Dream, Plan, Travel, Repeat.

I left Lamu today and, after a short and easy flight via Kenya Airways, am now back in Nairobi. I was a little sad to leave the island—after one week, I was beginning to feel pretty settled in. Each day was about the same:

10AM:

Wake up to the happy yells of children playing in the courtyard of the madrassa next door. It’s the second time I wake up each morning—the first being during the mosque’s pre-dawn call for prayer, which at that hour sounds a lot less beautiful than its afternoon and evening counterparts.

10AM-12PM:

“Shower” by sprinkling ice cold water on those parts of my body that can withstand the frigid temperatures. (My sensitive back had not been washed properly for the entire week, but since I couldn’t see [or smell] it, it seemed ok.) Dress in bathing suit and modest clothing for my walk to the beach. The road will be lined with friendly men and women that have come accustomed to seeing me walk past—lots and lots of “Jambos” and “Habaris” (How are you?) ensue.

12PM-5PM:

Doze at beach. Watch waves. Contemplate existence. Avoid buying overpriced cold samosas or trinkets from sellers who, with the absence of tourists during low season, see me as their only potential customer and come to ask me if I’m hungry and/or need jewelry at least once an hour.

5PM-7PM:

Drink a cup of sweet, milky chai with friends at a waterfront café, and then read the national newspaper that finally arrives on the island in the evenings. Watch lots of donkeys – Lamu’s preferred method of transport— amble past.

7PM-9PM:

Relax on balcony at the guesthouse beside the rooftop’s resident turtles. Go to blog at a nearby internet café. Swat at mosquitoes that always seem to appear at dusk and find patches of my skin that lack DEET protection.

9PM-11PM:

Feast on grilled seafood with friends.

11PM-1AM:

Go to the local “disco” where the bouncer is a Masaai warrior, complete with traditional cloth wraps and walking stick, and young girls “embarrassed” by dancing dirty with their boyfriends hide their faces in scarves. Play pool against a beach boy named “Aloe Vera.”

1AM:

Crash into carved, wooden Swahili bed draped in mosquito netting, exhausted by a hard day of relaxation.

***

Leaving Lamu by air was also a treat. For the first time, I “drove” by boat to the airport, which is located on another island opposite Lamu. Then, I learned that “airport” actually meant four open-sided, thatched roof huts—1 for a “security” room that lacked a metal detector, 2 for the two airlines that depart from the island (Lamu is a pretty happening place during high season), and 1 for the “waiting room”—and a cement block building selling bottles of soda and biscuits that had the words “duty-free shop” hand-painted in shaky letters on one of its walls. Brightly colored posters highlighting Kenya Airways’ destinations hung from roughly carved wooden poles. I hoped that some donkeys would show up and begin wandering along the lone runway, but I guess that they posed a security risk.

The internet cafe’s closing now. More later!

Still in Lamu. Still enjoying a life of leisure. But, unfortunately, not all is well in paradise.

A problem with stopping anywhere for an extended period of time is that re-establishing a routine can remind you of things that are missing in your life. In my case, that means developing intense cravings for some foods that I loved to eat in America.

I’ve been having a recurring daydream of eating a Chipotle burrito. I literally start drooling as I envision a warm flour tortilla with juicy grilled chicken, black beans, tomato salsa, and lots and lots of cheese. I see myself dipping a crispy, salty, and slightly oily tortilla chip into a huge cup of guacamole and stuffing it in my mouth just after I’ve taken a massive bite of the burrito, so that the textures and flavors—soft and hard, hot and cool— blend together. (I’m cracking myself up because I know this all sounds ridiculous, but I can’t help it.)

For dessert, I’d give myself a huge but blissfully satisfying stomachache by devouring an entire half-pound milk chocolate Symphony bar with almonds and toffee along with a cup of Baskin Robbins mint-and-chip ice cream (with its perfect balance of ice cream and flaky, melt-in-your-mouth chocolate chips) covered in marshmallow cream.

