Hell's Gate

This weekend I rode to the gates of hell, and back again.

My Kiswahili teacher, Francis lives in Naivasha, on the banks of Lake Naivasha, the easternmost of the Great Rift Valley's "Great Lakes." Near Naivasha is Hell's Gate National Park, and pretty much every year he organizes a trip for the K students, but not through the program, to visit Hell's Gate.

On Friday afternoon we convened at campus to wait for our hired out matatu to arrive, over an hour late, and piled in for the hour-ish drive to Naivasha. At this point, whenever I get into a matatu, I've become conditioned to first check around the top of the vehicle for tweeters, implying the rest of a sound system. In this case there were four, a positive sign. When we plied the driver and conductor (in this case, essentially his friend who came along just to ride shotgun, normally the conductor (or tot) handles the money) to turn on the music, we were immediately greeted by bumps from the subwoofer, but a moment later we collectively realized that that was actually all that was playing. Upon further inspection, only one of the tweeters was actually connected to anything, and there was only one midrange speaker present in the car at all. Occasionally, the tweeter decided it would furnish us with the very top end of the music as well, and later, the midrange decided to make a little sound as well, but when it did randomly decide to work, the sub ceased to function. Honestly, reggae with only sub and occasional tweeter didn't bother me too much at all, it was mostly just funny that the system was so unusually constituted, although I think I was in the minority in feeling this.

We arrived in Naivasha around sundown, and met Francis at the supermarket, did some brief shopping for the weekend, aquired foods to cook Saturday for dinner, and a little bit of red wine. Then Francis accompanied us to our resort, which was an unusual, but not altogether surprising combination of campsite, hostel, and high class hotel. We were staying in basically a hostel room, a short walk from our outdoor bathroom and showers. Interestingly, not only did the bathrooms have toilets, but the showers also had hot water; although the entire bathing complex was made of corrugated steel and plastic. For dinner, we split a few delicious brick oven pizzas, which had nothing on Flatbread's but were far superior to the Kenyan approximation of pizza available at Pizza Inn.

The next morning, not particularly early really, we readied ourselves for the trip's adventure... Hell's Gate. After a similarly delicious breakfast, we met a local who supplied us with thoroughly "experienced" mountain bikes of a rather basic sort, and explained to us that although we were students, we would not be able to actually get the student rate at the park, and instead would have to pay the standard mzungu rate, $25 american, instead of 400ksh ($4 american). At this, (the female) half of the group decided that they were no longer even going to go into the park, leaving only the boys to adventure.

After biking a few more than a few kilometers to the gate, and arguing thoroughly with the attendants to furnish us with either the student, or resident rate (both of which we would technically qualify for) we handed over 2700ksh each (200 for the bike) and rode onward to the gates of Hell.

As you enter the park, you first feel that you are just on a plain, this alone is pretty cool, because the Great Rift Valley is amazing, and the scale of the thing is completely impossible to convey properly. Just a little beyond the entrance, you crest a small hill and realize that the entire plain that you are standing in is in the bottom of a gorge, with cliffs several hundred meters tall on either side of you. Not only that, but the cliffs seem to go forever forwards, and as you continue, they meander back and forth, overlapping and intersecting with other gorges. About a kilometer from the gate is Fischer's Tower, a craggy spire standing on it's own in the middle of the plain. The entire park is a rock climber's dream, and the three of us came somewhat prepared. Some of our friends at the Mountain Climbing Club of Kenya actually happened to be in the park this weekend, and they were not the only group on the walls. Being only somewhat prepared, we just bouldered for a little while, never getting more than a few feet off the ground, but having some fun.

So, a little more on the Great Rift Valley. The valley is so large that not only can you see a storm coming in the clouds, you can actually see the rain, sometimes seemingly just over there, but still hours away. I bring this up, because at this point we spotted a storm, just over there, ending our plans of possibly meeting up with our MCK friends, as being on a wall in the rain sounded significantly less than fun. Climbing now removed from our agenda, we began pedaling again, meandering deeper into the gorge, skirted on either side by incomprehensibly large cliffs, only countered but the incredible width of the plain therein.

Eventually, the rain came, and in force, suggesting to us that we might have to trundle the not trivial distance back to the gate, and then to our camp in the rain. After pouring for long enough to make some pretty significant puddles, the rain petered out and cleared up again, and by the time the sun came back, the puddles had pretty much disappeared into the permanently parched ground. An eventuality not foreseen in our gloomy prognostications of hours of pushing our bikes back through mud puddles and pouring rain.

