A great opening to the safari! The Tsavo East landscape is stunning and we saw a bit of everything—check off four of the Big 5! (Well, maybe 3.5, the leopard was hard to see…)

We certainly picked an interesting time to visit Egypt and an even better time to leave. The scenes flooding out of Cairo are interesting to us in part because the focal point of the protests are taking place very close to where we stayed, but mostly because one of our lasting memories of Cairo was how safe we felt and how friendly everybody was.

The TVs at the Cairo airport were showing scenes from the streets of Tunis while we were waiting for our flight to Kenya, an eerie foreshadowing of events to come. The uprising there made me think about our tour guide Michael. Michael was very smart, gentle, and soft-spoken, but his demeanor changed when the topic of the government was brought up. He firmly believed that the last election was fraudulent. His frustration was palpable: the government was more concerned about spreading Islam and staying in power than it was about building the country. We asked once about all of the children who were selling trinkets at the tourist stops.

“Is school compulsory?”

“Yes it is, but…the government, they don’t care. They don’t do anything about it.”

I hope Egypt comes out of the turmoil healthier, stronger, and with the government they deserve. I hope that Cairo is able to recover and continue to be the dynamic, safe, friendly city that we experienced. And I hope Michael and all of the friends we made there are safe.

On a different note…I’m writing this post on the patio of our room in the middle of Tsavo East national park. Less than 100m away is a watering hole with elephants drinking and having a much-deserved afternoon bath to escape the heat. This safari business is pretty sweet.

Once the dust had settled and we were safely in our hotel room in Mombasa, Michelle made a pretty good guess about where the trouble had started: “You know, I think if you don’t want to be treated like a tourist you probably shouldn’t ask if you’re in Mombasa when the bus makes its final stop in Mombasa.”

Point taken.

Our ride started well enough, in very Kenya-fashion: a tour bus rumbled up to us as we waited on the side of the road, the conductor jumped out and told us it would be 200 shillings each to get to Mombasa (about $5 total for a 100km ride). We boarded, but only saw one open seat. No problem, apparently—the conductor grabbed a spare cushion and put it on the steps from the cab to the passenger door. “You sit here.” I happily obliged (although there’s something to be said for not being able to see the road and traffic ahead—thankfully (?) the speedometer was broken, so I could only guess what our top speed was).

A little less than two hours later, we arrived at our final stop. It looked city-ish and everybody was getting off, but we wanted to make sure, and uttered the fateful line.

“Are we in Mombasa?”

This set off a flurry of activity. One man was adamant that he could help us find our hotel, another one kept trying to carry our bags. We were funneled to a tuk-tuk (a little 3-wheel motorbike with a cab build around it; it’s a great mode of transport for a busy city). Thankfully our bags made it too.

The adamant man joined us in the back seat; two other guys tried to climb into the front. The driver kicked out one of the guys in the front and we took off. Note that at this point neither the driver nor adamant-man had any clue where we were supposed to be going. When we told them, adamant-man (who was growing increasingly frantic) told us, “That is very far!” (It wasn’t, ultimately.) “That will cost double!”

“Fine, just take us to the hotel.”

[Incoherent, agitated]

“Just take us to the hotel.”

[Jumps out. Comes back. Agitated.]

“Take us to the hotel.”

“You get out! See! Leave her! I need to show you!”

“No. The hotel. Now.”

“But we can’t go, it’s expensive!”

[Both sweating. I’m gripping all of our bags because I have no idea what’s going on, but it’s pretty clear he’s trying to scam us.]

“Can’t go where? Take us to the hotel.”

“Ok! I show you.”

Inexplicably we go for a lap around the parking lot of a church. A security guard eyes us warily. We exit the parking lot. Stop. More incoherent babbling about money and parking lots and hotels.

“Take us to the hotel. Now.”

At which point, I think we finally broke him. The hotel was no more than 100m further down the narrow road where we did our lap around the parking lot. Agitated-guy got out with us and helped us unload the bags, then asked for all sorts of ridiculous amounts of money.

We didn’t oblige.

