right spot (but don’t disturb the Buffalo….ahhhh!). I arrived in an open space filled with Zebras, Impala, Monkeys, and Giraffes. you can get so close to them! At the time, I didn’t realize that this was, indeed, the Salt Lick (no sight, wtf, how should I know!), so I kept walking until I came to a big field with another path. I followed it past cows being herded by the Masai and forests of Acacia trees until I came to an electric fence. YES! The man said to turn right at the fence and follow it to the lake. But, wait…how am I on the outside of the fence? And there’s a huge lake in front of me; is that Lake Naivasha??? How the hell did I end up outside of the park? I walked all the way back to the Giraffes and found a Kenya Wildlife Service car; I asked which direction to the lake and he pointed me in the right direction.
Oh, good, I finally found the right fence (and was on the inside this time) which brought me back to the spot where the paths originally forked….huh???? How am I back at the beginning? I took the path that said “lookout point” and ended up on the top of a hill overlooking the lake. Horray! It only took me two and a half hours to find it. I ran into a California family who told me where the path was to get down to the restaurant. I moseyed on down to find a dock leading out to a floating seating area. When I stepped out, about twenty small birds that looked like sparrows (called Plain Martins) all started flying around me in circles for a solid minute. I really didn’t know what to think about it; but it felt really amazing to be in the center of a little birdie tornado.
The water in the crater is extremely acidic with a pH of 11, causing a lot of algae to grow, coloring the water lime green and drawing in flocks of bright pink flamingos. Also, a ring of Sodium Chloride circles the lake; it’s remarkable to see all of these colors together! I sat at the restaurant and relaxed with a soda and French fries before the 19km bike ride back—exhausted! I read a bit of Obama’s “Dreams From My Father” while hovering down some beef stew and Ugali before passing out in my tent so I could head back to Nairobi in the AM.
Afro Adventures: Lewa Safaricom Marathon
***Warning: some crass language***
Getting to the Lewa Wildlife Conservancy was a disaster. I was told that, through a series of matatus, I should get there in four or five hours TOPS. I left Lake Naivasha at ten a.m. and took a 60-shilling ride into Naivasha town where I was to switch to go to Nyahururu—they were charging 400ksh but when I went to the grocery store and asked around, they said it should be 200. I argued with the man trying to shove me in his matatu until I got the price down to 300 but he was super angry and giving me the stare down. Too bad, son. However, this just screwed me because the matatu took FOREVER to get going and then they made we switch vans. Whack. It was significantly farther to Nyahururu than I though; once we got there the driver was nice enough to show me where to get another to Nanyuki; thank God for him, I was harassed more here than in India. One guy wouldn’t give me my bag and said he’d carry it for me. Finally, I said he could do it if he wanted but I wasn’t going to pay him. He gave it back right away. On the way, the other drivers literally were grabbing my bags and surrounding me, trying to pull me towards their vehicle until I started screaming at them to get away. Finally, I got in the van but I wasn’t out of the woods. It sat in the lot for over an hour waiting for it to fill up with passengers, meanwhile everyone was trying to sell their goodies to the mazungu or just stood staring at me with their noses plastered up against the windows. One guy came up to me and said, “oh, it’s hot…” Then held up his cart of shriveled meat, “sausage?” NO! I don’t want your damn greasy meat stick, that’s the last thing I want to put in my mouth right now! After two hours of driving we should’ve been there, but we were actually in Nyeri, where the driver made me get out and onto another van because he wasn’t actually going to Nanyuki---UGH, why the hell did you force me on here with such a vengeance then? Another hour, I transfer to Isiolo, which took two hours and from THERE I needed a ten to twenty minute cab ride to the Lewa gate.
It was dark at this point and I wasn’t sure if he was a registered cab so I asked for his papers (Which I have no idea what they’re supposed to look like). He called my bluff and showed me something. I bargained down from 1000 to 600 ksh. We stopped at the gas station and asked for the money so he could fill up his tank. I gave him a 1000ksh bill and he tried to keep it all. I said he owed me 400 but he tried to keep driving. NO STOP! I made him make sure he had change or else he had to get out and get change at the station. He finally gave me my money but proceeded, the entire ride, to say that the trip was much further than 12km like I had said and that he should get more money. This conversation is occurring as he’s going 120km/hr down a dark, bumpy dirty road. “Please, sir, just bring me to the gate, we already discussed the pay.” There was no seatbelt, so I was bracing myself against his seat incase of a crash. The road became a big construction zone and he goes, “Ya know, it’s very dangerous out here in a cab in the dark.” I chose to ignore that statement and started to text Adele (the woman I had been in contact with the entire trip who is on staff for the race) who was having George, one of the park’s drivers, waiting for me at the gate. The cabbie couldn’t figure out where the entrance was and stopped a guy wondering down the dark road to ask; he let him IN the car—omgomgomgomgomg. George called when I texted that my cabbie was crazy and lost but my driver refused to take the phone for directions. Finally, he found the gate and I jumped out and grabbed my things as he insisted, again, I’d give him more money. NO! I ran through the gate and into George’s car who then brought me to the staff house; Adele had been worried about my safety and didn’t want me trying to pitch a tent in the dark.
I walked through a beautiful entryway to a long, candle lit table outside looking out towards the park. She immediately had me sit down and grabbed me a plate of food and a glass of wine that was SO desperately needed. I sat talking to about fifteen people who wre in charge, in one-way or another, of the race, mostly from the UK but also the USA and Australia. Adele had originally told me I could pitch my tent on the staff grounds, but then surprised me with my own room—a king-sized bed that smelled of Downy freshness (!!!!) and a bathroom with HOT pressurized showers. Yesssss. Things always work out, don’t they? I slept soundly until around seven a.m. then met everyone for breakfast—eggs my way, toast, wheatabix, porridge, bacon, beans, fruit juice, yogurt…perfection. An older woman from the States and her Aussie husband chatted with me for a while after we ate. her husband, Roger, was saying that it’s nice, yet bizarre, to just sit back and watch a race happen without doing announcing or timing and Katherine had said something about interviewing racers when I asked how they got into that. Turns out, Roger holds a world record for something (I was never exactly explained what) and Katherine was a previous NYC marathon winner as well as a pioneer for female long distance running throughout Europe. I’d been sitting chit-chatting with a bunch of world record holders, people that are ACTUALLY a big deal and I had no idea!
They all had to roll out to different meetings and such, so I sat around reading when I met Joan and Doreen, two super adorable older women who come to help with timing every year. Doreen has been in Kenya since 1961 (Originally from South Africa) and is a primary school teacher while Joan has been residing in Kenya since 1954 and describes herself as a “lay-about,” HAH! They both live with their husbands in Nairobi; we sat chatting about their lives and travels while watching wild animals roam about near the swamp not far from our seats. I was told to not leave the area around the house because predatory animals do live and wonder nearby and I could easily be hurt (i.e. consumed). I chatted with those two until George picked me up at one to bring me to registration and to set up my tent. Good thing I didn’t have to go the night before because no one was on the campgrounds yet--my sad little tent sat all alone. After, I went and wondered around the Banda for a while; it’s just a small hut/building where one can purchase souvenirs. I hung out on a picnic table ready my Obama book next to a cute guy ( ☺ ) when the rest of his running group came up. We all started chatting about traveling when one of the guys, an Italian around my age, stops me, “ wait, are you running a marathon on every continent? I saw your Facebook event and wrote on the wall. I knew I recognized your face.” omg. Needless to say, I was shocked that a random guy knew who I was, though it felt pretty amazing. The group (all in their mid 20’s-40’s) consisted of a bunch of men who work for Deutsch Bank in London and came over just to run the race. They were stayed at a nice camp with beds and catering and headed to their driver to go back. I went back to my book when the cute guy came back and invited me to come with—free food? um, yes@ I hung out with them for lunch then they dropped me off at the registration tent in order for me to go on a short game safari. I sat around for almost an hour until the driver finally showed and we were off through the park seeing elephants, zebras, warthogs, giraffes, impalas and a rhino! There were three others, a couple from German (I think) and a young guy from Canada, Omid, who was super cool. He was working Uganda and was sponsored by his company to do this race (he previously ran a race raising money for arthritis). We got along really well and hung out later that evening for the pasta party.
First,, there was a race briefing and after I saw food being dolled out so I grabbed a plate and helped myself. As I walked away and looked around, I realized that no one else was lining up. I accidentally took a plate of food from the Marines!!!! ahhh. Omid found me at that point and just laughed as I hid and hovered it down. Abut a half hour later, we went to the real pasta party and carbo-loaded then headed to bed.
I was so afraid I’d sleep through the start that I woke up basically every hour. At 4:30a.m. I finally got up and started to get ready. My tent is technically for two people, but I have no idea how that’s possible unless one lies on top of the other. I fit with my bag just barely. If my head is up against one side, I just fit lying flat, so usually I’d either be in a ball or lying diagonally. Anyway, attempting to change in this small space was difficult. Also, my headlamp’s batteries died so I was working via a small Swiss army knife light. After wrangling my body into my spandex it was time for a delicious breakfast of peanut butter, jelly and wheatabix. The difficulty here was that I had to use the tiny blade on my Swiss army to spread the PB and J but it was also attached to the light—quite the messy situation. Also, I had little water left so I just dumped a few packets of instant coffee into my mouth and chocked it down with a swig of water to hype myself up—yuck. I tried to finagle a free meal from the nearby campground but failed so I sat around eating candies before setting off to the start. The kid’s race began at 6:30 while the half/full marathon took off at 7. There were about 1000 people competing in total. I found out the day before that this race is ranked in the top ten most difficult in the world, not only because it’s at high altitude and it’s hot (on the equator), plus there’s a loose dirt path, it’s also incredibly hilly. The first lap was crowded enough, plenty of company,. As I turned onto the desolate second lap, I saw Omid and another man waiting for me—so sweet! We hung out together for a short while and then split up, once again, so I was all alone with a dusty trail for most of the second lap. They had people on motorbikes riding around the course, checking on everyone and handing out water and Lucozade bottles while giving words of encouragement. While running alone with maybe three km left through a heavily wooded area, a number of Impalas and baboons sprinted across the path right in front of me. I stopped dead in my tracks, waiting to see if anything more threatening was following—there were no other runners in sight and I hadn’t heard a helicopter in a while, so I started to get a little nervous. I finally picked up the pace, again, to meet a group of me in camouflage with rifles around the corner—guess I was safe! I slowly made my way across the finish like at five hours and 45 minutes. Omid was there cheering for me and gave me a big hug; it was nice to, for once, have a present fan! One of the women I met the day before handed me my celebratory goody bag containing a bottle of water, Lucozade (vomit), a hand beaded keychain, Kilkoy (woven fabric to be used as a blanket/scarf/skirt, etc), and a massive Dairy Milk Chocolate bar which I immediately consumed all of while lying half dead in the grass.
After mustering up my strength through the help of sugar and cocoa, I dragged myself back to my tent so I could take a shower. While climbing in, I met an Indian family that lives in Nairobi. The father kept insisting I join them by the fire and have a beer. I told him that I’d be back and showered (freeeeeezing) and went to the “party in the park” which was at the finish line. A stage was set up for music and dance performances; I really wanted to watch but was painfully uncomfortable because everyone was staring at the lone muzungu and kids kept begging me for food and money. Needless to say, I didn’t have the patience and quickly took off. I took a nap in the grass outside of the Banda which was in a peaceful area far away from the loud partying. I headed back to my tent after an hour or two and hung out with the Indian family for a while. They shared their food with me along with a couple of beers. I also tried Miraa, which is a grass they chew that works like an amphetamine. It was super biter and I opted to bow out after a little taste. I then headed over to where the party was really happening by the Safaricom campsite. A massive campfire was blazing with people chatting and dancing all around. I got into a conversation with a few of the Aussie marines and one kept stepping into my personal bubble. Though I kept stepping back, he continued to drunkenly encroach—it probably looked like we were doing some bazaar dance.
I excused myself to look for Omid, who actually found me within maybe two minutes; horray for sticking out in this crowd! We sat at a picnic table with two other tourists and a few local girls and guys. I have no idea how the conversation turned this way, but we started talking about how large the women’s behinds are in Africa. One of the local guys then taps me and says, “ let me tell you, our women have big butts, but our men, we have big D*cks.” Then he points to me, “you guys have the big t*ts.” Um, ok, inappropriate. I pinched Omid and told him we should go so he could get some dinner. More like, he got dinner and then shared it with me. I was so lucky to have so many people feeding me this entire weekend because I completely forgot to bring in anything besides breakfast food for before the marathon—lucky, lucky me. After hanging out for a while, exhaustion took over and we decided it was bedtime. He was nice enough to walk me back to my tent since I got lost the night before because my light wasn’t powerful enough to see beyond my hand. I sat with the Indian family for a bit and then went to sleep.
The partying died down around two in the morning, which was when my trouble started. I heard a guy yelling my name and I thought it was the Indian father returning to the site and wating me to come drink, so I ignored it. A little while later I heard him again and finally responded. Turns out, it was the son,
“Kelly, can I sleep with you?”
NO.
“Why? I have nowhere to sleep, you are alone, I am alone, let me sleep with you. I won’t do anything.”
(yeah RIGHT) NO!!!! You have family here with tents and vehicles; sleep with them.
This happened two more times. Finally, at 4:30 I told him that if he didn’t get away from my tent I was going to start screaming. He finally left, but reluctantly. The NERVE; his father is a VIP at the event and he acts so disrespectfully, wtf. Good thing I randomly decided to lock my tent on the inside before I went to sleep (for the first time, ever).
I packed everything up quickly and joined Omid for breakfast. We then headed over to the Bandas to try and figure out how to get out of the park. Omid got a ride with George while Adele had Reggie, one of the girl’s boyfriends who lives in Nairobi, to give me a free ride back alone with two of his friends; he even bought us all lunch!!! So nice of him! What a weekend.
Getting to the Lewa Wildlife Conservancy was a disaster. I was told that, through a series of matatus, I should get there in four or five hours TOPS. I left Lake Naivasha at ten a.m. and took a 60-shilling ride into Naivasha town where I was to switch to go to Nyahururu—they were charging 400ksh but when I went to the grocery store and asked around, they said it should be 200. I argued with the man trying to shove me in his matatu until I got the price down to 300 but he was super angry and giving me the stare down. Too bad, son. However, this just screwed me because the matatu took FOREVER to get going and then they made we switch vans. Whack. It was significantly farther to Nyahururu than I though; once we got there the driver was nice enough to show me where to get another to Nanyuki; thank God for him, I was harassed more here than in India. One guy wouldn’t give me my bag and said he’d carry it for me. Finally, I said he could do it if he wanted but I wasn’t going to pay him. He gave it back right away. On the way, the other drivers literally were grabbing my bags and surrounding me, trying to pull me towards their vehicle until I started screaming at them to get away. Finally, I got in the van but I wasn’t out of the woods. It sat in the lot for over an hour waiting for it to fill up with passengers, meanwhile everyone was trying to sell their goodies to the mazungu or just stood staring at me with their noses plastered up against the windows. One guy came up to me and said, “oh, it’s hot…” Then held up his cart of shriveled meat, “sausage?” NO! I don’t want your damn greasy meat stick, that’s the last thing I want to put in my mouth right now! After two hours of driving we should’ve been there, but we were actually in Nyeri, where the driver made me get out and onto another van because he wasn’t actually going to Nanyuki---UGH, why the hell did you force me on here with such a vengeance then? Another hour, I transfer to Isiolo, which took two hours and from THERE I needed a ten to twenty minute cab ride to the Lewa gate.
It was dark at this point and I wasn’t sure if he was a registered cab so I asked for his papers (Which I have no idea what they’re supposed to look like). He called my bluff and showed me something. I bargained down from 1000 to 600 ksh. We stopped at the gas station and asked for the money so he could fill up his tank. I gave him a 1000ksh bill and he tried to keep it all. I said he owed me 400 but he tried to keep driving. NO STOP! I made him make sure he had change or else he had to get out and get change at the station. He finally gave me my money but proceeded, the entire ride, to say that the trip was much further than 12km like I had said and that he should get more money. This conversation is occurring as he’s going 120km/hr down a dark, bumpy dirty road. “Please, sir, just bring me to the gate, we already discussed the pay.” There was no seatbelt, so I was bracing myself against his seat incase of a crash. The road became a big construction zone and he goes, “Ya know, it’s very dangerous out here in a cab in the dark.” I chose to ignore that statement and started to text Adele (the woman I had been in contact with the entire trip who is on staff for the race) who was having George, one of the park’s drivers, waiting for me at the gate. The cabbie couldn’t figure out where the entrance was and stopped a guy wondering down the dark road to ask; he let him IN the car—omgomgomgomgomg. George called when I texted that my cabbie was crazy and lost but my driver refused to take the phone for directions. Finally, he found the gate and I jumped out and grabbed my things as he insisted, again, I’d give him more money. NO! I ran through the gate and into George’s car who then brought me to the staff house; Adele had been worried about my safety and didn’t want me trying to pitch a tent in the dark.
