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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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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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.

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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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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.

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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.

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