All of which kind of set the stage for Mombasa. It was definitely a change of pace from out comfy hut at the Ecocamp (with its own rooftop deck!) and the friends we made there. We’ve felt less at ease and less welcome here. The street vendors are more aggressive and less friendly. We were approached by one  particularly persistent vendor at a beach near the city who effectively told us that the only way to get the vendors to stop hassling us was to buy something from him.

“Then I’ll tell them you’re our friend and they’ll leave you alone.”

We paid up. It felt like extortion. We didn’t stick around long enough to see if we were truly not going to be bothered by anyone else (it didn’t look promising).

On the bright side, out hotel is very comfortable and has air conditioning, which has been a godsend as we were definitely in need of a clean room at a temperature that our bodies recognize. They do have an irritating habit of cycling through the same John Denver and Kenny Rogers songs all day (people from the west like Country/Western?), but a comfortable 20C has a way of taking the edge off.

Next up: a safari! A 4-day, 3-night trek through Tsavo East/West and Amboseli national parks. Big 5 here we come!

Most people come to Kenya to see the Big 5: Lions, Buffalos, Elephants, Leopards and Rhinos, but during our trip down the east coast of Kenya, it has been the small things that have amazed us the most.

No big game at Mida Creek, but we were equally delighted (and camera ready) to find our own little five: baboon, frog fish, fiddler crab, bee eater and Gary gecko, our nightly dinner entertainment.

Mida Creek Eco Camp was also one of those small things. As previously posted, it is a small camp, established and run by the local Giriama tribe. Proceeds from the camp support two teachers at the local school. I would hazard a guess that the energy and enthusiasm of the community towards their small home grown venture would be hard to replicate in a big NGO initiative. After arriving in big, hectic Mombasa on Wednesday, we have come to appreciate the small places we have seen even more.  [A teaser for our next Mombasa post: what happens when you put 2 fresh-off-the bus Mazungus (that’s us) in a tiny tuk-tuk stuffed with a driver, one ride –along and a really ineffective would-be scam artist?]

It seems like every place we have gone so far, we have met a few people, whose stories resonated with us. At Mida Creek, it was Mateso and Eriki, two Giriama employees at the camp. Mateso was our smiley waiter, tour guide, fireside story teller and all-round-buddy at the camp.  We swapped many stories with Mateso, the most applicable to us being Giriama wedding customs:

Mateso – First, if you like the girl, you meet with the her family and decide on the dowry

Us – Oh wow, how much would a dowry be?

Mateso – Something like some goats, coconut wine and some money.  [At this point I’m eyeing Ryan wondering if that sounds a little more appealing than having to cough up an engagement ring.]  Once the dowry is settled, you decide on  night and secretly go to the girls house and steal her – she is ready with her things. The next morning the family finds that she is gone…

Us –And then you’re married?

Mateso – And then you’re married. 

[Side note:  being in the middle of wedding planning this sounds like a nice, romantic alternative…minus the goats.]

Anyway, after trading many stories you forget how different your lives really are. We started talking about the drought that has affected Kenya this year, and Mateso told us that growing up, he always remembers a few months of the year where you would go without food. You would have to occupy yourself with other things or else the hunger will make you crazy.  

Eriki was the second employee we had a chance to chat with. He was only able to start Standard 9, without paying, because of his good grades (school is free in Kenya from Standard 1 to 8, after that school fees and uniforms are the students responsibility). He became sick and had to leave school for 3 weeks. When he returned, he failed a test due to his absence and because of the failing grade was asked to either pay his fees or leave the school – no second chances. We asked how much it was – 20,000 Kenyan shillings a semester…I was thinking that was $2,000 Cdn but after a bit more thought (rusty math of the unemployed), realized it was $200 Cdn, the cost of one fancy meal at home. To me, the most unfair part of this story is that Ryan and I, on a whim, could pay for him to finish school. A decision left to people he doesn’t know and has no control over.

Despite the sad stories, the Eco Camp is very promising for this community. We were speaking to Mateso the day we left, and they are planning to  expand the camp by building a volunteer hut and a small medical clinic, so that mothers won’t have to walk 5 km to the overcrowded clinic in Gede. All of these small things have made a big difference at Mida Creek…we can’t wait to see what this little place does next!