I walked through a beautiful entryway to a long, candle lit table outside looking out towards the park. She immediately had me sit down and grabbed me a plate of food and a glass of wine that was SO desperately needed. I sat talking to about fifteen people who wre in charge, in one-way or another, of the race, mostly from the UK but also the USA and Australia. Adele had originally told me I could pitch my tent on the staff grounds, but then surprised me with my own room—a king-sized bed that smelled of Downy freshness (!!!!) and a bathroom with HOT pressurized showers. Yesssss. Things always work out, don’t they? I slept soundly until around seven a.m. then met everyone for breakfast—eggs my way, toast, wheatabix, porridge, bacon, beans, fruit juice, yogurt…perfection. An older woman from the States and her Aussie husband chatted with me for a while after we ate. her husband, Roger, was saying that it’s nice, yet bizarre, to just sit back and watch a race happen without doing announcing or timing and Katherine had said something about interviewing racers when I asked how they got into that. Turns out, Roger holds a world record for something (I was never exactly explained what) and Katherine was a previous NYC marathon winner as well as a pioneer for female long distance running throughout Europe. I’d been sitting chit-chatting with a bunch of world record holders, people that are ACTUALLY a big deal and I had no idea!
They all had to roll out to different meetings and such, so I sat around reading when I met Joan and Doreen, two super adorable older women who come to help with timing every year. Doreen has been in Kenya since 1961 (Originally from South Africa) and is a primary school teacher while Joan has been residing in Kenya since 1954 and describes herself as a “lay-about,” HAH! They both live with their husbands in Nairobi; we sat chatting about their lives and travels while watching wild animals roam about near the swamp not far from our seats. I was told to not leave the area around the house because predatory animals do live and wonder nearby and I could easily be hurt (i.e. consumed). I chatted with those two until George picked me up at one to bring me to registration and to set up my tent. Good thing I didn’t have to go the night before because no one was on the campgrounds yet--my sad little tent sat all alone. After, I went and wondered around the Banda for a while; it’s just a small hut/building where one can purchase souvenirs. I hung out on a picnic table ready my Obama book next to a cute guy ( ☺ ) when the rest of his running group came up. We all started chatting about traveling when one of the guys, an Italian around my age, stops me, “ wait, are you running a marathon on every continent? I saw your Facebook event and wrote on the wall. I knew I recognized your face.” omg. Needless to say, I was shocked that a random guy knew who I was, though it felt pretty amazing. The group (all in their mid 20’s-40’s) consisted of a bunch of men who work for Deutsch Bank in London and came over just to run the race. They were stayed at a nice camp with beds and catering and headed to their driver to go back. I went back to my book when the cute guy came back and invited me to come with—free food? um, yes@ I hung out with them for lunch then they dropped me off at the registration tent in order for me to go on a short game safari. I sat around for almost an hour until the driver finally showed and we were off through the park seeing elephants, zebras, warthogs, giraffes, impalas and a rhino! There were three others, a couple from German (I think) and a young guy from Canada, Omid, who was super cool. He was working Uganda and was sponsored by his company to do this race (he previously ran a race raising money for arthritis). We got along really well and hung out later that evening for the pasta party.
First,, there was a race briefing and after I saw food being dolled out so I grabbed a plate and helped myself. As I walked away and looked around, I realized that no one else was lining up. I accidentally took a plate of food from the Marines!!!! ahhh. Omid found me at that point and just laughed as I hid and hovered it down. Abut a half hour later, we went to the real pasta party and carbo-loaded then headed to bed.
I was so afraid I’d sleep through the start that I woke up basically every hour. At 4:30a.m. I finally got up and started to get ready. My tent is technically for two people, but I have no idea how that’s possible unless one lies on top of the other. I fit with my bag just barely. If my head is up against one side, I just fit lying flat, so usually I’d either be in a ball or lying diagonally. Anyway, attempting to change in this small space was difficult. Also, my headlamp’s batteries died so I was working via a small Swiss army knife light. After wrangling my body into my spandex it was time for a delicious breakfast of peanut butter, jelly and wheatabix. The difficulty here was that I had to use the tiny blade on my Swiss army to spread the PB and J but it was also attached to the light—quite the messy situation. Also, I had little water left so I just dumped a few packets of instant coffee into my mouth and chocked it down with a swig of water to hype myself up—yuck. I tried to finagle a free meal from the nearby campground but failed so I sat around eating candies before setting off to the start. The kid’s race began at 6:30 while the half/full marathon took off at 7. There were about 1000 people competing in total. I found out the day before that this race is ranked in the top ten most difficult in the world, not only because it’s at high altitude and it’s hot (on the equator), plus there’s a loose dirt path, it’s also incredibly hilly. The first lap was crowded enough, plenty of company,. As I turned onto the desolate second lap, I saw Omid and another man waiting for me—so sweet! We hung out together for a short while and then split up, once again, so I was all alone with a dusty trail for most of the second lap. They had people on motorbikes riding around the course, checking on everyone and handing out water and Lucozade bottles while giving words of encouragement. While running alone with maybe three km left through a heavily wooded area, a number of Impalas and baboons sprinted across the path right in front of me. I stopped dead in my tracks, waiting to see if anything more threatening was following—there were no other runners in sight and I hadn’t heard a helicopter in a while, so I started to get a little nervous. I finally picked up the pace, again, to meet a group of me in camouflage with rifles around the corner—guess I was safe! I slowly made my way across the finish like at five hours and 45 minutes. Omid was there cheering for me and gave me a big hug; it was nice to, for once, have a present fan! One of the women I met the day before handed me my celebratory goody bag containing a bottle of water, Lucozade (vomit), a hand beaded keychain, Kilkoy (woven fabric to be used as a blanket/scarf/skirt, etc), and a massive Dairy Milk Chocolate bar which I immediately consumed all of while lying half dead in the grass.
After mustering up my strength through the help of sugar and cocoa, I dragged myself back to my tent so I could take a shower. While climbing in, I met an Indian family that lives in Nairobi. The father kept insisting I join them by the fire and have a beer. I told him that I’d be back and showered (freeeeeezing) and went to the “party in the park” which was at the finish line. A stage was set up for music and dance performances; I really wanted to watch but was painfully uncomfortable because everyone was staring at the lone muzungu and kids kept begging me for food and money. Needless to say, I didn’t have the patience and quickly took off. I took a nap in the grass outside of the Banda which was in a peaceful area far away from the loud partying. I headed back to my tent after an hour or two and hung out with the Indian family for a while. They shared their food with me along with a couple of beers. I also tried Miraa, which is a grass they chew that works like an amphetamine. It was super biter and I opted to bow out after a little taste. I then headed over to where the party was really happening by the Safaricom campsite. A massive campfire was blazing with people chatting and dancing all around. I got into a conversation with a few of the Aussie marines and one kept stepping into my personal bubble. Though I kept stepping back, he continued to drunkenly encroach—it probably looked like we were doing some bazaar dance.
I excused myself to look for Omid, who actually found me within maybe two minutes; horray for sticking out in this crowd! We sat at a picnic table with two other tourists and a few local girls and guys. I have no idea how the conversation turned this way, but we started talking about how large the women’s behinds are in Africa. One of the local guys then taps me and says, “ let me tell you, our women have big butts, but our men, we have big D*cks.” Then he points to me, “you guys have the big t*ts.” Um, ok, inappropriate. I pinched Omid and told him we should go so he could get some dinner. More like, he got dinner and then shared it with me. I was so lucky to have so many people feeding me this entire weekend because I completely forgot to bring in anything besides breakfast food for before the marathon—lucky, lucky me. After hanging out for a while, exhaustion took over and we decided it was bedtime. He was nice enough to walk me back to my tent since I got lost the night before because my light wasn’t powerful enough to see beyond my hand. I sat with the Indian family for a bit and then went to sleep.
The partying died down around two in the morning, which was when my trouble started. I heard a guy yelling my name and I thought it was the Indian father returning to the site and wating me to come drink, so I ignored it. A little while later I heard him again and finally responded. Turns out, it was the son,
“Kelly, can I sleep with you?”
NO.
“Why? I have nowhere to sleep, you are alone, I am alone, let me sleep with you. I won’t do anything.”
(yeah RIGHT) NO!!!! You have family here with tents and vehicles; sleep with them.
This happened two more times. Finally, at 4:30 I told him that if he didn’t get away from my tent I was going to start screaming. He finally left, but reluctantly. The NERVE; his father is a VIP at the event and he acts so disrespectfully, wtf. Good thing I randomly decided to lock my tent on the inside before I went to sleep (for the first time, ever).
I packed everything up quickly and joined Omid for breakfast. We then headed over to the Bandas to try and figure out how to get out of the park. Omid got a ride with George while Adele had Reggie, one of the girl’s boyfriends who lives in Nairobi, to give me a free ride back alone with two of his friends; he even bought us all lunch!!! So nice of him! What a weekend.
Welcome to Hell
The next day I got my life in order and on Tuesday morning, I left to head up to Fisherman’s Camp. I got in the matatu to town and when they dropped me off, an older and ADORABLE woman helped me to find the next matatu I needed to head to Lake naivasha. It took about twenty minutes of asking different drivers to continue heading us in the right direction. Along the way, she told me about how she had been religiously saved as a child and how much she loves Jesus (she asked me if I had been saved. Umm, I’m working on it?) She used to study economics in India and then in the UK and has been back in Kenya for twenty years with her husband and three children (all of which are in universities or soon to be. I was quite amazed with her strength to have the opportunity to live and study in another country thirty years ago. I asked her how old she was and when she told me her age (51) I told her she didn’t look it. She stopped and look back and me and said, “It’s Jesus, honey.” lol, Christianity apparently cures wrinkles. She’s so devoted; she doesn’t understand how people live without faith or “if they’re even happy since they have so much hate without the love of God in their hearts.” She is grateful for what the British came in and did—bring the English language so they were no longer disconnected from each other linguistically, urbanization and, of course, Christianity. I find it so brave and strong of her to focus on the positive aspects of colonialism and that sometimes you have to make a few mistakes in order to move forward. I mean, I agree with her to an extent. But she doesn’t seem to notice or mind that they have lost so much of their tribal history, not everyone agrees with Western integration, just because a group of people doesn’t know the glory of the Iphone doesn’t mean that their lives are sad and pathetic and they need modern technology in order to be happy. I think a lot of the Western world is jaded in that way, that if someone doesn’t live the capitalist life that they must be miserable. I could really go on about this for a while, but the point was that SHE was focusing on the positive and I admired that. We were also discussing how naïve people are concerning their perceptions of Africans. When away in the UK, she’d be asked where she lived in Africa (response; oh, in trees!) and how she got a phone that TAKES PICTURES (umm in AFRICA!) and my favorite was when she was asked how she learned English (Oh, in the airport). hahaha. Her sense of humor was phenomenal.
The bus took less than two hours and from there I got into another matatu to the camp. The woman at the ticket booth said the price was 70ksh but the guy tried to write it out for 200! I laugh and said no, that the other woman already told me another price and he just said, “ oh, ok” and that was it! I got to the camp and set my new itty bitty “two person” tent; this was the first time I set up a tent on my own and I was oh so proud! I know it’s not difficult to set up a tent, especially one that’s the size of a Fed-Ex box, but even small, personal accomplishments are exciting! It was after three at this point, so I didn’t have time to do anything too interesting. I had a snack and chatted with a young Brittish couple and read my book, ate more (surprise, surprise) and went to bed.
The next morning I went to Hell! Hell’s Gate National Park, that is (so cheesy, sorry). I took a matatu to the gate and had to walk two km down the road to the entrance. The woman (Rachel) in the office was so sweet. She asked for my e-mail address so she could write to me after telling me I should find myself a Kenyan husband. I held up my ring finger and said I was married but she was persistent that that could change. They got me a bike to rent and she suggested I hike the gorge before trying to ride around the Buffalo Circuit. Initially, I was being stubborn and wanted to bike the 14 km loop, first, but my bike was struggling to go up the hill, the gears kept switching and it began making a loud clicking noise that I was sure would scare away all of the animals. Also, the path was so sandy I could hardly peddle and my back tire kept sliding out. I decided I might as well turn around and hike the gorge first and, wouldn’t you know it, once I turned around the gears worked perfectly fine—a sign perhaps? Yep, wait for it.
I headed over the painfully bumpy road towards the Ranger’s Post where I would be able to hike to Hell (seriously, that’s what it’s called!). The path cuts through the grassy park and in the distance as well as alongside the road, I watched tens (probably up to 100) zebras grazing, a few giraffes eating off the tippy tops of some trees lining my way, impalas, ostriches, the odd cow, and groups of warthogs scurrying for a place to hide from me (they’re so funny w/ their fat bodies wobbling on stubby legs and covered what looks like hair plugs all over their bodies). Though, generally, the animals were thoroughly unimpressed with me.
Once I arrived at the post, I told the workers that I’d prefer to hike alone (as I stubbornly do). He was a bit weary, but didn’t put up much for a fight. One many showed me to the start of the path, which is quite tricky to get to since you have to crawl over boulders and scale down narrow crevices that are not made for wide, baby-making hips, that’s for sure. He gave me the run down of where to go; basically, follow the water (a small, trickling river of sorts) and when I get to the hot springs about an hour and a half down, take a right at the yellow Acacia tree and follow the path back up. DO NOT PASS THE TREE; then you’ll be in native Masai territory where the predatory animals live. OK, easy enough, right? Follow the water, so I did…and got lost. I followed a path along the water and was looking down into a crevice with three small waterfalls while singing “George of the Jungle” (the Jane remix), to myself when a boy of about ten years old, a goat herder I saw earlier, ran up behind me tel.ing me I was going the wrong way, that I was headed towards the forest—oh, God. He showed me back down, and apparently I had to LITERLLY follow the water, like, IN it. Meaning I had to go through that narrow crevice, UNDER the three falls. Time to get wet! This is called the Devil’s Shower; the first two falls are hot and the third is cold, it’s so bizarre! After that, the path widened out significantly and I was left trekking through the water and sand while staring up at steep, eroded cliffs on either side of me. I saw some steam up ahead to my right and two guys chipping at rocks on the other bank. I thought the steam was actually smoke from a fire, at first, so I asked the men where the hot springs were; they stared blankly so I figured I needed to keep going. One guy then ran after me and brought me back into a wooded area where the ground was rumbling beneath my feet and there was a puddle of bubbling, sputtering muck that was apparently the hot springs. Ok, so where’s the path? He points back to the “river”—nom, there’s another one. He shakes his head “no.” I walk a few feet and see a dirt path heading up, “does this go back to the Ranger’s Post?” He shakes his head “yes.” Ok, thanks.
This path isn’t very well marked in places and diverges into many others; I kept guessing (which is never idea in my case) which to follow and soon I ran across some more herders who told me I was still going the right direction. Somehow the path came to an end and I was left wondering on the edge of a cliff; I kept walking back and forth, but couldn’t figure out where to go. I started shyly yelling out “hello,” but received no answer. I let my fear get the best of me when the thought that I had wondered into Masai territory popped into my head. I let myself cry and flip out for a few minutes and then stood there trying to settle down and figure out my best option. The issue was that I didn’t have all day because huge black clouds were quickly rolling my way. Plus, I had just accidentally stabbed myself in the leg w/ a large pointy plant that I had no idea whether or not it was poisonous (took picture for safe measure upon hopeful survival). Then, on the cliff on the other side of the gorge I was following, I saw a young man waving and yelling “wrong way!” My voice broke as I shouted, “ I KNOW! Where do I go!” I had to head back down and he lead me up to the opposite cliff and brought me to the road. I was only about ten minutes from the post. I gave him some money and water before he set off. I rolled into the hut just as it started to thunder and downpour. I sat under the awning with the workers for a while, chit-chatting until the rain slowed.
“Good thing you got out, when it rains, there are flash floods and you get a free ride, hah, hah.”
OMG! I would’ve been done for!
