Quinoa pops, people

So, now it's October.  Which means it will soon be November, which means it will soon be December, which (as everyone who designs mall window displays in the US knows) means that it's time to start Christmas shopping.  

No joke.  I totally shopped for Christmas gifts this weekend.  And men, let it be noted, on the record, that you are all ridiculously difficult to buy for.  I asked my brother if he wanted a traditional Masai spear, and he said that New York MTA frowns on that sort of thing.  Then I asked if he wanted sandals made out of car tires, and he said, "umm, what?"  And with those two suggestions shot down, I am officially out of ideas.  

But I suppose I was mostly just tying to soak up my last week of conveniences, before flying to Marsabit in 8 days time.  And Nairobi really does have everything a person could ever want in shopping.  To this end, I present Exhibit A:  

Yep.

That's right.  Organic, fair trade, gluten free, quinoa pops.  And, no, I did not take this photograph in Seattle.  Sure, these gems were spotted in Yaya Centre, which is arguably the whitest shopping mall in Nairobi, but still, quinoa pops, people.  Please take all the time you need to reevaluate your impressions of Kenya.  

Of course, this sort of stuff is prohibitively expensive to most people, myself included, but I did walk out of Yaya Centre with a different prize that day... Exhibit B indication of Nairobi having anything you could ever want:

Razzle Dazzle.

I bought this at the toy store (kids these days), and tried very hard to arrange my face into an "Obviously, I'm buying this for my niece/daughter... NO, it's not for me!" expression, but the smirk on the cashier's face was not believing a single non-verbal word of it.  

What can I say?

From my experience, Nairobi shopping can be divided into three distinct categories: 1. The legitimate shopping malls that cater to ex-pats and wealthy Kenyans, where all incoming cars are searched for bombs (Razzle Dazzle hat and quinoa pops both spotted here);  2. Masai markets and other curio stalls that cater to tourists; and 3. The markets where most Kenyans shop.   

The Masai Markets are the type of open-air craft market that you can see at any tourist city in the world (albeit with Kenyan-made (presumably) crafts).  The heady combination of souvenirs and haggling.  

The toy buckets below are actually from a free-standing shop rather than a Masai Market, but I'm sure that's only because the greater Kenyan entrepreneurship hasn't come across the idea to mass market them yet.  These are balls of plastic bags, tied together with twine.  Literally, like a bunch of QFC (or Safeway, or Windixie) plastic bags tied together with string, into a ball form.  It's a toy I've seen some Kenyan kids playing with in lieu of an actual ball, but these ones were priced at around $6.  $6 for a bunch of old plastic bags tied together.  Just saying.  

The third type of Nairobi shopping is where most Kenyans go, to my understanding.  The outdoor markets that sell food and functional work clothes instead of brightly-colored beads.  One such market is Toi Market, which I had the pleasure to visit this weekend.  

Toi Market stalls.

It's a maze of stalls held together by wooden poles and tin roofs.  Basically, it's like a huge thrift store.  As if Goodwill, Crossroads, Buffalo Exchange, and many others set up shop together in an open-air market and actually assisted you in finding what you need.  Sellers are so motivated that you can just say, "I want a pair of 7 jeans, size XYZ, not white, not black, and no rhinestones," and less than 10 minutes later, someone will run up to you with the requested item.  Aside from explaining why you think white jeans are a generally bad idea, the hassle is minimal.  That's a pair of >$100 designer jeans, hand-to-hand service, for just $20.  And then someone will personally take you to the lovely tailor Grace who will hem them for you on her beautiful old Singer machine, and she'll smile when you say that you think your grandmother would like to see a picture of her sewing table.

Another positive is the apparent assumption that if you have wandered into the Toi Market depths, you're probably not a tourist.  Why would you pay thousands of dollars to fly across the world just to get a $15 H&M dress for a discounted $3?  Not even a mzungu is that crazy.  So, even though you still have to haggle/negotiate over prices the opening offer is generally reasonable rather than the 10x-inflated mzungu prices you get at the tourist markets.  

And while Grace hems, a somewhere else in the maze group of men play pool on a billiards table that's in better condition than the one at Si Si's bar in San Francisco.  Where did that table come from?

Bouts of unsustainable gusto

What do Lara Croft and Simba have in common?  

Are you stumped yet?

They were both the stars of movies that were filmed at Hell's Gate national park, Kenya.

That's right, sources (our national park guide) say that The Lion King was "filmed" at Hell's Gate.  I assume the production department must have had some kind of fancy film-editing software that renders video into animation, kind of like how Photoshop can make your photos look like oil paintings or charcoal drawings.  Disney has always been ahead of it's time.

