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.

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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.

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