I got on my bike and headed back the eight km to the gate, only to, somehow, end up climbing to the top of a private road hill before realized I managed to get lost on a circular road. I went back and finally found my way. At this point, it was four PM and I hadn’t eaten since eight and ran out of water in the gorge. I was too exhausted to take photos of more animals, though at one point I looked to my left and saw a field full of baboon on all fours all slowly crawling towards me while staring in my directions—creepy. I dropped off my bike and walked the two km to the road. I ended up walking five km back because every matatu that passed was full. I was in such desperate need of water that I could hardly get myself to smile at the school kids yelling at me, the whole time, “How, are you! How are you! How are you!”
I struggled to take shower and then collapsed in my tent for a few hours before dinner (Ugali and beef stew, mmmmmmm). That night I got to see my first hippo! The camp is on Lake Naivasha and after dark, the hippos come out of the woods to graze between the lake and the electric fence which is protecting the campers (little did I know, Hippos are one of the most dangerous animals). At about 3 30 am, the hippos started going nuts; I could hear them making loud noises and scraping at the ground. In my daze, I was sure they were going to charge through the gate and trample my tent. That’d be just my luck, at the end of my trip to die by hippo stampede. However, it was all in my head and I got up in the morning to a massive full breakfast and to take the trip from hell to Lewa.
The bus took less than two hours and from there I got into another matatu to the camp. The woman at the ticket booth said the price was 70ksh but the guy tried to write it out for 200! I laugh and said no, that the other woman already told me another price and he just said, “ oh, ok” and that was it! I got to the camp and set my new itty bitty “two person” tent; this was the first time I set up a tent on my own and I was oh so proud! I know it’s not difficult to set up a tent, especially one that’s the size of a Fed-Ex box, but even small, personal accomplishments are exciting! It was after three at this point, so I didn’t have time to do anything too interesting. I had a snack and chatted with a young Brittish couple and read my book, ate more (surprise, surprise) and went to bed.
The next morning I went to Hell! Hell’s Gate National Park, that is (so cheesy, sorry). I took a matatu to the gate and had to walk two km down the road to the entrance. The woman (Rachel) in the office was so sweet. She asked for my e-mail address so she could write to me after telling me I should find myself a Kenyan husband. I held up my ring finger and said I was married but she was persistent that that could change. They got me a bike to rent and she suggested I hike the gorge before trying to ride around the Buffalo Circuit. Initially, I was being stubborn and wanted to bike the 14 km loop, first, but my bike was struggling to go up the hill, the gears kept switching and it began making a loud clicking noise that I was sure would scare away all of the animals. Also, the path was so sandy I could hardly peddle and my back tire kept sliding out. I decided I might as well turn around and hike the gorge first and, wouldn’t you know it, once I turned around the gears worked perfectly fine—a sign perhaps? Yep, wait for it.
I headed over the painfully bumpy road towards the Ranger’s Post where I would be able to hike to Hell (seriously, that’s what it’s called!). The path cuts through the grassy park and in the distance as well as alongside the road, I watched tens (probably up to 100) zebras grazing, a few giraffes eating off the tippy tops of some trees lining my way, impalas, ostriches, the odd cow, and groups of warthogs scurrying for a place to hide from me (they’re so funny w/ their fat bodies wobbling on stubby legs and covered what looks like hair plugs all over their bodies). Though, generally, the animals were thoroughly unimpressed with me.
Once I arrived at the post, I told the workers that I’d prefer to hike alone (as I stubbornly do). He was a bit weary, but didn’t put up much for a fight. One many showed me to the start of the path, which is quite tricky to get to since you have to crawl over boulders and scale down narrow crevices that are not made for wide, baby-making hips, that’s for sure. He gave me the run down of where to go; basically, follow the water (a small, trickling river of sorts) and when I get to the hot springs about an hour and a half down, take a right at the yellow Acacia tree and follow the path back up. DO NOT PASS THE TREE; then you’ll be in native Masai territory where the predatory animals live. OK, easy enough, right? Follow the water, so I did…and got lost. I followed a path along the water and was looking down into a crevice with three small waterfalls while singing “George of the Jungle” (the Jane remix), to myself when a boy of about ten years old, a goat herder I saw earlier, ran up behind me tel.ing me I was going the wrong way, that I was headed towards the forest—oh, God. He showed me back down, and apparently I had to LITERLLY follow the water, like, IN it. Meaning I had to go through that narrow crevice, UNDER the three falls. Time to get wet! This is called the Devil’s Shower; the first two falls are hot and the third is cold, it’s so bizarre! After that, the path widened out significantly and I was left trekking through the water and sand while staring up at steep, eroded cliffs on either side of me. I saw some steam up ahead to my right and two guys chipping at rocks on the other bank. I thought the steam was actually smoke from a fire, at first, so I asked the men where the hot springs were; they stared blankly so I figured I needed to keep going. One guy then ran after me and brought me back into a wooded area where the ground was rumbling beneath my feet and there was a puddle of bubbling, sputtering muck that was apparently the hot springs. Ok, so where’s the path? He points back to the “river”—nom, there’s another one. He shakes his head “no.” I walk a few feet and see a dirt path heading up, “does this go back to the Ranger’s Post?” He shakes his head “yes.” Ok, thanks.
This path isn’t very well marked in places and diverges into many others; I kept guessing (which is never idea in my case) which to follow and soon I ran across some more herders who told me I was still going the right direction. Somehow the path came to an end and I was left wondering on the edge of a cliff; I kept walking back and forth, but couldn’t figure out where to go. I started shyly yelling out “hello,” but received no answer. I let my fear get the best of me when the thought that I had wondered into Masai territory popped into my head. I let myself cry and flip out for a few minutes and then stood there trying to settle down and figure out my best option. The issue was that I didn’t have all day because huge black clouds were quickly rolling my way. Plus, I had just accidentally stabbed myself in the leg w/ a large pointy plant that I had no idea whether or not it was poisonous (took picture for safe measure upon hopeful survival). Then, on the cliff on the other side of the gorge I was following, I saw a young man waving and yelling “wrong way!” My voice broke as I shouted, “ I KNOW! Where do I go!” I had to head back down and he lead me up to the opposite cliff and brought me to the road. I was only about ten minutes from the post. I gave him some money and water before he set off. I rolled into the hut just as it started to thunder and downpour. I sat under the awning with the workers for a while, chit-chatting until the rain slowed.
“Good thing you got out, when it rains, there are flash floods and you get a free ride, hah, hah.”
OMG! I would’ve been done for!
I got on my bike and headed back the eight km to the gate, only to, somehow, end up climbing to the top of a private road hill before realized I managed to get lost on a circular road. I went back and finally found my way. At this point, it was four PM and I hadn’t eaten since eight and ran out of water in the gorge. I was too exhausted to take photos of more animals, though at one point I looked to my left and saw a field full of baboon on all fours all slowly crawling towards me while staring in my directions—creepy. I dropped off my bike and walked the two km to the road. I ended up walking five km back because every matatu that passed was full. I was in such desperate need of water that I could hardly get myself to smile at the school kids yelling at me, the whole time, “How, are you! How are you! How are you!”
I struggled to take shower and then collapsed in my tent for a few hours before dinner (Ugali and beef stew, mmmmmmm). That night I got to see my first hippo! The camp is on Lake Naivasha and after dark, the hippos come out of the woods to graze between the lake and the electric fence which is protecting the campers (little did I know, Hippos are one of the most dangerous animals). At about 3 30 am, the hippos started going nuts; I could hear them making loud noises and scraping at the ground. In my daze, I was sure they were going to charge through the gate and trample my tent. That’d be just my luck, at the end of my trip to die by hippo stampede. However, it was all in my head and I got up in the morning to a massive full breakfast and to take the trip from hell to Lewa.
Nairobbery 7’s Tournament
When I got back to the Bush Hostel, there were tons of new Wazungu, mostly from the England or Scotland. I got in late on Saturday so I didn't stay up chatting for long; however, I was hanging out late enough to learn there was going to be a 7s Rugby tournament occurring at the Nairobi Stadium. For those of you who don't know, a 7s tournament is basically a bunch of Rugby games where they only have seven people playing on each team instead of fifteen. We all headed over in cabs at 9:30 the next morning and cheered for countries all over Africa, UK, Japan, and France (a lot of the people I met actually knew players on the Bristol University Team). Clearly, a weekend sports event would not be complete without a cold beer in hand and boy was it cheap here. Over the course of the day two 19 year-old Scottish boys and myself polished off six six-packs of Tusker and Redd's (a sweet-apple beer that goes down like juice). To justify at least half of the cases of beer, by purchasing a six pack of Tusker, you received a free hat (a nylon cow boy shaped hat in neon yellow advertising the alcoholic deliciousness) Between serious games, they could say what I guess would be like honorary games; there were two women's games (one where a woman had to switch jerseys and didn't have an undershirt which caused quite the ruckus from the crowd) and another game from what looked to be a geriatrics league. These men hardly trotted around the field, clearly not still in proper rugby playing shape.
Then, surprise, surprise, a massive hangover kicked in around nine Pm. It dissipated around ten, but I stupidly smacked a mosquito on my ear which brought the pounding back with a vengeance. Sadly, I couldn't muster up the strength to go with everyone to the after-party (which was really sad because there were some sexy rugby players that I would've enjoyed meeting:) )
Then, surprise, surprise, a massive hangover kicked in around nine Pm. It dissipated around ten, but I stupidly smacked a mosquito on my ear which brought the pounding back with a vengeance. Sadly, I couldn't muster up the strength to go with everyone to the after-party (which was really sad because there were some sexy rugby players that I would've enjoyed meeting:) )
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Update: I am alive
The internet connection is, well, awful here; sorry I haven't been able to update. I leave for Boston TOMORROW so I will be able to update in a week or so:) Plus, I have over 600 photos for everyone's enjoyment.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Save the Cheetahs
Cosmas, one of the workers with Action for Cheetahs in Kenya, gave me directions to their house/office. I spent the day packing everything up and heading on my way. Though it isn’t far out of the city, I had to take two different matatus and, since the traffic is awful, it took 2.5 hours! I told the guy on the bus that I needed to go to the Mountain View stop and he said he would show me where to get off. However, at the end of the line, he asked, AGAIN and realized he forgot about me, hah. Oh, well. Cosmas picked me up at the gas station and we walked to their office/house, which is in a gated community. They have two dogs. Ginger and Bahate (in Kiswahili, his name means “good luck”) and they were so excited to see us! It’s nice to be around dogs that actually have a home and are trained! Cosmas shoed me around and told me a bit about the project. Basically, Mary (originally from Michigan, yeah Midwest!) started a branch of the Cheetah Conservation Fund in Kenya in 2002. They mapped all of the roads in the country and surveyed them all, meanwhile conducting interviews concerning livestock lost by predators. They Cheetahs are endangered due to poachers; people are poor and they want the meat. Plus, the cheetahs are losing their habitat due to human settlers. Mary, Maike, and Floris were all out in the bush cheetah trapping for the past ten days and showed up at around six in the evening. They freshened up and we all went out to a nice Indian restaurant to eat. The food was amazing! Quite a nice change from the steady diet of instant noodles and drinking yogurt I’ve been consuming.
The next day, I went for a brisk walk/run around the area and then Maike (a German woman volunteering who is on sabbatical from her event planning career—formerly an environmental scientist) and I went to the Sarit center, which is a nice mall in the Westlands area. We went to the cyber café and then chatted for a while over coffee. She went to look for a computer while I sat reading her Lonely Planet. I read a little about my upcoming marathon and got a bit nervous. A man near me said I looked deep in though and I showed him what I was thinking about. He and his friend are from Canada and are Hashers ( an international drinking group with a running problem); they invited me to join them the following Monday and then I could hopefully meet other people who would be running the marathon and even possibly catch a ride—horray! Maike and I wondered around another mall, with yet another cup of coffee before heading back. We had a little family dinner that night of stir fry and champagne☺
I went back to Nairobi for a couple days because I couldn’t afford $15 a day. The money clearly goes to keeping the Cheetah fund up and running, but I am just not in a monetary place, at the moment, to do that for too many days. I went back on Monday so that I could go with everyone into the Camp in Salama. On the way, I got in the matatu that was supposed to go to Mt. View. I asked the driver and he said that was where they were going; they proceeded to charge me an extra ten shillings and then the van did NOT got all the way. The guy who took my money and lied to me bolted at the stop as a bunch of cab drivers tried to harass me to get into their cab. I made the rare mistake of getting all huffy and cussing (which I’ve gotten a lot better at NOT doing) which, of course, only made them laugh at me. Finally, however, the guy stopped trying to get me to blow a bunch of money on his cab and brought me to another matatu that would bring me to the right spot.
After arriving at the house, Maike and I had a meeting with Wallace about the puppedt presentation we’d be doing at a local school about the Cheetahs. Basically, the presentation was going to start with a questionnaire to see what the kids already knew and then we’d do a skit with a story incorporating puppets, have a lecture/discussion, and then give them the quiz again. After, this I really had the day to do what I wanted and went back to the Sarit Center to use the net; I also bought Barrack Obama’s book “Dreams from my Father.” I veg’d out that night watching the worst movie, possibly ever, “Nacho Libre.” We were supposed to go up to the camp the next day, but due to some car troubles, it was postponed, so Maike and I went to the Kenya National Museum. It displays the history of the nation, including the animals (large mammal exhibit), and impressive collection of stuffed local birds, an exhibit on rock art and the top floor is all about the people and its culture. It had displays on the clothing, weapons, coming of age rituals, and body decorations (beaded jewelry, ear plugs) etc. It was all very interesting to see how cultures have evolved, where they have incorporated Western influences (such as using glass/plastic beads instead of shells and seeds) as well as what they have retained. When we arrived, I tried to get a student discount, but they don’t offer one. Insetad, the guy said he would charge us as citizens; I joked about passing as a Kenyan, though he clearly didn’t pick up on my sarcasm he somberly informed me that he was giving us a break…oh, um…sorry, thanks.
The next day Maike, Cosmas and I headed up to the Salama camp. The roads are awful; I think I should start wearing a sports bar whenever we get into a car. Alsong the way, we got some supplies at the Nakumatt,. As we got out of the car, I pointed out to Cosmas that his fly was down. “Don’t worry,” he said, “it’s only the envelope.” HAH. The funnier part was when we got inside and we passed the stationary section maike said, “Oh, here are the envelopes!” Cosmas and I burst out laughing; Maike clearly hadn’t heard the conversation clearly. I went on a search for some new hair ties but the workers kept pointing me to the weaves. I’m sorry, none of these will blend in! Finally I found a couple by the cash register and we were off again.
The camp is on a divided farm plot where they have a fenced area with a small brick building as a kitchen. There’s an open area with a fire pit and three large tents with actual beds inside, tin roofs over the top, as well as two drop toilets and open air “showers” (or rather, a space to bring a bucket to rinse yourself). We sat around, chatting and reading over dinner and headed off to bed. It’s pitch black out on the countryside; the stars here are absolutely insane, I don’t think I’ve seen a sky like this since I was in New Zealand.
I went for a run/brisk walk along the orange dirt rods in the morning; then, Maike , Wallace and I headed to the Kiima Kiu primary school for our presentation. They had a total of about ninety kids in grades five through seven in one room, all in maroon sweaters over green shirts and green shorts—maybe half of the kids wore shoes. Their teaching style is very interesting in that the kids repeat an important (usually last) word of the sentence. Ex. Prof: “ I’m here to teach you about cheetahs. About?” Class: “Cheetahs!” This makes sure they’re all playing attention and I’m sure it helps them with learning English, as well. Anyway, after they filled out the questionnaire, we brought out the puppets and the kids went NUTS. They all started screaming and jumping around in excitement like when someone wins a car on the Price is Right. Though they probably didn’t absorb much of the story because they were too fascinated and interested in our little show. Plus, I think the kids were more interested in staring at the Muzungus; a couple of the girls in the front kept giving us the thumbs up, trying to get our attention. At the end, they all started whistling and clapping in unison; then, we were surrounded by kids touching us. They were all fascinated by my hair,, stroking and lifting it; it was fine at first, but as they got more excited there was a bit more pulling and I had to tie it up—you can touch it, just as long as I can still take it home with me! They surrounded us as we left and chased after our car, waving the whole way.
