The Big Drip

Once again, we revisit that seemingly never ending saga of the bathroom drama. Spanning about as long as many soap operas, this leak has been causing a problem for over two years, fifteen plumbers, six housing association inspectors, and irate neighbors. When it had started to leak through our hallway wall, I really anticipated that the problem would be found in the smaller bathroom, not the tub. 

Again, it was an issue with the neighbors downstairs, so Ron took over. We had the home owners association's plumber come yet again, but he would not do a thing unless we cut a hole in the glass block wall. It seems there is a little door in the middle of the tub in an inverted space. When we covered it with glass blocks, we were told it was a foot hold so women could bend over the tub by bracing their feet there and avoid sliding. Ron went to a bath store around the corner and they had workmen who would come out.

They removed a small portion of the glass and then removed a portion of the side of the tub, making it still usable, but delightfully unattractive. There are rotted pipes, which were originally cushioned with foam rubber that has deteriorated. What is left of the foam gets soaked with leaking water. Their solution was to take the tub out completely and replace it with a stall shower. This will give us room to move the washing machine under the window, thereby giving more room by the bidet. They mapped out a floor plan and it all seemed reasonable.

We went to their showroom, which is not around the corner, but in the 4th district, quite a distance away on the blue metro. They showed us the shower floor, had us choose doors, and they will replace the end wall with the glass blocks. We had to pick out floor tiles and wall tiles for inside the shower. We ordered enough floor tiles for the entire floor, but I am not sure if I want all of the walls in the same tiles I picked out for the shower. What really gets my goat is that no tile store seems to have an extensive selection. When I remodeled the bathrooms in CA, when I went to tile stores, I was overwhelmed with selections. Here, I feel like I am being held hostage at the choices and it is not just this one store. I have been to others, but I am spoiled by US variety. Then it came time to calculate costs of materials and labor... ONE MILLION, THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND, rounded off. That is without tiling the entire bathroom.

Anna comes to the rescue. Anna was a Hungarian Fulbright exchange teacher to the US. She exchanged places with Jennifer N. who we have become good friends with. As a result, we have seemed to absorb Anna into our lives. She is an angel and gracefully comes to our rescue at will. We had to call her a couple of times from the store, because my student translator was at work. She was so gracious, but later told us it was way too much and the tile guy who did our kitchen and hallway could do the work for much less. Then it became a hassle trying to schedule the arrival of the materials on March 8th with the workmen to do the plumbing, and then Sandor to do the tile, all the while not losing too many days of not being able to shower and getting it all done between guests coming and going. We are still working on this one, but Anna is convinced Sandor can do it all and honestly, we love his work, so that is find with us.

Humor for the Day

Volunteering and Living in Kenya

I just came across this article through the "Linked In" network. This article received a tie for 3rd place for a writing contest for Ex-Pats. Regardless, it was a great article that I wish I had read before going.

Volunteering and Living in Kenya

Catch the Tooth Fairy In th Act

Normally, I think twice about promoting commercial comments to my posts, but this one struck my funny bone. I checked out the demo picture, because, well quite honestly, I hate my picture being taken and anyone who has tried taking one of me sleeping now needs more than a tooth fairy. 

Anyway, the idea is kind of fun, but I did notice the tooth fairy only comes in one flavor, so if you are a child of color, you have to have that white fairy woman hanging over your head. Where is it written that the tooth fairy has to be a female?  Sexism and racism introduced to children early on, no wonder it takes so long to undo it all.

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Seeing is Believing.

Replay

Janos, my private student had given me a few gifts for Christmas, a couple of them were books. One he chose stating he thought he remembered that I had said I liked fantasy literature. I cannot imagine saying that, since the last fantasy I have read was the first novel of the The Lord of the Rings, but never continued with the trilogy. That was decades ago. One of the books he gave me was called Replay by Ken Grimwood. I put off reading it until we returned from vacation, because I like leaving books behind when we travel. It is a way of sharing and it lightens the load at the same time. This being a gift, it could never be left behind or given away.

I just finished the book tonight. It was such an impressive piece of writing, there was this urgent need to know more about the author. This video review of the book was perfect.

Don't Leave Me a Voice Mail

Today's humor is courtesy of Doghouse. The fact is, this is exactly what my mobile carrier makes me go through, but I think it is to help me waste my free minutes. I fooled them; I no longer check voice mail messages. Uh, perhaps because I don't have anyone to leave me a message to begin with. Yea and if you have not yet had laser eye surgery, you can click on the cartoon to enlarge it for reading.

Unitarians

While in Kenya, I found out that there was an English study group of Unitarians starting here in Budapest. They were to start in January and are only meeting on the last day of each month. I put it on my calendar with full intentions of going. What I had not considered at the time was the recent snowfall, the slushy icy streets, the miserable temperatures and how many blocks I would need to walk between modes of public transportation. 

So much for spiritual needs; I will worry about it next month.

Secondary Teaching Gig

Back in October or maybe even earlier in the last year, my department head asked me to teach an adult education course with her. The topic was professional writing. We would split the course; she would do x number of classes and I would do the remaining two. I really had no burning desire to do this until she shared the salary they were offering, and then suddenly, I had cravings to be involved.

The classes are offered through a company who is accredited to provide adult education. To this day, I am still not certain who in Hungary has this accreditation authority or for that matter, what it means. One thing I have surmised is that accreditation means that the company can charge big bucks or big forints for their offerings.

Classes started at the tale end of last year, but with me being away, my contribution was only this last Saturday and again today. Initially, we were going to do 4 hour classes; however, they enrolled eighty students, so broke the group into 2 groups of forty each. Doing a 4 hour class is exhausting and I have not done one for years, so being well out of practice, I was more than thankful for the restructuring. In the past, I have done 2-3 day, full 8 hour seminars, but gosh, I was ten years younger back then too. 

Last week, I went during the week to check out the set-up. I am more comfortable when I know the lay of the land ahead of time. Shock upon shock, this organization has it down to a science. The room was large enough to accommodate one hundred new-looking, well padded chairs with attached desk modules that move into place. There is a huge whiteboard on wheels with dozens of marking pens in various colors, a computer with a flat screen sits on the desk, but is plugged into a projector attached to the ceiling projecting clearly onto the wall for all to see, and there are three bottles of water with a glass-glass for the instructor along with some Hungarian nibbles. This is enviable professionalism here that should be replicated in the university settings.  

When I arrived for my class last Saturday, the company monitor had suggested I should not be too disappointed if the turn-out is low, because people have been dropping out over the course of time. Many were sent by their companies and resented having to be there on a Saturday morning. We were both a bit surprised when forty appeared for the first session, but neither of us were dismayed when only twenty appeared for the second session. Starting a class at 12:30 on a Saturday really cuts into the day.

Yesterday, my second part of the gig looked like it was going to be a disaster. It had started snowing early in the morning and was continuing to snow heavily all day. Twenty-five people were there, some as far away as from Debrecen, a three hour train ride to Budapest. The afternoon was not as successful; only ten showed. With an infected tooth and a cheek twice its normal size, I had offered to repeat the second class at a later date when more could make it, assuming the weather was keeping them away. The ten there wanted to continue on, so we did.

Upon completion of the course, each participant receives a framed diploma with the name of the course, the instructor's names, and the dates of their participation. As well, they also receive something similar in a laminated form. This was quite impressive. They seem to do online evaluations, so I was told at the end of the session that I am at the top of the favorites. This is good news, because now that I have this course all written, I would not mind doing a repeat performance.

Alvin the Chipmunk Meets the Tooth Fairy

Something has been creeping up on me, slowly but whammo! For the first six nights after we returned from our trip to East Africa, I had chills at night. Well, the temps were below freezing, so that is no biggie, but then strangely between 3am and 6am, I had the night sweats. How do I narrow it down to those hours? I have a habit of looking at the clock when I get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night to see if it is worth returning to bed or if I should get something on my TO DO list checked off.

At 3am, everything is cozy when I crawl back into bed, but by my 6am walkabout, the sheets had been soaked. There is nothing more uncomfortable than getting into a cold, wet bed.

The day before yesterday, the sweats stopped, but the toothache started. With the exception of smoking for the past 43 years, I was the model dental patient. I brushed twice daily minimum, flossed after every meal, snack, or munchie, and had my teeth cleaned every three months. Did it help? Hell no! I have a raging infection in one of the eye teeth on the bottom. My cheek started swelling yesterday. I took aspirin for the pain, but switched to Motrin since aspirin causes stomach bleeding. The Motrin did absolutely nothing, so it was back to a potential stomach bleed, which was better than the pain. What really helped was rinsing with medicated mouthwash, but swishing around a good whiskey did not hurt at all either.

This morning, I woke up looking like Alvin the chipmunk. If I could sing in a high pitched voice, I could have cut a record. The right side of my face was so swollen, I had to turn sideways to get through doors. I called Randy Simor at Medi-Tours Hungary to get me fixed up with a dentist. We have had a long time dentist we refer to as Robert Redford, because he is young and good looking, but he is a real pain to reach in emergencies. Randy made an appointment for 3pm today.

Of course, I don't like the news. The tooth has to go. It has not played well with others and is causing problems so that the other teeth may learn the bad habits and join in the nasty games. The problem is, I have a four hour professional seminar I am giving tomorrow. I refused to go to a professional seminar to present missing a tooth in the front. No matter how hard I tried, the lower lip does need to lower for some sounds and vavoom, the lower teeth are exposed. I put it off until Tuesday, though the dentist was not happy. He did give me antibiotics for over the weekend.

There is something devastatingly depressing about losing your teeth as an adult. When you are a child, you hope the Tooth Fairy comes to see you. As an adult, it is an automatic statement about your self care, regardless of giving it all you had. It is also a sign of things to come, the debilitating ailments that may or may not follow. With any luck the Tooth Fairy will come with a great replacement tooth. Then I will not be so sad.

Paris or Nice Rentals

ladauphine has left a new comment on your post "Paris Rentals":

"Our good friend has several apartments to rent in Paris: www.historicrentals.com and we still have our place in Nice to rent as well. http://ladauphine.com/nice/niceapmt.html

Ray and Kim in New Orleans

Arpad Writes in About Malev

Farkas Árpád has left a new comment on your post "Image via Wikipedia Almost a year ago, on January ...":

"I visited the link and saw that the Northern-American flights are “terminated”, but I don’t think that they stopped their flights to the US. Although this “Altiusdirectoy.com” website is really comprehensive in terms of information listed, it does not seem to be completely reliable. According to Malév’s official website (www.malev.hu), they do have flights to New York City and Chicago. I failed to find Canada, so that appears to be terminated."

Paris Rentals

Reader Ray and partner Kim from New Orleans just sold their apartment in Paris. However, he turned me on to this website for apartment rentals. Just click here.

If you don't know square meters, but do know square feet, you can click here for a automatic conversion engine.

Image via Wikipedia

Almost a year ago, on January 30, 2009, I posted an article regarding Malev Airlines having been taken over by Aeroflot.

Now, today, I received a comment on that posting. Better late than never? Does the speed of the comment say something about their attention to detail? When I went to the website and looked at the destinations that Malev is flying to, what is really telling is that they stopped their flights to both the US and Canada. The rest of the list is of interest also.

Malev Airlines has left a new comment on your post "Russian Bank, Aeroflot to take over Malév followin...":

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1. Airlines Information

2. History

3. Malev Airlines Destinations

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So Proud

I remember reading years ago that teachers should keep a journal of their accomplishments, compliments from staff and students, and their successes and their failures. The point of it being that beyond degrees, diplomas, training, passing exams, the real proof of what makes a good teacher is in the daily doing. I had attempted this type of journal a few times, but then get too busy to keep it up. What I do instead is include these kinds of things in the blog, so they don't get lost. Every once in a while, I need a mood refresher, so I know where to come look. Yes, I put the screw ups in here also, so I can either go back and shake my head or have a good chuckle.

This was a response from one of my MA thesis students. I was honored to have had Anna in the classroom for more than 6 different classes. When she asked me to be her adviser, I had no qualms at all. She just recently defended her thesis and I sms'ed her asking how it went.

Dear Dr. James,
Thank you for sending the sms! I thought I would respond in an email, because it might be long...:)
I got a 5 for both my thesis and my state exam. YEEAAHH! I was very happy about it!

When I defended it, I got very good questions from Stanley, and some less relevant ones from Prof. F. She made a comment about the sources I used. She felt that I could have used other libraries than the ones available in Budapest. I didn't really understand what libraries she thought of. When I asked, she said that I should have registered in on-line libraries. I responded that I did not have the financial resources:) Anyway, they gave me a five.
I want to thank you again for all your help! Not just with my thesis! Your courses were the most helpful ones during my university career. I made good use of everything you taught us about writing or critical thinking in my other major as well. I'm sure that without those classes I would not be able to write my Italian thesis (for which I also got a five:)). It was an honor to be your student. Thank you again!!!
Anna

Back in the Saddle

It is COLD outside; it has been snowing all day, but it is not sticking. Where are those 90 degree days we complained about? Isn't human nature funny? We are never content with things until we don't have them. 

I feel really accomplished getting all of my photos uploaded. I have been bombarded with requests from students to write letters of recommendations, which I don't mind doing, but some of them are living in other countries. That meant running around for oversized envelopes that will accommodate three regular sized envelopes and them mail them off to Germany. I also ran over to school today. I knew I was slated for State Exams and thought I signed up for this Wednesday, but decided to check to make sure. Deep down inside, I was hoping they would not need me and I could get out of it, but no such luck. We have six students to exam on the 20th.

This weekend, I will be teaching the second part of an adult education course on writing. I spent half the day today preparing for that. The class is only 1 1/2 hours this Saturday and again next, but if I over plan, I will feel more confident. 

While we were on vacation, I was able to convince Ron to take a photography class with me. He is always fine with expenses on vacation, but when it is an expense at home, he about gags. Before he had a chance, I had him signed up and committed. We start Tuesday night, tomorrow. It lasts ten weeks. In preparation, I thought I should start reading the manual of my new camera. Dung the whole of the vacation, I wondered if I had made the correct decision to leave it behind; the dangers of theft were nothing like we had been warned about. However, when I read the directions, I knew it was a smart decision. In big bold letters, it said to protect the camera from the heavy movements of a car, motorcycle, or ship. I could not protect myself during this trip from the ruckus of the car, let alone a camera. My old Minolta seemed to stand the tests of shake, rattle, and roll without so much as a squeak. 