Our maxima for distance into the park was The Hell's Gate Gorge viewing area. The gorge is absolutely immense and incredibly beautiful as well. Picture a gorge about the size of the Delaware Water Gap, and then put it at the bottom of a valley that makes it seem tiny by comparison. Opposite the viewing area is another massive stone obelisk, several times the size of Fischer's Tower, perched above the intersection of two veins of the gorge.

The trip back to camp was long, but not too bad really, my hands are still sore from the lack of shocks on my bike, but overall the biking wasn't too bad, and was far preferable to being in a car. On the way back to camp we saw several herds of Gazelle, just hanging out in the plain, zebras, and even a giraffe. We also passed a Masai herdsman tending his goats and sheep (the parks are still open to traditional use a pasture for locals).

At the entrance to the park we picked up firewood, crudely attached it to my backpack and returned home to begin fixing dinner. Somewhere along the line we decided to make dinner for ourselves on Saturday, but literally our only tools for doing so were our fire, a single pretty dull knife and not nearly enough tinfoil. Before long this turned into an interesting game of don't burn your fingers on the foil as you try to adjust or retrieve your food. The dearth of tinfoil resulted in cooking the potatoes directly in the coals. In the end though, we made some pretty tasty food, roasted assorted veggies, roasted meatballs, baked (roasted) eggplant, potatoes, and sweet potatoes, and some stick roasted sausages (perhaps the first I've ever actually eaten).

Today we returned in the same, stereo-questionable matatu, this time with only tweeter. So, this weekend I literally rode through Hell's Gate(s), and with this visit under our belt, we're pretty sure we will be planning further adventures, probably with a good deal more adventure and a little less resort.

Nutin Much- Really

So, I know most of you are at least somewhat peeved at me for not writing anything in almost a month, but really since Mombasa I haven't had much to say that was blogworthy. On the other hand I'm sorry I didn't actually post anything from my Mombasa trip, but I have an excuse. I actually wrote at least four paragraphs about Mombasa, then blogger ate my post before I could post it, at that point I didn't much feel like starting over again, and since then there hasn't been internet access at the house anymore. I'm actually writing this on a mobile broadband connection, interestingly, it's about as fast as any land lines in America... who would've thunk?

I guess I'll give you all the abridged version of my Mombasa trip here, before I leave for Kisumu tomorrow (the second excursion planned by the school /out of a total three). The bus, I should probably say van actually, as what we drove in amounted to a super basic utility van in America, but with some distinctly Kenyan extras. Despite having maybe 18 inch wheels, our van had four wheel drive, no stereo or hvac other than the windows, and those were operated by sliding them, one didn't actually latch closed so there was always a chance that someone might get into the vehicle, and the others were almost impossible to get un-latched. The trunk of the van opened not with a key, but with a square peg that was shoved into the hole where a lock might-used-to have been. The drive was eight (kenyan) hours (longer really) each way. Mombasa road is "probably the best road in the country" but is only two lanes, one each way, with somewhat frequent speed bumps and constant passing through oncoming traffic.

In Mombasa, we spoke a lot of Kiswahili, we went to Shimba Hills Nature preserve, where we went on a nature walk and saw wild elephants out in a valley from one of the most amazing overlooks I've ever seen. The next day we snorkeled on a coral reef and saw "coral gardens" ancient coral that had come out of the water millenia ago, and was now just huge rocks on a mangrove/coral island. We also visited fort Jesus, built by the Portuguese in the 1600s, and had an amazing lunch of local fare. Somehow, dinner managed to be even better though... For dinner, we went on the Tamarind Dhow, an authentic Swahili sailing ship that had been retrofitted to serve 5star food to Wazungu (foreigners). We had five courses and drinks, and listened to the rather talented live muzak/reggae band. I had prawns, many of us had lobster, or the seafood jumble. Other than lunch earlier in the day, I have to go back probably to Fulton's crabhouse for a comparable meal, and this probably has it beat.

Then we came home, again, a very long car ride, wherein we were all laughably first world, with our iPods almost the whole time.

Since then, I've also spent a day rock climbing, at Lukenya, some cliffs about a half hour out of town on mombasa road. It was incredible, I essentially had never climbed anywhere but a gym before, but adding this to the fun that I had this spring in the gym, I think I might have a new long term love.

In other not really news, Kenyans love Reggae, I'm totally o.k. with that- it makes for a lot of fun clubbing. Perhaps no-one I've met likes reggae as much as my host brother Kimathi, who runs a private car service and had outfitted literally all of his vehicles with at least one sub-woofer, and the luxury vehicles with x-boxes.