When we got back to the camp, we hung out with some of the scouts, Jimmy, Lamumba and Sam. Sam is HILLARIOUS. They were all telling us the differences between some of the local tribes. Sam’s tribe, the Luos, LOVE chicken. He was saying that, as kids, they were so excited when visitors came, not because someone new was around, but because they then could slaughter and eat a check. They would get upset when no one would come because they couldn’t eat the meat. He’s so expressive; he has a mouth full of big white teeth and when he laughs it’s so contagious that even if you don’t know what he said, you have to laugh along. Cosmas also told us about a darker side of Kenya, the Mungeeki (sp?). This is like the Kenyan Mafia; it originally started because they wanted to separate from Westernization and go back to tradition. They’d beat women for wearing trousers, for example. Now, they basically control every home and business, forcing people to pay exra to them for their homes and matatus, their produce sales and roadside services. If they don’t pay, there will be disastrous consequences. A woman’s matatu was burned, people die, they’re run off the road, decapitated and dismembered—it’s not pretty and quite dangerous for the locals in the areas where this group rules.
The net morning they had a scout meeting to discuss their progress with accumulating data on local conflicts, interviews, areas they still needed to cover, questions that needed to be more thorough, etc. It was quite interesting, but I clearly had nothing to contribute because I didn’t know the area or much bout what they’ve already accomplished.
Maike, Wallace and I then went to another school for a presentation. These kids were much more well-behaved. Maike and I had to shake practically all 80 little hands, Again, a mass of uniformed children (blue and yellow uniforms this time) followed us out to the car and waved goodbye.
The next day, I went for a brisk walk/run around the area and then Maike (a German woman volunteering who is on sabbatical from her event planning career—formerly an environmental scientist) and I went to the Sarit center, which is a nice mall in the Westlands area. We went to the cyber café and then chatted for a while over coffee. She went to look for a computer while I sat reading her Lonely Planet. I read a little about my upcoming marathon and got a bit nervous. A man near me said I looked deep in though and I showed him what I was thinking about. He and his friend are from Canada and are Hashers ( an international drinking group with a running problem); they invited me to join them the following Monday and then I could hopefully meet other people who would be running the marathon and even possibly catch a ride—horray! Maike and I wondered around another mall, with yet another cup of coffee before heading back. We had a little family dinner that night of stir fry and champagne☺
I went back to Nairobi for a couple days because I couldn’t afford $15 a day. The money clearly goes to keeping the Cheetah fund up and running, but I am just not in a monetary place, at the moment, to do that for too many days. I went back on Monday so that I could go with everyone into the Camp in Salama. On the way, I got in the matatu that was supposed to go to Mt. View. I asked the driver and he said that was where they were going; they proceeded to charge me an extra ten shillings and then the van did NOT got all the way. The guy who took my money and lied to me bolted at the stop as a bunch of cab drivers tried to harass me to get into their cab. I made the rare mistake of getting all huffy and cussing (which I’ve gotten a lot better at NOT doing) which, of course, only made them laugh at me. Finally, however, the guy stopped trying to get me to blow a bunch of money on his cab and brought me to another matatu that would bring me to the right spot.
After arriving at the house, Maike and I had a meeting with Wallace about the puppedt presentation we’d be doing at a local school about the Cheetahs. Basically, the presentation was going to start with a questionnaire to see what the kids already knew and then we’d do a skit with a story incorporating puppets, have a lecture/discussion, and then give them the quiz again. After, this I really had the day to do what I wanted and went back to the Sarit Center to use the net; I also bought Barrack Obama’s book “Dreams from my Father.” I veg’d out that night watching the worst movie, possibly ever, “Nacho Libre.” We were supposed to go up to the camp the next day, but due to some car troubles, it was postponed, so Maike and I went to the Kenya National Museum. It displays the history of the nation, including the animals (large mammal exhibit), and impressive collection of stuffed local birds, an exhibit on rock art and the top floor is all about the people and its culture. It had displays on the clothing, weapons, coming of age rituals, and body decorations (beaded jewelry, ear plugs) etc. It was all very interesting to see how cultures have evolved, where they have incorporated Western influences (such as using glass/plastic beads instead of shells and seeds) as well as what they have retained. When we arrived, I tried to get a student discount, but they don’t offer one. Insetad, the guy said he would charge us as citizens; I joked about passing as a Kenyan, though he clearly didn’t pick up on my sarcasm he somberly informed me that he was giving us a break…oh, um…sorry, thanks.
The next day Maike, Cosmas and I headed up to the Salama camp. The roads are awful; I think I should start wearing a sports bar whenever we get into a car. Alsong the way, we got some supplies at the Nakumatt,. As we got out of the car, I pointed out to Cosmas that his fly was down. “Don’t worry,” he said, “it’s only the envelope.” HAH. The funnier part was when we got inside and we passed the stationary section maike said, “Oh, here are the envelopes!” Cosmas and I burst out laughing; Maike clearly hadn’t heard the conversation clearly. I went on a search for some new hair ties but the workers kept pointing me to the weaves. I’m sorry, none of these will blend in! Finally I found a couple by the cash register and we were off again.
The camp is on a divided farm plot where they have a fenced area with a small brick building as a kitchen. There’s an open area with a fire pit and three large tents with actual beds inside, tin roofs over the top, as well as two drop toilets and open air “showers” (or rather, a space to bring a bucket to rinse yourself). We sat around, chatting and reading over dinner and headed off to bed. It’s pitch black out on the countryside; the stars here are absolutely insane, I don’t think I’ve seen a sky like this since I was in New Zealand.
I went for a run/brisk walk along the orange dirt rods in the morning; then, Maike , Wallace and I headed to the Kiima Kiu primary school for our presentation. They had a total of about ninety kids in grades five through seven in one room, all in maroon sweaters over green shirts and green shorts—maybe half of the kids wore shoes. Their teaching style is very interesting in that the kids repeat an important (usually last) word of the sentence. Ex. Prof: “ I’m here to teach you about cheetahs. About?” Class: “Cheetahs!” This makes sure they’re all playing attention and I’m sure it helps them with learning English, as well. Anyway, after they filled out the questionnaire, we brought out the puppets and the kids went NUTS. They all started screaming and jumping around in excitement like when someone wins a car on the Price is Right. Though they probably didn’t absorb much of the story because they were too fascinated and interested in our little show. Plus, I think the kids were more interested in staring at the Muzungus; a couple of the girls in the front kept giving us the thumbs up, trying to get our attention. At the end, they all started whistling and clapping in unison; then, we were surrounded by kids touching us. They were all fascinated by my hair,, stroking and lifting it; it was fine at first, but as they got more excited there was a bit more pulling and I had to tie it up—you can touch it, just as long as I can still take it home with me! They surrounded us as we left and chased after our car, waving the whole way.
When we got back to the camp, we hung out with some of the scouts, Jimmy, Lamumba and Sam. Sam is HILLARIOUS. They were all telling us the differences between some of the local tribes. Sam’s tribe, the Luos, LOVE chicken. He was saying that, as kids, they were so excited when visitors came, not because someone new was around, but because they then could slaughter and eat a check. They would get upset when no one would come because they couldn’t eat the meat. He’s so expressive; he has a mouth full of big white teeth and when he laughs it’s so contagious that even if you don’t know what he said, you have to laugh along. Cosmas also told us about a darker side of Kenya, the Mungeeki (sp?). This is like the Kenyan Mafia; it originally started because they wanted to separate from Westernization and go back to tradition. They’d beat women for wearing trousers, for example. Now, they basically control every home and business, forcing people to pay exra to them for their homes and matatus, their produce sales and roadside services. If they don’t pay, there will be disastrous consequences. A woman’s matatu was burned, people die, they’re run off the road, decapitated and dismembered—it’s not pretty and quite dangerous for the locals in the areas where this group rules.
The net morning they had a scout meeting to discuss their progress with accumulating data on local conflicts, interviews, areas they still needed to cover, questions that needed to be more thorough, etc. It was quite interesting, but I clearly had nothing to contribute because I didn’t know the area or much bout what they’ve already accomplished.
Maike, Wallace and I then went to another school for a presentation. These kids were much more well-behaved. Maike and I had to shake practically all 80 little hands, Again, a mass of uniformed children (blue and yellow uniforms this time) followed us out to the car and waved goodbye.
Hakuna Matata
I’ve been stuck in the Nairobi area for two weeks, because I didn’t want to go too far away from the race area incase of transportation troubles. Also, I wanted to be able to train (which I have not been doing, fail on my part). Anyway, after lounging around and spending time with other travelers, I decided to actually be productive and see some things. I spent a day near the Nairobi National Park; first I went to the Giraffe Center. Everyone tries to get you to take cabs here and there, but I refused and got on the bus; it may be a bit slower but all the buses and matatus maybe cost me a dollar in total whereas the cabs would have been probably around twenty after all is said and done with.
There really isn’t that much to do at the Giraffe Center besides wonder around a tree house looking at student artwork and learning facts about Giraffes. Also, you can feed the animals if they come up to the platform. You are given a handful of pellets which looks a bit like rabbit food, and you feed them one by one. The one is was feeding was named Daisy; she had a very long tongue and her saliva is extremely slimy, leaving long gooey strands hanging between her mouths and my fingers. You can also get “giraffe kisses” by putting a long piece of food between your lips and letting the giraffe take it out; which left my face all gooey, but it was funny. Also, if you put a handful of pellets at their mouth, you can pet them and even hug them; but watch out once the food is gone because they try and head-butt you. “No food, No Friend!”
After that, I walked back to the bus stop, which is a three kilometer walk each way down a semi-deserted roach through a beautiful forest area, lined with bushes and flowers. The dirt here is this incredible orange/rust color that contrasts beautifully with the green surroundings and bright blue sky. I took the bus to the Animal Orphanage, which is just inside the Nairobi National Park gates. As soon as I walked in, a group of school children were gawking at the muzungo. One man tried to be my guide, but I immediately shot him down; thanks, but no thanks. Two girls then came up to me and started asking questions. I thought they were trying to interview me about my travels, but at the end they just said they wanted to say “hi” because they admired me☺
The orphanage is like a small zoo; all the animals had been abandoned as babies due to poachers. While walking, I ended up talking to a young Kenyan woman, Emma, about the leopard that was making itself vomit in front of us (hah). She was there with her Mother, Jane, and her two-year-old daughter. I ended up wondering around the park with them, looking at cheetahs, leopards, lions, all types of monkeys, a mongoose, warthogs, hyenas, a crocodile and tons of birds. It was like being in “The Lion King.” We were there at the perfect time, because they are only fed once a day. The food barrows come out at 2:30; at this time, the animals start going nuts, pacing back and forth in front of the gate—they know what time it is. Two deer like animals, herbivores, were fed with carrots and beans, but when they zookeeper walked away, the two free roaming monkeys from the Nature Walk nearby snuck over and stole some of the food. They’re quite intelligent animals, though, they knew exactly who to hide from. The same guy also fed the cheetahs huge pieces of meat. He’s been feeding them since they were cubs, so they listened when he said, “up and jumped up on a wooden platform, waiting to be thrown their food. He was only a few feet away when he tossed them their grub and there was no aggression from the animals; they’re quite tame. One lion, however, was throwing a fit and laid down in the corner, growling. Emma growled back at him and he’d actually respond in order for us to get a few good pictures. At the last cage, the warthogs, Emma’s daughter wanted to take photos. I let her grab my camera and she just host away. Her grandmother basically had to wrestle my camera from her and switch it with Emma’s. Before she wrestled it away, she did get a good (read: hideous) close-up shot of me as well as a very focused shot of a warthog’s behind. Warthogs, btw, are quite odd looking creatures; they look like piggies but have tusks and long straw-like fur that looks more like strategically placed hair plugs because it is not a full coat. . They also kneel down on their front legs when eating (carrots and corn OFF of the cob) and have long nails on their hooves. When we walked out, I had to wait for my change from buying the ticket while the other three were going on to the nature walk. They wanted me to join, but I said I was headed back, so Emma invited me to come stay with her and her family for a night for a free bed and food when I hike Mt. Kenya. I guess, since so many people took her in when she was in California, she felt she could and should do the same here in Kenya, which I am extremely appreciative for! It took Emmas daughter about five minutes to finally go; she just stood in the walkway staring at me, waving and yelling “Come on, Kelly!” It was so cute. I actually received an e mail from emma a few days later saying that her little girl talked about me all day ☺
After that, I headed home and chatted with Richard for a bit; the poor guy is stuck in Nairobi because he got a rare parasite and has to keep going to the hospital to get scoped shoved up his bum to make sure all the eggs that were laid )from the two inch worm they pulled out) have died. All this occurs with a bunch of medical students in the room because this parasite has never been seen in Kenya. So awkward. I then gathered up my stuff so I could go spend time with “Action for Cheetahs in Kenya!”
There really isn’t that much to do at the Giraffe Center besides wonder around a tree house looking at student artwork and learning facts about Giraffes. Also, you can feed the animals if they come up to the platform. You are given a handful of pellets which looks a bit like rabbit food, and you feed them one by one. The one is was feeding was named Daisy; she had a very long tongue and her saliva is extremely slimy, leaving long gooey strands hanging between her mouths and my fingers. You can also get “giraffe kisses” by putting a long piece of food between your lips and letting the giraffe take it out; which left my face all gooey, but it was funny. Also, if you put a handful of pellets at their mouth, you can pet them and even hug them; but watch out once the food is gone because they try and head-butt you. “No food, No Friend!”
After that, I walked back to the bus stop, which is a three kilometer walk each way down a semi-deserted roach through a beautiful forest area, lined with bushes and flowers. The dirt here is this incredible orange/rust color that contrasts beautifully with the green surroundings and bright blue sky. I took the bus to the Animal Orphanage, which is just inside the Nairobi National Park gates. As soon as I walked in, a group of school children were gawking at the muzungo. One man tried to be my guide, but I immediately shot him down; thanks, but no thanks. Two girls then came up to me and started asking questions. I thought they were trying to interview me about my travels, but at the end they just said they wanted to say “hi” because they admired me☺
The orphanage is like a small zoo; all the animals had been abandoned as babies due to poachers. While walking, I ended up talking to a young Kenyan woman, Emma, about the leopard that was making itself vomit in front of us (hah). She was there with her Mother, Jane, and her two-year-old daughter. I ended up wondering around the park with them, looking at cheetahs, leopards, lions, all types of monkeys, a mongoose, warthogs, hyenas, a crocodile and tons of birds. It was like being in “The Lion King.” We were there at the perfect time, because they are only fed once a day. The food barrows come out at 2:30; at this time, the animals start going nuts, pacing back and forth in front of the gate—they know what time it is. Two deer like animals, herbivores, were fed with carrots and beans, but when they zookeeper walked away, the two free roaming monkeys from the Nature Walk nearby snuck over and stole some of the food. They’re quite intelligent animals, though, they knew exactly who to hide from. The same guy also fed the cheetahs huge pieces of meat. He’s been feeding them since they were cubs, so they listened when he said, “up and jumped up on a wooden platform, waiting to be thrown their food. He was only a few feet away when he tossed them their grub and there was no aggression from the animals; they’re quite tame. One lion, however, was throwing a fit and laid down in the corner, growling. Emma growled back at him and he’d actually respond in order for us to get a few good pictures. At the last cage, the warthogs, Emma’s daughter wanted to take photos. I let her grab my camera and she just host away. Her grandmother basically had to wrestle my camera from her and switch it with Emma’s. Before she wrestled it away, she did get a good (read: hideous) close-up shot of me as well as a very focused shot of a warthog’s behind. Warthogs, btw, are quite odd looking creatures; they look like piggies but have tusks and long straw-like fur that looks more like strategically placed hair plugs because it is not a full coat. . They also kneel down on their front legs when eating (carrots and corn OFF of the cob) and have long nails on their hooves. When we walked out, I had to wait for my change from buying the ticket while the other three were going on to the nature walk. They wanted me to join, but I said I was headed back, so Emma invited me to come stay with her and her family for a night for a free bed and food when I hike Mt. Kenya. I guess, since so many people took her in when she was in California, she felt she could and should do the same here in Kenya, which I am extremely appreciative for! It took Emmas daughter about five minutes to finally go; she just stood in the walkway staring at me, waving and yelling “Come on, Kelly!” It was so cute. I actually received an e mail from emma a few days later saying that her little girl talked about me all day ☺
After that, I headed home and chatted with Richard for a bit; the poor guy is stuck in Nairobi because he got a rare parasite and has to keep going to the hospital to get scoped shoved up his bum to make sure all the eggs that were laid )from the two inch worm they pulled out) have died. All this occurs with a bunch of medical students in the room because this parasite has never been seen in Kenya. So awkward. I then gathered up my stuff so I could go spend time with “Action for Cheetahs in Kenya!”
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Jambo!
