"Semi"-permanent tents

The following morning we were  whisked away to the Great  Rift Valley for some quick picks and a souvenir  shopping spree. I caved and filled my bag, though had fun bargaining. From there  we made way to Massai Mara, where we were  welcomed into semi-permanent tents in a safari camp. I’m not sure what’s  so “semi” about tents  with electricity and  flooring. No complaints, though – they were excellent!

Zebras are a dime a dozen in Africa

Soon after dropping our bags in our tents, we headed out for  a 2.5-hour evening game drive. The animals welcomed us with open…um, legs. Weird. There were zebras, gazelles, impala, giraffes, and elephants. On our  way out, we even spotted  a solo lioness chillin’ on a rock. The blurry photo I snapped  of that would become laughable after much closer encounters with those royal cats.

Our evening game drive was topped with a tasty dinner at the campsite, dessert being a warm Guinness that tasted more like a secondhand cigar. And with electricity hours ending at 10pm, we all turned in early to prepare  for the next day’s all-day game drive.

Saturday brought us more gifts  in the form of cheetahs, much closer elephants, and the wildebeest migration across a river. This was spectacular! To see hundreds of these animals stampeding across the water, dodging hippos and narrowly escaping a lurking croc was surreal!  Our day close with hopes of a pride of lions hunting some wildebeest. We sat  for about 45 minutes while the lions patiently but confidently advanced on their prey. Unfortunately, the park closed before we could witness the kill. But, we left sufficiently satisfied by the anticipation of such a primitive form of survival. Craving our own form of survival, we once again hit the campsite “dinning” hall for some grub. Guinness, no thanks.

Elephant. Duh.

Yes, they exist outside of zoos.

Must be tired from running 60mph.

Lion cubs playing like kittens

We had to rise early the next morning for a sunrise game drive that turned out to be the best of all the game drives. After admiring the sunrise, we soon stumbled upon lion cubs that truly resembled a litter of kittens, except that their mother could devour a planet. We sat mesmerized while the mother watched over her cubs, and while the father sat at a respectful distance.  To see the mother was quite a sight, but there is something about seeing the father walk, toting his dark mane that is truly stunning!

The majestic beast. Hungry fella? There ya go!

This man is important - check out his vertical!

The next destination would be a Massai manyatta (village), where the locals gave us a peek at their way of life. Though the Massai typically fear cameras as thieves of the soul, they have grown accustomed to curious outsiders like myself and have allowed  photos. Of course, a little money provides some extra motivation for tolerance. In the manyatta we were treated to traditional dances by  both men and women. The men’s dance included a jumping contest, whereby a man’s importance is proportional to his vertical jump. Let’s just say that I’m not very important.

Drawing cow's blood to give Massai warriors power.

We were then exposed to the Massai ritual of drawing cow’s blood by bow and arrow, and immediately drinking it. Unsatisfied as a mere spectator, I jumped at the opportunity to partake. I was surprised at its lack of taste, but my blood-stained teeth gave me a somewhat savage look that is either badass or extremely disturbing.

Our time with the Massai concluded with a beadwork market where we could purchase the signature attire for these people – beaded everything, you name it. We then vanned-up  for quite some time while we drove to Nakuru, stopping only for the occasional pit stop and an overheating van. Upon arrival, we had to high step it to the hotel  restaurant so that  we could watch the world cup final. Viva Espana!

The rest of the evening was such a blast – a bunch of us went clubbing – cheesy, Kenyan style. The Tusker beer flowed and the Kenyan people weren’t shy about approaching us, and some armed with marriage proposals. It was enough entertainment to keep us out till 4am, which was long enough to afford us 2 hours of sleep before driving to Lake  Nakuru.

At Lake Nakuru, the two main attractions were flamingos and rhinos, both of which were exquisite! The flamingos were  so numerous that the lake appeared pink from afar. And the rhinos were so large and dinosaur-like that their power seemed to scream even in their idle state.

This is not a dinosaur.

Pink lake.

Upon reflecting on the weekend, I realized that I had been subconsciously educated that  these animals exist only in zoos. To see them in their natural habitat is breathtaking in a way that can’t be even partly conveyed in visiting animals behind caged enclosures. I can’t help but laugh at the turned  tables on a safari – we as humans cage ourselves in vans as we parade like a mobile zoo through the African savanna. Funny how that works.