One last thing, today is one week since I last had a cigarette. Yahoo!

You Oughta Be in Pictures

Well, all of my pictures are now in albums and ready for viewing. 

Kenya - 522 Photos

http://ryanandron.shutterfly.com/kenya

Tanzania  284 Photos

http://ryanandron.shutterfly.com/tanzania

For those that know me, you should be shocked at so few photos. My normal holiday amount is well over 1,500. The difference with this trip was, how many zebra pictures can people look at? I can look at dozens because I saw them in person, but for others, it just becomes a bore.

Is This Any Time to Fly?

12:01am and we are in the lobby meeting John for our last taxi ride, this one to the airport. So far, in two days, John has earned 7,500 (75 euros) from our venturing around the city. When he says he hates to see us go, you know there is sincerity in those words.

On the way to the airport, we stop at three different gas stations, the first two are out of gas. This is the second time today we were with John when he had to get gas, making us wonder why he doesn't fill up once and be done with it? 

Nairobi's airport is open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. What we are uncertain about is how early the ticket counters open for checking in and getting boarding passes. Before you can enter the terminal, you have to go through security. We lucked out, the Turkish Air counters were open and there were already about twenty people ahead of us. Slow does not describe the young man who checked us in. We were at the counter for a good twenty minutes, while I am watching the clerks around us moving people through like assembly lines.

Once we are released with boarding passes in hand, we head for the escalator upstairs to find the Diners Club lounge, but cannot get to the escalator without showing our boarding passes. The Diners Club lounge is the same as that used for fifteen airlines. We walk in ready to present our DC card to the reception as we have done dozens of times on past trips. Sitting behind the counter is an older woman, most likely in her late 50s or early 60s. Her skin tone resembles fresh brewed coffee with 6 drops of cream added, but as your eyes move upward, you can't miss the hair. It was the color of a Tequila Sunrise, which was pretty appropriate since her hair was pointing out of her head in all directions like rays of the sun in a child's drawing. It could have been an overdone Statue of Liberty style. Instead of the crown, she went whole head crazy. I hand her my card, she takes it and immediately returns it to me. Now, I have done this routine enough times to know they swipe the card or at the bare minimum, write the number down. She did neither, just mumbled "We donwnl aerjow ehrh thrthgj ljadjfl". Excuse me? It took three times and the two of us listening, concentrating and as a last resort, recording the comment for instant and continual replay until we had it translated. 

Finally, we got the message, but we did not like it at all. They do not take Diners Club with a MasterCard logo, which in fact is every Diners Club issued in the US. The only reason we keep the Diners Club is for the airport lounge access and the miles, but it seems both services are shrinking rapidly. We were refused entry in Amsterdam's lounge stating that DC ended the contract. We went round and round with the woman. I even showed here the print out from the DC website showing the Nairobi lounges listed, but to no avail. We had over 2 hours before our flight; we had our lounge time planned. It is so much more comfortable than 'out there'.  We succumbed to paying our way in at $30 a person. The rationalization was that we thought were were going to have to pay a departure tax to leave Kenya. We did in Tanzania. Since we saved on that fee, we could splurge on the lounge. It was 12:30 in the morning, the flight was rotating between 3:40 and 4:45 every 7 minutes, so it looked like a long night. Heck, we did not have to pay for the night in the hotel, so this is also like our hotel. You can be sure now that I am going on the warpath against Diners Club. I will be posting everywhere warning people of the shrinking of perks while the annual fee goes up. With 2 other MasterCards, I don't need this one any longer.

When they called our flight, we had to go through security again at the gate. We travel wearing boots, Budapest is cold both leaving and returning. They are too bulky to pack and put on when we arrive home, but they are also a pain for security. We know they set off the alarms; it is the eyelets. I started to just carry them around while wearing disposable socks I had left over from some other airlines long distance flight.

Ironically, the Turkish Air flight from Nairobi to Istanbul was showing The Time Traveler's Wife, but they had the old drop down screens. I did not think I would stay awake anyway, so skipped it. We had to change planes in Istanbul with a 3 hour layover. There was no Diners Club lounge to test out, so we went to Gloria Jeans for a coffee. Knock me over, $16 for two coffees, one large, one medium. Yikes!

The next flight was just as uneventful, but only 1 hour and 50 minutes, so no movies at all. 

When we arrived home, the kitchen window was open and the window on the front door too. Balazs were in the kitchen cleaning. He had been staying here on and off with our blessings, but had not cleaned up after himself along the way. He thought we were not returning until tomorrow, so had designs on cleaning, grocery shopping, and preparing a dinner for us. We messed up those plans and he has to work tonight anyway. All is good.

Coming to an End

All vacations need to come to an end and thus ours has done so. This is our last full day in Kenya. Our flight leaves at 3:30am tomorrow morning, so we need to leave by midnight to get to the airport. With that in mind, we booked the hotel for tonight also, even if we were would not be here overnight, just to have a place to keep our bags while having a place to rest and or nap before the early morning airport experience.

The room is paid for on a daily basis, so Ron went to pay for tonight, but explained we would be leaving at midnight. The receptionist at first said something he understood as they would not allow us to do that. Offering grandiose explanations, we finally came to terms. They would not charge us for using the room. What the young woman said was "You have been here so long, how can we charge you?" We were there two days. Does that tell you something of their star rating? 

John was on time and ready to take us to the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust. It was of utmost importance that we get there by 11am for visiting hour. From 11am to noon is the only time you are allowed to visit the shelter because they want to limit the outsider contact to make it easier for the elephants and rhinos to be reintroduced into the wild. 

We were there in plenty of time to wait with all of the other anxious visitors who had heard of their work. The only reason I had any knowledge of them was because my friend Daphnee had adopted an elephant for me for my birthday last year. When the rope gate is dropped, you are escorted first to the donation table, where they request an entrance of 300 shillings, but we gave 1,000 each. Then it is on to the visiting area. Beyond the roped off area, there are oversized baby bottles waiting for the little ones to come suckle by groups depending on their ages. When the first group came out, I almost had to be held back from jumping the rope to go hug these babies. Some of these little orphans were so small, I immediately thought of Gulliver's Travels and the Lilliputs. Good grief, I could carry one of these creatures in carry-on. So for the next hour, we watched as this group was fed, played with each other, interacted with the keepers, and were lectured about the foundation. Most of the orphans' are there because the mother was hunted down by poachers. One was found in a hole in the road and presumably the mother was would not be able to rescue it. 

They also rescue rhinos, but only have three at this time. One is blind, so they don't allow him to visit. One has been set loose, but returns daily for a visit and then leaves again. The third one has stopped being allowed out since September when we started becoming "naughty". He was charging people and not a cash producing charging proposition either. The hour went by so quickly, I did not have time to plan any elephant-napping attempts. 

Our next stop was the Kenyan Wildlife Center for Endangered Animals. This particular center was for giraffes. The entrance is 7oo shillings. They have an elevated viewing area so that you are face to face with the giraffes, at least the adult ones. A keeper hands out feed and tells you to give one pellet at a time to maintain their attention. Giraffes are head butters, so if you are not careful and keep the feeding on a regular basis, they will butt you with their head to get more. What awesome creatures they are. Every time I went to pet the face or nose of the female I was feeding, she kept pulling away. I had to be canny with the food to get a pet in. The creatures on this earth are so magnificent. It just makes me loathsome when I think about poaching for greedy people.

We had John take us pack to the hotel to decide on a plan for the rest of our day. We shelled over another 3,000 shillings (30 euros) to him. No wonder he has a nice new car with a/c and always dresses in fine clothing.  

After a mini-rest, we took another taxi from the hotel downtown. I had noticed this coffee shop called the Mug Culture and I was more than ready for a good coffee. The hotel only had instant. We were going to get dinner and then go to a movie. Mug Culture tuned out to be a full service restaurant and Starbucks combo, making it perfect. When I ordered a latte, what arrived was a beer mug full of coffee. Not only was it the size I love, but it was an excellent latte besides and piping hot. There is nothing worse than a lukewarm latte. We had dinner there also; the portions were Hungarian sized and the food was great. If we were staying in Nairobi longer, this would be my hangout. When we left, I had left behind a copy of the book Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, because we had both read it and it was not a keeper. We went for a walk around the block waiting to go to the movie, but I had to return to the restaurant's bathroom. When the waitress saw me, she nodded her head. I knew she thought I was there for the book. When she tried returning it to me, I said I was only back for the WC, but the book was to find a new home. She was totally uncomprehending. I explained that I wanted to share the book with others, so I hoped it would find a good home. She hugged the book like it was a South African Krugerrand.

At Foxy Cinemas, there were two screens, each playing one movie. In one was The Time Traveler's Wife. We had both read and loved The Time Traveler's Wife novel, by Audrey Niffenegger. More than unfortunately, only the second one was showing at any times we could attend. It was Avatar. Ticket prices were listed as stall, love seats, balcony, and one other I cannot remember. What choices, but when we asked about them, all seats are created equal. Inside was a regular theater just like Anywhere, USA or Budapest, Hungary. Viva la lack of difference. 

Now, neither of us knew a thing about this movie. I am not hot on sci-fi movies or books, but did like Star Wars. It was the longest waste of time I have spent in a theater since I cannot remember when. In retospect, reading some of the reviews, I don't know what these people are thinking. But let's think about this for a moment. The year is 2154, putting it 154 years ahead in the future. Same old themes: war, corporate greed, colonization, genocide, but on a different planet. Wow, what a difference a galaxy makes. The main character is a paraplegic soldier. Right! Now that is even beyond fantasy and sci-fi, but it gets better. He is promised his legs back..IF...he does the commander's bidding. Question here, if they have the ability to return the use of his legs, why didn't they do it to begin with rather than have a disabled soldier? 

Now lets move on to the aliens. Remember the year is 2154. They are still gendered, male and female. They marry, mate, and are still in patriarchal tribes. The tribal chief's son is the jealous protector of his sister, one of the main characters. Of course, she and the soldier fall in love. The director made the Titanic, how could we avoid a love story? Same old story, the soldier infiltrates the tribe to gain their trust, falls in love, girl finds she was initially being used, guy has to swear that was only the beginning, but real love did evolve. All of the themes have been played out since talkie movies first appeared. To prove himself and his love, he has to show his new adopted tribe how to beat their enemies. Good vs Evil, Right vs Wrong, Corporate Greed vs Bulldozing over anyone in your path. Isn't it interesting the way the corporation always comes tumbling down in the movies, but it never happens in real life. To make the movies more realistic, after they collapse, someone should rush in with a rescue plan to help them be corrupt once again. It is like a financial eco-system.   

My next question is does anyone who nominates these movies or even reviews them, listen to the dialogue? Some of it was a direct rip from a Doris Day and Rock Hudson movie; it could have been Pillow Talk. Other parts could have come from Saving Private Ryan or the Simpsons, but much of it made as much sense as Seinfeld. The army commander of 2154 should not be using 2001 teenager slang. There is something wrong when they have to resort to this type of dialogue. 

Yes, the special effects were interesting, but I didn't consider them exceptional. The flying dragons reminded me of the Dragon Riders of Pern. At attempt at futuristic elephants looked more like creatures I remember seeing when watching Saturday morning cartoons with my nephews. If I watched this movie again, I could really do a job on it. This is just from one viewing with expectation of enjoyment.

After the movie, we went back to Mug Culture for a piece of cake. We needed to treat ourselves after the torture we had endured. A taxi back to the hotel where we repacked our bags to go, tried taking a nap, and that is the end of the story for Nairobi.

Testing, Testing, Are You Alive?

We set the clock so we could test my stamina. There are things left undone. Shopping is the first priority. We left this for when we returned, to buy from the women's collective in support of it, plus not to have had to lug it around with us for four weeks. Now it is buy or regret it. Whatever hit me passed over. I was able to shower, get to breakfast, and wait for a taxi without feeling like I would keel over.

Since I was so sick yesterday, not one cigarette passed my lips prompting me to decide this morning to postpone my starting smoking again. I know others would say they are quitting or that is what I am attempting to do, but I am not. In my youth, my mother always called me a quitter and said I never finished anything I started. Although this was true, I did not have role models who did complete things other than the meals set before them. As I reached my 20s, this quitter label started wearing thin, so I made sure I completed things; some of those things were completions my mother wished I had quit. Going to beauty school was one of them. She hated having son who was a beautician or hairdresser as they were called back in the 70s. As it turned out the more I completed, the more I liked myself. Starting more ventures and completing them aided my self-esteem. So, now I cannot quit smoking, because I am not a quitter. What I am doing is postponing the starting date of when I will resume smoking again.

After placing a call to Solomon, the taxi driver who drove us from the railway station, we thought our good do-bee deed for the day was in place. Forty-five minutes later, Solomon called to say he could not find us. Well, impossible, we are the only two white people standing in the hot sun waiting for a taxi at this hotel. He was at the wrong hotel, so he would be delayed another twenty minutes. 

We waited an hour and a half, but no Solomon. The hotel receptionist Grace, said she would call us a reliable driver. John showed up. We wanted to go the David Sheldrick Foundation, but Mr. Map after consulting the map, insisted that since it is in the Nairobi Wildlife Reserve, we would have to pay $3o each to get in. I keep insisting that if this were true, the guidebook would have pointed it out. John's itinerary for us was to go to the Wildlife main office gate to ask about entrance, then go to the gate where the foundation is located and double check the visiting hours, then to the place where we want to shop. This little excursion is costing us 3,000 shillings (30 euros).

I was right, there is not charge to get into the Wildlife Reserve for the Foundation if you go to the correct gate. We did get to that gate, but at 11:30, so visiting hours were almost over. On our way to our shopping place, we stopped at a shop John wanted to show us. It was just as large, but nothing was presented well creating sensory overload. At our shop, I had wanted these beaded angels, but they were gone. I knew they would be, but I had hopes. We did find plenty of other things to buy finishing up our gift list.

John dropped us off downtown so we could stop at an ATM and Trattoria restaurant where I had the avocado milkshake. Today, we had lunch with our drinks. My chicken salad was delightful. Ron had gnocchi with Gorgonzola sauce. Delish!