I boarded my Ethiopian airlines flight to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, which was a 10 hour flight (without a personal movie screen, by the way, not a fan of this airline). I had only one visual entertainment option, which was the second worst movie they could have ever played aside from a plane crash flick. I don’t know what the movie was called, but it was basically about two 19 year old American girls who went backpacking around Europe; when they arrived in France they shared a cab with another boy who said he was traveling, as well, but turned out to be a mob spotter and the two girls were kidnapped and sold into prostitution. Awesome. I never even THOUGHT about something like that happening; thank you for adding this fear at the end of my trip. I’ve shared cabs with random backpackers along the way and haven’t had a problem, but now that idea is in my head so there will probably be no more of that unless I know they were on my plane. Ugh, fools.
Anyway, who hours later, I’m on my two hour flight to Nairobi. On the plane, I met two amazing people, a woman from MN who works for Operation Smile and a gentleman from New Zealand who works with World Vision in Sudan. Their lives are amazing and awe inspiring; they basically travel around the world saving lives; how much more fulfilling could your career/life be? Anyway, I dropped my stuff off after meeting the Manager, Ken, of the Bush House and Camp (my 7 dollar a night hostel on a gated property right outside of the Nairobi city center) and sat down to use the Internet when I met two guys, Vlad from Canada, and Ludwig from Germany. They were on their way to meet a young Kenyan college student to couch surf and I invited myself along, as travelers do.
We took a cab to the Kenyata Conference Center, which is a good place to go to get a view of the city. We had to wait for an hour before Oscar arrived, being that traffic here gets nuts around three. We then got in a Matatu, a local short bus for public transportation that’s basically a party van playing music videos with massive base levels and are decorated with images of hip hop singers and rappers. They also drive like maniacs, swerving between cars, accelerating quickly, and stopping too rapidly and closely to the cars in front of them. I was sitting shotgun, so I had a front row seat for the entertainment, the highlight being our near collision where we literally missed a car by a few inches. Since the jam was so bad, our driver decided to cruise up on the shoulder and then, with one tire on the top of a plank with a deep ditch in between the other tire which was cruising along the curb—like a vehicular tight rope act. We got to Oscar’s apartment in Meatland (I’m assuming that that’s what the area is called because there was a big sign outside with this written on it) and hung out there for a few hours with his cousins. We went around the market buying food and then he cooked a beef stew with ugali (like stiff mashed potatoes but made out of maize flour, like what I helped make in Thailand with the runners) which is all eaten with your hands. We also watched Kenya’s version of “So You Think You Can Dance?” called, “Can U Dance?” where they had a tribal challenge. This was interesting to watch the indigenous dances with their brightly colored, printed attire and expressive contractive movements. After, Oscar's cousin drove me back to the hostel and everyone else went out to a club. They tried to get me to come along, but I was so tired, having been awake for about 38 hours, smelly and greasy. I wasn't in the mood to be a spectacle; the only female Mazungo (whitey) in the room--no, no, no, not tonight.
I passed out until noon the next day and felt magical. I went into town because I was supposed to meet with Vlad and Ludwig to do some sight seeing, but there were cell phone issues, so I went to a grocery store for a while to find a snack. I then sat on a bench with my instant noodles to people watch when I met John, a 25 year old Kenyan. He started talking to me, telling me how his parents had died in a car accident two years ago and he works with flowers while his older brother works at the Hyatt Regency in Dubai and his sister in another hotel in Nairobi. He suggested a few things for me to do in the city and, since I had time to kill, brought me to the Sunday market. There they sell all hand made crafts, carved animals, paintings, jewelry, etc. They heckle a lot and it's more difficult to say no here than anywhere else because they reach you on a more humanitarian level rather than looking at you like an ATM. Luckily, John was there to get everyone to leave me alone. After, he brought me to the Cooperative Bank where there was a terrorist attack in August 2006; no a memorial park stands in is place. I never got ahold of Vlad so I went to a cyber cafe for a while. I had to ask directions from a group of people on how to get to Nakumut Lifestyle, which is a 24 hour shopping center with a grocery story and a cyber cafe, as well as other things. They were trying to figure out how to explain to me how to get there when the older man said he'd take me. Now, in India, whenever someone is "being nice" they want a tip. I'm really not in a financial place for this, so I said that I'd be ok. The woman then says, "Let him take you! He's not going to rob you! He's a born again Christian!" Ok, ok, ah, I'm sorry. He was very sweet but spent the entire walk talking about God and asking me about my relationship with Jesus. Um....I don't know. It's difficult to be honest here, that I'm pretty agnostic and basically find organized religion to be complete nonsense--man has flaws, humans can be selfish, and, I feel, that a lot of these religious texts have been translated to satisfy someone's agenda. Saying this to an preacher was...well...probably not my smartest move because it just inspired a more heated discussion. Luckily, the shopping mart was close by so once we arrived he shook my hand, said "God Bless," and let me on my merry way.
When I got back to the hostel, I met three cool Dutch girls, Cami, Dani, and Mari, who had been working in Uganda. Dani and Cami were leaving the next day and Mari came for a boot call...lol. Anyway, they were on their way out to dinner and invited me along. We went to a nice restaurant called Carnivore, where you paid maybe 20 dollars to get soup, salad, bread, a baked potato, and unlimited meat that they walk around carving off of skewers fresh off the grill. This included sausage, lamb, chicken wings and legs, ribs, beef, ostrich meat balls and crocodile--afterwards, dessert! It was amazing and we were all stuffed. However, the only downfall of the night was our cab ride to the restaurant. They had been using the same taxi driver and though he was reliable. On the way we were in the far right lane on a highway; a bus put on his blinker to merge and the driver, Simon, tried to speed up and pass until one of the girls yelled at him to watch out. The, the same thing happened with a SEMI-TRUCK! We were literally almost crushed because median consisted of a tall curb and a steep hill. All four of us yelled out, which is saying something since we're all used to, and rarely phased by, terrible driving and bad traffic. After, he almost ran over two trafic cones and a strip of nails. Needless to say, we didn't call him to pick us back up.
The next day, I tried to go for a run but failed due to an intense amount of traffic (pedestrian and vehicular). I went with Mari into town to try and find a money exchange and a Lonely Planet book, but we both failed, so we sat and had a drink until she got on her bus back to Uganda. I headed home and said goodbye to Dani and Cami, hopefully we'll all stay in contact on Facebook. Especially because Dani has a friend at Nike who might be interested in me (fingers crossed) and Mari has a lot of film friends. Plus, Mari and I got along really well and we had some interesting discussions concerning religion and philosophy.
I spent some more time wondering around the city the next day. I typed up my blog (here ya go!) and found a company that I can hopefully use to Hike Mt. Kenya. I was going into multiple shops to see where I could find the best prices when I accidentally entered the wrong building and a man stopped me and showed me where to actually go. I thought he was working for the company, but he had actually trailed me and must have been some sort of guide. I only found this out when I was leaving and he asked me if I wanted to see somewhere else. When I said no he agreed, saying that the last place I was wasn't very informative and I probably won't get a better price. Creepy. An odd way to go about it via Western standards, but the people here are generally very friendly and helpful. They love taking to the Mazungu, welcoming me to their country and loving that I'm from "Obama Country!!"
FOOD CORNER
Mabuyu- This is like a dried fruit with a pit in the middle and is coated with a sugar/pepper powder. I seem to be the only one who enjoys this food. It's a bit sweet and chalky w/ a spicy after taste once you've eaten a handful. I tried to offer it to some of the Kenyan women at the hostel, but they laughed at me.
Ostrich Meat Balls- Light grey in color, tastes a bit like pork (not chicken).
Crocodile- Light colored meat and very tender. The texture is a cross between chicken and fish and there are a lot of bones. It was quite salty, but this could have been due to how it was cooked.
Anyway, who hours later, I’m on my two hour flight to Nairobi. On the plane, I met two amazing people, a woman from MN who works for Operation Smile and a gentleman from New Zealand who works with World Vision in Sudan. Their lives are amazing and awe inspiring; they basically travel around the world saving lives; how much more fulfilling could your career/life be? Anyway, I dropped my stuff off after meeting the Manager, Ken, of the Bush House and Camp (my 7 dollar a night hostel on a gated property right outside of the Nairobi city center) and sat down to use the Internet when I met two guys, Vlad from Canada, and Ludwig from Germany. They were on their way to meet a young Kenyan college student to couch surf and I invited myself along, as travelers do.
We took a cab to the Kenyata Conference Center, which is a good place to go to get a view of the city. We had to wait for an hour before Oscar arrived, being that traffic here gets nuts around three. We then got in a Matatu, a local short bus for public transportation that’s basically a party van playing music videos with massive base levels and are decorated with images of hip hop singers and rappers. They also drive like maniacs, swerving between cars, accelerating quickly, and stopping too rapidly and closely to the cars in front of them. I was sitting shotgun, so I had a front row seat for the entertainment, the highlight being our near collision where we literally missed a car by a few inches. Since the jam was so bad, our driver decided to cruise up on the shoulder and then, with one tire on the top of a plank with a deep ditch in between the other tire which was cruising along the curb—like a vehicular tight rope act. We got to Oscar’s apartment in Meatland (I’m assuming that that’s what the area is called because there was a big sign outside with this written on it) and hung out there for a few hours with his cousins. We went around the market buying food and then he cooked a beef stew with ugali (like stiff mashed potatoes but made out of maize flour, like what I helped make in Thailand with the runners) which is all eaten with your hands. We also watched Kenya’s version of “So You Think You Can Dance?” called, “Can U Dance?” where they had a tribal challenge. This was interesting to watch the indigenous dances with their brightly colored, printed attire and expressive contractive movements. After, Oscar's cousin drove me back to the hostel and everyone else went out to a club. They tried to get me to come along, but I was so tired, having been awake for about 38 hours, smelly and greasy. I wasn't in the mood to be a spectacle; the only female Mazungo (whitey) in the room--no, no, no, not tonight.
I passed out until noon the next day and felt magical. I went into town because I was supposed to meet with Vlad and Ludwig to do some sight seeing, but there were cell phone issues, so I went to a grocery store for a while to find a snack. I then sat on a bench with my instant noodles to people watch when I met John, a 25 year old Kenyan. He started talking to me, telling me how his parents had died in a car accident two years ago and he works with flowers while his older brother works at the Hyatt Regency in Dubai and his sister in another hotel in Nairobi. He suggested a few things for me to do in the city and, since I had time to kill, brought me to the Sunday market. There they sell all hand made crafts, carved animals, paintings, jewelry, etc. They heckle a lot and it's more difficult to say no here than anywhere else because they reach you on a more humanitarian level rather than looking at you like an ATM. Luckily, John was there to get everyone to leave me alone. After, he brought me to the Cooperative Bank where there was a terrorist attack in August 2006; no a memorial park stands in is place. I never got ahold of Vlad so I went to a cyber cafe for a while. I had to ask directions from a group of people on how to get to Nakumut Lifestyle, which is a 24 hour shopping center with a grocery story and a cyber cafe, as well as other things. They were trying to figure out how to explain to me how to get there when the older man said he'd take me. Now, in India, whenever someone is "being nice" they want a tip. I'm really not in a financial place for this, so I said that I'd be ok. The woman then says, "Let him take you! He's not going to rob you! He's a born again Christian!" Ok, ok, ah, I'm sorry. He was very sweet but spent the entire walk talking about God and asking me about my relationship with Jesus. Um....I don't know. It's difficult to be honest here, that I'm pretty agnostic and basically find organized religion to be complete nonsense--man has flaws, humans can be selfish, and, I feel, that a lot of these religious texts have been translated to satisfy someone's agenda. Saying this to an preacher was...well...probably not my smartest move because it just inspired a more heated discussion. Luckily, the shopping mart was close by so once we arrived he shook my hand, said "God Bless," and let me on my merry way.
When I got back to the hostel, I met three cool Dutch girls, Cami, Dani, and Mari, who had been working in Uganda. Dani and Cami were leaving the next day and Mari came for a boot call...lol. Anyway, they were on their way out to dinner and invited me along. We went to a nice restaurant called Carnivore, where you paid maybe 20 dollars to get soup, salad, bread, a baked potato, and unlimited meat that they walk around carving off of skewers fresh off the grill. This included sausage, lamb, chicken wings and legs, ribs, beef, ostrich meat balls and crocodile--afterwards, dessert! It was amazing and we were all stuffed. However, the only downfall of the night was our cab ride to the restaurant. They had been using the same taxi driver and though he was reliable. On the way we were in the far right lane on a highway; a bus put on his blinker to merge and the driver, Simon, tried to speed up and pass until one of the girls yelled at him to watch out. The, the same thing happened with a SEMI-TRUCK! We were literally almost crushed because median consisted of a tall curb and a steep hill. All four of us yelled out, which is saying something since we're all used to, and rarely phased by, terrible driving and bad traffic. After, he almost ran over two trafic cones and a strip of nails. Needless to say, we didn't call him to pick us back up.
The next day, I tried to go for a run but failed due to an intense amount of traffic (pedestrian and vehicular). I went with Mari into town to try and find a money exchange and a Lonely Planet book, but we both failed, so we sat and had a drink until she got on her bus back to Uganda. I headed home and said goodbye to Dani and Cami, hopefully we'll all stay in contact on Facebook. Especially because Dani has a friend at Nike who might be interested in me (fingers crossed) and Mari has a lot of film friends. Plus, Mari and I got along really well and we had some interesting discussions concerning religion and philosophy.
I spent some more time wondering around the city the next day. I typed up my blog (here ya go!) and found a company that I can hopefully use to Hike Mt. Kenya. I was going into multiple shops to see where I could find the best prices when I accidentally entered the wrong building and a man stopped me and showed me where to actually go. I thought he was working for the company, but he had actually trailed me and must have been some sort of guide. I only found this out when I was leaving and he asked me if I wanted to see somewhere else. When I said no he agreed, saying that the last place I was wasn't very informative and I probably won't get a better price. Creepy. An odd way to go about it via Western standards, but the people here are generally very friendly and helpful. They love taking to the Mazungu, welcoming me to their country and loving that I'm from "Obama Country!!"
FOOD CORNER
Mabuyu- This is like a dried fruit with a pit in the middle and is coated with a sugar/pepper powder. I seem to be the only one who enjoys this food. It's a bit sweet and chalky w/ a spicy after taste once you've eaten a handful. I tried to offer it to some of the Kenyan women at the hostel, but they laughed at me.
Ostrich Meat Balls- Light grey in color, tastes a bit like pork (not chicken).
Crocodile- Light colored meat and very tender. The texture is a cross between chicken and fish and there are a lot of bones. It was quite salty, but this could have been due to how it was cooked.
Hej-dor, Sweden
I headed back to Uppsala and went with Krister to see the opening of "Terminator Salvation;" it wasn’t that good, I mean, Christain Bail doesn’t even walk around with his shirt off, which is clearly the point of seeing the movie. Then, we met up with his friends and drank for a while before heading to a bar—I was having a good time, but was freezing, so finally called it a night. The next day was gross and rainy, again, so I went to the gym and that was about the extent of my productivity. My flight was at 9 pm on the 5th of June, so I spent the day packing up my things. I left at five and, half way to the strain station, I realized my camera was still in Krister’s apartment. I had already put my key in his mail box, so I had to go to his work and have someone get me his key, go back and find my camera, then drop off his key and jet to the station. I missed the train by a minute and the next wasn’t for a half-hour. However, my debit card randomly wasn’t working, so I had to go to the ATM; the machine in the station wasn’t working so I had to run back to the city center, take out money there, then rush back, making it with eight minutes to spare—this is all with my massive rucksack on my back and my small (yet painfully heavy) daypack on my front, as well as my purse filled with books on my shoulder, Kelly=sweaty mess. However, there were no problems at the airport and I still had plenty of time. Two hours until my final continent/country of this adventure, Kenya!
Stockholm Marathon 2009
The day before the race, I headed into Stockholm via the train to go pick up my registration packet and then I went back to Uppsala. I then headed out of the city to Gamla Uppsala, which is where there are massive grave mounds throughout prairies and trees and just beautiful nature to walk around in, as well as a church/graveyard. I also spent the entire day carbo-loading…my favorite holiday. I use the day before a race as an excuse to eat everything I normally don’t; this included ice cream, a massive falafel wrap, McDonald’s fries, and cookies, among other things. After wandering around Gamla Uppsala for a few hours, I met up with Krister and some of his buddies for a BBQ before heading to bed since I wanted to be well rested for the race I was painfully unprepared for!
The race was on the 30th of May with a starting time of 2 pm. I had plenty of time to get ready. I left Krister’s at about ten so I could be on the 11 am train into Stockholm. I saw a few other runners, but the mentality is really odd; even in countries where little English is spoken, when you see someone else with a bib or racing bag, you acknowledge each other. Here, no one gives a damn; after a number of people cold-shouldered my warm smile, I gave up. Anyway, I made my way to the 1912 Olympic Stadium, consuming two double espresso shots along the way, making sure I was good and hyped up for the race.