For more information about Mida Creek Ecocamp: http://www.midaecocamp.com/

This post is a race against time: we may have Internet access wherever or whenever we want, but the computer is low on batteries and there is no way to recharge at the Eco-camp. The race is on!

We’re on our way to Mombasa tomorrow morning. No need to book buses here apparently—we’ll just head to the main road with our packs and flag down the first bus we see that’s headed the right way. The Eco-camp has been a pleasant place to stay. All proceeds go directly to the community and help pay the salaries of teachers for the school. The staff are all young people from the local village—all incredibly friendly and helpful. You can get lulled into feeling a sense of sameness until you hear their stories of hunger and lost opportunity, and it breaks your heart to realize that what you’re paying for your upcoming four-day safari could send someone back to school and maybe onto a brighter future. But that’s a post for another day.

Yesterday we headed to the nearby town of Malindi, then down to the beaches of Watamu, which are often voted among the very best in the world. It’s not hard to see why, with bright white sand that stretches on for miles and miles and crunches under your feet like fine powder snow. We decided to head out snorkeling again since our trip in Lamu was only so-so. We were definitely not disappointed—water as clear as glass and hundreds of amazingly colourful fish in every direction. I’ll add a couple of pictures from the underwater camera…Cousteau I’m not, but I think they get the idea across. (Ed. note: I mostly used the camera for video, so I’m telling myself those will be a lot better.)

The Eco-camp sits on the edge of a shallow bay surrounded by mangrove trees. We went for a walk in the mangroves with a helpful guide who identified the various birds, trees, and fish-type-things that we encountered.

I say fish-type-things because the coolest creature we came across was a mudskipper or “frogfish,” a confused little fella who can’t quite decide if he likes the water or not.
But battery issues dictate that I wrap this up! Mombasa tomorrow and our first safari starts this weekend. Many stories still to tell!

Our trip out of Lamu was a combination of tedious and eventful; a hot, crowded bus driving along a bumpy road for most of the trip. Bumpy enough that we managed to blow a tire and got to take a 45-minute break on the side of the road.

The blown tire was swapped for a threadbare replacement, but thankfully that only needed to carry us a few miles down the road where we got something a little sturdier.

I can’t say enough about how nice our stay at Jambo House was. The German owner, Arnold, doubles as your tour manager, helping you to organize boat trips, dinners, or anything else you can think of. Breakfast was served on the rooftop patio every morning, starting with a serving of fresh fruit and the most amazing juice you’ll ever taste. You then get your choice of an egg dish, of which there were a number of options, but we could never resist the delicious French toast.
One of the most important tasks we undertook in Lamu was that of wiener-wielder for the local cats. (Go ahead and re-read that sentence, you most likely got it right the first time.) Most of the cats are gaunt, but we took particular interest in one little grey-and-white kitten who lived near Jambo House. We bought sausage from a nearby bakery and fed the kitten whenever we walked past.

Now I have to relay part of the story that may offend some, so be forewarned. Keep in mind that I’m simply repeating facts.

“What’s his name?”

“Pussy.”

(Blushing.) “Oh! And that kitten over there, what’s her name?”

“They share the same name. Pussy.”

In this picture you can also see part of Michelle’s henna painting—yet another service that Arnold was able to arrange for us.

We took a couple of trips to Shela beach—miles and miles of virtually untouched sand that you have almost to yourself. We played with my supercool underwater camera, a Christmas gift from Sara and Sam. So cool!

(Holy crap! I just noticed the fish swimming past Michelle’s face in this picture!)

We did eventually track down Elizabeth-the-tailor, who made Michelle a cute wraparound dress (under construction in this picture) and me a couple of shirts. I ordered one more “traditional”-looking white shirt that I haven’t actually seen any person here wearing, so it’ll either be really awesome, or make me look like I’m trying way too hard.
So Lamu was great, and we were sad to leave as we boarded the bus Mida Creek, an ecological reserve on the coast near a bird estuary. A mix-up with our room led to somewhat dampened spirits, but we were eventually assigned a hut and then sat down to a tasty dinner of grouper and coconut rice.

