An amazing April!

It's almost the end of April ... did I blink? It seems to have flown by, with barely a chance to catch up with myself and share all the lovely things I have been doing. It's been a month of last chances to enjoy everything East Africa has to offer: visitors from near and far; a fabulous safari in the Masai Mara; a return to a favourite spot on the Kenyan coast; a great birthday night out and a school trip to Zanzibar!

If my feet ever have the chance to touch the ground, then I'll share a few stories. For now, here are a few photos from the trip to Kenya ...

My first sighting of a cheetah in the wild

Although I loved viewing the abundance of wildlife, I was reminded that safari in Uganda is very special and tranquil. So many cars crowding around a pride of lions ...

Alpha male!

Gorgeous elephants!

I love Watamu, rain or shine!

Driftwood 

Shopping for a last pair of beaded flip-flops

We go, We go, We go ...

Whilst it may be a bit of a challenge to find a bag of sugar in the Kampala shops at the moment, there is certainly no shortage of vuvuzuelas. I was rudely awakened by one outside my house this morning and people have been honking on them non-stop ever since. Uganda is playing Kenya today at Namboole and spirits are certainly high. Every boda in town is adorned with the Ugandan flag and I've seen a gazillion Cranes shirts on the backs of Ugandans and Mzungus alike.

Try as I might, I can't muster up much enthusiasm for the old game of two halves. I also wonder if I am the only person in the world who has no interest in the Rugby World Cup right now. I had a pleasant afternoon reading my book and going for a swim instead!

It was nil-nil at half time if you're interested, but have just heard an almighty cheer, so perhaps Uganda has scored. Blar, blar, blar ...

Lamu

Lamu.
Estimated Time of Arrival: 2.00pm
Actual Time of Arrival: 7.00pm
I can’t bring myself to say anything more than very bumpy road, a long route through many tiny villages and many farmers on a bus.
************************************************************************
The information that most of Lamu was dry and that we would have to take a boat to the nearest licensed premises did not go down well. However, after a night’s sleep, we all felt a lot more positive towards Lamu. (We later discovered that alcohol is very available – it just costs a tad more)
************************************************************************

If I am still single when I am 60, I will move to Lamu, take over the donkey sanctuary and hook up with a beach boy. It feels good to have a life plan in place.
************************************************************************
Lamu town is wonderfully run-down and ramshackle. Every so often, you have to move aside to allow a trotting donkey pass by. From the rooftop bar of one of the only licensed hotels, you get a great view of the old Swahili houses, the dhows sailing on the channel and people passing by. As it was low season, locals still managed to outnumber Muzungus. There’s no motorised transport on the island, so if you want to get around you can either hop on a boat or a donkey. I decided to spare the donkeys the trauma, so either walked or used the boats.
Shela village is a refurbished and regentrified version of Lamu Town. Many people have summer beach houses there and have restored them to their former glory. The buildings are pristine and many new buildings, in a sympathetic style, are cropping up. The beach is wild, windy and desolate, backed up with sand dunes and goes on for an impressive 12km or so. The tide also seems to come in at a rapid pace, as I learnt to my cost as I managed to lose my camera to the sea.
Happy days were spent, often revolving around stopping for lunch and dinner. We became regulars at Whisper’s Coffee Shop, sampling all of the delicious cakes and enjoying the shady courtyard. I caught up with some old friends I worked with in Colombia, exchanged stories as we chatted with a glass of wine … or 8 we think it may have been at last count.
Lamu is definitely worth a visit … but make sure you fly!

It's not the destination, it's the journey ... yeah, whatever!