They were giving out bananas and energy drinks, as well as water in the starting area. I dropped off my bags, chugged my Red Bull and went to the bathroom three times before it was time to move onto the course. I met a man from PA that now lives in Germany and we chatted for a while; he was the only US citizen I saw (each bib had a flag with the runner’s country on it and the majority were Swedes). The temperature was a steamy 28 degrees Celsius (88 degrees Fahrenheit) at the start, so I was sweating in the shade waiting to begin. The course was a two loop path around Stockholm, starting and ending at the stadium and passing through parks, over a beautiful (yet steep) bridge, past the Royal Palace, Museums, beautiful buildings and along the water. The city is gorgeous and so was the weather, so it wasn’t too difficult to be entertained. Luckily, there was a lot of shade and plenty of sprinklers to run through, so the heat wasn’t too bad. There were also lots of water/sports drink stands (about every 2.5k or 1.8 miles) so I got my fill of re-hydration. They were also giving out candy, power bars, bananas and pickles, of all things. I understand the point is to get sodium back into your body, but the smell was repulsive, so I stayed on the other side of the course trying not to slip on the abandoned gherkins.
I saw Krister and his buddies cheering for me at Kilometer 34; they’d been drinking in the park all day (jealous). I told him that I would be supremely unhappy if I saw him before k35 and, luckily, he listened. He ran with me for a few minutes trying to pump me up because I was definitely starting to feel the burn. At 2 hours and eight minutes I had been lapped by the Kenyan winner (four minutes from the end of my first lap) My finish time was four hours 57 minutes and 53 seconds, which is my third worst time ever, but exactly where I thought I’d be. I literally only had two weeks of training where I never ran more than 9 miles, I was on a treadmill, and each time I incorporated walking breaks, so I was pretty pleased with the finish. I just made a play list of pumped up tunes and pretended like it was a five hour dance party where I was trolling for hotties ☺.
I laid in the grass for a while, then met up with Krister and we went to his friend, Christopher’s, apartment where they cooked spaghetti for dinner and we watched some mindless TV/YouTube before heading off to the bars. I was struggling to walk, but we went to a few places and then took the metro out to Stockholm University where there was some sort of music festival going on. We sat around drinking/chatting/watching until four am and then headed back to the metro. While waiting, this massive group of 13 year olds came in; apparently, there was a party going on which we weren’t invited to. I feel so old saying this, but I cannot BELIEVE what those girls were wearing (or rather, weren’t wearing)!! One girl had shorts on so small you could see her butt cheeks, a t-shirt tied under her non-existent chest, and F-me pumps , strutting up and down the platform sucking on a lollipop…disgusting. We got back to Christopher’s (he was kind enough to let us crash in his living room) when it was light out, of course, and we all passed out until noon.
Krister went back home and I moved to a hostel for a few days (yeah, the one where I had to pay for sheets, so weak). I didn’t do too much since I could hardly move, so I wondered around Gamla Stans eating everything in sight. I was sitting outside of an ice cream shop contemplating if 6:30 was too early to go to bed when I met Bahast and Christine; two 22 year-old Swedes. Both were very nice and very chatty, having done some traveling themselves (generally, the Swedes are pretty cold towards strangers and don’t just strike up a conversation on the street or randomly say hello, like I do). I ended up going w/ Bahast to his place and helping him cook his roommate dinner, then going to see Angels and Demons with him and his friend, Jakob. Now, a lot of the men here are pretty metro and it's difficult to distinguish those with good (or at least, some type) of fashion sense and those who prefer the male anatomy. I'm pretty sure he was gay, his desire for anything pink and fuchsia was more intense than a five year old girl, but then again, I have no idea.
The next day I walked, slowly, for about eight hours. I wanted to rent a bike and wonder around town but it was 30 dollars for the day! That’s insane and painfully out of my budget at this point. I took myself to Djurgarden and to the Vasa Ship Museum. Then, I walked around the park for a while and went to Skanska, which is this recreation of old-time Stockholm. People play the parts of the townspeople; I wondered into a farmhouse and a girl was just knitting in a rocking chair—what a job! I shouldn’t talk, though, because who knows what type of employment I’ll be finding once I come back to the states! After all this, I took a nap and then met up with Bahast for a few drinks and people watching until I decided I was still way too tired and exhausted and went home. The next few days were rainy ; I spent one more night in Stockholm in hopes of better weather in order to take a boat trip around the Archipelago, but no luck, so I headed back to Uppsala so I wouldn’t break the bank anymore. Plus, Stockholm looks a lot like Boston, so it just made me homesick since I looked like home but I had no friends and no funds.
The race was on the 30th of May with a starting time of 2 pm. I had plenty of time to get ready. I left Krister’s at about ten so I could be on the 11 am train into Stockholm. I saw a few other runners, but the mentality is really odd; even in countries where little English is spoken, when you see someone else with a bib or racing bag, you acknowledge each other. Here, no one gives a damn; after a number of people cold-shouldered my warm smile, I gave up. Anyway, I made my way to the 1912 Olympic Stadium, consuming two double espresso shots along the way, making sure I was good and hyped up for the race.
They were giving out bananas and energy drinks, as well as water in the starting area. I dropped off my bags, chugged my Red Bull and went to the bathroom three times before it was time to move onto the course. I met a man from PA that now lives in Germany and we chatted for a while; he was the only US citizen I saw (each bib had a flag with the runner’s country on it and the majority were Swedes). The temperature was a steamy 28 degrees Celsius (88 degrees Fahrenheit) at the start, so I was sweating in the shade waiting to begin. The course was a two loop path around Stockholm, starting and ending at the stadium and passing through parks, over a beautiful (yet steep) bridge, past the Royal Palace, Museums, beautiful buildings and along the water. The city is gorgeous and so was the weather, so it wasn’t too difficult to be entertained. Luckily, there was a lot of shade and plenty of sprinklers to run through, so the heat wasn’t too bad. There were also lots of water/sports drink stands (about every 2.5k or 1.8 miles) so I got my fill of re-hydration. They were also giving out candy, power bars, bananas and pickles, of all things. I understand the point is to get sodium back into your body, but the smell was repulsive, so I stayed on the other side of the course trying not to slip on the abandoned gherkins.
I saw Krister and his buddies cheering for me at Kilometer 34; they’d been drinking in the park all day (jealous). I told him that I would be supremely unhappy if I saw him before k35 and, luckily, he listened. He ran with me for a few minutes trying to pump me up because I was definitely starting to feel the burn. At 2 hours and eight minutes I had been lapped by the Kenyan winner (four minutes from the end of my first lap) My finish time was four hours 57 minutes and 53 seconds, which is my third worst time ever, but exactly where I thought I’d be. I literally only had two weeks of training where I never ran more than 9 miles, I was on a treadmill, and each time I incorporated walking breaks, so I was pretty pleased with the finish. I just made a play list of pumped up tunes and pretended like it was a five hour dance party where I was trolling for hotties ☺.
I laid in the grass for a while, then met up with Krister and we went to his friend, Christopher’s, apartment where they cooked spaghetti for dinner and we watched some mindless TV/YouTube before heading off to the bars. I was struggling to walk, but we went to a few places and then took the metro out to Stockholm University where there was some sort of music festival going on. We sat around drinking/chatting/watching until four am and then headed back to the metro. While waiting, this massive group of 13 year olds came in; apparently, there was a party going on which we weren’t invited to. I feel so old saying this, but I cannot BELIEVE what those girls were wearing (or rather, weren’t wearing)!! One girl had shorts on so small you could see her butt cheeks, a t-shirt tied under her non-existent chest, and F-me pumps , strutting up and down the platform sucking on a lollipop…disgusting. We got back to Christopher’s (he was kind enough to let us crash in his living room) when it was light out, of course, and we all passed out until noon.
Krister went back home and I moved to a hostel for a few days (yeah, the one where I had to pay for sheets, so weak). I didn’t do too much since I could hardly move, so I wondered around Gamla Stans eating everything in sight. I was sitting outside of an ice cream shop contemplating if 6:30 was too early to go to bed when I met Bahast and Christine; two 22 year-old Swedes. Both were very nice and very chatty, having done some traveling themselves (generally, the Swedes are pretty cold towards strangers and don’t just strike up a conversation on the street or randomly say hello, like I do). I ended up going w/ Bahast to his place and helping him cook his roommate dinner, then going to see Angels and Demons with him and his friend, Jakob. Now, a lot of the men here are pretty metro and it's difficult to distinguish those with good (or at least, some type) of fashion sense and those who prefer the male anatomy. I'm pretty sure he was gay, his desire for anything pink and fuchsia was more intense than a five year old girl, but then again, I have no idea.
The next day I walked, slowly, for about eight hours. I wanted to rent a bike and wonder around town but it was 30 dollars for the day! That’s insane and painfully out of my budget at this point. I took myself to Djurgarden and to the Vasa Ship Museum. Then, I walked around the park for a while and went to Skanska, which is this recreation of old-time Stockholm. People play the parts of the townspeople; I wondered into a farmhouse and a girl was just knitting in a rocking chair—what a job! I shouldn’t talk, though, because who knows what type of employment I’ll be finding once I come back to the states! After all this, I took a nap and then met up with Bahast for a few drinks and people watching until I decided I was still way too tired and exhausted and went home. The next few days were rainy ; I spent one more night in Stockholm in hopes of better weather in order to take a boat trip around the Archipelago, but no luck, so I headed back to Uppsala so I wouldn’t break the bank anymore. Plus, Stockholm looks a lot like Boston, so it just made me homesick since I looked like home but I had no friends and no funds.
Random Uppsala
Over the next couple days, I decided to do a little more sight seeing around Uppsala. I had already visited the Botanical and all it’s wondrous cacti, so I spent the next day checking out the shopping streets, getting lost, wondering along the water, looking at statues and buildings and the infamous Domkyrkan—a beautiful Gothic cathedral from the 16th century (photos on the flickr page). I was basically enjoying being able to walk around and not get any attention; no one was looking at me, trying to sell me things, just being plain creepy--I was completely safe and it couldn't have felt better.
The next night, Krister had to work, so he gave me his phone number list if I wanted to call any of his friends to go out. I texted his friend Ben, whom I had met the night before and is from Chicago because A) I desperately wanted to hang out with Native English speakers and B) thought he was cute☺. So I’m a little superficial, don’t judge! We flirted a bit via text for a while and then I met up with him at eight for a drink and his friend Alex came, as well (a SUPER adorable, pocket sized Swedish girl). We also met up with Matt, who is Canadian, and went to Krister’s bar but the line was out of control, so we decided on an impromptu pub crawl—the fun ended at around one.
The next night, Krister and I met up with Ben, Matt and a few of his other friends to watch the Soccer Finals at a bar. Unfortunately the crowd was nuts, so we decided to go to Matt’s phenomenally huge and well-decorated apartment to have our own party. We ate pizza, Krister and Ben shot-gunned a beer (which I haven’t seen done in ages, amateurs), and we all did some tequila shots before heading out to another bar to meet their Irish friend. I threw in the towel early, but Krister stayed out quite late and the next morning I his jeans were soaked in the entryway with his money, phone, and keys strewn about…no clue what happened. Clearly, he had a better night than I did, lol.
The next night, Krister had to work, so he gave me his phone number list if I wanted to call any of his friends to go out. I texted his friend Ben, whom I had met the night before and is from Chicago because A) I desperately wanted to hang out with Native English speakers and B) thought he was cute☺. So I’m a little superficial, don’t judge! We flirted a bit via text for a while and then I met up with him at eight for a drink and his friend Alex came, as well (a SUPER adorable, pocket sized Swedish girl). We also met up with Matt, who is Canadian, and went to Krister’s bar but the line was out of control, so we decided on an impromptu pub crawl—the fun ended at around one.
The next night, Krister and I met up with Ben, Matt and a few of his other friends to watch the Soccer Finals at a bar. Unfortunately the crowd was nuts, so we decided to go to Matt’s phenomenally huge and well-decorated apartment to have our own party. We ate pizza, Krister and Ben shot-gunned a beer (which I haven’t seen done in ages, amateurs), and we all did some tequila shots before heading out to another bar to meet their Irish friend. I threw in the towel early, but Krister stayed out quite late and the next morning I his jeans were soaked in the entryway with his money, phone, and keys strewn about…no clue what happened. Clearly, he had a better night than I did, lol.
Fancy Pants
I spent one day going into Stockholm to get my Kenya visa. This took maybe fifteen minutes. It was the most pleasant, hassle free international logistical experience I’ve had. I’m pretty sure I filled out the card incorrectly, they didn’t even check for my vaccinations or my flights, and my photos were taken a half hour earlier in a photo booth in the metro station and looked like mug shots. Since it took no time at all, I decided to go on the Lonely Planet’s walking tour of central Stockholm Unfortunately, it was raining but I trucked on, regardless. I went down Klarabergsgatan which is a main big name shopping street. There was a food festival going on, which would have been amazing if I didn’t have to, somehow, fit into the bridesmaid dress from my brother's wedding two years ago, the next day. Instead of being ecstatic, I was being tortured by the sights and smells of sausages, fine cheese, piles of fudge and other tents full of goodies and needed to remove myself as quickly as possible. I decided to wonder around in Urban Outfitters, a little reminder of home, when my favorite and only pair of flip flops broke. I’ve been wearing these things for at least four years, so I knew it was coming. I had to buy some ugly black slip-ons that hardly fit because I have monster feet. Anyway, I left there because I couldn’t even afford the sales rack and wondered along Kungstradgarden , which is a park where people lay out and ice skate in the winter. Along the way is Sankt Jakobs Kyrka (St. Jacob’s Church) where I sat and listened to part of an organ concert. There are plenty of old building and statues to awe at along the way, well, in the entire city, actually.
Stockholm is made up of a few islands; I crossed over the Riksbron bridge to the Island of the Holy Spirit which has two massive stone buildings and cobble stone streets that belong to the two parts of Stockholm’s parliament building. Over the Stallbron Bridge is Stadsholmen, which is the “medieval core of Stockholm,” where the city’s oldest buildings and Cathedral Storykyrkan stand near the Royal Palace. Here, you are in the area of Gamla Stans, which contains narrow, windy streets full of shops, art galleries, cafes, and restaurants as well as Den Gyldene Fueller—serving food since 1722! After all of this walking, and not to mention being soaked, it was time to head back to Uppsala and get some beauty rest before tomorrow’s fancy ball!!
Krister’s Nation, Varmlands, has a fancy ball every year called Vorball. Fancy as in, tuxes with tails and floor-length gowns, a four course meal and all night partying☺ I woke up early to go for a run, my last ditch effort in hopes of making the dress fit properly. I went upstairs and go ready with krister’s female friends, Elin and Meriam (who is actually from Minnesota) and a few other girls. They were gracious enough to help with my hair and make up being that I have no beauty products with me and am not the best at dolling myself up. Around four, it was time to face the music and put on the dress—success!!!! I had no trouble fitting into it; the no sugar/bread diet for two weeks really works (but not for long term effects, unfortunately). Then, it was time to get our drink on! We went downstairs to meet everyone for a drink then headed to the Nation for appetizers and a pre-dinner champagne beverage, as well as mingling. After, we sat down for a three-course meal. They sit in ten to twenty person tables arranged boy-girl-boy-girl etc. First course was a cheese/thistle soup…clearly, no one’s favorite. We also received beer, wine and shots of Snapps along the way. The Snapps tasted like “peppermint death” as I liked to call it. The Swedes are really into their singing, everyone has a song book and throughout the evening there are speakers and songs. After each song, you hold your shot and cheers to the left, the right, across drink and back again; each time making sure to make eye contact (the saying goes that if you don’t make eye contact you will be cursed with seven years of bad…um,...relations…yeah… relations); this is quite the easy way to get plastered. Krister kept warning me to pace myself; I was the one that had no problem with this. He, well…it’s Krister and he does what he does, hah.
The Main course was potatoes and smoked salmon and there was dessert, as well, which was accompanied with coffee with Bailey’s, cognac, and some sort of drunk punch. I have no idea how I succeeded in scoring all three, but hooray for me☺
After, it was time for the dance. There’s a room with an orchestra where everyone was Waltzing. I had lost everyone at this point and stood along the wall watching and reminiscing of my good ol’ violinist days. Watching was fine with me because, though we YouTubed directions, I wasn’t sure if I really could Waltz in my slightly inebriated state (or stone-cold sober for that matter). Some guy awkwardly tried to ask me to dance but I blew him off; not really in the mood for creeping strangers. I found Elin and we sat outside for a while, then found the real club. I don’t know where the time went, but suddenly it was after three, so we headed to another bar/club. Krister had gone home at this point; not long after I got the worst case of heartburn I’ve ever had (damn pizza) and had to excuse myself to head back. The entire next day was spent eating cereal, chips, and ice cream while watching Grey’s Anatomy (making up for lost carb/sugar time☺ ) until I wasn’t hung-over anymore. A fantastic introduction to the Swedish culture!
