Breakfast buffet time! A variation on a British breakfast - I had forgotten how unprocessed the bread was and good the preserves were going to be. We walked a few blocks from the hotel to the Kenyan National Museum so that Dan could say hello to some old friends. Along the way we passed over a bridge that Dan said was the site of many a mugging/passerby bludgeoning. Nice.
At any given time during the summer, it seems that 80% of the world’s biological anthropologists and archaeologists are running around this museum. In the span of an hour I had the chance to meet some nice and fairly famous folks: Randy Sussman, Helen Roche, Andrew Hill etc. Also, we were permitted to enter the vault, which contains many of the most important hominoid remains ever found. Some type specimens, the Turkana boy, the Black Skull. In all seriousness, I almost needed a cold shower after having held the Turkana boy’s skull. Ho-lee crap.
I joined Dan and Adam (Dandam?) and we headed off to rent a car for our trip to the highlands. We did not call the company before arriving and found the place closed for lunch. Blast. So we walked next door to Barclay’s to change some money. Dan asked a representative about a good place to eat nearby and she thought for a second and said “let me check something.” Turns out that Barclay’s has its own eatery of sorts upstairs and she said it would be fine for us to grab lunch in the employee area. That is not something that would happen in the US.
The view from the fifth floor was great and the food (rice, lentils, spinach) was not bad. Dan and I declined the (chicken?) liver, but Adam went ahead and grabbed some. He told us later that he was not paying attention and thought it was some other kind of body part. I think I had read somewhere that eating internal organs of animals in developing countries is not recommended. Hope there are no downstream repercussions – we’re sharing a room this trip.
We rented the car – a junker of a Suzuki 4x4 jeep that was actually a converted pickup truck with a top bolted on – after lunch and Dan drove the route back to the hotel through the insane streets of Nairobi. Folks drive on the left side of the road (sometimes) and all traffic laws are more or less optional. Dan said it would be fine if we were backseat driving because of the car’s poor visibility and the general danger factor. So I kept yelling at Dan “ASSERT YOUR DOMINANCE!” and “THERE ARE NO LAWS!,” which I assume he greatly appreciated.
We arrived alive at the hotel and spent the rest of the daylight hours shopping for some supplies in downtown Nairobi. Adam bought some pants and Bata safari boots which are about $20 but are of fairly good stock. I used that time to pester the saleswoman and catch up on some Swahili. 44, my shoe size, is “arobaini na nne”. I had remembered that “kushoto” was left but could not remember how to say right (“kulia”).
As expected, we were accosted by a ton of people on the street asking us if we wanted to go on a safari or buy some random wares. Nice time to mention that one tends to hear the word “karibu” every five seconds in east Africa. The “I” is stressed and pronounced “ee”, so it does not sound like caribou. It means “welcome” (as in, welcome to Kenya), as well as “you are welcome” (a response to thank you), and “you are welcome” (to come in, to do something, to eat this food).
Friday, June 19, 2009
Nairobi, 6/19, 6 am?
I woke up at 4:30 am or so on Friday after 5.5 hours of dreamless sleep in our hotel room (tatu ishirini na mbili – three twenty-two). The run is rising now in Nairobi along with a crescendo of traffic and some crazy birdsong. I’ve spent the past two hours or so reading Infinte Jest by flashlight and pounding Nature Valley bars in the bathroom so as not to wake Adam– it’s like young adult summer camp! More constructively, I’m also trying to remember some basic Swahili, to no avail.
We had arrived in Nairobi at 7:30 pm. In one of Dan’s strategy/B.O avoidance sessions, we discussed how to best book it to the front of the plane and beat the rush to the visa line. I used a NFL lineman’s wading technique to leapfrog families and old people and ended up being maybe the 20th person off the plane despite being in row 38. That effort, plus some power-walking put me at about twelfth in a line that moved at a literal snail’s pace (maybe a foot a minute at best). Dan and Adam joined me and I handed them a swine flu-inspired form asking us to indicate whether we had experienced any influenza symptoms in the past two weeks. Despite my on again, off again cough and sore throat I dutifully checked no to all boxes, thus dooming Kenya to a raging pandemic. Actually, I just did not want to be detained at the airport for five hours until a physician’s assistant could be summoned to deem me flu-ridden yet prescribe me a course of random antibiotics. I had witnessed a bit too much of that in Tanzania.