FLU One By Me

Something hit me in the middle of the night, about 4am. After getting up to use the facilities, when I climbed back in bed, I had a bad case of chills. Af first I thought it was just the exposure to the night air and I would warm up again once under the covers and self-tucked in. The chills continued soon followed by dizziness. I know I am sick or drunk when I am dizzy while flat on my back, but I have not been that drunk in over twenty-five years. The 3rd symptom to crop up was this feeling like my chest was going to implode, not explode. It was the strangest sensation that my chest wanted to cave in. I thought perhaps I was dehydrated, which it highly possible regardless of whatever else was happening. I guzzled water until I could not swallow another drop, but the chills kept me awake until the alarm went off at 7:3oam.

When I tried standing, I could not. I was overcome with dizziness. The thought that my blood sugar my have been low did spring to mind, but we had nothing to eat in the room. Ron had some mints, so I ate one of those. I wasn't going to make it to breakfast unless someone carried me on a litter or brought a guerny. Not even a wheelchair was going to work; sitting up made me feel sicker. Ron went down and ordered modified breakfasts to be sent to us. All I could eat was the fruit, hoping the sugars would assist me in getting on uptake. I had to forfeit a shower; I had concerns about standing and falling on the concrete, possibly hitting my head. The last time I had felt like this was when I had a  sever allergic reaction to fish at a Paris hotel restaurant.

Joseph arrived on time as usual. It took a number of feeble steps, but I did make it to the van. Ron told him I was sick and may need to make stops along the way. I curled up on the long back seat meant for three passengers and nested. Within seconds I had lost consciousness. Two hours later, I awoke only long enough to need a stop, but went back to sleep immediately after crawling to the back of the van. Five hours later, we were back in Nairobi and at the hotel for our last 2 1/2 nights before returning home again. This is not a hotel to brag about, so I am not even going to include the name. For some reason, at the end of a vacation, we feel it is necessary to tighten the belt and go really cheap. Okay, this place is clean, the sheets are clean, the staff is friendly; that is the extent of the tribute.

As soon as we were checked in, I crawled into bed and slept until 6:3opm. There are no restaurants close by, so to avoid taking a taxi, we tested my equilibrium by walking to a nearby hotel restaurant at The Heron. Nice hotel, nice restaurant, good sized portions. Back to our hotel and in bed to sleep.

Hippo Crossing

We were warned that hippos graze the entire grounds at night. Those in tents are further admonished not to keep food in the tent as hippos will eat the tent to get to the food. These are not comforting thoughts when you have to use the facilities in the middle of the night with the aid of a flashlight. I was awakened a number of times during the night by the grunts, snorts, and groans of hippos very near by. You are supposed to be very careful with the flashlight, not to scare the hippo. Hell, no one cares that if you suddenly flash on a hippo, it is you who should be scared. Every time I heard hippos close by outside, I would wake Ron, but the noises would suddenly stop. This went on about four times before I thought I may have been dreaming the whole thing. The fifth time was the charm. I heard the sounds, Ron woke up and he heard them too. My sanity is intact: at least over hippo sounds.

Bird choruses start up by 6am. There are dozens of different songs and melodies competing with each other like a superstar competition. By 8am, we were showered and ready for breakfast. We have to share the shower/WC with two other huts, but thankfully, they were empty. Using our toast, we fed the birds and had quite a show. Some many varieties vying for the nibbles. The African Hornbills travel in pairs and sometimes feed each other.

Joseph was here at 10am to take us to a boat ride. It was an extra 6,000 shillings (60 euros) for both of us for one hour, but they really tried to push the 2 and 3 hour rides. We went in a motor boat with a guide who pointed out different bird species in the lakefront area. We saw a number of crocodiles and then came across our family of hippos. At one point they were grazing on an artificial island. Due to the drought, the conservation people have been feeding them bales of hay. As we approached, they started heading to the water. I needed assurances that hippo have never overturned a boat. When we were coming up from the launch, all of this rocky area and what do I go and do? I stepped on a small tree branch with a spiky part coming up out of it. It pierced the bottom of my Crocs sandal and right into the bottom of my foot. Happily, I had the antibiotic waterless soap in my bag, so washed with that immediately. It is a good thing we did have our tetanus shots renewed before we left.

Back at the camp, we had until 2pm to get lunch and rest if we wanted before Joseph was going to take us to Lake Bogoria, where thousands of flamingos eat and live in the salt water lake. This area is also known for its hot springs. I had the feeling that this was going to be another wasted flamingo experience. As we were driving close to the lake, you could see pink pebbles atop a blue slate. I had adjusted my attitude to this being as good as it gets. When we drove into the viewing area, Joseph told us to take as much time as we wanted. We wanted to the water's edge overwhelmed with the sight of the flamingos. They were so close, not as pink as expected, but lovely nevertheless. When they get spooked, they flap their wings and skitter across the water's surface like a plane on a runway. Their under wings are black with a red  stripe. They make quite an impressive site. When they swim, you could easily confuse them with swans.

Ron had asked Joseph how hot the geyser water was. He had designs on taking a dip in the hot springs. Joseph said you could cook an egg in 3 minutes. Ron changed his mind. We drove back to the campground and it was all read and relax until tomorrow. There is nothing else to do here. 

Not Boring, but Boringo

At some point in the wee hours of the morning, it sounded like ping pong balls were falling on the roof of our hut, box, whatever it is classified as, signaling the rain had started. By the end of an hour, the noise changed from ping pong balls to golf balls. If it were not so hot, I would have sworn it was hail coming down, but in reality just heavy drops of rain. Joseph our first guide from Kuja Safaris was coming to pick us up at 9am, so we were showered, had breakfast, and paid our bill ready to go. Then Ron came out to tell me the minor bad news. This place did not have our reservation for when we were to return. Gosh darn, no more Jerk-in-a-Box experiences? There are two hotels right next to the hostel, so he went to check on availability there. They both had a place, but the less expensive one included breakfast, a deal for sure. Both look more than adequate.

Once Joseph had us loaded in the van, we were off on a five hour drive to Lake Boringo where we are staying at Robert's Camp. Our accommodation here is, well what can I say, pleasant, but... We have a little hut to ourselves with a double bed. It is very tribal looking in construction, but modern inside. The problem is that the bathroom is in a different building behind us. Though the bathroom is modern, with a real toilet, this camp is known for two things: bird species, over 450 varieties in this area and then there are the hippos. More on these later.

As soon as we were checked-in, they wanted us to order our lunch. The cafe is called The Thirsty Goat and looks very Out of Africa gone a bit modern. I ordered a steak dinner and vanilla milkshake; Ron chose Moroccan meatballs with rice. We had no sooner finished lunch and they asked us to place our dinner order. We were too full to think of dinner, so we asked to do it later. Birdwatchers would be in heaven here. Just while eating lunch, we were entertained by about fifteen different bird species among them the African Hornbill. Others are in glorious shades of blues, yellows, and even beautiful grays.  The rest of the day was on our own.

As a conservation area, the animals have the right of way. About one block in distance from our hut is the Lake Boringo, the home of a family of hippos numbering about twenty-five according to local estimates. When we walked down to the lake to view them, they were out of the water grazing. Hippos kill more people than any other wild animal. On land, they can out-run a man. Basically, there is nothing else to do here except relax, so we read, wrote, relaxed, drank tea, ate dinner, and waited for the morning. The lights went off at 9pm, but they did come back on again shortly thereafter. If I had to go to bed at 9, it would be a really long night. I would be up at 2am, not being able to sleep again.

All of our meals are supplied by The Thirsty Goat Cafe, so dinner was shell pasta with cream sauce and beef lasagna. How wonderfully African!

Rock-A-By Sleeping

Sleeping for me was heavenly, with the motion of the train. Sometimes when it stopped is when I woke up. There were barrels of fumes pouring through our open window, some from our train, but others presumably from the blackened out scenery we were passing. The only hardship was having to get up in the night to use the bathroom at the end of the hall. First and second class rooms were advertised with full in-room toileting facilities. We did have a sink.

By 7am, we heard the breakfast bell being rung in the hall, reminding us to make our way to the restaurant car. First a server came around and served everyone toast, then the next one returned with a plate already containing two fried eggs, baked beans, a sausage, and fried tomato, all very British. 

At 10:15am, we heard the announcement that we were approaching Nairobi train station. How quickly we had forgotten that Nairobi is colder than Mombasa or anywhere in Tanzania. We had to show our ticket to leave the station where we were flooded with offers for taxis. One man kept pace with us, though we had been warned about hucksters, I felt for him. He was older and missing a few teeth, but looked sincere enough. I asked if he were licensed and he was. We asked the price to take us to our accommodation, which is the Milimani Backpackers Lodge. He quoted 300 shillings (3 euros), so we went and hoped that he was indeed licensed and would not take us for a ride we did not expect. Solomon was his name and he was on board. We arrived at our less than luxurious place within fifteen minutes. He was so grateful for the work, he asked for us to please remember him when we needed a taxi. We wrote his number down for reference.

The Milimani Backpackers is a weird assortment of places to stay. In the main building are dorm rooms with share showers. Outside there are combinations of little huts that share showers, tents that are permanent, sharing facilities, and little huts that are pre-fab little rooms with en suite bathrooms. This is what we have. It looks like a storage unit that was converted to a sleeping room. 

Next door to the main building is a quasi-restaurant where you can order drinks or food, but a limited menu. The daily special is 350 shillings, but tonight is some unidentifiable fish. After dropping off our things, I wanted to shower, but there was no water. They were having problems with the pump. They said they had WiFi access, but the person with the password was not around. In ten minutes was the repeated mantra. We decided to walk downtown, about thirty minutes walk. After being in Mombasa, I was not as fearful about walking around as I was before, but we did get plenty of stares as we strolled. No one made any comments, but the looks were intimidating at times, especially when we stopped at a bench half way.

Stopping at an Italian restaurant for a drink, I was finally able to try an avocado milkshake. As disgusting as it may sound, it was delicious and refreshing on a warming day. If it were not so filling, I would have had a second one. Ron was on the hunt for this Kenyan singer's albums (Eric Wainaina) who has gained popularity not only here, but the play he wrote was performed on Broadway. Asking the waiter at the restaurant for music stores, he sent us in the right direction, but no store seemed to have his work. My guess is that most of what they sold were ripped from other albums or downloaded from the Internet and they had not yet had access to his work. They said his work is not widely distributed here in Kenya, but with 2 albums out and his popularity on the rise, it seems strange. One energetic salesman promised to have albums for us if we could give him until the next day. We explained we were taking off for 2 days tomorrow with Kuja Safaris and would return for them on Monday.

Taking a taxi back, there was nothing in downtown to hold our interest, we met Som our driver. He too has two taxis trying to build up business and offered to drive us anywhere any other day if we so needed. He had cards printed up offering everything from taxi rides to marital planning. When we returned to the hostel, they had recovered the password to the WiFi, so I spent the next hour disseminating the spam e-mail from the good stuff, uploading my blog, and reading "The Queen's Fool" by Philippa Gregory. She is the author of "The Other Boleyn Girl", which was made into a  movie. It was one of a pile of books that my office mate gave me before the end of the semester. We take books that we don't think we want to save and then leave them as we finish. I thought this was going to be a desperation book, one that I read when I had nothing better to read, but I am hooked. It is one of those difficult to put down books.  

We stayed here at the hostel for dinner. We both ordered cheeseburgers with fries, which were surprisingly extra tasty. After dinner, we stayed out and read for some time, then retired to our room to read some more. By 10:30, we decided to call it a night, but the people around us were just winding up for the night. The couple right next door to us, an older Italian couple came into their pod and were talking so loudly, we could hear every syllable. It does not seem to matter if we do it the cheap way or the more expensive way, all the walls are paper thin.

Kenyan Train Experience

Our time in Mombasa ends today. We leave on the train from here back to Nairobi. Unfortunately for us, we have to check out by 10am. Our train does not leave until 7pm, but we need  to be there by 6pm. That is a whole lot of time to kill doing much of nothing. After breakfast and storing our luggage, it was still cool, so we took a tuk-tuk to Fort Jesus. We had gone there before, but had not gone in. When we reached the top, we found that contrary to what we were told, there is an entrance fee of 800 shillings (8 euros). From what we could see from the gate, it was not worth the money, so decided against it.

Beyond the fort was a walkway that lead to the water, so we went down there to enjoy the scenery and waste some time. We followed the walkway, which took us into Old Town. Most of the shops are souvenir stores, proprietors begging you to visit and look over their wares. It continually reminds me of the number of African pieces that have been imported to the US over the decades. Stores in CA have been selling many of these products for years, one such store's mottos was "We shop the world so you don't have to". Well here I am shopping the world, but have seen it all before and have a lot of it in storage, so there is no need to buy it again. How many ebony giraffes or sandstone sculptures does anyone really need? We really tried to spend time here to wait out our late train, but it was a strain. Stopping near a restaurant, we were greeted and asked to come in. Wanting a drink we obliged and looked at the menu. A date shake sounded interesting, so I ordered it. "Sorry, finished, no more." Second attempt was the avocado juice, something I will never get anywhere else. "Sorry, finished, no more." Rather than continuing to play this game, I asked what they did have. Tamarind and orange juice. Fine, tamarind it is then. Another couple came in, looked at the extensive menu and tried to order lunch. Same story "Sorry, finished, no more." for her first three attempts. She wizened up fast and said "Why don't you just tell me what you do have." As it turns out, they only had one meal available. Why they bother with the menus is a puzzle.

The porcelain god was calling again. I knew my chances of finding something suitable here were slim to none, so we thought it best to head back to the hotel to use the public facility. From 1:30 to 6pm, we were held hostage at the patio restaurant. To ease our conscious of waiting, we ordered a beer, then a water, this was followed by two samosas, later more samosas. I think the staff thought we were going to take root there. We had a table under a fan, so I didn't want to forfeit it by leaving and returning later. We sat and read our books the entire time, making good use of the public facilities, but making me leery about a long train ride.

At 6pm, our driver Dennis, from the previous day came for us and drove us the fifteen minutes to the train station. He should us where to present our tickets. We were assigned our car and a porter took us with our luggage to it. The train station looked like something from an old time movie. All of 2 tracks, there was our train like a giant centipede, waiting for us. Our assigned car was about twenty-two cars toward the front. This is one of the oldest train lines in Eastern African running from Uganda. Not knowing what to expect, since our tickets were only $40 each, we bought a supply of water and a few snacks just in case. We had paid for 1st class, which was a sleeper and included dinner and breakfast tomorrow morning. Our sleeper room looked like any European train's sleeper car. Due to the heat, we waited on the platform until it was ready to roll.