We had a couple of visitors during dinner. First up: this guy. Overcome by the excitement of the lamp on our table, a praying mantis crashed into our lamp and came to rest near Michelle’s plate.

As my brain was working to process this (I had no available slots for “dinner/praying mantis”), another guest:

“HOLY ____ ____, IT’S A ______ LIZARD.”

Yes, a friendly lizard had worked its way into the crack in the table and popped its head up next to my dinner plate. He stayed for a while and we were hoping to see him go after the praying mantis, but he soon got spooked and disappeared.

Today we’re going to explore the camp and the estuary. It’s very serene here (minus the braying donkey who screamed us awake this morning). I’m writing this post from a covered restaurant/bar area above the main office of the camp, and it suddenly started raining.

The camp has limited resources, but I’m nonetheless able to post because Kenya, despite its status as a developing nation, has a much richer array of wireless services available. I’m using a Safaricom USB modem ($30) and a top-up card that gives me 1GB of bandwidth ($10) anywhere that has cell coverage (which is just about everywhere we’ve been so far).

We’re reaching the end of our stay in Lamu. This is really a charming little pocket of the world where ancient culture mixes with modern technology; stands selling cell phones sit side-by-side with cages of live chickens.  Open drainage gutters run past Internet cafes.

The people are for the most part wonderfully charming and helpful. “This is Lamu,” said one man who led us through the maze of streets one night in search of a tailor (named Elizabeth…it took me a few minutes to put that one together), “we help each other.” We ended up at her house—she wasn’t home, but we got a detailed description of how to find her shop the next day. On another occasion what started as a seemingly simple trip to the post office resulted in a sort of help-doubling situation where every step of the process collected another group of locals who chipped in with wrapping, taping, weighing, unwrapping, verifying the contents, filling out paperwork, wrapping again, taping again, weighing again, and finally sending.

One young man was particularly helpful. There always seems to be a helpful young man everywhere you go who will not only translate and send you in the right direction, but will take you from place to place until you have what you’re looking for. He mentioned that he sells imported wine, so we figured we’d show our appreciation by purchasing a bottle. On the way to his house, Michelle asked if he had any children.

“Yes, a son. He’s four-and-a-half. But he’s in the hospital; his kidneys. Doctors say it’s very bad.”

“We’re sorry.”

“Hakuna matada. That is life.”

When he brought us the wine, he also handed us a letter from the doctor with a donation sheet stapled to the back. Acute renal failure; a transplant is possible, but the cost is $5000. We gave what we had—a pittance given the amount he needs to raise. A sad story that highlights a sad truth—even in this relatively prosperous, tourist-friendly town, raising $5000 for anything is a daunting proposition.

Which makes it difficult to argue against a new deep-sea port that is being planned for a town a few miles up the coast from Lamu. The port is largely funded by Chinese investors and will provide a direct link between Kenya and the rich oil resources of Somalia.

It will be an environmental nightmare. We went snorkeling yesterday in the channel that the ships will use as they come and go. A lot of the coral has already been ravaged by increased boat traffic, and the rest will have to be dredged to make room for the huge tankers and container ships. An entire small island will apparently be eliminated.

More people will descend on Lamu; workers from “Nai-robbery,” sailors from the ships docked at the port. The charms of the town—its conservative Muslim traditions, the innocent friendliness of the residents, donkey-dominated commerce and trade—could be at risk.

Our dhow captain for the snorkeling trip was more optimistic, hoping that a new town will grow at the port that will provide enough of a distraction to protect the spirit of Lamu that has hardly changed in two millennia. Maybe he’s right, maybe not. But it will bring jobs and money and a host of new of opportunities; and it might just mean that one more four-year-old will be able to walk out of the hospital on his own.

It’s hard to open a post with the phrase, “Despite the open drainage system and lack of hot water…” but I’ll try.

Despite the open drainage system and lack of hot water, Lamu is a really nice place to spend a week. Lamu is an island off the coast of Kenya; we’re staying in Lamu Town, a hard-to-explain kind of place that is probably best understood through a series of anecdotes.