Upon arrival at the train station, an officer not-so-kindly informed us that we missed the train and the station is closed. However, a much more helpful gentleman helped us get the world’s most highly trained stunt driver to take us, as the crow flies, from the Mombasa train station to the Athiriva station. Never before had any of us felt a sense of relief that a train had derailed. It was the train in front of ours that derailed, which delayed ours enough to allow us to catch the train. (sigh)

Sunrise on the night train to Mombasa

The train ride was kinda fun. We dined on unremarkable beef, rice & veggies that somehow tasted a bit of alright on the train. The night’s sleep was broken only by the rocking of the train that made it clear why its friend had derailed. At 6am, I anxiously awaited the bell ringing for the first seating of breakfast. And at 6:15, my stomach’s prayers were answered. This time, food was served with an amazing sunrise and some trainside elephants to boot. Hells yeah!

Mombasa ferry

Thirteen hours after boarding our missed train, we pulled into Mombasa feeling extra greasy but ready to hit the beach. The ferry ride over to Mombasa island gave us our first substantial glance at the glorious waters of the Indian Ocean. Our taxi driver took us all the way to Diani Beach, where we would stay at Diani Beachalets in a cottage right on the beach. If I learned one thing on the drive to the beach, it is that “monkey bars” are named for actual monkey bars. About every 100 yards there was a ladder strung across the trees, traversing the street. The first roadside baboon sighting was quite exciting. Their mannerisms have a remarkable resemblance to humans!

'Ello baboon!

Yours truly rockin' the whiteness with Mama Lucy

After taking care of bid-ness with the Irish cottage owner, we immediately hit the beach. I had to constantly remind myself that I was swimming in the *Indian Ocean*! Crazy! Also, as a gift to our house mom Lucy, we paid for her to come with us to Mombasa for the weekend so she could see the ocean for the first time in her life! Upon seeing her awe-struck face at the sight (and feel) of the ocean, I was reminded of the first time I saw it in Siesta Key with Grandma and Grandpa. It was awesome just to see her experience the ocean for the first time.

Unfortunate view from patio.

And while we were soaking up the equatorial rays on the white sand beaches, the local cook was whipping up some tasty goodness in our kitchen. So, for dinner we were treated to red snapper and barracuda with chips, veggies and a salad. Yum-oh.

Our cook...cooking. Duh.

We had planned on hitting some local hotspots for the evening, so while Stevie & Lucy got ready for the evening, Jessica and I hopped a matatu to the local supermarket for some essentials. Fast forward to post-shopping. We were standing outside in the dark street, waiting unsuccessfully for a return matatu when a motorcycle taxi pulled up. Jess and I looked at each other, and as the devil on her shoulder I suggested that we take it. And take it we did! However, about 15 seconds after pulling onto the road, we were pulled over by the police for failure to signal (and for cutting off the cops). About 4 officers jumped out, big-ass guns drawn and Jess puts her hands up while I just sat and held the groceries. Luckily, they let him off without arresting him and without demanding a payment, which is a common practice of corruption in Kenya.

Chalking it up to weekend excitement, we continued on our evening ride and successfully made it back to the cottage. The evening turned out to be a bit of a let down, as the restaurant suggested was merely a tourist trap stuffed full of under-dressed chicks and over-drunk dudes. No thanks. On a tip that a walk back to our cottage would take only 15 minutes, we marched off into the darkness, with nothing but the sound of the ocean and the light of a cell phone to guide us. Sixty minutes later, we got home. “Kenya time” they call it.

That’s where our night ended, and the next morning we made some chai to enjoy during the sunrise. And it was exquisite! The sunrise, that is. The chai was, too, but the sunrise trumps all. And unfortunately, our time on the beach came to a close as we made way to old town Mombasa to check out the city. Bad idea. It was hot, sweaty, and everything was closed because it was a Sunday. Thankfully, we rode the high of our time on the beach long enough to get us back on the train.

Sunrise over the Indian Ocean. (drool)

Overall it was an excellent weekend, with a bit of relaxing and some eye candy delivered by white sand and the marvelous Indian Ocean. I would love to have spent more time there, but our unfinished business at the school called us home like the street lights of childhood. Goodbye Mombasa, I will see you again.

Just another game of football, Spain v. Ghana

This past weekend was a roller coaster of experiences, ranging from awe-inspiring nature-scapes to foreign dogpile-style transportation. Our Outreach Weekend started with an unremarkable BBQ that included loud, Irish frat boys and quadruple-shot drinks. You do the math. The next morning we departed for a KCC Project, which is a school setup by volunteers to educate a sorely under-served area in Kenya. And with yet another game of (real) football, we departed for our next adventure, Hell’s Gate.