By 7pm, the departure time, the announcement was made that the train was ready to go. We were in our seats, a long lounge type seating with an upper bunk that came down for a second bed. Within fifteen minutes, we were called to the dining car for dinner. It was suggested we take all of our valuables with us. I keep them all in my shoulder bag, so no worries.

The dining car tables were spread out with linen table cloths and china. They started with soup and then we had the choice of a beef, chicken or vegetable dish. Dessert was a fruit cup accompanied by coffee or tea. By 8:30pm we were ready for bed, because our overhead light was not fully functional, making it difficult to read. The porter had our beds made within ten minutes. The window opened and had a screen on it, which was fortunate because the fan did not work at all. By this hour, it was black out; there was no scenery to try to pass the time. I love the rock and roll of a train, so was looking forward to a great night of sleeping, but it was interrupted by having to get dressed to use the facilities down the hall. The toilet paper disappeared rapidly, so I went armed with my tissues and every paper napkin I could get my hands on in the dining car. Other than a lot of fumes coming in the window, exhaust type pollution, I slept well. It was a comfortable experience. We are due into Nairobi around 7:30am, but have been warned by others that it could be as late as 11:30. We have no pressing engagements, so it does not matter.

A Forest Without a Spirit, a Beach Without Water

Our driver, Dennis, was ready for us at 8am. The owner of the agency came with him and wished us a pleasant journey and also asking that we spread the word. His agency needs business, tourism is really down. They are all struggling for work. As most of our excusions have borne out, the scenery leaving the city is interesting, but not beautiful. With every mile, you are confronted repeatedly with the poverty that abounds, yet the people all look content. As I look at the roadside businesses created in shacks, huts, and tin buildings, I cannot help but wonder how they raised the money to even stock a store. Most of the areas look desolate, not buyers in sight, so it boggles my mind how they can stay in business. Yet, the Coca-Cola delivery man is everywhere as well as their logos.

Driving for close to 2 hours, we finally reached our first destination, the forest. Dennis led us to the office to buy our tickets from the Kenya Forestry Service. At $20 per person, we were official to hike the trails, but if we wanted to drive them, it would cost more. We had thought we were heading for a 'kaya', a spiritual place where we could only be led into by a holy person from the reigning tribe of the particular kaya. Instead, we met Jonathon, our guide for our hike. Jonathon was quick to respond to our questions about this being a kaya, saying it was only part of the National Forestry Service and not associated with any kayas. Our first disappointment in the day's adventures.

I was set to have a spiritual experience, but I was destined to have trees identified for me, butterflies named, and bird watching here and there. Jonathon also found some elephant shrew, but neither of us could spot where he was pointing, so we missed them. The longer we walked the hotter it became. At the end of an hour, Jonathon said, "Wow, is it hot!" My response was that if he thought it was hot, then imagine how we felt. He said the temperature was hovering around 98 degrees and the storm clouds above proved that the humidity was just as high. We walked to the elephant trail, passing through an electric fence to keep the elephants in their own area. Part of the forest is a sand quarry where they mine the sand for making glass. It is the finest, silkiest sand I have ever felt. He took us to a tree house for a look-out point. It was too high for my taste, so I stayed behind, not having an appreciation of heights. Ron climbed up, but did not return with exaltations, so I guess I did not miss much. It turned out Jonathon was in a hurry to leave early today to attend a friend's wedding. We told him we saw enough trees, so we could return to the office. There were a splendid assortment of butterflies, but as their nature is, they do not stay still long enough to pose for a picture. I did not take a single photo during this forestry venture. There were also no spiritual experiences to be had either.

The next stop was a special beach with a boardwalk. However, when we arrived, we found that there was an 800 shilling (8 euro) admission charge per person, so we decided to forgo it and moved on. It was deserted, so I think the entrance fee was dissuading visitors. The final stop was a premier beach in Mombasa. It was littered with vendors selling drinks. Each had about 20 bottles of soda or water to offer, the extent of their stock. The beach was empty, but the sand went for a mile before reaching ocean. Seaweed was decorating the sandy beach brought in during high tide and left there. Some seashells were interspersed with the green leaves, but nothing is allowed to be removed from shores, leaving me helpless as a collector.

Ron decided he needed to dip his feet in the water, so I waited with Dennis. Ron had a long walk ahead of him, but finally reached his thighs. Dennis said that at 4pm, the beach would be filled, because this is when the water returns. All those that were arriving early with their inner tubes and water toys were in for a disappointment for a few hours to come.

With the beach half way back to the hotel, the ride to return was shorter, but once we reached the hotel at 1:30pm, there was not much to do.  It was too hot to explore Fort Jesus again, so we stayed in the room and read or wandered down to the patio for a cup of tea. With non-stop air conditioning, the hotel is a welcomed refuge, unlike Zanzibar, where the electric goes off and on. There are often entertainers on the patio also, usually a trio playing all of the golden oldies of the American music. One singer joined in for some time and sounded like Louie Armstrong.

One thing that I cannot fault anyone for in our experience is the service we have received. Everywhere we have been the service has been excellent from top to bottom. A couple of times, we have walked in on the maid cleaning our room. Each day, the furniture is polished, the sheets are changed, and the floors are mopped, in addition to all of the usual cleaning duties one would expect.   

Behind the hotel is a Chinese-Malaysian restaurant. We gave it a try for dinner. The food was great, but it was curious to see an all Black staff in a Chinese restaurant.

To read more about a Kaya forest, go here.

Birthday Greetings

Today is my birthday so after breakfast, I checked e-mails and found a few Facebook "Happy Birthday" greetings and two electronic cards that I could not open. The Internet access is over at 4pm today and I will not renew it. It is too easy for me to get distracted with the computer.

I convinced Ron that we should return to the second tour office to book our forest excursion tomorrow. When we reached it, one of the employees was standing downstairs trying to prompt other tourists to check them out too. After twenty minutes of talking, we were all set. The car will come for us at 7am and return us at 3pm. We paid 7,500 shillings per person and we have to pay $20 per person at the gate to the national park.

When we left, Amos, the salesman who we initially ran into downstairs, was there again. He asked what we were planning for today. We told him we did Old Town and Fort Jesus partially, not impressed enough to return. However, our first goal was to find an ATM machine that would take MasterCard. Naturally, he knew which of the plethora of banks did accept the MC cards and offered to walk us there. All the while he was telling us about this "cultural center" run by a university where 8 tribes from Kenya are represented. He made it sound so interesting, but my 'shyster' radar was on high alert. I am not sure if it was because it was my birthday or just age in general, I thought we should give this well groomed, well-spoken young man  a chance. We decided this was something we should see. At that moment, we thought Amos was going to tell us how to get there, end of story. We did not know the story was just starting.

The first thing you need to know is that the public transportation went on strike as of yesterday. Before getting any gradiose ideas of the transportation system, let me clue you in. The entire system is based on matattas. What is a matatta, you ask? These are normal vans that act as buses. Each authorized van has a yellow stripe across the side showing their destination. They stop at matatta stops like a bus would, but there is no schedule or route listed at the stops. To know where to get a matatta going where you want to go or where to get off is in-bred knowledge transferred down through the local gene pool. For a foreigner it is a game of twenty questions or more trying to figure out the system. Each matatta is privately owned and operated, but they must belong to the Matatta Association in order to operate legally. They were striking due to the police stopping them unnecessarily along the routes and asking for bribes. Even with a strike, there were a few still driving. Amos took us to the stop. A car pulled up and he wanted to shove us in it. There were already 3 passengers and no room for Ron and I unless we sprawled over the other bodies. We said no way. A matatta ride runs 60 shillings.

With this strike, Amos said he negotiated with a taxi driver to take the three of us for 300 shillings. Suddenly, Amos was part of our group. Another man was already in the taxi going the same direction as we were. He was in the front passenger side. His long greasy wavy hair that he attempted to tuck into his little cap and down his collar combined with the beard, glasses, and crazed look on his face brought visions of Richard Reid the American shoe bomber. With a temperature in the 90s, his over-sized shirt that resembled long underwear and the vest he wore over it did make me uneasy.  

All during our forty-five minute ride, I had visions of being part of a suicide bombing scheme. Once we left the hustle of the city, I was able to relax a bit. It would be pointless for a suicide bomber to waste himself in the outskirts of the city. When we reached Movi University, I was relieved. All I had was a 5oo shilling note, but the driver could not make change. He promised to credit us for the ride home. Amos took his number to call when we were ready.

Entrance to the center was 850 shillings (8.50 euros) for each of us, but residents were free, so we did not have to pay for Amos. Our guide was Michael, a student at the university working on his diploma in Tourism and Culture. He was working at the center as part of his internship. We were the only visitors that day. In order to educate Kenyan children of the different cultures within the country, they opened this center that was once a quarry for limestone. Amongst the trees and plants that were introduced over 30 years ago, they have created 8 tribal areas. Each area contains housing built according to that particular tribe and looks like a small version of that tribe's village. There is one resident at each area, a tribal person that lives there all year to explaing their way of life and customs. Each tribal person speaks their own language, so Michael was the interpreter. The person, sometimes a man and other times a woman, would show us inside their hut, where parents and children slept, how they cooked, weapons if they used them, what their tribal customs are. Some are hunters, some are gatherers, others a combination of both. One tribe sustains itself on crocodiles and hippos exclusively. At each village, we would spend fifteen to twenty-five minutes. Michael was an excellent guide. I could not conceive of living alone all year away from your entire tribe. Michael said they do take a week or more sometimes to visit home, but someone else from the tribe has to come to replace them.

At the end, there is the gift shop, where women from the university are working doing their darnedest to get people to buy souvenirs, mostly same-same as everywhere else. They were tough salespeople making it difficult to refuse. Finally, we compromised on a bookmark and bottle of water to get her off my back. Then we had to watch the Masai tribe dance, though we said we already saw it in Masai Mara. These guys were hanging around waiting for some tourist to pop up so there was no way of getting out of it. After they were done, they wanted to sell us a CD of their music. Hardly an enticement. Then there was the 'request' for a donation for the performance, another 500 shillings (5 euros).

Amos was trying to get our driver, but he was out at the airport on the other side of the city. We sat and had a drink speaking with Michael and Amos about the state of affairs of Kenya. Both are educated and eloquent speakers. They repeatedly said it was up to young people like them to make changes, but the old guard kept the talented youth from making inroads into the professions. They claim the unemployment rate here is 60%. Young people are getting educated, but then cannot find jobs. Sounded like a familiar story worldwide. What was interesting was their take on tourism. They said that after clashes happen, it takes 3 years for the tourists to return. BBC and CNN give unfavorable reports on the tribal clashes causing undue worry, but those who would have come, put it off. In 2012, they will have the next presidential election. Michael said that after each election there are major problems with rioting and tribal conflicts. He predicts this will dissuade tourism once again.

We waited for over an hour for our driver who was no closer to picking us up than he was earlier. Amos called a fried with a tuk-tuk who appeared suddenly. He was willing to tranport us back for 1,000 shillings (10 euros). Fine, we kissed our 2 euro credit from the first driver good-bye, but we needed to get back. We agreed. We gave Michael a 500 shilling (5 euros) tip for the tour after he made it clear how expensive an education was when you could not work during an internship or while classes were being held.

The tuk-tuk ride was wild to say the least, but we took it in stride. Amos did not. He backseat drove the entire time, screaming at the driver for taking unnecessary chances with passing, barely missing pedestrians, and making turns. When we first started, the tuk-tuk kept losing gears. We had to stop a half dozen times for adjustments. When we finally reached town, he dropped us off about 1/4 mile from the hotel, why, I am uncertain. Amos continued to follow us like a puppy when we stopped at a supermarket to pick up a couple of beers and bag of peanuts. He asked if we could buy him a drink, so chose a yogurt one. Finally, I realized the only way to shake him was to tip him. Though we could probably have made our way without him, it would have been extremely complicated. He was excellent company and pure enjoyment to speak with, so I handed him 1,000 shillings (10 euros). After thanking me, he said "I don't want to impose and if you cannot it is fine, but I have to buy a book for my son's primary school. It costs 1,500 shillings, so if you could give me another 500 shillings (5 euros), I can go right to the store and buy it before going home." I handed him the money.

When we were back at the hotel, we realized we had spent most of what the local bank would allow us to take out in one offering. Just enough for dinner was left. We went to the Blue Room Restaurant. Signs everywhere said self-serve, but a young man told us to have a seat and took our order. Again, I thought maybe he really doesn't work here and just gets orders for the unsuspecting. As it turned out, he did indeed work there. It was a cheap meal, but tasty. Back at the hotel, we had a pot of tea and a piece of chocolate cake while Ron sang a rendition of Happy Birthday.  The Disney Corporation had the song copyrighted so anyone singing it on restaurants in the US, movies, commercials, etc. have to pay royalties to Disney. Fortunately, Mickey Mouse was no where in sight.

Ron Makes a Friend

After making 'new best friend' status with the travel information guy in the lobby, Ron booked a dinner dhow boat cruise for tonight. We wanted to go tomorrow night, for my birthday, but Chris, the travel guy was not certain. They needed a minimum of ten people, but they only had 6 so far for Tuesday night. Monday was a sure thing; they had the minimum already. Convinced we could possibly lose out, we settled and handed over 45 euros per person. This particular boat is run by the Tamarind Hotel, a five star property in town. They will be sending a car for us at 6pm, we sail at 7pm and are returned to shore at 10pm.

Now that Chris has attained 'new best friend' status, Ron was assured that all of the other tours he wanted to sell us were absolutely the best bargains in town. We had read about these "Vayas" a spiritual forest you could visit, but once you reached them, you could only be escorted by a spiritual tribal member. There were restrictions in the forest. You had to speak softly, you could not kiss another person, and the tribal person could communicate with the trees. This gave us hope that there was something to do in this city, so we asked Chris about it. Being Ron's new best friend, I let the two of them discuss matters; however, each time Ron returned, he would say that Chris spoke so fast, he was not sure what he had said. The crux was that the forests are a ways out of the city, meaning you have to hire a driver. Forests are within government protected parks, so there is an entry feee of $20 per person to enter. 


My offering was to check the tour companies in town to compare prices. We looked for one in our tour guide, but could not find it, finding another close by. We stopped in, explained what we wanted and the man kept saying "Yes, okay, okay, okay". When we stopped talking so did he, so we had no clue if he understood a word we said. After a long pregnant pause, he said he could arrange a driver for us for 7,500 shillings. The driver would take us to the forest, we would pay our $20 admission to the forestry office, and then the driver would take us to a beach for an hour and back to the hotel. The beach was our second requirement. We said we would think about it and possibly return.