The town is old and mostly unchanged in the last hundred years or more. There is no sewage system. Gutters along the narrow streets drain to the ocean.  Thankfully the town lies on a gentle hillside that mostly points down to the water. I’m guessing you get used to the scent after a while…it’s never overwhelming, but omnipresent for the first-time visitor. Despite my prepared-for worst-case-scenario, I haven’t seen any of “that” making its way to the beach.

The “streets” are really, really narrow. Not really “streets” by any definition that I’d adhere to. In many places you can easily place your palms on the walls of the buildings on either side. Keep in mind that the drainage gutters often take up their share of the walkway, even in the narrowest alleys.

The narrow streets make motor travel nearly impossible, so there are no cars of any kind anywhere. (Almost no motor vehicles whatsoever, but you do see the odd scooter or small motorbike.) Donkeys are the main non-foot-based mode of travel, and they’re everywhere. Everybody has a donkey. I already kind of want a donkey.

Donkeys provide transportation for people and goods; the term “beast of burden” is much more meaningful after you see a donkey with a massive load of concrete blocks lumber past.

When the donkeys aren’t in use, their owners leave them to roam the streets freely. We asked a local how this works: “Everybody knows your donkey. We know where they go. When it’s time to get your donkey, you just go where they go.” Free-roaming donkeys also sometimes lead to a donkey stampede, which we experienced on our first nighttime walk up main street. We heard galloping, but I couldn’t identify the source. I did notice Michelle dive to the side of the road in front of me (narrowly avoiding the gutter). At the last possible moment, I saw a donkey braying and chasing another down the street—a few meters away at most. I braced for impact, but luckily threw myself against the wall as the rampaging donkeys galloped past.

Outside of the donkey attack, our time here has been quite lovely. We finally arrived Saturday evening after 36 hours of flying and layovers, which led to a certain level of stir-craziness in the waiting area of Wilson airport.

We took a long walk yesterday to a swimming beach. Instead of walking along the water (a 45-minute trek), we took our innkeeper’s advice and followed an inland route that took us through a couple of small villages. We left the hotel at noon, almost exactly. So we were a little hot.

On our walk we bumped into a local who told us that his mother had died and her funeral was taking place that day. He asked if we had anything we could spare because the family was very poor. I handed over 200 shillings (about $2.50) and he thanked us and pointed us in the direction of Shela beach. About 20 minutes later, we heard a shout from behind us and the same man was running at full speed down the path.

“The ladies from the village came to the funeral and said they saw two white people walking along the path to a dangerous village. I say, ‘I know them! They are my friends! I must make sure they are ok!’ So I come to find you! Nobody will harm you if I am with you.”

He still had his spoons in his hand from the meal he’d been eating. I don’t actually think we were in danger—the path we were taking took us over some sand dunes that led to a beautiful beach. But there is a town further along the beach that has a well-earned bad reputation and he was worried that we were headed that way. It was a touching moment.

Last night we joined two other guests from Jambo House (our Spartan-but-comfortable lodging) for a boat ride to a nearby island to watch the sun set. The captain and his mate prepared a fabulous dinner of fresh fruit, vegetable stew, and freshly-caught snapper that we ate aboard the ship as night fell.

Today we had a more relaxing day exploring the town. I’m sitting on the rooftop balcony of Jambo House listening to the evening calls to prayer echoing through the walls and rooftops around me, looking for a good way to wrap this post so we can head to dinner. This seems as good a time as any. Until next time!

Your first impression on entering Cairo in any type of vehicle (taxi, bus, bicycle, donkey cart) is, “How does anyone survive to adulthood??”  There are no discernible traffic laws, thousands of cars weaving around each other, and flocks of pedestrians wading through the quagmire for good measure.  Lane markers may as well not exist, as drivers will happily squeeze between a slower car and oncoming traffic…even on a narrow, two-lane road.

After a few days, though, you realize that you’re witnessing an elaborate dance with its own special rhythm that everybody is attuned to.  The chaos requires heightened awareness by everybody and constant communication between drivers, riders, and pedestrians.  Drivers speak a special language using their car horns, a constant chatter that lets everybody know where they are and what they’re doing.  In our time wandering the twisting streets of this grand city, we didn’t witness a single mishap or accident or even a single act of road rage.  Sure, the drivers would yell at each other if one broke the unspoken (and seemingly incomprehensible) code of conduct, but any such explosion was greeted with a wave and a nod and maybe even chuckle.  Never hard feelings.