If only…

In these fantasies, I haven’t returned home. Rather, I’ve convinced a relative or, in some versions, relatives —who unexpectedly tell me that they’re coming to visit me overseas—to bring these foods directly to me, by taking onto their plane a complicated refrigeration system containing a week’s supply of burritos, chocolate bars, and ice cream. I’ve yet to work out all of the details of this refrigeration system but, believe me, I’ll have a plan if this visiting relative scenario ever materializes. (Do you hear that Mom? You, me, and some Chipotle burritos in Egypt around October or so?)

So, to all of my family and friends reading this blog: this week, consider thinking of poor me if you eat one of these foods. Delight in their flavors. Understand how lucky you are. But under no circumstances taunt me with pictures of these foods or detailed e-mails of your experience—if you do, I will convince some witch doctor here to curse you.

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted a “Here’s a Specific List of What I’ve Been Doing” entry. In short, I haven’t been doing much—and, after my whirlwind tour of seemingly every fort, palace, and temple in India, not doing much is a great thing. Since leaving Nairobi, I’ve been slowly exploring many beautiful beaches along Kenya’s coast, stopping in Mombasa (the country’s second largest city) and the small towns of Kilifi, Watamu, and Malindi before reaching my current destination of Lamu.

The Kenyan coast is magical. The Swahili culture, a blend of African and Arab heritage created from a long history of trade between the two societies, dominates the region. While wandering down tiny stone streets lined by houses with elaborately carved wooden doors and arched windows, I pass countless women in black robes and veils and men in white gowns and embroidered caps, some of whom look African and others who have distinctly Arab features, but all of whom are native Kenyans. Five times a day, you hear the call to prayer from the neighborhood mosque. Then, approaching the ocean, I can sink my feet into gorgeous white sand beaches, dotted with coconut-heavy palm trees, on the edge of blue, shallow waters.

Yesterday, I took a break from dozing on the beach to join a dhow trip with several Americans and a Canadian I met at my guesthouse. (A dhow is a traditional sailboat used by some societies around the Indian Ocean.) We sailed to a nearby island (and, with the strong winds, thought that we might capsize on the way, just as our captain cheerfully suggested), tried to fish (let’s just say that we all would have starved if there wasn’t a market nearby), and then had an excellent lunch of grilled fish, vegetables cooked in coconut milk, rice, passion fruit and bananas on the beach. It was a fantastic day.

Today was another day at the beach and tomorrow will probably be more of the same. And that’s not a bad thing.

I don’t have a lot of time to write today, but since I didn’t post yesterday I thought I’d leave a quick entry. Yesterday, I traveled by bus up Kenya’s coast to the Lamu archipelago (which, so far, I’ve found to be as enchanting as everyone told me it would be). Halfway there, we stopped at a checkpoint and, as usual, hawkers began to gather around our vehicle to show us their goods. Some girls carried baskets of mangoes and bananas on their heads, others waved bottles of fresh milk in the air. One young man had a carton of hard-boiled eggs. Then, I saw a sight that I hadn’t seen anywhere else in Africa: a female hawker approaching the bus with a live, struggling chicken clutched upside-down in each hand.

I really had to resist the temptation to buy one. Other passengers did buy them though, and the poor birds spend the rest of the bus trip (and ferry ride) being tossed around on the ground. I imagine that PETA would be furious.

Ok- I’ll try to post more tomorrow.

•    Today I watched Judge Hatchett, that fantastic American court show featuring some of the craziest of our society’s crazies, in a Swahili canteen along with a group of equally engrossed Kenyans. I couldn’t help but notice the time—3PM—which was around the same time I would watch that exact show, or other court shows like it, with my grandmother in America when I was in high school. Small world.

•    Yesterday, Matteo ordered a hamburger for lunch. When his meal arrived, he was puzzled by the unrecognizable food on his plate and asked the waiter, “What is this?” The waiter pointed to the food’s pink portion and replied, “That’s the ham.”