On the street where our hotel is, Moi Avenue, there are about sixteen banks. In some blocks there are four banks side by side. Finding an ATM machine should be easy and it would be if we had a Visa ATM card. As we prowled the blocks, we came across another tour agency and decided to give them a try. Once upstairs, their office is down a hall where there the fron part of the building is being used by a language school. In the two rooms of the language school, you have the options of learning Spanish, Italian, German, French, Arabic, or Swahili, but not English. At the tour office, their English was perfect, the owner understood us and made an offer of picking us up at 7am and delivering us back at 3pm. We would drive 2 hours to the forest, spend time there, go to a boardwalk area for bird watching, and then on to the beach, have lunch there if we wanted and to return to the hotel at the end. It sounded like a full day, but again we said we would think about it and return. 

I have not rid myself of the stomach bug, so being close to a bathroom is a priority. Let me clarify that being close to a western type bathroom is a huge priority. Many toilets are the squat type sans any paper products. I cannot trust my balance nor my supply of tissues to hold out.

Once again the temps were in the high 90s with chance of thunderstorms. The skies were alternating black and blue like a bad bruise. Drained from the heat and knowing I only had Internet paid up to tomorrow at 4pm, we spent the afternoon reading, computing and napping. At 6pm, our car was here for our dhow dinner. The hotel is on the outskirts of the city taking about thirty minutes to get there. Docked at their private dock was a grand boat, the deck covered with tables, the tables covered in linen, crystal, and china. Our table was on the upper deck. It was lovely. Although a set dinner, each of the four courses had two offerings. We started with a seafood salad, I had cream of butternut soup,  Ron had tomato, both of us had lobster, and for dessert cherry cheesecake. As soon as all were boarded, the tables were full with about thirty people total and we sailed off. A band on board entertained during the evening with soothing music. At the next table, by himself was a young man who started out with "Since I am alone here, I will need someone to talk to. Can I talk to you?"  Once he started, he did not stop. From Australia, he is working on his doctorate in African studies with a special interest in the Congo. His department would not allow him to travel to the Congo to do his research for safety reasons. Instead, he decided to teach a year at the Gibson School in Ethiopia to gain experience.  On an Ethiopian teacher's salary, he decided to do one major trip over the holidays, hence his being here. He ordered water for our table, but then said he had no money to pay for it, so we said we would. He chatted for the first forty-five minutes with us, but then went to try to take pictures. We went downstairs and when we returned, he was chatting up the African couple sitting next to us. They bought him a mixed drink and a beer.


Dinner was wonderful, the cruise was lovely, the music was a special touch, and the service was stellar. At the end of the cruise, the staff came around with our bar bills. Ours was 230 shillings for the bottle of water. The Australian's was 4,500 shillings for the cruise itself. He argued that he had pre-paid just as the rest of us had, but strangely when we docked he was the first off and disappeared like Casper the hustling ghost. I never heard him even thank the African couple for the drinks. All in all it was a wonderful way to spend an evening and highly recommended.

I was betwixt and between needing the facilities on the ship or waiting for the hotel. 

Today being Sunday gave us the perfect excuse to be slugs; most things are closed anyway. You would never know it was Sunday by the traffic passing by the hotel.

Ron needed his church fix and with the Holy Ghost Cathedral just a long block away, we went to mass. There are six masses each Sunday. Our good intentions to make it to the 9am mass did not pan out, but we were there at 10:30 for the start of the next mass. When we arrived, the crowds were tremendous. You would have thought they were giving away free televisions the way the people were gathered. Perhaps the Pope was coming and we didn't hear the news. If he was, we still had time to get away from there. Droves of people left the earlier mass and we sat in the back of the church for the next service. Remembering this is a cathedral, it is larger than a parish church. It was filled almost immediately, but then groups of people were catapulted in at different times like they were thrown in by a wave at high tide. The mass was in Swahili, really adding to the interest for me. We were the only white people amongst hundreds of darker faces. I could not help but notice how every person I eyed had their Sunday best on and the women had their hair done perfectly. The last times I had even been near a church in the States, I still have memories of people's casual and lack of concern about their appearance. Hmm, kind of like we were dressed today.

What set this service apart was the African spirit shown with music provided by drummers. People were really getting into the singing of upbeat songs, not the maudlin ones I remember. Hand waving and clapping was happening with such joviality, I kept forgetting I was in a Catholic Church and not an Evangelical. We were sitting on the aisle with me at the aisle. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a projectile coming through the air from the other side. When it landed on the aisle floor, I could see it was a white biscuit. My first thought was that someone was making a racist commentary on our being there, but then the question of "white cracker" seemed like a culturally based racial slur that would not have migrated over here. With slow motion movement I turned my head in the direction of the near assault keeping a poker face so I did not show emotion. When I had a full sighting of the potential offender, I was sure it was he due to his mile wide smile and the other white biscuit in his other hand. For a 2 year old, the kid has quite a pitching arm.

The rest of the day was spent around the room. Something has given us the "I need to be really close to the bathroom" bug. My guess is it is the flax seed oil we take for Malaria, but up until now it has not caused this drama. 

For dinner, we went to a local restaurant down the street from the hotel. It was typical Swahili food and the first time I had boneless chicken in any dish. Chicken stew with roasted potatoes on the side, was excellent, but the stew barely covered the bottom of the bowl. The roasted potatoes were plentiful. I don't know what they did to them, but they were like eggs with a hard shell on the outside, but the inside was white, moist, and so delicious I did not miss any butter or ketchup with it. This was also one of the few places where the food was steaming hot.

Zanzibar, Tanzania > TanzAir > Mobasa, Kenya

It is a good thing we set the alarm; our wake-up call never came Having showered last night, we only needed to jump into clothes. Ron called for someone to come for our bags, but then we had to wait in the lobby for the taxi scheduled for 5am. It was only 4:40am. When the taxi called to say it was there, the security men carried our bags out to the car. The ride to the airport was only twenty minutes, but then it became surreal. At this hour of the morning, it is still dark out. When the driver pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine, we did not know where we were. For all we knew, we were kidnapped and were waiting for ransome notes to go out for our collection. Our flight was scheduled for 6:30am, the ticket states you must be checked-in an hour before and gates closed fifteen minutes prior to the flight. It was not until the driver offered to go see what was happening since there were no lights on in the termimal, we didn't realize we really were at the airport.

When the driver returned, he said the only people there were security and nothing was open  yet. He was kind enough to allow us to stay in the car. What was especially strange was not not one car joined us for the next twenty minutes. Surely, there had to be other tourists flying this morning who believed the hour rule was enforceable. By 6:00, we ventured out and took in front of the TanzAir check-in desk; the next desk Excel Air had a Muslim woman agent working by oil  lamp and on her mobile phone. At 6:20am, an agent came to check us in. After receiving boading passes, we had to accompany our luggage when the put it through the scanners. I guess if it were suspect, they wanted to cut down on the time it would take them to hunt us down in the miniscule airport and do an immediate incarceration.

When our luggage passed inspection, we were given a card to fill out for leaving the country. Seeing how the rest of the infrastructure works, I am sure these cards a dumped into some pile somewhere never to be referred to again. Their sole purpose is intimidation of the passenger. We were immediately passed through Customs, and then sent to security, followed by the boarding area, a room the total size of our apartment. There is a departure tax payable, but TanzAir includes it in their fares, so we were able to pass just by showing our boarding passes. It was now 6:45am and no signs of boarding.

Finally, we were called and told to follow a security person who walked us to the plane, a Cessna. It was so tiny, they loaded our luggage into the wings. The ceiling was so low, I thought Ron and I were going to have to crawl in on hands and knees to get to a seat. With only 5 passengers on the plane, we had our choice of seats amongst the ten available. There was no barrier between the pilot and seating, but with only one pilot who was getting on in years and overweight, I thought I should watch every move he made just in case one of us was called on to land the plane if he had a heart attack. Just like in the movies, I was waiting to be the hero of the day. After we were in the air my confidence in his last heath report must have kicked in, because I fell asleep.

Landing, we ended our journey far, far away from the real planes or in reality jets. It was like we were in a toy plane and landed at the toy airport, but real people were able to go to the real airport. Hustled into a van, a worker took us through the lines. She tried getting us through Customs faster by speaking to the supervisor, but the 5 passengers held passports from 3 countries. He sent us to the African Nationals line, which was pretty quick. I had fears of having  to buy another Visa since we did not have a multiple entry Visa, but it was a non-issue.  While we were wating our little airport helper asked me what I presents I brought her from Zanzibar. When I lied about not buying anything, she suggested I could give her a token of appreciation for all she has done for us. It was worth a few bucks for her help in getting from Toy Town to Big People's Land, so she received $3. The radar signals must have gone out at that point. Another one in security gear came over to help us find a taxi, which he negotiated in Swahili. I think we paid extra to include his commission from the driver. 

We arrived at the Castle Royal Hotel Mombasa by 10am, never expecting to be able to check-in so early, but we were able to after all. This is our downgrading in service, now at a three star hotel. It is nice, but not lavish as we have come to be used to. Our first room was smallish with twin beds, not a problem, but it did have a minor musty smell. There is supposed to be wireless Internet in the rooms, but I could not connect. They sent us an IT guy, but he could not get the signal either. We walked the halls with the computer on, but no luck. The decision was made to change our room. This is much larger with a double and twin bed, a large balcony, and it sits at the top of the stairs on the first floor. This is the first hotel we have been in that has an elevator, now that we don't need it. This is also the first hotel that has not had mosquito nets over the beds.  

A nap was in order. I picked up a cold from Zanzibar with the hotel turning on off the electricity during the night. First we were cool with the fan going, then dying of the heat when it went off, then freezing again when it went back on. That combined with fumes really did a number on my sinuses, so I was not feeling too well by the time we arrived. 


After some sleep, we were able to walk to the Holy Ghost Catholic Cathedral, Fort Jesus, and Old Town. Being Saturday, there was not much open, except the fort, but the heat was a deciding factor for climbing to the top another day. We wound up taking a tuk-tuk back and had dinner at the hotel. The salad was the best I have had on this trip and the four cheese sauce over penne pasta was delicious, steaming hot, and overly generous.

Happy 2010

We made our last trek up the mountain of stairs for breakfast today. We leave at 5am tomorrow morning for Mombasa, Kenya. Zanzibar was nice, but we overstayed. Seven nights is too long. As romantic as the name sounds, there is not a lot to do and those who come expecting beautiful beaches are gravely disappointed. Add in the electric and banking issues and it can make it extremely challenging.

Honestly, over two weeks into this trip, we planned it the way we usually plan trips, but we goofed this time around. Normally, what we do is pick the time we want to be away and then fill in what we want to do, where we want to stay, and what we want to see within that range. Up to this trip, this method has worked well for us. As I said, in retrospect, 7 days on Zanzibar is too long. Four days would have been plenty. We could have done the turtle tour to spend another day doing something, but we had the feeling there were would be as many turtles as there were dolphins, making it a waste of money. 

The beaches in Stonetown are not swimming beaches, they are for the fishing boats and tourist dhows, though there is not much of a beach anyway. The better beaches are a taxi ride away. We are not beach people anyway, but those we know who have come for the beaches swore they made a mistake. The sights on the island are limited. Today, we did go to the old palace of the Sultan. It was interesting, but in dire need of repair in every inch of the place. 

We saw the fort last night when we went to dinner, we did the spice, dolphin, and monkey tour. We toured every touristy souvenir shop innumerable times and they all have basically the same merchandise.

We have seen more of the hotel room here than we ever have on any vacation. Part of this is that the heat and humidity wipes us out, but there really is not much to persuade us to stay out for. Been there, done that. We could have cut it short, but live and learn. According to the owner of the 236 Hurumzi Hotel, Stonetown is the largest city on the island and there is not much else on the rest of the island. Even if there were, we would need to taxi there, the public transportation consists of trucks with lengthwise benches in the back. When they are filled up, they go to the destination. After arriving someone, we may never be seen again, not knowing how to return again.

A stop at Mercury's for a drink took some time today. Later, we went to another restaurant we had drinks at previously, but this time Ron had a pizza. One last trip through the shops was just to waste some time until the fan and air conditioning at the hotel were turned on again. For dinner, we went to Monsoon Restaurant, but almost didn't. We wanted to have a drink on the terrace and dinner inside. They refused to allow us a drink outside, but would serve us dinner inside. Not understanding their reasoning, we questioned it again when the manager, a German woman overheard us. She came to the rescue and said it was fine. Inside, you leave your shoes at the door and sit on mats on the floor. Dinner was good, but my chicken curry was a leg and thigh only. Ron had prawns and a healthy serving of them too.

We did our last stop at Kilude Cafe, said good-bye to Esther, our favorite waitress and went to bed for a 4:30 am wake-up call.

New Years Eve

This is an exercise in absurdity. Our hotel prefers cash payments due to their electric problems, but also with the bank's electric problems. They cannot always get the credit card to go through. They could do it the old fashioned way of calling it in, but they claim they cannot always get through. Yada, yada, yada. For a large expensive, full service hotel, you would think they had a better back up system to aid the guest. When they do take credit cards, they ONLY take VISA, not MasterCard. So my questions that went unasked are why they do not warn guests in an e-mail prior that they first of all are having the electric problems on the island, which may cause disruptions, second that they would prefer cash, and third that ATMs that work are as rare as the Red Colobus monkeys are on Mars. The worst part of this is that the hotel 236 Hurumzi, is owned by an American who opened it over ten years ago and has expanded it ever since. You would think he would know better by this time how to handle tourism, but he admitted to us that he does not even own a credit card. All well and good for him, but he is not the guest.

