Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
July 29
This is the view from where I am sitting right now. Kitchen window.
Yesterday, I woke up in London, tiptoed out of my hostel full of five sleeping girls, two French, two German, one Chinese, and me, climbed two flights of stairs to the bathroom and took a shower down the hall. I got an almond croissant and a banana and got on the bus to St Pancras international for my train to Paris. It was 2 1/2 hours of high-speed, underground, ear popping good fun. My lovely host Sharon met me at the train station with a packet of metro tickets, ample maps in which her apartment on le Rue de Montessuy was circled, and buckets of information about every monument and cobblestone road we passed. Her apartment is great- it’s a studio apartment blocks from the Eiffel Tower and the Seine. I recovered, put down my bags, and then head out to exchange my pounds for euros and see what the French coffee is all about. Expensive. That’s what I found. I understand the French thing about people watching. In Boulder, if you “people watch”, you’re just bound to be bombarded by classmates, teachers, friends of the family, and anyone who work in context but who I’d rather not share my table with. Besides that definite threat to one’s peaceful, cappuccino filled solitude, is the sad fact that, in Boulder, I feel like I already know everyone's story. Or maybe its just that a different culture, different language, clouds these people in mystery that, for me, is intriguing. First of all, I can often only guess what they are saying, which in itself is beautiful because Im not listening to words always, just the sounds of the language. The homeless man who came on to the subway last night for instance, didnt sound to me like a desperate man professing the tragedy of his life and family, rather he was spewing the music of the language.
Here in Paris, even the people watchers are interesting to people watch. It took me at least half an hour to get through a two page chapter in my lovely, fluffy-light travel book, most of the time not actually spent reading but either glancing up to watch a scene play out between two elderly women with deaf husbands and obedient small dogs or just staring blankly at the page, trying desperately to translate everything everyone around me was saying into English.
At home we ate a dinner that, comfortingly enough, comes directly from the cookbook that my dad would write if he ever decided to opt for a career change: pre roasted chicken, brown rice, broccoli and ample soy sauce followed by a cut up peach and some dark chocolate. Then, seeing as though I cant spend the week I have in Paris wandering the streets alone, Sharon brought me down two flights of stairs to introduce me to some friends. The man who answered the door took one look at me, stepped out of his apartment and said to me, “Do we need complete submersion?” “You want to dive in to French culture?”. Terrified, I smiled and nodded, and he, pointing for Sharon to go back upstairs, lead me down another flight of stairs to his son’s apartment where 5 twenty-something year olds sat around a dining room table talking in the kind of French that was so painfully fast, Im not sure I would have recognized it as French in any other set of circumstances. “Michel, David, je present Cookie” and then he shut the door. Without pausing in the fast paced, animated recounting of some story (which was apparently hilarious but, even after having it explained to me with intent, wide-eyed eye contact, leaning in, in slower, annunciated French, I still didn’t get the funny part), Michael pulled up another chair and made a sweeping arm motion towards the table which I interpreted to mean, “I have no idea who you are but sit down and have some ice cream and apple cider with us. We have three flavors.” I have never been more intimidated by five teenagers gathered around a table on a Tuesday night eating ice cream and drinking apple cider.
After introductions, it was established that I would stare at them blankly unless they either slowed down their speech or just spoke in English and that they all, of course, spoke shamefully good English, I was told to go fetch some socks so that the bowling shoes wouldn’t give me blisters, and we headed out the door. There was no better way that I would have rather gotten my first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower at night than while bustling in the opposite direction amid loud, incomprehensible chatter, in the middle of a motley crew of incredibly stereotypical, but in that, so charming, Parisian teenagers, grabbing my arm and emphatically, mockingly asking how it feels to be in la Belle France in the city for lovers. Of course, all of them saw me as their personal English teacher so we traded off: they relaying stories to me in the kind of perfect English that is often hard to come by even in the US, and me stumbling along in French: conversation determined by a limited vocabulary instead of being determined by what I actually wanted to say.
Bowling was great. I’ve never had more fun bowling. These people bowled as if all those 50’s movies that advertise bowling as the number one hip thing to do on a Friday night, just came out last night and they all wanted to get on the bandwagon. So we bowled and they all told me about how Americans can’t dress but besides that, it’s the best country in the world. Thursday were going to the theatre for a comedy show, of which, Im sure I will catch almost nothing. But that’s just fine with me.
Monday, July 27, 2009
July 27 Dont be fooled by the lead in: A recounting of history with very little to do with London
My quest for the perfect chocolate croissant continues outside of Santa Monica. Sitting in a Starbucks in Piccadilly Circus in London is far from disappointing. I came to a Starbucks, instead of a local café for two reasons: No small local café can survive in this shopping district. Come to think of it, Im not sure if some low budget labor-of-love café could survive anywhere in London, which might be why I havent seen any. Everything is a chain here and the most popular and plentiful cafes are Café Neros, Costa’s and Starbucks. So I went with Starbucks, which brings me to Starbucks’ second draw: free internet. Which actually doesn’t exist. I like a lot of things about London so far but what I don’t like is that free wifi is very hard to come by. But lets focus on what I do like.
I like that its been constantly drizzling rain for the last four days and I like that all the other tourists, which make up 75% of the city, are twice as bumbling, confused, ill-prepared, and just straight up unable to function on a very basic level, as I am. So it makes me feel great and also makes me attract other tourists like a magnet, thinking I am a fountain of information in terms of “Where is Hyde Park Corner?”, “Excuse me, how do I get to Oxford street?” and the more desperate, teary-eyed call of the Japanese tourist, who think that all Caucasians must be locals, “Where I am right now? Please!”. But so far, my chez doevre in terms of giving directions was explaining to two local teenagers what underground line to take to get from the Southbank Centre to the museum of Natural Science.
