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:) )
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