Stockholm is made up of a few islands; I crossed over the Riksbron bridge to the Island of the Holy Spirit which has two massive stone buildings and cobble stone streets that belong to the two parts of Stockholm’s parliament building. Over the Stallbron Bridge is Stadsholmen, which is the “medieval core of Stockholm,” where the city’s oldest buildings and Cathedral Storykyrkan stand near the Royal Palace. Here, you are in the area of Gamla Stans, which contains narrow, windy streets full of shops, art galleries, cafes, and restaurants as well as Den Gyldene Fueller—serving food since 1722! After all of this walking, and not to mention being soaked, it was time to head back to Uppsala and get some beauty rest before tomorrow’s fancy ball!!
Krister’s Nation, Varmlands, has a fancy ball every year called Vorball. Fancy as in, tuxes with tails and floor-length gowns, a four course meal and all night partying☺ I woke up early to go for a run, my last ditch effort in hopes of making the dress fit properly. I went upstairs and go ready with krister’s female friends, Elin and Meriam (who is actually from Minnesota) and a few other girls. They were gracious enough to help with my hair and make up being that I have no beauty products with me and am not the best at dolling myself up. Around four, it was time to face the music and put on the dress—success!!!! I had no trouble fitting into it; the no sugar/bread diet for two weeks really works (but not for long term effects, unfortunately). Then, it was time to get our drink on! We went downstairs to meet everyone for a drink then headed to the Nation for appetizers and a pre-dinner champagne beverage, as well as mingling. After, we sat down for a three-course meal. They sit in ten to twenty person tables arranged boy-girl-boy-girl etc. First course was a cheese/thistle soup…clearly, no one’s favorite. We also received beer, wine and shots of Snapps along the way. The Snapps tasted like “peppermint death” as I liked to call it. The Swedes are really into their singing, everyone has a song book and throughout the evening there are speakers and songs. After each song, you hold your shot and cheers to the left, the right, across drink and back again; each time making sure to make eye contact (the saying goes that if you don’t make eye contact you will be cursed with seven years of bad…um,...relations…yeah… relations); this is quite the easy way to get plastered. Krister kept warning me to pace myself; I was the one that had no problem with this. He, well…it’s Krister and he does what he does, hah.
The Main course was potatoes and smoked salmon and there was dessert, as well, which was accompanied with coffee with Bailey’s, cognac, and some sort of drunk punch. I have no idea how I succeeded in scoring all three, but hooray for me☺
After, it was time for the dance. There’s a room with an orchestra where everyone was Waltzing. I had lost everyone at this point and stood along the wall watching and reminiscing of my good ol’ violinist days. Watching was fine with me because, though we YouTubed directions, I wasn’t sure if I really could Waltz in my slightly inebriated state (or stone-cold sober for that matter). Some guy awkwardly tried to ask me to dance but I blew him off; not really in the mood for creeping strangers. I found Elin and we sat outside for a while, then found the real club. I don’t know where the time went, but suddenly it was after three, so we headed to another bar/club. Krister had gone home at this point; not long after I got the worst case of heartburn I’ve ever had (damn pizza) and had to excuse myself to head back. The entire next day was spent eating cereal, chips, and ice cream while watching Grey’s Anatomy (making up for lost carb/sugar time☺ ) until I wasn’t hung-over anymore. A fantastic introduction to the Swedish culture!
Stockholm Syndrome
Talk about reverse culture shock! I got off the plane in Stockholm and everything was sooooooo quiet. A few people were sitting in leather airport chairs, waiting for their plane inside glass-walled gate areas--that was it. I felt like my breathing was too loud! Not too many people flew from Mumbai to Stockholm, so the luggage coral wasn’t crowded; no one was pushing or yelling or screaming or haggling. Order. ahhhh. I purchased a bus ticket to bring me to Uppsala, which was ON TIME to the minute--no waiting for more passengers to fill the bus, oh sweet, sweet organization. The bus was perfectly clean, no one spoke a word the entire 25-minute bus ride to Uppsala. I realized it was 9:30pm and still light out, and the sunset went on forever! It was bizarre coming here after five months in Asia; looking around, all I could see was a perfectly tarred highway running along bright green pastures and forest area, well preserved buildings, flowers, cut grass, and cobblestone paths (not crumbling stone walkways). Pedestrians actually have the right of way and aren’t vehicular targets. There were no people walking in the middle of the road with their fists shoved up their noses or hawking loogies, no random animals/people relieving themselves chaotically, no trash, no cars honking! The silence was literally deafening—I was so confused!
Krister, a good friend of mine from High school who is working on his Masters at Uppsala University, met me at the bus stop and walked me through the little cobble stone town to his apartment. A narrow river runs through the city center and a significant amount of people walk or rides a bike for transportation (there are actually a ridiculous number of bikes throughout Sweden, the only place I’ve ever seen more was in Tokyo). The first thing I did when we got into his apartment was drink water straight from the tap and then roll around on the ground (not joking or exaggerating; Krister can confirm this) I was so excited and grateful to be in a country that entertains these liberties. It’s difficult to realize how lucky we are to have so many amenities and luxuries at our fingertips when they’re stripped away and your left w/ a dirty squatter and a little bucket of water to “wipe” with. First thing he did was bust out the boxed wine and start cooking while we caught up on each other’s lives since we hadn’t seen one another in about six years. We sat up talking, drinking almost an entire 3-liter (4 bottle) box of wine, and eating until five in the morning. At this point, I had pretty much been awake for 48 hours, so it was time to get some much-needed shuteye.
To be completely honest, my time in Sweden was pretty low-key. The country is painfully expensive; for example, the cheapest hostel I found was 25 dollars a night and I had to pay for SHEETS; I find it astounding that the poorest of countries give you your own bathroom, clean(ish) sheets, a personal room and sometimes a TV, when the better-off countries won’t even provide the necessities…and btw sleeping bags aren’t allowed, what backpacker has the luggage space to carry around sheets????? So, being that I was over eight months into my trip at this point, the funds were just not available to tour around the country. I spent most of my time at Krister’s; he was gracious enough to let me sleep on his couch and cook me food (quite the cook I might add—some of the best meals I’ve had in a while); I usually did the dishes as an attempt at repayment. I was really pretty lazy, which was quite a necessary change from the hectic on-the-go lifestyle I had been living for the past eight months. We watched movies and went out. He is quite the partier, so he brought me around to meet his friends and we went to different Nations to drink and dance. Nations are kind of like frats except everyone joins one of them and they're not as...well... childish . They have bars where you can drink cheaply if you have a student card. The first night we went out, they introduced me to Fish, which is this clear shot that tastes like Jaeger (vomit) however, I played champion and took them as long as they kept coming. We went to another bar after that and ended up back home probably around four am. It’s ALWAYS light out here. I’m used to being up around 6:30, going for a run and enjoying a full day, but here, the sun sets at about 9:30/10 but isn’t dark until midnight (if you even want to call that dark) and the sun rises at 3:30, so it starts to get light again around two, making it easy to go out all night and not realize what you’ve done.
After that night, I decided that I shouldn’t be drinking too much and start getting myself running and training for the race. I kept going out, but generally stayed sober. We also went to his friend’s place to watch Eurovision. Hilarious. It’s kind of like American Idol but the performers are all professional and from each European country; they are all competing for the highest score. Honestly, the costumes were ridiculous and the performers were overly dramatic, but it was highly entertaining. I suggest YouTubing this immediately.
Looking around the streets of Sweden, the people are exactly what you’d expect, Beautiful. Krister told me that I was probably going to be very average compared to everyone else (thanks, jerk); they all look like your stereotypical Barbie beauties; tall, thin, blonde hair, blue eyed and stunning. I wonder how you make people this pretty or if they’re aliens—maybe they’re manufactured? Anyway, I also found a gym to work out at, though I had to pay ten dollars a day (ouch), but it was highly necessary because I was completely out of shape for the upcoming marathon due to the inability to do consistent running in India; I only had two weeks to train for it! Krister was writing a paper for the first two weeks and occasionally going to class, so I spent most of my time wondering around the city. I went into an interesting cemetery, which was more like a Zen garden, and to the nearby botanical garden in the first few days. Mostly, I was enjoying the foreign concept of returning to the same place and not actually living out of a suitcase (he gave me two shelves to unpack my few belongings onto; what a host!). Though I appreciated the change; it made me homesick, desiring a career, my own bed, all my friends, the bartender that knows how to make me a Kettle/soda just the way I like it…what’s the word? Oh, Stability.
Krister, a good friend of mine from High school who is working on his Masters at Uppsala University, met me at the bus stop and walked me through the little cobble stone town to his apartment. A narrow river runs through the city center and a significant amount of people walk or rides a bike for transportation (there are actually a ridiculous number of bikes throughout Sweden, the only place I’ve ever seen more was in Tokyo). The first thing I did when we got into his apartment was drink water straight from the tap and then roll around on the ground (not joking or exaggerating; Krister can confirm this) I was so excited and grateful to be in a country that entertains these liberties. It’s difficult to realize how lucky we are to have so many amenities and luxuries at our fingertips when they’re stripped away and your left w/ a dirty squatter and a little bucket of water to “wipe” with. First thing he did was bust out the boxed wine and start cooking while we caught up on each other’s lives since we hadn’t seen one another in about six years. We sat up talking, drinking almost an entire 3-liter (4 bottle) box of wine, and eating until five in the morning. At this point, I had pretty much been awake for 48 hours, so it was time to get some much-needed shuteye.
To be completely honest, my time in Sweden was pretty low-key. The country is painfully expensive; for example, the cheapest hostel I found was 25 dollars a night and I had to pay for SHEETS; I find it astounding that the poorest of countries give you your own bathroom, clean(ish) sheets, a personal room and sometimes a TV, when the better-off countries won’t even provide the necessities…and btw sleeping bags aren’t allowed, what backpacker has the luggage space to carry around sheets????? So, being that I was over eight months into my trip at this point, the funds were just not available to tour around the country. I spent most of my time at Krister’s; he was gracious enough to let me sleep on his couch and cook me food (quite the cook I might add—some of the best meals I’ve had in a while); I usually did the dishes as an attempt at repayment. I was really pretty lazy, which was quite a necessary change from the hectic on-the-go lifestyle I had been living for the past eight months. We watched movies and went out. He is quite the partier, so he brought me around to meet his friends and we went to different Nations to drink and dance. Nations are kind of like frats except everyone joins one of them and they're not as...well... childish . They have bars where you can drink cheaply if you have a student card. The first night we went out, they introduced me to Fish, which is this clear shot that tastes like Jaeger (vomit) however, I played champion and took them as long as they kept coming. We went to another bar after that and ended up back home probably around four am. It’s ALWAYS light out here. I’m used to being up around 6:30, going for a run and enjoying a full day, but here, the sun sets at about 9:30/10 but isn’t dark until midnight (if you even want to call that dark) and the sun rises at 3:30, so it starts to get light again around two, making it easy to go out all night and not realize what you’ve done.
After that night, I decided that I shouldn’t be drinking too much and start getting myself running and training for the race. I kept going out, but generally stayed sober. We also went to his friend’s place to watch Eurovision. Hilarious. It’s kind of like American Idol but the performers are all professional and from each European country; they are all competing for the highest score. Honestly, the costumes were ridiculous and the performers were overly dramatic, but it was highly entertaining. I suggest YouTubing this immediately.
Looking around the streets of Sweden, the people are exactly what you’d expect, Beautiful. Krister told me that I was probably going to be very average compared to everyone else (thanks, jerk); they all look like your stereotypical Barbie beauties; tall, thin, blonde hair, blue eyed and stunning. I wonder how you make people this pretty or if they’re aliens—maybe they’re manufactured? Anyway, I also found a gym to work out at, though I had to pay ten dollars a day (ouch), but it was highly necessary because I was completely out of shape for the upcoming marathon due to the inability to do consistent running in India; I only had two weeks to train for it! Krister was writing a paper for the first two weeks and occasionally going to class, so I spent most of my time wondering around the city. I went into an interesting cemetery, which was more like a Zen garden, and to the nearby botanical garden in the first few days. Mostly, I was enjoying the foreign concept of returning to the same place and not actually living out of a suitcase (he gave me two shelves to unpack my few belongings onto; what a host!). Though I appreciated the change; it made me homesick, desiring a career, my own bed, all my friends, the bartender that knows how to make me a Kettle/soda just the way I like it…what’s the word? Oh, Stability.
Procrastination Station
It's clearly been forever since I've posted. Don't worry, I'm alive. I was in Sweden for a few weeks and I just landed in Kenya a few days ago. I have a lot of blogs typed up on my computer, I just need some wireless and you have plenty of 9-5 procrastination:) Coming soon to a website near you!
Monday, May 18, 2009
Adieu, Asia, Adieu
The last week in Asia was pretty uneventful, at least, in relation to the last few months. After my delectable shower, I decided to go eat anything that tickled my fancy, sandwiches, pastries, mashed potatoes, candy bars, cheetos, even Mountain Dew (what??? When do I consume these things?). I pretty much did this for three days, while updating my blog and watching movies in my room, Kathmandu’s hustle and bustle drove me up the wall; I just wasn’t in the mood to be heckled, stared at, whatever, so I basically just hit from everyone. I got a message from my Canadian friends, Jo and Bret, that they were hanging out in Pokhara and they told me to hop on a bus to join them. I had been wrestling with the idea of seeing a little more of India, but after realizing that I didn’t even have the patience for Nepal, I would have no hope in India. I booked a bus to leave at 7sm and then went out for dinner. I found a Mexican restaurant called Jesse James that had nachos, one of my key cravings while hiking—sold. As soon as they were placed in front of me I knew it was a bad idea but I dove in anyway. So much cheese and refried beans, my stomach immediately was killing me. I went back to watch a movie and lie down. At about one am I was done for. I hardly slept because I had to keep rushing to the bathroom to, ahem, relieve myself. 6:30 am rolled around and I was in no shape to get on a bumpy, windy seven-hour bus ride. I decided I had to stay in a horizontal position for longer. Luckily, later that day, they said I could just pay two dollars and change the ticket to the next morning—horray! I avoided anything could agitate my temperamental stomach for the rest of the day and made the morning bus, no problem.
Ii got to the guesthouse Jo said they were at at two in the afternoon; the man at reception said they had ched out and left—what? I knew that Bret had to go, but why did Jo leave??? He gave me a room and I immediately raced to the internet café to see if she had left a message, only to find her in a book store across the street. Thank God; apparently, the guy that told me they left was being rude, so she moved across the street. I went back to get my belongings and the man said it was too late because I had already checked in. I stopped and said no, you KNEW my friend went across the street—you lied to me and you know you did; sorry, I’m not staying and I’m not paying. How dare he lie to me and expect my business; sorry, sweetheart, I’ve been scammed way too many times in the past eight months, you’re not getting me, this time.
Pokhara is so much more relaxed than Kathmandu; it’s what Nepal is really like. yes, there are some stares and a bit of heckling but, in general, we were free to wonder and be left alone. We spent a lot of time talking/reading/eating and movie watching. Our sleep schedules are so off from trekking that we’re tired at eight or nine at night. I got up to go for a run twice (whoo!); the first time in a month!! The Stockholm race is going to be a challenge to say the least. We also rented bikes and peddled around the lake until the road was too bumpy ad we had to turn back. We went through little villages and saw kids biking to school, men fishing, people going about their daily lives. The best part was, they didn’t care about us one bit; we could go about our business (and observe a bit) while they went about with theirs. The view is supposed to be amazing because there are mountains surrounding the town, however, they could rarely be seen in the distance because of what looked like clouds but turned out to be smoke coming form forest fires. The country doesn’t have the money to put them out (and many people don’t even know this is occurring) so they’re just waiting for the monsoon season to put them out---what??? That’s exactly what we need to be happening to the world’s oxygen and timber supply, let it burn—unbelievable.