But back to the chocolate croissant. Not bad. Not great but not bad either. Just a little dense. From what I’ve observed, pastry- wise, in Starbucks, is that everything is on the dense side. Maybe they assume that if you find yourself in a Starbucks, its because you don’t have the time to find a smaller, more personal coffee shop, and you’re an on-the-go kind of person, meaning you probably don’t have time to eat decent food and therefore are looking for the kind of food that your told is good for bringing with when backpacking: small, compact, non-perishable, and packed with calories. When at a café that doesn’t bake its own pastries, I’ve found chocolate croissants are much better than regular croissants, which are usually just a rolled up ball of uncooked dough inside of a slightly browned layer of the same dough. Why don’t more cafés make croissants like Baxter does- smaller but the perfect consistency and flaky? Oh ya, maybe because it takes him an entire day and several packages of butter to make 6 croissants, each of which can sell for no more than two dollars. Still though, I think Baxter’s croissant phase was one of his better. What boy, by the age of 20, has devoted several weeks to the pursuit of baking the perfect croissant? No wonder he and I are brother and sister. Sometimes I forget how similar we are. Even in our ability to obsess. I don’t know what phases I’ve gone through: you’d have to ask someone else, but I remember all of Baxter’s.
The first time I became aware of Baxter’s ability to obsess over and dive into one thing, one passion, was during his goth phase. This was while he was in 7th and 8th grade and began with his obsession over the card game, Magic, which somehow lead to the growing out of his dirty blond, jew-curly hair. I think he thought it made him look like a badass but actually he just looked like a charob having a bad day. This phase most notable involved black fingernails, monotonous rave music, hours, sometimes days, spent isolated in his room (I think I remember him not even leaving his room to walk the 10 paces to the bathroom and therefore, peeing out of his window and onto the especially green patch of the rose plants that lined our front yard), a pair of well-worn tight-fitting red plaid pants, and a knee length khaki trench coat, for which, he proudly bore the name “Trench Coat Boy” amongst his classmates, dubbed to him by a girl who was probably going through a similar phase.
Baxter’s next phase began with the realization that school was not “his thing”, rather, he was beyond school. This phase is what I call his “James Bond phase”. In terms of being socially acceptable, this phase was a vast improvement from “Trench Coat Boy”. However, to my parents’ dismay, it was much more cost demanding. His fashion demands went from anything that was black, to pricey Express dress shirts and aged Italian leather boots. Although his style was based on being Smooooth, JB style, he was still a spazzy 15 year old boy whose limbs extended beyond his spatial awareness. Luckily, he always carried with him a deck of cards which he could whip out and start shuffling whenever awkwardness or humiliation resulted.
Then there was the cycling phase. This was the family favorite, seeing as how constructive it was- and how good he was too. Bax got a beautiful Orbea road bike and trained on the roads all through LA and the velodrome in Carson. He raced in criteriums mainly and always did fairly well. It also changed a lot about him. He cut his hair short, replaced his Italian leather boots (the blisters from which were endured as a sacrifice to fashion- something I’ve never understood) with addidas sandals and his tailor made dress shirts with “velonews” polyester blend tee shirts, and he had a new, surprisingly positive outlook on life, accentuated Im sure by a constant endorphin high.
Unfortunately, his addiction to the buzz of endorphins lead to addictions to the buzz of other chemicals, which costed a bit more and made him unpleasant to be around for the following year, or was it two? He’s admitted to having blank spots in his memory of that year or two as well. The cycling came to a jolting halt and time spent with the girlfriend skyrocketed. Meanwhile, “the family’s” already shaky approval of the girlfriend plummeted. (We wouldn’t let ourselves believe that it was Baxter and it was convenient to have a Girlfriend to blame everything on). He no longer complained about her constant stream of insecurity-calls and text messages and instead ran out of the room every 15 minutes to answer them all in privacy. That phase quickly ended when the girlfriend proved her already apparent incompetence by failing her second driving test by making a left turn without blinkers from the right hand turn lane. I remember my dad sitting Bax down with the basic theme of: “listen, Im on your side and its time to move on”. Eventually he did. It was just another phase. Sadly, for Michelle, the girlfriend, it wasn’t a phase, it was a lifestyle.
And then Bax moved to Colorado. To the cold cold mountains of Colorado to start the working interview for a catering school. And now he has an impressive resume, a salary job as a cook in one of the better restaurants in Boulder, and is moving into his new apartment as we speak. I can’t wait to see pictures. Apparently, it has hard wood floors. What? A bachelor with hard wood floors?! Ya, that’s my bro.
So what’s next? And for me, I have this month of travel still in front of me and lots of thoughts and possibilities for afterwards, so what’s next? For now though, Im happy just thinking about dinner. Its my last night in London, 9:30, and Im mighty hungry.
I like that its been constantly drizzling rain for the last four days and I like that all the other tourists, which make up 75% of the city, are twice as bumbling, confused, ill-prepared, and just straight up unable to function on a very basic level, as I am. So it makes me feel great and also makes me attract other tourists like a magnet, thinking I am a fountain of information in terms of “Where is Hyde Park Corner?”, “Excuse me, how do I get to Oxford street?” and the more desperate, teary-eyed call of the Japanese tourist, who think that all Caucasians must be locals, “Where I am right now? Please!”. But so far, my chez doevre in terms of giving directions was explaining to two local teenagers what underground line to take to get from the Southbank Centre to the museum of Natural Science.
But back to the chocolate croissant. Not bad. Not great but not bad either. Just a little dense. From what I’ve observed, pastry- wise, in Starbucks, is that everything is on the dense side. Maybe they assume that if you find yourself in a Starbucks, its because you don’t have the time to find a smaller, more personal coffee shop, and you’re an on-the-go kind of person, meaning you probably don’t have time to eat decent food and therefore are looking for the kind of food that your told is good for bringing with when backpacking: small, compact, non-perishable, and packed with calories. When at a café that doesn’t bake its own pastries, I’ve found chocolate croissants are much better than regular croissants, which are usually just a rolled up ball of uncooked dough inside of a slightly browned layer of the same dough. Why don’t more cafés make croissants like Baxter does- smaller but the perfect consistency and flaky? Oh ya, maybe because it takes him an entire day and several packages of butter to make 6 croissants, each of which can sell for no more than two dollars. Still though, I think Baxter’s croissant phase was one of his better. What boy, by the age of 20, has devoted several weeks to the pursuit of baking the perfect croissant? No wonder he and I are brother and sister. Sometimes I forget how similar we are. Even in our ability to obsess. I don’t know what phases I’ve gone through: you’d have to ask someone else, but I remember all of Baxter’s.