My original intent was to pay the bill using my MasterCard debit card on our euro account. This was not going to work if they only took Visa. Being hotter than 6 feet from the sun's surface today, Ron suggested we take a taxi to the Barclays Bank where we knew our MC and their ATM would play nicely together. The taxi took us to the bank passing the People's Commerce Bank along the way, where only Visa is accepted, but they had a line snaking 2 blocks long, none of it in the shade. At the Barclays, I jump out. There is a mob, not a line, but a mob. After a few hand signals from non-English speaking natives, I come to find out they are waiting to get into the bank itself. Only 2 are allowed inside at a time. There were only 4 people ahead of me for the ATM. Jackpot! Well, for 5 minutes it seemed like a winner, but then an armored truck pulled up. The security guard with a big fat machine gun made everyone leave the area. Only the person standing at the ATM in the middle of a transaction was allowed to finish. Ron was sitting the air conditioned taxi waiting. When I popped back in, the driver suggested another bank. That bank had 2 ATMs, but no line. Suspiciously, I approached. No electric on either one. The guard confirmed they were not working. Back in the taxi, we went to another. Same story, different bank. The fourth bank had a line, so that was a good sign. I was number twelve. There were 2 women in there together who were taking so long, the guard went in twice to yell at them. Ten minutes later, they emerged and they were already in there when I arrived. Calculating how long it would take me to reach the machine, standing in the hot sun, watching Ron and the driver sit in the air conditioned car, I put curses on the hotel, Zanzibar, Tanzanian banks, and everyone else adding to my discomfort in the heat. I jumped back in the taxi telling Ron the hotel could take a credit card and like it. This was their fault after all for not warning us. Just by chance, I had the driver take us back to the first Barclay's bank. No truck, only 3 people in line for the machine, I jumped out, told Ron to send the taxi on his way. It had now cost us more than twice the original amount quoted. Eureka! I was able to get the money needed.

Walking back, we went through the big market. I bought another bag of vanilla beans for less than what I paid on the spice tour. I had him through in a bag of red saffron too. We stopped at the Zanzibar Coffee Company on the way. It is not air conditioned, but they did have fans and it was cooler than outside. When we made it back to the hotel, we counted out our money.

After paying the hotel and paying for the New Year's dinner tonight, we had about $6.00 left over for all day New Year's Day. Oh, hell! Originally, we had booked the New Year's dinner here at the hotel, which was supposed to be quite a show with entertainment and multi-course meal, but when we checked in we saw that it was $125.00 per person. There was no way we were going to pay that, so we canceled those reservations right quickly and hoped something else would turn up. With the electric issues, it was iffy which restaurants would be open and who could cook, but we found that the Fort Museum had a buffet and entertainment three nights a week. One of the nights was Thursday, which happened to be New Year's Eve. We booked it for $25. each. 

On the way, I started thinking about our lack of funds, so took the Visa ATM card with us. We went to the bank that has the long lines all of the time, because it was closest. Ron fussed that we could do this tomorrow, but I insisted that doing it after the sun has set was smarter than during the heat of the day. At the rate people were going through the line, he estimated we would finish in an hour. An hour tonight was better than 2 tomorrow. When we were 4th in line, people came out crumbling, all natives. When I asked someone what they were saying, I did not like the response. The machine is out of money. Well, I would not take that for an answer, so while the rest were moaning, I moved forward. Like hitting the lottery, the money spit out. We could eat another day.

At the fort, we bought our tickets. The "restaurant" is outdoor seating at the edge of the historic fort built by somebody to protect their conquered goods from being ripped off by some other invader who really had no right to be here to begin with. The buffet was simple at best, not having 1/2 of what is advertised for other dinner buffets. Rice, chippata, stewed vegetables, beef on a skewer, chicken, fish, and fruit. Drinks were extra. Supposedly an all-you-can-eat buffet, it all disappeared after the first half hour. The entertainment consisted of a drummer, and accordianist, and two female singers who sang to us in Swahili. Grand total, there were 8 of us there for dinner and 2 others who were there for the show only. By 9:30, it was all over. Such a festive New Years were were having.

To work off that one shot at the buffet we had, we walked around the park. It was grounded and the food vendors were there selling their food. Deciding that this year was not going to be as festive as the last two, we returned to the hotel. Outside on the street, three dancers were performing Swahili dances. All the neighborhood came to watch, so we sat and watched also. When they were done, we went to our little cafe for a cup of tea. Moments later the dancers and drummers followed us in and gave us a command performance, but their command, not ours. It was fun, but by 11pm, we were in bed reading and slept through the changing of the years.  

Dolphins to Monkeys

Being punctual, we were sitting outside waiting for our tour guide to show up at 8am as they told us he would, but at 8:2o, he finally showed, and took us to the van. There 2 Norwegian young woman were being roasted alive waiting for us. After he had us captive, the guide took off again by foot into the streets once again, leaving all four of us to prematurely experience what hell must be like. Getting out of the van was not a option; there was no shade to hide under. The driver returned alone, drove off and picked up 2 others at yet another hotel, followed by 2 more from where we started. I wonder if they were not ready when he went initially to get them, so we had to make a return trip.

Along the route to the beach, our guide and driver stopped at the outdoor market, at a car parts place, and some roadside stands, all for unknown reasons. We all suspected he was doing his weekly shopping or running errands for extra money. We didn't get to the beach where our boat was waiting until 10:30. For those of us who were going snorkeling, they fitted them with fins and a mask. I had no intention of going in the water. Little did I realize at the time I had no choice.

All of the dhows, the boats they use, looked lovely as they floated out at sea during low tide; however, I had no idea how they were going to get us out to one of them. Thankfully, I did not wear jeans today, because we had to walk to the boat. Yes, we walked about the length of six blocks wading through the water to the frick'in boat. The other nugget we had not been warned about was that you cannot go barefoot through the water due to sea urchins and coral that will slice your feet open. I had on my Crocs sandals, Ron his Birkenstocks (is water good for leather?), but the others were not all so lucky. The couple from Uganda actually did go barefoot rather than ruin their good footwear. It took them twice the time to reach the boat as the rest of us. Mountainous lumps of coral, hardened over the ages were treacherous to walk over, causing each couple to work as a team in stabilizing each other to make it safely, or  cameras were going to become floaters. By the time we reached the boat, the water was up to my knees, approaching my thighs. Since I am taller than most of the others, they were practically wading.
 

Basically, the Lonely Planet book had it correct, Frommer's forgive me. A number of dhows chase after the dolphins and stalk them like suspects in a murder mystery. Really, I felt like we were on a wet version of a fox hunt. Dolphins were the foxes, dhows were the dogs chasing them down, and those of us diving in after them were the hunters. Dolphins being intelligent, love this game of hide and seek and can dive deep and reemerge a distance away. The way the next 2 hours went were like this. Dolphins were spotted, never more than 4 and probably the same 4 the entire time, what would we know? All boats would rush over to where they were swimming, all divers would jump in the water to catch a glimpse, the dolphins would freak out, and swim away. Divers would climb back in the boat. Repeat scenerio. Repeat scenerio. Repeat scenerio. 

At the last attempt to witness dolphin majesty, the 2 Norwegian, the 2 Brits, and Ron started feeling something strange. Jellyfish were stinging them. Each of them had burning little red bumps, Ron the least, but he did pull out a bit of a barb from one. No one became ill, just uncomfortable for an hour or so. That was the end of the good will hunting for dolphins.

Back to shore, the tide came in a bit, so the water was higher, meaning the boat could get 2 blocks closer to shore then when we went out. Soaking wet, we went to a lunch spot on the site, included in the fee. Ah, the fee for the tour was a topic of conversation. The Uganda couple paid $30 each for theirs, the Brits paid $50 each, the Norwegian and we paid $40 each. The Brits fee did not even include the Jungle tour, which ours did. The Ugandans thought they were paid up for seeing the monkeys and the Norwegians were clueless about the second part of the tour.

When the guide came and said "Are we ready to see the monkeys?" everyone said sure, thinking we were all going to get this extra. When we arrived, he announced we were the only ones paid up and the others would have to pay 10,000 shilling a piece to go forth. The Brits joined up, the rest stayed behind. We were issued umbrellas being the rain forest, following the local guide, a sweet young man, like little ducklings. He pointed out red mahogony, regular mahogony, different plants, insects, and even a fresh water crab. We were all hot, humid, sticky from traipsing through the Indian Ocean twice getting to and from our boat, all we wanted was to see the famous Red Colabus monkeys. This is the only place in the world where they exist. Our guide was reciting things like he had learned them for the school play, so we felt horrible when we pushed him along. One question lead to detailed responses, prolonging the experience. We all learned not to ask more questions. Finally, we had to say "Just show us the monnnkey." At that, he walked us back to our van. We thought we missed out for bad behavior; no monkeys for us. Instead, we had to walk down the dirt road we drove in on and to the forest across the street. This is where it gets fun.

Ron being the eternal social worker, tells the two Norwegian girls to follow us across the street, since we have left the paid area. The guide, the two Brits, and I are up ahead and almost to the monkey habitat. The guide turns around and sees two intruders and asks them where their tickets are, when Ron pipes up "They are with me" like that should hold some authority. Unless they could produce tickets, the guide refused to take another step, so no one was going to see the monkeys. I told Ron more than once when I was a kid, I loved reading Ann Landers, the advice columnist. My favorite answer she would provide to writers is M.Y.O.B. Mind Your Own Business. He just refuses to follow the advice. You get him on a van with 6 others and he is trying to orchestrate everyone's life. He thinks he is a combination of social worker, cruise director, entertainment director, and guest relations all in one. Finally, finally, we were able to see the monkeys. Adorable! Now, I can say I saw the monkeys that only exist in Zanzibar. My life is complete now.

When we reached the hotel, I literally showered with my cotton safari pants on. It was the best way to get them washed and get the salt water out of them at the same time. Then, I soaked them in more laundry detergent along with my t-shirt and showered myself yet again. 

Later this evening, we went to The Spice Road Restaurant for dinner. We went first to the Archipelago Restaurant, but it is Halal (Muslim law), so no alcohol is served, including beer. Ron suggested I go over to the Monsoon Restaurant, buy a couple of beers and meet him at the Archiplago Restaurant, but when the waiter wanted to know why I did not want the bottles opened, he refused to sell them to me. Aside from the beer, the menu was not inviting for me since it was mostly fish, making the beer a moot issue.

When we went into The Spice Road Restaurant, there was 1 other diner in the whole place. Hoping this was not a sign, we allowed ourselves to be seated. By the time we left, they were turning people away, not free tables.

Mercury Rising

At breakfast, the clouds flirted with us, teasing that they just may drench us with rain to clear the air. If we showered with our clothes on, we could not be any wetter than we were. Oh, how I do love watching others struggle up those stairs to the breakfast rooftop patio. It does my heart good that it is not just me who finds this a sadistic morning challenge.

Concerned about shopping before the holidays, not knowing if that means a thing here, we went to the ATM machine. Now that we know the locations of five machines both working and none, we can make the trek to the farthest away in twenty minutes. The good old Barclays was not working again today, but there is no bank behind it to reason this out.  A security guard outside was kind enough tell us it had moved to the big market area. What is he  is securing without a bank is in question as is why they keep a small lobby air conditioned when the machine is non-functional. Another banking trick for keeping rates artificially high, perhaps.

The real Barclays accepted my euro account card without a hiccup and spit out lots of bills with multitudes of zeros on them. I could feel my shopping gene vibrate and twitter. Ron had other ideas, though. We stopped at the Anglican cathedral. It stands of the land that the last slave market was maintained. The altar is where the last slave auction took place before it was declared illegal. In the back is a heart wrenching art piece of slaves chained together with only their upper bodies fully sculpted. One of the people significant in the end of slavery was Dr. David Livingstone. In the church is a crucifix made of the wood from the tree that he died under here in Zanzibar. His heart was buried here, but the rest of his body was sent elsewhere for burial.

After a cold drink, we did make it shopping to buy the lounging pants I wanted, a t-shirt and two scarves as gifts. It was oppressively hot, so we were in slow, slow motion stopping yet again at the Serena Hotel for another cold drink before heading back to the room. The skies finally gave way and released its pent up tears, flooding the streets in a matter of twenty minutes. We allowed ourselves to get soaked briefly, but shop hopped the rest of the time. Then it dried up and became Finnish sauna steamy once again.

When we returned, Ron was looking at our reservation for this hotel and they have us down for a 'week', but checking out on January 1st, not the 2nd when our flight is. The reservations person will not be in until tomorrow, but we have another tour booked leaving at 8am. Something new to worry about.

For dinner, we went to Mercury's Restaurant named after Freddie Mercury of Queen fame. He was born here in Zanzibar, though the restaurant's only relation to him is his name. It sits on the beach with a marvelous view of the boats coming in, the children swimming and the young men doing acrobatics. We arrived at 6pm, but dinner service did not start until 7pm, but we were pleasantly entertained by the scenery on the beach in the meanwhile. The peddlers come by the railing selling their goods. Each has a more dramatic story than the last and I am certain parts of the stories are true. Who wants to set themselves up for rejection time and again, day after day if they had a choice. There has to be a limit of what you can buy though, so Tough Love has to set in.

To work off dinner, we walked through the park. It was mobbed with people eating. Knowing the salaries, I can only wonder how they can afford to live, let alone eat out.

One disjointed observation is about the children. It is not uncommon to see 3-5 year olds walking the streets alone or playing somewhere without an adult anywhere in sight. Often, we have seen children I would guess to be about 7-9 years old, holding other smaller children walking the streets or standing on the roadsides. 

Add Spice to Your Life

Image via Wikipedia

The only gratification I get from mountain climbing up to breakfast is that once there, I can witness those younger than I huff and puff up the last flight of stairs. The view of the seashore is a pleasurable event, though the clouds always look ominous. A quick turn brings the towers of mosques, the steeples of churches, and the dome of the Hindu temple. Any more turns and all there is on offer is are the tin roofs of buildings and homes, with some weather worn block housing in the distance.

By 9am, we were waiting patiently for our Spice Tour guide to pick us up. The 3 Swedish people joined us by fifteen after the hour, but the guide did not show for yet another fifteen minutes. There were so many for the tour, they had 2 vans full, both with air conditioning, so no riots broke out. At $15. per person, it is a popular tour. After filling our van, we drove for about twenty minutes to a spice plantation where we were turned over to another guide with very good English.

I started taking pictures of the different things, but soon realized that when I went back to look at the pictures, I would not remember one from the other, realized it was pointless and quit. What was of interest was that many of the spices are not indigenous to the island or the country. Some came from then Persia, others from Mexico, and Thailand. Which can from where? I cannot tell you now. I told you I would forget.

What was interesting was that vanilla is grown on a vine and has to be grown under trees to protect it from the sun. Vines we saw were strung from tree to tree like a clothesline. The long pods were not ripe yet; green they do not smell vanillay yet. The flowers have to be hand pollinated, resulting in the high cost of vanilla beans. We were treated to some jackfruit right off of the tree. We have eaten this is in Thailand and Malaysia, but it was fun to try again. What we did not know were oversized seeds are edible if boiled first, though we did not get to try them that way. There was also the duran, which has a smell like rotting flesh with the saying "Smells like hell, tastes like heaven". Some parts of countries ban the growing or even the sale of it due to the odor it emits. Other fruits we tried were fresh litchi and rambutan. The guide explained that some people think they are the same fruit, but actually they are two different fruits. One has a spiky out layer, the other is smoother.