(I’ll give you a moment to let that one sink in.)

Then, pointing to the gray-yellow-orange patty underneath, Matteo asked, “And this?” “The burger,” said the waiter. Silence. “We use minced meat,” he added helpfully. (Note he didn’t say “minced beef.” Which, considering its fishy aftertaste, it definitely wasn’t.) And that “hamburger” tasted exactly how you imagine it would—terrible.

•    As in India, I continue to have communication problems in Kenya because of my accent. A while ago, over the course of two days, Matteo and I visited the Mnarani and Gede ruins, which feature the remains of ancient Swahili settlements. (Mnarani was overpriced and not so interesting; Gede, with its many mosques and “palace” set in a forest, was much more enjoyable.) We couldn’t ask directions for the ruins by asking for them by that name, though. Rather, people met our inquiries with blank stares until Matteo wisely began asking for the location of the “rrrueEnzz.”

•    There is a street in Watamu named “New Bla Bla Bla Road 2000.” It was originally an informal name that someone had graffiti’d across a street wall, but now it’s been officially recognized with a carved plaque.

•    Since we’ve been traveling, Matteo and I have been “husband” and “wife” to avoid the endless misunderstandings about what our years-long “dating” relationship means. But maybe there continue to be more misunderstandings about our status than what I thought. The other day, while Matteo was out, I struck up a conversation with a Kenyan man. We discussed very platonic topics – sports, traveling in Africa— and I peppered my speech with “My husband…” He, in turn, asked a few questions about Matteo— “Your husband is…?” etc.

Then the man asked, “Do you have any kids?” So many Kenyans (and Indians and Malaysians before them) asked me that question that I had a ready response: “No—not yet.” Then: “Does your husband have any kids?” I laughed at his question and said, “I certainly hope not!” The man looked confused by my answer and asked “Why not?” I gave him a look. Understanding slowly crept across his face. “Wait,” he said, “you’re married?”

I’m currently in Malindi, a town that I thought was located along the central coast of Kenya but – judging from the surreal experiences I’ve encountered recently— may in fact be a little-known settlement in the southernmost region of Italy.

Imagine going into a small market in an African town and encountering an aisle full of pasta and wine, opposite a refrigerated case of mozzarella and salami. At a local bar, a group of white-haired Italian men play Scopa, a popular card game, while the television shows an Italian soap. You turn toward a few small Kenyan children who, instead of greeting you with “Hello” or “Jambo,” yell “Ciao—come va?” And they aren’t the only ones—the touts who want to sell you safaris, diving trips, wooden giraffe statues, or just “be your amico,” speak Italian fluently.

Seriously?

Matteo, being Italian, is naturally thrilled at this surprising turn of events. Apparently, the Kenyan coast—especially towns like Malindi and Watamu—have been huge spots for tourists from Italy for years, and some even own homes here that they can escape to during the summer months when their own towns are inundated with Americans and other foreigners!

Having seen absolutely nothing like this when I lived in Ghana several years ago, I’m feeling confused by this version of Africa and—with all of the coast’s luxurious resorts and ristoranti with wood-burning pizza ovens—think that Matteo might be getting rather upscale African experience for his first time on the continent. (He keeps turning to me with a big smile on his face saying, “Third-world travel’s pretty rough, huh?”)

I’m becoming more and more convinced that Kenya—and especially its “Little Italy” colonies—is “Easy Africa.” But whatever—maybe I can have some tiramisu after dinner tonight!

…just to let you know I’m alive. I’m consumed by a desire to write about everything, but internet access at my current location is outrageously expensive. Hopefully I’ll post some stories soon from Malindi, a town in the middle of Kenya’s coast that should have cheaper internet rates. In the meantime, please search for “Watamu” on Google Earth and become insanely jealous of me as you look at the gorgeous turquoise blue waters that I’ll be diving into as soon as I log off this computer. Cheers!