This excursion began with a leisurely bike ride along gravel and dirt roads, riding through a massive valley filled with amazing wildlife. Though there wasn’t much wildlife on the ride there, we did pass by Pride Rock, the famous rock modeled in the Lion King. It was there that we wept for Mufasa.

Canyons of Hell's Gate

The wind quickly dried our tears as we pedaled the rest of the way to Hell’s Gate. There we grabbed our water and cameras and set off on foot on the single track trails. The rock formations were absolutely gorgeous! With the canyon walls dropping deeply and narrowly into the ground, it isn’t hard to imagine how quickly and dangerously flash floods occur. After maybe an hour of meandering, we approached a 15-20 foot wall we were to scale. The nostalgia of my climbing days quickly overcame me, and upon reaching the top I realized why I miss climbing so much – because I freakin’ love it!

Scenic overlook in Hell's Gate

The ride back from Hell’s Gate was the prize of the day. Because we were nearing sundown, temperatures had cooled, and wildlife was emerging…like really emerging. As in, we had to stop our bikes to wait for crossing zebras, warthogs & impalas. We also saw giraffes and watched baboons climb the face of an enormous cliff. What an amazing experience it was to be within 30 feet of these animals, in their native habitats! The feeling was indescribable.

After a celebratory meal (and finishing the meals of those around me), we hit the hay in the Naivasha Hotel. On Saturday morning we awoke to a full breakfast of bread (which they call toast), sausages, and (of course) chai. It seems that here in Kenya, chai comes after oxygen in the list of basic human needs. But I digress…

Tents in IDP camp

From our full bellies came a sense of irony as we packed food to distribute to starving families. Our next destination would be an IDP (Internally Displaced Persons) Camp. After the 2007 elections in Kenya, violence erupted due to the opposition of the two main tribes of Kenya. Six hundred thousand families were displaced, tearing families apart and leaving them homeless. The U.N. responded by providing tents, and the Red Cross helped channel food and other resources across the country. However, their support has dwindled. Therefore, the organization Marafiki recruits volunteers from our organization to purchase and distribute food.

Little boy running with his favorite toy, an old bicycle tire

This experience was both heart wrenching and uplifting. The former is obvious – starving families of 12 living in a single tent. Nuff said. The latter, though, came through in the children’s attitudes despite their harsh living conditions.  They exhibited a form of resilience that I’ve never seen before. It was enough for me to forget about the fact that my stomach was grumbling for a late lunch. Some of these kids haven’t eaten since yesterday.

We were ealso able to help paint a new school in the IDP camp and sand the desks that would seat those very children, so eager and appreciative. I don’t think I truly understood the word “perspective” until Saturday.

Now we’re back in school and things are looking up there as well. Instead of reviewing a recent mid-term exam, I’ve been able to teach new material and it’s going very well. There are still the issues of about 90-95 kids per classroom and 35-minute class periods, but I’m trying to roll with the punches.

Our next excursion will be to the Indian Ocean in Mombasa where we hope to relax and check out some chill night life. Until then, kwaheri!

Street outside of our house.

After an inadvertent tour of Nairobi medical facilities, I’m back in the classroom getting my teach on. As you may have heard, my stomach went to battle with little Kenyan critters, and sadly lost. What started as a nauseous feeling at the end of the school day on Friday quickly turned to a need to vomit while napping by myself at home. My bathroom pursuit quickly turned downward, literally, as I got light headed, fell, and smacked the back of my head on the concrete floor. Blacked out for a second (or a few minutes…who knows), I finally came to, seemingly lost in the house. My thought to find my phone on the bed to call my housemates took me on another ride to the floor, this time smacking the front of my head on the floor. That’s where I threw in the towel, laid on the floor to wait for my housemates to return, and began to sweat like, well…like something that sweats a helluva lot.

My roommates returned from the supermarket and rushed quickly to me as I lay there a soaking mess. A cab was called, I was hauled into the car, and we drove to Shalom Hospital near Kitengela. We were greeted by hospital staff with blank stares that seemed to silently say, “We don’t see sick people here.” Though unimpressed, I desperately needed help, so they pricked my finger and that was about it. At least until some members of Fadhili Community (our organization) called and told us to go to the Nairobi Hospital.