Reputed inspiration for Pride Rock, on your left.

Yes, Hell's Gate was the destination du jour this weekend.  Rather, the greater Rift Valley was the weekend destination, and Hell's Gate was simply one component, with Saturday kicking off from another Mt. Longonot hike.  

I've realized that I tend to exercise in the way I assume other people crash diet: with sporadic bouts of unsustainable gusto.  Would I care to join a gym or develop a moderate jogging routine?  No thanks, I'd rather sit here on the couch with this glass of wine and watch The Daily Show.  How about going away for a final, multi-day training expedition with a group of people who are leaving next week to hike Mt. Kilimanjaro?  Of course!  Why in heavens not?  I'm sure I can't possibly be that out of shape... Right?

My Kilimanjaro companions' footwear.  My footwear.  

Although, actually, the Hell's Gate gorge hike isn't all that taxing (if you have a car and don't have to start by biking several miles to the entrance under the blazing Kenya sun).  The majority of the walk is flat, along the gorge floor, punctuated by a scramble down into it, several scrambles over flash-flood-dislodged boulders, and a scramble back up to the top.  And the geological rewards are pretty awesome:

Cradle of life...

Lara Croft...

Yeehaw!

Of course, I imagine it's a little less scenic during a flash-flood, to which the gorge is prone.  One story suggests that Hell's Gate is so-named after the dying wailings and screams of animals caught in the gorge during the rainy season.  It's a theory I'd rather not test.  

And yet, at our half-way point (even though it's the dry season), along came the waters.  

So it begins.

The source still hasn't been determined, since it hadn't rained all weekend, and I desperately cling to the hope that it wasn't just a campsite emptying out their latrines.  But it was actually quite a robust amount of water.  And Hell's Gate has geothermal springs, so in some places the water falling from the cliffs is of scalding temperatures.  

Hot cliff showers.

But, okay, sure, my canvas Sauconys aren't ideal for walking through muddy rivers, but I'll live.  The larger challenge came back upon reaching those "scramble" bits that had since morphed from pleasant rock-climb to hot, muddy waterfall.  Below, our guide building a make-shift dam to divert the river to the left side of the cliff as we scramble down the right.  

The dam didn't hold up very well...

Lone backpack climbing down past the diverted waterfall.  

But really, Lara Croft, hot springs, flash-floods.... who am I kidding?  We all know that the real Hell's Gate highlight is when you climb up to the top of the cliff from whence Scar threw Mufasa down into the gorge full of stampeding wildebeests.  Right here:

~ It's the ciiiiiiiircle of liiiiife ~

Ok, so really the circle-of-life pose (with backpack subbing in for baby Simba) should be at Pride Rock instead of Scar's cliff of death, but it's still pretty cool.  Even more so when somebody's phone goes off to an Hakuna Matata ringtone.  

To feel untethered

The concept of freedom keeps recurring in conversations I have about living in Kenya.  Not the human trafficking/slavery concept, but rather the nuances of what allows a person to feel untethered.   I've heard from multiple people who have lived here-- past and present-- that living in Kenya has bestowed upon them a feeling of complete autonomy, free to jump in a truck and ride off into the wild sunset at a moment's notice.  To wake up in Nairobi and greet dusk over the Maasai Mara or Serengeti.  

And it's true, there is something grand about Kenya's big sky that beckons the adventurer, the throwback cowboy.  

Big dawn sky over Tsavo Park

Big day sky at Soysambu

There's a timeless thrill in driving through the great wide open, not another soul in sight.

But I wonder whether a large chunk of this perceived freedom, this autonomy, isn't simply the result of an ex-pat lifestyle.  Maybe it's less about the "big sky" and more about being disencumbered of the commitments that were left behind.  When one picks up and completely moves their life to another country or another continent, many of the expectations that bind us together are severed.  No one telling you what to do or expecting you to spend your time in a particular way.  No schedules or people demanding social accountability.  And perhaps that's really the underlying freedom that people feel when they jump in that truck and drive off.  The farther you drive towards something, the greater the distance between you and something else.  

And even then, nothing comes without its cost.  I can view this country like a playground of options, but due to security concerns I can't walk outside after dark.  And in that sense it doesn't feel much like freedom at all.

But for now I'll turn a blind eye to that price tag and go pack my backpack for another weekend in the Rift Valley.  Luckily, it's quite the easy task as I've simply stopped unpacking it.  Bandaids, flashlight, bug spray, REI sleeping-bag liner, advil, and SPF15 chap-stick have taken up permanent residence in my bag.  And since I only have about 5 T-shirts here, packing consists of just grabbing the clean ones.