I know it’s been awhile since my last post- sorry! I want to keep up the posting momentum I had in India, but internet access is a little more expensive and a little less reliable here. Still, I hate writing notes with a pen (I get hand cramps, I can type my thoughts much faster, etc.) so — unless I want to forget all of these wonderful experiences– I’ll have to try to get myself to cyber cafes to write in my blog as often as possible!

I’ve been in Kenya for about a week, and have had a great time so far. On the first night, I headed straight for Carnivore, a very popular and luxurious nyama choma (roasted meat) restaurant that is known for the massive size of its fixed menu and exotic delicacies. Like my favorite Brazilian churrascaria, Fogo de Chao, Carnivore’s waiters offer you a wide variety of meats until you lay down your table’s flag in defeat, groaning at the sight of your swollen stomach. Due to some recent legislation from Kenya’s Parliament, Carnivore can no longer offer crazy choices like zebra, but I still was able to try ostrich and crocodile. (Sadly, they weren’t serving camel that day.) Like I mentioned in an earlier post, the ostrich was pretty delicious, but the crocodile was disgusting– it tasted (as my Lonely Planet guide also warned me) just like a fishy chicken. (Shudder.)

For the next couple of days, I wandered aimlessly around Nairobi, checking out local shops, a nice park, Kenya’s Parliament and High Court buildings, and looking out on the city and its surroundings on top of a 27-story (I think) conference center. The city is really the most interesting of the five African capitals I’ve visited, and I feel that its a shame that so many people usually view the city as a mere transport hub to other destinations.

During those days, I also went to several safari companies to research their services. I found a nice package to Lake Turkana, a “Jade Sea” amid the weird desert and volcanic landscape of northern Kenya, but the next group isn’t scheduled to depart for several weeks, so I’ll probably hang around Kenya’s coast until then. (A traveler’s tip: book your safari on arrival! I have to wait a bit because of my desire to go to a fairly unusual location, but trips to famous parks like Masaai Mara depart every day. The trip you book in Kenya will probably be much cheaper– I’ve heard that online bookings can cost 2-3 times as much– and dependable, given that you’ll discuss all the trip’s details in person. Just avoid the street touts who want to take you to their operator so they can get a huge commission!)

All of that is nice, you say, but you’re in East Africa– haven’t you seen any animals yet??? Ok, let’s talk about animals.

Once I started to get a feel for Nairobi, I decided to work my way into the surrounding areas, including one leafy ex-pat community called Langata. There is a center in Langata where you can handfeed giraffes from a high wooden platform and, since giraffes are my all-time favorite animals, you can guess that I had a blast. And, a lesson learned: giraffes have very slobbery, long purple tongues.

Next to the giraffe center is a “bird sanctuary” that was seemingly birdless but still ended up being wonderful because of a big surprise. At the beginning of the sanctuary, there is a sign that says that on your self-guided walk through the semi-wilderness you may come across birds and small mammals. What it doesn’t say is that you may meet a lone giraffe that is at least 3 times as tall as you as you’re walking down a path. Craziness! I was a little thrilled, a little terrified. You don’t really know how big a giraffe is until it’s only a couple of feet away from you.

The next day, I went to the Nairobi National Park, a huge area of savanna and forest just outside of the city that is home to tons of animals. It’s also –to the best of my knowledge– the only national park in Kenya that has a relatively cheap park shuttlebus for independent travelers. (Damn the monopoly of overpriced safari operators!) On the 2 1/2 hour ride through the park, I saw ostriches, giraffes, warthogs, cool black-and-white spotted birds with blue and red heads (as you can tell, I can’t remember their names), buffalo, baboons, and lots and lots of antelope-like creatures that all went by different names but, honestly, looked like the same thing to me. (Does that sound insensitive?)