The first time I became aware of Baxter’s ability to obsess over and dive into one thing, one passion, was during his goth phase. This was while he was in 7th and 8th grade and began with his obsession over the card game, Magic, which somehow lead to the growing out of his dirty blond, jew-curly hair. I think he thought it made him look like a badass but actually he just looked like a charob having a bad day. This phase most notable involved black fingernails, monotonous rave music, hours, sometimes days, spent isolated in his room (I think I remember him not even leaving his room to walk the 10 paces to the bathroom and therefore, peeing out of his window and onto the especially green patch of the rose plants that lined our front yard), a pair of well-worn tight-fitting red plaid pants, and a knee length khaki trench coat, for which, he proudly bore the name “Trench Coat Boy” amongst his classmates, dubbed to him by a girl who was probably going through a similar phase.
Baxter’s next phase began with the realization that school was not “his thing”, rather, he was beyond school. This phase is what I call his “James Bond phase”. In terms of being socially acceptable, this phase was a vast improvement from “Trench Coat Boy”. However, to my parents’ dismay, it was much more cost demanding. His fashion demands went from anything that was black, to pricey Express dress shirts and aged Italian leather boots. Although his style was based on being Smooooth, JB style, he was still a spazzy 15 year old boy whose limbs extended beyond his spatial awareness. Luckily, he always carried with him a deck of cards which he could whip out and start shuffling whenever awkwardness or humiliation resulted.
Then there was the cycling phase. This was the family favorite, seeing as how constructive it was- and how good he was too. Bax got a beautiful Orbea road bike and trained on the roads all through LA and the velodrome in Carson. He raced in criteriums mainly and always did fairly well. It also changed a lot about him. He cut his hair short, replaced his Italian leather boots (the blisters from which were endured as a sacrifice to fashion- something I’ve never understood) with addidas sandals and his tailor made dress shirts with “velonews” polyester blend tee shirts, and he had a new, surprisingly positive outlook on life, accentuated Im sure by a constant endorphin high.
Unfortunately, his addiction to the buzz of endorphins lead to addictions to the buzz of other chemicals, which costed a bit more and made him unpleasant to be around for the following year, or was it two? He’s admitted to having blank spots in his memory of that year or two as well. The cycling came to a jolting halt and time spent with the girlfriend skyrocketed. Meanwhile, “the family’s” already shaky approval of the girlfriend plummeted. (We wouldn’t let ourselves believe that it was Baxter and it was convenient to have a Girlfriend to blame everything on). He no longer complained about her constant stream of insecurity-calls and text messages and instead ran out of the room every 15 minutes to answer them all in privacy. That phase quickly ended when the girlfriend proved her already apparent incompetence by failing her second driving test by making a left turn without blinkers from the right hand turn lane. I remember my dad sitting Bax down with the basic theme of: “listen, Im on your side and its time to move on”. Eventually he did. It was just another phase. Sadly, for Michelle, the girlfriend, it wasn’t a phase, it was a lifestyle.
And then Bax moved to Colorado. To the cold cold mountains of Colorado to start the working interview for a catering school. And now he has an impressive resume, a salary job as a cook in one of the better restaurants in Boulder, and is moving into his new apartment as we speak. I can’t wait to see pictures. Apparently, it has hard wood floors. What? A bachelor with hard wood floors?! Ya, that’s my bro.
So what’s next? And for me, I have this month of travel still in front of me and lots of thoughts and possibilities for afterwards, so what’s next? For now though, Im happy just thinking about dinner. Its my last night in London, 9:30, and Im mighty hungry.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
July 25
Yesterday was my first day in London. My mom and Ted had an 8 hour layover between their flights so they were able to come to London with me and get me situated. We walked around a lot, dipped into a museum of ridiculously bad modern art (the first “exhibit” was a pool floatie raft toy in the shape of some nondescript animal hanging from the ceiling and filled with firewood) and then they left after a lunch in a restaurant in the Royal Albert Hall. It was weird saying bye and knowing that after they got on the plane in an hour, I would know nobody in the country. But a great jazz group started playing in the restaurant so it worked out okay.
My neighborhood is great. It right above Kensington Gardens and there are tons of cafes, restaurants, and road side fruit stands. There are more hotels and hostels than there are flats, which is good because that means everyone is a bumbling tourist, not just me. So I checked into my hostel- my room is half the size of a regular hotel room and with three bunk beds, a cabinet, table and a sink. Its scattered with the clothes, shoes and shampoo bottles of four French girls I still havent met (I think they either had a really late party night and are still out or they got abducted, in which case, Ill be able to root through their boxes of jewelry and facial products once Im sure thats the case). The other girl is a 27 year old Asian girl with the voice of a 12 year old girl who tiptoed into the room last night with a camera in one hand and 3 shopping bags in the other. She’s adorable and very sweet and is unfortunately leaving this morning for Germany. I talked to her a little about our trips and what to do in London and she gave me tips on which “ca-she-drawl” to visit and told me about the bus system in accented, excited speech: “So you get dere berry erry?… I sink its da bus numba seven?… It take you right to da moo-seum?…”
I think today will be a museum day. I also want to catch the hip hop performance of Shakespeare favorites I read about in the paper last night over my 3 pound Soup du Jour: Who says London is the most expensive city in the world?? All the museums are free too.
This morning I raided the hostel fridge and brought a picnic to Hyde Park- a nutella sandwich, a banana, and a yoghurt that turned out to be four months old- a good reminder to check the expiration date in 15 pound/night hostels.
My roommates finally came back to the hostel- theyre three Swiss girls and a Spanish girl who is traveling alone. The Swiss girls are incredible at buying things. I think they are here solely to buy things. Every time Ive come back into the room, there are more things. Today, one of the girls, came back with a new duffel bag to fit all of the stuff she bought. These girls know how to travel.
Friday, July 24, 2009
July 19
Okay, I’m getting cabin fever. I know we’re camping in the midst of thousands of miles of open land but we can’t do anything or go anywhere alone. Its so difficult to look around me and see just acres, millions of acres of open land, with no humans, nobody, no houses, no roads, and it meets the sky and I follow it up and even in the sky, there’s no planes even. If there is a plane that goes by, the guides can usually tell us who is piloting and where it is going. So I see all that open space but then remember I’m in a car and can’t get out except to go pee a few feet away from the car after checking for lions. And at night, someone must walk with me to my tent because where we’re camping, called Masi Mara, there are leopards in the trees and buffalo who apparently come busting out of the trees charging, and hippo grazing who are surprisingly vicious and despite their bulbous appearance, can run 35 miles an hour. And theirs mouth, when open, can fit a grown man in the fetal position (so thats not a good defense when being charged at by a hippo). So the only possible place to be alone is in my tent. Which is nice and all but right now, there are crickets and tree frogs and all these cool weird sounds that I want to explore and I’m so frustrated with so many things going on in my head and I just want to go outside and walk! And we eat these epicly awesome meals, buffet style, and everything’s delicious, so I always eat plenty but I’m not doing anything physically active because we can’t go anywhere.