And we're off again!

Find the flamboyance

It's been a bit quiet on the Kenya front this week (except for armed kidnappings and Dengue fever outbreaks).  The hijinks are on hiatus; perhaps I've hit the three-month travel slump.  Mostly I've been tied up on the computer coding syntax in SPSS.  Actually, if we're being honest, mostly I've been on Google learning how to code syntax in SPSS, and a smaller percentage actually coding.  No matter how user-friendly people say it is, I will never like SPSS.  That is, until I switch back to Stata, at which point I will commence grumbling about that.  Mostly, I just resist change.  I will be a very cranky old person when the time rolls around.  

But on another note, everyone knows that one of the best parts of traveling is chuckling at signs mis-written in your language.  Since English is one of the official languages of Kenya, the spelling and grammar are rarely problems, but content can still be quite amusing.  This one remains a favorite, but here are a few more that I've collected over time.

Follow the arrow to find the flamboyance!

Flamboyant Hotel in Diani Beach.  Failing to take a photo with someone standing to the right of that sign has been added to my list of major life regrets.  

Doctor with a website.

I might be missing something, but I thought black magic was bad?  Endless luck, love and joy in your entire life.  If anyone needs some spiritual assistance, the Kenya country code is +254.  Also, if you go to his website (which I obviously did), you can see a full list of solvable problems including "troubled marriage," "all skin diseases," and "bewitched persons."

Marketable on Craigslist in 2 categories.

I walk past this place several times weekly, but no one else seems to bat an eye at it.  Uncomfortable euphemisms must differ across oceans.  

Rich in carbs!  

I'd love to see someone try to market anything as "rich in carbohydrates" in America.  Standards of beauty are different here.  Yesterday I was told that "Kenyan food has been good" to me, and that I've "grown big" since getting here.  While intended as a compliment, I still had restrain my offence enough to respond with a neutral (and intended to be rhetoric) "oh, you think so?"  Which earned me an enthusiastic, "I don't think- I know!"  Time to stop buying the high-carb cereals.  

For that presidential style your wardrobe is missing.

The Obama novelty hasn't worn off in Kenya to the extent that it has in the US.  From fashion wear to spare tire covers, he's an overseas trend-setter.  In any case, it's always good to have a plan B career in case 2012 doesn't swing his way.  

That's right.  Happiness and Love Restaurant.

A new restaurant opened up next door to my apartment: The Happiness and Love restaurant.  So, obviously, I had to go.  This is what it looks like from the entrance: 

Who knew that the keys to contentment were just down the street?  Of course, we all know that love ain't free, and this is no exception: pricey pricey! But I must assume that the exorbitant costs go into customer service (as well as pink and blue paint), given that a table of 2 is bestowed with approximately 6 attentive servers, and taking these pictures earned me a personal tour (even though I had already been there) and 10 business cards (even though I said I really didn't need them).  

The very serious business of SSG

The word "safari" conjures many images.  Off-roading 4-wheel drives and kiswahili on walki-talkies; sleeping in tents out in the bush; migrating wildebeast vs. hungry crocodile; lions, tigers and bears, oh my!  Wait... that last one isn't right.  It doesn't often conjure images of pot-lucks and late-night dance parties on the porch.  But that's the type of safari you get when you have Friends in High Places, specifically one who works as a giraffe researcher at the Soysambu Conservancy at Lake Elementeita, Kenya.  Not only did we get private game drives in the conservancy and real beds in a fabulous old colonial house equip with two fully-functioning kitchens, but it also came complete with its own Weimaraner!  

Hallo Weimaraner!

Not to be outdone by the accommodations, transportation also stepped up with a snazzy pop-top van.  That is, the top detaches and pops up about 4 feet up so that you can stand and peer over the side during game-drives, whilst still enjoying the shade.  Or so you can ride in silly ways like this.  

Just loungin'.

But we weren't simply in the business of lounging and drinking and cavorting and making silly animal faces- NO- We were also in the very serious business of Seeing Some Giraffes!

Hallo Jerafes.  Where ya heading?

Ah, I see.  Just crossing the road.  That's cool; carry on.  

What?  You invited the whole family to cross?  Do you think I have all day???

Okay, okay, so we did have all day.  No need to rush, giraffes.  There's still time for a picnic with the flamingos down at the lake and catching up with the buffaloes... Just a quick visit though; African buffalo are notoriously aggressive and rival hippos for human fatalities.   

Lake Elementeita flamingos.

  "Run away! Run away! Run away!"

