Jambo.
I'm writing this in the post office in a small town called Loitokitok, near the base of mount Kilimanjaro. Mrs Grasshopper and I were lucky to get a spot on the PC, and as I type my fellow volunteers are waiting for their go. I would be quicker, but not all the keys work on the keyboard properly, and every now and again the connection fails, or I get a sneezing coughing fit as a 4X4 thunders past, spitting dust and exhaust fumes through the open door. I can hear African music, traffic, quick-fire kiswahili, chickens and goats, and I'd best not describe some of the smells. But I love it here, still!
But more about here, and how we got here later....
After a hell of a flight, broken by the ultimate shopping experience in Dubai airport (Trafford Centre without the tack, poor service and British costs), we landed in Kenya.
We breezed through a well organised customs and emigration, receiving visas for 50 dollars, and met our contact, who was waving a sign with our names on like his life depended on it.
He lead us to the taxi pickup, flashing a sunbeam-smile every few words as he told us excitedly about the wonders we would see in his country. The air was hot despite the light cloud cover, and I could already feel sweat dribble down my back.
The taxi, an old Toyota arrived, our bags were placed for us into the back, and we set off for the hotel in downtown Nairobi.
The driver spoke little but drove fast, with smoothness, control and speed a TPAC trained bobby would have been impressed with, keeping constantly 10-15 mph faster than the other traffic without ever unsettling the car. His forward planning was almost like sixth sense as he undertook cattle-wagons on roundabouts, to then power past a 4X4, and slip lanes again gracefully finishing behind a Merc, until the next overtake opportunity. The driving conditions and behavior of other drivers on the Kenyan roads makes Rome look like a haven for ROSPA instructors.
The sun broke through the clouds, and despite my open window I started having to wipe my brow.
Spot the newbie.
"Down-town Kenya" he said as we pulled up outside the hotel. Without even realising it, Mrs Grasshopper and I were somehow in the lift with our bags and room key, the driver having quick-fired Kiswahili at the desk-staff before disappearing.
The hotel was small but comfortable, with a small restaurant, bar, and verandas on the first floor.
If it wasn't for the other travellers in their modern clothes, it would have been a perfect setting for an Indiana Jones, or maybe James Bond story. White and brown tiled floors, dark hardwood furniture, and slowly spinning fans made me feel I should perhaps dress correctly for dinner, to fit into the colonial-era ambiance.
After dropping our bags into our room, we went for a walkabout round the area. I picked up a moody Lacoste T-Shirt from a market stall for about 4 quid, after a scene reminiscent from Monty Pythons "Life of Brian". I really couldn't be bothered in the heat bartering.
I had heard all sorts of stories about Nairobi, and Kenya in general, some justified, most not. Mrs Grasshopper and I agreed we got a lot more hassle from street vender's, hustlers and beggars in Rome and Montego bay than we did in Nairobi. Of course there are places us "Mesungi" should not go, like any visitors to any big city in the world, but on the whole it was fine- just like most other big cities in honesty.
Shopping over, we grabbed a shower, and met the head of the project, and our other volunteers in the bar's lobby. There he told us of the importance of our work, and the positive effect it has on the Masai people in the area. When he left, Mrs G and our other volunteers done what all Brits do to bond- we went to the bar!
Two volunteers were still flying in, but Mrs G and I grabbed a "Tusker" or two with those that were there. Two of the girls had already been travelling in Kenya on their own, so we listened with interest to their stories before retiring to bed.
Our first night under a mozi-net was unusual, and I struggled to sleep, thinking of our 9 hour drive into the bush tomorrow...
I'll probably post all that at Dubai- my internet time is up!
I'm writing this in the post office in a small town called Loitokitok, near the base of mount Kilimanjaro. Mrs Grasshopper and I were lucky to get a spot on the PC, and as I type my fellow volunteers are waiting for their go. I would be quicker, but not all the keys work on the keyboard properly, and every now and again the connection fails, or I get a sneezing coughing fit as a 4X4 thunders past, spitting dust and exhaust fumes through the open door. I can hear African music, traffic, quick-fire kiswahili, chickens and goats, and I'd best not describe some of the smells. But I love it here, still!
But more about here, and how we got here later....
After a hell of a flight, broken by the ultimate shopping experience in Dubai airport (Trafford Centre without the tack, poor service and British costs), we landed in Kenya.
We breezed through a well organised customs and emigration, receiving visas for 50 dollars, and met our contact, who was waving a sign with our names on like his life depended on it.
He lead us to the taxi pickup, flashing a sunbeam-smile every few words as he told us excitedly about the wonders we would see in his country. The air was hot despite the light cloud cover, and I could already feel sweat dribble down my back.
The taxi, an old Toyota arrived, our bags were placed for us into the back, and we set off for the hotel in downtown Nairobi.
The driver spoke little but drove fast, with smoothness, control and speed a TPAC trained bobby would have been impressed with, keeping constantly 10-15 mph faster than the other traffic without ever unsettling the car. His forward planning was almost like sixth sense as he undertook cattle-wagons on roundabouts, to then power past a 4X4, and slip lanes again gracefully finishing behind a Merc, until the next overtake opportunity. The driving conditions and behavior of other drivers on the Kenyan roads makes Rome look like a haven for ROSPA instructors.
The sun broke through the clouds, and despite my open window I started having to wipe my brow.
Spot the newbie.
"Down-town Kenya" he said as we pulled up outside the hotel. Without even realising it, Mrs Grasshopper and I were somehow in the lift with our bags and room key, the driver having quick-fired Kiswahili at the desk-staff before disappearing.
The hotel was small but comfortable, with a small restaurant, bar, and verandas on the first floor.
If it wasn't for the other travellers in their modern clothes, it would have been a perfect setting for an Indiana Jones, or maybe James Bond story. White and brown tiled floors, dark hardwood furniture, and slowly spinning fans made me feel I should perhaps dress correctly for dinner, to fit into the colonial-era ambiance.
After dropping our bags into our room, we went for a walkabout round the area. I picked up a moody Lacoste T-Shirt from a market stall for about 4 quid, after a scene reminiscent from Monty Pythons "Life of Brian". I really couldn't be bothered in the heat bartering.
I had heard all sorts of stories about Nairobi, and Kenya in general, some justified, most not. Mrs Grasshopper and I agreed we got a lot more hassle from street vender's, hustlers and beggars in Rome and Montego bay than we did in Nairobi. Of course there are places us "Mesungi" should not go, like any visitors to any big city in the world, but on the whole it was fine- just like most other big cities in honesty.
Shopping over, we grabbed a shower, and met the head of the project, and our other volunteers in the bar's lobby. There he told us of the importance of our work, and the positive effect it has on the Masai people in the area. When he left, Mrs G and our other volunteers done what all Brits do to bond- we went to the bar!
Two volunteers were still flying in, but Mrs G and I grabbed a "Tusker" or two with those that were there. Two of the girls had already been travelling in Kenya on their own, so we listened with interest to their stories before retiring to bed.
Our first night under a mozi-net was unusual, and I struggled to sleep, thinking of our 9 hour drive into the bush tomorrow...
I'll probably post all that at Dubai- my internet time is up!
No comments:
Post a Comment