My mom and I were itching to go running and Ninian told us that, at the last place we were staying, (Lewa- a rhino conservation) it would be safe. So we woke up early and went down to the lodge in our running shorts and thermals and two rangers drove me, my mom, and Ethan- the only guide willing and able to run- 20 minutes away until we got to a straight away that the rangers deemed relatively safe. The longer and longer we drove the more and more I felt like a moron for all the fuss just to go for a 40 minute run. After much heated debate in Swahili (of which I only picked out the words for Lion, Cheetah, Rhino, Right here…), the rangers decided we had arrived at our running destination. My mom and I got out of the car, exchanged embarrassed guilty glances and hesitantly jogged off. Throughout the run, our guide ran beside us and the truck drove a hundred yards in front. The Boulder, open-space-loving trail runners would have been so jealous. Not everywhere can you see zebras, rhinos and elephants on a run. But it was pretty ridiculous too. On the way back, the rangers stood up, pulled out their binoculars and, after scouring the land, pointing and debating some more in Swahili, the guy in the front seat in camo with the radio and the AK47 decided it would be safer if he ran with us.
It reminded me how much I love running though, so thats good. But I also realized that if I do go back to Kenya (which is the plan) that itll be really hard for me to resist running off into the plains- so I might get trampled by something or gorged.
My mom and I were itching to go running and Ninian told us that, at the last place we were staying, (Lewa- a rhino conservation) it would be safe. So we woke up early and went down to the lodge in our running shorts and thermals and two rangers drove me, my mom, and Ethan- the only guide willing and able to run- 20 minutes away until we got to a straight away that the rangers deemed relatively safe. The longer and longer we drove the more and more I felt like a moron for all the fuss just to go for a 40 minute run. After much heated debate in Swahili (of which I only picked out the words for Lion, Cheetah, Rhino, Right here…), the rangers decided we had arrived at our running destination. My mom and I got out of the car, exchanged embarrassed guilty glances and hesitantly jogged off. Throughout the run, our guide ran beside us and the truck drove a hundred yards in front. The Boulder, open-space-loving trail runners would have been so jealous. Not everywhere can you see zebras, rhinos and elephants on a run. But it was pretty ridiculous too. On the way back, the rangers stood up, pulled out their binoculars and, after scouring the land, pointing and debating some more in Swahili, the guy in the front seat in camo with the radio and the AK47 decided it would be safer if he ran with us.
It reminded me how much I love running though, so thats good. But I also realized that if I do go back to Kenya (which is the plan) that itll be really hard for me to resist running off into the plains- so I might get trampled by something or gorged.
July 14
Today is the first day that Im actually kinda scared. At home, I get freaked out just going on a trail run so what did I expect? The guides keep telling us stories of all the stupid things people do on these safaris. Like the girl who spots a lion 100 feet away from her tent and sneaks closer to take pictures of it. As if the car is on tracks and the animals are part of a backdrop and there to amuse us. There’s one person in our camp like that and it pisses me off to no end.
So now were camping in a little clearing in the midst of a rainforesty area. Its beautiful but very full of animals that are much less timid than at our last two camps. Here, the lions come prancing straght through camp- not at all deterred by our presence. The guide, Ninian, gave us ample warning letting us know that 3 campers have been eaten here this year and not to leave your tent at all in the evenings or nights without light and someone walking with you. The tents are set close to each other and each one is equipped with fog horns- “not to be used when the lion is staring at you through the tent netting- just when its got half of your leg in its mouth already“- Ninian’s words. He isn’t very reassuring. Far too honest. On our first flight between camps, we flew in an airplane that wasn’t pressurized and held only 14 people and, as we climbed so as to fly over Mount Kenya, he broke an oxygen deprived silence by feeling for his pulse and asking, “does anybody know their resting heart rate?” But he’s great. He’s just like a little boy who loves to screw around and test the limits. And he’s very untraditional as a guide. He respects the land as much as anyone but he lives in it also- he doesn’t just worship it.
On one outing, we pulled over by a murky river and were checking out some crocodiles. After making animal sounds and screeching at them for a while, they were still not moving so he asked his son to get his slingshot and started chucking rocks at it. Finally, he nailed a croc in the nose and the thing thrashed towards us and slid into the water. And like the crocodile hunter, he turned around beaming at us and said, “Do you guys see how incredibly fast their reflexes are? Beautiful, just beautiful. Okay, lets go find that cheetah.“ He’s obsessed with cats- leopards, cheetah and lions, and he gets really competitive with the other guides- pangs of jealousy when someone else finds a cat before he does.
Today, he was tired of driving during the game drive so he let me take over. He sat on top of the jeep with the kids, rough housing and cracking jokes at my driving and shouting out directions as I navigated around boulders, ditches, and warthog holes, adjusting my mind so as to shift with the left hand and pull to the left when another car passed. And when the rare other car does come down the road, its usually some Kenyan rangers, who wave by putting both their hands in the air, smiling super white teeth and shouting “Jambo!”. Anyway, we found a leopard. I actually spotted it (not Ninian) because I was driving, turned a corner, and almost ran it over. Then we positioned ourselves and watched it sit in a bush- out from the pouring rain- grooming itself, planning its next bold move, as we played cards and he bragged and gave directions to the 2 other cars over radio. He offered to pay us to tell everyone else that actually HE saw the leopard first. On the way back, we drove through the dark, without headlights, off road, back to camp so the rangers wouldn’t catch us out later than whats allowed. I don’t know how he managed to drive back. It was so dark the person riding shotgun had the job of covering up the clock and odometer to reduce to light inside the car.