The bagged carousel was c-shaped and pretty much in utter chaos because bags were strewn around in piles both in the middle islands of the belt and at arbitrary places around baggage claim. Although Adam and Dan found their bags within two minutes I ran around for half an hour searching for my 45 pound duffel that I was convinced had not made it onto the flight. However, I eventually spotted it being thrown into a pile of other mammoth suitcases and grabbed it, to the relief of all parties. We hopped in to a cab and took it to the Boulevard Hotel in downtown Nairobi . The streets were not particularly well-lit so it was difficult to get a good sense of the lay of the city.
Upon arrival, Dan remarked that he last stayed here in 1993 on his honeymoon, which was also the last time he had been in Kenya. The hotel is located about 100 feet from a fairly major traffic circle, which is important because the concierge mentioned that in 1988 a bus plowed through a divider and ended up in the hotel pool. No mention of casualties. Dan remarked that a car had nearly ended up in the pool/on top of his wife in ’93 but had been stopped by the barricade put in place in ’88. Note to self: avoid pool at all costs.
The hotel room I’m sharing with Adam is about 20% nice than that which I used in Dar es Salaam. No AC, but clean. We grabbed a beer (Tusker) in the hotel bar along with some spaghetti bolognaise after settling into our rooms. Washing down antimalarials with alcohol is not recommended by physicians. Whoopsy. We all crashed at 11 pm in preparation for tomorrow, our only full day in Nairobi before headed northwest to Eldoret. Wish I had not seen a mosquito in the bathroom.
We had arrived in Nairobi at 7:30 pm. In one of Dan’s strategy/B.O avoidance sessions, we discussed how to best book it to the front of the plane and beat the rush to the visa line. I used a NFL lineman’s wading technique to leapfrog families and old people and ended up being maybe the 20th person off the plane despite being in row 38. That effort, plus some power-walking put me at about twelfth in a line that moved at a literal snail’s pace (maybe a foot a minute at best). Dan and Adam joined me and I handed them a swine flu-inspired form asking us to indicate whether we had experienced any influenza symptoms in the past two weeks. Despite my on again, off again cough and sore throat I dutifully checked no to all boxes, thus dooming Kenya to a raging pandemic. Actually, I just did not want to be detained at the airport for five hours until a physician’s assistant could be summoned to deem me flu-ridden yet prescribe me a course of random antibiotics. I had witnessed a bit too much of that in Tanzania.
The bagged carousel was c-shaped and pretty much in utter chaos because bags were strewn around in piles both in the middle islands of the belt and at arbitrary places around baggage claim. Although Adam and Dan found their bags within two minutes I ran around for half an hour searching for my 45 pound duffel that I was convinced had not made it onto the flight. However, I eventually spotted it being thrown into a pile of other mammoth suitcases and grabbed it, to the relief of all parties. We hopped in to a cab and took it to the Boulevard Hotel in downtown Nairobi . The streets were not particularly well-lit so it was difficult to get a good sense of the lay of the city.
Upon arrival, Dan remarked that he last stayed here in 1993 on his honeymoon, which was also the last time he had been in Kenya. The hotel is located about 100 feet from a fairly major traffic circle, which is important because the concierge mentioned that in 1988 a bus plowed through a divider and ended up in the hotel pool. No mention of casualties. Dan remarked that a car had nearly ended up in the pool/on top of his wife in ’93 but had been stopped by the barricade put in place in ’88. Note to self: avoid pool at all costs.
The hotel room I’m sharing with Adam is about 20% nice than that which I used in Dar es Salaam. No AC, but clean. We grabbed a beer (Tusker) in the hotel bar along with some spaghetti bolognaise after settling into our rooms. Washing down antimalarials with alcohol is not recommended by physicians. Whoopsy. We all crashed at 11 pm in preparation for tomorrow, our only full day in Nairobi before headed northwest to Eldoret. Wish I had not seen a mosquito in the bathroom.
Amsterdam to Nairobi, 6/18
After killing three hours in Schipol Airport in Amsterdam – and overhearing many, many more unintuitive Dutch phrases – I met up with Dan and Adam at a café near our gate. They looked a little haggard but I probably looked more shot, considering that I had mixed up my time zone directions and stupidly tried to avoid sleeping on the first flight.