On our last day in Pokhara, we were wondering around purchasing gifts when we stopped to look at what a Tibetan woman was selling. She was sitting on the ground with a blanket spread out in front of her with the same bracelets/rings/earrings that everyone else has. Suddenly, she started shooing us and yelling, “move!” A water buffalo was taking a stroll down the sidewalk and heading our way. We stepped into an alley and the beast walked right in front of the woman, not trampling any of us, however, with each step, left a plop of poo which missed us completely but splattered all over the woman and her jewelry. EWWWWW. We felt awful; she was light hearted about it, though.
We got on the bus back to Kathmandu at nine am. We had one last meal at our favorite little eatery (where we had seven consecutive meals mostly consisting of momos—steamed dumplings filled with vegetables or meat-or the trekker’s breakfast-coffee, juice, fruit/muesli/curd, and a hard boiled egg) and then took a cab to the bus stop. The ride took FOREVER and was so hot, but at least it had a TV and played Bollywood music videos the whole way. We arrived in Kathmandu at five at night, even though it’s supposed to be a six-hour ride. They dropped us off in Thamel, the main part of the city. I went to get off of the bus, where there are taxi cab and rickshaw drivers crowding the exit yelling at me to use their ride when I slipped on the top step and slid all the way to the ground, slamming my bum and head on every stair. I landed, feet sprawled straight out ion the dusty ground and all the drivers rushed to my side. I was so shocked, I just sat there laughing—yeah, I’m fine, my egos just a bit bruised. Jo took care of getting us a cab, 100 rupees (about a dollar and fifty cents) to get us to her old hotel. We were dropped off, but a room wouldn’t be ready for a few hours so we got some coffee and dinner (more momos). On our way out, we saw our cabbie got stuck in a pothole while backing up and we had to push from the hood, along with another guy, in order to get him out. So random. Her room was way nicer than mine; it had a big queen sized bed, a fan, and a TV with cable. We soaked up a bunch of that whenever there was electricity (It’s frequently out about eight hours of the day)
The next morning we got up and walked to the Monkey Temple. Basically, you climb a bunch of stairs that have monkeys hanging out on them to yet another massive stupor where Buddhist go to pray. It has become painfully commercialized, however, the area is covered with stalls selling souvenirs—at least they don’t harass as much as in India. We wondered around taking photos for a bit and then headed back. I purchased my bus ticket to the boarder for the next day because I was worried about how long it would take me to get into India because the boarders had been closed due to riots. Fortunately for my safety (but not the entertainment level of this story) that was only during the recent election and they had opened a day or two before I left—phew. Had I not gone to Pokhara, though, I may have been in trouble.
I went to the bus stand at 6:30am and a man helped me get my ticket and find the bus—then charged me. I HATE when I fall for that; why isn’t there such a thing as common courtesy here? Everyone, everything, every action has its price. The bus took ten hours to get to the border. Then, I got in a packed jeep, which was a three-hour ride to the Gorekshep train station. Somehow 12 people fit in something that would normally hold six…unbelievable. I grabbed my bag and rushed to catch the train leaving for Mumbai in 25 minutes—Sold out. What? Apparently, there was only general class left, which meant I would be sitting in a hard chair for 36 hours. hahahahah no. The next train was at 5 am and I had to go to another ticket counter to get the ticket. When I got there, however, the counter was closed. At this point I’m standing amidst tons of sleeping Indians looking in circles trying to figure out what in the world to do. Some stranger asked me what I needed and I told him the story when he then let me in on a little train secret that you just buy the general class ticket and exchange it on the train--that would have been good to know a few months ago. I went back to the original counter and purchased a five-dollar ticket and THEN he tells me to go to the sleeper car and exchange it there with the ticket agent—why didn’t you tell me this in the first place!! I rushed to the train after first going to the wrong platform where another guy had to run me back just in time. I decided to splurge for an air-conditioned train and got a bed, no problem. I am sweating profusely at this point; I caught a glimpse of my reflection and, well, it wasn’t the most attractive I’ve ever looked to put it lightly. The AC train cost $25 in total; it may have been one of the best decisions I have ever mad. I received sheets, a pillow and a fleece blanket and laid on my berth reading and sleeping for 36 hours (I finished Three Cups of Tea, started and finished Tuesdays with Morrie, and got halfway through Kite Runner.). It was amazing, also, because no one bothered me because the AC trains usually have mainly well off families with small children, I’ll deal with the occasional crying if I don’t have creepy men leering at me constantly.
After I arrived in Mumbai, I had to take an hour taxi ride back to the Salvation Army. It was WAY hotter and muggier than last time. I dropped my bags and jumped in the first shower in over 50 hours of traveling--yay soap, who cares if the shower is cold? It felt perfect. I spent most of the next two days in cafes and on the Internet. I found somewhere with free wi-fi and air conditioning so that’s what I did between last minute errands.
I met a group of girls from the UK who invited me out with them to Leopold’s café my last night so I figured why not? We drank way too much beer and sang our hearts out along wit the blaring American music. We headed back to the Salvation Army at 12:30 to make our curfew and I left in a cab or the Airport. My flight was leaving at 5 am and a cab would take an hour, so off I went. I was drunk going through security, but no one seemed to notice or care. I couldn’t really sleep, so I just sat around eating Kit Kats and French fries from KFC until it was time to board. I couldn’t sleep on the six hour plane ride to Doha, Qatar, either, so I watched movies on my personal TV screen. I then had to sit in the Doha airport for EIGHT hours without the proper currency to purchase food or water, ugh. I used the free Internet until my computer died and then lay down on the ground and tried to get some shut eye. Very little luck. This airport is very pristine, everything is white and glass; there is some intense air conditioning pumping, as well. There are even quiet rooms to sit in and men’s and women’s prayer rooms. My flight to Stockholm I finally got some shut eye, thank God! I arrived to my friend, Krister’s, place in Uppsala after a thirty-minute bus ride and over 20 hours of traveling. Ahhh, what a breath of fresh air, literally ☺
Ii got to the guesthouse Jo said they were at at two in the afternoon; the man at reception said they had ched out and left—what? I knew that Bret had to go, but why did Jo leave??? He gave me a room and I immediately raced to the internet café to see if she had left a message, only to find her in a book store across the street. Thank God; apparently, the guy that told me they left was being rude, so she moved across the street. I went back to get my belongings and the man said it was too late because I had already checked in. I stopped and said no, you KNEW my friend went across the street—you lied to me and you know you did; sorry, I’m not staying and I’m not paying. How dare he lie to me and expect my business; sorry, sweetheart, I’ve been scammed way too many times in the past eight months, you’re not getting me, this time.
Pokhara is so much more relaxed than Kathmandu; it’s what Nepal is really like. yes, there are some stares and a bit of heckling but, in general, we were free to wonder and be left alone. We spent a lot of time talking/reading/eating and movie watching. Our sleep schedules are so off from trekking that we’re tired at eight or nine at night. I got up to go for a run twice (whoo!); the first time in a month!! The Stockholm race is going to be a challenge to say the least. We also rented bikes and peddled around the lake until the road was too bumpy ad we had to turn back. We went through little villages and saw kids biking to school, men fishing, people going about their daily lives. The best part was, they didn’t care about us one bit; we could go about our business (and observe a bit) while they went about with theirs. The view is supposed to be amazing because there are mountains surrounding the town, however, they could rarely be seen in the distance because of what looked like clouds but turned out to be smoke coming form forest fires. The country doesn’t have the money to put them out (and many people don’t even know this is occurring) so they’re just waiting for the monsoon season to put them out---what??? That’s exactly what we need to be happening to the world’s oxygen and timber supply, let it burn—unbelievable.
On our last day in Pokhara, we were wondering around purchasing gifts when we stopped to look at what a Tibetan woman was selling. She was sitting on the ground with a blanket spread out in front of her with the same bracelets/rings/earrings that everyone else has. Suddenly, she started shooing us and yelling, “move!” A water buffalo was taking a stroll down the sidewalk and heading our way. We stepped into an alley and the beast walked right in front of the woman, not trampling any of us, however, with each step, left a plop of poo which missed us completely but splattered all over the woman and her jewelry. EWWWWW. We felt awful; she was light hearted about it, though.
We got on the bus back to Kathmandu at nine am. We had one last meal at our favorite little eatery (where we had seven consecutive meals mostly consisting of momos—steamed dumplings filled with vegetables or meat-or the trekker’s breakfast-coffee, juice, fruit/muesli/curd, and a hard boiled egg) and then took a cab to the bus stop. The ride took FOREVER and was so hot, but at least it had a TV and played Bollywood music videos the whole way. We arrived in Kathmandu at five at night, even though it’s supposed to be a six-hour ride. They dropped us off in Thamel, the main part of the city. I went to get off of the bus, where there are taxi cab and rickshaw drivers crowding the exit yelling at me to use their ride when I slipped on the top step and slid all the way to the ground, slamming my bum and head on every stair. I landed, feet sprawled straight out ion the dusty ground and all the drivers rushed to my side. I was so shocked, I just sat there laughing—yeah, I’m fine, my egos just a bit bruised. Jo took care of getting us a cab, 100 rupees (about a dollar and fifty cents) to get us to her old hotel. We were dropped off, but a room wouldn’t be ready for a few hours so we got some coffee and dinner (more momos). On our way out, we saw our cabbie got stuck in a pothole while backing up and we had to push from the hood, along with another guy, in order to get him out. So random. Her room was way nicer than mine; it had a big queen sized bed, a fan, and a TV with cable. We soaked up a bunch of that whenever there was electricity (It’s frequently out about eight hours of the day)
The next morning we got up and walked to the Monkey Temple. Basically, you climb a bunch of stairs that have monkeys hanging out on them to yet another massive stupor where Buddhist go to pray. It has become painfully commercialized, however, the area is covered with stalls selling souvenirs—at least they don’t harass as much as in India. We wondered around taking photos for a bit and then headed back. I purchased my bus ticket to the boarder for the next day because I was worried about how long it would take me to get into India because the boarders had been closed due to riots. Fortunately for my safety (but not the entertainment level of this story) that was only during the recent election and they had opened a day or two before I left—phew. Had I not gone to Pokhara, though, I may have been in trouble.
I went to the bus stand at 6:30am and a man helped me get my ticket and find the bus—then charged me. I HATE when I fall for that; why isn’t there such a thing as common courtesy here? Everyone, everything, every action has its price. The bus took ten hours to get to the border. Then, I got in a packed jeep, which was a three-hour ride to the Gorekshep train station. Somehow 12 people fit in something that would normally hold six…unbelievable. I grabbed my bag and rushed to catch the train leaving for Mumbai in 25 minutes—Sold out. What? Apparently, there was only general class left, which meant I would be sitting in a hard chair for 36 hours. hahahahah no. The next train was at 5 am and I had to go to another ticket counter to get the ticket. When I got there, however, the counter was closed. At this point I’m standing amidst tons of sleeping Indians looking in circles trying to figure out what in the world to do. Some stranger asked me what I needed and I told him the story when he then let me in on a little train secret that you just buy the general class ticket and exchange it on the train--that would have been good to know a few months ago. I went back to the original counter and purchased a five-dollar ticket and THEN he tells me to go to the sleeper car and exchange it there with the ticket agent—why didn’t you tell me this in the first place!! I rushed to the train after first going to the wrong platform where another guy had to run me back just in time. I decided to splurge for an air-conditioned train and got a bed, no problem. I am sweating profusely at this point; I caught a glimpse of my reflection and, well, it wasn’t the most attractive I’ve ever looked to put it lightly. The AC train cost $25 in total; it may have been one of the best decisions I have ever mad. I received sheets, a pillow and a fleece blanket and laid on my berth reading and sleeping for 36 hours (I finished Three Cups of Tea, started and finished Tuesdays with Morrie, and got halfway through Kite Runner.). It was amazing, also, because no one bothered me because the AC trains usually have mainly well off families with small children, I’ll deal with the occasional crying if I don’t have creepy men leering at me constantly.
After I arrived in Mumbai, I had to take an hour taxi ride back to the Salvation Army. It was WAY hotter and muggier than last time. I dropped my bags and jumped in the first shower in over 50 hours of traveling--yay soap, who cares if the shower is cold? It felt perfect. I spent most of the next two days in cafes and on the Internet. I found somewhere with free wi-fi and air conditioning so that’s what I did between last minute errands.
I met a group of girls from the UK who invited me out with them to Leopold’s café my last night so I figured why not? We drank way too much beer and sang our hearts out along wit the blaring American music. We headed back to the Salvation Army at 12:30 to make our curfew and I left in a cab or the Airport. My flight was leaving at 5 am and a cab would take an hour, so off I went. I was drunk going through security, but no one seemed to notice or care. I couldn’t really sleep, so I just sat around eating Kit Kats and French fries from KFC until it was time to board. I couldn’t sleep on the six hour plane ride to Doha, Qatar, either, so I watched movies on my personal TV screen. I then had to sit in the Doha airport for EIGHT hours without the proper currency to purchase food or water, ugh. I used the free Internet until my computer died and then lay down on the ground and tried to get some shut eye. Very little luck. This airport is very pristine, everything is white and glass; there is some intense air conditioning pumping, as well. There are even quiet rooms to sit in and men’s and women’s prayer rooms. My flight to Stockholm I finally got some shut eye, thank God! I arrived to my friend, Krister’s, place in Uppsala after a thirty-minute bus ride and over 20 hours of traveling. Ahhh, what a breath of fresh air, literally ☺
Friday, May 1, 2009
Safaricom Marathon Money Begging
For those of you who don’t know (or don’t remember) a part of my trip was to run a marathon on every continent to
A) keep in shape
B) Do something effectively imbedding myself into each culture and
C) raise awareness for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society.
I have already run three full marathons (26.2 miles, 42.195km) on this trip in Ecuador, New Zealand and Thailand…Sweden is less than a month away. But those aren’t this post’s point.
My final marathon of the trip (and on the 6th continent) is the Safaricom Marathon on June 27th which will be run in Lewa, Kenya through the Masai Mara—the Serengeti on the Kenyan side. The proceeds go to the wildlife conservation; who doesn’t like to help animals? I know I do, and I bet you do, too, because you know me and would love to support me.
I’m not looking for anything as substantial as I was for the San Diego Rock ‘n Roll marathon for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society (I raised over $4,200, if you recall, thank you for all of your support!). I already had to donate $250 dollars of my small, sad backpacker budget in order to hold my place. Not to mention, it costs a small fortune for accommodation on the safari (because I don’t have $200 to burn each night, I’m going to hopefully find myself a tent so I can stay in the self-catered camp for about 100 dollars in total, instead…or maybe I’ll just lay my sleeping bag out under a picnic table).
Here’s what I’m asking; help! Yep, monetary help. I know everyone’s finances are low because of the shhhheconomiccrisisssshhhhh, but I don’t need much. $5-10 from a couple people will go a long way. So, please, click the little donate button to the side and help me out☺ Plus, I’m sure there will be some good pictures of lions and other animals chasing me down because I will most likely be the last person finishing—white girl’s got nothin’ on those professional runners.
You can find out more about the marathon, as well as the organization it supports at
http://www.tusk.org/safaricom-marathon-2009.asp.
Thank you for your support!
A) keep in shape
B) Do something effectively imbedding myself into each culture and
C) raise awareness for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society.
I have already run three full marathons (26.2 miles, 42.195km) on this trip in Ecuador, New Zealand and Thailand…Sweden is less than a month away. But those aren’t this post’s point.
My final marathon of the trip (and on the 6th continent) is the Safaricom Marathon on June 27th which will be run in Lewa, Kenya through the Masai Mara—the Serengeti on the Kenyan side. The proceeds go to the wildlife conservation; who doesn’t like to help animals? I know I do, and I bet you do, too, because you know me and would love to support me.
I’m not looking for anything as substantial as I was for the San Diego Rock ‘n Roll marathon for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society (I raised over $4,200, if you recall, thank you for all of your support!). I already had to donate $250 dollars of my small, sad backpacker budget in order to hold my place. Not to mention, it costs a small fortune for accommodation on the safari (because I don’t have $200 to burn each night, I’m going to hopefully find myself a tent so I can stay in the self-catered camp for about 100 dollars in total, instead…or maybe I’ll just lay my sleeping bag out under a picnic table).
Here’s what I’m asking; help! Yep, monetary help. I know everyone’s finances are low because of the shhhheconomiccrisisssshhhhh, but I don’t need much. $5-10 from a couple people will go a long way. So, please, click the little donate button to the side and help me out☺ Plus, I’m sure there will be some good pictures of lions and other animals chasing me down because I will most likely be the last person finishing—white girl’s got nothin’ on those professional runners.
You can find out more about the marathon, as well as the organization it supports at
http://www.tusk.org/safaricom-marathon-2009.asp.
Thank you for your support!
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