--okay, I just heard a snorting kinda deal outside the tent- that’s creepy. Fog horn in hand… should I look out the window or not?? Not.--
Henry is another one of our guides. He’s just a badass. He’s done pretty much everything and knows how to do everything. He lived on and tends to a piece of land a million square acres, goes deep sea fishing, has gotten trampled by an African buffalo, both his father and father-in-law have survived lion attacks, and his son was killed by a rhino. He’s a tank and is fearless. Unfortunately, as he leans out of the window making mating sounds to tempt a black rhino the size of 6 refrigerators to charge us, he forgets that we are not quite that fearless. The best part about safari-ing with Henry is his spotter, Galo Galo. He’s a local Kenyan who was a poacher that Henry caught and turned in. He went to jail for a while but right when he got out, Henry gave him a job as a spotter. He sits on the back of Henry’s truck looking for animals and he’s crazy good. We’ll be driving down a bumpy road and 35 miles an hour and Galo will see a gecko hibernating in a tree that we can only see after stopping the car and inspecting the branches with binoculars for five minutes.
Besides the tempting-dangerous-animals-to-show-us-their-stuff thing, Henry’s one of my favorite of all the people here. He’s so genuine and has a lot to say but lacks the urge to impress people with it so he makes for great, interesting but light hearted conversation. And I love watching him when were all talking. He listens intently with furrowed brow and squinted eyes, and usually his fist up to his chin and index finger over his lips. And when he talks looks up like his thinking really hard, and talks slowly so as not to say anything superfluous or unnecessary.
And then there’s Ethan. Ninian described Ethan as the blond guy with the six pack. Both of those things are true but that’s not his only merit. He’s very quiet, focused and somber when were out in a car. You can tell that he passionately loves the land and the animals. He lives in Tanzania and, no matter the circumstances, if Im standing with him, I feel completely safe. But he’s also a total nut. His humor is at the level of my 14 and 16 year old boy cousins (theyre who he mostly hangs out with) and he gets in fits of laughter over the stupidest, barely-coherent dirty jokes.
He can be the most fun but is the most unpredictable too because he has this pensive, secretive side that‘s wretchedly frustrating but incredibly sexy. For some reason, Im always drawn to the quiet brooding type- Ive got to break that tradition. Im not sure what about that is attractive to me- I guess I like to know that other people think- just take time to shut up, think, and look around. The second or third night, I desperately needed to get away from the 11 family members Ive been spending 17 hours a day with, so we went for a walk which, in order to avoid becoming lion prey, turned out to be more like pacing around a few hundred yards from camp. But it was dark and the stars were incredible and it was quiet enough to chill out and rejuvenate. I really do need time to myself to sort things out and reboot and Im glad there’s someone else here who needs that too. Its pretty draining being within 20 feet of at least one other person at all times, 24 hours a day. And its really hard not being able to go for chill-out walks. But Im going to really miss this when I leave. Im going to miss it so much that Ive decided to learn Swahili and come back- for a decent chunk of time.
My Swahili is actually coming along quite nicely. Heres a few words
Jambo- Hello
Karibu- Your welcome or just Welcome
Haribu- How are you
Nzuri- Good, Fine…
Kwaheri- Goodbye
I found a “Useful Swahili” book with little conversations and learned
Watoto wako shambani- The kids are in the garden
Ndizi- Banana (Ndizi hizi- These bananas)
Simba- Lion
Duma- Cheetah
Chewy- Leopard (The Kenyans pronounce it “Lee-oh-pard” because Swahili is completely phonetic. So far, much easier than French where Oiseaux is pronounced “Wa- zoh“)
Hapa- Here
Hoku- There
…and so on
Learning Swahili is my summer project. I think I can get a rough understanding down. And then Im coming back here STAT. Im brainstorming the skills I have that can make me a living here. Ive talked to a few of the locals about it and they mostly say jobs are pretty scarce. A few of them thought the recession was just Kenya.
I think being a nanny would be my best bet.
So now were camping in a little clearing in the midst of a rainforesty area. Its beautiful but very full of animals that are much less timid than at our last two camps. Here, the lions come prancing straght through camp- not at all deterred by our presence. The guide, Ninian, gave us ample warning letting us know that 3 campers have been eaten here this year and not to leave your tent at all in the evenings or nights without light and someone walking with you. The tents are set close to each other and each one is equipped with fog horns- “not to be used when the lion is staring at you through the tent netting- just when its got half of your leg in its mouth already“- Ninian’s words. He isn’t very reassuring. Far too honest. On our first flight between camps, we flew in an airplane that wasn’t pressurized and held only 14 people and, as we climbed so as to fly over Mount Kenya, he broke an oxygen deprived silence by feeling for his pulse and asking, “does anybody know their resting heart rate?” But he’s great. He’s just like a little boy who loves to screw around and test the limits. And he’s very untraditional as a guide. He respects the land as much as anyone but he lives in it also- he doesn’t just worship it.
On one outing, we pulled over by a murky river and were checking out some crocodiles. After making animal sounds and screeching at them for a while, they were still not moving so he asked his son to get his slingshot and started chucking rocks at it. Finally, he nailed a croc in the nose and the thing thrashed towards us and slid into the water. And like the crocodile hunter, he turned around beaming at us and said, “Do you guys see how incredibly fast their reflexes are? Beautiful, just beautiful. Okay, lets go find that cheetah.“ He’s obsessed with cats- leopards, cheetah and lions, and he gets really competitive with the other guides- pangs of jealousy when someone else finds a cat before he does.
Today, he was tired of driving during the game drive so he let me take over. He sat on top of the jeep with the kids, rough housing and cracking jokes at my driving and shouting out directions as I navigated around boulders, ditches, and warthog holes, adjusting my mind so as to shift with the left hand and pull to the left when another car passed. And when the rare other car does come down the road, its usually some Kenyan rangers, who wave by putting both their hands in the air, smiling super white teeth and shouting “Jambo!”. Anyway, we found a leopard. I actually spotted it (not Ninian) because I was driving, turned a corner, and almost ran it over. Then we positioned ourselves and watched it sit in a bush- out from the pouring rain- grooming itself, planning its next bold move, as we played cards and he bragged and gave directions to the 2 other cars over radio. He offered to pay us to tell everyone else that actually HE saw the leopard first. On the way back, we drove through the dark, without headlights, off road, back to camp so the rangers wouldn’t catch us out later than whats allowed. I don’t know how he managed to drive back. It was so dark the person riding shotgun had the job of covering up the clock and odometer to reduce to light inside the car.