Fewer spices were displayed due to the season, but we did get to see nutmeg. Once the pod is opened, the red outer layer is called mace. When the mace is removed, the nutmeg is the inner spice. Cloves grow like just like they look in the bottle, but green and need to be dried once picked. Cardamon was another. Cinnamon is the bark of the tree, when cut in a proper fashion, the tree will heal itself; the bark is renewed and the tree is unhurt. The curled sticks of cinnamon are from smaller branches of the tree. Cinnamon that is ground comes from the larger trunks of the tree.

Walking in the brush, underbrush, and between trees, I walked into a large root sticking up out of the ground and hit my left foot sending me to the heavens to view the stars, even when the sun was blazing. After I recovered, it did not seem too bad, but later my two smallest toes turned lovely shades of purple and swelled like the little piggies where one went to the market and the one who stayed home.

Lunch was included, so we were transported to a village where people were building their home of tree branches and roof of reeds. We were directed to a large open room, a roof, but no walls, where mats were placed on the floor and asked to find a place on the mats. Removing our shoes before the mats, we complied by grouping in fives. Lunch was a yellow lentil dish very Indian looking, spiced rice with cinnamon, and spinach (OH, NO!). Although it was never mentioned, I suspected the meal was prepared with a number of spices we had seen. I found the flavors delectably outstanding.

After lunch, we visited the obligatory stand where we could buy some spices. I had thought they said the vanilla beans were 2,000 shillings a bag, so picked up 7 bags. When the guy started counting, he counted individual beans, so I took back 5 bags and put them back. As he gave me the running total, I added a bag, not wanting to spend more than 15,000. In the end, I had 7 bags of vanilla beans, one bag of cardamon tea and one of Marsala tea. He must have been so confused by the end of the whole transaction, he did not know what had happened. Actually, neither did I until I got back on the van and counted what I had received, more than I had anticipated to start.

The rest of the tour was a trip to the beach. How this relates to spices, is beyond me, but they were going to spend 2 hours there before returning to town. A whole group of us said we did not want to be crispy critters on the beach causing them to fill one van to return us to downtown again.

For dinner, we went to the park to find our friend from last night. He recognized us immediately and worked his charms. When so many things look different or you have not had it spiced in just such a way, eyes take over where the stomach should have control. On our plates were chicken kebabs, falafel, sweet potato, plantain, coconut bread, and salad. Everywhere we have had chicken either here or in Kenya, the way they cut it up is so foreign to us, plus, no chicken dish is served boned. Even the kebabs had bones, so when you are eating on the cement wall in a park on a paper plate, it does get to be challenging. Managing as best we could, we put away a good portion of the meal, but we did order too much. If we do it again, we need to order one thing at a time. As good as the sweet potato was, it would have been delicious with butter. Plain, it is too dry to swallow after the first bite without something to drink and our friend did not sell drinks.

Now that we have the territory down pat, it is nothing to walk around in the dark at night. Dozens of Islamic women in their religious dress are out on the streets as well. I have often wondered if those who keep their faces covered are ever able to eat out. It would make it difficult when only your eyes are showing through.

Back at the hotel, we stoppeed for a cup of tea at the cafe. We were speaking to one of the young waiters there about his job. He convinced us he loved it. He works six days a week and earns 100,000 shillings a month (140,000 is $100). From this, he is saving to go to college to...are you ready for this? to become a waiter. At first, we thought we had misunderstood him, but he said it again. They teach how to properly set a table, how to offer excellent customer service, how to present the meals and so on. What they do after those 2 hours is beyond my imagination. As I was ready to probe further the owner walked in, started talking to us, so I never was able to ask anymore.

Only 40% of the population of the island works in salaried positions. This explains why so many are selling cashews, DVDs, and scarves on the streets. But then again, when you have to pay for an education starting with primary school, only the lucky get to get ahead.

On a different note, we found that Zanzibar is semi-autonomous from Tanzania. Zanzibar has its own parliament and president, but Tanzania is still the overseer as a national government. They do send members to the Tanzania parliament and vote in the Tanzanian presidential elections.

Money Woes Is Me

Thunderstorms this morning, making the air feel like we are swimming around the room. Humidity does not begin to describe it with the oppressive heat. Last night, we left the screened windows open for air; the ceiling fan was working overtime too. When I peeled myself from the sheets, it was obvious it had rained in. Luckily, my computer and camera were on the shelf under the closed window.

By the time, we made our way down our 2 flights of stairs, across the hotel and then 4 flights of stairs to the breakfast room, artificial resuscitation would have been welcomed. These stairs are not really stairs, they are like climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. Each one takes a contortionist movement of the legs to reach the next step. A Slinky going down them would give up in disgust and refuse to go further than 2 steps out of fear of heights. Though, the staff run up and down them like they were nothing, but the staff is mostly under 25 years old too. 

Armed with umbrellas that we never needed, we went to explore the city. A walking tour is offered, but we did not make it in time to book it, so we hoofed it on our own starting at the seaside and working our way through the maze of streets. With the electric problems, customers need to shop and plan out where to eat early in the day or there may not be as many options past 4pm. Sunset is at 6:15pm every day and by 6:45pm, it is dark. We were told this is because of the proximity to the equator. It was the same in Kenya, too. If you are looking for a glorious sunset, don't sneeze or you will miss out. 

One of the shops we came across has a number of batiked items, jewelry and hand woven scarves. Many of the products support the Masai Women's Collective to aid them in being financially independent. One of the things that attracted my attention were wonderful lounging pants, one size fits all. The skinny salesman/artist showed us how they work for keeping them in place. I had the idea of getting 2 sets for each of the bedrooms and one for each of us. Guests can use them for lounging or to come to breakfast before showering and then we just launder them when they leave us. They are wonderful 'hang-around' on a lazy day type pants; my kind of clothing. We picked out other things we wanted to buy as gifts, but without cash could only promise to return. Supporting a women's collective and young artists makes me feel like my money is well spent.

Our next venture was to the market. Stall after stall, it was not much different than Cairo or Morocco, but smaller. Everyone has a bargain; everyone wants to sell you something. The items of choice are vanilla beans and saffron. Both are dirt cheap here. In CA, the supermarkets used to keep both under lock and key due to the expense and theft. Here you can buy either for $2.00 a pod for vanilla or a packet of saffron. I will stock up before we leave. At the market and everywhere else people are hawking bags of cashews, spices, or DVDs of Swahili top ten hits. Not that I am interested, but I am curious if there really is a DVD of music in the wrapped cover they offer.

We decided we had better find an ATM and get some cash. What we had was wearisomely low. When we found the bank, there was a long a block long to use the machines. Where these due to the electrical problems or just a run on the bank? I stood in line for over thirty minutes while Ron tried finding another bank. When I finally found the machines in eye sight, I saw the Visa logo only. This was a concern since our bank ATM is a MasterCard. Sure as there is a death at the end of life, the machine would not accept my card. But, it did not inform me of this right out. We played cat and mouse with false hopes before it flashed "REJECTED, cannot make this transaction". Two blocks away was a Barclays Bank, so we went there. Suspiciously, there was no line. We went in the door, it was air conditioned. We could have stayed there for longer if the "We are sorry for the inconvenience, but this machine is currently not working. Please try again later" message flashing on the screen was not so discouraging. Now fear was creeping in. Most places do not take credit cards, but even if they could, without electricity then cannot run the cards. They have not learned or don't want to bother calling it in the old-fashioned way.

Diagonally from Barclays a half block down was another bank. I went there, but no machine at all. The bank had closed down.  With cash concerns, we returned  to our room to think things out. Some of my best ideas come when I am on the computer and sure enough, I remembered while uploading some posts that our other bank card was a Visa debit card. This is not the account I wanted to draw from, but if push came to possibly having to steal to get money, we would do it. First, we returned to Barclays. It did say to check back later and this was later. Now the damn machine was not even lit up. Someone must have shut off the generator. Back to the other bank, with fingers crossed, it swallowed my card and spit out cash. Hope of shopping trips returned, not to mention eating another meal after the provided breakfast. 

Now feeling flush, we went to the Old Fort where there is an old fort, hence the name, but also a tour booking service and tourism information. We booked the Spice Tour for tomorrow. As luck would have it, three Swedish people from our hotel arranged the same tour and requested an air conditioned van or they would  not go. Thank you Swedes.

Across the street from the fort and on the waterfront is a large park that was refurbished and reopened this year. By 6pm, it was filled with food venders cooking on grills and selling their foods. One such was grilling a root type vegetable which we had never seen before.  There was a young couple eating one nearby. I took a chance they were tourists and asked about it. It is called a maniok (we are not sure of the spelling). It is similar to a potato, but a bit different taste. We tried one and it was good, especially hot off of the grill, but not as good as it could have been slathered in butter. Another foodsmith nabbed us to show us all of his offerings. He could have been named Neptune; he had every type of sea creature ready to grill as well as potatoes, sweet potatoes (African are a bit different from what we are used to), chicken or beef on a stick, falafel, and coconut bread. After his whole speech, we turned him down and went to our cafe next to the hotel.

The soup of the day was pumpkin with coconut milk. Could I resist? No! It was delicious; so good in fact, I could have forgotten about a main dish, but I had a chicken fajita, also recommendable. Tomorrow night, we may just may attempt the food on the go, in the park, for dinner.

Boxing Day, Where is My Box?

Happy Boxing Day!

This is our last day with Anwar and the last of the safaris for a little over a week. Last night I overindulged with the spinach on the buffet. Spinach  and pumpkin will always get me for second helpings, but this is not a good thing. Spinach treats me the same way as eating two bowls of stewed prunes does others. I am paying for it this morning, but knowing I made trouble for myself, I set the alarm for an hour earlier than need be.

This will be a short safari drive in Lake Manyara Reserve, because we have to catch a flight to Zanzibar at 2pm. They have the whole assortment of animals in this reserve, but almost immediately, we came across a bull elephant just lazily strolling down the road. Anwar had to stop as the animals have the right of way. He was explaining to us that one time he was caught blocking an animals thoroughfare and was fined $200 general fine and an additional fine of $5o for each person in the jeep.

As the elephant walked by us within petting distance, I just wanted to reach out and cuddle him. When I started cooing at him, Anwar shut me up explaining that could agitate the bull into doing something destructive to the car. Okay, cute, but dangerous still. I get it. There ia a large hippo pond with numerous hippos; two started fighting, but it happened and ended so fast, I could not get it on camera. We were only able to stand at a railing to view them, which was fine, we had seen a number of hippos. This reserve is know for its bird varieties. We saw numerous birds we had not seen before. Baboons ran rampant and should try practiciing birth control. There were more of them than I had ever seen anywhere. Some were doing the nasty on the road, while others were doing the nasty to themselves on the road or on the side of it. Oh, tourists, let's put on our show.

The hotel packed us a picnic lunch, surprising since we checked out long before a normal lunchtime. We had a 2 hour drive to the Arusha airport for our TanzAir flight to Zanzibar. Being the travelers we are, we thought we should be there 2 hours ahead of time for security and all that hubbub, but when we arrived at 12:15, we found the check-in did not begin until 1:00pm. Anwar's boss showed up with our tickets. He received so many kudos on Anwar's performance, he grinned from ear to ear. Anwar told us over lunch, he did not work at all in November. Promising to do our best to send clients his way, we gave him his tip and said good-bye. Living only 20 minutes away, he was going to spend the rest of the day having Christmas with his family and neighbors, though he is Muslim. His wife was a Christian, but converted to Muslim along with his three kids.

At an airport this small, it is a comedy act, but actually they are well organized. All flights on all of the airlines check in at one counter with one man doing the check-in and one weighing and labeling the luggage. Although there was a horde of people, we checked in and received boarding passes relatively quickly. Next was move to the  loading area, where everyone is allowed, those flying and those saying good-bye or hello to an incoming flight.

Without warning, we had a downpour. Being we were flying on a 30 seat Cessna, we had to wait out the rain. This turned out to be a good thing. I had to acquaint myself with the men's room three times before we finally boarded. I kept thinking as long as they have my luggage, they will not leave without me, but in reality, the plane is so small, they could have dumped my luggage in a heartbeat. There were no seat assignments, just grab a seat filling up the front first. Being 2nd and 3rd, we sat right behing the pilots and could have given them back massages along the way. However, it was so hot in the plane for this hour and twenty-minute flight, we fell asleep.

At the Zanzibar "International" Airport, hardly a bite bigger than the one we left, the luggage was off-loaded by hand onto a rack, not a conveyor belt. Everyone had told us that finding an ATM machine in Tanzania was going to be difficult, but while on the safari, we had all meals included, so had no need for cash. Now, it was an issue and the airport we left behind had no ATM machine. Fortunately, the Zanzibar airport had a row of money changers, so we converted euros to get by, especially for the taxi ride to the hotel. Warned to use the authorized taxis regardless of offers by others, we did and had a set rate of 13,000 T shillings. When the driver pulled up next to a mosque and said this was as far as he could go, we were nervous, but he continued that the roads to the hotel were too narrow for cars. Instead, he walked us to the hotel, 236 Hurumzi.

What an amazing hotel it is, called 236 Hurumzi, the address where it sits. Originally, the building was built by the Omani Arabs. The front section was built by Tharia Tiipto who was principal financial advisor to Sultan Bargash. Tipton also served as Head of Customs. In 1863, when the slave trade was officially ended, the British made it a law that all slaves were to be freed. Those who had made investments in their slaves refused to relinquish the money spent, so the British  government reimbursed them for their losses. It was in this building that these transactions were handled. Hurumzi is derived from the Swahili Uhuru-mzee which means "Free the men". Tom Green, an American from Kansas, bought the first property and restored it. Now including the properties at 236, there is also 240, 234, and 235 creating 24 spacious and luxurious rooms. All rooms are decorated in a mixture of Persian, Indian, and Arab elements. As he restored each part, locals offered to sell him bits and pieces from destroyed buildings. It is truly unique. Our tub is the size of a wading pool. All of the furniture throughout the hotel is antique.