In summary, Kenya is a lot of fun, Mombasa was a lot of fun, classes are good, and the real revelation is probably just that life here isn't all that different from life at K, although that's largely a function of being in the same socio-economic class as at home, probably a bit higher relatively speaking. About the biggest difference between here and home is that at K I can get to class in literally two miniutes if I run, from anywhere on campus, and here it takes me the better part of two hours, more sometimes, each way to get to class from home.

Acclimation

Ninakaa Karen. I stay in Karen, if you've been reading my blog, you probably already knew this, but I mention it because it's actually beginning to feel true and it leads me to an interesting point. Most Kenyans, especially those living in and around Nairobi make a sharp distinction between where they stay, and where they live. To this end there are actually three verbs to describe one's place of residence. When introducing myself I get to take full advantage of this nomenclature, Ninakaa Karen (i stay in Karen) lakini ninatoka Kalamazoo (but I come from Kalamazoo) na ninaishi Boston (and I live/my family comes from Boston).

At this point I'm actually beginning to feel as if I am no longer a tourist. Although most cab drivers start yelling at me to go home with them from twenty paces, (at 10-15 times the price of the matatu) the matatatus don't try to screw with me, and I know enough about prices to realize it. To a certain extent I recognize prices without having to recalculate into dollars (to a certain extent I do it automatically, 95:1 is easy to estimate) and I'm increasingly comfortable with Kenyan food, (to a certain extent I liked it from the start) and I know enough Swahili to say a little about myself and my day.

I titled this post Acclimation, because I realized during my run today, that I did the same 10K loop from my last mini-post in about 46min, and I realized that my cardiovascular systems had adjusted such that I am about back to where I was stateside. This revelation then morphed into: for only really having been here a week , I feel comfortable here. Certainly Kenya is not the same as the US, but Kenya is not entirely the worse for it, and in some aspects of everyday life, their standards make more sense. You don't tip wait staff implicitly, sure they'll accept a tip, but it's their job to bring you your food. Despite the local embrace of passive voice in English, their verb choice is anything but; you say "give me chips," not "I can I have some chips," nor are you expected to thank the Matatu driver for bringing you home, or anyone for doing any kind of business with you. The economist inside me appreciates all of this, to a certain extent everything is just a transaction to most people, but instead of making people calloused, it means that people actually hear you when you say "Asante sana" (thanks much) and people appreciate the gesture, instead of doubting it.

On a separate but related note, there is a lot to like about the Nairobi nightlife. People go to clubs to dance, which as obvious as it may sound, is a welcome change from K college parties (the majority of my basis for comparison) or concerts (the remainder of my basis), where it can often seem that dancing is just a byproduct of the nights other aims. To paraphrase my notes about Kenyan culture thus far I would say, (pardon my french) Kenyans cut through the bullshit, and as a result everyone seems more genuine.

Tomorrow, I leave for Mombasa till Thursday or Friday, for what we have been told will be Swahili boot camp, but also awesome, and beautiful in a couple different senses. Evidently the locals speak Swahili exclusively in Mombasa (in contrast to Nairobi, where you could speak none and get by fine). I have been informed that Mombasa has the second largest coral in the world, (after the Great Barrier Reef) and that we will be staying at an all inclusive resort, paid for by tuition as there was a little left over after the extremely exchange-ratey costs of tuition. Speaking of which, I count this not lightly amongst the reasons why Kenya has been a good choice, instead of scraping together money for food as some of my friends in Europe have been complaning about, we are all literally shillionares here (and that is just by converting our stipends). I'm having a great time and although it's certainly not home, I'm so very happy to be here.

Altitude

Today I went for a run and actually remembered to wear my watch. I did the Ndege loop again, -more or less 10K- and working pretty hard it still took me 1:05. Running at altitude is a whole different ballgame.

Day 1

For all intents and purposes, today was the start of study abroad.

Yesterday was Eid, a Muslim holiday, and due to the high Muslim population of Kenya, it was also a state holiday. As a result, yesterday was pretty mellow, I pretty much spent the day at home, getting to know the family. I went for a walk with my two host brothers to scout out a good running route (Karen Loop, See map for further references) and along the way we had a good conversation, I told Don about my family while refreshing my Kiswahili. My nightcap was watching a crude rip of the ABC Family Channel movie Teen Spirit kwa ndugu wangu (with my brothers) (american media, even our drivel is really big here).