--okay, I just heard a snorting kinda deal outside the tent- that’s creepy. Fog horn in hand… should I look out the window or not?? Not.--
Henry is another one of our guides. He’s just a badass. He’s done pretty much everything and knows how to do everything. He lived on and tends to a piece of land a million square acres, goes deep sea fishing, has gotten trampled by an African buffalo, both his father and father-in-law have survived lion attacks, and his son was killed by a rhino. He’s a tank and is fearless. Unfortunately, as he leans out of the window making mating sounds to tempt a black rhino the size of 6 refrigerators to charge us, he forgets that we are not quite that fearless. The best part about safari-ing with Henry is his spotter, Galo Galo. He’s a local Kenyan who was a poacher that Henry caught and turned in. He went to jail for a while but right when he got out, Henry gave him a job as a spotter. He sits on the back of Henry’s truck looking for animals and he’s crazy good. We’ll be driving down a bumpy road and 35 miles an hour and Galo will see a gecko hibernating in a tree that we can only see after stopping the car and inspecting the branches with binoculars for five minutes.
Besides the tempting-dangerous-animals-to-show-us-their-stuff thing, Henry’s one of my favorite of all the people here. He’s so genuine and has a lot to say but lacks the urge to impress people with it so he makes for great, interesting but light hearted conversation. And I love watching him when were all talking. He listens intently with furrowed brow and squinted eyes, and usually his fist up to his chin and index finger over his lips. And when he talks looks up like his thinking really hard, and talks slowly so as not to say anything superfluous or unnecessary.
And then there’s Ethan. Ninian described Ethan as the blond guy with the six pack. Both of those things are true but that’s not his only merit. He’s very quiet, focused and somber when were out in a car. You can tell that he passionately loves the land and the animals. He lives in Tanzania and, no matter the circumstances, if Im standing with him, I feel completely safe. But he’s also a total nut. His humor is at the level of my 14 and 16 year old boy cousins (theyre who he mostly hangs out with) and he gets in fits of laughter over the stupidest, barely-coherent dirty jokes.
He can be the most fun but is the most unpredictable too because he has this pensive, secretive side that‘s wretchedly frustrating but incredibly sexy. For some reason, Im always drawn to the quiet brooding type- Ive got to break that tradition. Im not sure what about that is attractive to me- I guess I like to know that other people think- just take time to shut up, think, and look around. The second or third night, I desperately needed to get away from the 11 family members Ive been spending 17 hours a day with, so we went for a walk which, in order to avoid becoming lion prey, turned out to be more like pacing around a few hundred yards from camp. But it was dark and the stars were incredible and it was quiet enough to chill out and rejuvenate. I really do need time to myself to sort things out and reboot and Im glad there’s someone else here who needs that too. Its pretty draining being within 20 feet of at least one other person at all times, 24 hours a day. And its really hard not being able to go for chill-out walks. But Im going to really miss this when I leave. Im going to miss it so much that Ive decided to learn Swahili and come back- for a decent chunk of time.
My Swahili is actually coming along quite nicely. Heres a few words
Jambo- Hello
Karibu- Your welcome or just Welcome
Haribu- How are you
Nzuri- Good, Fine…
Kwaheri- Goodbye
I found a “Useful Swahili” book with little conversations and learned
Watoto wako shambani- The kids are in the garden
Ndizi- Banana (Ndizi hizi- These bananas)
Simba- Lion
Duma- Cheetah
Chewy- Leopard (The Kenyans pronounce it “Lee-oh-pard” because Swahili is completely phonetic. So far, much easier than French where Oiseaux is pronounced “Wa- zoh“)
Hapa- Here
Hoku- There
…and so on
Learning Swahili is my summer project. I think I can get a rough understanding down. And then Im coming back here STAT. Im brainstorming the skills I have that can make me a living here. Ive talked to a few of the locals about it and they mostly say jobs are pretty scarce. A few of them thought the recession was just Kenya.
I think being a nanny would be my best bet.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
July 8
Im on a plane from London to Nairobi Kenya. We got the worst seats on the plane. The last row, in the middle, where we cant recline. But the two seats on the row next to us were open so now we have 5 seats for 3 people so it turned out pretty good. Im reading a lot. I watched The Sting and then watched Ted blankly stare at his personal screen for a little bit. And now Im writing. My mom has the two seats by the window. She called us over when the Mediterranean met the top of Africa- what is that- Egypt? It looked incredible. The water faded lighter until you could see the orange sand under the water and then the water tapered off and then there was just the orange sand. Completely flat, no slope down to the water or anything. Like when you take a bath and look down at your body- you whole body is there but at the knees and your neck and your ribs here and there, the water cant cover anymore and your skin is exposed. That’s what it looked like. It was striking. I went back to my seat, unwrapped a foil covered chocolate ball and finished watching the movie.
I felt a little weird just finishing the movie like that but what else do you do? And after a few minutes, the chocolate looked really good to me and the movie started to get interesting again and I could complain about my seat location again, deciding that this is just a vacation and Ill just relax and enjoy it. Its hard to decide whether or not it’s a good idea to delve into that little state of mind that I easily let myself fall into. Where I look around me and everything looks fake and like its coming in on me and theres no way out and I have to get away before it all catches me. But those little moods havent gotten me anywhere before. Im happiest and most inspired and do the most things Im proud of, feel best about myself, when I decide not to go there. And I think sometimes that that happiness is fake and is not genuine (Im obsessed with everything being so damn genuine) but I don’t think that’s the case. We function under a delicate balance- of, I don’t know what. There’s your brain and logic and all that and then there’s physical sensations, and then theres chemicals. And I think sometimes that only the first one is real- that I have to think my way around everything and understand things before I can appreciate them and I don’t think that’s true. Im watching Ted two seats over from me, watching a movie. He hasn’t moved and has a completely blank look on his face and from what I can see, theres nothing happening there. But his brain, I know, is ticking away. (One step ahead of all the twists in the movie- he’s amazing with movies like that. Mysteries with little twists in them and plot details that you have to remember for the grand twist at the end to make sense- I miss all of those all the time. I have to watch those kinds of movies over and over and have someone explain it to me. Most of the time though, I just don’t really care enough.)