All of this goodness is not without a down side. The island of Zanzibar receives its electricity from the mainland. On December 10th, the government decided to refurbish the underwater cable. In light of this, there has not been any electricity since December 10th. The hotel has a tremendously large generator that runs 18 hours a day. However, smaller businesses and restaurants who are not as fortunate can only stay open if they have their own generator or during daylight hours for stores. Commerce aside, the average citizen has no electricity, no running water as the pumps are electric, so they are stuck. The hotel has its own wells, so water is not an issue here.

So, we finally are settled into our room by 4:30 and want to explore, but first we want to put our credit cards, the computer, and other cash in the room's safe. We follow the instructions, but it does not work. Multiple attempts later, we call downstairs for aid. A young man comes up with a bit of a smirk like he is going to solve our problems. He lost his smirk mighty quickly. He could not get it to work either. Believing that if he went for the printed instructions, it would help, but when he returned with them in hand, it was useless. Finally, they decided that the battery needed replacing, but the manager would not be back until 7pm. Wifi is supposed to be available, but I could not connect. When I asked reception, she told me to use the lobby and gave me the password. It did not work. We tried the password every which way, but no deal. She finally suggested I go upstairs to the office, where a password is not needed. It worked, but then I had to sort through 657 e-mails to get rid of the spam while uploading my little YouTube videos to include in earlier postings.

By this time, it was 8:00, they had just finished replacing the batteries in the safe, it worked again, and we were ready to go out and explore. Problem...the city had no electricity, so all of the alleys and byways were black as a witches stereotypical cat, so we couuld not see a thing. Next door to the hotel is a cafe that is part of the hotel, so we ate there, came back and went to bed.

Happy Christmas

It was a white Christmas outside this morning, not with snow, but fog. Trying to find the crater floor was impossible, with the fog shrouding all views. We had dismal thoughts for our safari drive. Ron tried waiting it out hoping the sun would shine through and clear it up for some morning pictures; it did not happen. Breakfast was nothing special for Christmas. They must have felt the two desserts last night was their contribution.

When we met with Anwar, he said that the floor of the crater would most likely be clear as the fog rises. What he explained to us was that everyone, except hotel staff can only stay in the park for 24 hours, this includes all guests at any hotel on the rim. The rim is part of the park. Driving on the crater floor is only allowed from 7am to 4pm. Hence, if you checked into your hotel at noon on one day, you only have until noon, the next to get your drive in and get out of the park entirely. This makes an interesting concept for a hotel to be a one night stand exclusively.

As elusive as they are, we were witness to two cheetahs walking the plains in our direction. Stopping the van to watch, they came right toward us crossed the street and then looked like they had a gazelle in their sights. Along with the gazelle, there were three wildebeests in the area, but Anwar explained they were too large for a cheetah to attack, so they were safe. However, one of them did strange twisting and turning like he was trying to warn others of danger. Slowly, the gazelle walked in the direction of the cheetahs, although we whispered our encouragement for it to stay away. It was then that Anwar spotted a herd of gazelles, which would have given the cheetahs a better chance of scoring. It was almost as if the gazelle was fretful for the others and kept pacing.

Now, a whole herd of tour trucks were in the area, but the cheetahs were unfazed. One plopped right in front of a truck's tire and watched the happenings around. It was a lengthy time before they both moved on across the street and continued walk, stopping to observe, and then moving on again. We moved on after the potential excitement was over.

Once again, there were thousands of wildebeests and zebras, but neither were skiddish with the jeep going by, so we were able to stop and view them fairly closely without them running off. During the drive, we saw 8 black rhinos, but all in long distance sightings. Not even our zoom camera lens could make them out clearly enough. Anwar told us the difference between black and white rhinos is the upper lip. Black rhinos have a protruding upper lip like a trunk to assist them in reaching leaves from a tree.

From the beginning of the drive, it was sprinkling, but we had the top popped up to view. Then it started to come down heavily, so we had to close it as I was getting soaked in the back. The two guys, Anwar and Ron, were fine in front.Then we had cheetah sightings, so up the top went again rain or not. Two were traveling together and came right by our truck.

Anwar explained that the soda lake was akaline. It is only populated by flamingos. We could see thousands of them from a distance, but the roads do not go close enough to see them like advertisements would have you believe. None of the other animals will use this lake, preferring the fresh water lake instead.

By noon, we were ready for lunch. The lunch area was without any tables or chairs, so we ate in the truck. The ground was muddy swamps, but the view of a lake and the crater rim were brilliantly green make the scenery delightful. We decided to call it quits by 2pm and went to our hotel to check in. We are staying on Lake Manyar; as it turns out it is still one of the same chain that we stayed in the last two nights, with the same room deficits as the others. When we arrived, we were able to get clear views of the lake, which were lovely. The outside bar sets on the edge of the viewing area, so we had a beer to breathe in the views. There are baboons galore, so you have to watch your things while sitting at the bar and we were warned to keep our balcony door locked or the baboons will come in and steal things.

Beer with 5% alcohol prompts a nap. It was delicious sleeping for 2 hours. There is a special program tonight for Christmas. Some choir is coming to sing, then Mrs. Somebody will play a piano concert. 

Well the children sang their hearts out for over 2 hours. They must have been exhausted, but clearly eating up the applause.

Skipping Christmas

Pardon for skipping on Christmas greetings, but the wilderness does not decorate, so I have lost track. Hotel decor has been from laughable to please stop trying. Our last hotel in Kenya was playing non-stop Christmas carols all day yesterday. There is something unnerving hearing Elvis sing about a blue Christmas when in Africa, or I am dreaming of a white Christmas. Well if I were, I would have stayed home.

So this Indian run, Chinese constructed, Tanzanian hotel gets poor marks also for sound quality. We are on the ground floor. In the bathroom, above the sink is a permanently open window with screening. Everyone walking by laughing, talking, yelling, comes filtering in. Keeping the bathroom door closed does not help since the room door is flimsy at best and not flush, so sounds vibrate it. For once and this may be a historic event to put on the calendar, I slept soundly and Ron was disturbed by the noise. Three cheers.

Anwar was ready for us by 8:30 and so were the animals. It was a fantabulous day of viewing. We found a lake of hippos, counting forty before we lost count of the rest and those coming downstream to join them. There was another leopard spotting in tree with its fresh kill in storage in the tree trunks waiting for chow time. A little leopard turtle crossed the street in front of us. Lions were everywhere. We found some in the kopjes (pronounced copies) rocks nursing young or just relaxing in shade. Kopjes are technically called inselbergs, ancient granite rocks that have cracked with erosion from sun, wind, and rain. They provide water and shelter for plant and animal life, especially important during the dry season on the plain. Other lions were on the ground under bushes.

According to Anwar, hundreds of thousands of zebras and wildebeests were spread across the plains up to the roadside. During migration time, 1.5 million of them cross the river in search of feeding grounds. This is the largest animal migration in the world. The best times for viewing is June to December. Their return migration is May and June. Needless to say, the migration causes a high percentage of deaths from trampling, drowning, or getting ravaged by crocodiles as they cross the waters. Watching hundreds of wildebeests line up to cross the plain was a sight I will not soon forget. Still thousands were spread across the plain as far as the eye could see.

Wildebeests share the same grazing area as the zebras. Wildebeests bite off the tougher grasses and swallow. They have stomachs like a cow, so they are able to ruminate the food later to chew and digest it. Zebras eat the tender grasses and chew before swallowing. Like the wildebeests, there were thousands of zebras interspersed. There were a group of six zebras all lined up with their backs to us. My first thoughts were they were having a best butt beauty pagent or they were asking "Do stripes make my ass look bigger?" Zebras are so funny. They seem to like to play this game of "Get me if you can". They will stay so close to the road or even cross it until you are very near them and then they take off like a lion is after them. Some of the less intelligent wait for us to pass them and then get spooked. "Oh, I should have run. Okay, let me do it now." Wildebeests have the sense to run as soon as you close in on them. Then they stop and turn around to look at you. "Are you chasing me yet?"

Stopping at the Serengeti Tour Center, we followed the metal wildebeest signs and footprints in cement to various levels, each offering education information about the park. It was entertaining, educational, and well put together. As we left, the sky became dark suddenly and it poured rain, the first time during our trip. Temperatures dropped from the mid-80s to about the 60s. All of the ruts in the road flooded immediately, causing our jeep to slip, slide and at some points spin like the pointer on a wheel of fortune. Anwar had it all under control, but we were concerned we would get stuck in mud that we would not be able to escape from. By the time we reached our lunch spot, our white jeep was totally muddy brown.

Tonight's stop over is the Ngorongoro Wildlife Lodge, run by the same Indian group as last night's hotel. It sits on the rim of a crater created by volcanic eruption. Tomorrow, we will venture down to view the wildlife as well as see the soda lake, which I don't know yet, what it is. Supposedly, only one day is allowed in the crater itself to keep it from being overwhelmed with tourism. The only lodges are up on the rim, none in the crater itself. Regardless, the vistas from the hotel were breathtaking, until the cloud coverage came in. Then it rained again obliterating everything.

Ron has been handing out Hungarian Christmas candies to staff member, who seem to really appreciate it. They do have some trees with lights, but only balls of cotton for decoration. At dinner, the dessert was a Royal Plum cake and Christmas pudding, but the Brits in line ahead of us disparaged both attempts. We tried both without complaints. African music and dance were tonight's entertainment. Same, same, but different than before.

Have to get to bed so Santa Claus will find me. I do hope he found that note I pinned to the door with my forwarding address.

Passing Over

Once again, the sounds of silence were not to be had. Noise, noise, noise from next door. Six in the morning is an ungodly time to have eat breakfast. My digestive juices don't start flowing until 8am at the minimum even if we did get up at 5:15. Joseph would be waiting for us at 6:30 as we have a "long" day ahead of us, but he leaves us at the Tanzania border to be greeted and continue with a different guide/driver. The rendezvous was set for 10am, but that did not happen. For the first time, Joseph lost his way and could not find the right way to the border. Of course, since there are no street or directional signs anywhere, it is reasonable. He stopped 5 times to ask directions. People either seemed to not know or gave the incorrect information.

By 11:20, he finally had us parked in front of Kenyan Immigration Offices. The young officer had us fill out a short form and stamped our passports. A short drive across a lot had us in line at the Tanzania Immigration Office where we lined up with the rest. A young officer asked us where we were going. Duh, we are in the Tanzania office, we are coming to see you. He gave us each a short form to fill out and then told us to skip the line moving to the second window. After asking for US $100 for EACH of us, we had our one year, multiple entry Visa for Tanzania. Pointing out that there was some mistake, we were told it was $50 each and we only wanted a single entry Visa. No mistake, due to some treaty or other the US and Ireland of all places no longer get single entry, but only multiple. The cost is the same, so trying out a brogue would not have helped at all.

When we left the office, Joseph was antsy, ready to turn us over to Anwar, our new driver/guide. We moved our things from a room van to a less roomy, less comfortable jeep. Anwar showed me the sign he had ready. It showed "Run Shmitz and Ryan James". I asked Anwar if this were a transitional vehicle, but darn it all, it is all we get until we fly off to Zanzibar. Anwar is young, friendly and I am sure we will enjoy him. His English is moderate, so it takes some getting used to his accent. He was telling us that Tanzania has over 144 languages with Swahili the official one. Kenya has 44 languages with Swahili and English as the official languages.

So bear in mind, we left the lodge we had stayed at for three nights, at 6:30. We road the bumpy, rutty, pitted, roads until getting out of the car when Joseph had to fix his shock absorber, and then not again until we received immigration. Climbing back into the jeep at 11:30am, we were cramped in there until we stopped for lunch along the way. We had an hour of reprieve, before continuing onward. In Tanzania the roads are paved, a real blessing; however, there is a speed bump every fifty feet. If it ain't one thing, it's another. Ride, ride, ride, doze, chat, ride. We reach the gates of the Serengeti National Park. This is an extension of the Masai Mara National Park on the Kenya side. The two are separated by the countries borders. The Serengeti is the size of the State of Connecticut, so that will give you an idea of the size of the country. Tanzania is the largest country in Eastern Africa and includes Zanzibar, which is an island.

Once we reached the park gates, we said good-bye to paved roads and back to the bounce by the ounce. Anwar kept stopping to show us animals along the way to the lodge. We had to remind him we had been on numerous safaris this trip and others in the past. As much as we appreciated this, we really wanted to get back on two legs and out of a vehicle. Miles and miles away, we finally reached the lodge by 7:00 pm. I thought for sure if the park was the size of Connecticut, we started in NY and drove to the MA border in the time it took us to get here. We are staying at the Serona Wildlife Lodge. People here are not nearly as friendly as any of the places in Kenya. Even  driving here, we received nasty to hateful looks from those we passed on the street, but this was similar to our reception here. There was nothing warm or welcoming about it; in fact, they could not find our reservation. It finally turned out that it was due to Run's Shmitz's name being misspelled. After wiping some of the dust off with the wet towel given upon entering, it went from sparkling white to dusty brown within minutes. Later, jumping into the shower, another coating turned the tub into earthenware.

Interesting note, we found that all of the places we stayed at in Kenya as well as this one and a number of others are owned by Indians, India Indians, though the land is leased only. The properties here in Tanzania are still owned by the government, but Indians run the business and Chinese laborers do the construction. This place is huge, but still under construction. My eyes sparkled when I saw an Internet Cafe sign, but they lost their luster when I looked in the window to see there were desks, but no computers. The gift shop is empty and the fitness room has all of the newest equipment stuffed into one corner. 

We are only here for one night, so we will survive. Interestingly, for as upper class as this is portrayed, the buffet is the smallest of any place we have stayed. I also am curious how places in countries like this receive their star rating. Under normal circumstances, to reach a 4 or 5 star, certain requirements must be in place. These include a phone and a television in each room for starters. Not one place has had these, though a television would be rather pointless, but a phone would be helpful with wake-up calls.

At dinner, we had a funny event. Eating away, a young person of the staff comes to our table and stands between Ron and I. I asked if there was something she needed, but she moved her head in Ron's directions, but he was not paying attention to her in the least. When I said something, she  started in saying "Sir, you forgot to sign for your drinks from the bar." The receipt book she had in her hand had whiskeys on it and 12,000 shillings as the amount due. We both said we did not order any whiskey, nor did we have anything from the bar. She walked away confused and disappointed. You know how it is; all white men with white hair and beards look alike. Of course, she was confused.

Masai Tribe Videos

Masai Tribal Videos