Today started much earlier, we had to be on campus by 9am to meet our program director and get a tour of the campus. Although home is only about 18K from campus, it is necessary to budget the better part of two hours to drive in during rush hour. This wake up call was totally irrelevant, however, because I woke up at an ungodly hour thanks to my dear friend jet lag; as a result I am almost halfway through Again To Carthage. about 7, Emily and her host family showed up at my house so we could carpool to campus. Once there, we played some Icebreakers, even though we all at least kind of know each other (K is small). After a brief campus tour, we all went to the American Embassy to register. After spending an hour waiting to be received, and an hour of talking to the Director of Political Diplomacy, we discovered that registration has been entirely put online. The visit was far from a waste though, as it was a good primer on recent Kenyan history and USAID activities in the region. Finally, at four we were done for the day. Emily's host mother showed up on foot, and the three of us began walking through the city, Emily and I trying our best to follow her mom through the crowded sidewalks. Finally, Emily's mom pointed across the street and explained that we were headed for the Ambassadour hotel (actually the sidewalk in front of it) where we were catching the #26 bus back to Karen (the suburb where we live).

The public transit system in Nairobi is, oddly enough, entirely private. The two forms of public transit are buses, and Matatus. The buses really lack a good counterpoint in the states, you have to go up a flight of stairs to get in, and then once inside you are presented with essentially a dingy , old-skool charter bus with plastic windows that slide back and forth, and three bucket seats to a side. The Matatus (which service the areas between the bus routes) are run down 15 passenger minivans, occasionally tricked out in hilariously useless ways, but rarely with matching wheels. In both cases the drivers have no fear, and the price is pretty much determined on the spot. When asked today about our apprehensions and fears regarding the program, we mentioned traveling on the roads, to which Lillian (the program director) responded, "Our roads are very safe, but our drivers are not." All told it cost 90 shillings to get home today, basically $1. For reference, a sizeable and flavorful lunch at school was about 150 shillings (+50 for a bottle of water).

When I got home I went out for my first run at altitude, and due to the fading light, and my long-day/jet-lagged tiredness and the quickly fading light, I did the Ndege loop, which, as it turns out is about 30% longer than I thought it was, and now I am wiped. I'm about to sit down for dinner, after which I fully anticipate passing out, hopefully till almost 7am.

I Have Arrived

The actual journey was rather unremarkable, my flight left, more or less on time, and I spent the following eight hours,eating (several snacks, dinner, and breakfast) drinking free red wine (for all intents and purposes I am officially "of age" as of yesterday), watching Water for Elephants and trying my hardest to convince myself that if I just kept my eyes closed for long enough I'd eventually be asleep.

Perhaps the first thing that really let me know the magnitude of my travels was stepping off the plane in Amsterdam, and being confronted with signs primarily in Dutch, and advertisements with prices not in dollars. something about not really knowing how much the stroopiewaffles in the gift shop cost caused me to realize that this was a little different from anything I've done before.

After meeting up with the rest of my group next to gate A34, we had to be re-security screened, the candle in my backpack was thoroughly inspected ("smells very nice") I spent the next eight hours considering how very Dutch KLM is. I mean this in the best possible way, the flight attendants were incredibly friendly in every interaction I had with them, they gave out warm towelettes twice, two meals, and when I poked my head into the galley looking for water I was told to take my fill of Mentos and Mars Bars.

Compared with the Dutch-ness of my second flight today, my time in Kenya so far has been surprisingly normal. They drive on the other side of the road, and there is no real order to passing, but my host Mother, Freida is extremely nice, speaks English better than some of my friends, and just happened to have a vegetarian dinner on the table when we got back from the airport. Except for the slightly different light switches, plugs, and heavy duty water filters, my house would be perfectly at home in the states. My bedroom is all of two feet out of range of the wifi signal over which I am posting this. My house is literally walking distance from the Nairobi national park and Freida's cousin, actually works in the reservation giving game count tours. (I can hear the various animals in the distance out of my window)

Practically all of my apprehensions about being in Kenya have already been assuaged and I am really ready for an amazing six months. I just had my first cup of authentically Kenyan tea, had my first Kenyan meal and killed my first Kenyan mosquito. I believe I have truly arrived, and my body clock may even be on Kenyan time (it sure feels like 10:00pm), so tomorrow I will begin collecting pictures and crafting more thorough postings, but for now, it's bed time. Kwa heri, na lala unono! (goodbye and goodnight!)