So that all- the thinking and the visuals and all the processing- can amuse you for a little bit but that lacks all the balance. The balance from chemicals you get from being physically active and eating the right foods. If my mind starts freaking out and I get depressed, I start thinking about morbid things and the bigger, way too big, picture and lose touch with everything little- all the important things really- and I think that theres something in my mind to figure out and that I have to stay morbid and look at huge pictures of things that I don’t even understand and shouldn’t. But maybe its just that I havent gone on a run in week and havent been eating good food- and its my chemicals not my brain and that’s all just as important. So I brought my running shoes on this trip. Im going to be alone pretty much, for a month after this trip and Ill need all the chemicals I can get to keep me going and strong.
Having said that, lets talk about London. I only got to spend one day there so I got a certain view of it. A tourist view of it- which, as far as Im concerned is a waste of time. Someone said, at breakfast, “We only have one day here so I think we should just see all we can.” Oh god, I thought, this is going to be a waste of a day. I hate sightseeing. I can see the big Ferris Wheel and the guards with the funny hats with 5 seconds on google images and that’s that and guess what- it looks exactly the same in real life! What’s the deal with sightseeing and getting autographs and taking pictures in front of monuments? Is that just to prove it to other people or what? I never understood that. So we all toured around London for the day. And we were quite the motley crew. Eleven Americans traveling together, from ages 10 to 74, waiting in lines, pointing at things, snapping pictures. It was kind of fun in a very touristy kind of way. We got rained off of the top of a double decker tour bus, went to Harrods- the huge department store- and marveled at room after room designated to different designers, and we ate Sheppard’s Pie at an overpriced pub. Then Mom and Ted and I split off and went to Paddington to check out the hostel Ill be staying at in 2 ½ weeks when I come back for a few days.
It was great. It got me so excited. I recognized the shops from google street view. The hostel itself is pretty ghetto. Kind of dank and dark and quiet- I didn’t get to see into the rooms but I got it- it’s a bargain place. The neighborhood is great though. There are cafes everywhere, little street vendors selling produce and fruit, Indian food restaurants with affordable buffets advertised out front and curry that you can smell from half a block away. Its lively but not in the bustling business type way that the other parts of London we looked at are.
Then we got on the tube and made it down to the Thames for dinner at a great little brew pub we found in a super old, cobble stone, relaxed part of town just on the London side of the London bridge. Around the same area is a beautiful cathedral that has been around for a thousand years- literally- which I definitely plan on going to a service in, and the Globe Theatre which I might also go back to. We tubed home and passed out. I understand the underground system. That’s my major accomplishment of the day.
Some observations about London from my one day of bustling about:
1. The women have beautiful shoes. Im used to Boulder women who work out relentlessly- if you don’t have a sport (running, cycling, swimming, all three in one day, rock climbing, kayaking,..) than you don’t fit the Boulder stereotype. The Boulder woman is incredibly fit, motivated, getting up at 6 to get a trail run in before work and then meeting other high strung, in-your-face liberated women for an obnoxiously health conscious overly priced meal to discuss business plans for non profits helping to make Uganda a green country and then back home to maybe get a ride in. So that’s nice and all, but too much of that is a little overwhelming, not to mention intimidating. So it was a refreshing change to see the London girls- chubby legs and no arm muscles, but with beautiful shoes that are worn, through torrential rain, heat and miles of walking, like no big deal. That deserves some respect.
2. Its not just the women. The men also have beautiful shoes. The men are definitely the more feminine of the sexes. I get the impression they spend a decent chunk of every paycheck on hair products, coat jackets and incredibly fashionable footwear and set their alarms a half hour earlier than American men in order to get in a certain amount of time pouting their lips in front of the mirror and deftly matching their outfits to look smooth and clean cut while still achieving a certain air of apathetic aloofness and detachment.
3. Londoners lock their wifi. I wish they didn’t.
4. Heathrow is the slowest airport ever.
Catch Phrase of the Day
The announcement on every stop of our tube ride to town.
“This is a Piccadilly Line service to Cockfosters”. I think you can get a crème for that.
Im expecting things to be very different in Kenya. This morning, talking about what to expect the next two weeks, I learned that we take showers from boiled water put in baggies and then poured over our heads. My massive mess of hair itself is probably a 5 bag job. This will be fun. I hope theres internet here and there. I like contact. I want to skype Baxter and I want to know what happens in the Tour- I am so sorry to be missing the Tour this year.
A little later now. Im in Kenya and checked into the hotel outside of Nairobi. Its very weird. It was a 40 minute ride from the airport and along the way, there were road blocks we had to avoid, a car pulled over in a ditch/sand dune on the side of the road and vans with 20 people in them passing us, the vans coughing up huge bursts of black thick smoke. And here we are. In a beautiful hotel. I have my own room somehow with a kingsize bed, a fireplace, a complimentary mini bar and a bathroom with two sinks and a claw foot bath tub. When I got into the room and the Kenyan man finished giving me the tour, I sat down and cried. Later, out on a deck, I told my mom if felt weird and guilty to me and she said "There are a lot of nice things in the world. Enjoy them." And that didnt make me feel any better. But I looked at everyone elses rooms, set up a wake up call for the morning and skyped with Dana in Santa Monica and Bax in Boulder (he was on a little break from work but still in his chefs coat), and now I feel better. But its late- its one in the morning and we traveled all day. Yesterday ran around a new city like crazy and the day before that, endured another grueling flight. So Im tired. Im going to have some complimentary chips and an orange juice and call it a night- maybe read some Carl Hiaasan- prime airplane reading. Tomorrow, we get on yet another plane for an hour and will be camping for the next 3 days.
Its beautiful here. Still havent seen it in the light but it smells fantastic and it feels like your walking on the real ground with nothing between you and the ground and that makes me feel alright.
I felt a little weird just finishing the movie like that but what else do you do? And after a few minutes, the chocolate looked really good to me and the movie started to get interesting again and I could complain about my seat location again, deciding that this is just a vacation and Ill just relax and enjoy it. Its hard to decide whether or not it’s a good idea to delve into that little state of mind that I easily let myself fall into. Where I look around me and everything looks fake and like its coming in on me and theres no way out and I have to get away before it all catches me. But those little moods havent gotten me anywhere before. Im happiest and most inspired and do the most things Im proud of, feel best about myself, when I decide not to go there. And I think sometimes that that happiness is fake and is not genuine (Im obsessed with everything being so damn genuine) but I don’t think that’s the case. We function under a delicate balance- of, I don’t know what. There’s your brain and logic and all that and then there’s physical sensations, and then theres chemicals. And I think sometimes that only the first one is real- that I have to think my way around everything and understand things before I can appreciate them and I don’t think that’s true. Im watching Ted two seats over from me, watching a movie. He hasn’t moved and has a completely blank look on his face and from what I can see, theres nothing happening there. But his brain, I know, is ticking away. (One step ahead of all the twists in the movie- he’s amazing with movies like that. Mysteries with little twists in them and plot details that you have to remember for the grand twist at the end to make sense- I miss all of those all the time. I have to watch those kinds of movies over and over and have someone explain it to me. Most of the time though, I just don’t really care enough.)