But it gets better. Two days ago, on a bus ride to Mombasa, I saw a herd of zebras grazing along the side of the road. (!!!) That was very exciting. Classic East Africa.

More from Mombasa — or whatever small town I end up at in the next couple of days– later!

My life has been full of so many noteworthy experiences over the last few days that I don’t even know where to begin.

…

Let’s start with this: I’m writing from an internet café in downtown Nairobi.

I’m been in Nairobi since yesterday afternoon. I was supposed to arrive a day earlier, but my flight from Mumbai was delayed for many, many hours.

But I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. Earlier on June 4, I went to Ethiopian Airlines’ website to re-confirm my seat and discovered that the airline had cancelled my ticket for no apparent reason. Great.

Having solved that problem after a series of expensive phone calls to the US, Ethiopia, and northern India, Matteo and I decided to stay awake and go to a late-night movie near the airport before our 5:50AM flight instead of spending money on a hotel room. Once we arrived at the airport around 3AM, we found that we would be departing at 10:50AM instead.

After reaching the runway around 11AM, the pilot announced that a mechanical problem had been discovered. That’s definitely something you want to hear before take-off. So we spent another 3 hours waiting for the problem to be fixed.

Then, just as it appeared that we were finally ready to leave—we were moving toward the runway, the flight attendants were buckling into their seats—there was a bigger problem. The man that I had sat next to on the plane had left his seat and was nowhere to be found. Despite all of my travels over the years, I’m not a particularly calm flyer and – filled with fears about the mysterious mechanical error and (rational or irrational?) terrorism— his absence was really upsetting. So Matteo and I told a flight attendant who, along with others, searched the plane. We finally found that he had moved to another seat in another section of the plane to be with a friend. Sigh. Just one more delay in a night (and day) of delays.

So, leaving India was a little difficult.

One more point about the flight: For the first time in my flying career, I was on a plane where passengers had no concern for standard airplane rules. The poor flight attendants—who, like the rest of us, were already exhausted from the long delays—spent most of the trip re-directing people back to their seats who refused to sit down whenever the pilot put the seatbelt light on, including during take-off and landing. After the third person or so, it became quite amusing to watch.

Things got much better once we landed in Ethiopia. Because of the delay, most passengers missed their connecting flights. So, in an exciting twist to my round-the-world travels, I was provided a great hotel room in Addis Ababa for one night. Besides being thrilled about having a new set of visa stamps in my passport (it’s my quirk), I was happy to see a bit of a city that I had heard so much about from Ethiopians in LA and DC. I also became friends with the hotel clerks after declaring my long-time love for Ethiopian food, so the staff served Matteo and I some special dishes and injera in addition to the standard Euro-Indian buffet that they provided to the other passengers. I guess that when you have nowhere to be, delays can be a good thing.

Then, yesterday, I finally landed in Nairobi. I’ll write about the city when I have more time, but I’ll leave you with this tidbits: Within 12 hours of my arrival, I sampled both ostrich (good) and crocodile (god-awful). With such a great beginning, I’m sure many more African adventures await.

I spent the last three days exploring increasingly amazing cave temples (and UNESCO World Heritage Sites) at Elephanta Island (in Mumbai Harbour), and the inland cities of Ellora and Ajanta. Each was filled with beautiful reliefs, sculptures, and Hindu, Buddhist, and Jain temples cut from solid rock. Most of the 30 caves at Ajanta also feature remnants of murals depicting the life of the Buddha. All were incredible, and obvious testaments to the stunning heights of art and beauty that humans can achieve, but my absolute favorite was the Kailasa Temple, which was hewn from the existing rock by more than 7000 laborers over a 150-year period. Mind-blowing.

Now I’m back in my favorite Indian city, Mumbai, preparing for my journey to Kenya on June 5. I can’t believe that this stage of my round-the-world adventure is almost complete. I’ll probably write some final thoughts on my travels through India tomorrow, but if not, you’ll hear from me next when I’m in Nairobi!