Easing thirty at Elementaita

It is to be a self pitying post today, after the bleak barrage of abuse following last weeks post. Suffice it to say, you know who you are and my eyes are narrowed in contemplation of your treachery. ‘Cantankerous old git’ hey? In the ornery run of things one would be upset on being on the receiving end of such vitriol but the depression of becoming old has rendered meaningless others opinions.

But apparently 30 is the next milestone birthday after 21. I imagine because 30 is really, really, really, quite incredibly old – one foot in the grave and pining for the Fjords. So Jo took me away to the sunny shores of Lake Elementaita for a few days to cheer me up.

 

Our hotel, the Sunbird Lodge as chosen by Joanna, was a luxury eco-lodge complete with swimming pool. It was cold and Edd was proved to be the biggest wimp, jumping into the pool, emitting a girly shriek, and running for the warmth whilst Jo swan bravely on. Amazingly, we got hot water bottles placed in our bed whilst we were having dinner leading to an, as yet unfulfilled, resolution to acquire some for home use.

Lake Elementaita is (as you may already have guessed?) a soda lake in the rift valley. As is becoming boringly normal, it is very beautiful and teems with birds, buffalo and other exotic beasts. A fabulously lazy and relaxing time was had wondering by the lake shore and gawking at the flamingos and pelicans, although we did take a local with us for the buffalo.

These beasts are the original ‘cantankerous old gits’. When they are in a group they are docile. In this state they can be safely approached with no other danger than accidently making eye contact and being made stupid by the incredible vacant dumbness of their gaze. However, every now and then the dominant male gets booted out of the heard and grumpily goes on the rampage (which is fair enough really). They reportedly watch cars at junctions, and upon discerning the direction of travel trot off for a future ambush. What fun they have. A bus hit one at 140kph recently. The buffalo survived but the bus did not. You don’t want to mess…

 

We also went to the Menengai Crater, an 11km wide volcanic caldera, filled with twisting lava flows and people making charcoal and (yawn) very beautiful. Having got a taxi to the highest point (which many of the locals shun – the loosing side in a Maasai battle were shuffled off the mortal coil by shuffling (being shoved?) over the edge), we were offered a guided walk by an enterprising shopkeeper, an offer that we, along with our driver took up. Rather brilliantly, our driver (who was a really nice and friendly guy) actually made us feel young and fit. Once we had walked the 400m down into the crater he conked, and had to take rests every 10-15 meters. So tired was he when we got to the top that I ended up driving his car home.

A great time was had by all, and we have grown personally by braving Kenyan public transport. We also learned another important lesson. Our matatu had an 'all things are possible for those that love the Lord' sticker. So they proved, as our matatu drove up the middle of the road in a traffic jam. Fine if you are a motor bike, not so good if you are a bus. Especially not when a bus coming the other way has the same idea...

The rain in Kenya falls mainly on Joanna.

It’s been a while, dear reader. A while. And please rest assured that you have missed us more than we have missed you. So what have we done for the past few weeks? Not much.

One of the problems of being somewhere long term is that the new and exciting quickly becomes normal and mundane. An example of this would be the Karen Blixen museum. You may know her from books such as ‘Out of Africa’, or as I like to call it ‘Yes, I married my lover’s brother and cheated on him, weirdly caught syphilis, then made money from the story.’ Sorry for ruining the story if you haven’t seen the film.

And so, seeing as we are staying in Nairobi for longer than we thought (for reasons that are probably best left out of the public domain, darn Yankees), we have embarked on a campaign to see all that there is to see here, the Karen Blixen museum (aka her house) being the first to be crossed off.

 

The Karen Blixen museum is disappointing for many as Dennis Finch Hatton looks nothing like Robert Redford, and it proved to be a disappointment for us too, although this is mainly because it is wildly overpriced at nearly £7. The house is small (maybe 7 rooms, that’s a pound a room) and the original furnishings are long gone. A quick 10 minute squizz was all that was needed to do it justice.  Admittedly, there is a good view of the Ngong hills. Not a good verdict.

So we then decide to try out the wildlife walk in Nairobi National park. Described in the guide book as ‘a showcase of Kenya’s vast ecological diversity, the wetlands, the savannah… … are simulated behind concealed safety barriers to create an intimate environment which is both captivating and informative’. You can decide the veracity of this for yourselves (here’s hoping that more than one person bothers to read this) from the photos (but please note neither animal is native to Kenya).

Needless to say, it was wildly overpriced (as Jo told the ticket dude at great length). The icing on the cake being that we paid for it ourselves (a good use of EU grant money, me thinks not). We did however see what might have been a leopard, but it was miles away, up a tree and not moving (and in a cage). It may well have been dead. But we saw it.

Kenyan factoid of the day.  When it doesn’t rain the reservoirs from which much of Kenya’s electricity is generated become empty, so there are power cuts. When it does rain, transformers etc blow, so there are power cuts. This means (seeing as it is either raining or not raining) that we have power cuts nearly every day. 

And so to our title. Does the rain in Kenya really mainly fall on Joanna? Would it want to if it could? Probably not, she can be quite fierce. But boy can it hammer it down. The last few weeks have seen proper rain, and I mean proper. Roofs have leaked,springs have appeared in various parts of our pretty flat compound and water is coming through the walls of the main building. So, just for the fun of it, we have started putting gutters on the missionaries house. Hopefully this will stop the walls going inwards.

I must go now as Jo is half way through a bottle of wine and has started tickling my feet.

Election fever

As we, here in Africa, are insulated from the UK election campaign, I feel that it is our duty to share with you at home a view from afar of the political leaders vying to take tea with Her Majesty the Queen.

It was Timothy, customer service manager from the bank, who summed it up best:
‘Is’, he asked, ‘this Nick Clegg as good as he seems, or is he just a  joke?’

Unable (or unwilling?) to defend a fellow Brit from such a penetrating question I found it my sad duty to respond that the British Barak Obama was indeed a joke.

‘Oh dear’ quoth the customer service manager.  ‘I don’t think that I would fancy voting for the other two’.

You should listen to Timothy. Both countries have endemic corruption (remember porn gate, moats and duck ponds) and both countries will have a hung (isn’t it a shame they haven’t made the schoolboy grammatical error) parliament. He knows what he is talking about.