So that all- the thinking and the visuals and all the processing- can amuse you for a little bit but that lacks all the balance. The balance from chemicals you get from being physically active and eating the right foods. If my mind starts freaking out and I get depressed, I start thinking about morbid things and the bigger, way too big, picture and lose touch with everything little- all the important things really- and I think that theres something in my mind to figure out and that I have to stay morbid and look at huge pictures of things that I don’t even understand and shouldn’t. But maybe its just that I havent gone on a run in week and havent been eating good food- and its my chemicals not my brain and that’s all just as important. So I brought my running shoes on this trip. Im going to be alone pretty much, for a month after this trip and Ill need all the chemicals I can get to keep me going and strong.
Having said that, lets talk about London. I only got to spend one day there so I got a certain view of it. A tourist view of it- which, as far as Im concerned is a waste of time. Someone said, at breakfast, “We only have one day here so I think we should just see all we can.” Oh god, I thought, this is going to be a waste of a day. I hate sightseeing. I can see the big Ferris Wheel and the guards with the funny hats with 5 seconds on google images and that’s that and guess what- it looks exactly the same in real life! What’s the deal with sightseeing and getting autographs and taking pictures in front of monuments? Is that just to prove it to other people or what? I never understood that. So we all toured around London for the day. And we were quite the motley crew. Eleven Americans traveling together, from ages 10 to 74, waiting in lines, pointing at things, snapping pictures. It was kind of fun in a very touristy kind of way. We got rained off of the top of a double decker tour bus, went to Harrods- the huge department store- and marveled at room after room designated to different designers, and we ate Sheppard’s Pie at an overpriced pub. Then Mom and Ted and I split off and went to Paddington to check out the hostel Ill be staying at in 2 ½ weeks when I come back for a few days.
It was great. It got me so excited. I recognized the shops from google street view. The hostel itself is pretty ghetto. Kind of dank and dark and quiet- I didn’t get to see into the rooms but I got it- it’s a bargain place. The neighborhood is great though. There are cafes everywhere, little street vendors selling produce and fruit, Indian food restaurants with affordable buffets advertised out front and curry that you can smell from half a block away. Its lively but not in the bustling business type way that the other parts of London we looked at are.
Then we got on the tube and made it down to the Thames for dinner at a great little brew pub we found in a super old, cobble stone, relaxed part of town just on the London side of the London bridge. Around the same area is a beautiful cathedral that has been around for a thousand years- literally- which I definitely plan on going to a service in, and the Globe Theatre which I might also go back to. We tubed home and passed out. I understand the underground system. That’s my major accomplishment of the day.
Some observations about London from my one day of bustling about:
1. The women have beautiful shoes. Im used to Boulder women who work out relentlessly- if you don’t have a sport (running, cycling, swimming, all three in one day, rock climbing, kayaking,..) than you don’t fit the Boulder stereotype. The Boulder woman is incredibly fit, motivated, getting up at 6 to get a trail run in before work and then meeting other high strung, in-your-face liberated women for an obnoxiously health conscious overly priced meal to discuss business plans for non profits helping to make Uganda a green country and then back home to maybe get a ride in. So that’s nice and all, but too much of that is a little overwhelming, not to mention intimidating. So it was a refreshing change to see the London girls- chubby legs and no arm muscles, but with beautiful shoes that are worn, through torrential rain, heat and miles of walking, like no big deal. That deserves some respect.
2. Its not just the women. The men also have beautiful shoes. The men are definitely the more feminine of the sexes. I get the impression they spend a decent chunk of every paycheck on hair products, coat jackets and incredibly fashionable footwear and set their alarms a half hour earlier than American men in order to get in a certain amount of time pouting their lips in front of the mirror and deftly matching their outfits to look smooth and clean cut while still achieving a certain air of apathetic aloofness and detachment.
3. Londoners lock their wifi. I wish they didn’t.
4. Heathrow is the slowest airport ever.
Catch Phrase of the Day
The announcement on every stop of our tube ride to town.
“This is a Piccadilly Line service to Cockfosters”. I think you can get a crème for that.
Im expecting things to be very different in Kenya. This morning, talking about what to expect the next two weeks, I learned that we take showers from boiled water put in baggies and then poured over our heads. My massive mess of hair itself is probably a 5 bag job. This will be fun. I hope theres internet here and there. I like contact. I want to skype Baxter and I want to know what happens in the Tour- I am so sorry to be missing the Tour this year.
A little later now. Im in Kenya and checked into the hotel outside of Nairobi. Its very weird. It was a 40 minute ride from the airport and along the way, there were road blocks we had to avoid, a car pulled over in a ditch/sand dune on the side of the road and vans with 20 people in them passing us, the vans coughing up huge bursts of black thick smoke. And here we are. In a beautiful hotel. I have my own room somehow with a kingsize bed, a fireplace, a complimentary mini bar and a bathroom with two sinks and a claw foot bath tub. When I got into the room and the Kenyan man finished giving me the tour, I sat down and cried. Later, out on a deck, I told my mom if felt weird and guilty to me and she said "There are a lot of nice things in the world. Enjoy them." And that didnt make me feel any better. But I looked at everyone elses rooms, set up a wake up call for the morning and skyped with Dana in Santa Monica and Bax in Boulder (he was on a little break from work but still in his chefs coat), and now I feel better. But its late- its one in the morning and we traveled all day. Yesterday ran around a new city like crazy and the day before that, endured another grueling flight. So Im tired. Im going to have some complimentary chips and an orange juice and call it a night- maybe read some Carl Hiaasan- prime airplane reading. Tomorrow, we get on yet another plane for an hour and will be camping for the next 3 days.
Its beautiful here. Still havent seen it in the light but it smells fantastic and it feels like your walking on the real ground with nothing between you and the ground and that makes me feel alright.
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