It was surprising to note how close Nairobi was to the equator. From the flight tracker, it seemed about 150 miles south of the midline, whereas Eldoret looked to be just 50 miles north. That should make for some nice direct sunlight and charred skin considering that Eldoret is also at about 7500 feet above sea level.
Oddly enough, the distance from NY to Amsterdam is just about the same as the distance from Amsterdam to Nairobi, so thought I would be able grab 5ish hours of rest before arriving in Kenya.
I immediately passed out but woke up a couple of hours later to the feeling of something dripping out of my nose. I was too groggy to realize what was going on, so I held my hands under my face until it registered that I was spraying blood all over my shirt. The woman next to me looked at me like I was crazy for not doing anything about it, so she grabbed off my neck pillow and said “Get up!” I complied and stumbled my way to the bathroom and washed myself off in the sink, which promptly clogged, leaving a gross standing pool of bodily fluids. A grabbed a passing flight attendant and pointed to the sink, expecting him to show me some cool Dutch declogging mechanism, but instead he handed me a pair of plastic tweezers (why did he randomly have them on his person?). I took a couple minutes, but I was able to eventually reach into the pool and pull out the drain stop. Still a little sleepy, I staggered back to my seat. From all the shirt stains it looked as if I had been shot in the chest.
Dan shot a glance my way a few minutes later and shook his head as I shrugged. The guy sitting next to him was hardcore passed out and was very much encroaching into (preposition use?) Dan’s personal space. He apparently was a nice guy but had terrible body odor. This led Dan to get up every half hour to stretch his legs, check in and discuss plane exit strategy. Turns out I misplaced my ticket and baggage claim check sometime between entering the plane and experiencing a nose hemorrhage. This will become an issue later if my bags did not make it onto this flight, due to my late arrival in JFK.
Um, worrying is stressful, so I decided to catch a few more hours of sleep before we landed.
It was surprising to note how close Nairobi was to the equator. From the flight tracker, it seemed about 150 miles south of the midline, whereas Eldoret looked to be just 50 miles north. That should make for some nice direct sunlight and charred skin considering that Eldoret is also at about 7500 feet above sea level.
Oddly enough, the distance from NY to Amsterdam is just about the same as the distance from Amsterdam to Nairobi, so thought I would be able grab 5ish hours of rest before arriving in Kenya.
I immediately passed out but woke up a couple of hours later to the feeling of something dripping out of my nose. I was too groggy to realize what was going on, so I held my hands under my face until it registered that I was spraying blood all over my shirt. The woman next to me looked at me like I was crazy for not doing anything about it, so she grabbed off my neck pillow and said “Get up!” I complied and stumbled my way to the bathroom and washed myself off in the sink, which promptly clogged, leaving a gross standing pool of bodily fluids. A grabbed a passing flight attendant and pointed to the sink, expecting him to show me some cool Dutch declogging mechanism, but instead he handed me a pair of plastic tweezers (why did he randomly have them on his person?). I took a couple minutes, but I was able to eventually reach into the pool and pull out the drain stop. Still a little sleepy, I staggered back to my seat. From all the shirt stains it looked as if I had been shot in the chest.
Dan shot a glance my way a few minutes later and shook his head as I shrugged. The guy sitting next to him was hardcore passed out and was very much encroaching into (preposition use?) Dan’s personal space. He apparently was a nice guy but had terrible body odor. This led Dan to get up every half hour to stretch his legs, check in and discuss plane exit strategy. Turns out I misplaced my ticket and baggage claim check sometime between entering the plane and experiencing a nose hemorrhage. This will become an issue later if my bags did not make it onto this flight, due to my late arrival in JFK.
Um, worrying is stressful, so I decided to catch a few more hours of sleep before we landed.
NY to Amsterdam, 6/17
So this trip began with my almost missing the flight to Amsterdam. We left a little on the late side, but should have been fine had not run into traffic near the Van Wyck that my father described as “the worst [he’s]ever seen in this area.” And that’s coming from a man who commuted to Brooklyn along the same route for 20-odd years. Anyway I booked it into the terminal but immediately ran into an issue when the agent did not understand that a) I did not yet have a visa and b) I had booked a one-way ticket to Nairobi through Amsterdam and that I’d be headed elsewhere afterward. Things ended up working out more or less after I grew increasingly frazzled and they let me go. I made the flight after sprinting through JFK, bowling over old ladies and stiff-arming people on the moving sidewalk.