The smile on my face contrasts the civil war in belly.

Once again, I was whisked into the cab, laid down in the back seat and tried to subdue my growing urge to vomit. The “fresh” air of car exhaust and burning rubbish outside sure didn’t do me any favors. Upon arrival at the Nairobi Hospital, I fought the cab driver’s suggestions that I stay in the car and crawled out onto the parking lot. When my British roommate, Stevie, placed a bag under my face, it seemed to serve as a cue to vomit…so I did, filling the entire bag.

The Dream Team, from left to right: House Mom Lucy, Fadhili Worker Christabel, British Roommate Stevie, Yours Truly

The rest of the story I will abbreviate – we arrived at 8pm and I wasn’t admitted until 4am. I had an IV put in that fed me fluids and a pretty nice cocktail of other house specials. All in all, I was in the hospital for just under two days with a bacterial infection. The saving grace of the colossal waiting time in the observation room was the private suite I was admitted to. The one they tried to charge me for twice. Bastards. I showed them.

Home, sweet home!

It was great to come back home on Sunday and sleep on my malformed sponge mattress whilst tangled in the spider web of a mosquito net. Even better was going back to school today, to teach the kids math and have them give us a “propuh” lesson in Kiswahili.

On our walk to school.

Happily back in school.

Child waiting for bus in Narobi

On our drive to the homestay, I got my first taste of the overwhelming poverty in Kenya. The slums we passed were undeniably real, and seeing them in person had a powerful impact. I’ve seen images like these before, but I didn’t realize the emotional filter a camera lens could place on a setting.

That being said, our homestay for that night was nice – it had running water, toilets, and our hosts kept our stomachs full of some sort of Kenyan beef stew, rice & chai. Boy do Kenyas love their Chai!

The next day, after hours and hours of orientation, we were driven to our permanent homestay, where we met Lucy, an 18 year old girl who is our house mom! She is a warm-hearted host that is eager to learn about America from me, and about England from my fellow volunteer, Stevie.

The real surprise cam yesterday when we were walked to the school and got to meet the teachers and students. The school teaches kids ranging in age from 6 to 13 years old. It was opened in 2007 as a public school to serve the needs of the growing town of Kitengela. Already they have outgrown their facilities and are in need of expansion.

Kids playingn volleyball during late morning break

The greatest difference I’ve observed in the last two days between their school and American schools is the colossal amount of play time these kids have. They take various significant breaks throughout the day for the kids to run around the field, play football (soccer), volleyball, and other high-energy games.

That is all for now, hopefully I’ll be able to update with some regularity over the coming weeks. Until next time!

Trail running mud bath

A decision to register for a 50-mile race comes with sacrifice. Of course, there are the obvious ones: 4- to 6-hour long runs on the weekends, after school hours on the trail, income allocated to running gear & registration fees. Then there are the not-so-obvious: pricey grocery bills for elevated caloric needs, early weekend nights before morning long runs, and maybe surprise visitors inside your shoes on a muddy trail.

Last fall I enthusiastically trained for the same 50-mile race, only to be left injured and unable to run consistently for a couple months. It was part of a plan that was to culminate in a 100-mile race this June. Needless to say, without the foundation of my plan in place, the entire plan crumbled to the ground. Well, kind of.

I spent the winter cross training and rediscovered my love of yoga. With a more balanced routine, I fully resumed training in February, just in time to run the Free State Trail Marathon about a month ago. It was a blast! Aside from the discovery of a new form of nutrition on the run (Nutella tortilla wraps), the race re-focused my efforts go long…really long.

Now, registered again for the North Face Endurance Challenge 50-Miler this coming September, my training has accelerated. In an effort to ramp the mileage before heading to Kenya in less than a month, I joined a few friends for 25 miles on the trail yesterday. Assured by local meteorologists that there was just a “slight chance of storms”, we were greeted on the trail by a gorgeous sunrise at 6am. Three miles later, mother nature’s true hospitality manifested itself in wind, rain and hail. As trail runners, we fully understand that the unpredictable terrain is in large part what lures us away from the monotony of road running. A little unpredictable weather completes the harmony that is inherent to going off-road.

Seven miles in, I am overcome with a new sensation. As my foot sweeps through the grass, I catch a thistle with my right shoe. At least, I though I was wearing shoes. The ease with which that thorn pierced my shoe, tore through my sock, and came to rest under my toenail has me thinking otherwise. A mile later, I would confirm this suspicion by removing my shoe and extracting said thorn. The sight of blood upon removal was complemented by much-needed pain relief. Perfect, now all I have to do is run 17 more miles!