As we wait in the airport seven hours early for the start of the next leg of our adventure, I got to thinking that the chaotic ballet performed in the streets of Egypt’s cities and towns is a fitting allegory for the country as a whole, at least the tiny bit that we were able to experience in our limited time here.  This is a country of devastating poverty and run-down infrastructure, but one that also boasts some of the most magnificent works of art and engineering that humankind has ever produced.  The people are passionate and excitable and may baqsheesh you into distraction, but will always greet you with a warm smile and a genuine, “Welcome!”  They are very much, Egyptian.  And they gave us a fabulous week.  Thanks, Egypt!

Our next stop is Lamu, but that’s two more flights and one more border away, so it still seems unimaginably distant.  Our last two days were spent mainly in Luxor (we flew back into Cairo early this morning).  The highlight of Luxor was our trip to the Valley of the Kings—a jagged, dry valley in the mountains to the west of the city.  The pharaohs of the New Kingdom realized that decorating their tombs with huge pyramids was a good way to draw unwanted attention and, ultimately, grave robbers, leading to plundered treasure.  The Valley of the Kings hid their tombs from plain sight in a valley below an appropriately pyramid-shaped mountain…although that didn’t ultimately work either.  The only tomb that’s been found with anything left inside (besides the mummies themselves) was that of King Tutankhamen—an otherwise forgettable king, famous only because the entrance to his tomb was hidden by rubble from the building of another (Ramses VII) and its contents were still present when Howard Carter stumbled into it in 1922.  Seeing the amazing array of items that were found in King Tut’s tomb on display in the Egyptian Museum leads you to imagine what a truly great king’s tomb might have looked like.

You can reach a level of “temple fatigue” on a trip like this, but at the same time every visit brings the history to life that much more.  Standing in these temples on the same stones as the builders, artists, architects, priests, pharaohs, and everyday citizens is an awe-inspiring experience.  We’re on a bus ride to Luxor from the second of two temples that we saw today: Kom Ombo and Edfu, one of the best-preserved temples in all of Egypt.  Both were actually built by the Greeks to appease the people and, more importantly, the priests, during Greece’s rein over Egypt.

The temples all share a similar design: an elaborate entrance into a common plaza area where the commoners would bring their offerings to the gods of the temple, and a sanctuary where the priests would make the actual offering to the god.  The offerings were laid at the feet of a statue representing the god.  Of course, the statue couldn’t actually do anything with the gifts, so many of the priests became very wealthy and some were even anointed pharaohs.

The temples are huge and intricately decorated with thousands of carvings in the pillars, walls, and ceilings.  The carvings tell stories or depict offerings to the gods.

In some cases, the original colours are still visible.

We spent yesterday sailing down the Nile on a felucca.  It was a nice, relaxing respite from the constant motion of the last week.  We were sailing into a headwind, so we didn’t travel too far and had to keep tacking back and forth across the river, trying to avoid a seemingly endless flotilla of river cruise ships on each crossing.

Sailing isn’t allowed in the dark, so we docked when night fell and had dinner aboard our motorized support boat.  With nothing to do and nowhere to go after dinner, we had good conversation and  lot of laughs with the rest of the tour group (6 Canadians, 4 Australians, 3 Americans, and one Russian (although he’s a Canadian citizen), and our Egyptian tour guide, Michael).

When it came time for bed, we retired to our feluccas and unrolled our sleeping bags for a night on the Nile.

For the rest of today and tomorrow we’re in Luxor, with a donkey ride and a visit to the Valley of the Kings tomorrow morning.  We’ve been warned that the sellers at the bazaar in Luxor are the most aggressive yet, which is hard to even fathom given the completely unabashed For-You-Special-Price! You-Can-Just-Look! Is-A-Gift-You-Can-Do-Money?? we’ve been subjected to so far.  Thankfully Michelle has mastered enough Arabic to get us out of most jams: “La shukran! Mafiche faloos!”  (No thank you!  I have no money!)