I thought I would unwind and pass the time on my flight by reading “Stuff White People Like,” a book that my mother bought for me some time ago. It’s based upon the popular blog of the same name – if you are not familiar, it lists 150 things that white people (characterized in this case as upper middle class Caucasians in the US who consider themselves cultured) like to do/eat/discuss etc. This may have been a thinly-veiled way for her to let me know that I am probably both pretentious and painfully white.
I realized midway through the flight that this was a fairly ironic subject for me to be researching considering that the only white people I will be spending time with for the next 5 weeks include my boss and ½ of my coworker. Plus maybe this Greek(ish) colleague who is affiliated with the running research center in Eldoret. I wonder what the average Kenyan would think about my predilection for brunch (#36), apologies (#55), and standing still at concerts (#67). At least I don’t throw or attend Oscar parties (#74).
Anyhow, according to this guy’s metric, I am apparently …28.7% white? That seems incorrect. I figured on some number in the 55-70% range. I think in the end I was just not cultured, proactive and/or waspy enough. For those of you know my housemates Eric and Rich, it turns out that if you combine their interests and activities, they cover at least 100 of the 150 things the author lists. Justin, if you are reading this, a heads up the author would probably qualify you as “the wrong kind of white person.”
Moving on. In an attempt to ignore the massive turbulence, I change my focus from US white people to Dutch white people. During my first trip to Amsterdam, about 6 weeks ago, I realized that I find Dutch to be a hilariously unintuitive language to try to understand or speak. Throughout most of the flight I was checking our “Grondsnelheit” which I assumed to be related to the German “gesundheit” and therefore must be some sort of in flight sneeze-tracker (swine flu?).
PS: If you are reading this blog, I will find you. And I will kill you. JK I watched “Taken” (starring Liam Neeson) on the plane and can’t get that out of my head. Dad just so you know I now expect you to go on a murderous rampage throughout the eastern hemisphere if some Serbians try to sell me in to sex slavery.
Ed note: I originally wrote this entry on a plane but then somehow lost the sheet of paper I was using so this is my second crack at some mildly-entertaining stream of consciousness rambling.
I thought I would unwind and pass the time on my flight by reading “Stuff White People Like,” a book that my mother bought for me some time ago. It’s based upon the popular blog of the same name – if you are not familiar, it lists 150 things that white people (characterized in this case as upper middle class Caucasians in the US who consider themselves cultured) like to do/eat/discuss etc. This may have been a thinly-veiled way for her to let me know that I am probably both pretentious and painfully white.
I realized midway through the flight that this was a fairly ironic subject for me to be researching considering that the only white people I will be spending time with for the next 5 weeks include my boss and ½ of my coworker. Plus maybe this Greek(ish) colleague who is affiliated with the running research center in Eldoret. I wonder what the average Kenyan would think about my predilection for brunch (#36), apologies (#55), and standing still at concerts (#67). At least I don’t throw or attend Oscar parties (#74).
Anyhow, according to this guy’s metric, I am apparently …28.7% white? That seems incorrect. I figured on some number in the 55-70% range. I think in the end I was just not cultured, proactive and/or waspy enough. For those of you know my housemates Eric and Rich, it turns out that if you combine their interests and activities, they cover at least 100 of the 150 things the author lists. Justin, if you are reading this, a heads up the author would probably qualify you as “the wrong kind of white person.”
Moving on. In an attempt to ignore the massive turbulence, I change my focus from US white people to Dutch white people. During my first trip to Amsterdam, about 6 weeks ago, I realized that I find Dutch to be a hilariously unintuitive language to try to understand or speak. Throughout most of the flight I was checking our “Grondsnelheit” which I assumed to be related to the German “gesundheit” and therefore must be some sort of in flight sneeze-tracker (swine flu?).
PS: If you are reading this blog, I will find you. And I will kill you. JK I watched “Taken” (starring Liam Neeson) on the plane and can’t get that out of my head. Dad just so you know I now expect you to go on a murderous rampage throughout the eastern hemisphere if some Serbians try to sell me in to sex slavery.
Ed note: I originally wrote this entry on a plane but then somehow lost the sheet of paper I was using so this is my second crack at some mildly-entertaining stream of consciousness rambling.
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