In the company of supportive friends, mutual accountability, and personal motivation, anything is possible. Upon reflecting on yesterday’s jaunt through the woods, I am reminded that the path ahead is forever unpredictable. There are times to stop, times to take a break, and times to simply adjust and keep moving. Last year I had to stop. I don’t know what will happen between now and the 50-mile race in September. But, if I can retain the ability to distinguish between hiccups and choking hazards, I will keep moving forward, one stride at a time.

Either way, however jaded I’ve become in my view of resolutions, maybe I’ve made a couple for 2010. Here’s one: to cross a big-ticket item off my list. Luckily I have a loving wife to support me in my decision to do so.  In June I’ll travel to Kenya for a month to volunteer teach elephants. Wait, I might see elephants, but I’ll actually be teaching children. My mind is in Africa overload. I’ll live with a Kenyan family, partake in Kenyan cuisine, and hopefully run with Kenyan…runners.

So maybe resolutions aren’t all that bad, even if they sometimes manifest themselves in sweaty, overcrowded gyms and cell-phone-toting treadmill walkers. Other times, people get to go to Africa.

During a long trail run with Scott this summer, we exchanged goals, both intellectual and physical, and I vocalized the principle that hangs like an umbrella over my life: to do something each year that extends beyond the realm of my past achievements.

Last year I ran my first 50k, and it was glorious.  I felt great throughout the race and even had enough left in the tank to kick at the end. A banner day, really. Though I can’t plan on that happening on any given day, I’m trying to convince myself that the only difference between a 50k and a 50mi race is a couple arbitrary letters.  And so go the mind games. Those very mind games will either wreak havoc or act as my savior during the race…though both will likely occur.

However, come race day, no matter how mentally prepared I am, I also must be physically prepared, and to that extent I have a lot of work to do. Hours of running, miles of pounding, gallons of sweating. Left, right, repeat as necessary. It’s so simple, yet so difficult. But at the end of the year, I’ll have peace of mind in knowing that I did something this year that I’ll never forget, at least one “moment” that can help define 2009.  Cool.

Maybe out of habit from last summer’s trip to Europe, we hit the road on foot to explore The City. Because we stayed in Fisherman’s Wharf, we found no shortage of tourist traps. So, after a quick lunch on the water (shrimp sandwich & mussels), we continued our coastal walk toward Ghirardelli Square. Turns out they have respectable chocolate.

That night we Yelp’d to find a decent sushi joint and were pleasantly surprised by Sushi on the North Shore -Katsu. Now we’re hooked on Yelp, and its accompanying iPhone app.

The next day I was determined to run over the Golden Gate Bridge, even though we were staying 3.5 miles from it. The approach was magnificent, as the bridge stood half-masked by fog. After traversing the bridge both ways, my return to the coastal trail proved to be a bit tricky as construction workers had barracaded my original path. No problem, add yet another mile and back to the hotel.

Our day’s journey took us to Berkelely, where we meandered through UC’s campus and had substandard Thai food. No worries, though, Berkeley cuisine would be redeemed on the following day’s visit.

After heading back to SF, we decided to stroll through Pier 39 for some sights and smells. Smells being the beautiful scent of hundreds of sea lions basking on their floating docks. It almost rivals the inevitable “who farted?” smell on I-80 in Nebraska. *almost*

Probably the highlight of our time in The City was a restaurant suggestion from Rahul, a friend we’d now like to hire as our west coast travel agent. Green’s is an all-vegetarian restaurant located in Fort Mason, right on the water. Our Scottish server was a joy, and the food was out of this world. How could it get any better? Answer: half-prices bottles of wine. ‘Nuff said.

Stay tuned for our journey to, arrival in, and subsequent endulgence of Sonoma County.

This morning Al got home from work at about 1am, and it wasn’t until I programmed our coffee maker that I realized I could get 2.5 hours of sleep only if I laid down right then and fell asleep on my descent to the pillow. Our status can be summed up in the photo below.

Oh, and another thing – we’ll hopefully be blogging a little more along our journey through San Francisco (or “The City” as our west coast friends call it), and ultimately through wine country. However, we might be blogging solely from my phone. So let this be the first of hopefully many iPosts. And if I misspell a word or twenty, you’ll understand why (i.e. not because of the wine…probably).

Cheers!