Zebras, on the other hand, are much more pleasant, if (allegedly) stupid.  If there are any unamused zebra enthusiasts out there, I'm not saying it's true-- it's just something I heard.  Or perhaps I should say that it's something I herd (tehee hee)..... Sorry.  So, Zebras.  Or Zeh-bras, as the rest of the world calls them.  Either way, the're very plentiful here.  Zebras in the game parks, zebras on the side of the highway, zebras on your way to the airport.  It's like going to Montana and seeing cows, I'm guessing; I've never been to Montana.  In Soysambu, they're making a plan to introduce lions to the park within the next several years to cull the zebra population and restore some natural order.  But until then, they're so stylish.

Black and white and red (once the lions get to 'em) all over.

Speaking of carnage, we also visited some hyena dens, complete with old bones and less-old carcasses of kills dragged inside.  Was it smart?  Perhaps not.  Creepy?  You bet.  Bats?  At least a couple.  Carcass fumes?  I'd rather not think about what I inhaled there, quite frankly.  Was it like in The Lion King (3D)?  Just like!  Who knew Disney was so true-to-life?

Don't go in there, Simba!

Mean buffalo... he probably deserved it.

Oh Kenya weekends, is there anything you can't do?

33 hours in Mombassa

I don't often have songs stuck in my head, but this one Beatles refrain will just not quit. A four word phrase that just loops in a way reminiscent of a mantra: "I am the walrus." Only, the version that plays in my head is a slight variant: "I am the lobster." I wrote that in an e-mail the other day regarding the unseemly sheen of my weekend sunburn, and somehow it stuck (In the same way all of my clothes stick to my skin by aloe vera gel adhesive properties). I am the lobster. Goo goo g'joob.

But how tiresome to hear me complain about a hot and sunny weekend on the coast! Best I begin touting it instead. Mombassa- the East African port city where marriage of Arab and Kenyan culture spawned what became Swahili: the language, the food, the fashion-- it's all a fusion between two separate continents, set in the salty sea-level swelter.

Disembarking the train in Mombassa with 33 hours stretching out before us, we headed straight to the spice market. Buckets of fragrant powders, leaves, and grains, curries, coffees, teas, vanilla, paprika, cardamom, ginger, cinnamon, cloves, turmeric, saffron.... the list goes on!

The choices were too bountiful; I couldn't decide. I panicked! I bought 5 grams of cardamom. Cardamom? I have no idea what this spice is. I have no idea why I bought it. And now, I have no idea what to do with it. Any recipe suggestions? Cardamom? Cardamom? Beuller?

In the spice market. I am SO EXCITED to be drinking coconut water.

When traveling with a limited amount of time, one learns to prioritize. Museums, souvenirs, historic sites- not all can make the cut. Sensibly, we chose to make Priority #1= Food. Lunch, snacks, bakery, drinks, street food. Mombassa and the surrounding coast is rich is seafood and coconut curries. Also, delicious drinks. Below, a street vendor selling a drink made of pressed sugar cane, lime juice, ginger, and ice. He has 2 glass mugs, so you shill out the 30cents, sip your drink while loitering on the sidewalk, and then return the glass for him to reuse (and wash?).

Squeeeeeezed sugar cane with ginger and lime.

Priority #2= Balcony spotting. Mombassa is a reputed zion of balconies. The story is that the Muslim women were supposed to remain indoors (for housework, chastity, you know, the usual) yet still wanted a way in which to watch the world go by.

Balcony spotted, on your left!

With the Mombassa tour (food & balconies) successfully completed, we took a ferry and matatu down the coast to Diani beach for the night. The southern Kenyan coast is lined with swaths of sandy beaches and towering palm trees.

The pictures may paint it as remote or isolated, but don't be fooled-- you're sharing the shore with lazy camels and sharing the foliage with chatty Columbos monkeys. I've been to my share of beaches but have never felt sand as silky as this.

Shadow holding flip-flops and a warm can of Tusker beer.

I don't know if I'm ashamed or proud to admit this, but I just realized that I've owned this skirt for 10 years. And I can't sing its praises enough- it never wrinkles, never stains, and is knee-length- perfect for traveling. Most successful relationship ever! Here's to another 10 years, skirt; this warm beer is in your honor.

Day 2 (Yep, all of that was just in one day) brought an excursion into the Indian Ocean for boating, snorkeling at the Marine Park, and lunching on a coral island. We all piled into a pirate-style boat and headed out for land's end as dolphins swam along side to guide our way.

Ahoy!

Where land becomes ocean.

So 33 hours in Mombassa, and what did I learn? That I have crazy eyes when drinking coconut and food tastes much better when you have to bludgeon it into submission. Fact.