I no longer subscribe to the student myth that a journey is only worthwhile if it is a long and painful endurance test. I much prefer a flight and a comfortable bed. However, my budget does not always stretch to the idealised Condé Nast style of travel I dream of having one day, so every now and again, I have to suck it up and take the local transport. Of course it will always provide you with anecdotes, but are the stories worth the back-ache?
In Colonial times, the British sent thousands and thousands of Indian workers to East Africa to build a railway all the way from Kampala to Mombasa. These days, passengers can only travel from Nairobi to Mombasa, although the line to Kampala is still used for freight. The idea of travelling through Kenya on a train in a special compartment was appealing and is definitely worth a try – but just the once! We arrived at the train station in Nairobi to find it looked pretty much the same as any British railway station – well perhaps 50 years ago! Tickets checked, we boarded the train and slowly chugged out of the station. A porter came by and unwrapped a special kit bag with our blankets, sheets and pillows and made our beds. We were contented, thinking we had definitely found the ideal way of travelling through Africa – all the beauty and none of the discomfort! A few hours into the journey, the dinner bell rang and we headed for the buffet cart. As Second Class passengers we discovered that we were not entitled to a fresh table cloth. (Second class on grounds that the compartments hold 4 people instead of 2 and we were a group of 3, rather than second class on grounds of being tight-fisted). I later berated a friend who was travelling First Class for making such a mess whilst eating, but she complained that they were forced to rush their dinners in order to make room for the people in the second sitting. As the soup arrived, the train ground to a halt. My friend commented that it was very considerate of them to stop the train so we could enjoy our dinner without fear of slopping soup or stew down our clothes …Two minutes later came the announcement that a cargo train had derailed further down the track and that we would have to wait until somebody arrived from Nairobi to clear it before we could continue and that we should expect a delay of around 4 hours. 6 hours later, at 3am, we set off again. We weren’t worried though – we were comfortable in our beds and slept soundly during the wait.
In the morning we awoke to a fabulous sunrise overlooking Tsavo National Park (we think – if not, then something similar). We gazed out of the windows, looking out for any wildlife and we were in luck. We saw several goats and a herd of cows. The journey was still enjoyable and comfortable. After breakfast, we headed back to our carriage and relaxed some more. Then we started to notice the smell of diesel was getting a little stronger. We dutifully ignored it until we stopped again. We were right to be concerned – the underneath of our carriage was on fire! I get the feeling that these incidents are pretty run of the mill. The staff found that the brakes were jammed, removed the offending dust or whatever it was, squirted the fire extinguisher until the flames were doused and off we went again.
After something like 22 hours, we arrived in Mombasa. I have to say the approach was not the most scenic or fragrant, as we passed by the most enormous rubbish dump I have ever seen. But we knew we were heading for Watamu – and that’s another story!

Welcome to the future ... welcome to Nairobi

Nairobi gets a bad press. Its reputation for crime has earned it the nickname 'Nai-robbery' and neighbourly rivallry means Ugandans don't speak particularly highly of it (and vice versa we discovered - I became quite defensive of my adopted country!). If you read the Lonely Planet, then it advises you to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.
We spent a couple of nights there before boarding the train to Mombasa and I have to say I was more than pleasantly surprised. As you leave the airport, a shiny modern car takes you along a smooth 3 lane dual-carriage way into the city. Nairobi is a pillar of organisation compared to Kampala. I am ashamed to say that after living in Kampala for 2 years, I have never used a matatu. Not a single journey. On Day One in Nairobi, I was hopping on and off the buses like a local, taking advantage of the neatly painted signs on the sides of the buses and standing in the designated spot in the signed and official bus stop. Much easier than trying to decipher rapid fire Luganda!
The supermarket Nakumatt offered a dizzying range of products which left us Kampalarites awe-struck - ready-made hummus, aubergine dip, Dorset muesli, freshly baked granary bread topped with sunflower seeds, Philadelphia, cheddar cheese with a real bite to it, a whole range of lip balms and many more. I'm even considering taking a mini-break to Nairobi just to stock up on goodies!
Nairobi has all mod-cons. I bathed under an electric shower, a real one, not the Bolivian type that gives you an electric shock if youput your hand too close to the control unit. There are washing machines and vacuum cleaners and all sorts of gadgets - crikey if I lived in Nairobi I may not have enough excuses to have a maid!
Central Nairobi seems calm and collected. Even in the rush hour, the drivers keep their cool, patiently waiting to get through the throngs of traffic. I certainly didn't miss the honking of the horns. People dress smartly and walk briskly with a purpose. The city centre has wide roads and none of the litter thant plagues Kampala. It is pleasant to see and shows a pride in where they live.
Then there is the 'Little England' of Karen, the suburb named after Karen Blixen, author of 'Out of Africa'. This is true Muzungu Land, with a couple of buses passing through now and again to transport the hoards of askaris, maids, cooks, gardeners and other staff of the privileged few. The tree lined avenues hide the mansions that lie behind and signs point towards horse riding schools, private country clubs and exclusive restaurants. Oh to live in Karen ... I am starting to feel hard done by!