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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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. 

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Masai Tribe Videos

Masai Tribal Videos

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Zebra, Makes a Body Strong

Our 6:30am game drive for two hours...this is supposed to be a vacation right? Aren't vacations about sleeping in? Well, the animals are not going to wait for you to plan your day, so you catch them when they clock in for the day. Drive, drive, drive. Two female lions roaming the plains, when one starts strutting propelling into a full run. We could see small things moving around the grasses, but could not tell what they were. Joseph said they were mongoose. Then the lion pounced and you could hear an shriek. The last utterance from that mongoose making some snake rejoice.

A short distance away, there was an area with more vans than a used car lot, but half of the tourists are not staring in the direction that we are. We are staring at the two female lions sprawled on the ground under bushes, one obviously nursing, but no cubs in sight. Joseph pulls up the van when room allows. Now we know what the others were engrossed in; another lionness polishing off her breakfast, the remains of a zebra. As National Geographic as this was, I still felt for the zebra. Do other zebras miss him? Will he or she be missed. Gosh, Fred was such a great zebra; too bad about the lion incident. Oh, well, more grazing room for me. Someone pass me that greener grass over there.

The rest of the day was our own, but Joseph had offered to drive us to the Masai village for a 'cultural' experience. Ron said he wanted to go, so we arranged a time that allowed us a couple of hours of relaxation first. Even sitting in a van for hours can be exhausting as ridiculous as it may sound. As we were sitting on our balcony reading, Ron read in the tour book that the Masai village experience was 1,000 shillings per person, but you could bargain them down. Joseph had quoted 2,000 each. Just as we were debated whether or not we should go, Ron ensued "It is a once in a life-time experience" and then continued reading from the book that this was a touristy thing to do and we would not get much culture there. What to do, what to do? We voted 2-0 to go anyway.

We were greeted by "Ben", a new Masai warrior had just earned his promotion by returning from the wilds after a year of living off of the land, but with a group of other young warrior-hope-to-bes. Ben had excellent English. It seems he was schooled at a boarding school from grades 1-8, but the money ran out due to the drought, so was not able to continue. He told us there is no free education in Kenya, not even primary schools, so every parent has to pay for their child's education.

Their huts are made of tree branches with mud and cow dung and it is the women's job to build them. There is a 'room' for calves, one for goats, while the parents sleep on one side of a room separated from the children's area by the cooking area. All rooms combined do not make it 150 square feet. The children's sleeping area is for up to 5 kids, both boys and girls. We did not think to ask about toileting. Now that Ben is eighteen and finished his warrior training, he is living in a bachelor hut with 9 other young men, but they all still return home to mama for all of their meals. He said they move every 5 years, because termites infest the wood in the huts. To keep the environment clean, they burn down the entire village and move to an entirely new area.

We were only a couple of a handful of tourists visiting. We watched the dancing by the women, the dancing by the men, and their famous jumping up and down. The one who jumps the highest according to the chief is able to take a wife without paying the dowry of ten cows. All others pay in beef. Each man can have up to 10 wives if he has the 10 cows for each dowry, but the problem is that there are only two families in this village, so incest is rampant.

The reason they all wear red is because lions are afraid of red, so when they are tending their cows or sheep, they can scare away lions with their red clothes, which are imported from Nairobi. When we were ready to leave, Ben tried getting us to buy a beaded necklace with a lion's tooth on it. It supposedly was from the lion he had to kill for his warrior trials. Had it been me, I would have wanted every tooth as a memento of my stupidity, I mean bravery. Lions are endangered here. We went round and round refusing as politely as we could, when he pulled out his bargaining skills telling me that going back and forth was the way to make a deal. I explained a hard lesson to him. In order to successfully bargain, there has to be supply and demand. He had the supply; I did not have the demand. It seemed that I had to be really blunt by saying, you have something to sell, but I have no desire to own it at any price, therefore, there is no leeway for negotiations.

A different tactic was to show us the "elementary school" they were building, but had to stop due to lack of funds. We negotiated a donation of 1,000 shillings, half of what he wanted for the tooth, but with no cash other than the 4,000 we already paid, we could not do it. He rode back to the lodge to collect. He had to walk back and it was fifteen miles if it was a mile, just for the 1,000 shillings, so it must have been really important to him. It was not until later that I wondered what happens to the school house when the village is moved and burned to the ground.

Relaxation was the order of the day for the rest of it. We read, napped, relaxed, packed for leaving tomorrow. I had just finished a tremendous book called The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson. Our mode of operations is to bring books with us that we will enjoy reading, but are not attached to, so they can be left behind lightening up the luggage. I had left an Elizabeth George book in our first hotel in Nairobi. When the young porter came for our luggage, he spotted it, calling it to our attention. When we said we were leaving it, we both have read it, he beamed and said he would love to have it. That is the secondary joy of a book. Back to the point. The Gargoyle is a book my office-mate gave me. I thought it would be a tosser for sure, but no. This is a keeper for sure. I will use parts of it for my creative writing course. It is Davidson's first book. Sincerely, I hope he did not burn himself out with this one. His storytelling is imaginative, realistic, yet all through the book, you keep telling yourself this could not happen, but what if... 

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